Harry Potter well knew that Hermione had enough books to go on a crusade.
He knew something else too, though, and that was that Ron and his ilk would tire quickly of new spells.
Yes, it was sad to say, but true.
"My turn, Hermione" Harry said quietly but firmly before class.
"But why? I have all of these lesson plans written up..."
"Snape's given us something more wide-ranging, and I think most people will fail the assignment without some actual group homework." Harry gave Hermione his best pleading look.
"Alright, fine. But I'm going to demonstrate some spells at the end of class."
"I'll try to hurry," Harry said with a grin, part of him laughing at Hermione's dedication, and a different part exulting that it was Snape who had them here. He wouldn't catch them and take off points the way Umbridge would have.
As everyone filed in, Harry noticed that students still had a tendency to congregate around their own Houses. He didn't like that. He wanted to see people... well, getting an appreciation for others. It was easy enough to think of Luna as the epitome of a Ravenclaw, or Sue Bones for Hufflepuff, or, well he had to guess himself, sadly, as the epitome of Gryffindor. Which was silly, when he thought about it: wasn't the hat trying to send him to Slytherin? Harry'd have to ask someone else, he thought, maybe Hermione.
"We're going to do something different today."
"Why's that?" Zack smith said.
"Because it's Gryffindor's turn to teach, and I'm not letting you flunk Snape's course. Whatever he's calling it today." Harry Potter said, trying to keep his voice reasonable.
Malfoy snorted, somewhere behind him. Harry wasn't sure if that would help or not. Didn't particularly care either.
"So, today, we're going to form teams, and try to come up with the most creative solutions to the problem."
"I call Goyle!" Crabbe said firmly. Harry couldn't blame the bloke. Goyle was actually (reportedly) good at the subject. And Crabbe looked like the only thing he was good at was pounding nails. Hm, maybe he was good at wizarding history. He certainly didn't seem to be good at magic.
By the time Luna and Harry and Sue had finished getting the crews together, they looked motley indeed, as if the groups joined together had created Cloaks of Many Colors.
Harry took his seat, beside Nott and Zacharias and Luna. "Alright, I know Luna you weren't in class, so maybe we should let... Nott start?"
"I didn't even catch one cat," Nott said languidly, "Why would you want to start with me?"
Luna spoke up instead of Harry, "Even a loss is something to be learned from. Let's begin with losses, and then look at victories."
Nott frowned at the comment, and Harry punched in, "I'll start first, then. I failed to capture Crookshanks."
Zach laughed, "What kind of a name for a cat is that?"
"Hermione's." Harry Potter responded, all traces of good humor gone. Zach's face stilled, and he tried to make a conciliatory gesture, as he said, "Oh," which when you thought about it made him sound stupid.
Nott was looking at Harry carefully, as if he was some sort of color-changing potion, and Nott wanted to catch him in the middle of the change, when he was all green and red at once, and looked purple.
Luna giggled, slightly, and said lightly and reproachfully, "Harry! Pulling the wrackspurts into a ball in your belly isn't the way to be rid of them." As everyone turned towards Luna, she continued lightly, "Plus it leads to indigestion."
"You mean ulcers," Harry said, smiling. She was right about that, as Luna often was, if you had the patience to listen.
"What's an ulcer?" The entire group asked him, and Harry - who really didn't know - gave a little sigh, "Ask Hermione," he said, in a resigned tone of voice.
"You don't know." Nott said, his voice so low that Harry was pretty sure that Zach, on the other side of the circle they'd made, couldn't hear. Of course, Harry rather suspected that was the point.
Harry nodded back, acknowledging the point Nott had scored.
Nott seemed to sit there for a moment, collecting his thoughts. Harry felt oddly at ease - part of that was Luna being around, she had this crystal calm about her that seemed to settle everyone else down. Most silences weren't calm. In Harry's experience, they tended to be hostile. Snape had dozens, from "you are scum" to "there'd better be a good reason for this!"
Eventually, Nott spoke up, "The first problem I had was finding cats. I've never much cared for the fickle creatures, and all of them that i knew of, someone else did too." Nott paused, and then continued, "And by the time I'd organized a list of likely-to-be-caught felines, their owners or friends were already upon them." Nott sighed, nearly deflating before straightening his spine as if by habit. I wonder if Malfoy had the same tutor? Focus, Harry. "So, there i was without any way to find a cat." Nott smirked, looking a little smug, "So I set out to get them to find me." Luna smiled at that, her expression caught midway between dreamy and incisive. "Turns out cats don't actually like caviar." Nott said, "I laid about five caviar-laden traps." Zach was looking at Nott in unabashed horror. "Noise traps, Smith, not kill-traps."
Smith smiled back awkwardly, saying "You're alright Nott," Harry wasn't particularly sure that Smith believed what he just said.
"Where'd you put the traps?" Harry asked, wondering if he'd get a bit more detail on the quiet Slytherin.
"Mostly in the dungeons. Whereever I'd seen a cat, really." Nott responded.
"That'll do it," Harry said, to Nott's frown - not quite a question, but definite incomprehension. "Cats hate the damp and cold - it's why they seek out sunbeams. When they're down there, it's to hunt."
"So why didn't the food work?" Nott responded.
"Because they're down there to hunt, not to feed. Cats don't often hunt because they're hungry." Harry said.
Luna nodded saying, "all cats play with their food. I thought everyone knew that."
Narcissa Malfoy sat at her dressing room's desk, idly playing with a quill. Her son had sent her a short note, about a question that her cousin's cousin on her maternal side had raised. That wasn't meant to be subtle - it was merely a declaration that this was Family Business, and as such was at least partially shielded from Honor and Duty. In short, by writing this way, her son was asking her to refrain from notifying her husband, or his Dark Lord.
That was easy enough. Nobody read Narcissa Malfoy's mail, as it was full of fripperies sent back and forth between High Society Ladies. They wrote in code half the time anyway, and the crucial length of a hem might actually resolve to whether to poison one's lover before one's husband discovered him. Kinder to kill him than allow him to be tortured (at least that was the Nice Theory. The alternate theory was He's Mine To Kill, Not Yours).
But.
This was a question that more resembled a can of worms. An open can of worms. Severus Snape was a notoriously private man, and to talk about things that he had left well buried (in this case literally) in the past? That would cause trouble. Even if they weren't in the middle of a politicking war, it would cause trouble. Snape wasn't the type to take someone spilling his secrets lightly.
Still.
Narcissa badly wanted to know who dared.
Snape moved with feline grace, and was as sadistic as a cat as well. Narcissa knew that someone would pay for spilling a secret. Severus Snape buried his deep, and she wasn't deluded enough to think she knew half of his - and she knew him well.
There was another angle to this as well, and why Narcissa was determined to write back to her son. This was not the sort of question you asked a causal acquaintance. She had thought Potter was not on speaking terms with her son. It would be to her son's advantage to cultivate that... just in case. There were many things that could go wrong with this politickin' war, and Narcissa Malfoy was determined to see her son survive.
In the end, she wrote two notes: One to her son, telling him to pass this note to Harry Potter, and not to open it. He would follow her instruction, even as it drove him crazy. She also asked her son to figure out who had started the rumor.
To Harry Potter? She simply write, "Severus did have a friend in Gryffindor; her name was Lily." Even as she wrote it, she elided off the last name, a habit of concealment that was hard to break, even when it did no good.
Harry spoke up then, saying, "I've known cats all my life. Predicting them wasn't my problem." Harry took a breath, trying not to feel stupid and get angry. "I failed to predict people. My friends even."
Everyone was looking at him, and he tried not to feel like he had two heads. These were perfectly easy mistakes to make, he tried to reassure himself. They were also perfectly stupid, and that was why the reassurance didn't work at all.
"I thought about the cats I knew best, because I'd have the easiest time catching them." Harry said, and Nott looked vaguely approving. "However, they aren't my cats. Hermione's cat was a lot easier for her to catch than it was for me - and I had to get into the girls' dorm to boot!"
"Harry got in the girls dorm! To catch a pussy!" Zach said, his booming laugh not quite covering what he'd said. Other people were looking at him curiously, and he was suddenly glad that at least the Slytherins understood the wordplay. They were prickly enough without thinking that he was a damn creep!
"I wasn't actually inside, just flying outside the window." Harry said promptly.
"You can do that?" Padma wailed, "I'm going to need better curtains!"
Everyone laughed at that, but Harry could see considering looks on the faces of odd people. Malfoy, for one. "It appears there is a disadvantage to living in the Lion's Tower." he drawled, and Goyle cracked up - nevermind that Goyle wasn't anywhere near Malfoy at the time.
After everything had calmed down, Zach said, "I wound up trying to catch three toads."
"How'd that happen?" Harry asked, intrigued - and glad to see that there was something that could crack Zach's immense ego.
"They were rustling, and they sounded kind of like a cat, and you all know how cats like creeping into dark dens."
"Boxes, they like boxes," Harry said absentmindedly.
"So there I was, with my hands in that dark den..." Zach said, smiling cheerfully, and Harry reflected on how he had big beefy hands. "And a cat comes around the corner, clearly intent on stalking... whatever was in the den!"
"You caught it?" Nott said lazily, Harry belatedly understanding that Nott wanted to hurry the conversation along, and that he was a bit sick of the pointless embroidery. Harry hadn't minded. Perhaps Nott didn't like the study work they were doing today - well and good, he'd love Hermione's plans.
"Yeah, and didn't it howl, hideously irate at getting the muck I still had on my arm all over itself!" Zach said, smiling cheerily. Beside him, Nott rolled his eyes, and Harry found himself thinking that Nott's interruption hadn't saved a single word.
By the time the meeting had ended, Harry and the rest had a decent background for writing the essay. Plus, they'd all gotten to hear about Goyle cornering and then stunning the Transfiguration Professor! Truly, that had taken the cleverness that Slytherin was famed for.
Harry was quite tired (having been up early to run), and wanted to huff back to Gryffindor's dorms and collapse into sleep. Unfortunately, it seemed like everyone'd got the Yule idea together.
Specifically, the girls in DA, who wanted to gather around Harry and ply him with their charms. Harry wanted to burst out with "I don't like aggressive women!" - but he had liked Hermione, and she was the epitome of a ballsy bitch. So he couldn't actually say that. Besides, she'd have given him grief ofver it regardless.
Harry didn't especially fancy telling the girls no, either. That generally meant tears, and Harry did Not Like girls in Tears.
So, he tried his timehoned skill of avoidance. All in all, it might have worked better if it wasn't the Room of Requirement. Real hard to hide in a leopardskin patterned bedsheet. Real tough to tell someone that you really weren't interested, and could she please get Off The Bed so Harry could turn down the next one. Parvati and Padma had tried to go for a threesome, and Harry didn't want to even contemplate how that would work without being in the safety of his own bed.
Hannah and Sue were really, really nice about the whole thing, which was in some ways worse. Because how was he supposed to let them down when they looked like they'd nearly given up before even asking him? His heart went out to them, but not in the "Let's Date" sort of way.
In the end, he hadn't managed to turn down a single girl.
Which meant tomorrow was going to be worse.
Harry Potter hadn't considered what the next day was going to be like. He hadnt' thought about it at all, just gotten up to his bed and collapsed. He woke early in the morning, and was out the door before most of Gryffindor had woken up. He was glad, if it was a rather belated observation, to realize that his lack of sleep (and subsequent meanderings) would be much better tolerated if he did it during daylight. When there was no especial reason not to comply, he would do as suggested.
Snape was his usual crotchety self, sending Harry scampering along treelimbs and between treetrunks. Harry just knew he had twigs in his hair. (Better not let Malfoy see - he'd never let me live it down) His quick feet having left Snape finally behind (at least he hoped, as he hadn't heard or felt any curses at his back in the past quarter mile or so).
Romilda Vane was in his path, wearing what might pass for "running clothes" in the notoriously stodgidy Wizarding World. Namely, bloomers that went down to her ankles. "Hiya Harry! Mind if I join you?"
Which, to the point, Harry did. It would be rude to outpace her, and... "If you can keep up..." Harry said, grinning.
Romilda jogged beside his easy pace, but as soon as she opened her mouth, he sped up. "Harry, what's your favorite class?"
"Easy! DADA. What's it like with Tonks?" Harry responded, speeding up again.
"I'm not with Tonks, I'm just a year behind you!" Romilda said, and Harry, wanting to avoid the awkwardness, poured on the speed.
Romilda was left in the dust, and Harry - aching and tired - limped his way up to Gryffindor Tower for a wellneeded shower.
Severus Snape was at the High Table early, as usual. He rarely slept late, and with the early morning training regimen, that had become even more unlikely. He drank a cup of black coffee, and then another, in an early morning ritual that nicely disguised his perfect wakefulness. The school thought of him as a grump at the best of times (was that Dungeon Bat at the worst? Maybe Vampire? He'd quite lost track of the myriad nicknames)... Still, he appreciated time to plan responses to tricky situations, and having them dropped on him at daybreak was hardly conducive to that.
Severus Snape scowled into his bowl of oats (not quite porridge, Dutch Oatmeal was a fine rejoinder to Minerva's constant claim that Scotch was the best alcohol in existence). This would indeed be a Yule ball to remember. Last one had featured Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour, both fine figures that knew how to deal with fame, fortune, and the attentions of others.
This one would be markedly different. It would feature Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, neither of which seemed to have realized the essential practicality of finding someone, anyone, to romance - before the hordes tried to hunt them down. Snape was vaguely comforted by the knowledge that Granger was by Potter's side - there did need to be someone to notice if he'd been giving a Love Potion - or ten, at which point the effects would be entirely muddled, but still affecting him. Merlin save them all if Severus Snape had to save Harry Potter from a wayward lass.
Neither of the two boys were prepared for this, and so Severus Snape anticipated a unique treat.
Schadenfreude.
After all, he'd never in seven years of Hogwarts been hunted by uncountable women. Of course, it was a standard adolescent fantasy, so some boys would be finding their world rocked at the seams.
And this is why Severus Snape spent the morning meal scowling into his breakfast cereal. Light forfend anyone see the dark Potions Master of Hogwarts laughing in genuine amusement.
Harry Potter stumbled into the Great Hall, his glasses still a little fogged from the shower he'd just taken.* He tried to find his normal seat, only to realize that Ron wasn't awake yet. Instead, he sat beside Hermione, who nodded at him, lost in her books.
It all started with Colin Creevey. He was asking Ginny Weasley out (no matter that she already had a boyfriend). With floating flower wreathes, and a musical serenade, and a "heartfelt" poem. It was both ostentatious and awful. Harry, had he been asked, would have told Colin to do it anyplace but the Great Hall.
Ginny stood up and said, "No, I will not attend the Yule with you." All the soap opera needed was for Colin Creevey to leave the room in a mass of tears. Luckily the world wasn't that mad.
But that wasn't the bad part - it only opened the floodgates.
Every Gryffindor girl - and there were a bunch, decided to crowd down the table towards Harry. Even Ginny, who was mostly alright. (Except Hermione, who both wouldn't, and was sitting beside him anyway). "Harry!" asked one 4th year girl, and, a bit wary, Harry looked up, his face rapidly acquiring the look of the hunted. "Will you go to Yule with me?" Harry abruptly realized that that was what all the girls were here for. It wasn't 4th year, he didn't need to take anyone, he wanted to shout. But, as this was the Great Hall, he also didn't want to disrupt everyone's breakfast. Instead, he buried his face in treacle tart,
Carefully looking not left nor right he lifted his eyes off the next bite of trifle.
Shite, the Hufflepuffs! Sue and Hannah at the forefront, but everyone above 2nd year (thank god fo rthat!) was trumping up towards him.
Another 4thyear Gryff said to the first, "I d on't believe you asked him! Just like that?"
"What, was I supposed to have waited? and what if he accepted with someone else in the meantime?" The first responded. Was her name Amaryllis?
Harry slowly turned his head, noting that everywhere in front of him was effectively blocked by girls.
Suddenly, from behind his head, Harry heard a very familiar voice. A snide voice. "Hasn't anyone ever told you girls that romance is better done in the evening? All this fuss over Mister Potter," Snape sneered, "I may lose my breakfast. Potter, don't you have my class to prepare for?" Harry, taking the hint, scrambled to his feet.
"Shite!" Harry said, trying to look panicked. And then, working harder on it, he was actually panicking about not looking panicked. Short of a pensieve, he figured that would have to do.
"That will be one detention for language, Mister Potter, and another for ruining my breakfast." Snape said snidely.
Harry wheeled about, his nose nearly buried in Snape's chest (but Snape, of course, would not back up.) "But I didn't do anything!"
Snape's voice sounded as dry as a dessicant, "No, these girls have no reason to believe you might fancy them, none at all. You haven't sent longing glances towards them, or smiled rogueishly at them, or flirted with them." Snape's tone showed patent and obvious disbelief through sarcasm. But, damn it all, Snape was helping. Both because people loved to hate Snape, and because Snape was making true points. "Add on another two detentions, one for cheek and one for sheer stupidity."
Harry Potter brushed past Snape - making his robes swish with the light contact. He stormed out of the Great Hall, and headed upstairs to get his Potions homework. His completed potions homework.
Inside the walls and over the doors,
Beside the windows and beneath the floors,
Hark ye fools, the dragon snores.
Moving from one part of the school to another was proving more difficult than Harry had ever found it before. Any girl, it seemed, would immediately head his way. And while he could have just ran by them (and got a detention from that Hufflepuff prefect while he was at it), Harry elected to go the easier route.
Namely, through the walls.
There were just tons of secret passages - Hermione'd had the idea that they were to save magical people from Muggles before the Muggle-repelling charms were laid. Luna thought they were just for secret lovers.
Harry just knew they were dusty. Smothering a sneeze (someone would look over, and he'd have to hide again), he whispered the password to the Fat Lady, who was really just plump, and she fussed at him, "Where have you been up to?"
"Breakfast. And a dandy little jaunt through some unused corridors." Well, they were unused because they were hidden and rather hard to find, but details details. Obligingly, the Fat Lady opened up, and Harry raced through the Common Room. He idly wondered if he looked a little like a dust devil. There was his homework - nearly finished! Harry scrawled the last conclusion on the page, and then wrote his name.
Down we go again! Harry thought, sliding through old classrooms (the ones with two doors), and otherwise being just swift and shifty enough to avoid everyone looking for him.
He was about three corridors away from Potions when he went stock still (luckily, behind a statue). This had to be the first time, since, well before he'd met Snape, that he was looking forward to Potions Class. Nobody would dare talk to him about anything not class related. Not with Snape teaching. Harry hastily smothered a grin. It would not do to show up grinning to Snape's class. He'd get sent to the Nurse with suspicion of fever. And then everyone in the school would descend, with enough candy to completely fill the entire ward!
Harry slid into class moments before it was time. Strangely, Snape was already at the front of the class, and looking at Harry Potter like one might look at a particularly manged mog. "Potter," Snape said, "Why did you possibly think it was appropriate to attend Potions Class dressed as a dust devil?"
Harry, abashed, looked down, seeing how his normally black uniform was coated in dust. "Um... sir..." He said, shifting from foot to foot.
"Worse," Snape said, and Harry's heart sunk, "You neglected the charms that would keep your ... garb to yourself. You've spread dust from floor to ceiling, and over my entire classroom. "
"Malfoy," Snape said in that false laziness, "Clean this place up." Malfoy smirked, managing to look as superior as Harry'd ever seen him. In that moment, Harry wanted to pound Malfoy's face into the ground, simply for that look of "you're dumber than dirt."
"Potter, as you obviously do not know how to dress yourself in a fashion appropriate for this class, you may remand yourself to your dormitory for a shower. That will be one detention, during which you may prove your understanding of the potion currently on the board. You will do so without wasting my time. So take your own notes and come prepared."
"But sir, my homework..."
Snape gave him a withering look, "Can also be collected during the detention. With suitably higher standards, of course."
At that point, Harry left the class hurriedly.
Somewhat surprisingly, the entire castle was clear of people - undoubtedly attending classes.
A moment to breathe. A moment of peace.
Harry had had quite enough of everyone, thank you kindly. He wasn't sulking - it was hard to do that on top of the Astronomy tower, the wind would knock all the melancholy straight out of you. Well, at least it worked that way for Harry Potter - he somehow had a feeling that Snape, in a melancholic mood, might actually prefer the teeth of the wind. Seemed the type, anyway.
Harry had nabbed dinner from the kitchen, as well as lunch. He hadn't wanted to show up to the Great Hall, not after breakfast. In fact, he thought ruefully, I might just not show up at all, until after the ball. If then.
It wasn't like the teachers were likely to stop him, after all. Who'd bother? McGonagall cared, but she cared in a way that let a first year play Quiddich - rough and tumble was the way lions were made. Dumbledore had a thousand students to keep track of, so it wasn't like... well, anything personal.
Up here, on top of the castle, Harry started trying to spell two different things at once.
Nox and Lumos created some sort of living grey fog, that wrapped around him until he used a horribly bright Lumos to burn it away.
He tried a few combinations of simple charms - like the one Hermione used to fix his glasses; he'd finally managed to learn it this term, which he was rather proud of, and a simple Episkey. That wound up with flattened glasses (frames still unbroken, or rather broken and reformed flat and unbendy. He certainly couldn't fit them around his ears that way).
Trying to cast a stunner and a shield made the stunner appear, seconds after the shield, inside the shield, and Harry dove to the ground avoiding it.
It was at that point that he realized that maybe he really shouldn't be doing this alone, in the middle of nowhere, where the next person likely to stumble onto him would be there in hours - and be there to snog their boyfriend.
It was Saturday, brilliantly blue skies in crisp autumn air. Harry loved this time of year.
Harry's morning run had been oddly quiet, to the point where he'd been jumping at squirrels and other minor nuisances. Snape hadn't made an appearance, and that almost troubled Harry, before he resolved to give the man at least a day before he started worrying. For all Harry Potter knew, Snape was out gathering Christmas Presents - the thought almost made Harry chuckle, though he quelched the impulse, knowing that if he did start laughing, of course that'd be the point where Snape would show up.
Harry thought he'd have time to slip through the Hogwarts Entrance Hall, and head upstairs to get a shower.
Unfortunately, Real Life had other ideas. Draco Malfoy was in the Entrance Hall, holding court with dozens of girls - each of which he was making smile and blush prettily. There's one that won't have any trouble getting Someone for the ball. Harry thought, jealous at the effortlessness with which Malfoy was handling all the girls. From the looks of it, Malfoy hadn't even told one "no" yet! Harry wished he was that good around girls. Or even as smooth as Seamus, who always seemed to develop someone to snog during any Gryffindor party.
After his early morning shower, Harry headed straight for the Room on the 7th Floor.
He didn't have the same expectations as the last Order Meeting. Today, though, it truly didn't matter. All he wanted was some peace and quiet; which was why he was early.
Not that that seemed to have helped.
Snape and Moody were squaring off (the table had reshaped itself into a cloverleaf, and they were standing opposite, their wands nearly at each other's throats.
Harry hadn't quite gotten the start of the argument, but by this point, Moody was yelling, "I demand an explanation!"
Snape was sneering back, his temper nearly visibly writhing under his skin. Harry found himself wondering if that meant Snape was just fakin'. If so, it was a rather impressive display of oil heated nearly to flashpoint. "I don't owe you anything, Alastor," Snape's voice cut through the light crowd.
"There was a death eater meeting last evening," Alastor Moody said, "Where were you?"
"Do you want the truth or the alibi?" Snape said with a pronounced sneer, picking his words as if he was picking his teeth. Somewhere in the last few seconds, Snape'd reined in his temper.
"How about both?" Moody snarled.
"There was a Death Eater meeting, which I was seen to attend. There was also a rather notable discussion of the properties of the Feral Mugwort in Wizarding London. I was also present." Snape said, leaving Harry with the odd question of which was the alibi?
"And your results?" Moody asked.
"Will be told at the meeting, and not before." Snape said, standing at full height suddenly and looking down his nose at Moody.
At that moment, Tonks walked in, stumbling over Harry's feet (and he'd sworn they were under the table like good dogs**).
Remus followed after Tonks, taking up a position midway between Snape and Moody - in the corner of the room. His eyes tracked back and forth as if he was really listening to the fight, resembling a dog's eyes watching a tennis match. "Ball! Ball! Ball! Ball!" Harry'd seen it often at the park. Not the sort of thing to mention to Lupin, of course, he was sensitive enough about his canid nature...
In thinking about all this, Harry had quite missed the arrival of the twins. So, instead, he saw the middle of the table turn black as pitch. When the dust dissipated, Snape and Moody were still arguing - but they'd now been switched. Snape had on a slightly peeved look to his face, but Moody - Moody had turned about, and started flinging spells all over the place.
Harry dove to protect Molly Weasley, who'd been talking with Vance and thus hadn't seen the spells heading straight for her neck. That looked like a severing spell too...
"Constant Vigilance!" Moody proclaimed, having sent enough spells in all directions that even Snape had ducked for cover. Don't waste energy blocking spells if you can dodge. It spoils your concentration too.
Harry Potter quietly surveyed the room, finding nearly everyone unharmed. Tonks was bleeding, her leg cut in a strangely zagged pattern, but she was busy fixing it herself, even if only temporarily. Harry recognized the field medic spell - it would keep her from bleeding out, but wasn't actually designed to suture anything. Quick and dirty patching, but it was functional. Harry Potter liked it, and reminded himself that he should really be teaching spells like this at DA. Not that a healing spell couldn't be turned around and used to wound (Plenty of immobilizing spells could kill, all you had to do was immobilize the chest cavity), but by and large, they'd save more lives than they crushed.
Albus Dumbledore walked in, looking jolly as usual, "Gentlemen! Let's have a seat. This meeting won't start without you."
Snape gave Moody a glare that seemed to say, "I wish it would start without you."
Harry couldn't even dig up the energy to be mad at Moody for questioning Snape so hard - he'd have been like that himself, just a year ago.
The meeting started with meaningless gossip and speculation. There were rumors that someone had been subverted in St. Mungo's. Except that no one could actually point to someone in particular. Ditto with ten other places, including Ottery St. Catchpole, which was weird, as Harry was certain that Molly would have noticed a Single Thing Wrong. Then Harry thought back to the summer, and realized that Molly hadn't noticed anything different about, well, much of anything. And Severus Snape, that grinch and grump, had been helping - and Harry was quite certain that no one else had realized it.
And didn't that just say something about this meeting, in general? After all, if they couldn't recognize what Snape was doing, repeatedly and often, in Orders Headquarters - how did they expect to catch Slytherins doing anything, well, anywhere? Slytherins had a reputation for being sneaky - but that wasn't sneaky, that was just subtle! No wonder people kept warning him to steer clear of Slytherins, if most people just sailed on oblivious while Slytherins pulled strings all around them. They'd look up one day, and see themselves ensnared, and curse the man who did it.
Hermione was taking great gobs of notes, because of course she was. And Ron and Gin and Neville were looking so earnestly happy to be there. The twins... oh. Now that was interesting. They seemed to be plotting something with Luna, of all people. That bodes well for my bank account, Harry thought wryly, if not for the Order Meeting.
Luna Lovegood eventually stood up to give a report, though Harry couldn't have honestly said if it was performance art or not. She spoke of the state of the nargles in the castle, and how they seemed to be infesting particular girls, and giving them a hard time. Harry Potter took detailed notes about this (mentally, of course, Dudley had always stolen his notes, and so he'd developed the habit of memorization for anything truly important), as those girls might decide to send him something potiony.
**Students of history will recall that dogs is a slang for feet. Aunt Petunia liked her historical dramas, and I rather think she'd like the Great Gatsby. While not understanding it, of course.
*Dank, musty old castle. No air conditioning, just outside air seeping in.