At the Slytherin Table, Draco Malfoy had just received a most irritating letter. His mother had responded, but she'd actually told him that her response was for Potter's Eyes Only. That was a figleaf, as well Draco knew - any Slytherin could tell a lot by what someone looked like as they read an important letter. But it also bespoke other things - her intent to cultivate a cordial relationship with Harry Potter, perhaps. And perhaps a desire to tweak her son's nose about asking such an impertinent question. Receiving a response at all meant that she at least peripherally approved of what he was doing (though how she could disapprove, Malfoy didn't contemplate).
Still, Draco Malfoy watched the Gryffindor Table with a studied wariness. It was nearly the end of breakfast, and he hadn't seen Potter. Or Granger. This was, as they might say, not altogether unexpected. What was unexpected was not seeing Ron Weasley. In fact, Draco Malfoy hadn't seen Dumbledore up at the head table either (Snape was missing, but was probably brewing - and Trelawney never showed up to breakfast*).
Draco Malfoy thought it was more than passing strange that Ron Weasley hadn't shown up for breakfast. If he knew of some way to find them... where did they usually hang out?
Was it quiddich trials? Draco Malfoy was moving as breakfast ended, his restlessness passing into his feet as he strode calmly but quickly through Hogwarts halls. Not at the Quiddich pitch. Not in the library. Eventually, even not in the kitchen (draco snagged a cornish pastie). Draco found himself at the 7th floor, at the Room - and found it closed.
Bingo. Draco draped himself on the wall nearby, looking like he was lounging and not intensely surveiling a location. With a frown, he realized that he didn't look nearly so elegant in this skin. Oh, well, difficult times call for difficult measures.
After what seemed like hours (and probably was, Molly had an eternal fountain of gossip and seemed to think that everyone wanted to hear it, and Luna had enough invisible creatures that her entire invisible menagerie necessitated a detailed report on each and every single one.), Severus Snape stood to speak.
"The Dark Lord moves, but quietly, slowly. You may think of him as greedy and grasping, but here his moves are subtle. They are no less sure, but I cannot tell you what I have not yet learned."
"Are you sayin' he dinna trust you anymore?" Professor McGonagall asked, and Harry was glad, because that was a question that was far better coming from someone sympathetic. Slytherins knew how to twist words, but Moody could have put that in his usual paranoid light, and that would have shed much more heat than light.
"No. I am aware of what moves he makes against Hogwarts, as I must be to not compromise his dealings or my cover." Snape sneered at this, "But I do not spend much time in the Ministry, and his moves there are on a restricted basis."
"Do you think your friends might tell you about what they know?" Vance put this to Snape, She had seemed neutral in the War of The Snape, but Harry was beginning to wonder.
"Of course they might," Snape said, "Given the proper motivation."
"And what would that be? What would you sell for information?" Shacklebolt put out, and everyone could hear the hostility.
"My ears, and my respect will be enough, in this case. My self-respect is long gone, of course." Snape added the second line in a doleful manner that had Prof. McGonagall stifling a shocked laugh.
Dumbledore spoke, "That sounds like a price easy enough to pay. Can you make it so?"
"I can," Snape said, his brief moment of black levity gone as if it had never been. "But it will take time. I will start preparations immediately. My allies will need to savor the soup before I can dine."**
"Alright, you soddin' bastard, Time for you to skulk back to your hole." Moody snapped.
"Language!" Hermione and Molly said at the same time, and then blinked owlishly at each other.
"Not quite," Snape said, looking smug as usual, "I do have news that you will find essential."
"And why haven't you mentioned it before now?" Moody asked, sounding every bit the cranky old man.
"Because you didn't ask." Snape said, looking smug. He addressed his next comment to Albus, "Turning to matters under your nose..."
Albus did his best to look genial and not affronted. It nearly worked, even. Snape had a way of getting under most people's skins, though it didn't bode well that he was needling Dumbledore of all people.
In a voice dry as the Antarctic driving wind that peels skin off faces, Snape said, "I am delighted to announce that Harry Potter is cleared for battle."
Wait, what?! Harry thought, flummoxed but very, very rapidly turning into a towering thunderstorm. He'd done all that work, and still wouldn't have been able to fight? What was the fucking point of training if he couldn't FIGHT?!
A few people murmurred cautious congratulations to Harry - but they weren't his friends, who took one look at his gradually purpling face, and decided to wait a good while before saying a word. One didn't kick the nitroglycerine, after all.
"Importantly," Snape said, his voice firm and smooth, "This does not clear Potter for learning or helping with plans. I merely warrant that he'll not betray us through sheer negligence in battle itself."
Harry felt as if he'd been slapped. He hadn't forgotten, but... it had been easy enough to push aside - the thought that Voldemort could learn anything he knew, at any time. He wasn't sure if he should feel cheered that he could block him in battle or not. After all, there was always Everytime Else in the World.
Remus spoke, his tone mild, concealing the underlying hostility. Harry wasn't sure if Remus blamed Snape for Sirius' death, but they'd never gotten along in the first place. "Have you resumed teaching Harry Occulumency? I thought that subject was closed."
"It remains so." Snape said, "However, Potter doesn't need to feign ignorance in battle. He merely needs to exist, in the moment, firmly and puissantly enough that he cannot be moved."
Harry blinked. He hadn't realized - when had Snape realized? Had Snape been doing wordless, wandless Legimency? Was that even possible?
Dumbledore spoke up, before Harry (or, more likely, one of the other Order Members) could question how Snape knew about this, "That will be enough, Severus. You may leave now."
Harry, who had started (mostly) to quench his anger (okay, really to bank it for later), felt the river of rage jump its banks. It spilled around his mind, wreathed his heart in bloodlust. His hands shaking, Harry gripped his chair with enough force that he might break it. This wasn't just unjust, it was actively stupid. It needed to be stopped. Directly after this meeting, He'd see Dumbledore and make him see sense.
Severus Snape, face impassive as usual, strode out into the 7th floor hallway. He was surprised, though he obviously didn't show it, to see Draco Malfoy lounging nearby.
"Were you looking for Gryffindors to harrass, Draco?" Snape's question might have sounded polite, if it had come out of anyone else's mouth. Out of Snape's, it was the arch of a cobra's neck, in the moment before he struck. Snape paired that with his own quick and unhurried movement. It was a subtle form of intimidation, and Snape was an expert.
Draco Malfoy swallowed, seeming a bit surprised to see Snape. He stood as Snape drew near, and said, "Obviously. Dumbledore gives his Golden Children too much free reign."
Snape smirked, and said firmly, "Standing outside a Staff Meeting is a waste of time. You'd have a better chance of finding them on the Quiddich Pitch." Snape's eyes had flicked, for just a moment, to the windows - which were blessedly clear of the red and gold Quiddich colors.
Draco Malfoy looked at Snape a moment, and then sighed. "Figures I'd be hunting snipes up here..." He turned to leave, probably to head down to the Quiddich pitch.
"Draco, walk with me," Snape said, taking a bit of fresh delight in Draco Malfoy's suspicious look at him, "We have matters to discuss."
Down they went, eight floors down, discussing harmless matters like what colors Narcissa Malfoy was likely to choose to decorate her next Yule Ball. Both Malfoy and Snape knew that they didn't care, but the appearance of gentile discussion was important. Otherwise, it would look as if Draco was in trouble, and - so far as he was to know - he wasn't.
Snape finally got Malfoy behind closed doors, and smirked, "Excellent job stalking, but the follow through needs work."
Draco Malfoy smirked back, as he hadn't above, and said, "Thank you, sir. It's a pleasure to serve." His eyes flicked down for a second to the double-headed eagle badge he was wearing.
"More importantly, how is your assignment going?" Snape said, leaning slightly forward in his eagerness to hear.
"Both better and worse than you'd expect," Draco Malfoy drawled. "I've got the Ravenclaws - the ones patrolling - eating out of my hand."
"That's expected," Snape said, his eyes glittering the approval that the rest of his face doesn't say.
"It's much tougher going with the rest of the school, though. They don't seem to want to make any decision before they're forced." Draco Malfoy said.
"That is most unfortunate." Snape said, lacing his fingers together, "Unfortunate for them, that is."
"How so?" Draco Malfoy asked, feeling smaller than he usually did talking with his godfather.
"If they must be forced, the Dark Lord will make them choose." Snape said, letting out a low, dark chuckle of wry amusement.
Draco Malfoy plastered a smirk on his face, the facial muscles moving more out of habit than honesty. That could be really, really bad. Draco Malfoy thought, trying - and failing - to weave together any threads he had to form a better plan. If only he could make them choose without...
Every minute since Snape had left seemed to go on longer than the last.
Harry Potter was seething, with every kernel and nugget of information that spilled from people's lips. How could they just chase Snape out of here? He was sharp - and mean and nasty, but those weren't the important things. His questions would be incisive and insightful - just like a vampire's eyeteeth.
Harry hadn't really been paying attention to anything (Hermione had been taking notes, but even she was flagging). Oh, did they have to hear about the next magical hospital...?
"Tom Riddle grew up in the Muggle world, didn't he?" Harry found himself saying, as everyone turned to him, the adults seeming especially surprised, "Why are we only checking out wizarding hospitals?"
Hermione sat up straight, "That's right! The prophecy only states that he was born to those who had thrice defied him!"
"Shouldn't we then only look around Muggle London?" Vance said, her voice perfect crystal.
"Muggles move a lot," said Remus Lupin, who ought to know.
Harry had settled back into his seat, still seething with rage. He knew that Hermione and Ron thought that his periodic displays of anger were something tied to Tom Riddle. Harry just called it Poor Impulse Control. He was often a lot angrier than people thought, after all. He'd gotten good at hiding it when he was with the Dursleys', and it had become a bit of a habit. Problem was... that habit tended to lead to explosions.
Ron had Anger Issues - but he'd blow up, and then everything would go back to normal. Everyone just accepted it.
Harry didn't stop being angry after he'd blown up. He just had to Reparo whatever he'd broken.
And Harry was getting more angry the longer this endless meeting took.
Harry flung himself out of the Room the instant the meeting was over, letting his feet nearly float him down the stairs. He felt like he practically glowed incandescent with rage, and was very, very glad no student decided to mess with him. Hopefully they knew better, but it was probably his speed. Even HeadInClouds Ravenclaws knew how to get out of the way of a plummeting student.
Harry Potter stood in front of Snape's office door, pounding it loud enough to wake the dead. In fact, the Bloody Baron was drifting over. Malfoy came around the corner, smirked, and then retreated - for the space of one foot. Just far enough to be concealed.
"What is it now?" Snape drawled. "Potter! Finally decided to show up for your detention. You're what, five hours late?"
Harry's jaw had dropped open, and he hastily shut it, saying - trying for meek, "But, sir!" Harry was pretty sure he'd failed. He was a shite liar, and always had been.
"Meeting's over?" Snape snarled.
Harry Potter sent a fiery glare at the manhandling, "Yes, sir."
"Malfoy's still outside?" Snape snapped, looming over Harry. Harry's widening eyes told him all he needed to know.
"Fine." Snape growled. He pulled up a pure black tapestry - on the dimly lit wall, it had just looked like another bit of wall. "Come along, if you must. Don't tarry."
Harry Potter had to trot to keep up, but he focused on being as quiet as possible. He wanted to scream and shout, not throw a temper tantrum. Well, not a two year old's temper tantrum.
"Albus," Snape drawled, as he emerged into the Headmaster's office, "It would appear that Mister Potter has decided to grace us with his illustrious presence." Sarcasm spilled off Snape in waves.
"Oh, how nice!" Albus Dumbledore said, completely dismissing the sarcasm. Harry wished he could do the same.
"Why isn't Snape allowed to attend the entire meeting!" Harry said, his teeth grit together with the effort of sounding remotely like a human being and not like some sort of snarling dragon.
"A Gryffindor in my corner. How unexpected," Snape drawled, his voice dry as autumn leaves.
"I'm serious! He's better at finding flaws in plans than the lot of them together!" Harry crossed his arms, and said, "He can have my place, if it comes to it!"
"While your concern is touching," Snape said, sounding not the least bit gratifying, and quite a bit more like he thought that Harry had gone round the twist. "I have come here today to review the Headmaster's memory of the meeting."
Harry stopped. Not quite frozen, more like a toy with its strings cut. He slumped into an overstuffed easy chair, "Oh."
"We're not that stupid, Potter," Snape said, in a soft and silky tone.
"While you are certainly welcome to stay if you wish," Albus Dumbledore said, "I think you'll find it quite boring."
Harry Potter sat there for a good while, anyhow. Staring off at nothing, and wondering how he'd managed to get this way.
Harry Potter hadn't really spent much time in the Headmaster's office. It had just felt like he had.
He felt really, really stupid. Of course there was something deeper than just the surface meaning, and of course he'd missed it. Harry was always missing things - Hadn't he thought it was Snape who was after the Stone his first year?
Harry, when he propelled himself out of the room, left like a bullet. He was pretty sure the chair fell over too.
He didn't care.
He was upset, at himself, at Slytherins and their bloody secrets, and at being upset with people who were doing Bloody Important Business, and thus he couldn't go yell at right now.
It reminded him of being at his Uncle's house. But then he'd never gotten to yell at them, not ever. Here, he just had to wait. Harry bloody hated waiting, and by the time he was out and halfway up to the Owlry, he remembered why he shouldn't be around people right now.
Granted, that was because a horde of Hufflepuffs was attempting to bat their eyelashes at him. Uggh.
Harry plummeted his way down a spare staircase (glad that it was only missing three steps - he couldn't have jumped over four). He was rightly angry, and that wasn't a state he wanted to meet people in.
Harry wound up outside nearly before he'd known what he was doing. He'd grabbed a broom, and was up and off it, running across the pitch, before he'd really settled in. He wasn't in the mood for flying. Flying gave him time to think, and in this mood, he'd just stew over everything.
He was halfway out to the Forbidden Forest before he realized what he was doing, either. The burn in his lungs felt pleasant, even. He'd taken up a stick, near Hagrid's Hut - who'd come out to wave, and Harry saluted him, even as he ducked into the forest. At least Hagrid isn't going to tell anyone else. He's convinced the entire population of the forest is PygmyPuffs! Harry began to beat trees, slashing at them with the stick, trying to imagine it being a sword.
He'd gone in far enough that Hagrid couldn't see him, at least, and wasn't deranged enough to go farther, so he just kept on bashing things until he slumped to the ground, drained of any emotion whatsoever.
And to think, he'd wanted to ask that rotten bastard if anything was wrong with him!
Harry concluded, wryly, that it was bleedin' obvious there was a lot wrong with the Head of Slytherin House.
When had it gotten so dark? It was actually just dusk, but considering Harry Potter had left the building at before noon, he was rather surprised at the state of time. And also surprised he hadn't gotten splinters from thrashing about so much. Or blisters - he'd always gotten blisters at the Dursley's before, when he'd been given a shovel and told to plant the roses. Again. Aunt Petunia had a talent for adding so much fertilizer that they wouldn't bloom, and then of course, despite the fact that the plants were perfectly healthy (perhaps a bit too much so), she had to have new ones. Now.
So, Harry Potter was walking back inside, stomach growling. Oddly enough, Ron was waiting for him - in a place where he could easily scan not just the entranceway, but also paths to most parts of Hogwarts.
"Where've you been?" Ron Weasley asked, "You almost missed supper!"
"Race you to it!" Harry Potter said with a laugh, running through the halls with gay abandon. Ron, as usual, concluded that everything had to be fine if Harry wanted to eat (which, come to think of it, was generally true. Harry got the nerves and anxiety when he was upset, and he'd have found it odd that he wasn't off his food if he wasn't so hungry).
By the time they were sitting in the Great Hall, it was almost after supper - they spooned as much food as they could onto their plates while eating at the same time.
Neither of them noticed the silent regard of Slytherins - they were too busy eating and piling on more to eat to notice anything above the levels of their plates.
/~~~/
Draco Malfoy had been starting to wonder about what exactly had happened to Potter, when he hadn't shown up to midday dinner. Probably out playing Quiddich, was his conclusion. Wait, had they had tryouts yet? For whatever reason, Quiddich seemed later this year. Did Potter still think he was banned?
By the time dinner rolled around, Draco Malfoy was actually less worried, because the Weasel and the Granger were also missing. Probably working in the library and forgot to procure refreshment.
A slight frown materialized on his face when Potty and the Weasel showed up, and Granger didn't. As he stood up to leave, he pocketed two chocolate pasties. Good enough for a jape, he supposed.
Harry Potter was trying to keep a rein on his temper. Really, he was. But the Gryffindor common room, after supper, is generally one of the most chaotic places on the planet. And it was no exception today, except for the minor fact that the Twins had graduated. This was aptly filled in by their Weasley Products. Harry Potter just wanted to sit somewhere and read a letter from them, really. They'd been great to have around, and he missed them - not their jokes. Thing of it was, jokes were more fun in the playing than in getting played - and now everyone could really, really easily play pranks.
Not that he'd normally begrudge a laugh or two - particularly at his own expense. But... today he was in a mood, and...
Harry Potter yawned noisily, saying to Ron (who'd been sitting beside him, but greedily eyeing Seamus and Dean playing chess across the room). "I'm gonna kip in." Ron nodded, and Harry wound up upstairs before he realized he hadn't even seen Hermione yet today. He didn't let himself worry, though. It was Hermione - trouble fled from her as if it realized exactly what a nightmare she'd be to trouble. Trouble wasn't her middle name - People often claimed it was Harry's, but he'd eventually realized that only Sirius deserved the title. Harry deserved Danger as a middle name, but it wasn't like he wanted to be in danger all the time. Or any of the time, really. It just found him.
Harry had wanted to yell, earlier. He still did, really. But it was late, and it was a better idea to build up a fresh head of steam tommorrow morning. Now if he could just. Get To Sleep.
Harry Potter woke, and it was pouring cats and dogs outside. So, no run today, Harry thought, thinking of barbells, and Vernon's story about how someone had noticed that bellringers were quite physically muscular, and then they'd gone and made a bar that was as heavy as the bells. Hence the bar-bell. Vernon had laughed, and then had given Dudley 25 pounds. Dudley had managed to lift it - but just barely.
Harry was sure that by now his cousin could probably lift 75 pounds. You could say many things about Dudley, but he liked his parents approval, and if Uncle Vernon wanted something, Dudley would probably manage it.
Harry wasn't looking for weight, he was looking for endurance - and pinpoint accuracy. He stepped inside a classroom inside the Gryffindor Tower, and threw up the most basic Notice-me-not ward. And then he set to work. Up and down, it was acrobatics, it was parkour - there were desks, and as Harry thought spells, better handholds than he'd started with. In fact, the room started to look more like an Escher painting than anything.
But it was a hell of a lot of fun, and Harry knew that keeping himself engaged meant he'd give it his all.
By the time he was done, he'd collapsed in a puddle of sweat, laughing quietly at himself. At least he hadn't hit his noggin this time. Snape'd have words about that! (Or he would have, had he known where Potter was practicing...).
Harry was in the shower before he started to wonder if Snape had taken his own early morning run. Had the Potions master come back in, water dripping from everywhere - except his excessively greasy hair?
Harry was abruptly glad that the water he was in was warm.
/============/
Knowing that Snape was up, Harry was down to pound on his door before breakfast. He'd had enough, and though the practice had been good for limbering himself up, it hadn't really helped with the burning anger, just submerged it for a bit. Harry thought, bemusedly, that he should be glad there was Some Way to cool himself down, if temporary.
Unbeknownst to him, four pairs of Slytherin eyes watched him discretely, as he stomped towards Snape's office. One pair of brown eyes concluded it was probably better to pester him at some other time. Any other time, really. The others just watched curiously, as if Potter dragged an entire eddy behind him.
/============/
Harry pounded on Snape's door, his stomach idly cramping - but he was used to hunger, and didn't want to take the chance of exploding on someone who didn't deserve it. Looking immaculate, Snape's long nose peered out from a half-closed door. "Potter," he growled, sounding decidedly unamused, "Had I realized you were capable of arriving early for detention, I would have made it later." Snape's eyes ran up and down Potter's lean frame.
Harry had to restrain himself from responding. He was actually trying to be a bit highhanded, and not responding to the unasked question was part of it.
"Well? Come in!" Snape snapped, not content for Harry to enter under his own power, but instead grabbing him by the collar and fairly flinging him in, before slamming the door.
Harry waited, half calmly, half flexing his fists, as Snape cast privacy spells and activated a few wards.
"The Headmaster can still enter, but it would take even him a bit of time." Snape said, with that smug look on his face.
Snape stood looking at the wards for a moment, and then retreated to his desk, sprawling in the chair, his heels crossed on his desk, as he looked up at Harry Potter, standing in front of his desk. Snape looked as casual as a lion, sunning there. It was a lie, of course - but a deliberate one. Harry Potter wondered, suddenly, if Snape ever got a chance to really relax, not just playing at it like an adult plays at being a child.
"Well, Potter? You're here now" Snape's eyes flashed with an impatient humor, "What IS it?"
"Why didn't you tell me, sir?" Harry said, and the words struck out like lances.
Snape, of course, seemed unaffected, "Tell you what." he said, and it wasn't a question. It was a demand.
"That you didn't even trust me to fight!" Harry said, his hands fists at his side. "I went through all that, and you wouldn't have let me use it!"
Harry's fist had found the desk, "What," *pound* "Was" *pound* "The" *pound* "Point?"
"Potter, think for a moment." Snape said, seemingly unfased by Harry's venomous frustration. Harry's jaw was set, and his nostrils flared. His green eyes flashed fire.
Snape uncrossed his feet, and then recrossed them the other way. "Alright. If you just want to stare at me, without getting your questions answered, well, we can do that too." Snape opened a drawer of his desk, and pulled out the latest Potions Monthly (that Harry recognized because Hermione read it).
Harry impatiently batted the magazine out of Snape's hand, saying - through gritted teeth, "I'm listening."
"An open mind is a calm mind, Potter." Snape said, his upper body leaning over to pick up the Potions magazine.
Harry Potter took a few deep breaths, and his nose at least stopped flaring, even if the set of his jaw was the same. "I'm calmer now." Harry said, as he opened his eyes.
Snape was already studying him, of course - possibly had started the moment Harry closed his eyes. "War doesn't always let you choose who gets to fight, and who gets to hide." Snape, somehow, was saying this softly, but firmly. Perhaps, Harry thought, he really was that unaffected by adolescent pique and pride. "I stand by what I've said in class - if the only thing I manage to teach you is how to survive, I've done my job well."
"You said you'd teach me to fight." Harry said.
"I said I'd teach you to be a fully trained Order member." Snape corrected.
"You weren't training me to research!" Harry snorted.
"That's true. All Order members should be able to fight in the event of an emergency." Snape said.
"Why'd you want me in the Order if I can't even fight?" Harry Potter asked.
Snape laced his fingers together, and then unlaced them. "When I taught you how to fight this summer, did you think I was giving you claws? Or maybe snakefangs?" Harry Potter looked at Snape, still sitting there looking unconcerned (though he'd put the Potions Monthly down beside himself). Harry Potter eventually nodded.
"I was not." Snape said, "I was giving you a hedgehog's spines."
"Huh?" Potter said, his anger mutating into a more abstract frustration with Slytherins and their Fucking Mind Games.
"Eloquent as usual, Potter." Snape said mildly.
"Sir, what does that mean?" Harry Potter said, hating that Snape had made him have to repeat himself. And then hating that he'd made that into a possibility.
"A Hedgehog's main defense is curling up into a ball, and being too painful to eat." Snape smirked.
"Sir..." Harry said, thinking inchoate and vague thoughts. "You didn't teach me defensive spells! Not many, at any rate, and they aren't better than what Flitwick teaches..."
"You focused on area attack spells," Snape said, "I'd wonder what you could do with a series of portkeys."
Harry Potter paled, "More than one, sir?" He wasn't good with them, and tended to wind up vomiting afterwards. Vomiting in the middle of battle? Not just embarrassing then, Harry thought.
Snape nodded, and said, "I'd wager that the Dark Lord himself would get dizzy, if he decided to possess you while you were portkeying so quickly."
Harry Potter nodded, before saying, "But someone would have to trigger the portkeys for me, if I was possessed..."
Snape nodded, and said, "Exactly. But I believe you can trust your Order comrades to do that much."
Harry Potter started to nod, and then froze, "Exactly who would be doing that, sir? I'd probably be behind enemy lines, if I'm to be so dizzy that the Dark Lord may have trouble being in my mind." Harry didn't want to know what the consequences would be if Snape started involuntarily portkeying the Dark Lord around, even if Snape would have limited reason to know it was the Dark Lord (and it was probably a death sentence if Snape was portkeying Potter around, as well, should the Dark Lord be aware of it).
Snape said softly, "I was rather thinking Lupin."
Harry nodded, carefully and slowly. Lord Voldemort tended to treat his werewolves as shock troops, and didn't distinguish one from another aside from Greyback himself. Lupin would either need to penetrate the organization - or simply appear as a werewolf and not start any unwolfish scraps.
Suddenly, Snape sat up neatly, assuming the mien of a stern schoolteacher rather than an unconcerned ... pirate (or something like that!). "You ought to be aware that your ability to occlude while fighting is unlikely to transfer into other portions of your life."
Harry Potter looked at Snape, and then nodded, slowly. "Yes sir. I suppose it might keep me safe on a broom."
"For a questionable version of safe, which I take to be you finding as many ways to commit infernal trickery that loses Slytherin the House Cup..." Snape said sternly.
Now it was Harry that was smirking, "You mean a Sloth Grip Roll?"
"Or other such things," Snape said, affecting a disaffected air that Harry simply couldn't believe. Snape got into too many arguments with McGonagall about the sport to be that unaware of simple terminology.
"Why didn't you tell me you were reviewing the entire Order Meeting?" Harry Potter snapped, his eyes like leaping pools of green fire.
"First, because it's none of your business." Snape said, then paused, "No, for once, that's not the case. It is your business, but it is not your problem."
Snape stood, leaning over his desk to put himself at eye level with Potter, "You are a first year member of an organization that is settled in its ways, and has its own thoughts on certain matters." Snape crossed his arms, and said, "Including my inclusion on certain matters."
"Second, because you didn't ask." Snape said, smirking and looking really smug. Harry simultaneously wanted to pound his own face into the wall, and pound Snape's. Because dammit if the bastard wasn't right. And Harry could see Snape luxoriating in his realization.
"Yes," Snape said mockingly, "You will find that asking questions may, on occasion, get you the answers you wish. If not, you'll probably be given at least the knowledge that what you're asking for is secret."
"I hate secrets." Harry Potter said, his growling voice coming from between gritted teeth. Snape was privately convinced that he sounded like a 3 week old lion cub, and was about as dangerous.
Snape smirked, "No, of course you don't hate secrets. You hate not knowing everything. It wasn't exactly a secret what Mr. Weasley was doing, but did you need to know it? Of course you didn't! You snuck around following me for months your first year, trying to figure out what I was doing! That was also not a secret - Dumbledore knew, as did all the other Heads of House."
Harry snorted silently, "No wonder McGonagall wouldn't believe us."
Snape looked stern, suddenly, all trace of humor vanishing like mist before noontime sun. "McGonagall fought beside me in a truly brutal war. She's had my back, as I've had hers. There was no possible thing a first year could say that could convince her that I was out to steal The Philosopher's Stone." Snape said, turning truth into fiction as effortlessly as he breathed. He hated knowing that most of the Order still mistrusted him - was convinced he might turn at a moment's notice, but it was the truth. As was the fact that he'd had their backs on numerous occasions, and they really ought to trust him.***
Harry was flushed at the comments, trying to pull himself back into how livid he'd been. But really, he could have asked after the last meeting. Snape might not have told him, but he'd at least have been listened to. Harry reflected wryly that he was so used to not being listened to - under any circumstances - by the Dursleys that he expected it from any adult. Which, when it came right down to it, was really just silly.
"I've wasted enough time today dealing with your piques and tantrums," Snape said brusquely, "So get to work. You can consider this as serving one of your numerous detentions."
Harry Potter nodded, saying, "Yes sir," and found himself a decent (if hardbacked) stool to sit and work on casting two spells at once. It'd been an odd request from the start, but Harry quickly found that trying to make two different spells not merge was an interesting problem. So much so that he'd probably have spent the next four hours (until lunch) working on it.
... except that Hermione Granger came "looking for him." Now, Harry'd known that Hermione had been spending more consistent time with Snape than he had - all the markings on the inside of that particular suit of armor proved that.
Somewhat surprisingly - at least Harry was surprised, Snape kept his enormous nose out of it. He'd let Granger in, and then had simply sat back down and continued to grade papers. Harry hadn't wanted to look, but even while he was busy working, he was aware that Snape was working on Potions homework. And Snape's commentary on that was generally scathing - at best.
Harry tried not to worry about it, narrowing his vision down until he wasn't even thinking about Hermione. What had Snape said - that he was able to Occlude if he was in the middle of battle. Snape had been attempting wandless Legimancy on him. And that felt like cheating, but had Harry really expected otherwise? Slytherin first, teacher second, fairness never.
And then Harry dove into the intricacies of trying to cast ambidextrously, of trying to have two spells at once. He used two pencils, not even quills - a pencil had the same solidity as a wand, and thus swished more like the way Harry was expecting...
It didn't work. Nothing seemed to work, but Harry didn't let himself give up. He'd done that too many times over the years, and he wasn't about to be outsmarted by this task. Other people knew how to cast like this (though, a part of Harry asked if any Order members - except Snape - knew how? Maybe Moody?)...
Harry was not going to be unprepared. Again.
Pulling his brain back on the subject, he gathered himself. Lumos, Nox. First one and then the other, never the two at once.
It took about twenty minutes, before Snape looked up. "Potter," he said, "Why are you practicing paired spells?"
"Because then I'd know when I cast them simultaneously, sir." Harry Potter said, noticing Hermione Granger's head snap up, like she had a question she needed to ask. She'd learned the hard way how to bite her tongue near Snape, so Harry resolutely blocked that chain of thought.
"What is the most important element of wandless casting?" Snape asked, in a voice soft as a dropped pin.
"Willpower and intent." Harry responded. Snape just looked at him, which sent Harry's brain scrambling. When it hit him, it hurt like a bludger, "Oh."
"Yes, Oh," Snape mocked ruthlessly, "That's an advanced tactic, and one that you'd be lucky to master in ten years."*
Harry flushed in embarrassment.
"Shield and stun," Snape said, his voice sounding almost as if he wasn't even thinking about Harry anymore. Which Harry didn't mind. Having all of Snape's attention focused on you was like having a Sphinx studying you. Or was that a manticore?
***Snape's perception may not reflect reality.
**he means flavor the soup, actually.
*McGonagall, more of a generally morning person, showed up before the meeting.