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...
There might have been a more tense DA meeting, Harry thought, but Harry couldn't remember it, if so.
Everyone knew about Hermione Granger and her... enthusiasm for projects.
Seeing her here, enthusiastic, wouldn't have been a problem, Harry thought - had she done it the first day. However, she hadn't, and that had allowed everyone to relax.
Now, they could feel her thrumming with the need for attention, her hair sparking blue sparks every so often.
Harry wasn't tense because of that, in some part because he knew the reason, and in a larger part because Hermione would never hurt him unless she felt like he REALLY deserved it. Snape should step wary, as Hermione was not above disciplining teachers too.
No, Harry was tense because he'd seen through what Snape was doing. Not that it was a problem that he knew (he was rather enjoying knowing something for once, and didn't feel compelled to tell even Ron, who might have laughed himself silly or gone off to hex Snape and got expelleed). But, here, there were Slytherins. Even Draco Malfoy arriving at the last moment (somehow looking better when his hair was tossled slightly. Harry was ever so jealous). Someone might notice, and, worse, might tell Snape. Or everyone.
So Harry stood, taut, near Hermione but not flanking her, not supporting her, really - she didn't need it, and especially not when she was in this sort of bad mood. He scanned faces, half-relieved to see a few of the duller Slytherins looking troubled at Snape just leaving the books there. But the Smarter Sltyerins? by and large, their eyes just leamed with greed.
Ah, greed, that clouds man's eyes and dulls his reason.
Hermione, being Hermione, had three spells that she wanted everyone to know, and know immediately. She had Luna - and, oddly enough, Draco Malfoy, assisting. Draco Malfoy seemed to have more or less invited himself up to help, rather than Hermione asking (as he apparently already knew the spell dead to rights). Harry could tell from the stiff near-frown on Hermione's face. Draco Malfoy, rather than sneering, seemed to simply be focusing on teaching the students.
With a mental shake, Harry joined Hermione's group. She was explaining a loudspeaker charm, or something like that. It was all about the ears, at any rate. And, since it was technically cast on oneself, it gave one the advantage in a fight, when everyone was expecting to shield.
Harry was early to breakfast on Monday, his ears still ringing a bit from yesterday's practice. He looked around him, noting, unsiurprisingy, that the Astronomy professor wasn't there. McGonagall and Snape were, however, and Snape was looking... full of that old dark fire that he usually had. And a bit less skeletal too. Harry was glad.
Harry ate reasonably quickly, and in fact, was done before the rest of his House had arrived. Which was good, as he'd wanted to review and add a bit more to his Charms homework. It was amazing what you thought of while asleep.
Harry, as he always did, carefully lifted his plate and set it in the middle of the table, where he'd have put the other dirty dishes if there were any. He supposed it was a mild affectation born of Muggle Living, but he really didn't mind. He felt like giving the house elves a little less work wasn't truly a bad thing.
... or at least, that's what he'd have done, if he hadn't noticed a scrap of parchment under his plate. It read, simply, "Detention, 6:30 pm. Do Not Be Late", in Snape's spiky hand. Harry nearly dropped the dish in his confusion. How did that get there? And then, relief poured over him. He hadn't scheduled it during his training time.
Harry idly supposed that there were benefits to having an eavesdropping teacher around, when your schedule was as busy as his was.
Just as Harry Potter was about to leave the breakfast table, an owl swooped down. Perhaps it wanted to wait for its fellows, but since Harry was leaving... Absently, Harry pocketed the parchment and turned to the owl, feeding it a delectable bit of meat. He opened the missive, and his face split into a broad grin.
It was from the Twins!
Couched as it was in daily gossip and good cheer, Harry could see it for what it was - a financial statement. Exactly what a responsible businessman would send an investor. Of course, the Twins, being the twins, had so much other stuff sandwiched into the ten page long letter that even if Ron and Ginny read it thoroughly, they'd never figure out what was going on.
And it would take even Hermione some time.
Harry didn't want to read this at the table though, so he bounced up - but did not leave before looking at the rest of the hall. Draco Malfoy - and Severus Snape - were both eyeing him curiously. Harry took a split second to consider acting his age, before deciding that neither person could gather anything terribly important from "Harry has a letter that has made him happy."
Besides! The letter felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket.
Harry had found the perfect place to read - it was a bay window that made him feel as if he was flying, with a 270 degree view, as he sat there and opened the letter. Let Hermione keep her library. Harry rather preferred his dimly lit window.
Harry skimmed through multiple multi-page descriptions of customers, learning that business had been good, if not booming, and that they were going to try and find a few more items to wind up on Filch's list of Banned Items At Hogwarts. Apparently, the quicker something got banned, the better it sold. Inside Hogwarts and out. Harry figured the Ravenclaws must have been having fun disassembling these trinkets, as there hadn't been a massive outbreak of purple spotted acne.
Two-thirds of the way through, Harry found something.. interesting. Not that the latest list of the Twins pranks (some carried out on other purveyors of fine merchandice, even -) weren't interesting. But this? The twins began to describe a series of letters - and if Harry was reading the elipsis correctly, they were unsigned letters. Suggestions, ideas. Pointers, even. The twins, understandably, were suspicious of such an odd method of delivery, but eventually decided to try one that they just couldn't pass up. And it worked, if not quite as described. The loud noise produced by the thin metallic sheet did not just make people curl up in shock - it literally had blood pouring out of their ears. AND they really were frozen immobile.
Slice a cake three times, make eight pieces. Harry thought, vaguely recognizing the lateral thinking from an admittedly hazy memory of his third grade teacher. No wonder this sounded so familiar! And, Harry thought, that meant it had to be one of the Order. Who else would pluck a few innocent pranksters and have them start making weapons of war.
Harry'd have to look up the spell to fix eardrums, he thought absently to himself. He rolled out a spare scrap of parchment, and began to compose a letter back to the Twins. They were owed hearty congratulations - Harry remembered from one of Uncle Vernon's long meandering dinner conversations, that new businesses had a hard time starting up. For the twins to be doing even nearly as well as Zonko's? It was impressive.
Of course, he hadn't answered the most interesting question - who had come up with these ideas?
Harry Potter was nearly glad to see Snape arrive for his DADA class - he was almost looking normal again. Still thin, unhealthily so (but he often looked that way...), but Harry could feel a sort of energy to Snape that he hadn't had last week - like a live wire, rippling with energy.
Snape strode his way through the class, students instinctively sidling away from his path. He leapt up onto the small dais, and said, "Slytherins, choose your partners." Nearly as one, the Slytherins turned their eyes to the rest of class. Even Goyle's sleepy eyes looked keen as a knifeblade. Malfoy ended up standing by Hermione, his face turned into a sneer of disdain. And, yet, he'd still chosen her? It was an odd match, those two behaviors. Goyle was standing beside Harry, looking as dull as a clod of dirt. Yet, his eyes were wary and light on everyone. Harry somehow had the impression that not much got past those eyes, though Goyle was the type to keep his own council. Nott was standing by Boot, and Harry vaguely recalled that both of them were in Arithmancy with Hermione, so they perhaps at least knew each other. Bulstrode was paired with Crabbe, and Harry couldn't help but think that would be an interesting combination to fight. The Big and Uglies. That would be mean to say about someone else, but - as of this precise moment, it was both accurate and a compliment. They didn't have to work to be intimidating (as Malfoy would have to, if he ever hoped to... Harry viciously cut the thought off. There were things he didn't want to think about - things that ought not to exist in his mind.)
"Hufflepuffs, you're next." This was mainly 'puffs choosing their own, Hannah and Susan together, Justin and Ernie. Somehow, and nobody was surprised, Zacharias was left alone, and wound up standing with an ugly smile next to Neville Longbottom. "Stick with me, kid, and you'll be fine." he said - somehow managing to be more arrogant than Malfoy.
"All the people who were so unfortunate as to not get picked, find yourself a partner." It was really strange, when you thought about it, how distinctly unsympathetic Snape could make his voice. It was a move designed to make people feel awful, and yet - they hadn't really done anything. Last year, Harry would have been... provoked. This year, he merely waited. And wondered exactly what was going on.
"Does everyone have a partner?" Snape said, before ordering, "Face your partners, two paces away from them." Harry was looking around as he maneuvered to the proper position. Many had their wands in hand, others looked as if they were about to draw them. "Now bow." Everyone did, with varying degrees of grace. Goyle, looking more like a stone golem than a person, bowed carefully at his waist. Harry mimicked him, if not in his stoniness, at least the level of his bow. He vaguely recalled that it was considered an insult somewhere to not bow as low as your partner.
"Can anyone tell me why I asked the Slytherins and then the Hufflepuffs to choose their partners?" Snape asked. There was a loud silence in the room, as people uneasily shuffled their feet. Snape lept off the dais and strolled the room, his dark, intent eyes causing most people to look down. Harry met his eyes solidly, his hands automatically turning into fists at his sides. Snape stopped in front of Granger, his robes swaying back and forth with the abruptness. "Well, well, well, have I finally asked a question that Miss Know-it-all cannot answer? What's the matter, dear, was it not in your books?" The Slytherins (particularly Pansy) were snickering lightly at this - and Harry could, at least briefly, understand enjoying someone's comeuppance. But this was his friend, and Harry didn't like people poking his friends. His hands were true fists at his sides, and he shook with anger.
"Potter," Snape drawled, his penetrating eyes still locked on Granger's, "Whatever is the matter? Are you really so upset that I haven't called on you?" How did Snape know? He wasn't even looking at me! Shite, I'm really that predictable. Snape let out an aggrieved sigh, "Very well, answer the question Potter."
"You wanted the best matches. You chose the Slytherins first, because they're the ones most likely to select good partners. Everyone else is more likely to choose based on who they know, or their friends, or something like that. But Slytherins are both cunning and ambitious, so they're more likely to take advantage of the opportunity to forge a new relationship." Harry got to the end of what he was saying, and then wanted to ask how in hell he'd gotten there. Every word had made sense, but he hadn't had half of them when he'd started.
"And the Hufflepuffs?" Snape prompted.
"They, like the Gryffindors, are likely to choose based on friendships. But, it's right when a Hufflepuff does so, and generally wrong when a Gryffindor does so. Hufflepuffs work better together with their friends, even when shooting stinging hexes at each other." As Harry talked, he could see flashes of their study sessions, of how people worked together.
"Very good." Snape said, glancing at Potter with a crisp nod that was just shy of approving. His gaze turned back to Hermione's brown orbs. "You might have tried to answer, at least. Not every response is contained within a book. There will be more allowances for ineloquency - as was the case with Potter's stumbling answer." Hermione tried to look contrite, but Snape wasn't looking at her. His words finished, he whirled away to the dais again, his tall form looming over them like a living incarnation of Death himself.
"It is at this point, that I would like to announce a pop quiz." Snape drawled.
From his stand on the dais, Snape flourished his arm, taking the cape with it in a whirl of black fabric. As it settled, there was a feast in front of them. Well, not quite a Hogwarts feast - more party food. Snape snapped his fingers, and 1-2-3 music* appeared out of nowhere.
"You will receive a zero on the first question. Can anyone tell me what they missed?" Snape drawled.
Draco Malfoy, Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye, had gone white, and was balling his hands into fists ... but not, Harry thought, out of anger, but... what then?
One of the Ravenclaws raised her hand, saying clearly, "That was a notice me not spell, wasn't it sir?"
"Indeed. Ten points to the person who can tell me what I could have done with an unnoticed notice-me-not spell." Snape said.
Hermione raised her hand, but no one was surprised when Snape called on Goyle instead, likely to rub into everyone's soul exactly how easy of a question it was. "Any number of dangers, from people to hippogryffs. Or, even subtler, nothing at all."
Snape cocked his head at that, clearly not having expected that answer.
"Malfoy once used a noticemenot to conceal a hole in the ground. I nearly broke my leg that day." Goyle said stoutly. Malfoy, still looking slightly shaken, tried to look smug.
"Very good," Snape said, his look of approval heading straight toward Draco and not Goyle.
"Well, you have your partners. Music is playing. It is time to dance." Snape said, in that completely straightfaced way of his. Harry wondered, idly, how much Snape was laughing on the inside. He wouldn't be doing this otherwise... would he?
Seamus asked, "Will this be on our pop quiz?"
Snape responded, with a sneer, "I've never heard of a pop quiz with only one question, have you?" Which, Harry noted with growing alarm and suspicion, was neither a yes or a no. It was a distraction, and those were always worth noting.
It had taken most of the room about a minute to overcome the variously terrifying, disquieting, upsetting or horrifying thought that Severus Snape had just ordered his class to dance.
UN-fortunately, that mean that the entire class was just now coming to terms with their partners, not a one of which had been chosen as a decent dance partner. Harry Potter, his heart sinking, looked up at Greg Goyle (half a head taller than Harry, and twice as wide), and asked quietly, "Are you better at leading or following?"
"I've only ever led," Goyle said softly, "Just watch me and do as I do - except backward."
Harry Potter nodded, thinking warily that he'd been horrid at leading in the first place.
And yet, their pairing was not at all the wildest one in the room. Neville and Zach were attempting to dance, where they clearly hadn't even decided who was leading - of course, the quietly stolid Neville was a pretty poor pick for partnering with the obnoxious Zach, who seemed to be trying to tell Neville how to dance (which he'd be doing whether or not he was competent). And Malfoy was white as a ghost (turning nearly-translucent blue) as he gently put his arm around Hermione Granger's waist.
The whole room began to dance, in fits and starts (mainly because boys were apparently really, really bad at following.) Lavender and Parvati twirled around the room, dancing skillfully between people, half the boys were on the floor at some point, and the entire thing was basically chaos.
And that was before the Professor brought out the stinging hexes. That lasted all of five minutes, before Sue Li accidentally stepped on Anthony's leg, which was a neat trick, as she wasn't even partnered with him. It broke with a sickening crack. Everyone in the room stopped dancing, and most had their arms to their sides, looking in mute horror at the boy's teartracks that ran down his face as he sobbed quietly.
Professor Snape looked laconically at the unbloodied boy on the floor, before saying in an impassive tone, "Do I have a volunteer to be momentarily excused from the lesson? Apparently the Infirmary is due another visit."
Oddly enough, it was Justin who raised his hand, saying, "I'll take him to the infirmary." He used his wand to levitate the injured boy out of the room.
"Now," Snape said, clasping his hands together in front of him in a movement just short of a clap (and making his robes resemble a bat's wings curled around himself). "As it would appear that your British hearts are most successfully protesting the inclusion of a Provincial French dance in our curriculum, I suppose I must bow to popular demand." Snape then actually bowed (a short, twenty degree bow that did little other than sending his hair into his face). "English Country Square Dancing then." Snape's white teeth flashed in what might have been a smile on someone else, but on Snape was clearly a sneer.
The class would have gone better had anyone (and I mean anyone) actually known how to do English Country dancing. Snape used stinging hexes to teach, and so "hop lively" turned into less an instruction and more an order. It was actually worse than waltzing, even if fewer people wound up on the floor.
Goyle, when they weren't trying to dance closely, proved to be agile enough on his feet, and Harry found himself moving decently in the rhythm. It was an easy one -two-three-four.
It seemed like an eternity before Snape called a brief halt to the proceedings. "Would anyone like to tell me why we are dancing in a Defense class?"
Lavender, without waiting for herself to be called on, spoke up, giggling, "The Halloween Ball is almost here!"
"That's a month from now," Snape corrected dryly.
Hermione Granger spoke up, suddenly, without waiting to be called on. "Dancing teaches agility, and it teaches reading your partner." Harry barely forestalled a wince (though he saw by Goyle's glance at him that the larger bloke had caught it anyway).
"A bit forward, but true, from the feminine perspective." Snape drawled, spinning around, until his eyes caught out Neville Longbottom.
"Longbottom?" Snape drawled, and it was just slightly shocking to hear Snape not actively peeved at even having to address the clumsy boy.
"I'm... I'm not sure, sir." Neville said, trying not to fidget.
Snape went around the room, and Harry belatedly began to wonder if Snape was just trying to make the boys look like fools, as none of them were answering the question correctly.
With a deep sigh, Snape finally said, "The dance leader, as opposed to the follower, must provide cues. This is not an equal partnership, but one where one party steers and guides... and the other dances exclusively backwards." Snape looked them all over, "You would be well advised to learn how to waltz, if you hope to learn how to dodge hexes. Certainly, your ability to dodge your partner's feet leaves everything to be desired."
Snape again snapped his fingers, and the whole room began to dance again.
This was a far simpler dance than the waltz, so, in retrospect, Harry shouldn't have been so surprised... But the first time he felt a stinging hex, and realized Snape was on the other side of the room... He whirled, out of step with the music, and saw Malfoy smirking, victoriously.
From two inches behind his ear, Snape said curtly, "Dance, Potter." Despite the manifest fact that Snape was on the other side of the room. That hadn't even been the first hex thrown, Harry belatedly understood, recalling Lisa howling and jumping on one foot.
In silence, or nearly - softer than a whisper.
Play the game, Harry told himself, as he continued to move with Goyle. The dance must go on.
Harry wasn't surprised when Snape's voice was at his ear again, "One stinging hex, to the Weasley's bottom." Harry fought not to blaunch, and realized that he'd be the least likely to be identified, since he didn't even need to use his wand (which was in his left hand anyway, as he was the follower at the moment). Still, to do that...
"Now." Snape snapped, and Harry instinctively buckled, his red stinging hex hitting Ron on the bottom, with enough pain that he was hopping while trying not to land on his partner's feet.
Harry found himself wondering if Snape was ever expecting a dance to turn this violent - if people would hide their wands and hex their enemies, all while donning the clumsy facade of politeness. Or was this how every Death Eater Gala went?
The music continued, and Harry spun on.
Harry watched as the room spun on, towards the middle of the square and then out to the edges again, turn left, turn right. Every so often, someone would mess a step, hit someone else's foot, and then there'd be someone jumping on one foot. Without hearing Snape's voice again, all Harry could do was watch, and try and take notes. He first noticed that the stinging hexes were actually doing less damage than male clumsiness (the clumsy girls, even Bulstrode, were too light to actually break bones). Then he tried, as he bowed to Goyle and then to his opposite - to see who was casting.
The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were easy to spot - because when Snape spoke into their ears, they lept into the air, half of the time. The Slytherins were the best at hiding their wands in their sleeves (or, like Harry, using wandless magic). Ron couldn't keep a straight face to save his life, and it lit with unholy glee when he was asked - to shoot Nott, of all people. He must think that Nott was behind that stinging hex. How will he feel when he figures out it was me?
Hermione was doing better, and Seamus and Dean didn't seem to be thinking much of anything - including the hexes. Neville Longbottom was bearing up under them etter, but he was still having trouble getting used to Snape. When it was his turn, he turned ashen grey. Crabbe looked delighted to be dancing with Davis, and that was true even when the hexes started flyng. Parvati and Lavender were making a game out of dodging the hexes, it would seem - a quick glance at Snape's piercing eyes told Harry that Snape was well aware. Though, truth be told, Harry couldn't have told whether Snape approved or not. Unlike Harry Potter, Snape might have merely concluded that it wasn't worth haranguing the "brainless twits" over a game that was only working two times out of three.
Or he might have approved. Harry did not know, and he forced himself to keep that level of understanding. Not knowing, itself, was a powerful place to be, if an indecisive one. It was standing behind the hedgerow at school, listening for Dudley or Piers - knowing they could explode out of either side - or through the hedge, or over, or occasionally and stupidly under the hedge. And he had to be ready. So he had listened.
It was Ron Weasley who said something first, "Hey, we're nearly done with our midday meal," His face getting brighter red as Snape turned his coal-dark eyes on him, "Class was supposed to be over an hour ago at least!"
"For those of you who are not blind, you will note that I have made arrangements for our peculiar circumstances. The headmaster has graciously given permission for the house elves to create this more festive repast." With a gesture, Snape silenced the music, "You may all partake in the feast."
Ron was the first person to the table, of course, dodging between Crabbe and Davis. It would have been hilarious, if Harry hadn't nearly accidentally glanced over at Snape, who for once wasn't looking smug. That alertness made Harry's danger sense tingle. What's he done? Harry thought, and then - the twins flashed into his mind, in all their technicolor glory. Oh, Harry thought, and suddenly wished he'd remembered to bring along some dragonhide gloves.
As it was, if he didn't trust Snape to not have dosed everything... he'd have to bluff his way out. Instead of heading towards the table, he shifted away from it, dancing lightly on his feet in a way that he'd never managed with a partner, his closed mouth humming a weird gypsy tune. He faced the hungry class, now devouring the cream puffs and trifles, the salsa and everything else.
"What's wrong?" Goyle asked from beside Harry's shoulder. Harry had to quell the urge to jump - only mostly successfully. And then? Then he didn't want to give away too much information...
"I forgot my dragonhide gloves." Harry said. Goyle, in response, looked down at his feet for a long moment, before looking up at Harry's green eyes. "Ah." Goyle said shortly, "You won't want to stand over here too long."
Harry nodded in silent assent, before moving off to talk with Neville and Hermione. Malfoy, as expected, had taken the opportunity to flee as far away from his 'dance partner' as possible, and Harry didn't blame him. Malfoy ought to feel fortunate that Hermione hadn't decided the middle of a class was the perfect time for an interrogation. Harry himself would have been hard pressed to not start something like that, if he'd been the victim of Malfoy's bizarre behavior (which Harry thought he understood, if slightly disapproved of).
Harry didn't make it over to the Gryffindors. Instead of colorchanging, everyone in the room turned black and white - and then they all discovered, as they exclaimed, that they sounded like they spoke perfect Queen's English.
"Everyone who has suffered a grievious and unexpected accident this class period will be receiving a zero on their Potions Pop Quiz." Snape said, his robes rustling as he spun around the room. His long nose pointed down at some of his Slytherins, as he said scathingly, "You should be ashamed of yourselves. Even Potter knows not to eat before testing it. Has your hunger so sapped your wit?"
"Hard won experience, that." Harry said, thinking back to Hagrid.
Snape continued as if Harry hadn't said a thing, and maybe the sharp-eared teacher really hadn't heard. "If you have not yet done so, you should read ahead in Most Potente Potions to the section on powders, poisons, and other unsavory traps." Snape smirked, as he said, "Unfortunately, you are all confined to this room until you can either remove the deletirious substance, or it fades on its own. Wouldn't want to give the younger students any ideas."
Harry Potter, one of two people in the room not affected, quietly took a few steps towards the door, hoping to get out before lunch was entirely done.
"That means you too, Potter. Reversals are almost as important than not getting dosed in the first place."
Harry suppressed an aggrieved sigh, as he sank down onto his heels, too tired really to put much effort into removing unknown substances from his peers.
Dinner was hale and wholesome as usual, Harry found, and everyone had (wonder of all wonders) recovered - Harry rather thought it was because Snape didn't fancy having to babysit the entire year's worth of students until curfew. He didn't bother pointing out to everyone that they seemed to be enjoying the dinner more than usual. Supper was best when people just enjoyed chatting. Harry, for his own part, was enjoying filling his teenage male stomach - which had been of the opinion that ignoring food after exercise was a poor job at best. Harry, luckily, had overruled his stomach.
After dinner, he gave a sharp nod at Hermione - trusting Ron to catch it, and headed upstairs, towards the Room of Requirement. His mind was so focused on what they'd be doing - running down two separate paths - no, three - as he tried to imagine who would be at the training session that day. Strangely, he didn't feel awkward about Snape listening in. At least that way, if someone managed to get in abnormal amounts of trouble, they wouldn't have to find him first.
So resolved, it was a shock when a sudden weight tugged on his sleeve. Harry kept barreling ahead, but with the weight, he nearly faceplanted into a wall. (As it was, he wound up spun into an alcove, missing the wall by bare inches). Turning towards the abnormal weight, he saw Pansy Parkinson, her smirking face creased with amusement. "Gotcha, Potter," she smirked, in a manner disturbingly like Tonks.
"Oh, it's you," Harry said, mentally deducting a whole host of points from himself for
- First, managing to be so preoccupied that someone could touch him
-Second, so unaware of his surroundings that a mere sharp jerk could send him into a wall.
-Three, that neither of the above had actually resulted in him drawing his wand or assuming a combat stance.
That was sloppy and Harry abruptly realized that if Snape ever caught him acting this way, he'd never hear the end of it. And with Snape, that meant stinging hexes whenever Harry Potter looked the least bit unwary.
"What?" Harry Potter finally managed to stammer, before (quite belatedly) recollecting that he was going somewhere.
"That explanation you promised me. I'd like it. Now, if you would be so kind." Pansy was smiling a soft, sweet smile that Harry was sure didn't belong anywhere on her face, so it raised his hackles immediately.
"I... why can't you ask Hermione?" Harry finally got out, "I wasn't heading upstairs for my health, you know!"
"Because I hate her, and her explanations are boring." Pansy said, "If I wanted facts, I'd talk with her, sure. But that's not what I want."
"I'd really love to say and chat-" Harry said, before colliding face first into the invisible wall Pansy had probably erected just as he was turning to leave.
"I forgave you last time." Pansy said, "I shan't again, so, for the moment, my needs come first."
Harry, who by this point was on the floor, and hoping his nose wasn't bleeding - again, sat up, glaring at her. "Okay, ask your questions. But be quick about it, I'd rather not have the people I was supposed to meet stumbling into the both of us in a crooked little alcove on the sixth floor."
"As you wish." Pansy said, her mouth smirking.
Pansy didn't look at all like Hermione Granger, but she had that same look in her eyes. "How do these ... magnets.. work, Potter?"
"They attract metal objects nearby them." Harry Potter said promptly.
"So, you've mentioned, but how do they work?" Pansy asked.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean?" Harry asked, working on not fidgeting, and unsure whether he was really succeeding.
"Can I turn one on and off?" Pansy said, crossing her arms and stating this like it should be obvious.
"No.. but you could summon one, and that'd be about the same difference, I think." Potter responded.
"Except that it'd be sticky with everything from hither to thither." Pansy said. "How about transfiguration? Can I make one of these magnets?"
"I don't see why not..." Harry said.
"And it's all metal? Do metal objects point towards the stone?" Pansy asked.
Harry was shaking his head, and then paused, "Not unless the object was only partially magnetizable metal... like a sword with a wooden hilt."
"Owch, that sounds like it might hurt."
"Yeah. It would." Harry responded.
"What are magnetizable metals? What metals aren't?"
"Mainly steel and iron are magnetizable. Gold, silver, zinc - even bronze and brass aren't."
"Is there any way to hide a magnet?"
"No, but a small one has a very small area of effect." Harry said.
"is there any way to increase a magnet's effect?" Pansy asked.
"yes, but probably not in highly magical areas." Harry said, "And you're going to have to ask Hermione for how."
Pansy sneered at the thought, then added, "What else do you know in that mugglefied head of yours?"
"I'm... not sure." Harry responded
"Typical. Even when you're talking about combat effects, leave it to a Gryffindor to not know what he knows." Pansy sneered.
"Why do you want to know so much?" Harry asked, his brow creased in frustration.
"Knowledge is power, surely you've heard the phrase." Pansy said, her smile wicked sharp, "The more I know, the more I can hurt you." Again, that flash of a smile, somehow more terrifying than Bellatrix Black, who, after all was mad. Pansy smirked, walking off without so much as a thank you or a by your leave.
Harry, for his part, was happy that she was just walking off at all, even if, as he hurried up to the Room, he very much understood why she'd asked him, not Hermione. Hermione loved details, and plenty of things that Pansy just didn't want to know about - the whys, not the hows.
Grudgingly, he accepted that she'd had a point about talking with him instead of Hermione.
Now, he was just going to have to find a way to explain being late. At least Pansy didn't wear enough perfume that he'd reek of her.
Harry raced upstairs, his instincts propelling him forward almost faster than he could keep his balance. He had one thought in his head, which was that someone was going to kill each other. It was so allconsuming that he didn't pay attention to how many stairs he climbed, or anything like that. Just one foot in front of the other.
He ran into the room of requirement, not even checking that it had the right shaped door. "Blimey, mate, what happened to you?" Ron asked, looking bluntly concerned.
"Find another girl to shove in a closet?" Draco Malfoy oozed, his greasy words as oily as his hair.
"You could try showing up on time, you know." Hermione said, her hands on her hips.
Harry distantly registered that he wasn't actually panting, as he looked them over. They'd all been sitting in various stages of... meditation or stretching, it looked like. Well, with nobody dead, Harry supposed he couldn't complain.
"Sorry, I kind of got caught in something..." Harry muttered looking down at his feet.
"Is that a blush?" Draco Malfoy asked.
Harry Potter said, looking straight into Malfoy's eyes (the effect was limited, as they were half a room away from each other), "So what if it is? I blush at the drop of a hat." Harry gave an incredulous look to Malfoy, who responded by raising his hands.
"Alright, alright," Draco said, "Truce." And he ended that with a flick of his lips and a gentle snort, which told Harry that he had really just been playing around.
"What's the game, boys?" Harry said, and then belatedly added, "And girl." And then caught the glare from Hermione, and started backing away hurriedly.
"I can be part of the guys, Harry James Potter." Hermione said, advancing on him.
Malfoy, who'd somehow managed to dance close to Ron while this scene was playing out, was avidly watching the scene. Still, he said to Ron - his eyes still trained on the quarreling pair, "Maybe we'd better start dueling. Wouldn't want them to get a jump on us, would we?"
"Deal." Ron responded, in the same low voice, and they began to spar.
"I'm sorry, I"m sorry!" Harry said, holding his hands above his head, until Hermione dropped her wand, looking almost striken, and then Harry peeked out from behind his arms, smirking.
"Harry!" Hermione shrieked, "you tricked me!"
And the room exploded in fireworks.
By the time the room had cleared, everyone had hit the decks. "Who did that?" Harry asked, confused.
"Weasel-eah" Draco said, and then, at everyone's look of blank incomprehension, "as opposed to weaselbee?"
"Oi, that could use some work." Ron said.
"Duels okay with everyone?" Harry said, but didn't let anyone get a word in edgewise, before he started flinging spells around.
"Sorry, I guess not." He said impishly. Thing was, Harry was good on the offense, and so everyone else in the room was hiding, dodging, or waiting patiently for Harry to make a mistake
The best defense is a good offense isn't strictly true, Harry thinks, but it's what I've been trained in, so I'd better end this show. Harry maneuvered himself near one of the couches, before diving straight behind it, using the moment when he was completely shielded to call to mind a different spell.
The end of training left them all sweaty, half laughing, half exhaustedly slumped. "Butterbeer!" Ron called, and it appeared.
For a moment, Malfoy and Hermione stopped and stared at it, while Harry grabbed a flagon and started to drink.
"It's not real. It can't be..." They both whispered, and then their eyes met, startled, to hear their words coming out of someone else's mouth.
"Don't care," Harry Potter said, with a broad grin, "It tastes right."
With a shrug, Hermione picked up a stein, and said, "Fortune favor the foolish!" Her grin was wide, and the two laggard boys lept to keep up.
"More!" Ron said, and more appeared - as everyone'd drained their steins.
Harry thought of the time, and saw a window appear, showing the light fading. Shite, I was supposed to meet with Snape . Harry quaffed the last of his butterbeer, and then stood, saying, "I gotta run."
"Got some hot closet action going on?" Malfoy said, in that knife-in-your-side manner he had. For him, it was almost affectionate, Harry supposed.
"Not exactly." Harry said, "As if I could keep a secret like that - the entire school'd know within a week!" Harry laughed, though no one else did.
"Well, for once, I just might not tell them," Malfoy said with a smirk that was so familiar Harry briefly wanted to punch it.
"Wouldn't matter. Never matters, really." Harry said, and with that realization, had managed to ... if not forgive Malfoy, to forget about a lot of things he'd been holding against him for really no reason. With that, he slipped out the door, leaving everyone else still basking in the post-duel glow.
It wasn't the dancing lessons, that was for sure, Harry thought as he lept down the stairs, taking them three and four at a time, using the bannisters to jump over fading or moving steps. and bank around turns. If he thought of the whole thing as flying, it just clicked, in his head.
Before he'd really wanted to get there, he was right at Snape's door, and knocking, trying - mostly in vain, to moderate his breathing.
"Enter." Snape's voice called clearly through the door.
So Harry did, closing the door behind him as soon as he was through. He stood there, nearly against the door, looking at Snape. Idly, he wondered what Snape saw when Harry looked at him - really looked. Right now, Harry was just assessing how ... depleted Snape looked. Professor Snape standing was a good sign, if only Harry could trust it. He'd forced himself through things enough times to know how possible it was, and it was quite a bit more powerful for Snape.
"I believe you have a report for me," Snape said, one eyebrow raised in questioning interest.
"On what, sir?" Harry asked.
"On an interaction you witnessed between Lucius Malfoy and members of the Hogwarts staff." Snape said, rapping it out quickly enough that Harry knew he was starting to get annoyed, even if he wasn't to the point of showing it yet.
Harry's brow creased, and suddenly he blurted out, "But sir! you were there!"
"All the more reason that I can intelligently evaluate your report." Snape said implacably.
Harry Potter forced himself to stillness, thinking over what happened. Almost without thinking, he began to pace, still near the door, letting his feet move when his mind needed to stay sharp and focused.
Snape forbore to comment, and Harry was quietly glad. Snape wanted a good report, then, and not a rushed one.
Harry wheeled to face his professor, and stated calmly, "Professor McGonagall was there. I can't figure out whether that was intentional - on your part, or not."
Snape said, softly, "She does have access to the wards, and know when they've been breached by someone who's not authorized."
Harry frowned at this, thinking, "Dumbledore does as well, doesn't he?" Snape gives a slight nod of almost begrudging assent. "Then you had to have planned this beforehand."
"Oh?" Snape asked, with that irritating eyebrow raise.
"If you hadn't had it planned, then the Headmaster might have just as easily shown up as McGonagal." Harry said firmly. "Even I've heard about Dumbledore and Malfoy feuding over Fudge's ear."
"Why would we have wanted McGonagall to show up at all?" Snape queried.
"An intentional insult, and a reminder. Malfoy hasn't exactly escaped the last few years spotless, even if he's not in prison yet."
Snape smirked, asking, "You think he will be?"
"What's that saying?" Harry Potter said firmly, "Orders are orders. In spite of himself, Mister Malfoy may have no choice."
"You think the Dark Lord would be so foolish as to waste one of his Inner Circle?" Snape asked.
"Tom doesn't appear to be much more stable than Bellatrix Black, and she's at least been in Azkaban for years, sir."
Snape inclined his head, as if to suggest that Harry'd scored a point.
"You called Mister Malfoy an old friend - but you didn't seem to act like friends. You were needling him, sir"
"Then you've missed a layer or two, Potter. How many people do you think Mister Malfoy would allow to do such to him without consequence?" Snape asked.
"One, sir. And not you." Harry responded promptly. "He might see it as a matter of honor. I know Draco would, sir." It felt odd to be using Malfoy's first name, particularly when this conversation wasn't entirely academic.
"You're right, that there will be consequences - though I assure you, they may not be the ones you expect." Snape smirked, as if he knew something that Harry didn't.
"Would you have come up with some other reason to punish your house, if they hadn't muffed the assignment, sir?" Harry Potter asked, "Was the assignment entirely aimed towards punishing Mister Malfoy?"
"I never do something with only one reason." Snape said coolly, "And if you object to that being the only reason for the punishment, perhaps you could craft another goal for the assignment? Something to make it worthwhile for the students, and not just me picking points with Malfoy."
Harry's brain whirled, as he stepped back a pace, nodding, "I'll try sir. May I have a moment?" This time he did not pace, but merely thought of all that mud, forming a sea in front of him. But he'd cleaned worse than that before. What are the advantages of cleaning something? For that was really what the Slytherins had done.
Harry thought, and thought some more. His mind was back at the Dursleys, and he'd never, ever, even Once stopped to think he was learning something from cleaning. He HATED cleaning. At least when you made food, you did something productive. People ate what you made, and were happy. But cleaning? It always got mussed up, and then you had to do it all over again And again, And again.
"Persistence, Dedication." Harry said, more talking to himself than anyone else.
"Difficult things to test in class, wouldn't you say, Potter?"
"No, sir, you test them every day in Potions." Harry responded, his voice rapping like a cane on cobblestones.
"If I do, then it is hardly useful in this context, is it not?" Snape responded.
Harry nodded, his eyes shut, again. He was thinking back to how much he hated cleaning, his hands fisted by his sides. How every time he stepped in the door at the Dursleys... he could see Every Single Thing Wrong. He had hated being able to see that, but... but it was a skill, and one he'd learned long and hard.
"When I was a child, I was stuck cleaning a lot." Harry Potter said.
"Doubtless because your relatives didn't trust you with harder chores." Snape said snidely. Harry opted for ignoring him - he'd either seen enough to know the truth, or he wasn't likely to listen, so why bother protesting?
"Maybe so." Harry said, grinning, "But they trusted me with cooking at the tender age of five, so I'd say it's unlikely, sir." Abruptly, Harry found that his tongue had decided to speak up anyway. From the twitch of the edge of Snape's mouth, he approved of the logical argument. Possibly he'd just been expecting Harry to have a conniption.**
"Cleaning was the one chore I hated. I liked gardening, even when I had to steal water from the hose like a dog. I liked cooking - it was useful. But cleaning, sir? Every time I cleaned, something was always unclean before I turned around." Harry said, his hands still shaking a bit. "It didn't matter whether I'd get scolded or not. I'd still know."
"Your Point, Potter?" Snape asked.
"Perception, sir." Harry said, and his eyes abruptly twinkled. "You're going to do a Scavenger Hunt!" Harry hadn't participated in any, of course, but he'd seen some of the other children playing at Piers' birthday party (Harry had simply been sitting, for once not the focus of a Harry Hunting game. He'd liked that, it was a good memory).
"What is a Scavenger Hunt, and how does it fit into my classes?" Snape asked softly, his eyes sharp on Harry's sparkling green ones.
"Defense. If you need to know if someone's come by - and you can't just look at footprints."
Harry's sour voice at the last must have made Snape interrupt snidely, "Oh, you realized that, did you?"
"Credit Parkinson," Harry said firmly.
"I shall, and I shall also credit you." Snape said.
"Me? Why?" Harry asked, tilting his head in confusion.
"It is a rare person who knows all the answers. Listening closely enough to gain information from others - particularly those who are not so patient as to tell you outright." Snape said, "Clever questions will take you far, but learning how to listen will take you farther."
After that, Harry didn't want to admit that Pansy had as much as told him outright, so he just kept silent.
"Continue with your report, Potter." Snape said, and Harry tried to stand up a bit straighter, taking note of the formality in his professor's voice. It helped him draw a bit of a distinction between Snape-the-Teacher and Snape-the-Death-Eater.
"I didn't understand it all, but sir, Mister Malfoy seemed upset at you breaking his ... toys? He seems a bit old to be playing with them, and you don't see like the type to be breaking ... toys." Harry said, sounding baffled.
"Surely you aren't so lackluster as to miss the metaphor." Snape sneered.
"Even so, I don't know what he's referring to." Harry said.
"In this case, he's referring to Cornelius Fudge..." Snape said, his voice drawling and quiet at the same time.
"The Minister?" Harry's eyes bulged, and he caught a glimpse of Snape looking smug (though that look seemed perpetually around the man, if not always shown). In a slightly higher pitched voice, Harry asked, "How did you break the Minister?"
"Oh, surely you've guessed." Snape said, smirking, "I merely pulled him out of politicking and into campaigning mode." If there was anyone who could look more catlike smug than Snape, Harry Potter was quite glad to have never met them.
Harry groaned, understanding, "He's too busy trying to get campaign contributions..." Harry looked up at Snape, eyes wide. "Am I... going to have to deal with him...?"
"Actually, the point was rather to have you not." Snape said, his voice snide.
"Thank goodness, I'm not sure I'm ready to have the Minister sucking up to me..." Harry said, shifting uncomfortably.
"Starting to see some benefits from your fall from Saviour Status?" Snape smirked, "Not being courted by Fudge serves two purposes: First, it makes him more interested, and Second, it keeps you out of Hogsmeade. Otherwise known as out of trouble." Snape somehow managed to finish that by looking down his long nose at Harry.
Harry backed up a pace, purely so he could glare into Snape's eyes. "Hey! I've been perfectly capable of staying out of trouble when I've been in Hogsmeade!"
"Including throwing snowballs from under an invisibility cloak?" Snape asked, "When you weren't even supposed to be in Hogsmeade!"
Harry refused to blush. Harry refused to blush. Harry was blushing anyway. "Harmless fun! And I should have been able to go, everyone else was going!"
"Mercilessly attacking someone who couldn't even tell there was an enemy nearby?" Snape purred.
"They were snowballs!" Harry said, and despite himself and his fists at his side, he cracked up laughing. Snape, amazingly, waiting until he was done before continuing to question Harry.
"Repeat back everything you didn't understand. Precisely." Snape said, and the look in his eyes would brook no defiance.
Harry tried, he really did, but is there ever a time when you actually remember what you didn't understand? Harry had been too caught up in don't get caught...He hadn't been, as he'd done often at the Dursleys, just the mouse with very big ears. And so, with every painstaking, often mangled word, he knew he'd done wrong, and his heart twisted deep in his belly.
And Snape watched him like a hawk - or, more precisely, an owl. Silent, and unforgiving.
"Whenever you do not understand something, that is precisely the point where you must pay the most attention. Particularly when you are around Slytherins, but everyone uses code some of the time. And, if you are very lucky, the code might be one that someone else understands." Snape said gravely, and Harry could do nothing other than hang his head.
"And what if no one knows the code?" Harry asked, in a voice softer than a whisper.
Snape replied likewise, "Then look to your friend Miss Granger, for logic can unravel many a puzzle set to ensnare unwary minds."
Harry nodded, and Snape said, "Continue, then."
"You said that Malfoy's superior - Tom, I think, would not approve of Minister Fudge-?" Harry asked, his voice both tentative and strong, like a darting silverfish.
"I did." Snape said, nodding as his hair fell into his eyes.
"Mister Malfoy was quick to say that he didn't owe you anything- " Harry said, breaking off, "Why would he even think he'd - he didn't ask you for anything-"
"Actions taken on behalf of another often imply that the helped should show gratitude." Snape said gravely.
"And he was trying to say that he didn't believe that you were acting on his behalf!" Harry said, nodding, "You gain much from Fudge's inattention, do you not?"
"So I wish him to believe, at any rate." Snape said, his velveteen voice echoing softly through the room.
"And... and you also want him to believe that Tom does as well!" Harry shook his head, "How does Tom win? I thought Fudge would be good for him, for suppressing news of his return?"
"No one at the helm of government means that no one is watching for subversion." Snape said, flashing his teeth in that wolfish mockery of a smile, "And that's my specialty." Something cold wrapped around Harry's heart at that, leaving him wondering if he'd been subverted by Snape. If that was even possible, and if he'd realize it if he was...
Harry shook his head, to leave off pointless thinking and pay attention, "You told him that you didn't think he was good company!" Harry said with a mirthless chuckle.
"And he was probing you about us, maybe even about me." Harry said, his hands fiddling idly with his robe. "That says he finds us still of some interest, even without..."
"His son does, certainly," Snape said, "Although that may be as much for lack of anything better to focus on." Snape said with a snippy sniff. "Still he'd hardly be the first parent to want an unbiased report on his child's wild fantasies."
Harry's eyes bulged at that, wondering all of a sudden what Malfoy had been telling his father about the Gryffindor escapades. Malfoy had a silver tongue at the best of times - but his exaggeration could potentially sell them far above their actual strengths. Assuming he was exaggerating, at least.
"Or," Snape said, "He might just be interested in those lion-breasted brats who defeated him." Snape said with a sneer. "He's hardly had the sort of daily runnings-in that I do, you know."
Harry found himself wanting to squint at that, wondering, suddenly, why those words in particular sounded both strange, and fitting, on Snape's tongue. Something wasn't quite right...
Harry found his chin tilting up, all without his consent, as he bullied on, "You called me boy! I heard you!" His eyes flashed Avada-green, "You wanted to see if I'd crack-" Harry said, his hands fisting by his sides, "You never call me that!" Harry's face lit up with a wide grin.
Snape's eyes merely widened a fraction, and he nodded slightly, "Where better to test you than in a school, I wonder?"
Harry shook his head, continuing as if a bull in a china shop, "But that just begs the question - what are you testing me for?"
"Capabilities, in the main, although the training is that of a spy." Snape said blandly, as if he wasn't letting a bull loose in Harry's china shop of a brain.
"A... spy? Why?" Harry asked, unsure, suddenly that he wanted to know the answer and yet pell mell asking it anyway.
"Because whatever we do, whatever we say, it seems you are hell bent and determined to do it anyway." Snape said, his voice hard as steel. "Might as well do it right, eh?" Snape managed that last while leaning down until his face was almost pressed against Harry's.
"Yes, sir." Harry said, meeting him eye to eye.
"I doubt you'd ever prove decent at infiltration, so don't worry about needing to lie your way into the Dark Lord's residence." Snape said offhandedly, "But that's hardly the only skill a spy uses."
"You have another question," Snape said, his limbs in graceful motion like a cat's as he paced around the room. "Ask it."
Harry looked at Snape - really looked, and then said, in a small voice, "You won't want to answer, sir."
"That is my perogative, yes." Snape said, and in a voice that oozed a caramelized glee, "Ask it anyway."
"What were you and Mister Malfoy talking about, sir?" Harry Potter asked, trying to pitch his voice into the penitent range, and figuring he was abysmally failing.
"I shall tell you this - and it shall be this time only, as for once in Mister Malfoy's life, his goals and Dumbledore's coincide." Snape said. Harry said nothing, just looked, expectant and open. "After all, Mister Malfoy would hardly wish his son thrust into the throes of an active war, now would he?" Snape's mouth curled up into the ghost of a smirk.
"I won't get into the details, but suffice it to say, we are all dancing for the amusement of the Dark Lord at this moment." Snape turned, abruptly, flashing his eyes at Harry. "When he stops being amused, people will begin to die."
"I see, sir." Harry said.
"Your report was nearly acceptable," Snape said sternly, "At least you were clever enough to not get caught."
Harry's green eyes found Snape's, and he couldn't quite stop himself from blurting out, "What would you have done then, sir?"
"Oh, probably nothing," Snape said lightly, "What would you expect from two Death Eater's in Dumbledore's personal domain?"
Harry blinked, once, and then twice, "Pain, sir."
"Too true. Nothing permanent, of course - that would be too noticeable." Snape sniffed, "I would have stopped him, of course, if he'd gotten beyond the realm of punishment."
"You don't think he would, though," Harry observed.
"No," Snape said. "You are dismissed."
Harry made for the door as if the winds of Hades were at his back. He'd already had one question answered that he hadn't deserved the answer to. He didn't want to press his luck.
**making an exception to my "harry doesn't know long words" because this seems exactly the type of word that Petunia would use. Harry's more sharp than intelligent.
*Think waltz, it's a distinctly gliding varietal of music, about the polar opposite of a Sousa March.