Minerva McGonagall well remembered her school days at Hogwarts. She'd been prefect (not Head Girl), and had quickly developed the nickname Hawk's Eye, both for her ability to find even the most minutest problem, and her ability to ignore it when appropriate. That had been the nickname the Slytherins used, at any rate. From what she'd heard, the Ravenclaws had picked it up too.

Most of the time, she ignored the petty squabbles Snape got up to with her Gryffindors (when she wasn't nursing a private hunch that he liked certain of them more than he let on.*)

This wasn't most of the time.

Minerva McGonagall wanted answers. She brought a bottle of single malt scotch, for patience.

Quiet as a cat, she glided up to Snape's private quarters (it was a Sunday and she'd already checked with Poppy that Snape wasn't brewing), all the while using her feline senses to listen for eavesdroppers. All clear. It was a bonnie November day, and the children were outside - many watching or playing Quiddich.

Minerva curled her hand into a fist, and brought all four knuckles down on the door, three times. "Snape, you ol' nyaff bampot, open up!" She'd been patient, particularly with Snape's ... condition (whatever it was, she knew better than to ask) - it was never a good idea to talk sense into a stupidly prideful ill man. He'd just make himself sicker with arguin'.

Snape's door swung open, seemingly on its own. Snape was inside, cautious as ever - instead of greetin' her proper, he lifted his chin. It was a beckoning gesture, and she entered accordingly, slamming the door behind her.

"What's a crazy ol' doylem tabbie mog doin down here?" Snape said, slipping as easily back into his 'natural' accent as Minerva did, though he, of course, used his fair less often. Minerva flattered herself into thinking that he only used it around her - there were certainly few enough people who remembered how he'd sounded his first year. He'd spoken fair and far between - it was only because she'd given him a personal pick-up talk a few times that she'd heard his voice, for real. "Ca! Ya here fer summat canny sense?" Snape made a face that on most people would have been a grin, but on him had far too many teeth.

"Here to knock sommat dat bonnie good sense into yer gob, sure enough." Minerva said. She merrily seated herself on his desk, slamming the malt down so hard it splashed up the side of the bottle.

"Ya know I don't drink, moggie." Snape said, looking down his nose at Minerva. His seat deftly crept up a few inches, so they were at eyelevel.

"It's fer me, you big damn lummock." Minerva cried.

"Howay, man or haddaway home." Snape said, crossing his arms.

Minerva poured herself a drink, "Drinks first, then talk."

"Drink too much, and all you'll be good for is weepin'." Snape said, with a knowing glint in his eye. Minerva knew he drank, but never as a social thing. She rather suspected when he drank, he was likely to break whatever was around him, and it was safer for all if it wasn't someone's teeth.

"Toity twat," Minerva said with a sniff, "I'll drink as I please." She knocked back the whole glass o' whiskey, and leaned over the desk. "Somethin's wrong, and you're goin' to tell me just what, or you'll be explaining to Albus why I'm not at my first period class. AND havin' to substitute, as I know you have that period free."

Snape's eyes glinted, though his face was stern. "Yer pushin' your luck with the threats, you ain't that much of a wazzock."

Minerva poured another glass, lifting it as if she was truly drunk, "You just watch me try!" Of course, as a properly drunk Scottishwoman, she flung the liquor in a line that bent to nearly over her shoulder. Her entire face gleamed with the challenge.

"You would, you mangy old mog, wouldn't you?" Snape said, looking down his nose. "I could always toss ya out in the byre with that huge oaffish gadgie."

"Ya could, if you didn't larn nothing from the last time you tried to take advantage o' me. Nae, an ye want a lang donnybrook, ya'd start it like that. And what how!" Minerva poured herself another drink.

"Oh, don't be such a daft radgie," Snape grumbled, "Your point's fair and sunny. Now, could you kindly be more specific? What the divil are you worrying about? That's supposed to be dawgs what do that, not felicitous murder machines."

Minerva's lips pulled back at the compliment. "What the devil in the deep blue sea is going on with you and Potter?"

Snape contemplated the question, letting the silence grow. Minerva knew the trick, and it wasn't going to break her. "Divvin' be so nebby." Snape spat.

Minerva said, "If not me, then who? Ya know how much I hate the dank. Takes quite something to get me down here."

Severus groused, "Aye, you're bein' a proper workyticket, ya mog."

Minerva shot him a bright smile, "With bells on!"

"The filthy, infatuated ignoramus has been stickin' his nose where it doan' belong." Snape snarled, and Minerva blinked. That was quite a bit more emotion than even Dumbledore managed to evoke out of Snape, and Dumbledore was really quite good at the poking. She'd waited too long -

Snape continued, "Nae, tis worse than a' that, true enuff. Aka fyeul took it into his head to do worse than gep around." Snape looked down his nose at Minerva, "And ye kna he does that more'n tis healthy for man nor beast."

Minerva, feeling all of her craky joints, said, "Sounds like a certain young Slytherin I mind from way back..."

"Four furry dogs and a mouthful of clackers sure drowned that!" Snape said, in a tone that Minerva recognized as sharply contained mad-laughter. "That champion clarty lad has got to refuse to dee as he's sure been telt!"**

Minerva shook her head, "Nae wonder yer in fine fettle here. He's sure kicked off a heap of trouble."

Snape looked up at Minerva, and hissed, "He'd gotten, nevermind how," Minerva interpreted, more from his face than his words, Oh, so this is your fault. Poor luck for Potter, then. You never could admit fault easy, could you? "The madcap idea that I'd had a Gryffindor friend."

Minerva looked at him in open interest. Did you-?

Snape shook his head, denying the unasked question. "For what buggering reason, I dinna knae, but he blithering has to ask Draco Malfoy about that lang ago!"

Minerva froze, her eyes widening. While Snape would, in public, call Lucius Malfoy a friend, it was in truth more of an uneasy truce. Minerva slowly shook her head, "The gall of that lad," she whispered.

"Blasted scrounger couldn't even be bothered to ask me!" Snape said, entirely oblivious to the fact that no child would ever voluntarily stay in his presence long enough to dare a question. Not even his Slytherins.

"Or me, or Dumbledore, or Remus Lupin." Minerva said, crossing her arms. "Sumpin's not right wi' this. Did he think your friend was a Death Eater, perhance?"

Snape nodded slowly, "A very good point, that; one I hadna though o'."

Minerva studied Snape, "You're plannin' on fixin' his wagon, aren't ya?"

Snape's smile was unctuous as tar, slow, without showing a single tooth. "O' coz,"

Minerva nodded slowly, "Well, that certainly explains why ye've been glarin' at him fit to burn his hair off."

Snape chuckled lowly. Minerva did still remember that bit of accidental magic he'd done, in her class, when Black and Potter had been fooling around near Lily. It had been fourth year.

Minerva asked, calmly, "Do you intend to forgive him?"

Snape said, "He's lost my trust. Forgiveness is one thing, but I canna trust meself half the time. I dinna have time for this, sure enuff." Snape waived his hands dismissively, "After the war. Maybe."

Minerva sat up, and said sternly, "Then, you ol' rotter of a Slytherin, get your own emotions under control. You can't be so steamed he's sure you're going to kill him while he natters away, in his sleep an' a'"

Snape was never one to take criticism well, but he simply closed his eyes, and nodded.

Minerva said sternly, "The nerve of that boy."

Snape said, "I'm never sure whether Lucius has truly forgotten my insignificant place at Hogwarts, or whether he's just holding it as future blackmail material."

Minerva chuckled, and then smirked, "Be grateful that snake isn't using it for current blackmail material."

Snape sighed, and said, "I am, believe me."

The conversation turned onto other subjects, as the two professors relaxed in a way they'd never do in public. Both stuffed shirt types, though Minerva's upbringing was a bit more luxury than Snape's. They both held dignity and respect as founding virtues.

By the time Minerva tottered up to her room, it was lang past midnight, but she didn't care. She'd gotten answers, and that was important. Now, what, if anything to do with the answers?

When Draco Malfoy had agreed to let Potter teach him how to be a better Seeker, he'd been expecting tips. Demonstrations. Something like what that ridiculous (and marvelously effective) Defense Club was doing.

What Draco Malfoy got, this rainy Sunday in November, was Harry Potter playing MatchUp.

Which wouldn't have normally been a problem, per se. Draco was decent at brooms, and better at playing catch-up than at finding the snitch in the first place.

Draco Malfoy had seen Harry Potter on a broomstick at least a hundred times by now (not that they were supposed to be watching each other's practices, but a Slytherin never gives up an advantage easily). Potter generally was this peculiar sort of "genuine happy" that Draco Malfoy never could manage - not to act, not to be.

That wasn't the Potter he was confronting today - this one was mad. Draco had rather a lot of experience making Potter angry, so he couldn't help but wonder who'd done it this time. Well, that was, when he wasn't dodging the Mad Gryffindor.

Potter was capable of death-defying feats with a grin on his face. Witness first year, and swallowing the snitch.

ANGRY Potter was more of a harasser - Draco had to keep his eyes more on Potter than on the snitch. And not just because Potter had better eyes for that glorious glint of gold.

Draco saw Potter turning, two stories above him. Nearly instinctively, Draco pressed his chest to his broomstick, using the decreased wind resistance to get the hell out of the way. As he pulled himself out of the careen, Draco caught a glimpse of black-on-black, from the 3rd floor hallway the infatuated girls loved to use to ogle the Quiddich teams.

Snape, his mouth curled down into a slight frown.

Draco couldn't tell whether Snape was there to prevent 'unnecessary deaths,' or whether he just wanted to watch the flying, but Draco somehow felt better knowing he was there.

Draco banked as he saw Potter homing in on his position, trying to look behind him to at least catch a glimpse of the snitch if Potter'd seen it.

Both boys had salt caked to their faces, and dripping wet Quiddich uniforms by the time they were done. They shook hands (Potter managed a smile that seemed forced), and headed for the lockers before dinner.

Harry Potter was early at breakfast, his mind more focused on classwork than it had been - which, of course, only told him how much he had to do.

That was what you got for ignoring classes entirely for a whole week.

Harry scrawled answers to the Charms homework while eating a scone. Hermione joined him quickly, looking surprised that he was up that early. Halfway through, Harry looked up and whispered at Hermione, "The second part of Gantz's Law?" Then, of course, he realized that Hermione had been reading more than eating, so she hadn't heard.

Surprisingly, Neville (when had he gotten here?) looked over and said, "Transfiguration reverts in time, guided by the amount of magic poured onto something. There is no true permanent Transfiguration."

Harry blinked, "Then how do you explain the castle."

Apparently, their conversation had gotten Hermione's attention, as she looked up from her book. "It's really quite fascinating! The magic is drawn from all the students, into a perpetual motion machine powered by us all."

Harry whispered, "So a Hogwarts without students..."

Neville nodded, and Hermione continued, "Would not be a Hogwarts at all."

At this point, Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown plonked themselves down, and everyone realized they had five minutes to finish eating. What followed was a delicious, frantic scramble.

Because they'd been talking, Harry wasn't nearly first at the Defense classroom. Instead, he walked in on, well, a pile of girls (mostly Hufflepuffs, with a scattering of Ravenclaws and Slytherins) trying their best to outcompete each other for Malfoy's attentions. Malfoy, of course, looked like he might die from boredom.

Of course, that situation only lasted until they saw Harry. The Ravenclaws fairly flew at him - and at first he was concerned that they were going to compete for his attention, but then Chang grabbed his hand - and with her tug, he belatedly realized what they wanted.

They wanted him with Draco, of course.

Draco Malfoy gave a snort, "We broke up. Didn't you see us yesterday on the Quiddich pitch?" No one was watching us yesterday.

Harry Potter took that as his cue, and started backing up, tugging Chang back with him, "No, I'm not going to kiss and make up, not for love or money." Harry executed a perfect about face, only to see ... Ron, and Hermione - and Ginny behind them. Thinking quickly, Harry ripped his hand out of Chang's loose grip, and made for the door. As the Gryffindors (wisely) parted around him, he winked at Hermione and Ginny, and muttered, "April Fools."

Naturally, Harry was not watching where he was going, so of course his luck held true. As he whipped his head back around, all he saw was black fabric. Rapidly receding black fabric, as Snape backpedalled. I don't blame him, who would want to be knocked over by a kid half your age and size? While you were walking into class?

Snape sneered, "Is there some reason you are exiting the classroom? Are you really so eager that you're heading to your detention five hours early?"

Harry gulped, shook his head, "No sir, sorry sir, avoiding a bit of an altercation sir."

Snape snorted softly, "It would appear that the Defense Classroom is exactly the place for an altercation. With a teacher present, of course."

Harry just nodded, turning around and doing his best to glide into the classroom. He'd been humiliated enough, for one day.

Snape strode to the front of the class, paying zilch attention to such pesky annoyances as Potter and his ilk. He then lept gracefully and softly onto the stage, before turning around to regard the class. "Form groups," he said clearly.

By this point in the year, that was a red flag - so Harry didn't move from where he was standing. He was more curious about what other people would do than about what he'd do himself.

Everyone seemed uneasy. Hermione and Ron wound up together, but Harry wasn't sure if that was because they had started out close together. (Ginny had disappeared to her next class, of course). Harry smirked as Ernie and Chang came over to him. It seemed like most people had decided to stop having preferences in class, because you never knew what the hell was going to come next.

Harry kind of liked that attitude. Better was the fact that it meant the houses were scattered around the room. When Nott joined Harry's group, he was still reading a book - but it was clear that he meant to be with them.

"The signal is on three," Snape said, his voice forboding and mild at the same time. Harry could see a number of hands rising - Hermione's among them.

"One" The first number had people settling - satchels being laid near the side of the room, people shifting into more combat ready stances.

"Two" The second number had Gryffindors and some Slytherins drawing wands, which the other students hurriedly mimicked.

"Three" Wordlessly, wandlessly, shadow consumed the room. Harry could hear curses, and hexes, and just spells aplenty. Seemingly over it all, there was the sound of Thump, Thump, Thump. Hermione was trying to cast her bluebell flames, but Harry knew a better trick, if he could only get it off.

He pasted himself to the floor, debated for half-a-second about heading towards the nearest pile of satchels, and settled for tucking extremities under his body. In his mind's-eye, Harry pictured a shade, wrapped around a glowing ball bright as the sun. He could feel his magic making it real. He could feel people around him, slinging spells above his head.

Harry closed his eyes, shielding them with his arm, and then he let the light soar. He heard a collective scream, and then everything went black.

Harry woke up where he had ... blacked out? On the floor. Spells had stopped, for the most part, and the ones Harry heard were minor healing spells. Harry cautiously pulled his arm away from his face - light. He cautiously opened his eyes.

"The entire class was felled, some by their own stupidity, and some by the stupidity of others," Snape said, his eyes hitting Potter for that second, "And some were struck down by me."

"Your assignment, you worthless bits of mouldy slime, is to write what you'd do better next time." Snape said, his mouth smirking, "And you may pray that I do not ask you to demonstrate it." Snape's eyes found Malfoy's, and then Granger's.

It was clear the class was done, and Harry rose to leave, a sinking nearly nauseous feeling in his chest. Why did it hurt so much that Snape wasn't looking at him?

"But Sir! I'm still blind!" Zach Smith said.

Tracey Davis said, "Yes, I don't think I can find my next class!"

Snape's silky voice informed them, "I can hardly be expected to deal with such unexpected contingencies. You might try the person who caused the blindness." he said the last with a bit of asperity, before leaving the classroom at a clip.

"Who's that?" Justin asked.

"Me." Harry said, "Who's got Charms next? It's closest..."

Harry had this niggling feeling through breakfast, but it was only at lunchtime that it resolved into an actual Thought. Snape wasn't looking at him. Harry... didn't really know what that meant. Oh, he understood anger, sure - and Snape was often angry, or at least had been pretending to be.

But, expressionless? Ignoring Harry? Harry was pretty sure even after the Shrieking Shack incident, Snape had been glaring at him from the High Table.

This was unnerving. Harry wanted to stomp right up in front of the entire Great Hall and tell Snape to stop it. (Harry valued his life, so he wouldn't actually be doing that.)

The rest of the day flew by quickly, as Harry looked forward to Defense Association, to which Harry managed to arrive... early.

That was less fortunate, as Malfoy was already there, using Pansy and Goyle and Nott to set up brewing stations.

Harry's nose wrinkled. Potions was his least favorite class.

Malfoy snapped at him, "Something the matter?" Harry had the distinct impression that it was Malfoy's favorite class, and not just because he was really good at it.

Harry decided on honesty, "I hate potions..." he groaned.

Malfoy smirked, "You'd rather die than drink one?"

Harry shook his head emphatically. "I hate making potions, you tony git!"

Malfoy said, "When was the last time you tried in Potions class?"

Harry says automatically, "I always try..."

Malfoy said, "Then why do you cut your elderflowers the same way in a Cheering potion as in a Pepper-up?"

Harry shook his head, "The book doesn't say to do it differently."

Malfoy said, "Granger gets it right."

Harry said, "Hermione also reads four times the books assigned."

Malfoy nodded, "That's known as trying in Snape's class. He likes self-sufficiency." Harry, remembering some of his summer training, thought mockingly, does he ever!

Hermione bustled in, Ron on her heels, "I really think we need to learn blind-fighting, and stat. You just know it's going to be on his next exam." Shite. How did Hermione always know?

Malfoy crossed his arms, "Well, then, it's a pity that it's my turn to teach, because we're doing potions."

Harry chimed in, "I'm still not sure why we need to learn potions for Defense..."

That was the wrong thing to say, as both Hermione and Malfoy rounded on Harry.

It took about five minutes to get a word in edgewise, they were so invested in proving that Potions were needed in Defense. Harry was taking detailed notes in his head for the first four minutes, until Hermione started repeating Draco's lines and vice versa. You never knew what Snape was going to put on an exam.

"Sounds like we should be doing potions, then," Harry said, and he swore he saw someone behind Malfoy and Hermione grinning. Maybe Ron? No - Goyle.

Neville, who'd come in sometime during the heated... discussion (for Draco and Hermione had been on the same side of the argument, and Harry hadn't said boo for five minutes...), said with a bit of a sigh, "I hate potions."

"Here, sort these," Malfoy said to Longbottom, passing him some truly bedraggled fluxweed.

Neville nodded and got to it, as Harry sat down beside him, "What are you doing, Neville?" Harry prompted.

Neville started to say, "Some of this fluxweed has mildered, and other stalks of it have been dissolved, eaten away from the inside." Neville spoke with all the authority of an expert Herbologist. Harry nodded along, vaguely familiar with the concepts because Aunt Petunia had always liked a fresh bouquet of roses every day. "This bit over here is dried..." Neville paused, a confused look on his face, and then he strode over to Malfoy, "Hey! Wait a minute - what were you doing with these herbs?"

Malfoy looked at the intensely curious Gryffindor-wall, and smirked, "Nothing in particular. But do you think Potter, or Granger or Weasley would have caught both?"

Neville shook his head, "I love them, of course, but they aren't necessarily the most detailed people ever."

Malfoy continued smirking, "You'd do better to look to Slytherin for that, it's true. Now, do you know what having poor quality fluxweed does to a Pepper Up potion?"

Neville looked startled, "Um, no! I just know how to find the right ingredients."

Malfoy flipped a heavy book out of thin air, "Read up. Tell the class before the end." Malfoy looked at the rest of the class, "Can anyone tell me why Pepper Up might be useful in combat?"

Potter raised his hand, and said slowly, "If you're pinned down, and can't sleep, you may need to stay awake. A larger plan may be stretching your personnel resources too think."

Malfoy smirked and said crudely, "Or maybe you stayed up the night before finding some relief from your ... nerves."

Granger sent a glare at Malfoy (even though he really wasn't even talking about particularly male impulses...), although the comment garnered a few chuckles.

"Today, we're going to run a clinic on ingredient preparation. There's not a person in this room that won't benefit, even if you already know the terms." Malfoy said firmly.

"Including yourself?" Ron asked, and for a wonder, he wasn't confrontational.

"Of course." Malfoy said, "Much of this is muscle memory. You need to be able to get a quarter inch cut even when you're half-maimed, dazed, or blinded."

They got to work. It was a much better introduction to Potioneering than Snape generally gave. To the point that Harry was belatedly diagnosing problems with some of his potions that year...

"Take note, ladies and gentlemen," Draco Malfoy said grandly, "Over the course of three hours, Neville Longbottom has relearned how to dice, chop and slice." Draco grandly looked down at the wooden board, "Why, I'd be hard pressed to say that i could do better myself." Neville just blushed beet red behind him. "As far as I'm concerned, keep him away from the cauldron and chopping!"

Harry had gotten a lot out of Defense Club yesterday. He'd even taken notes about halfway through (unfortunately, Hermione hadn't, or he'd have just borrowed hers). He hadn't realized until he was due at the Room of Requirement, just how much of his choices this year focused on DADA and the War. Not that he minded the focus. But he'd wanted to study, to try out - with some grass and hay - some of the cutting techniques...

No rest for the wicked, as Aunt Petunia liked to say, her wooden spoon out as she supervised Harry's kitchenwork.

Thusly, it shouldn't have surprised him, when he found Parvati Patil sitting in a chair in the Gryffindor Common Room, her face wet with silent tears.

Harry's steps slowed, then stopped. His mind sifted through ideas, before he plopped himself down on the nearby couch, looking indirectly at Parvati. Harry sat in silence, trying to look considerate. After all, she was clearly in a lot of pin. A long time passed, a fulminous silence that Harry's mouth longed to break.

He remained quiet.

It took about five minutes, before Harry cracked, "What's wrong?" he asked in a voice that he hoped was gentle, and not timid.

"I can't get Anthony to notice me!" Parvati said "and I've tried everything!" She burst into a new bout of tears.

Harry had heard of Parvati's reputation, but - like most reputations - he was fairly sure it was exaggerated. So, Harry looked at her, and asked, "Everything?" The implication entirely underlined for the sheer bluntness of it.

"Okay, well, maybe not that!" Parvati said, giggling.

Harry said, tentatively, "Maybe, if he doesn't even look - he's not interested?"

Parvati said, "Oh, but there's no one else, I've looked! All around him - even Padma, my twin... He never seems to have eyes for anyone..."

Harry nodded. "I'm not sure how I can help you..."

Parvati promptly swallowed him in a hug. There were times he hated being little, and this was one of them. He'd rather be looking over her shoulder, or tucking his face into the back of her neck. And, worse, he could hear Seamus calling him lucky bastard!

Parvati sat back on her chair, clutching the pillow to her chest. "What can I do?" she asked to no one in particular.

Harry reflected that it was quite a lot easier to handle a girl he wasn't good friends with, when she wanted a good cry. It didn't make his heart hurt as badly. He was also wondering why she wasn't confiding in Lavender Brown - no, that wasn't exactly what he was doing. He was longing for the days when she'd have just talked with her best friend. He knew perfectly well why she wasn't doing that today.

Ron Weasley.

While Harry hadn't been paying attention, Parvati had had an idea. He could see it written in her face, in her straight back and enthusiastic grin. "Could you, Would you pretend to date me! Anthony would HAVE to look at me then!"

Harry resisted the urge to take a step backwards, as he was sitting and that would have gone poorly. "Uh? Me?" He asked awkwardly, "Why?"

Parvati said, "You're Harry Potter, Gryffindor Seeker and Boy Who Lived."

Yeah, that was what I thought she was going to say. "No, dating the Boy Who Lived will just get you hexed," Harry said firmly, watching as Parvati seemed to deflate in her chair. "How about Seamus, or Dean?"

"I've already dated Seamus - that won't be news," Parvati said dismissively, "And Dean won't date me because of Seamus - he'd call that poaching."

"Neville?"

"Bo-ring." Parvati said.

At this point, for some stupid blinded reason, Draco Malfoy popped into Harry's head. He tried to restrain the thought, really he did.

Harry, for once, had managed to keep his thoughts to himself. That hadn't helped Parvati, but he hadn't really thought it was a good idea to help her anyway. She liked drama more than was healthy, and if she really did have that Ravenclaw, she'd be plotting something even more insane.

So it was, that the next morning, Harry rose with a will and a way.

But, mostly, he awoke with words crackling through his mind like lightning on sand.*

"Why hadn't you told me that my mother had a Slytherin friend?"

Those were... safe words. Reasonable words.

Words that wouldn't implicate... Snape.

Well, wouldn't implicate him more than the memory itself would, and they all had the memory anyway, or the question wouldn't make a whit of sense.

That question put the questionee on the backfoot, and demanded a different answer than "Friends With Snape" ever would. And, really, that was the question that Harry wanted answered. Why people would withhold that, why even his photo album had been scrubbed of Snape - Had Snape been a vampire? some witty part of Harry's mind quipped back. Nah...

It wasn't a question that Harry was going to be able to swallow down, coil up in his belly until it ate him from the inside - or burst forth anyway.

Still, Harry did his best to concentrate on classes. Somehow he knew he was very, very far behind.

This was only proven more true when he got to Snape's class. Snape, in all his munificent wisdom, had posted a blackboard. It had simply said, Find me. Well, were this a normal defense teacher, with a normal outlook on life, the universe and everything, that would have meant Detection Spells.

Harry'd gotten there before everyone else, that question ringing in his mind loudly enough to encourage quick eating. Even classes made a better distraction than mere victuals.

So, instead of starting with a detection spell, Harry drew out his wand and started lobbing a fireball around the room. A blue fireball, of course, Hermione's bluebell flames spell was incredibly useful - at finding disillusioned people. This took about five minutes, but Harry was done before even Zach could come through the door. In point of fact, he opened the door to Zach, nodded, and kept walking. "Aren't you coming to class?" followed after him in Zach's ever officious voice, truly one of the eleven wonders of the world.

It was essentially a free period, if you wanted to consider Snape as "Probably Missing" and "Possibly Doing Something Important."

But Harry'd always liked puzzles (even if Hermione was better at solving them), and he meant to find Snape. But sheer determination wasn't generally good for much against a wily Slytherin.

Harry had a smug arsehole to find. The only question was where he would be. The dungeons would be the obvious choice, that was where he lived. But the strategic mind said "Go High" - and if Harry was wrong, he would at least have gotten to see the view. So Harry headed up, towards the top of the North Tower. At least if he was wrong, he could probably spot where Snape was lying low.

As the wind riffled through his perpetually unkempt hair, Harry grinned down at the grounds. Then he looked again. Hagrid, of course! It was one of the least likely places to find the Saturnine Professor - Harry couldn't help but think that Hagrid rubbed Snape wrong, even though Snape generally managed a pretense of courtesy around the Gamekeeper.

The lack of students around Hagrid's was the dead giveaway. There was always someone there - Harry hadn't noticed Goyle in particular, but despite the near-grown man's size, he was still a Slytherin - slipping away when he saw the Gryffs trundling up...

Harry ducked around a bend, meaning to head through the entrance hall. What he saw within froze him - the entire grade of Slytherins, arguing about where Snape could possibly be. It was Pansy that caught his eye, and said forthrightly, "Looks like Potter's got a clue."

Crabbe, in his best doltish voice, said, "Why can't we just follow him?"

It was a solid question, and Harry didn't exactly care if they followed him - he wanted the "classroom glory" sure, but didn't object to allies trailing in his wake. Find Me didn't exactly tell you what to do when you got there, now did it?

Harry was about a third of the way from the greenhouses to Hagrid's Hut, when the first stunner slid by him. As soon as he saw that, he did his best "snake impression" - belly to the ground, eyes up - and ready to hiss out a spell, once he had a target. There was a loud sound from behind Harry, which made him roll to the side, giving him enough of a view to see... They'd gotten Pansy Parkinson, and she hadn't been near Harry at all.

Whoever was calling the shots up there was sharp. Probably not a Hufflepuff, and definitely not Hermione. As more stunners rent the air, Harry hissed, "Down!" Hurriedly, the Slytherins obeyed, even the ones with solid shield spells up.

Malfoy crawled forward, the grass stains luckily (for him) hidden on the black fabric. His voice was mocking, "What now, O Battle Leader?"

"Fearsome Battle Leader to you," Harry snapped, with a smirk following just after. "Recon. Take your three quietest people, and circle left."

"Doesn't leave you with much to work with," Malfoy observed, smirking.

"On the contrary," Harry smirked, "I want to be making noise."

"We will do better with a known distraction," Malfoy said, sounding satisfied. He crawled back to the Slytherins (including Pansy, who'd been woken, and was blinking blearily). True to form, Malfoy took Nott and Pansy. Harry wasn't surprised at the choices, nor at Malfoy's own presence. He was too power-hungry to let someone else take over.

What was that saying? Plans never survive contact with the enemy?

This was far worse. They'd had unknown erstwhile allies, hiding in the grass. Until they'd nearly stepped on them, and Constant Vigilance had routed both sides, leaving both too weak to assault the center.

Granger's team showed up while they were still regrouping. Harry wouldn't have known it was her, without knowing that Moody had trained her. She'd sent the rest of her team in on a Gryffindor mission (somehow Goyle was involved, and he looked as out of place with Lavender and Seamus as sesame with chocolate). They'd had decent shields, but they were almost not needed, Granger's own targeting (she'd climbed a greenhouse, which meant that any lucky fellow beneath her could see-no!) perfectly sufficient to strike down all the defenders.

As Snape yelled, "TIME!" he strolled out of Hagrid's Hut, perfectly coiffed.

He hadn't even cast a spell the whole period, Harry figured.

"Your homework assignment is to relay as much of this classroom as you can understand. "

**This is North for 'do as your told' which Doctor Who fans should recognize.

*NOT Potter. Not everything is about Harry Potter. Guess in the comments.