Severus Snape had let his mind go blank, as soon as Draco Malfoy had mentioned just what exactly that bet had been about. It was a defense mechanism. He'd responded to Draco's questions by rote, the responses as automatic as not thinking.
It was only once Draco Malfoy had closed the door, and Snape had replaced the secrecy spells - not the same as with Draco, either. These were tinged with fire, explosive to any who dared to attempt to breech them, that he let himself begin to feel.
Disappointment was always a bitter pill to swallow. Snape knew that, knew he shouldn't have bothered with a child.
He was infuriated, but mostly with himself. Damnation! He'd thought he'd gotten through to the child.
No, it was plainly obvious he hadn't. What could possibly have possessed him to ask Draco Malfoy?! Of all people!
He'd let himself hope, again. He should have known better - all good things die, and all the quicker if they're around Severus Snape.
Harry Potter was impossible - had always been, truth be told. But, after this, Snape had to conclude that he was unsalvageable.
Snape disliked being wrong, admitting to being wrong.
But he had been very wrong about Potter, and his potential.
Snape let the dark emotions weigh on him, as he stared at his desk, for probably longer than he should.
At some point, he buried his head in his arms, feeling as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
Damn it all, he'd still have to have words with Potter, lest the fool think to ask more questions.
Snape's mouth quirked up in a display of dark humor, as he started to scrawl on the foolscap beneath his head. He knew just the punishment he intended to inflict upon young Harry Potter.
Not that Snape expected Potter to learn, no.
He wouldn't make that mistake again.
The next day was bright and cheerful, Harry taking his morning run at near daybreak. He saw McGonagall wave her tail at him from one of the first floor classrooms, and waved back. He was back and showered before everyone woke up, even.
It was the start to a beautiful day.
Unfortunately, there were classes to be dealt with, as he'd rather have been out on a broom, or playing with Fang, or anything else outside, even Aunt Petunia's roses (which had only been really horrid during the summer, all that sweat and nothing to drink but the hose, which always made him feel like a dog.).
Snape's defense class seemed to go on forever, Harry thought, as the entire class tried to find circles that would work. Well, aside from Greg, Neville and Crabbe - they were working just fine, and trying to find what they could do with other people.
Harry'd stepped into the middle of their circle, but even thinking of Aunt Petunia's roses didn't seem to do anything at all.
The rest of the class couldn't even form a single circle, not even when Anthony had sorted everyone and made sure they tried Every. Single. Combination.
It was frustrating to an extreme, and more so, Harry could feel Snape's eyes on the class, diligently taking notes in his head. Harry was starting to feel a little like Neville - that itch in the back of your head when you know someone is watching. And it didn't even stop when Snape was looking at someone else.
Near the end of class, Susan Bones had stood in the middle of the one working circle, and as she closed her eyes, slipped into the floor up to her waist. She hadn't even realized she was doing it until she opened her eyes, either. "HELP!" she shrieked, "I'm in the FLOOR!"
As Snape strode over, robes swirling, other people laughed - Harry did too, after taking Snape's measure and concluding that it couldn't be that serious, he didn't even look as angry as when Neville melted cauldrons, and Neville did that routinely.
"What did you do?" Snape snapped.
"I was trying to become... one, I guess. Fade into my surroundings, be a part of everything." Susan said, her tone befuddled.
Snape incanted a long incantation, and the stone turned to water around her, as he grabbed her arm with his left hand and dragged her up. "Don't step there," he said unnecessarily.
That was the end of the excitement for the lesson, however, as the next fifteen minutes were spent with fruitless attempts, particularly Su Li, who insisted she'd get it, somehow. Snape's lips had thinned at that comment, so Harry figured the odds were slim.
"Potter, stay behind." Snape's slick as stone voice said.
As the room cleared, Harry fingered his homework in his bag. He'd written it, and then charmed it invisible. As the last person left, the door slammed shut. Snape began to weave privacy spells, as he often did. Harry's eyes narrowed, though, when he noticed that they weren't the same privacy spells. He raised a hand, almost as if to touch one - despite it being yards away, and Snape responded absently, still casting, "Don't touch. These wards singe."
Harry eyed them with a newfound caution, and only approached Snape when Snape was done casting. "My homework." he said, laying them down on the podium.
Snape waved a casual hand, and the pages burst into flame. "Either you've learned something, or you haven't." he said, in that obsidian voice.
Harry just nodded, "Yes sir."
Snape eyed Harry like a bug, stating after a moment, "Someone's been asking questions they shouldn't."
Shite! Snape knows. Harry Potter hadn't planned on this, hadn't come up with anything other than don't let him find out. Adrenaline leaped into Harry's nervous system, as his heart raced. Harry was just starting to formulate a denial, when he realized that he'd probably already shown enough to make it an Extremely Obvious Lie.
"Worse, you asked said questions of one Mister Draco Malfoy." Snape drawled, his voice as cold as ice. "I can only begin to imagine what you were thinking." Snape said, shaking his head. He spoke quietly, as he normally did, but Harry's heart hurt at the brilliant look in his eye - a darkling fire, sparkling within those inky eyes.
"To lay this matter to rest, I suppose I should say something to quell any more irresponsible, idiotic questions you might think up next." Snape said, starting the sentence sounding slightly irriitated, but finishing it in a sort of icy cold fury.
Harry found his mouth wanting to open, wanting to say that he knew better, now. But clearly he hadn't known better after Sirius...
"You may thank whatever gods you please that this particular secret is not one I wish concealed from the Dark Lord, or you'd be walking out of here this instant, your mind relieved of the memory." Snape said curtly, and Harry didn't doubt for a second that he'd do exactly what he'd said. Harry quickly curbed any desire on his own part to think about Snape's words.
"Nonetheless, the secret you have unearthed touches on a great many things that you're not cleared to know the truth of." Snape said, his body leaning over Harry's. Harry had to crane his neck to look up into Snape's face, nearly looking up his nostrils. Snape spun away, taking two steps away from Harry before turning back.
Snape smirked devilishly, "So I'm going to tell you a story that is nothing but a pack of lies. So you don't get the wrong idea."
Harry suppressed a sigh. Slytherins made his head hurt, and Snape more than the rest. Still, this was going better than he'd thought. Snape was still speaking to him, after all. Slytherins didn't take kindly to purloined secrets.
"I first met your mother on the Hogwarts Express, and when she asked which House I'd want to be in, all I could think was "yours." " With Snape's melodic voice talking, it was strange for Harry to think this was a lie. But it was. It sounded too sweet - definitely too sweet for Snape, and maybe too sweet for his mum.
"Not long after, the Marauders piled into our cabin - I was reading one of my mother's books, and they immediately decided it was Dark magic." Snape said, his tone wry, "I'm not certain they'd ever looked at a book before. The Marauders wanted the cabin to themselves, and your mother was all up for leaving, but I didn't take kindly to being pushed around, even at age eleven. "
Harry smiled, "So you fought back, two against four?"
"More accurately, I started making as much commotion as possible, figuring that some authority figure would drop in."
"It didn't work?" Harry responded.
"Not the way it was intended, no - the prefect stopped the commotion, but the Marauders held a grudge indefinitely." Snape continued, "Your mother and I were thick as thieves, we were practically each other's only friends. Back then House ties were not quite as binding as they are now." Harry belatedly translated that as "just as bad" remembering that Snape was lying...
"We were frequent targets of the marauders, and a friendship born from adversity is a strong one indeed." Harry nearly smiled at that one, remembering Hermione and Ron.
"Growing up, it was only natural that I started to develop feelings for her, and that just increased the Marauder's abuse." As Sanpe said that, Harry wanted to tell him to stop, to pause, because, it suddenly became clear to Harry - this was what Snape had been talking about, in terms of "telling a lie so Harry doesn't get the wrong idea." Harry wanted to say that he hadn't even considered that - not as an insult, but just as the truth.
"James Potter was in love with your mother from third year on," Snape said, continuing along with the story, "It made things more difficult than they needed to be - he saw me as a rival as much as an enemy."
Snape continued, "You saw what happened in the pensieve that day - after I called her that name, she wouldn't talk to me. We didn't meet as friends again." Harry blinked, trying to sort through what was a lie, and what was truth, or, more inscrutably, obscured truth.
Having concluded his story, Snape simply said, looking as impassive as he'd ever seemed, "I am disappointed in you. I believed you'd learned your lesson, after the last time." Snape strode over, looming over Harry, "Rest assured, you will be punished. Look behind you, you won't be expecting it." Snape sent a smirk Harry's way, and then his face smoothed.
"As of now, Potter, we are quits. Would that I were in charge of the Order Membership, or I would be booting you from there too. I can't work with someone I can't trust." Snape's angry eyes looked down at Harry Potter, and without waiting for a response, Snape strode out through the privacy wards, leaving the scent of singed hair and fabric in his wake.
Harry had the oddest feeling that the last sentence Snape had said to him, was the closest thing Harry would ever get to a personal comment from Snape.
Harry got through most of the rest of the day's classes by simply Not Thinking. Whenever his mind would wander, he'd find a whorl on the desk in front of him. Even when they were doing Herbology and he really ought to have paid attention.
Dinner left Harry with a problem - not that people wanted to talk with him, but that he Definitely didn't want to go to DADA Club, or whatever Zach was calling it. Harry looked at Hermione, and twisted the truth a little, "I won't be there tonight," and then he made the order sign. Nearly unconsciously, he looked up at the Head Table, finding only McGonagall watching him curiously.
"Does Dumbledore have a job for you?" Hermione asked, leaning in. Ron copied her, though Lavender pouted across the table at her conversation being interrupted.
"No," Harry said, "Just working on something."
Hermione nodded, and fingered her 'not a wand.'
Deciding that the best lie was one that she already wanted to believe, Harry nodded. Harry supposed you could call venting "Order Business" - when your head is a direct conduit to Lord V himself.
"I'll cover for you," Ron said, and then turned back to Lavender as if the conversation hadn't existed.
After dinner, Harry headed up, not to the Astronomy tower, but to the north Tower. He'd figured out a decent spell for climbing walls, and he wanted to give it a try. A good sweat might help get his emotions out too. If the twins were still in school, he'd have considered swiping some Port or Sherry for them, just to have something to boast about. Alas... Harry really needed to read what they'd been writing him. He'd been too busy to even read them, and they always brought a smile to his face.
Harry wasn't feeling like smiling right now. Instead, he cast a sure-stick spell on his hands. He'd practiced earlier, and was pretty sure this wasn't a PermaStick charm. That had been embarrassing, because both his hands had been stuck, and it had taken him a while to discipline his mind to cast the right counter.
It was sweat and pain, climbing the chinks in the tower, two stories up, to throw himself on top of the tower. Harry stayed prone for five minutes, regaining his breath and his mental balance.
Then he stood up, his head in the crisp November breeze, looking out past all of Hogwarts as he turned around.
For a few moments, he was spellbound by the grandeur.
Then he cast a simple reflection spell, designed for sound. he cast it as a parabola, starting from his feet.
Like a wolf, Harry opened his mouth skyward, and screamed a barbaric yawp towards the unblinking, unforgiving stars. He screamed until his throat hurt, and went beyond, pushing his breath and his breathing until he nearly fell unconscious.
Wavering, with black spots dotting his vision, Harry thought furiously to himself, I didn't even say ANYTHING!?
He was incensed at himself for the obvious. He hadn't apologized, he hadn't justified, he hadn't even tried to mitigate or assuage Snape's anger.
Harry nodded slightly, That probably has something to do with the anger being justified.
In the empty dark reaches of his newly-purged soul, Harry realized that he'd never been so upset with Something Snape'd Done. And Snape had done loads of completely indefensible acts. But no, it was the justified one that hurt.
He'd been warned. Harry thought, feelings threatening to encircle his mind again. Biting his cheeks till they bled, he began to punch the flagstone beneath his feet.
Harry didn't want to feel anything but pain. Pure and physical.
Harry's knuckles were crusted over with blood. He'd ask Hermione to fix them in the morning - she was always better at healing charms.*
Leaving the top of the North tower was easier than scaling it, that was for sure. Harry felt nearly numb - like he'd left all his feelings - all of them - up on the rooftop. It felt serene, peaceful even. Harry went down the stairs with the silent surety of a young man used to cats.
Harry just wanted to go to sleep.
Unfortunately, the universe seemed determined to laugh at him today. Harry turned the last bend of the way down from the tower, only to nearly run into Draco Malfoy. As they were both out well past curfew, Harry stared at Malfoy, baffled.
"Malfoy, what are you-" Harry started, almost on autopilot. Then he forcibly stopped himself, giving a sigh from his heels. "You know what? Never mind. Whatever it is, I'm not dealing with it now."
Harry went to move past Malfoy, but the platinum blond moved, just enough to stand in Harry's way.
Harry gave a five second long sigh, rubbing his eyes, and only just remembering that Malfoy would pick up on his bloody knuckles.
Blessedly, Malfoy didn't say anything about that. Instead, he smirked, and asked, "Oh, come now, aren't you even a little curious about how I knew to wait for you here?"
Harry stared flatly at Malfoy. "You. were looking. for me." In bafflement, he shook his head, tossing black hair into his face. "Whyever for?" Harry didn't really know what he looked like, without staring in a mirror, but Malfoy flinched. In tones lacking humor or any other emotion, Harry thought, Bully for me, I broke his facade.
"To ask if I'd done wrong, and if so, to make it right." Draco Malfoy said firmly.
Almost despite himself, Harry studied Malfoy, up and down. Absently, Harry wondered if this was how Snape looked sometimes - Harry certainly felt dead enough to have absolute zero eyes, even if his were grass-green not inky-black.
Tired, and worn out, Harry found the inner wall of the tower and leaned against it, "What could you possibly have done wrong?" The question was impregnated with dry wit, the sound of a Gryffindor that know Slytherins are always doing something wrong.**
"The bet," Draco Malfoy said, eyeing Harry.
Harry shook his head - sending his hair cascading into his eyes, and then nodded, "It was a bad idea, but it was my idea." Harry turned brightly cold eyes on Malfoy, who seemed to be trying to exude all the calmness that Harry lacked.
In tones etched with chagrin, Draco Malfoy said with a piscine voice used to water and waves, "I thought you were asking about something... you already knew."
Harry somberly shook his head. "And what, I was asking to expose your ignorance?"
Draco looked a little unsure of himself, "Something like that," he smirked.
Harry had no answer to that, and was a little startled when Malfoy turned those storm-grey eyes on him. "You shouldn't have pried."
Harry Potter gave Malfoy an incendiary look.
Malfoy had a light smirk on his face when he spoke next, "Shouldn't have poked the bear. There are some questions even Slytherins know better than to ask."
Harry closed his eyes and counted to ten, looking balefully at Malfoy, who he wanted to escape immediately.***
"Some secrets are meant to stay just that." Malfoy's eyes nearly sparkled with amusement, that light smirk on his face that Harry suddenly wanted to pound into the dirt.
Harry's hands turned into fists, and he turned to meet Malfoy's gaze head on, "You think I don't know that?" he hissed.
"You're a Gryffindor," Malfoy said, as if this explained anything, "Heads hard as rocks, and with enough determination to sometimes forget to check if they're wrong." Malfoy smirked something that was almost a smile. "Well, my work here is done."
Malfoy took two steps away from Harry before he turned around. Now what? Harry fumed. I just want to get to bed.
Harry Potter closed those two steps in one bound, bringing his face precisely 3 millimeters from Malfoy's. "Go away, Malfoy. If you don't, I'll punch you, and I don't want to punch you right now."
Malfoy took two studied paces backwards, "Why don't you want to punch me?"
"Because when I punch you I want to enjoy it." Harry Potter said, and was momentarily gratified to see Malfoy's face cloud over with thought.
Suddenly, Malfoy's head nodded crisply, and harry could see the moment his thoughts changed. Malfoy's face took on an easy, laughing smirk, "You weren't at ... today. Surprising, that. Woulda figured you'd want to watch me teach the first time."
Harry's face didn't change as he shot back, "If only to murder you along with the rest of the Gryffs."
Draco snorted, and said, "I'm not much of a shoulder to cry on, but if you need someone to break your nose, or you just need someone's nose to break, I'll be there."
It was a lie, plain and simple. but it was a sweet lie. Harry was growing to hate sweet lies.
Harry strode off, leaving his back wide open to Malfoy without a second thought.
If Malfoy tried a sneak attack, Harry would kill him. And that was that.
Instincts were a bitch to retrain, and There Was A War On.
Harry wouldn't apologize for what needed to be done.
Harry's lily was transparent - not white, but clear. Luna Lovegood frowned as she saw him heading towards Gryffindor. That's not the right way, she thought.
Harry's knuckles still hurt, but he was just world-weary and worn-out. He stumbled up to Gryffindor, and barely made it to his bed before he collapsed in a state of unconsciousness.
Severus Snape was not a man to regret his choices. He was a careful man, and weighed choices before acting, so why should he ever feel remorse for doing what was right? Severus Snape made mistakes, as did anyone. But, the difference between a spy and an assassin is how many mistakes your team's made today. One fuckup means someone's gotta die. And deaths were both messy and noticeable. Proper spies specialized in being quiet. Snape was a proper torturer too, though he really didn't advertise the fact. The best torturers, after all, leave no mark on the victim.
Still, Snape had expected to hear something out of the perpetually outraged and indignant Potter. He'd thought he could puzzle out what was going on, but without even a word, Snape was as lost in the fog of war as any man.
Harry woke the next day in a mood. A dark, inky black, grim death march kind of mood. It wasn't despair, nor true melancholia. It was like anger with the edge taken off, dulled because it would hurt more.
Harry knew one thing about himself: He liked to vent.
And this was a pretty big problem, as he couldnt't tell Hermione or Ron.
And, with how horrid Harry was at lying, he was quite sure that they'd be demanding answers as quickly as they could.
Harry found himself nearly vibrating with energy, but instead of going for a run, he took his broom to the pitch.
Harry was in the wind, and that was usually enough to bring him to his happy place, where the biggest concern was the next buffet of wind, the next gust, or that tree over there.
That tree.
Harry'd managed to be halfway to the Forbidden Forest, just by not paying attention.
That was a bad thing.
Harry closed his eyes, thinking some things through.
When he opened them again, he was at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Harry didn't want to go into the forbidden forest.
With an Oath that was more a curse, Harry's feet hit the ground, his left hand grasping his broom overhand.
Harry could trust his feet, always had.
Feet were fleet, and they'd kept him safer from Dudley than his mouth ever had.
Harry kicked off, jupmping up and landing on his broom.
Then, as he headed back to the pitch, he began practicing mounts and dismounts.
It was far tougher than just flying, or even just running.
Harry found himself glad that Snape hadn't targetted him that day.
He stumbled into Gryffindor Tower covered in sweat that dried as he walked.
Cats have a danger sense. Hackles rise, and they look for trouble. When cats are afraid, they get big, fluffing their fur - and shedding it. This wasn't quite that, though. This was the air before a thunderstorm, electric and impending.
Minerva was on one of her usual "basking places" - in reality, she liked to measure the school. She was far from lazy, after all. It was just that being a small tabby cat with far better ears than her human form was such a delight!
Still if something felt this wrong, she'd have to figure out what it was, and address it. Rising to her feet, she craned her head down. Was that Potter, with a broom?
Harry tumbled down the stairs to breakfast, all his usual grace shed in his exhausted state. And he still had a full day of class to go. Charms was going to be doing something interesting, he just knew it. As was usual when Harry was completely exhausted because of circumstances outside his control, he'd simply ask Hermione. The twisting in his belly, however, wanted to tell him something else. That this wasn't outside of his control, and that he should feel guilty.
Harry had tried that last night, had pounded his fists until that lily Luna gave him had turned completely transparent. Today, though, he was actually looking forward to seeing Draco Malfoy. Maybe figure out what he'd wanted to say. Maybe just put his face through the bastard's nose. Try not to kill him, though, because that would just get messy. Not that anyone could really be upset for Harry The Chosen One for killing Draco The Death Eater. But as two schoolchildren, Harry could and would be blamed. Possibly expelled.
Harry's head was starting to itch, on the side towards the high table. He looked up, to see Snape's ugly mug turning towards Pomona Sprout. In of itself, that was odd, because Snape's lack of morning cheer meant he generally just did the whole Silence While Eating. Harry wasn't going to think about that, though, was he? No, Harry thought, turning back to his own breakfast.
Not twenty seconds later, he could feel that itch again. Up his eyes flicked, to find Snape sugaring his tea.
Great.
Snape was glaring fiery doom at him, and trying to avoid Harry seeing it.
The hell?
Snape obviously thought something was wrong, and Harry was at the heart of it.
Mentally, Harry took an inventory:
Near Madness? Not this year, Harry was pretty sure, though Tommy might think differently.
Near-death escapades? Not even once.
Insatiable Curiosity? Bingo.
But, Harry had really expected Snape to ignore him, not start playing 'eyetag.'
Something was wrong with this picture.
Normally...
Well, yesterday... Yesterday he'd simply have asked.
Huh.
Maybe that was it. Maybe Snape had something Potter-related on his mind, and he wanted answers. But he, being the prideful and stubborn bastard that he was, was unwilling to actually talk with Harry. Harry knew all about pride and stubbornness, he had several scars to prove it.
Maybe it was something important.
Harry struggled with the idea that Snape would let a fit of fury doom innocent lives.
This was Severus Snape.
Of course he would.
I can't trust you.
Well, then dose me with veritaserum, or aren't you a Potions Master? Harry would, if he could have caught Snape's gaze, tried to throw that thought bodily across the Great Hall.
Alas, it was not to be.
Harry was in a mood, and his friends knew to stay far far away from him when he was in a mood.
Unless they'd determined, like Gryffindors, to plunge straight into the madness and chaos. Which was often.
Not today, though.
Maybe it had something to do with the violet-green his lily was flashing at everyone.
Un-luckily for Harry, not everyone was his friend.
In this case, he'd been heading to his dorm after Dinner (not that he was supposed to do that, he was supposed to be with Ron and Hermione - also Draco, who Harry was trying not to think about, as the fantasy of punching him in the gob was just too tempting).
In this very instant, Harry was flying. From a foot that hadn't been there a moment ago. Flying down the stairs to be specific. Training took over - old training, strangely, hide your head, you're a ball. Just like with Dudley.
Harry hit something soft and vaguely sticky. He tried to reorient himself before thinking to stand. Un-fortunately, he was picked up bodily, and someone was cheerfully whistling The Wild Rover, which made Harry vaguely itch. His friends didn't like that kind of music. Who did?
The sight of that blond hair gave Harry his answer. Draco Malfoy. Who is accosting me, here in a hallway, when he could have - if I was going there, at least - caught me in the Room.
Harry had his hand on his wand, as he struggled out of the sack=like entity Draco had put him in.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry said, "Just give me a reason to punch your lights out."
Draco sneered, "Shouldn't that be a reason not to punch my lights out?"
"As if," Harry said, his left hand in a fist, that he lightly tapped against his thigh.
One thing about Slytherins, they understood body language. "I need you to get a message to the Defense Club." Draco Malfoy said quickly. "Tell them to watch where they step."
And that, that was curious. "Why? And why would I tell them for you? Just tell them yourself?" Harry snapped.
"Snape's increasing surveillance." Draco said, and Harry nodded mutely. He'd think about why when his head wasn't about to explode.
"So why not tell them yourself? you've got a coin..." Harry groused.
Draco's smirk was nearly a smile, "I don't want them trusting me." Draco Malfoy shoved his hands roughly in his pockets, "You wanted me to teach, this is my task. Now let them know that they'll be hunted. I'll set up the stalking."
Draco Malfoy didn't wait for Harry to respond, which was probably just as well. Harry still wanted to punch Malfoy, but was cautiously interested in... whatever lesson this was.
Harry suddenly figured going back to his dorm was a very bad idea. He could, he could try, but that meant dealing with Ron.
Besides, Malfoy, for all he was a giant arsehole most of the time, had a point. A different point than he thought he was making, but still.
Harry was fairly certain Malfoy didn't know Snape had asked Harry to make the DA. Fairly sure Malfoy thought Snape was being serious about catching them (he wasn't, obviously, or they'd be caught).
Training.
Malfoy wanted to run one side.
Well, Harry had always liked black in chess. Go second, watch, wait, react.
Harry dug in his pocket, pulling out a galleon.
War Council time.
When the other side pounced, Harry wanted to be ready.
There were a lot of mouse holes around Hogwarts, weren't there? Harry began to slowly smile. This was going to be fun.
And nothing like last year.
Tomorow, they'd plan the war.
Harry slept well that night, finding himself as a cat - or a mouse, but either way, not interacting with anyone he knew. Which was good, because he really, really didn't want to be interacting even with Ron or Hermione - or Luna or Neville.
Among people who didn't sleep well that night: The silly girls Harry'd terrified with a death glare - and then subsequently stalked up to, and informed them that if they didn't stop thinking about him, that he'd visit them in their sleep, and it would Not Be Fun.
Harry had to smother a grin after that, but at least those girls would probably stop following him. He'd been lucky to dodge them so far, in fact. Lucky that no one had seen Malfoy dragging him bodily into an alcove. That'd lead to either awkward questions from Lavender (hopefully NOT about mechanics Harry didn't so much as want to think about), or a drop-down hexing fight between Ron and Malfoy. Also awkward, just differently so.
Harry had always been the type to pick at wounds. He figured everyone knew that about him. He was curious what was underneath things, always had been (even if it had taken Hogwarts to explain Aunt Petunia).
Harry was going to turn over a new leaf.
Today.
He was not going to twist, and turn, and harangue himself about Snape's... anger. hurt, rejection. Whatever you wanted to call it.
Instead, he was going to make Plans!
Because, as Malfoy had so kindly pointed out, there was a hunt upcoming.
Harry intended to be ready. Who to grab, who to work with. He knew the usual suspects, so his mind lingered longest on Pansy Parkinson, that beautiful knife of a gilrl, well practiced in using the feminine arts as a distraction.
Harry nodded slowly. Malfoy was the only Slytherin in Snape's "extra credit" project.
Now, Harry just needed a good way to talk with Pansy. She wasn't in any of his classes except Herbology, and that would mean waiting till Tuesday to talk with her. That was just unacceptable.
He'd have asked Ron or Hermione, but he really, really didn't think she was in Ancient Runes or Arithmancy (or Muggle studies for that matter).
No, the best bet was to snatch her right after breakfast.
Which meant getting through breakfast. That had one major problem, and two minor ones.
First, he couldn't skip breakfast. Not that he would miss the food (though he would), but Ron had been giving him looks all morning long, and that just meant that if he slipped the leash, he'd have Ron to deal with. And probably Hermione too. If only Lavender could distract Ron enough to get him to not notice... Futile thoughts were best ignored.
Second, he had to deal with his friends, which was difficult, when he was this... off-kilter. He didn't want to snap at them, or convince them that he was crazier than he actually is. Luckily, Hermione brought a book to breakfast, so after Harry admitted (lied!) about feeling a bit off the last few days (pukey), he could easily steer her to a discussion of - Wizarding Law it was! Really, Harry had never conceived of something so boring, and with so many precedents. At least Hermione seemed happy. Ron wasn't required to pay attention, both because he hadn't started the lecture, and because Lavender was busy playing octopus with him (Yes, at the Breakfast Table). Harry envied Ron.
Third, Harry was dealing with those increasingly quicksilver glares from Snape - Harry never seemed to be able to catch Snape's eyes. That wasn't the problem part. The problem part was in distracting himself sufficiently that he didn't think about Snape.
*Yes, Harry does remember she doesn't have her wand.
**wrong, not evil. Distinction.
*** Malfoy escape Potter, to be clear.