Harry sat on top of the Astronomy tower, with the railing behind him and his feet dangling off the edge. He was supposed to be at the Defense Club meeting. Supposed to.
He wasn't.
The more he thought about it, there was something unnerving about being so paranoid earlier today, in class. When he'd been in the midst of it all, it had just seemed normal. Something to be dealt with.
Now, he was just trying to reassure himself with the simple, frail hope that Snape would have stopped anything too unusual.
These were strange thoughts, strange feelings.
Harry had thought that paranoia was an acquired trait.
Well, it certainly was that, he thought with a snort.
He was just worried about how he had acquired it.
Was it really his mind? His thoughts?
Or was Dark Lord Tom in his head again? Now not with visions, but with feelings? Feelings were squirrely thngs, Harry knew well. they had him screaming uselessly at the Dursleys, had him hugging Hermione for he knew not how long after Cedric died. He'd known, or at least thought he'd known, at the time, that those were HIS emotions.
Harry kicked his legs again, letting his shod-heels clank into the wall.
Harry knew he should be at Defense Club. Supporting Hermione, who was doing another damned competent job at teaching really boring material. Or it would be boring, if lives didn't depend on it. Harry'd always had buckets of focus for that. The wind whipped around his head, and he could almost hear, in it's light song, Hero.
Potter never heard Snape open the door to the Astronomy Tower's roof. Nor did he hear Snape leave, shortly thereafter. Snape ghosted through Hogwarts, his quickly moving form raising no alarm, even fifty minutes before curfew, which was when sane students finished their studies on intercourse and more academic matters, and headed to their dormitories for the night.
Snape found Minerva's office door, and rapped upon it smartly. At least no one was up here to bother him - even the Gryffindors steered clear of Minerva unless the problem was dire.
"Come in," Minerva said, and actually smiled to see Severus Snape, who stepped inside and closed the door softly. "What herd of wild hippogryphs brings you to my door? Or is it rampaging centaurs setting fire to the entire Forbidden Forest?"
"Neither," Snape said, sounding cross. "You have another lost lion cub to deal with. Top of the Astronomy Tower."
Minerva sat up, and started to say, "Surely-"
Snape gave her a dark look, and she choked on her words.*
"Oh," Minerva said, standing up, "That'll be Potter, then, won't it?" She looked at Snape with crossed arms, leveling a considering glare at him, "It wasn't you, was it?"
"Of course not," Snape said, in a voice that nearly purred.
Harry was waffling, undecided, between Lord Tom having put these emotions in his head, and the even scarier and yet more reassuring bleedover effect.
Neither was good. Neither was something he wanted.
Why hadn't Occlumancy helped? Maybe he was just using it wrong?
Couldn't ask Snape, and asking Dumbledore involved finding The Great Gray Wizard.*
"Mister Potter, do the clouds say rain?" Minerva McGonagall's voice struck through the wind like a battleaxe.
Harry startled, his hands gripping the bannister as he jumped a few inches into the air - and considering he was only a few inches from 'off the tower...' He planted his feet at his rump and swung himself up.
Minerva continued, as he spun to look at her, "My bones say rain, soon enough."
Harry nodded, remembering Mrs. Figg, the old catlady who loved when he came around, because he was a very good fetch-and-carry boy, even if the mints she tried to give him in payment were generally fused into something so huge it was impossible to eat. And who took all the mints, anyway? Anything was better than another minute with his relations.
"What brings you up to this admittedly cold and lonely spot?" Minerva asked.
Harry shrugged, "I like the wind, truth be told. And when I want to think, it's nice to be alone. I get distracted if there's too many people around - always something to think about, something to listen to."
Minerva nodded, slowly - like she was considering his words. Harry had always liked that about her. "And what were you thinking about?"
"Whether I've truly gone and cracked up now, or whether this is His fault..." Harry said, off-handedly.
"That sounds like you have quite the problem, Mister Potter." Minerva said. "If you elaborated a bit, I might be able to shed some light on the matter."
"What do you know about having someone else in your head?" Harry asked, looking dead on at his teacher.
"My feline persona is something of a second skin. It thinks in similar, but not identical ways to my human mind."
"So you really do like catnip?" Harry asked, remembering something that the Twins had once joked about pranking McGonagall with.
Minerva McGonagall stomped her foot, twice, before hissing out, "Ooh! That man! He promised!"
"He didn't say anything," Harry said quietly, "The twins might have been planning something..."
"Relieving that they didn't," Minerva said with a soft smile, "They'd have done it in the Great Hall and then no one would listen to a disciplined word I said."
They stood there, for a while, looking at each other. Harry was reminded of how being alone with Arabella Figg's cats had never felt quite so lonely as being in his cupboard. Cats had an innate quietness to them, and Minerva McGonagall had managed to capture some of that. This silence wasn't hostile, nor un-nerving. It was simply there, waiting to be broken.
"I was as bad as Moody in Defense class today," Harry said, throwing up his hands in a wild, circular gesture. He started to pace, as if by moving, he could control his words, channel them into comprehensibility.
"Did it continue through your other classes?" Minerva asked, "Only you seemed quite calm in my class."
Harry nodded, "No, it was pretty much just for that class."
Minerva took a breath, "I sincerely doubt this was You-know-who. I cannot think that whatever he does would coincide so neatly with your class schedules."
Harry abruptly wanted to bury his face in the tower's roof. He felt like an idiot.
Minerva continued, "If you think of it as a conscious effort on his part, then I must wonder what he could possibly gain from pushing you to such a reaction."
Hey, she was right!
Harry knew he was beaming, "Thanks! Professor, thank you!" He must have sounded more fervent than many converts.
"Remember, Mister Potter, you do have resources." Minerva said, her stern voice softening only as she finally said, "Remember to use them."
Harry did his best to look humble and chagrined. It wasn't difficult.
"Don't you have someplace to be right now, Mister Potter?" She asked, her eyes sparkling with mirth.
"What-?" Harry blurted out.
"I'm old, Mister Potter, not deaf and not blind. When my entire common room empties out of a day, I do notice." Minerva said, "Now don't go telling me what you're doing, I loathe lies when they aren't absolutely necessary."
Harry just looked shocked at her.
"Oh, for the love of-" Minerva said, "The Head of Slytherin house may have taken it as a personal affront, the idea of someone learning outside his class. I, quite frankly, approve. Though I'll appreciate it greatly if you don't tell him that."
Harry had to bite back a smile.
"Speaking of the Slytherin Housemaster, Mister Potter, I hope you do have a plan for soothing his ruffled feathers..." Minerva McGonagall said, her somber voice quite taking any fun out of her off-handed, downplayed words.
"I do," Harry said, his nerves preventing any bit of a smile from leaking out.
Before he could say more, Minerva McGonagall said, "Not a word more, on my House."
The next day seemed to fly by in a whirl of exultation. It was weird, just being happy about being paranoid. It was, in fact, one of the odder emotional highs that Harry had ever experienced.
Yet, he was sure it was his, and that factor alone gave him the ability to savor it.
After his morning run, he'd managed to open Snape's defense book, and read a few jottings. The book itself wasn't important, at all, really. But Snape and his mum had written to each other in it, sometimes about school, sometimes about not-school academics - and sometimes about people, too. There were even little jottings about dreams, like what they wanted to be when they were older. What the electives were like - Harry wasn't at all surprised that they were taking Ancient runes and Arithmancy. Had that made it more awkward, when they'd finally stopped being friends? Or had his mum merely dropped all the classes?
Hermione would have been furious at such a thing. She'd have forced Lily Evans to keep on in the classes (and if needed, gotten Snape to drop them). Harry did see Hermione and Lily, this Lily he was reading the thoughts of, being fast friends.
He wasn't so sure about himself... but he had to think that someone as nice as 'able to put up with Severus Snape' had to be... They might have been friends.
It was weird to think of his mum as a student, in a way that it had never been to think about James Potter. Harry felt like he knew James Potter better as a kid at Hogwarts than as his father. Maybe he always would - the man had only a year as his father, and seven long and full years at Hogwarts.
Nobody'd ever talked about his mum.
This was really the closest he was getting to know her.
Harry idly wondered why Snape would tell him nothing but lies.
Odd, that it didn't hurt. Not being told things often frustrated Harry, he knew this about himself.
For once, he could actually accept that Snape had some sort of reason.
Maybe this was maturity? Harry's mouth crinkled in a queer sort of smirk. If so, Harry thought maturity could bloody well go hang.
Moments before 'The Explosion' Harry was having quite a lovely day. Ron and he were at the Room first, and Harry was trying to figure out the pattern to Ron's spells. He was mindful of Snape's warning not to try to learn them, but surely this couldn't be bad, could it? And it was a puzzle, and Harry'd always been better at those than people realized. He knew he could have solved Snape's logic in his first year, but Hermione hadn't had a go yet, and she liked puzzles.
Harry hated man-crafted puzzles, snobby little things. Can you solve my riddle? Harry wanted to snarl back, Don't be so high-handed! As if only a Vaunted Riddle Solver should be able to...
Manmade puzzles were gates, designed to stop dummies.
Harry remembered what Dudley'd been like when he was frustrated, and he often was when there was a riddle on the screen.
Carrying books in her arms as usual, Hermione came in first, but Malfoy was on her heels - he only had a solitary roll of parchment. Harry didn't even have a moment to feel dread, before Malfoy strode straight up to him. "As requested," Malfoy said, pushing the parchment towards Harry's chest. Harry grabbed it and - too late - tried to hide it.
"What's that then, mate?" Ron asked.
Hermione was starting to glare at them, and Harry felt like that was the bigger problem. Still, Ron required an answer. "Payment for services rendered."
Malfoy, utter rotter bastard that he was, wouldn't leave it at that. In his most patented drawl, he said, "Potter asked me for some Potions help in return for Sunday flying lessons."
Harry didn't even see the flash of sparks in her hair, before Hermione exploded, "Harry James Potter! WHY are you asking HIM for Potions advice?" This screaming was accompanied by Hermione running straight at Harry, and starting to pummel him with the heels of her fists.
Behind her, of course, Malfoy just looked smug. Oh. Harry thought, they've had an academic 'rivalry' for years, haven't they? Is this the first time Malfoy can truly, decisively, say he's won? I'll say he's not going to pass up on that!
Still in the midst of being pounded on, Harry had the sudden urge to say something that Snape would say, just to take the wind out of Malfoy's ballooning ego. That was not a good idea, he told himself sternly.
"Why would you do that, Harry?" Hermione finally managed.
Harry shrugged, a bit uncomfortable, "You taught me that learning from different perspectives helps." For once, Harry knew he'd said something right, he could feel Hermione's face clearing of anger.
"How does Malfoy have a different perspective than me?" Hermione growled, her hands on her hips.
"You're perfection, Hermione," Harry said, only belatedly noting Ron's bewildered look at him. "Erm. In Potions class." Harry scratched his head, which he often did when he knew he was confusing everyone. "When you help Neville, you're always focused on him never getting things wrong." Harry straightened, "I've accepted that I'm likely to get things wrong in the class. It's an organizational headache, and I'm never the best at that." Harry's eyes found Draco Malfoy's, "When Malfoy works with Goyle and Crabbe, he works to their capabilities."
"He means I make sure they don't poison the classroom." Malfoy said, leaning casually against the wall. "I let them make their own mistakes."
Harry nodded, gently, "Figured I might be better at learning if I knew what NOT to do."
Ron grinned, "Anything's worth a shot, mate."
Snape was having another one of these blasted normal classes.
And Harry hated it. Not because it was boring, no.
Because he kept jumping at absolutely nothing.
No one would be fool enough to attempt an assassination with Snape in charge.
Not even Snape - there were witnesses.
Harry couldn't help waiting for the next problem. This one was too easy.
It was just the same groups, doing the same things as last class.
This was a pattern, and Harry distrusted patterns.
All the moreso as he was fairly certain Snape was smirking about Harry's 'case of the nerves.'
At least he hadn't been publically humiliated. There were apparent benefits to Snape's case of the silences. Huh, who'd have guessed?
Harry knew better than to push his luck with that, though. There were things that you could get away with, and things that you couldn't. Speaking of, Harry began to contemplate how to get out of being Draco Malfoy's lab partner. It was one thing for Malfoy to be spiteful to Harry (expected, really), but quite another if they were partners. There was absolutely no reason to do it then. Hrm. There normally wasn't a reason for Malfoy to do it in the first place...
Harry jumped, looked down at the ground sizzling between his feet. A spell had glanced off a shield and nearly scalded his feet.
Maybe there was a reason he was being so jumpy.
It was his group's turn, and he settled his heels in, letting Smith guide everyone. Not that Smith was any good at ordering people around - Harry was better and he didn't flatter himself to think he was at all good. Still, Harry was pretty confident that he could shield at least himself. Or spread a half-assed shield around everyone.
They lined up against Bones and Abbott and Parkinson and Goyle. On the surface, they looked like a reasonably weak team, though Bones was ferociously competent.
Smith's orders had them too disorganized. Harry should have been on point, or in the center of a circle, guiding. As it was, he was in the rear, and the attack was from the front. Magical power didn't do much to many spells, but it had a rather severe affect on how much a shield could take.
Their shield broke, and they all went flying... down onto what felt like, well, felt. Harry rolled to his feet, springing lightly to them out of a modified crouch. He couldn't say the same thing for his teammates. He had to restrain himself from volleying back a salvo. That wasn't the point of this exercise.
Discipline. Discipline. Discipline.
At midday meal, Harry got another letter from the Twins. It was a letter full of the laughter of three blokes trying out love potions on each other. Spiking them into things that really didn't need more intoxication, if you know what I mean. Apparently they'd all discovered that there were other uses for love potions, than getting the fairer sex to fall in love with them. Perhaps misuse might be a better word. Luckily, there were no details, as Harry didn't want to know about the twins getting closer than telepathy would suggest. They also had a few mail-order suggestions - as in ones that arrived by mail. They wanted Harry to vet them before they started real work on the promising ideas. Harry smiled. They never had liked research, had they?
Thursday, Harry spent the entire day trying to find time. Time that seemed in increasingly short supply. He had tests, and studies, and charms to finish.
He also needed to figure out a way to avoid being paired with Malfoy, not tomorrow, but the Potions after that. He was still scrambling as he walked into the Room of Requirement, finding Malfoy already there, aimlessly flipping a coin with his wand.
Malfoy. Harry found himself staring. Looking for weaknesses, as if that was something that Malfoy would let lie on the surface and not scrub off, or bury deep to the bone.
Without looking up, Malfoy drawls, "Potter, are you falling in love with me or something?" He finally looks up, his eyes sharp as icicles. "Only I thought we were here to fight?"
"Anytime," Harry says, his mouth starting to curl into an honest grin. Harry starts, of course, with an Expelliarmus. Malfoy blocks it with a shield, and they're off, swinging into the thick of a battle, filling the air with the sizzle of hexes.
Worse, when Hermione and Ron walk into the room, they walk nearly directly into Things You Don't Want to get Hit With. Harry and Malfoy break off, as Ron lets out a string of curses, and Hermione says, "Boys! You're supposed to wait until we all get here."
Malfoy puts on a pout, and said, "Harry started it."
Hermione looks back and forth at both of them, as if trying to verify the veracity of the assertion.
Five shakes and they're both busting up laughing at her.
Hermione has her hands on her hips, "What?"
"You didn't believe me!" Malfoy said, raising his head in a snit.
Then everyone burst out laughing, because the idea of Hermione believing Malfoy on faith was completely ridiculous.
Harry lay in his bed, flipping through Snape's DADA book. If Harry didn't know how to stop Malfoy, maybe he could focus on being too much of a pain to Snape? Well, Sn ape, he realized, would detest emotion.
Crikey! Harry thought in a sudden burst of excitement. That's going to work!
It took him nearly an hour to think through everything, and he'd still have things to do in the morning.
Switching Potions Partners was Never this fun!
It was Friday morning.
Severus Snape was doing his best to consume a suitable breakfast.
Out of the corner of his eye, he couldn't help but notice Potter, his lean arms around Granger and Weasley, pulling them in close. They were whispering.
Oh, joy, Snape thought with fullest sarcasm. And right before Potions too. Whatever can they be up to? Snape's body seemed utterly convinced of implausible things - such as the Golden Trio deciding to prank him. He didn't actually think they were that daft. However, something in how they were sitting, in the sidekicks' rapt attention to Potter, reminded him of James.
His body was quite content to be uneasy, running on fifteen-year-old heuristics, nevermind that the circumstances no longer existed.
He wasn't even tempted to eavesdrop. Whatever was going to happen would happen, and Snape sincerely doubted that he'd need to interfere. Want to? Oh, yes - it was as if his students had no concept of how much it drove him to distraction when people wasted classtime. Unlike the rest of the courses, it was actively dangerous to practice Potions without a teacher - he'd only granted dispensation to Malfoy so he wouldn't have to babysit Goyle and Crabbe himself.
No Slytherin was going to achieve a Troll on his Potions grade.
There were standards.
Leaving his breakfast significantly unfinished (Pomona sniffed at him as he passed), Snape headed down to his Potions classroom. As usual, he didn't actually go into the Potions classroom. No, he sat in the room across the hall, and used a few discrete charms to observe the goings-on. He didn't trust the little beasts to not blow themselves up if they weren't observed. Still, he'd found that animosities were far less distracting in class if they were expressed before class. Provided they weren't expressed in loss of eyes, hands or ears, all of which would interfere with Proper Potion Methods.*
Snape saw Potter entering the classroom, and he narrowed his eyes, eager to see just what calamity awaited his own entrance.** Potter did nothing, that Snape could see, other than occupying a different table than his two mates.
Draco Malfoy and the Slytherins entered as a group, with Draco Malfoy taking the seat beside Potter. Snape slightly frowned at this - he'd intended last class' switcharoo to punish Potter, but hadn't particularly planned on pairing him again with Malfoy. Perhaps Snape would have chosen Nott, whose temper was prodigious when roused. It was perhaps fortunate for all of Hogwarts that he was generally only angered over poorly done schoolwork, particularly in group projects.
The Ravenclaws entered as a group as well, busy talking about unicorn hairs and their effects on wandlore. Snape tuned them out - although quite a few Ravenclaws liked pranks, they wouldn't pull one unless they were certain of getting away scot free. It was the point, after all, in their minds, to not get caught - to demonstrate their intellectual superiority over others. They tended to pull fewer pranks as a result.
Ernie McMillan and Susan Bones strode into the room - Susan was a middling potioneer, but only wanted it to become an Auror like her aunt. Ernie was one of those strange Hufflepuffs who liked Potions purely because it was hard work.
That was the last of them, Snape thought, as he strode towards his classroom, flinging the doors open in a precisely timed move that had them clanging against the stone walls, and then snapping shut without breaking the doorframe. There had been, and there would be, times that Snape couldn't manage the finesse to shut and lock the door, either with magic or with his leaden limbs. Managing a flat out barge into unlocked, unlatched doors at a precise rhythm was far easier.***
Severus Snape swept through the classroom, towards the front, where he stood beside his desk and revealed the blackboard - prewritten as always. "We will be starting the Lazarus Potion today. Contrary to common belief, this potion does not actually allow one to return from the dead. Instead, it can rescue someone who has stopped breathing. It is likewise beneficial for those who have been infected by vampirism, though due to its expense and chronic activity, it is far from a cure."
Snape knew, every time he mentioned this potion, that the entire school would be rife with rumors of his own vampirism by the next day. It was at least a better theory than the truth. Or that he actually was a vampire; contrary to common belief, he did in fact harvest his own ingredients.
Granger asked her usual questions. Snape answered them, half the time with a glare. It never did to be too welcoming to Gryffindors, after all.
Snape strode around the classroom, keeping his eye on Granger and Longbottom. It had killed him to say that Longbottom was actually competent at brewing. So, of course, he hadn't said it. The OWL scores spoke for themselves. The boy wouldn't get his NEWTs if he didn't learn under a bit of pressure, but there was time enough for that, Snape hoped.
Snape was cognizant, as he'd been last class, of Malfoy doing his best to take the Mickey out of Potter. The lad was excelling at the art of insults, which was not, contrary to common belief, why Snape let his misbehavior slide. Snape never let anything slide, for to do so in a school was to send the entire thing to damnation itself. Potter had put up with the insults last class with a demeanor that Snape couldn't help but admire.
It had been Snape's plan to ignore them again, and see if they'd both settle into a decent partnership.
Plans, as always, never survive contact with the enemy.
"Your father would be ashamed of you, you realize?" Draco Malfoy said.
"And why's that?" Potter responded.
Snape didn't exactly intend to be listening, but there was something in Potter's tone that any trained teacher would pick up on.
"Both your parents dead, and you haven't done a jot to revenge them, have you now?" Draco Malfoy drawled. It was a low blow, indeed. Snape kept his eyes on Bones and her potion.
"What would you know?" Harry Potter said, his voice breaking.
Snape's instincts had him whirling, wand trained.
To find Potter embracing Malfoy, sobbing into his robes. "What would you know?" Potter said, voice muffled but still audible. Malfoy was awkwardly trying to hug Potter back, looking as if awkwardness were his birthright rather than snobbish noblesse oblige.
Oh. Snape thought, and felt parts of his body relaxing that he hadn't even noticed were tense. So that's it, is it? Snape's black eyes took quick count of the half-dozen students in class that weren't paying attention to their potions. Somehow, Potter had managed a stasis charm on his own, Snape noted quietly. Snape didn't doubt that Potter had shed tears in the past year - but doing it on your enemy's shoulder? Potter was not that unguarded. Snape privately doubted Potter had even cried on his friends' shoulders. And of course, he'd had to tell Granger to cool her heels, or she'd be charging in with a hex, in the Potions classroom.
Potter continued playing it up, starting to sob about never getting a hug from his Mum, about never having a Da come to a Quiddich game (which was moronic, as the only reason Lucius Malfoy was allowed to attend was because he was a School Governor). Save us all from Gryffindors attempting to act - Potter was hamming it up, nearly as badly as Sirius Black would have.
This was an entirely ridiculous scheme (nevermind that Malfoy was buying it, until disabused of such notions), and would be graded accordingly.
Snape sent a wordless Silencio at Potter, which effectively left him dripping snot on Malfoy's expensive robes. "Enough," Snape growled, "If you cannot work together, you will work separately. I look forward to seeing you rise to the challenge of brewing potions meant for pairs, alone." Snape turned around, so he wasn't looking at either Malfoy or Potter, "That goes doubly for you, Potter."
Snape strode back to his desk, and started marking more potions homework. He didn't care if Potter spent the rest of the day silenced. The rest of the class' potions were ruined, and Snape snarled at them as he said, "Get out of my sight!"
Everyone rose as one to leave, and Snape said, in a grave tone, "Except you, Potter."
Harry Potter turned around and tried to give him an innocent, doe-eyed look. Snape, quite fortunately, was quite immune to that one due to overexposure in his bygone youth. "That will be three detentions, for the three potions you ruined today."
Potter, sensibly, did not protest, and left before Snape could assign him more.
Harry had hoped he'd have a bit of time on Friday to read more of his mum's writings. Apparently they'd had just as horrid a DADA teacher as Quirrell or Lockhart, as they were constantly exploring things that weren't anywhere near the chapters of the book.
At dinner, however, Hermione had announced that they were going to get their homework done tonight. Tomorrow was a Hogsmeade weekend, right? Harry hadn't particularly wanted to explain why he might not 'feel up to' going tomorrow, so he'd gone along - a bit mulishly, truth be told.
Halfway to curfew, Harry was trying to plot and read books at the same time. All he wanted was a little time away, cozy and safe up in his bed...
Hermione looked up (behind Harry), and paled. "Erm?" she managed.
Someone tapped Harry on the shoulder (and said someone ought to be very glad Harry was warned. With how jumpy he'd been recently, Harry might not have flinched from taking off someone's arm.)
Harry Potter turned around to see Draco Malfoy, clad in that ridiculous regalia Snape had come up with for his Squad. "Can I help you?" Harry asked, his voice low but the malice clear. "It's just you're interrupting."
"A word, Potter." Draco Malfoy hissed, somehow, without a single 's'.
"Speak quickly, then" Harry said, leaning away from Malfoy and trying to look relaxed about it.
"In Private," Draco Malfoy said, and Harry could tell from his eyes that it would be a good idea to agree.
Harry stood up, apologized to his friends - Ron still wore a concerned look, but Hermione was so buried in her books that you'd have almost thought that she didn't even notice Harry's absence. Harry knew that wasn't the case.
Draco Malfoy led Harry deep into the stacks, into the Divination section of all places (though Harry suspected it was about as little used as History of Magic). "You'll be serving detention tomorrow. Report to the Great Hall at 9am."
Harry Potter sighed, feigning sorrow he didn't truly feel. He wasn't going to be feeling alright until he'd seen Snape come back, after all. Better to be someplace where it was expected that he be pulling long faces. "And the other two?" Harry asked.
Draco Malfoy blinked, then his eyes cleared, "No, you misunderstand. This detention is for conspicuously making a fool of a Prefect in public - it's bad for discipline. Snape's detentions are his own and he'll tell you how to spend them."
"I..." Harry said, looking a bit more abashed then he truly felt, "I didn't think of that."
Draco Malfoy said, "The way you're going, it's truly a wonder if you manage to think at all."
"We... next week, couldn't be partners. It wouldn't work..." Harry said.
"And was that any reason to land me square in a lecture from Snape on the perspicacity required of a Slytherin Prefect? I have better things to do on a Friday Night, I'll have you know." Draco Malfoy said, though Harry doubted Malfoy was actually snogging people in broomclosets, as he'd implied. "Besides, you could have asked me, and we could have come up with a solution together."
Harry toed the ground with his shoe. "I didn't think of that."
"Obviously," Malfoy snarled back. "You're supposed to at least make use of partners."
Harry remembered Hermione telling him how she wanted to at least be asked before he started scheming. And, worse, how he hadn't just asked Snape about his Gryffindor Friend.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, feeling the truth in his bones.
"Well, a detention will surely give you a little more time to repent, then." Malfoy said. "I did use that word right, didn't I?"
Harry nodded.
"If you'd have asked me, we could have easily fixed the situation by making you look the fool. Remember that." Malfoy said sternly, before gliding off.
* Reference to Catch-22, and the use of copper cables to improve marching discipline. Snape likes precisely that sort of dark humor.
**Snape doesn't think his entrance is overly dramatic.
***Yes, Snape finds his entrances inelegant. They are.