Minerva McGonagall had been informed, by Severus Snape, that she was to mind the weekly Quiddich Chaos that Potter and Malfoy were routinely causing, that weekend. If she hadn't long experience with the particular twists of this Slytherin's mind, she'd have taken umbrage, and they'd have played out a yelling match all round the staffroom. She'd have done that anyway if asked in public, of course, and he knew it. "And you'll be?" she'd asked instead. Sometimes it was useful to have a feline form, it excused all sorts of rudeness for the sake of curiousity.
"Otherwise occupied." Snape said firmly, "I leave you the front row seat to Potter discovering exactly what he did in Potions class."
Minerva's eyebrows went up, just a smidge, "No one's told him yet?"
Snape shook his head, "I imagine he was occupied, as were many, with observing the Twins' detention yesterday."
Minerva asked, "How did that go, anyway?"
Snape shrugged, his face relaxing slight, "Filch was pleased. Apparently you and Dumbledore had conspired against him to never let him supervise a detention by the two fools."
Minerva paused, looked at Snape, and then said, consideringly, "I do think you're right. How strange. I generally give at least two of my detentions per term to Filch."
Snape shrugged, "Filch worked them from before dawn, until nearly midnight. He was smiling by the end,"
Minerva twitched at that, "Are the young adults still capable of forward momentum?"
Snape nodded, the corners of his thin lips twitching, before being pulled down into a frown. "They, by all accounts, and I assure you Slytherin accounts are quite reliable, had fun."
Minerva looked at Snape like he was capable of performing miracles. "You are a credit to your house, and to all of Britain. I bow to your superior wisdom."
Snape, as usual, looked smug.
Minerva had hurried down to the Quiddich pitch - by which she meant that she'd ascended to Gryffindor's Tower, and descended again on the shoulder of Ron Weasley. He made quite an imposing leaning post, tall as he was. Everyone knew her markings in catform, although Ginny Weasley looked like she was considering something more elaborate than just Minerva's eyeglass markings.
Minerva hopped off Ron's shoulder once she was close to the pitch, changing shape in midair - and nearly without skipping a step. Ron whistled lowly from behind her.
When she got to the Quiddich pitch (already the stands were coated in a thin covering of students from all four houses), her heart sunk a bit. Draco Malfoy was there, looking neat as a pin, as always. Clearly waiting for Potter.
And that - that meant that he meant to have that kiss out with Potter, right in front of every witness possible. This wasn't even going to be gossip, she realized. Just a conflagration.
Draco was certain, by the smell, that someone had brought popcorn.
Probably Blaise - the dratted half-blood was always showing off forbidden knowledge.
(Not that Draco would complain - popcorn was delicious!)*
This time, though, Draco wasn't in the mood for popcorn. Not for himself, and certainly not for Blaise. It would break the atmosphere, which Draco wanted to be tense. He wanted Potter ready to break. Or breaking, that would work nicely too.
Draco stalked out, his head jutting forward (If he could have managed it, he'd have swung it like a snake, but that looked lame in a mirror), jaw out. He didn't say a word, just sent a dark glare right between Potter's eyes (not that Draco was afraid of mindreading - if you didn't look them in the eyes, you didn't have to feel how out-of-sorts they really were).
Despite the blasted popcorn, Draco can feel Potter's fear. And that's a good thing, because it means he doesn't need to turn the volume up.
Trust one of the Gryffindors (The Redhead, Draco thinks), to go, "Ooooh, someone's in trouble..."
Even McGonagall looks sharp and attentive.
"Potter, do you have any idea what a kiss between two young adults of marriageable age means?" Draco Malfoy said bluntly. He feared he wasn't being anywhere near blunt enough for a Gryffindor.
"Um. No?" Potter said.
"Pansy hasn't said a word to you since then, has she?" Draco continued, falling into a sort of aggravated lecturing (hectoring) tone.
"Um." Potter said, seeming to have to think about it, "No?"
Draco was suddenly violently glad that Pansy wasn't around. Such rampant ignorance of her standoffishness would have driven her cuckoo.
"In Wizarding society, a kiss was originally used to seal a marriage compact." Draco Malfoy said, to the interested whispers from Gryffindors (and some Ravenclaws, because there were always some Ravenclaws who didn't care much about history).
Harry Potter certainly didn't care, "Yeah, so?" he said, starting to let his agitation show through.
Draco Malfoy said, "Not everyone chooses to hew to that tradition, of course. Some pureblood families simply see it as a promise."
Harry looked dumbfounded, "A promise of what."
"A betrothal, Harry!" Parvati said, "Oh, that's so romantic!"
Romilda said, "I KNEW you had feelings for Parkinson! I knew it!"
Harry was no longer paying much attention to Draco, too busy glaring (and befuddled at the same time).
"First to the snitch wins!" Draco Malfoy said, straddling his broom and shooting into the sky.
It took Potter several seconds to even get airborne.
And best of all, it was All Potter's Fault.
Harry's frame of mind, as he leaped into the air, was What have I done now?
That quickly faded into the sheer joy of flying. they started doing maneuverability drills (that did not include Chicken, thank you very much). Spin, bank, loop - and the craziest of them, jag. Jagging was when you briefly broke your connection to the broom, letting it continue in motion If you did it right, you could gain an unexpected advantage - not from the broom's motion, but from your reconnection to it. Hence the jag - a sudden motion in an unexpected direction.
The crowd, and whatever ideas they'd managed to get about Harry, just seemed to fade away.
Honestly, that was a lot of what Harry liked about flying - something that took his full concentration. You couldn't worry when you needed your wits to not fall on your noggin.
He was sweaty, and hot by the time they landed, and it wasn't unusual for them to walk under the stands together, on the way to the showers.
Harry wasn't expecting Draco to put him in a headlock. One part of Harry expected his ass to get beat, and beat hard. Another part, thinking of Dudley, imagined that Crabbe and Goyle were finally going to knock the tar out of him. And a third, just wanted to fight back. As is often the case, when you have three different options that you want to do, you wind up doing neither.
Draco hissed, "I was engaged to Pansy at one point, you prat. So I want you to listen good and listen well."
Harry blaunched. He didn't need this complication.
Draco continued, "Pansy is afraid her parents are going to treat you two as if you're married. That's why she hasn't provided a wisp of grist to the gossip mill."
Harry couldn't help but ask, "Is that even something that could really happen?"
"Yeah," Draco said, "It could. Her parents aren't fools, though. Staking a marriage to the Chosen One is rolling large, even for an ambitious Slytherin family."
Harry could feel that, as he whispered, "They don't think that I'll win, do they?"
"Not enough to bet on you," Draco said, "With Pansy refusing to fall all over you - you're most likely going to receive a letter informing you of your engagement. A formality, of course, since you already announced it with a public kiss."
Harry felt himself go weightless in Draco's arms, leaving Draco to lower Harry's head himself - otherwise, Draco'd actually be throttling Harry.
"What you need to do, when you get that letter, is Something Stupid." Draco hissed.
"My speciality," Potter joked, weak and white.
"Look, just stand up in the Great Hall and announce that The Dark Lord has no right to claim Britain as his own, and you will oppose him until your dying breath."
"That's stupid?" Harry said, honestly uncomprehending.
"Slytherins don't put cards on the table like that. Slytherins don't deal in absolutes like that. Speaking so will allow them to break off the engagement with their dignity intact." Draco pulled Harry's head around, so that Draco was staring into Harry's eyes, "That's assuming you don't want to be engaged."
Harry nodded, quiet and thinking.
Draco looked Harry in the eyes, and continued, "You don't want the engagement. Repeat that."
"I don't want the engagement," Harry said by rote.
"Now say it like you mean it," Draco growled.
"I don't want the engagement," Harry insisted, his voice low and intent.
"That's right," Draco said, a slow smile stealing over his features, "Because if you did, Pansy would geld you."
Bollocks.
Harry's mind was awhirl with possibilities. Pansy was scared that he'd up and married her, right there in the Potions classroom? Pansy didn't want to encourage her parents to make that decision.
Draco didn't think it likely, but they were her parents, not his.
Ordinarily, Harry would have simply said, "I really need to think before I act." However, that wouldn't have helped here. He didn't know! It wasn't simply him being emotional - he'd had no reason to think this plan would backfire this badly.
The girls were being... girly again. Which is to say, Hogwarts gossip had it that Pansy and Potter were fated together, and that was why he'd kissed her, without so much as a by your leave, or even being aware of what he'd done.
At least they weren't hounding him right now, although the girls displayed a striking ability to look wistfully at him and sigh.
Heading up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, Harry thought, Ah, here's another now.
It took him a moment before his mind realized that was Luna Lovegood sighing. Luna, who despite her belief in so many mythical creatures, wasn't the type to be mean or malicious. Or believe things that weren't true.
"Luna!" Harry said, grinning. "Would you like to take an evening stroll with me?"
Luna peered down at him from up-a-landing. "Why, I do believe I would." Her wispy smile broadened, "And you can scare off some of the gossips while we discuss crumple-horned snoracks."
Harry wrinkled his brow, trying to remember which creature that was. "Um, what is that creature again?"
Luna smiled brightly (she never minded people forgetting), and started to prattle on.
All through the walk, Harry fought the urge to look up at Hogwarts, to see which gossip was outlined in which window. It wouldn't do much good anyway, would it?
The next morning, Harry was up bright and early, running his laps around Hogwarts. Today, he was working on his footwork - and a good thing too, as there turned out to be a handful of traps on Harry's usual route. They had been inexpertly concealed, which Harry took to mean Snape wanted me to find them. The traps themselves were brutal, if unlikely to be truly lethal. Lightning here, water there - even an earthen trap that would send him into a pit. Harry didn't take the lesson, though, as avoid the traps. That would be a ridiculous lesson, right outside Hogwarts. No, the lesson was "disarm the traps." It was actually engaging and interesting.
Breakfast was good, and filling. As usual, Harry had come with an appetite. Not as large as Ron's (Lavender was feeding him, which was ... bewildering. A bit vexing, a bit gross, and a bit 'why can't I have a girlfriend'? All at once, and nevermind he knew the answer to the last one.) Harry's mind, though, was less on Ron and Lavender (helped, no doubt, by them being at the other end of the Table of Gryffindor), and more on Defense Class.
Harry didn't know much, but he knew that it wouldn't be the same as it was last week. Last week had been Snape vegetating and cogitating. Whether or not he'd come up with anything entertaining, it was going to be different. Harry wondered, for one brief second, if Snape's attitude towards him would change; then, he deliberately blanked it from his mind.
It didn't matter.
What mattered was what was coming. The great gaping unknown - which, as Harry glanced up towards the high table - reminded him strangely of Snape's darkly luminous eyes.**
Minerva knew something was up from the moment she entered the Great Hall. She was too polite to ask (or, more correctly, grill Severus until he yielded up at least something.) Still, she was cat-curious, and knew if she'd been in her feline form, her tail would be twitching, and she'd be hunkering down, plotting how to spring. She was just glad that Snape didn't know much of cat curiosity, or he'd dangle things in front of her just for the fun of it.
Harry wasn't early to class for once. He didn't want to stand out, and he wasn't quite sure why.
Of course, there had been times when he hadn't wanted to stand out - it was more his policy than otherwise, really.
So why, with Snape of all people...had that changed?
Harry set the matter aside, merging into the flow of students into the classroom, and finding a blank expanse of wall (even when it was crowded, people stood closer to the center, with their friends.). He chose to try something different - he wanted to loosen up, to have his muscles warmed up for Defense Class.
This time, he was trying to do it quietly. subtly. He couldn't help but feel like his muscles were twitching - like a horse trying to twitch off a fly. It was a silly thing. But if someone had his robe off, they could see what he was doing, and what was the point of that? Harry frowned, I need to get better at this.
"Class is now in session," Snape intoned, rather surprisingly appearing behind the podium. For a man who liked such showy entrances...
Snape stalked the informal aisles, stopping before Susan Bones, "Does it not bother you that you didn't notice me? That, when I showed myself, you simply stood there?"
Susan Bones blinked, as if confused at being asked any question. "Of course it does, sir. Closing the barn door doesn't catch the hippogriffs." Her chin jutted up, as if daring Snape to disagree.
"You will work on this in your spare time?" Snape said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
"House Hufflepuff, sir," Bones responded, "We won't shirk."
Snape nodded gravely, "See that you don't."
Snape wheeled, and somehow managed to address the entire class from near the center of the room. "Earlier in the year, I began our study of blindfighting, the art of the dagger in the dark, the wand without wizard. Have you kept up with your training?"
No one responded, and Harry thought that this, unlike most of the nonverbal casting they'd worked on, hadn't actually been reviewed out of class.
"Potter - on the dais." Snape snapped.
Harry sprung onto the dais, landing more like a frog than a person.
Malfoy laughed at that, even as Harry stood up and sent his best glare at Malfoy.
Snape had taken a stave, and was drawing a circle around Harry. "This will be the dueling circle. It will allow the rest of you to see, while we remain in darkness."
There was a low murmur that echoed through the classroom. It held tones of interest and nervousness alike, with more than a few brushes toward suspicion.
Snape stepped into the circle, and said, "Nox."
Harry stowed his wand. It wasn't like he'd know where the floor was, in about ten seconds, so why have something so fragile out and ready to break?
Snape's voice sounded from just behind Harry's ear. "Stand as still as you can, and do just what you're told."
Harry was suddenly sure that this wasn't how Defense class was supposed to go, even with Snape teaching. Perhaps especially then. Still, he grit his teeth, and tried to not ask What the hell is going on?
Snape's fist slammed into his back, and Harry bit back a scream. He'd managed to not scream under the Cruciatus, for a while at least. He wasn't about to scream here, in front of classmates.
The hail of blows continued, like fire exploding from various portions of Harry's body - the pain seemed to flow from one place to another. At least Snape wasn't laughing. Harry'd always hated Dudley's enjoyment, more than the bruises.
This felt like more than bruises, though.
The last thing Harry felt, inside the circle, was Snape grabbing his hand, and yanking. Harry fell on the hand, which was actually outside the circle. Snape's heel came down directly over the palm, and as the scarskin on the bottom tore, Harry screamed.
The entire class stirred (even the Slytherins, mostly, though Theo had somehow managed to keep his composure), but in the end, did nothing.
Snape moved his foot off Harry's hand, grabbing Potter by the wrist and hauling him upright. With his wand, Snape banished the circle of darkness, leaving a blank space in it's wake.
"Drink this," Snape said, offering Harry Potter a potion.
Harry studied the potion, for a brief second, watching the rainbows play over its midnight surface. I've never seen this potion before. Then, with a mental shrug, he drank. The potion seemed to bubble within him, little tingles of electricity flowing over Harry's body.
Harry heard Snape ask, "Can anyone tell me what I did wrong this class?"
He tuned out, after that, as he'd just realized something - his left hand worked, again. Harry spent the rest of class staring down at his hand, in wonder, as he moved it freely. He'd burnt the palm badly as a child, and just gotten used to how badly it had healed. He hadn't been able to straighten his palm in years... That wasn't the only thing Snape had fixed. Not that that was surprising, Harry thought. He'd seen me naked while we were training - because it wasn't like we weren't going to bathe for a month!
Harry left the Defense classroom as quickly as his short legs would carry him. His friends came after, Hermione finally pinning him - but at least he was away from the Slytherins.
"Harry, what was that about?" Hermione said, sounding legitimately angry, "It sounded like he was torturing you."
"Mate," Ron said, "What a git, am I right?" Ron sounded more like he trusted Harry to tell him if it was awful. Harry wasn't sure why that was - maybe Lockhart? Harry wasn't one for talking about troubles, generally...
Harry's face split into a twisted sort of smile, and he just kind of shook his head, "You could call it Snape saying thank you, for that prank I pulled on Friday."
Ron shrugs, "Funny way to say thanks, I guess."
Hermione seemed to bite back a retort, and then said, more calmly, "I don't think he means a 'nice' thank you. He means payback."
Harry didn't bother correcting her.
"Dead Handy," Neville Longbottom said, finishing retelling the story of Defense class.
Ginny Weasley got to her feet, "Try Peruvian Darkness Powder! Can't be dispelled, good for at least ten minutes. And my brothers sell it for next to nothing."
Ginny and the rest of the Gryffindors hadn't noticed, but Harry had - the other tables had been listening. Harry had a sudden suspicion that the Twins were about to be inundated with owls, ready to trade galleons for safety. Remembering his own parents, Harry could sympathize.
Shoving a sandwich into his mouth, Harry said, "Gotta go!" and headed for the owlry, already composing the letter in his head.
"Severus, accompany me," Minerva said in her crisp, no-nonsense tone.
Snape knew that tone, and, while professional, it generally meant You are in deep trouble, Mister.
At least Minerva had waited until he was out of the Great Hall, Snape thought with a sigh. That had been enough of a burden on her curiosity, he supposed. Snape futilely protested, "If you will give me a moment, I have other obligations."
Minerva's look said, I know you, as she responded, "If you're asking, they aren't that pressing." She knows as well as I do that I prioritize. If the Dark Lord was calling, I would answer, permission or no. Some things are too important for basic manners. I suspect by the time this encounter is concluded, I may have preferred the Dark Lord's scrutiny.
"They will be, if unattended," Snape said, well aware that leaving Harry Potter waiting in front of Snape's office was a disaster in the making. Particularly if one of his more prickly Slytherins decided it was part of another prank.
"If you demolish the dungeons with a potion, I will eat my hat, and then we'll rebuild them." Minerva said. "You will not get out of that office for bad behavior."
"Nor will I for good behavior," Snape intoned.
"As if you knew such a thing," Minerva sniffed.
As they ascended another flight of stairs, Snape realized, We're going to Dumbledore, aren't we? Oh, frabjous joy.** Snape steels himself for more lemon drops and twinkling. Always with the twinkling.
Despite his growing concern and curiosity (which resolved into What have I done now?), Snape forbore to ask Minerva what was wrong. Her back was too straight, and her heels clicked on the ground. Gryffindor, that meant. Old battleaxe on the warpath because of one of her cubs.
Potter, Snape thought, rapidly putting the pieces together.
As they ascended the stairwell to Dumbledore's office, Snape did some calculations. When he stepped into Dumbledore's office, he breathed a sigh of relief. No Granger, good. That makes this hearsay at best.***
Dumbledore's eyes still twinkled when they looked disappointed. Minerva seated herself in front of Dumbledore.
Snape, in response, strode over to his 'usual corner' (he hated sitting, in general, and his long legs never fit Dumbledore's chairs, which were designed for misbehaving children). "Well?" Snape snapped.
"What were you thinking?" Minerva said. "This soddin' mess twixt you and Potter has to end, Severus Snape!"
Snape shrugged, inarticulately, "It is hardly my fault the boy scarcely considers destruction of an entire class worth of Potions to be a minor hindrance to his plans."
Dumbledore looked up at him, "Severus..."
Minerva sniffed, "I do not doubt you had provocation, Severus, or we'd be throwing you out on your head, the divvil take ye and make ye a mummer."
Minerva must be upset. She never uses Scotch otherwise, and certainly not in front of Albus. Snape stood, tall, no longer leaning against the wall behind him. Minerva's neck curved so she could see behind herself to look at him. "What exactly do you find so outrageous?"
Minerva sniffed, "My third period Transfiguration class claims that you assaulted Harry, brutally, in front of an entire year's worth of students."
Snape smirked, "And, because they were not minded to intervene, they decided to foist their complaints off on you?"
Minerva crossed her arms, "They aren't Gryffindors, Severus. I wouldn't expect them to be Lions, and you shouldn't, either."
Snape responded rather laconically, "It's been my general impression that I cannot count on even the Head of Gryffindor House to be a lion."
Minerva stood, and if Snape hadn't been behind her - and still speaking, he thought she'd have belted him - below the belt.
"Minerva McGonagall, you might have asked me for an explanation. In my office, or yours. There was never any need for Albus to mediate, was there?" Snape's long stride sent him circling the older witch. "Better, you might have asked Potter." Snape could almost feel Minerva's eyes sharpen on his back, like claws just pricking the skin. That's right, old witch.
Albus, unfortunately, picked that moment to interrupt, "What a capital idea!" he laughed. "Minerva, why don't you fetch Harry down?"
Minerva was halfway to the door, before Snape discretely coughed.
"What is it, Sev?" Minerva snapped. She knew how much he hated that nickname, and was trying to get under his skin. It was an admirable effort - for a Gryffindor.
"Perhaps it might be better if I brought him here?" Snape said, crossing his arms.
"Figuring to change his mind about what happened?" Minerva said, her hands coming to rest on her hips, "Don't think I'll give you the chance!"
Snape's eyes were cool, "I thought I might save your old bones the climb. Potter's waiting on me for a detention."
Minerva's eyes flecked with slight remorse. She knew what havoc a Gryffindor in the dungeons could wreck and wrack. "Then we'll both go." she announced.
Good as I'm going to get.
Harry had been standing in front of Snape's office for what felt like hours, but was probably just a few minutes or something. He shifted from foot to foot, slowly, the practiced air of someone used to waiting for others. And trying to be quiet about it (Uncle Vernon hated him creaking the floorboards). Despite himself, he worried. What could have happened? Anything, that's what.
Harry's face brightened as he saw Snape striding down the hallway, before he caught sight of Minerva McGonagall, hot on Snape's heels. A different sort of dread rose in him then. Someone was in trouble, you never saw both of them without reason. It was as if they avoided each other... though McGonagall considered Snape a friend. Maybe she had to, because if she didn't, she'd have forced Snape to leave off teaching.
Harry fell into some sort of awkward parade rest, making sure he wasn't leaning against anything. As the professors approached, Harry found himself glad that there weren't Slytherins nearby (he'd been listening, with half an ear). He opened his eyes wide, "Am I in trouble? I didn't do it!" In Harry's experience, there were two types of teachers - those that enjoyed scaring the living shit out of you, and Rubeus Hagrid, who had quite enough of that on account of his rather large body, and thus liked it better if you smiled when you saw him coming.
Snape looked deeply unimpressed by Harry's shading of the truth. Which meant Harry wasn't in trouble, because if he was, Snape would probably be rubbing his hands together in glee. Or something like that. Behind Snape's shoulder, Harry caught McGonagall's mouth twitching. She at least enjoyed his game of pretend. Whether or not she'd caught on.
"You are to accompany us to the Headmaster's office," Snape said, pivoting cleanly on one heel, and nearly pushing McGonagall over.
As McGonagall stepped towards Snape, rather than the wall, she continued, "There's a matter we were hoping you could help clarify."
Harry nodded, and they walked in strict silence towards the Headmaster's office. Harry knew that Snape wouldn't have let the silence run like this - it was only drawing attention, as if they were the three Fates, on the march - or three riders of the apocalypse, now searching for their fourth. The very idea of Dumbledore as ... War? Made Harry smirk. He couldn't be Plague or Pestilence, and while Death might fit - Dumbledore was known to be more of a warrior...
Harry was first up the stairs to Dumbledore's office, though he couldn't say if that was intentional on the teachers' part. He entered, and sat in the far chair, leaving the near one for Professor McGonagall.
"Ah! Harry!" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "We were wondering if you could shed some light on an incident!"
"I'll do my best," Harry said, sounding a little more unsure than he actually felt. Either he knew it or he didn't.
Everyone just sat there, which Harry mentally interpreted as Snape (still standing behind Harry) glaring at the other two to get on with it, Dumbledore twinkling...
And there was McGonagall, right on schedule. "What exactly happened during Defense Class this morning?"
Harry took a deep breath, mentally composing what he wanted to say. "Snape said that we were practicing blindfighting. He drew a dueling circle around me. I assume he used Nox, though he might have used a handful of other spells. It was dark. He said not to dodge, so I didn't." Harry took another breath, "After the demonstration, he gave me a potion. I feel better."
Harry had his mouth open to say something else, when Prof. McGonagall cut him off. "Did he, or did he not, trod on your hand, in full view of the entire class, to the point where they could hear it breaking?"
Harry shrugged, "Was that what had happned?" Harry tilted his head, looking back at Snape, who as usual was completely expressionless. "I was in a very dark place, so I couldn't tell you. I doubt I broke bones, though - it's my understanding that those are difficult to heal."
Albus Dumbledore leaned forward, "Have you had any pain due to this lesson, afterwards?"
Harry smiled a cherubic smile, "No! It's the strangest thing, though," Harry said, directing his smile down at his left hand, which he flexed in a way he was dead certain Snape would recognize from class. "My hand works now!" It was true, it had been burned years ago. Harry had gotten his hand on the hot frypan, and ever since, his palm couldn't be stretched to full extension. It didn't matter for Quiddich, and it wasn't his wand hand.
Harry could see the questions simmering behind Prof. McGonagall's glasses, so he was glad when Snape said, "The terms of my contract, Albus, when it comes to harm perpetrated on students."
Dumbledore smiled, almost approvingly, "No permanent harm, nothing that leaves bruises or worse past when academically necessary."
Snape smirked, "I trust my contract will not punish me for helping a student?"
Dumbledore laughed, though McGonagall looked spitting mad. "I think we've unriddled this mystery," Albus said, gesturing toward the door in clear dismissal.
"You wasted my time, and Albus' " she hissed at Snape, as they went down the staircase.
Snape's voice, when it echoed down the spiral staircase, was lofty, "I would have told you, had you asked. Calling me on the carpet is hardly conducive to civil conversation."
Professor McGonagall left in a huff.
Harry turned to leave, only to feel Snape's long-fingered hand clasping his shoulder. "Forgetting about your detention so soon, Potter?" Snape's tone was mild, but that didn't stop Harry's stomach from dropping a foot.
Before Harry had time to blink, Snape had whisked them both into his office. With a wave of his wand, the desk and chairs moved out of the room (there were neat little closets that opened up, beneath some shelving, to accommodate).
"Well, Mister Potter," Snape said, stretching himself up to his full height, "You claim that potion has had a quite remarkable effect on physiological function. Shall we put you through your paces?"
Harry knew better than to answer that question - and the stinging hex that flew through the air (aimed at his heart) told him he'd understood. It wasn't a real question, simply a prelude to obtaining the answer.
Like many answers, this one required a full diagnostic. At this point, Harry wasn't even using his wand (hadn't drawn it, really), but was simply focused on Don't get hit.
Spells crossed the room, and Harry wielded magic as much as he did agility - for handholds, and the occasional cushioning spell. Those weren't cheating, not really. It wasn't like Snape was shy about such matters - if he'd wanted Harry to bruise himself, - or likely break an arm, he'd have jolly said so!
Harry still wished for cover, though, particularly when Snape started casting more than one at once. It was one thing to defend against a wand tip - in general, most spells flew conveniently straight. Snape, though, often used his left hand - and when casting wandlessly too. At least for most spells, he wasn't able to cast behind clothing. If that was the case, Harry'd been done for.
If Snape had just been assessing Harry's hand, this would have been easy.
But nooo, Snape had fixed quite a few different marks - scars, whatever you want to call them.
So this was a test of agility, running nearly at the speed of thought.
Harry slid under the next spell (a stinging hex) and then flat out blocked the Bombarda (If he hadn't, it would have got the wall, and that had Potions Ingredients in Glass Jars - and wouldn't that have been a good Learning Experience?). He twisted, as Snape tried a bodybind (that was a long incantation, not that Snape was particularly going easy - it was to give him time enough to twist out of the way, if he would).
"Enough," Snape said, smirking, "It looks like the potion has worked." His voice turned graver, "However, you're still operating under the limitations you know," Snape got a smug look on his face, "Except, of course, when you're desperate. A Gryffindor tendency to throw caution to the wind?"
Harry shook his head, responding even if it wasn't a question, "No. In a fight, getting hit could spell death. Caution is best used when you have time to think. In a fight, it's entirely appropriate to take the bloody-minded route."
Snape nodded, just slightly, and gestured. His desk and chairs came marching back out.
"Sit," Snape said, and Harry did, noticing as Snape sat, that his professor did actually appear tired (and sweaty). He's been controlling his breathing! Harry's mind hissed in a quiet sort of victory. Better learn that.
"Would you care for something to drink?" Snape asked.
"Yes sir," Harry said.
Snape smirked, and two identical mugs appeared (in Slytherin green, rimmed with silver). Inside was something dark, and steaming.
Harry took a sip, feeling the familiar bite of strong black coffee - and then his nose picked up on the aromatic scent of alcohol. "Um, sir, did you mean...?" Harry asked, inarticulate both from 'not quite sure how to question Snape of all people' and 'shite, I already had a sip!'
In distress, Harry took another sip, and this time it wasn't the alcohol that made him want to cough, "Is this cinnamon?" he asked, in a semblance of Proper British Manners (by way of the BBC).
Harry would swear he saw the merest hint of a smirk on Snape's face, before Snape, ever poker-faced (when he wanted to be), said, "Yes. Cinnamon Schnapps."
Harry shot Snape a look that said, without using a word, 'is that okay?'
The fact that Harry's eyes were bulging out, probably prompted Snape's response. "It would be entirely improper for me to render you inebriated. Minerva McGonagall would have my hide - and then as many points from Slytherin as she could possibly take. A bit petty for a revenge, but you have met the Weasley Twins, haven't you?"
Harry had never really considered the teachers' role in the House Cup, other than Giver of Points. As onlookers patently cheering and coaching their teams, well, it put an entirely new perspective on it.
"Likewise," Snape continued, "It would be most unwise of me to send you up to the tower bouncing off the walls from too much black brew." Snape waved his hand at the mug, then took a generous sip of his own.
"And so I've chosen a beverage whose most prized characteristic is balance." Snape says, "It doesn't hurt that coffee and cinnamon pair nicely, either." Snape never smiled, not really, but there were times, when it was almost like a ghost of a smile passed over his face. Maybe my mum's- Stop that, it's creepy.
Harry nodded.
"Balance is a Hufflepuff virtue, far more than it is of any of the other houses." Snape said offhandedly, his voice serious. "Can you tell me why?"
Harry thought for a moment, "Ravenclaws get caught up in thought, and can sometimes forget about... everything. They obsess."
Harry shrugged, continuing, "Gryffindors can get that way, too, sometimes. Us versus Them is a good, solid metaphor used often in the House of Courage. I feel less comfortable speaking of Slytherin."
Snape said, slowly, "Ambition can be quite powerful, but it is easy for Slytherins to get lost in their own schemes, and in particular, ignore those they are hurting."
Harry nodded, "The lure of 'I can fix this' can be a powerful one."
Snape said, in a low, firm snarl, "Nothing should have led to two second year students knowingly confronting a bloody basilisk."Snape paused for a moment, his fingers clenching and unclenching on his mug, "Without fortune, fate and luck on your side, you'd both be dead."
Harry nodded, "I know."
Returning to more of his standard lecturing voice, Snape said, "House Hufflepuff is a house that people ignore to their detriment. I have had occasion to speak to several of my Slytherin students on their own intellectual deficit."
Harry smothered a smile. Snape's use of long words didn't make up for his insults, but it did make them significantly more funny when they weren't pointed at you.
Snape continued, "Wizarding Britain stands on the Hufflepuffs - if Hogwarts were a body, they would be our feet, keeping us standing."
Harry nodded, "Ravenclaw?" Harry was thinking eyes.
Snape responded, "Head, for thought, or eyes, for vision. Gryffindor is the sword, as Godric Gryffindor once wielded."
Harry smiled at that, "Fitting for the house of courage." Frowning, he gave himself a moment to think - Slytherin seemed like it was another house like Ravenclaw, far more mental. Was Slytherin like Dudley's vicious elbow?
Better to ask, "What's Slytherin, sir?"
Snape said, again with that wisp of a smile, "Slytherin is the shield. Where Gryffindor epitomizes boldness, Slytherins are naturally wary and cautious. Traits that you in particular would be wise to cultivate."
Harry looked down, blushing up to his ears, "Yes, sir." It really was a fitting metaphor, the type that just seemed to fit - even if it felt odd to hear Snape the head of Slytherin house praising the others.
They finished the spiked tea together, analyzing more of the day's fight - Harry in particular looking for where he was checking himself, and Snape analyzing his more general thought-patterns and actions.
** Frabjous is in the dictionary? Damn, but doesn't that miss the point?
*** Hermione, if she was reporting this, would have insisted on staying as a witness (both for testimony, and to see the proper punishment). That she's not there means Snape has a lot more latitude, if he needs it.
**Dumbledore's eyes sparkle. Snape's glint.
*the way past prejudice, you heard it here folks, is food!