Snape stirred, deep within his rooms. He was tired as the dickens, but he stirred nonetheless. Were those fireworks? In the Slytherin dungeons?
Silently, quietly, he prayed that it was not so. That the toad Umbridge had not returned to Hogwarts.
Sense returned to him slowly, as he had to concentrate on his own heartbeat to keep it humming. Oh, that's right, the Defense Association...reborn.
Snape mentally recalled that his chambers were warded to allow sound to penetrate, but not to leave again. He figured that sounded odd from the outside, and perhaps ought to test it himself, someday soon.
It sounded like the hounds of hell were baying outside his door. The sound resolved a bit more, into the combined howls of Ginny Weasley and Pansy Parkinson.
Snape closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to decipher the meanings. There was the sound of pounding feet, and more officious ones. Draco Malfoy, for one, spouting off about the rapscallions that dared to set off fireworks. And then pointing the Inquisitor Squad onto a path. Snape knew what he was doing, the treacherous bastard. A slow, lazy half smile dawned on Snape's face.
They'd report at the Room of Requirement, Snape knew, and he was going to enjoy every detailed description.
It was a shame, Snape thought that he didn't have anything in particular he wanted to procure from the Ravenclaws. That would be just the excuse he needed to schlep the stairs. And suddenly, Snape smiled. It was always nice when plans came together with a mere thought.
Snape strode upward as if he really were a wraith, passing unhindered between fireworks, paint spells, and other explosive distractions. That would be the Gryffindors, he presumed. The Ravenclaws had gone with a rather more surrealistic bent, which Snape found a good deal more clever and devilish tricky to not react to. He knew the floor was still there, even if his eyes insisted he was now walking on the ceiling. Even if his feet could boot the sconces near the top of the room. Steady on. The Hufflepuffs' madness wasn't a drain on Snape - he figured they'd gone for the simple route, like their totem animal.
Harry was wide awake now, looking mildly horrified at all the property damage that the Defense Association had managed to produce. Harry hadn't... hadn't thought they'd go that far. Filch was going to have a fit. If Harry could wave a wand, and fix all of it...
Well, really, why not?
Harry thought of the Jetsons, a television show that had been banned because Uncle Vernon couldn't stand anything strange. He conjured a small sponge, and told it, the way he'd seen Luna, "Clean this up."
The sponge, predictably, just sat there.
Maybe he needed some cueing? Maybe he should just go to the DA and ask her?
He wasn't looking forward to admitting to Hermione that he'd just forgotten to tell her. She wasn't likely to be pleased.
Taking a deep breath, he soldiered on, reminding himself that Ginny and Pansy in a catfight was both:
1) Fascinating to watch
and
2) To be prevented at all costs, due to the definite emergence of blood.
Inside the Room of Requirement, the mood was celebratory, with Hermione taking advantage of everyone's happy gregariousness to pick their minds about what they'd done. Harry's eyes quickly found Pansy and Ginny - who were laughing together, "Did you see his face?" Harry really hoped they weren't talking about him.
Harry listened intently, not contributing much. Of course, since everyone seemed to think they'd already told him (they had, he hadn't listened), they were eagerly babbling to each other, mostly across house lines, as it seemed there had been more coordination than he'd expected.
"Hey you lot, I thought that was a real fight," Harry said, making his way over to Pansy and Ginny.
"I'll do you one better!" Ginny said, guffawing, "Malfoy thought I meant it when I threw myself at him."
Pansy shrugged, "Distracting Draco is a little like throwing gold around a niffler. He's likely to run after anything that's not nailed down."
Harry frowned, slightly, "He's no thief..." with a considering tone.
"No, he's just spoiled. What he wants, he gets." Pansy said.
"Not always," Harry said firmly.
"He got you, didn't he?" Pansy said, smirking. And that was something Harry suddenly didn't want an answer to.
Harry, in the end, simply shrugged.
Pansy smirked at Ginny, "Boys!"
Ginny responded back, "Emotional range of a teaspoon!"
Harry responded, "Hey! That was Ron!"
Ginny spat back, "And it's you, when you start acting like my youngest brother!" While the wording was true, it made Ron sound like he was younger than Ginny. Which Harry often felt was true.
Hermione was still writing, and Harry walked close to the Slytherins, interested in hearing what their reports would be. Other than Pansy, they'd apparently just used House Privilege and the canny ability to dodge the Ravenclaws. Apparently Malfoy was extending them courtesy he wasn't giving the other houses.
Then something happened that surprised Harry. Goyle smiled his molasses smile, and said, "Not that I haven't come up with a few things we haven't used yet."
This was going to be good, Harry could tell.
Harry, even while preoccupied, retained the good sense to notice when his friends were talking about him behind his back. That was the case as of now, though Harry couldn't possibly be upset - he bloody deserved it. And he knew just what it was about, too. He had said he was going to talk to Hermione, and hadn't done. She wanted to confront him about it, but Ron was having none of it. Harry had to smile, even as he hurried up to his bed - his friends were so predictable. But it wasn't like that was a bad thing. They cared, after all.
Harry had some caring to do too, he thought, as he started in on another week's notes from the Twins. They had possibly gone overboard with the details, however amusing they were. Reading wryly about both Fred and George becoming weightless, and thinking of astronauts as they struggled to tie themselves to their potion-station (which, unlike the ones at Hogwarts, wasn't so nailed down...).
Some people were Captains of Industry - the Twins were Captains of Chaos.
Harry wouldn't have had it any other way. At least now that they were in the Order, they had specialty requests.
Harry'd noticed a strange thing too - from the start of this year, and no earlier, someone had been sending the Twins owls. It wasn't in the vein of requests - that'd be normal, there was always someone who had a good joke. No, someone was sending improvements. Only, Harry frowned, it was hard to tell from the specifics what the point was. Not thrift, as some improvements were quite expensive. Not the War, because some of them were just whimsical. And a few of the suggestions seemed dead useful.
Harry still wanted to know who was doing it.
Most people realize that time's slipping through their hands.
Harry had woken up that day with the depressing realization that while he'd been scrambling to find a solution to Snape's... condition, the hourglass had broken, sending all the timesand spilling on his feet.
He couldn't do this, he wasn't going to make it.
Harry forced himself to understand that.
To stop trying to sprint.
As a child, Harry had learned all about sprinting - it was practically the only exercise he got - sprinting away from Dudley and his gang. But Harry'd learned more, since then - he knew how to breathe while loping, how to pound the dirt until it almost seemed he was floating away* and then to keep running past that, until he vomited on the ground - and then to run some more, just to show he could.
Snape believed in knowing your limits. But that came with the idea of testing them, of pushing yourself past when your muscles cried out, of just keeping going, with a sort of blind determination (or maybe that was Just Harry, or a result of this being an assignment. Harry was not that masochistic without provocation).
Blindly, Harry put on his running clothes, and headed outside. He was going to run until he'd cleared his mind, until all the frustration had given way to bone-deep tiredness. And then he was going to take one more step.
It wasn't going to work this month, Harry hadn't the time.
It was going to work. Harry'd see to it.
This was the day that Harry discovered that lectures were a lot more interesting when you were bone-weary. He even scrawled some notes in Transfiguration! Were this last year, he might even have felt half-way proud about himself.
Told Sirius, maybe. Been scolded about not being too studious (and that would be how Harry would know he was doing well).
His hand shook, holding his spoon. It was almost a relief when Hermione spoke up - a splashy distraction for him. "Why didn't you tell me?" Hermione asked quietly.
Harry studied her for a moment. She didn't look that angry - she looked like she was perfectly calm. Harry didn't trust it. On the other hand, he was pants at lying, so he said, "I, actually, I forgot." Harry stammered it out, but because it was truth, that was fine.
Hermione looked at him, and said sternly, "I wish you wouldn't do things like that."
Harry nodded, "It just slipped my mind. You know I wouldn't do anything like that to you, Hermione, not on purpose. I've been kept in the dark so much." Often literally, "That I'd never do it to you."
Across the room, silvery eyes watched Potter and his Club with a keen vigilance.
Tuesday, Harry had tried to slip off after dinner, but Ron and Hermione had practically frogmarched him to the Room of Requirement, Hermione all piously saying, "You can't possibly have something more important than your own safety."
Harry spent two flights of stairs and an entire floor pondering how, or if he really should, explain to Hermione that Helping Snape was a better method of looking out for his current safety. Snape had been acting mean as a wolverine lately, but that was... not all that out of the ordinary.
The more pressing problem was that Snape was mad. At him. Harry wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't hung upside down in the Great Hall, his entrails spilled out for everyone to see at breakfast. Oh, and he'd still be alive, of course, though dying and they wouldn't be able to save him.
Harry didn't think he deserved that. Mostly. It got harder to be confident about that when he thought of what the Dark Lord had requested of Snape - and how Snape wouldn't so much as listen to one word from Harry's mouth. If the Dark Lord hurt Hermione... or Ron. Harry wasn't sure what he'd do, but he had a vague feeling that he'd probably regret it afterward. Aunt Petunia had always said that blood was the worst thing to get on clothing. He doubted even a house elf could get out a good sat bloodstain.*
They were in the room of requirement before the Sword of Damocles fell.** Hermione turned to Harry and said, "Alright, out with it. What's been eating you so bad you couldn't be bothered to tell me about the latest Interesting Objective for DA?"
Harry, startled, looked back and forth between Ron and Hermione. There was literally nothing that he could say that would get both of them on his side. Well, when all else fails, improvise. "I've been working on something..." he said, drawing upon his embarrassment at being forgetful to look convincingly abashed.
Ron said, "So? Out with it..."
Harry fidgeted, "It's kind of a secret." He tried looking earnest, "A good one, though! I promise."
Their wry looks at him suggested they didn't believe him.
"What kind of a prank is it?" Ron asked.
Harry had a starburst of inspiration. Unlike the normal lightbulbs, it took him a few moments of blinking to set the idea straight. "It's something to memorialize Padfoot. He wouldn't want me crying over him, now would he?"
His friends shook their heads, Hermione smiling softly, as if she might just cry.
Harry continued, "I'll even tell Hermione if you want. Ron, you'll like the surprise more if you don't hear." Which was true, of course, but hardly honest. The honest response was that Ron would want to join in, and that would spike the whole plan. There was no way a plan that involved Ron Weasley was getting at all close to Severus Snape. Nothing against Ron, of course, but Snape knew better.
Hermione gave Harry a bright smile, and he took them over to a pair of seats with a teaset inbetween. He cast a quick silencing spell - at the first syllable, Hermione had looked up, excited - she'd apparently not learnt this one before. Although, since Harry had had it from Snape, he wasn't exactly surprised.
Harry and Hermione sat down. "There's no way to break this easy," Harry paused a moment, looking around. Meanwhile, Hermione had leaned forward, her eyes as bright as they were when she opened a new tome. "I'm going to prank Snape."
Hermione's eyes got big. "Harry! Why would you Possibly think that's a good idea?"
Harry scratched his head, and said, even softer, "You've seen how he looks lately, yes?"
Hermione nodded tentatively. "Something's wrong." she said softly.
Harry nodded, "Well, it strikes me that what's worse than looking like death warmed over is Feeling like death warmed over."
Hermione said, "And this is why you want to prank Snape?"
Harry nodded, firm.
Hermione said, "I really don't think this is a good idea. He's prickly at the best of times."
Harry shook his head, "You will. I just know it."
Draco Malfoy darted in, slamming the door behind him.
Hermione asked, "Having trouble?"
Draco said, "Just the usual. The life of a minion is fraught with those who take offense at your superiors."
Ron and Harry burst out laughing at that, and the shy smirk that Draco gave them was Harry's proof that Malfoy really had meant to make fun of himself.
"Dueling today," Malfoy said firmly.
"Why does he get to choose?" Ron asked, in a tone that just bordered on whinging.
"He doesn't. We choose together." Hermione put in firmly.
Draco Malfoy's left eyebrow rose, and he asked, simply, "Anyone got any other ideas?"
They hadn't.
"Not dueling." Harry put in. "Let's do this right if we're going to do this at all." He knew he looked moody and a bit upset. Fair enough, he didn't live in Slytherin house, so most blokes wouldn't use it against him.
"Rules?" Malfoy chirped.
"None." Harry responded.
"Oi!" Malfoy said, sliding an arm around Hermione to grasp her other arm, "Granger's crushed. What'll she do without rules."
Granger turned a gimlet eye on Malfoy, and said, in a very level voice, "Kill you of course."
It took a brief moment before Ron started laughing, and they all joined in, with varying levels of assurance. Malfoy, in particular, looked like he was laughing "to say he could take a joke" and not "because Granger had been joking, and he'd been got good."
"Alright," Harry said, "Let's just try not to kill, dismember or maim one another." It was nearly a line Snape might have said, in his put-upon tones. Harry delivered it with a grin of gusto, and it looked completely different. Maybe someone might think Harry mad, but at least he wouldn't be mistaken for being gloomy!
They all went head-first into it - yes, even Malfoy, whose form was deft and quick. Malfoy and Granger tended to grab the upper hand - and then keep it, by sheer wits alone. Harry and Hermione were pulling punches, of course - they could both be casting wordless as well as wandless.
Harry's back arched as Malfoy flung an electrical spell at Harry's back (and a good thing that, it was lethal if it hit your heart directly). As much as it was a good shot, Harry was incensed. He turned around with blood in his eye, and a manic grin that featured a few too many teeth. Harry send a devilish hex towards Malfoy - it was a Sensitization Hex, not much on its own, but if you were in a battle (and Ron and Hermione were facing off, loudly)... well.
Draco Malfoy reacted. Not to the hex, but... what? He'd gone white in the face, and flung a blasting spell at the floor beneath his feet - using his reflexes to only smash his hand/arm against the floor. Malfoy knew how to fall too - Harry filed that under Useful Information To Be Used Later.
Belatedly, Harry realized that Hermione and Ron had stopped fighting to stare at Draco and Harry. "What-what was that?" Ron stammered.
"Snape's ghost!" Draco Malfoy said, still white, and tried for a laugh that came out broken. Everyone looked at him, both curious and wary - Malfoy was well known for being prickly if he didn't want to milk an injury. Harry did the mental math, and figured out that the other Gryffindors hadn't seen Harry's face.
Moments later, Draco had collected himself, at least a little, and said, "That look, on Potter's face, it looked so much like Snape." Harry desperately tried to remember what he'd looked like, and then, just as desperately, hoped Draco wouldn't say a word about it.
"What do you mean?" Hermione said, looking Harry up and down. "He doesn't look upset, the way Snape generally does. And, I mean, this is Harry, if he was upset, we'd still see it." Harry's mouth gave a twitch at that, threatening to break into a sunny smile. His friends knew him well.
"I could see his teeth," Draco said, and it was a soft tone, even in his standard drawl. "All of them."
Harry realized that he'd seen that look on Snape's face, more a snarl than a smile. It wasn't a happy face (not that Harry'd been happy about being shot in the back, that'd be daft!)
Ron chuckled, saying, "Snape doesn't smile. I bet his teeth are yellow and crooked, just like..."
Hermione deftly cut in, before Malfoy could take offense (Harry didn't think him capable, in this state, but Malfoy might wind himself up later...), "Unless he's very different in his own House."
Draco Malfoy said, softly, "It wasn't just that," Harry nearly leaned forward to hear what he said, "It was the eyes." Harry suddenly very much wanted to know what Draco was talking about. Harry knew his eyes had been bright, happy to be striking back at Draco. Snape's eyes always seemed... colder than that. Particularly when he was upset.
"A sort of... vindictive glee." Draco Malfoy said. Harry was by this point too enamored by the concept that there was a Snape madder than he'd been with Harry to feel sorry for Draco's stupidity at making the man that mad.
"I dunno man, I've never seen Snape like that, and I once saw him going off twice in ten minutes on the Twins." Ron said doubtfully.
Draco smirked, "I was dissecting porcupine quills and dropping them into a hellebore base."
"That could have taken off your arm." Hermione nearly shrieked.
"I know, and I knew that then. I could also have leveled half of Malfoy Manor." Draco smirked. "I was ten. And bored. I knew better, but I wanted something to do."
Harry Potter was suddenly struck by the idea that Draco Malfoy had actually been trying to behave up to snuff when he'd come to Hogwarts. That little twerp was on his best behavior! It was frankly mind-boggling.
"Ruddy luck, having to spend time out of school with Snape," Ron, who possessed an instinct about the right things to say that Harry sadly lacked, put in.
"Luck had nothing to do with it!" Draco Malfoy smirked, "It was my tenth birthday, and I'd decided that I was going to draw a memento."
"So...?" Hermione asked, unsure.
Draco Malfoy, who'd always loved the spotlight, continued, "I'd gotten Pansy to sit on Nott's shoulders, and then put them both atop Vince and Greg's backs."
Hermione chuckled lightly.
"They stood that way for nearly the entire party, until Nott couldn't hold it in anymore, and pissed himself all over Vince and Greg. Oh, and then Pansy couldn't stand the smell and insisted she get off - before I was done with my picture!" Draco had managed to whinge more about the loss of his models than sound caring about the urination. "So, naturally, I had to complain to my parents that Pansy was entirely too disobedient to be a proper pureblooded madame, and could they please find me some better friends."
Hermione and Ron were in stitches by this point, and Harry even managed a chuckle.
"They shipped me off to Snape the next week." Draco Malfoy shoved his hands in his pockets, "You've seen how good I am in potions." That wasn't a boast, somehow, just a sure statement of fact. "Snape always says it was self-defense."
And that, that had Harry on the floor with the other Gryffindors. Who knew Draco Malfoy knew how to self-deprecate?
Draco Malfoy didn't realize something was wrong for the longest time.
After all, they'd just gone back to mock-fighting (nobody had even thrown any jokes, for a wonder.) Probably they were all stunned with the idea of Draco Malfoy being a worse prat before he'd come to Hogwarts (it'd been something Malfoy had known for ages, so seemed unremarkable to himself).
Dueling demanded concentration, demanded finding your feet and knowing exactly what the other person was going to cast - and then anticipating it with a shield or another strategy. At least, that was how Draco dueled - and fought, when it came down to it. The Gryffindors had different styles, from Ron, who specialized in oddball spells that not only had Draco never heard of, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear of. He'd tried one, one bloody spell, that Ron knew. It hadn't worked. So he tried it again, and again. Fifty tries later, Draco was starting to wonder if it was one of those family spells, from an old grimoire. But, really, a family spell to turn your clothes sparkly and translucent? (If so, that really would explain the Weasley twins...). Granger tried for inventive on offense, and prosaic on defense. She'd learned enough hexes that Draco was halfway inside his mind most of any duel with her. He'd need to think up what the proper counter for - what was that spell again? And Potter? Potter fought like water - he had about twenty spells he'd use, no more no less, but what he lacked for in variety, he more than made up for in simply dodging.
Dueling went on for hours, and Draco put his mind directly on his opponent/s. The end came when Potter finished them off with ... The Nose Growing Curse. An otherwise unremarkable color, other than it's color - Avada Kedavra green. Obediently, they all dropped to the floor and played dead, not rising until Potter had all their wands.
Potter had positioned himself at the door, holding all four wands in one hand; Draco almost froze at the sight of him. Potter generally liked to play 'unremarkable' - and did so to such a remarkable degree that he'd fooled Snape, of all people. It always came as a shock when Potter played general. (Draco, himself, wanted to know if he'd do as well, playing general. He made a mental note to do War Games the next time it was his turn in Additional Defense Time. Sure, it was a bit selfish. But everyone needed to know how to give and take orders, in a war. Assume anyone can be killed, or incapacitated.).
With flinty eyes, Potter said, "Not a word about what Draco said today." Draco Malfoy could only stare, not even smirk at the ... consideration, or whatever it was. Potter, Draco remembered, finally, loved to brood about things. Draco hadn't even noticed anything was wrong. At least this time Potter was still coherent - he generally tended to explode into fury; that, while amusing, was not what Draco particularly wanted to encounter without backup.
Ron, predictably, spoke up laughingly, "Oi! Yeah, like we'd tell anyone about Draco Malfoy nearly blowing up his childhood home!" Hermione was glaring at Ron; but, as that was her normal form of behavior, Draco didn't pay it much heed.
"I mean it, Ron," Harry Potter said, and that look was... well, Draco Malfoy recognized that look. It was - not the look of a killer, but the look of someone who would kill, anyway.
Draco Malfoy filed that away for later use, feeling like he'd just been handed a dozen galleons he couldn't spend. He'd have to rethink the entire practice session to understand what Draco'd said that made Potter react like that. That was fine, Draco had all the time in the world.
It was breakfast before Harry'd pulled himself out of his mental fog (yes, it had persisted through running around Hogwarts. Multiple times.). Pumpkin Juice was great, and all, but sometimes you really really needed coffee. In Harry's case, since the Hogwarts House Elves refused to make the Devil's Brew, he had to settle for a cup of Proper British Tea (any attempts to persuade the elves that he just wanted the caffeine, and could they double steep it for flavor? Had fallen on deaf ears).
Harry was on his fourth cup now, and starting to remember that today was Wednesday. In quick succession, his schedule started to flash before his eyes - and ground to a halt on the first item.
Snape's Defense Class.
Harry's mind slid to a screeching halt, as he did something he never ever did at breakfast. He pulled out papers. Specifically, Snape's syllabus. Harry skimmed down the list, noting that they were - as expected - two weeks ahead. Not that the book work was actually on the syllabus, either.
Snape was chewing up the breathing room he'd gotten from not having to teach them the Patronus charm.
He'd known this was coming - and more on top of this, Harry thought. This wasn't some unplanned thing that just left him gaunt and wasted.
Harry realized that he'd known this, somehow - call it gut level intuition. But he'd known.
That ruddy bastard, Harry thought, a smile quirking the edges of his lips. Harry sat back, thinking, How did anyone think I could manage to fight a Slytherin like Voldemort? With Gryffindor - stupidity? Run right up and spit in his face?
Suddenly, Harry realized that he actually did have the capability of doing that, now. And of having at least a hairsbreath chance of surviving it. He knew how to dodge after all, and that seemed to be something that most wizards hadn't the foggiest clue about. Malfoy was starting to learn (and Greg seemed to just "take" hits and shrug them off. Harry thought he'd learned pain tolerance, but it turned out he'd really only learned the ability to move while being in horrendous agony. Greg seemed to have gotten that, and more. Was that his da teaching him? Harry didn't know, but thought it likely. Few people would care, otherwise, and Draco Malfoy didn't seem like he had the heart to make his minion scream merely to help him).
Harry abruptly realized that no one else was still at the table, as he stuffed the papers frantically into his bag.
Then it was up and running (okay, jogging. no running in Hogwarts Hallways!), towards Snape's classroom - nevermind that Snape hadn't stood from breakfast yet, he'd have a quicker way to be sure, and Harry REALLY didn't need any black marks on his record today.
Harry strode into Defense like he owned the place, more like he was going to be the teacher than deferential to Snape. He collected people into his gaze, Slytherins scattered here and there - for all that 'Slytherins Stuck Together' was a mantra, they didn't really cleave to it much, other than defending each other.
Hmm... perhaps he could use that. The Hufflepuffs had formed two groups - one primarily female, the other mostly male. Justin was the odd one out. The Ravenclaws had merged with the Gryffindors (and who knew how that had happened, Harry mentally put money on Hermione).
Before Harry could as much as start a little plotting, Snape strode through the door, his pace disorganized, but still as swift as ever. He tottered faster than many ran. It was impressive, in its own way.
"Read the chapter on Darkly Magical Beasts. Now that you aren't being taught by one, perhaps you can quiz each other on the subject." Snape drawled, practically laying down on the podium, his whole upper body weight supported by one arm - that had a slight tremble to it.
Harry belatedly heard the bait in Snape's comment, his eyes quickly flicking to Hermione and Ron, both of whom looked fit to charge up to Snape and holler at him. That, would be a bad idea in so many ways, Harry thought grimly. Mentally, he flagged where Parkinson was, and swirled his wand in his hand, wordlessly casting a mirror charm at two discrete points in the room. Then, he flicked a stinging hex at the first - it ricocheted into the second, and wound up speeding by Parkinson and hitting Ron in the arse. Luckily, Lavender was beside him, to calm him down before he exploded in front of the whole class.
The war had started off cold.
Pansy didn't know what hit her, of course, but Ron's wordless stinging hex didn't go unavenged. Ol' Pugface sent a stinging hex towards Lavender Brown, who subsequently sent a tickling hex at Parvati - and then they both, from opposite sides of the room, tried to get Pansy, using some sort of archaic "girls only" handspeak.
Pansy, who was substantially more prepared, simply ducked - more accurately, bending down to tie her shoelace. How she'd managed to untie it while standing...
Pansy had been near two groups of Hufflepuffs, and Hannah Abbot wasn't known for her temper. Zach was more inclined to take it as "who DARES to hex me from behind?", but that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things.
Snape's eyes were closed, but Harry knew that was just the illusion of letting them get away with it.
Still, as Zach and Hannah started shooting the Tango hex, as well as a modified tickling curse that wouldn't stop until you peed yourself, Harry snuck in a few more stinging hexes, bringing Goyle, and - oddly, the usually rational Hermione into the mix. (Hermione was probably just upset that someone was interrupting her studying.)
*stains fix if you let them sit. Harry's past-tensified the sit, and then turned it into an adjective. Harry doesn't know many words. He's quite willing to make them up, however.
**Rocky Horror Picture Show. As weird and oddball as that movie is, there's not much magic. This is what happens when Dudley falls asleep on the sofa and leaves the TV on.