The day seemed to fly by. Before Harry knew it, he was plunging into the DA room. He looked around, and saw that Susan and Justin were setting up for some "games". Hufflepuffs knew the best ways to get people to learn, without really thinking they were learning.

Harry darted toward them. He nearly bowled Justin over (sliding to a stop just beforehand). "Need a favor."

Justin looked the slightest bit cross at Harry, "Is it important?"

"I need this class. It's time-critical but non-urgent." Harry said.

"Fine," Susan said, and at Justin's cross look, she put her hands on her hips, "You know we could get a better Stratego board for next week."

Justin just grinned at her, and said to Harry, "Alright, you win."

"You guys are the best." Harry said firmly, grinning that grin that Hermione had once shook her fist at, and declared, "Mister harry james potter, you do not get to use smiling to win all your arguments. Particularly not the ones on paper." She had been perfectly serious, alright, but it was hilarious at the same time.

"And who are we, chopped liver?" Neville said, coming in with Ron.

"Oh, no," harry said, struggling to keep a straight face. "You're pate."

No one except Justin got the joke, and it wasn't worth explaining, so Harry stood in reasonably awkward silence until the rest of the class had poured in.

Of course, Harry couldn't even walk to the front of the room (the Lecturer Zone) without Zach asking, "Why's he teaching today, wasn't it our turn?"

And, why yes, it was. Harry wanted to snarl that at the Supposed Leader of the DA. He restrained himself, gently cooling his heels. "Yes. So you can answer the question first, if you want."

"What question?" Hermione asked, her brown eyes sparkling.

"Why did Professor Snape lie to our class today?" Harry sent a steely gaze at the Hufflepuffs.

It was sweet, doughty Hannah who responded, sounding nearly timid (she wasn't. just softspoken. But the type who really could wrestle a tiger and win.) "He... he lied?" She sounded... disappointed.

And the thing of it was, Hufflepuffs turned heads and made people cry when they were disappointed.

Harry just really didn't want to answer that one.

"Of course he lied, you sweet little cherub you." Pansy Parkinson piped up, "That's one of the fundeamental principles of Slythinerin. Keep lying and no one will know what you're really up to."

Out of the tome he'd been reading, Theo's nearly-black eyes looked sharply up at Pansy, "Pretty sure that's just you, Pansy." Harry, from his vantage point, could see Goyle smirking, though Crabbe looked mostly clueless. "Besides, he's a teacher. Here to teach. If he told you he was actually a wardbreaker, would you believe him?"

Harry ignored the last part of Theo's argument, and asked, in a soft voice that carried, "What teaching is he doing when he lies to us about the efficacy of spells?"

"The expedient kind," Theo Nott said, managing, somehow to sound arrogant in a completely different way than Malfoy ever did. And it was more irritating. "If he's got a full class to teach, and the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs can't learn the cruciatus curse... why teach it?" With Malfoy, you got the 'I'm better than you and I know it' treatment. With Nott, it was more 'I am the smartest person in the country' - there was no thought for you at all.

This might have made a good point if Ron hadn't gotten in the way out of sheer bloody habit. "Are you saying that Gryffindors can cast the Cruciatus?"

Theo Nott just nodded.

Neville, ever the peacemaker, spoke up - neatly throwing a grenade into the knifefight. "Maybe he just doesn't want a second Bellatrix Lestrange?"

From the other side of the room, Draco Malfoy laughed a wintry laugh without any humor, "Even the thought will bring me nightmares, Longbottom."

Hermione spoke up, speaking quietly, "Habits, once forged, shift rarely. And if you get in the mode of fighting with those particular emotional spells, you can't downshift. You can't fight someone you don't want to break."

Goyle scratched his head, saying, "Really, what have you lost? If you really wanted to torture someone, just use Tantallegra like a normal firstie."

The room laughed, and people eased up. Harry figured Hermione had the right of it, as usual.

Severus Snape woke the next morning to a deeply unamusing report on what the Defense Club had covered the day before.*

Leave it to Potter to expose Snape's deception.

The worst thing was? Snape couldn't even bring himself to be properly furious with Potter. He, himself, was to blame - one didn't leave loose cannons alone without doing the mathematics. Potter was likely to dig, to try and figure out everything. Even when it wasn't useful, wasn't necessary, wasn't appropriate.

Within himself, some quiet, disused portion of him disagreed with the "not necessary" aspect. Snape well knew why Potter was so blasted inquisitive. Why he wouldn't let things drop, come heaven with all his rage and hell with all her fury. It was the same watchful part of himself that needed to understand everyone, student, teacher, mentor - everyone he interacted with.

Snape didn't want to admit that Potter had actually been helpful by unraveling something Severus Snape had said. Had taught.

Severus Snape had expected his Slytherins to catch the inconsistency, and perhaps to come to him for more guidance. He'd wanted to use it as a wedge, where possible. If his students could be convinced that he was looking out for them, they might trust him in a crisis. And listen to him in the midst of the schemes the Dark Lord's minions devised. Every single Death Eater was a schemer, so being embroiled in schemes was merely life. Still, there were schemes that had promise, and ones that would end with all the co-conspirators dead. A few schemes had ended with the co-conspirators taking each other's lives. Old magic was obscure, so those with ambition occasionally wound up crucified for their daring.

Snape girded himself in his standard teaching robes. Invisible to all but the keenest of eyes, his robes were a crafted illusion over stouter, more plebian robes. He wouldn't wear his good robes to student brewing hour. Besides, these had an element of practicality to them that he liked. Ordinary acids and bases tended to be repelled from their coating. It was, however, a tad unfortunate that they were bright orange in color (something about magical resonance that he hadn't cared to understand in more detail.), and had this very annoying tendency to make noise whenever you moved an arm. Hence the illusion.

Harry Potter wanted to bury his head in his hands. How was it that someone else's glee could make him want to murder them?

Draco Malfoy sniped back, "Crosswise, not lengthwise. Didn't your daddy ever teach you anything?"

Harry adjusted, muttering back, "no" in a dark voice that promised dark things.

Malfoy just smirked, and said, "New flobberworms. It won't work if they're diced."

Wait. Was that what was meant by diced? Crosswise and then lengthwise? Harry'd just kept cutting until they were the approximate size.

And on it went. Malfoy was just pretending to be a complete and utter asshole, smirking the whole damn way. That, actually, didn't help, Harry thought with a good deal of aggravation. Malfoy was just enjoying himself too much.

What had Harry done to deserve this?

Snape's dark visage paced alternately between Goyle and Crabbe, and Hermione and Neville. Through some strange alchemical conglomeration that Harry didn't understand in the slightest, Snape was managing to correct Goyle and Crabbe's potion without actually saying a word. Was he using sign language? Or simple, sheer intimidation. "No, don't add that now," translated to "I loom closer. I recede when it's actually time." Although this sounded hilarious, Harry didn't actually think it was what Snape was doing. It was more probable that Goyle and Crabbe had simple had real remedial potions at some point.

Ow. Bringing up remedial potions brought up other things Harry didn't want to think about. Like headaches. Or the Pensieve Incident.

Harry Potter decided to give up, mostly, on doing the potion right. Malfoy was just going to correct him anyway, and Harry could follow instructions without really paying attention. That was an Important Life Skill (still, imagine telling that to Hermione!).

Harry started looking around the classroom, noting all the different colors of cauldrons. Surprisingly, Hermione and Malfoy's cauldrons looked pretty damn similar, even with Neville and Harry helping. Unfortunately, all of it was nearly indecipherable to him. It would have helped if he'd actually listened to the blackboard, but Malfoy and his fucking quips were being very distracting. Still, he was fairly certain that Seamus and Dean were two steps behind them, and somehow Parkinson's potion had chunks floating in it - surely that wasn't right? Harry'd have noticed chunks, right? Even if he was just chopping? Brown and Parvati were giggling, and their potion seemed four shades lighter than Hermione's. Still, Harry wondered if it might actually do something useful.

That was the moment Harry realized that he probably should know more about Potions. He had confidence that Snape could fix Brown's potion, and he wondered if Malfoy could do the same? He didn't think that Hermione would be able to, at least not without thinking about it for a while. Sure, she knew the interactions, but you really had to read, and analyze, with the assumption of failure, before you'd know how to fix all the various things students could get up to.

And, Harry should stop that thought right now, before he found himself sympathizing with Snape, bane of students everywhere. Or maybe that was just Gryffindors.

Harry woke earlier than normal, that Saturday. It was false dawn, the time when there was barely enough light to see - where even a candle would shoot your vision to shite. He woke, and he dressed, and he ran.

There would be an Order Meeting today.

The first Order Meeting he'd attended, he'd felt optimistic about.

The second one, he'd just felt a growing sense of rage.

Today, he was going to sit there, and let the folks in charge be in charge.

Clearly Dumbledore knew more than he often let on, and don't forget Snape was working with him.

Harry was going to have to sit through another round of people arguing that Snape was a Death Eater, which had to be positively ridiculous, even if Harry had thought it likely as a first year. These were adults, they ought to know better. Snape couldn't be trusted. Well, if you didn't trust him, have done and stop listening. Better yet, find better sources.

Harry was not going to yell this at people. Not even quietly suggest it.

Which was why he was going to stumble into the Order Meeting as exhausted as he could possibly, possibly be.

Order Meetings weren't about planning for current flghts, apparently, they were about looking into the future, heading off problems that might come to pass.

Harry would work better if he was exhausted, so he was going to do triple his training regimen.

And hope I don't drop off in the middle of the meeting. Outta ask Ron to kick me if that happens.

With a sweaty heave of a breath, Harry started his second lap around the castle. If a third didn't work, he'd start the stairs.

And maybe he could take a spin on the Pitch, assuming Slytherin wasn't using it. True, he wasn't playing for Gryffindor this year, but messing around during Slytherin practice would be a good way to take a bludger to the face. 'on accident.'

Harry wasn't early to the meeting this time, or at least not as early as he'd been. Snape was there, with his guard up - seriously, did he ever let his guard down? And, if he did, would it be a good thing? Vernon Dursley was a mostly decent bloke who minded his manners - except while drunk, or when dealing with his 'unwanted houseguest' Harry Potter.

With Snape? You could practically see that he carried stones. Or crosses, perhaps. If Snape let his guard down, there was a strong likelihood everything nearby would end up broken.

Harry knew Snape had anger issues, had always known, really. Of course, when Harry was a firstie, he'd thought that Snape shouting meant Snape was mad. He'd come to know otherwise, but that just meant that Snape put a lot of weight and discipline behind binding his anger tight, and releasing it slowly. Revenge is a dish best served cold - that sounded like a Slytherin motto, and not just for Snape.

Harry found a seat, discretely away from Snape (who was standing, more leaning against a shadowy corner - Snape was so tall it was conceivable being in normal chairs hurt.).

Moody arrived, full of piss and vinegar, doubt and paranoia. As usual, directed completely towards Severus Snape - who was never one to turn away from a scrap. Had he ever done so? Even when he knew my mum...

There were some things Harry didn't want to think about, and that was one of them. So, he harshly curbed his thoughts, directing them back to the ongoing confrontation. Lupin had slunk in at some point, as had Neville and Fred and George.

No wands had been pulled, yet, but it was a close thing. Snape was currently walking Moody through a routine about shaking pursuit, and Moody had snapped back at him that "Yer gettin' too good at that, you natty bastard."

Snape had smirked back, "Did you want me good, or did you want me dead?"

"I think I might have preferred both, truth be told." Moody said, just as Dumbledore strode through the door.

Dumbledore looked faintly disapproving of Moody, but he often did that. What startled Harry was the sudden twinkle in Dumbledore's eye. "Alastor, what have we said about wishing death on our allies?"

"Don't do it in front of you, sir." Moody snarled, sitting down in a sprawl - a blatant mimickry of relaxation. Every muscle of his was tense.

And so the meeting started.

Neither Moody nor Snape did a damn thing through the first half of the meeting. They didn't move as much as a muscle. It wasn't quite a staring contest, their focus was clearly on other things.

Well, in so far as you really wanted to know the gossip of St. Otterly Catchpole, which Molly was relaying in full detail.

Nobody had told him the meetings were so damned boring. He wouldn't have pressed so hard to join if he'd known.

What was the point of sitting here, when you could be training?

Molly finally fell silent, and Snape stepped into the breech, taking up a position flanking Dumbledore as he began to talk. "There are stirrings, at the Ministry." Distantly, Harry felt Shacklebolt and Tonks tense - this was a deliberate besmirching of their capabilities, and no matter how deserved it was, it had to sting.

"The Dark Lord seeks power, as he always has. He turns towards the ministry, and as his gaze falls upon it, loyalty itself shakes." Snape's dark eyes raked the room, "Who are you loyal to? Beyond all else? Is it the people at this table?"

Harry could feel heads nodding. He, himself, didn't move.

This had the subtle feeling of a trap - and it was that which prepared him to watch what came next.

Snape moved, like a dark flash across the room, in seconds having Remus Lupin at wandpoint.

Remus gulped, smiling weakly.

Dumbledore made as if to speak, but Snape cut him off before he could start, "Who here would die for the wolf?"

Harry could feel the question hang on the air. "I would," Tonks said. "As would I," Vance said. Further voices piped up.

"Who here would die for him, if The Order said otherwise?" Snape spat.

"I would," Minerva McGonagall said firmly, "My duty's more than a member of the Order. He was my own, and lions protect their cubs even when grown."

It was a good answer, and Harry wanted to smile, but he didn't think Snape was done making his point.

"And there you have it, gentle ladies and men - the downfall of the Order." Snape was smug, bowing to them all.

"What do you mean?" Albus asked, managing to be gently chiding about it.

"If you cannot put loyalty to the Order above all else, above your family, above your friends, above your professorial duties - these are all weaknesses." Snape said, at last removing his wand from Remus' throat.

"Now, perhaps you will not, in the heat of the moment," Snape gestured, his robes whipping around him, "Doom the entire order simply because of one person."

Snape's voice got quiet, that peculiar talent of his that made people listen all the closer, "The ministry has no such battlefield cameraderie. To them, it's just a job. Compare that to their families. Is it so unlikely their loyalty might falter."

Hufflepuff to the max, Tonks said, "Yes, dammit! I know what's right, and though I might do stupid sometimes, I don't do wrong often."

Snape bowed, "You may be a fool, but you're an honest fool. Damned by your principles. Not everyone holds truth and justice as the highest virtues."

Molly said, "You mean Slytherins."

Snape said, "Or Ravenclaws, or even some Gryffindors. At any rate, it doesn't matter how many, all he needs is a handful. And there are many workers at the Ministry."

They actually didn't discuss how to prevent V from capturing the ministry. Instead, after Snape left, Harry was treated to a whole lot of stuffing, without any bear.

He left as disillusioned as he had entered, if not moreso.

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were going flying. It had taken the gossip mongers three weeks to notice, but notice they had. So of course, the entire bloody school had to be there. Except Hermione Granger, who had declared that so long as it wasn't a game, she had better things to do.

Harry knew she'd cheer as hard as anyone, so he didn't worry too much.

And he had to smirk when he saw her bushy hair in the Gryffindor Common Room, which was tall enough that she could actually glance out and see the pitch. In between her readings, of course.

In a turn that no one had expected, Severus Snape had even shown up. It had been Ron who'd sputtered, "What are you doing here?"

"Crowd Control," had been the answer, said firmly. Harry half suspected Snape was covering a smile. It was a bonny good day for autumn turning to winter, and Harry was in his winter gear (complete with long underwear). Harry suspected Malfoy had better gear, actually, as even Malfoy was smiling brightly.

Harry leapt onto his broomstick, and there was nothing except wind, broom polish, and gravity. Malfoy was there, sure, in some distant part of everything. Harry kept track of Malfoy, of course he did. That was part of the job.

But this was flying, and if there was one place that Harry could go to escape everything, it was in the wind.

Nobody ever found the Snitch in the first ten minutes anyway.

By the time Harry had let out enough of his simmering frustrations to pay attention, he saw Malfoy studying him. Smirking, of course. "You done showing off, Potter?"

Harry nodded, responding, "Quite."

The crowd ceased to matter, hadn't mattered. Who was watching, who wasn't.

This was a contest of talent, of skill, of will.

In some ways, this was better than friendship.

It was competition.

Harry caught the snitch, but he knew, as Draco did, that Malfoy had managed to spurt out ahead of Harry several times in the chase.

He was learning.

No, they were learning together. It was a competition, but a different one than a competitive game. This was a competitive chase, and they were on the same side. Outfoxing a Snitch with two brooms was considerably easier than one.

They started it all over again.

By the time Harry and Malfoy came down, they were both grinning, and darted off into the locker rooms before anyone could really talk with them. For the best, really. Harry never had thoughtful things to say after flying. He'd just laugh, and grin, and feel free.

There was never anything righter in the world than Harry Potter on a Broomstick.

When Draco Malfoy was done primping in the locker room, he strolled out insouciantly. As this was the way he always walked, it was no cause for concern. Not turning around, but in no hurry to leave, Malfoy asked, "What do you want, Potter?"

Leaning against the wall, Harry Potter mimicked a trademark Malfoy move, pushing off the wall with one leg. "I did come up with one thing you could help me with..."

Draco Malfoy turned around and raised an eyebrow, "Keep talking, don't leave me hanging." The or else was implied, and truly didn't need to be said.

"You know books, and I have quite recently discovered that I need to know them too."

"Potter, you have a resident bookworm." Malfoy said, though his tone said less hostility and more confusion. "Impossible hair, swotty attitude, and curves?"

"She doesn't know this as well as you do." Harry Potter countered.

"Stroke my ego some more, and you might get what you want." Malfoy snapped back sarcastically.

"You fix Goyle and Crabbe's mistakes. Hermione prevents Neville's."

"So?" The word seemed to glitter in the air.

"I want to be able to do what you do." Harry Potter said, deciding the time for subtlety was loong past. Attempting to out-subtle a Slytherin was probably a lost cause.

"And how, do you propose, I help you with that?" Malfoy asked, his tone sharpening with impatience.

"I want a booklist." Harry said, "I think I can get it myself if I read carefully enough."

"Five and a half years studying Potions, and you've never cracked the textbook?" Malfoy said, sounding truly flabbergasted.

"Nope. Had Hermione, didn't I?" Harry tried one of his goofier grins, then at a hostile look from Malfoy, canned it. Somewhat doubtfully, Harry said seriously, "I hope this won't take five years..."

"Fortunately for you, Mister Potter, I am somewhat better than your average dunderhead." Malfoy said, turning to glide away, "I'll see what I can do."

Harry Potter rose before the sun did, stretched lightly, bouncing on his toes, and then proceeded to stamp and hop around Hogwarts. It was nearly Christmas*, after all, and it had rained. Rain, when there were no active trees to sop it up, made moors into boggy, splashy, mucky messes.

It was Scotland after all.

Which meant he was a sopping, dripping, bedraggled mess by the time he was hauling himself up the stairs. At least Malfoy wasn't there to make fun of him. Or worse, Pansy. Pansy looked like she'd never dream of letting herself get that messy, no matter what skullduggery she got up to.

"Potter," Pansy said, stepping out of a shadow. Because in Harry's entire life, nothing ever went to plan.

"What?" Harry said, greeting her with less indifference, and more 'I'm melting. Please don't take long. There's a shower when you're done.' Hardly the most dignified start of a conversation ever.

"Who's planning parties for the Gryffindors these days?" Pansy asked, and her show of casual indifference was a blessing. (Who could be entirely indifferent when mud was splattering the floor? Certainly no one who cared about image at all.)

Harry shrugged, "I dunno."

"Typical. You sure it's not Parvati or Brown?" Pansy said, her hands making treacherously for her hips.

"Pretty sure not Brown," Harry said, "I'd have heard about her."

Pansy snarled, "Well, someone needs to plan a party over Break."

Harry... almost nodded. It was true, there had always been some sort of illicit party over break. Generally the Twins planned those...

Instead, Harry asked, "Why do you care?" It was a loaded question, so he tried to drown any latent hostility before it rose to the surface.

Pansy's smile was sharp, in her fox-shaped face. "Business, not pleasure."

Harry just looked at her. And waited.

Pansy stood there, seeing if she could out stare him. In less than a minute's time, she broke eye contact, throwing up her hands, whirling, stalking away, coming back. "You! I'm in the business of procuring party elements that are of the more clandestine sort."

Harry nodded, "You're trying to take over from the Weasleys?"

Pansy sniffed, "We never used them." She then smiled at Harry, and said, "But, essentially, yes. I do a good job, I get a good reputation. A good reputation can take you far."

Harry's smile was more rueful chagrin than anything else, "Slytherin ambition."

"Better believe it." Pansy said, her mouth curling into a truer smile.

"I'll see what I can do." Harry said, pushing his hands into his pockets. "We'll buy at least something."

Severus Snape would appear to have decided to have a normal class for once.

He'd grouped them into quads, and then had ordered the quads to take on each other.

It was a decent way to think, to learn how to function in a group.

And Harry hated it.

He couldn't shake the well-founded suspicion that Snape was up-to-something.

As a result, half the time when Harry wasn't fighting a direct battle, he was jumping up, and shielding from other directions. Not that anyone was actually shooting at him. No, he just got to look like the Paranoid Arse that kept scaring everyone.

He had known he was overdoing it. Telling himself that hadn't helped, of course.

Malfoy, who had been halfway across the room, as much as told him, with a sardonic, "Constant Vigilance, Potter?"

Harry simply bowed, slightly, at Malfoy, then turned away, marched off to a corner, and stood in it - watching out of course.

It was easier here, safer.

Harry couldn't escape the glint of amusement in Snape's eyes.

At least Harry was pretty confident that Snape wasn't creating illusory creatures just to unnerve him.

Sitting in a corner, Harry could study everyone else. Hermione had a look to her, as if she was trying to discover the secret. Whenever she wasn't supposed to be fighting that is. Her wand moved in intricate patterns.

The Slytherins seemed warier than usual, too. Not like Harry, though. Harry was practically shielding without needing to think about it. Which, ordinarily, would be fine in DADA, but Harry very much did not want to get creative. Creative was entirely too interesting to certain third parties, and he really didn't want their attention BACK.

Harry just knew he was going to get horrible marks for this.

After Charms, Hermione pulled Harry aside. Her face was stern. "Harry, why is there an IOU from you for my third year defense book?"

"Err..." Harry said, admittedly not very suavely. Of course, stammering was quite difficult to attempt with any sort of grace, thank you very much. "Jake needed one?"

Hermione coughed, "And you just had to take my copy? Why did he need one anyway?"

Harry shifted uneasily, "You're the only person who keeps all their old textbooks, Hermione..." He hoped he didn't sound like he was whinging. Too much, anyway.

Hermione has her hands on her hips. That's never a good sign. "Why was it even necessary?"

Harry shook his head, "Long Story? Short Story?"

Hermione said, "Tell me the short one, and I'll tell you if I need the long." Which was exactly what Harry had intended, so one point to him.

"Snape wanted the book confiscated. So I confiscated it." Harry said, smirking.

Hermione looked at him with a look that said, I know what you're really saying, Harry James Potter. "You mean Snape wanted to confiscate the book."

Harry nodded, "And if he wants the book for himself, a third year defense book, he can ask me for it."

Hermione looked at Harry. "This story doesn't add up. At all. Why would a third year defense book be something that should be confiscated?"

Harry just said, "It was used. There were notes in the margins."

Hermione asked, simply, "Is it safe for you to have it, if it wasn't safe for Jake?"

Harry grinned, "Sure. Because I know better than to attempt strange spells at Hogwarts."

Hermione frowned, "If you say so. I can't say that I'm pleased that you're in some sort of pissing match with a Professor," Hermione sighed, "But I suppose it is Professor Snape, so... I believe the phrase 'he started it' applies."

Harry grinned gleefully, patting Hermione on the shoulder as he headed towards lunch, "too true, too true."

*By which Harry means they still haven't hung the trimmings up. I have not timeskipped, yet.

**Malfoy plays Quiddich. Malfoy does get muddy on occasion. Malfoy would simply ask why Harry didn't use the Quiddich showers before climbing over a hundred stairs.