Chapter 35 – Renewing Acquaintances
"Welcome back, everyone," Harry said with a smile, looking out at the assembled club members. "I hope you all spent some time practicing over the holidays, because things are going to get more intense from here."
He paused a moment, considering the club. He fancied he could almost pick out those who were completely serious from those who were looking on this more as a lark, and the division was not necessarily what he would have thought, while some were exactly as he would have predicted. Cormac McLaggen, for example, was much as Harry would have expected, spending more time chatting up the girls—even Hermione to a certain extent, though she barely tolerated him—than actually paying attention or trying to improve his defense skills. On the other end of the spectrum, Lavender Brown, though she could not quite leave her gossiping and silliness behind, did a credible job of paying attention and working more diligently than he would have expected.
"Today we're going to start something new," Harry continued, "something which will likely take everyone in this room a while to master. I want to cover the basics today. Once you all understand how it's done, then we can take a little time to practice each meeting."
"Harry, you're scaring us," Dean spoke up in a lighthearted voice. "What's so difficult and why is it so important that we learn it?"
"What's so important," Harry replied with a grin, "is the Patronus Charm."
As he watched the reactions of the club, he saw a mix of responses, with perhaps about half of those present understanding to what he was referring, while the rest betrayed no sign whatsoever of any recognition. Among those who did know, some appeared to be downright skeptical.
"Oh come on, Potter," Cormac jeered, "are you trying to tell us that you can cast a Patronus?"
Rather than respond, Harry just rolled his eyes and called up the memory of giving Fleur the promise ring just before their betrothal ball. He drew his wand with a flourish and brandishing it exclaimed, "Expecto Patronum!"
The brilliant specter of his patronus burst from his wand and immediately coalesced into the shape of the familiar stag, and began prancing around the room, much to the delight of the room's occupants. Most of the club members were in awe of the majestic stag, but Harry caught the look on the face of his godfather, who was sitting at the back of the room. Sirius smirked and gave him a thumbs-up, presumably for his handling of the objection, but Harry could also tell that he was a little misty-eyed. Though he had certainly been present when Harry had first cast it at the end of third year, he had been more than a little preoccupied with the Dementors who were trying to suck out their souls at the time. This was the first time he had actually seen it up close, and he was no doubt reminded of the first stag Potter he had known. His attention was drawn back to the Patronus which had stopped its prancing and, approaching Fleur, nuzzled her cheek, prompting a giggle in response, which prompted the obligatory ahs and sighs from the female population of the room.
With a tender smile at Fleur, Harry allowed the Patronus to dissipate, and turned to a slack-jawed McLaggen. "You should know by now that I don't make any claims that I can't back up. Any questions?"
"I have a question," Nigel Johnson from Slytherin spoke up. "How the hell did you manage to learn to cast a corporeal patronus? It's difficult for an adult wizard to cast."
"I had pretty good motivation," was Harry's dry response. "Remember a couple of years ago when the Ministry posted Dementors around the school?" A chorus of understanding met his question. "They took a bit of an interest in me, and the Defense Professor taught me how to cast it so I could protect myself. Now it's pretty much second nature.
"Now," Harry continued, as he began meandering around the room, "can anyone tell me what exactly a Patronus is?"
"It's the embodiment of good emotions," Angelina Johnson explained. "You call up a good memory and use it to create the Patronus."
"Very good. In fact, the better the memory, the more powerful the Patronus. Now, can anyone tell me what it can be used for?"
"It's used primarily for defense against certain dark creatures," said Fred.
"Specifically Lethifolds and Dementors," added George.
"What's a Lethifold?" Dennis Creevey asked.
"That's not really important since you don't find them here," Harry replied. "But Dementors are found in England, and since they sided with Voldemort—" The typical cringes and a few cries met his use of the dark lord's name, but Harry soldiered on undeterred. "They sided with him last time, and I expect they will do so again. This is why we will be learning the charm."
Silence met Harry's declaration, but though there were a few expressions of distaste or fear, most of the club seemed eager to learn. And they had better; casting a Patronus was difficult enough when not faced by a Dementor—when they were actually present, it became all that much more complicated and required much more focus and courage. If they were to have any club members with the ability to combat the foul creatures, they needed to start working now, and have people with not only the power, but also the will to cast it.
"Now, a couple of things before we get started," Harry resumed speaking. "The Patronus takes a lot of practice and power, not to mention requiring a good memory to cast. If you don't have the appropriate good memory in mind, you will fail to cast the spell. Regardless, the spell is very difficult, and I doubt anyone in this room who is not already able to cast it will be able to do so by the end of the night. So don't get discouraged—keep trying, and if you are having trouble, try another memory.
"Second, I will tell you all that some of you will not manage to cast a corporeal Patronus no matter how much you practice." A chorus of groans, not to mention a few annoyed looks, met his statement. "I don't know who," he continued over the noise, "but not everyone has the brute strength you need to cast it. An incorporeal patronus can help as well, as it acts sort of like a shield—it will protect you until help arrives.
"Finally, you must understand that a Patronus does not destroy a Dementor—rather it drives it off. There is no known method of destroying a Dementor."
"What about a really powerful Patronus?" Parvati asked.
Harry glanced over at Hermione, motioning her to take that question. Hermione thought about it for a moment before she began to respond, in what Harry had come to recognize as her "expounding voice."
"There are no known instances in which a Dementor has been killed or even injured. The Ministry doesn't exactly control them—they stay at Azkaban because they feed off the positive emotions of the prisoners, and eventually the prisoners themselves. However, they have no loyalty and nothing that we would call honor—they will almost certainly support Voldemort if he promises them more souls to feed on, and he almost certainly will."
"Then why doesn't the Ministry get rid of them?" demanded Michael Corner.
"Because they are useful and the Minister doesn't believe You-Know-Who has returned," said Susan. "They cost nothing from the Ministry's budget, they are highly effective at keeping prisoners in Azkaban, and they also provide an easy method of dealing with prisoners—most don't last long under the effects of Dementors."
"And they will side with You-Know-Who." It wasn't a question, but Hannah's statement appeared to send a chill through the club.
"Undoubtedly," Harry spoke up. "They are natural allies and they've done it before."
Silence fell over the room as the members of the club digested this. Looking out over them, Harry could see that most of the faces were fearful. But while many also seemed determined, there were a few who obviously wondering if they had made the right choice to align themselves with him. The coming days as Voldemort once more became a force in the Wizarding world would test their strength and resolve.
"Listen to me. What you all need to understand is that most of you will find yourself opposing Voldemort whether you like it or not." As he spoke, Harry looked out at the members, willing them to understand what he was saying. Every eye was on him and everyone appeared to be considering his words. "If you're Muggleborn like Hermione, Voldemort is already your enemy. If you're a Halfblood, he might deign to tolerate you, but will always consider you to be a second-rate citizen. And even if you are a Pureblood, he will require you to choose to support him, or stand against him. There will be no middle ground."
As he spoke, Harry's eyes flicked to Daphne, and she gave him a slight nod—he would not reveal exactly what she had told him, but the Purebloods in the room needed to understand exactly what they were facing.
"And even if you don't fight openly against Voldemort," he continued after a moment, "learning to defend yourself, especially against Dementors, will help you when things start to get rough. That's why we will be learning the Patronus Charm. Any questions?"
There was a low murmur of sound, but no one spoke up with any more questions. The entire club appeared to be accepting, if not openly supportive. Undoubtedly, some of those in the room would not wish to fight, but even if they would not, Harry would see them able to protect themselves—that was as important as anything else in his mind.
"Very well then, let's get to it."
The chairs were cleared away, and the club gathered around Harry as he began to explain the casting of the charm.
"Now, there is no specific wand movement—you merely point your wand in the direction you want your Patronus to go once it appears. In your mind you summon up a memory which makes you happy—the happier the better. Once you have that firmly in mind, you say the incantation, Expecto Patronum, to cast the spell. Simple in concept, but very difficult in execution. Now, can anyone here other than Fleur and myself cast a Patronus?"
The club members turned to Fleur all at once, and the Veela witched blushed slightly. "My father taught it to me before I came to England, knowing what had happened at Hogwarts the previous year," she explained. "It took some time before I could actually cast a corporeal one."
No one spoke up—unsurprising, as it was not taught at Hogwarts, and not necessarily a well-known charm anyway. "Then let's use your example before we have everyone begin," Harry said, encouraging her to cast the spell.
Fleur smiled at him before she set herself and took a deep breath. She raised her arm and in a loud and commanding voice intoned, "Expecto Patronum!"
A silvery light exploded from her wand and quickly coalesced into a magnificent tiger, which was much like Fleur herself, he thought with amusement—beautiful, but possessing an impressive set of fangs. The tiger stalked about the room for several moments before Fleur allowed it to fade away. Harry noticed several looks of appraising respect for his betrothed. Despite how she had won the dueling tournament in the fall, Harry knew that her less-than-stellar performance at the Tri-Wizard was still foremost in a lot of minds. She was proving herself to be a powerful and capable witch.
"And that is how you do it. Any questions?"
When no one spoke up, Harry divided the class into groups and they began practicing the spell, while he and Fleur walked around the room giving instruction and encouragement.
Needless to say, the initial results were middling at best. Most did not even get the slightest hint of a mist when they tried casting the first time, though there were a few—Hermione unsurprisingly among them—who did manage the feat. There was also a marked difference in performance between the age groups, again unsurprisingly, as the upper years generally had more success than those younger. In fact, those under fourth year could not manage anything for the entire night, leading Harry to surmise that their magical strength had simply not developed enough to allow them the power to cast the spell. This was confirmed through a hurried conversation with Sirius and Professor Flitwick, who was also in attendance.
"That you managed to cast the Patronus at the age of thirteen is no less than astonishing, Mr. Potter," the Charms Professor noted. "Most people do not normally start to truly develop their adult strength until they are at least fifteen, and they do not reach their true potential until some time in their twenties. You will find some who develop a little earlier, but thirteen is very early."
"So what should I do about the younger members?" Harry asked. "I don't want them to become frustrated with this."
"Give them something else to do while you have the higher levels practice the Patronus," Sirius offered. "It looks like some of the fourth years will be able to get some mist at the very least—it will help them develop their magical strength if they keep trying it, but you are right about the younger years. It's a pointless exercise until they can at least get a response from their wands."
The professors were right in their comments—of the fourth years, only Ginny and Luna had been able to get any kind of response when they tried to cast the spell, and none of the younger years had had any success at all. For that matter, some of the fifth years had not been able to produce anything, though Flitwick assured him that they were all mature enough to do so.
Harry walked through the group, helping and correcting where he could, and though no one managed a corporeal Patronus by the end of the evening, Harry was happy with their progress. Several had managed an impressive spray of mist, and a couple had almost managed to coalesce their efforts into a workable shield, though he knew it would be some time yet before they managed to actually succeed in casting the spell.
When the meeting came to an end, Harry complimented them all for their diligence and determination, and sent them off with the admonition to practice whenever they could, but also to refrain from overdoing it. The class quickly emptied leaving Harry with his three closest friends, and one Defense Professor.
"Should I worry about my job, Harry?" Sirius asked with a sly grin. "You seem pretty comfortable there—the makings of a gifted teacher."
"Nah, I'll let you keep it for now," Harry cheekily responded, prompting a guffaw from his godfather in response.
"Thanks for that, cub."
"No problem, Sirius." They moved from the room and began walking back toward the Gryffindor common room. "How were your first few days as a professor?"
"Pretty good, actually," returned Sirius affably. "I didn't quite know what to expect, but I do find that I'm enjoying it." A sly smile crept over his face. "In fact, I had a bit of a run in with one of your buddies."
Harry gazed at his godfather in askance, wondering who he could mean.
"Well, Malfoy didn't seem to believe me when I said that I would treat everyone equally. He seemed to think that I'd favor you, and didn't seem to be impressed when I pointed out that he should know all about favoritism."
"That's the truth," Hermione chimed in with a certain amount of disgust. "He's only a moderately talented brewer, but if you hear Snape speak, he's God's gift to potioneers."
The group shared a laugh as they walked, but the thought of Snape and his class filled Harry with disgust. The next day was another day with Snape, and Harry was not looking forward to it once again, as Dumbledore had still not returned.
Noticing his inattention, Sirius turned to him and said, "What's up, Harry? And don't tell me nothing—I've seen that look before, and it never means anything good."
"It's nothing, Sirius," Harry said with an impish grin. "Just greasy bat problems; nothing to get all worked up about."
Sirius stopped and regarded Harry critically. "You're having trouble with Snape?" he demanded.
"Nothing I haven't dealt with before."
Sirius, however, did not appear to be amused with Harry's glib tone. "Dealt with it before or not, I want to hear about any problems with Snape."
"He doesn't want to come off as a whiner," Ron chimed in helpfully.
Harry glared at Ron, motioning him to cease, but Sirius threw up his hands in exasperation. "Harry, you're certainly not a whiner. If anything, you have a tendency to suffer in silence."
"Here, here!" Fleur exclaimed. "We've tried telling him that, but he's too stubborn to listen."
Though he turned his glare on Fleur, her impish smile dispelled his annoyance and made him laugh. He put an arm around her and hugged her to him affectionately, which garnered the amused looks of the others.
Sirius, though he appeared as though he wanted to say something, merely grinned and said, "Now tell me what's going on."
Sighing, Harry looked Sirius in the eye. "He's just being a git again. Took points away from me last class for 'being an obtuse dunderhead' and then five more for disrespect."
"That doesn't even mention the points he took away while you were brewing," Ron protested. "He watched you like a hawk and pretty much ignored the rest of us."
Countenance darkening, Sirius muttered, "As if the git deserves any respect.
"But what happened to make come after you?" Sirius asked.
"I don't know," replied Harry with a shrug. "He hasn't exactly been friendly, but at least he's been tolerable since Dumbledore spoke to him in September. But Monday was the return of the foul git from the moment he entered the class."
"And you were just going to let him get away with it this time?" Sirius demanded with exasperation. "Harry, you don't need to put up with him—I'm here to help you, any of the other professors would take your side, and you can send a letter to Jean-Sebastian if you need to."
"I wasn't going to put up with it," Harry protested. "I was going to talk to Dumbledore, but he's away."
"That's good," Sirius responded, "but when he's not here don't suffer in silence. Tell a professor."
"All right, Sirius, I will."
"Good." Sirius turned and began walking again, but his head clearly was not with Harry and his friends any longer. "You four get back to your common room—it's almost curfew. I'll see you tomorrow, Harry."
They split paths at the stairway, the Gryffindors heading toward their common room, while Sirius headed down into the lower levels of the castle. As he watched his godfather go, Harry decided that the feeling of having someone firmly in his corner—an adult this time—was one which he liked very much. Of course, Dumbledore, Jean-Sebastian, and even some of the other professors had supported him in the past, but outside of Remus, whom he had not seen since the man had left Hogwarts, never had he felt it from someone who was so closely connected with his father. It was a heady feeling.
"Do you think we should call in the Aurors?" Ron asked.
Three sets of eyes swiveled to him, and Ron's expression became positively predatory. "Sirius looks like he's going to have a conversation with the greasy bat, and I'm betting the dungeons turn into a war zone."
"That's just too bad for Slytherin, isn't it?" Harry said, returning his devious grin.
The four friends laughed and continued on toward the common room. Whatever happened in the dungeons, Harry was certain he would hear about it the next day. It truly was good to have a protector in the castle. Snape would never know what hit him.
In truth, Ron's supposition was not far from the truth. As he stalked down the stairs toward a certain git's office, Sirius's mood was such that the beginning of the Second Wizarding War was not out of the question.
Simply put, Snape had been a thorn in Sirius's side for far too long, and he was longing to pluck the offending burr and immolate it in dragon fire. The twit deserved no less, especially with all the crap the man had pulled with Harry since he had started at Hogwarts, to make no mention of some of the things which had happened when Sirius had attended Hogwarts with the Slytherin.
To be completely fair and honest, Sirius supposed that the enmity between the Marauders—though more particularly James and Sirius—and Snape had been as much the Marauders' faults as it had been Snape's. Sirius and James had not treated Snape well, and their penchant for playing practical jokes often resulted in Snape being a target. Sirius knew this and admitted it, even if only to himself.
The one thing he truly regretted was the incident when had told Snape how to get to the Shrieking Shack, and the Slytherin had been attacked by Moony. Though he had just answered a challenge Snape had put to him—in fact, Sirius could not even remember what it had been about—he had left out the critical piece of information that it was inhabited by a werewolf, leaving James to save Snape from Moony. In addition to the danger he had put the Slytherin into, it had also led to Snape's discovery of Moony's furry little problem, and had ultimately led to Moony leaving the Defense Professorship, as Sirius was almost certain that it had been the Slytherin who had let the cat out of the bag.
Sirius had been a jerk as teenager—there was no getting around that fact. James and Moony had certainly had their moments as well, but Snape had had his own moments. But whereas Sirius and Remus had grown up and matured, and James had calmed down considerably before his death, Snape continued to act like he was a teenager, holding this ridiculous grudge against James's son. It could not be allowed to continue. Snape could hate Sirius until the day he died—Sirius truly did not care. But he would not let him continue to persecute Harry, who was innocent in any of the bad blood between them. Sirius was going to make that very clear to the potions master.
As he stalked into the dungeons, Sirius slowed his steps, trying to calm his mind. It would do no good to walk into Snape's office with wand blazing, after all. The trick was to confront him and tell him that his behavior would no longer be acceptable, without losing his temper or giving Snape anything to use against him. And he would use anything he could find against him—of that Sirius was sure. He doubted Snape would be able to influence Dumbledore to sack him—not with all the trouble he had had in finding defense professors—but Snape would undoubtedly try to make his life difficult.
In fact, Sirius was almost certain he knew why Snape was acting this way. It had come out in a rather offhand conversation with McGonagall that Snape had always wanted the Defense position, though why exactly Sirius was not certain. Though he was loath to give the bat any credit at all, he had to admit that Snape was a gifted brewer. He was not, however, gifted at defense, and would not make the best professor, in Sirius's opinion, even disregarding his inability to teach a subject he excelled at. By contrast, Defense had been one of Sirius's best subjects, and he had spent time in the Auror department after Hogwarts. Sirius knew that he was much more qualified to teach Defense that the Slytherin.
Snape was probably more suited to the use of the dark arts than defending against them, Sirius thought somewhat snarkily. He was certain Snape had been involved with the dark arts long before his graduation from Hogwarts—his subsequent allegiance to Voldemort seemed to bear that supposition out.
The one thing, about which Sirius was uncertain, was why exactly Dumbledore chose to keep the greasy bat in such a position of authority. Oh, he knew about the claim that Snape was now a spy for the light side, but unless Dumbledore had some sort of hold over him, Sirius knew that Snape was inherently untrustworthy, and his ideals bore no resemblance whatsoever to those the Headmaster espoused. Sirius did not trust the man, and would not trust him, even if he proclaimed his undying allegiance to the light under the influence of Veritaserum. Sirius suspected that the potions master was in actuality playing both sides, attempting to ensure that he sided with the winning faction and appearing indispensible to both. It was certainly a Slytherin thing to do.
By the time Sirius's footsteps had carried him to the door to the potions master's office, he had worked himself up to a healthy anger towards the potions master, not that that was any great feat. Slowing in front of the office, Sirius took one deep breath to calm himself for a rational conversation—or as rational as a conversation with Snape was likely to be—and pushed open the door.
The force which he had exerted to open the door was admittedly excessive, and it swung wide open, crashing against the wall loudly. Unconcerned, Sirius strode through the door and closed it with a flick of his wand, not to mention an equal amount of force.
It was a disappointment that Snape showed no surprise, nor did he jump at the sound of the door opening. He merely peered up at Sirius from where he sat behind his desk and, apparently deciding to ignore his presence, went back to a stack of parchments he appeared to be grading.
Unconcerned, Sirius stalked toward the desk and, flicking his wand and directing another chair to the opposite side from where Snape was still ignoring him, sat on the chair and extended his legs up to rest on Snape's desk. Nonchalantly he looked around the office, noting that the place had not truly changed from the time Sirius had attended Hogwarts. The paraphernalia and personal effects were certainly different, and Slughorn's prominently displayed pictures of the people he had collected for his "Slug Club" were absent, but the office was still dark and dreary, and possessed the odd combination of a damp, musty smell common to most stone dungeons, and the scents of the various potions ingredients and brews which had been created over the years. On the side of the office, two cauldrons stood on fires, bubbling merrily away, while the fumes were collected into a hood overhead, presumably complete with banishing charms. Sirius hated to think of how the place would stink if those charms were not present.
"Is there anything I can do for you Black?"
Sirius lazily glanced over and met the potions master's dark and foreboding gaze, noting with a certain amount of satisfaction the annoyance in the man's expression. Snape was certainly good at hiding and suppressing his emotions and reactions, but Sirius had an instinctual understanding of how to read him. It came from seven years of getting under his skin, and while Sirius was still not proud of the way he had acted, the experience would come in handy, he was certain.
"I just thought I'd come and catch up on old times," Sirius responded glibly. "I've been in the castle for four days now, and we still haven't caught up. How have you been, Snivvy?"
Snivellous, Snivvy, Sevvy-poo, Snapedragon; they—and others—had all been names with which the Marauders had taunted the Slytherin over the years, and Sirius was relishing being able to use them again, just for old times' sake. Or perhaps he wasn't as grown up as he had thought. Damn…
"As you can see, I'm rather busy," Snape said, returning his gaze to his parchments. "I'm sure we can… 'catch up' some other time."
"Oh, I'm sure you can spare the time," was Sirius's smooth response. "I figure you've been in the castle for a while. We can talk of the students, or different techniques for teaching. Or perhaps we can speak of some of the students in particular."
A raised eyebrow met his comments, and Snape's ever-present sneer once again made its appearance. It had not changed for many years, Sirius reflected.
"I do not believe we have anything to discuss." Snape's voice was gravelly, and the effort to even speak to him appeared to be costing Snape some of his equilibrium. "If you must know, I consider you to be just as much of a buffoon as you ever were, and your presence here is an insult to those of us who have made a career of educating. Dumbledore can put a professor's robes on you, but he cannot transform you into a professor, no matter how he tries. You can put a unicorn's horn on a horse, but it's still just a horse."
"I suppose you would know all about bad teaching," Sirius jibed. "It's what you've been foisting off on Hogwarts' students for more than a decade, isn't it?"
"I'll have you know I am a premiere potions master—"
"And an extremely poor professor," Sirius shot back. "I've got quite an idea of what goes on in your class, Snivellous, and I find it rather amusing that you've got the gall to actually call yourself an 'educator.'"
Snape's sneer was blooming in its full glory. "You never could take anything seriously."
"Oh, I assure you that I take this very seriously. And I suggest you rein in your resentment and grow up. Maybe for once it would be a novelty to actually provide the students with the instruction you are paid to provide!"
"I suppose the spawn of your friend," Snape almost spat the word as though he was trying to rid his mouth of the taste of a decaying flobberworm, "had the temerity to complain about his last class. Perhaps he should acquire a modicum of competence before he goes about complaining about the professor."
"And perhaps you should acquire a modicum of teaching ability before you try to pass yourself off as a professor," Sirius snapped. "Like I said, I've got a good idea of what happens in your classroom, and I certainly did not get all of my information from my godson. Your behavior is unpardonable, and I will be taking it up with Dumbledore."
Snape waved his hand dismissively. "By all means, if you feel the little brat has been ill used."
"Your very words condemn you." Sirius was all but snarling by now and he was having difficulty staying in control of his temper. Unfortunately, Snape had always had this effect on him—it was difficult to not hate the man.
"You had better moderate your prejudices," Sirius continued, while forcing his ire down. "I don't know how the rest of the professors feel about you, but I suspect you've been manipulating the house cup every year you've been here, which not only is against your responsibilities as a professor, but also unfair for the members of the three other houses. I'll have you thrown from the castle if you don't shape up."
"Do what you will," Snape said with another dismissive wave, while he turned his attention back to his work.
With as much distaste as he had ever felt, Sirius observed the man's studious attempts to ignore him. This had been, he mused, the most civil discussion he had ever had with Snape, regardless of its acrimony—things had been that bad between them. But Snape's attempt at bravado, Sirius felt he could almost sense… something. He was not even certain what he was feeling. But having had thirteen long years to think about what had happened, and knowing Snape's association with Voldemort, which Sirius believed started before he had left Hogwarts, Sirius had a series of suspicions about the potions master about exactly what his activities had been. The conclusions he had drawn were not pleasant, and would earn Snape an early death if they proved correct, but for now, all Sirius had was a number of suspicions which unfortunately seemed to fit the circumstances.
Therefore, he would bide his time—Snape was not going anywhere after all. But that did not mean that a little warning was not in order. On the contrary, perhaps it was time for Snape to understand exactly what awaited him if Sirius's suspicions were ever proven to be the truth.
Shifting in his chair, Sirius lowered his feet from Snape's desk. He leaned forward and put both forearms on the edge of the desk, and peered forward at the potions master intently. Noticing his change in posture, Snape glanced up, his only change in demeanor being that damnable raised eyebrow which had always infuriated Sirius in the past. He longed to knock the smarmy git on his arse and remove his eyebrows forcibly. But now was not the time—patience was called for.
"Do you remember the last conversation you and I had before we left Hogwarts?"
The eyebrow lowered, but Snape did not show any other reaction that he knew to what Sirius was referring. He made no response.
"I'll remind you then," Sirius snarled. "I told you then that I would be watching you, that I knew that you were up to your ears in the dark arts. I also caught you looking at Lily like she was some sort of dragon steak, and I told you then that there would be consequences if you ever aided Voldemort.
"I cannot prove it right now, but I suspect that you had something to do with James and Lily's betrayal and death."
"And why would you think I would do anything to hurt my dearest friend?" Snape scoffed.
"But she wasn't your dearest friend any longer by then, was she?"
An expression almost akin to regret appeared on Snape's features, and though he kept his own countenance even, Sirius was surprised. Snape had never shown regret for anything he had ever done, to Sirius's knowledge. He was the type of person who appeared to believe that whatever he wanted was his by right—the Snape Sirius had known had no room, no capacity for regret.
"Perhaps she did not consider me to be her dearest friend, but I assure you that the feeling was most decidedly not mutual."
"Be that as it may," Sirius responded, ignoring this glimpse into Snape's psyche, but deciding to ponder it later, "I know for a fact that you didn't shed any tears when my friend died."
To his credit, Snape did not attempt to deny or mitigate that fact in any way. Instead, he merely gazed at Sirius evenly and said, "And so by your convoluted logic, my feelings for your… friend mean that I'm guilty of killing him. How convenient for you to come to such a conclusion without a shred of evidence."
"On the contrary," Sirius replied, "I have not come to any conclusion; if I had, you would be dead."
"Bravado," Snape said with a contemptuous snort.
"Call it what you like," Sirius said, making his voice clearly dismissive. "You and I both know you were never a match for me when we were in school, and you're no match for me now."
"Says the man who just spent the past thirteen years in Azkaban."
"Fine. Underestimate me if you like." Sirius rose from the chair, but before he turned to depart, he looked Snape in the eye. "But remember—if I do ever find out that you had something to do with the Potters' betrayal and deaths, it will not go well for you. Dumbledore's support or not, there will be a reckoning, so you'd better hope that if there is something there, that I don't find it."
Snape shrugged and with exaggerated insouciance turned back to his work. "Whenever you'd like, I'm waiting."
Seeing the man was not about to say anything more and knowing more threats at the point were hardly necessary, Sirius turned and left the room.
Later the night of the club meeting, Fleur said good night to her friends and went up to the seventh years' dorm, intent on reading a little before she went to bed. It had been a long day and Fleur was looking forward to a little sleep and recuperation.
Keeping up with her betrothed was definitely a challenging prospect—Harry seemed to have an energy about him that defied description. Likely a good thing, she mused, considering the responsibility the prophecy had dumped on him. He needed to learn and to plan, or Voldemort would never be taken down.
Oh, that was not to say that Harry would have to do it himself. Fleur planned to be there with him along every step of the way, and he had many friends who felt the same way, not to even mention Sirius, Dumbledore, her father, and all the others who were willing to stand with him.
To that end, with the information Daphne had given Harry on the express, Fleur was hopeful they would be able to gain even more support. Harry had passed the information on to her father, and she knew that he would be proactive in meeting with the soon-to-be-former neutrals. Daphne's parents did not sound like the type of people who would be immersed in a cause, but their support—or at least their lack of opposition—would undoubtedly be useful, if only for the products they could supply. It was, perhaps, a rather cold way of thinking of the situation, but the times demanded such thoughts. Fleur had long determined that she would do whatever she could to ensure Harry's support and Voldemort's defeat. While she would not compromise her morality to do so, she would do just about anything else.
After readying herself for bed, Fleur stepped from the communal bathroom and into the sixth year dorm to a sight which surprised her—Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, playing with the cuffs of her sweater. The brunette had a pensive expression on her face, as though deep in thought, and as she had not noticed Fleur's presence, she took a moment to study the girl who was now her closest friend.
Hermione had changed since Fleur had first met her—she was now much more confident, especially in social matters, and had gained a little more balance between that and her more academic pursuits, which Fleur felt she had at times lacked in the past. Hermione would never be the life of the party, but Fleur herself was not such a person, so their personalities actually complemented one another rather nicely. In the past few days, however, especially since boarding the express, though Fleur had to admit that it had started some time before, she had noticed Hermione's withdrawn behavior. She had been preoccupied by something, and it had affected her interactions with her friends.
"Hermione," Fleur said as she entered the room fully and announced herself.
Jumping up from the bed in obvious surprise, Hermione appeared like a child who had been caught doing something naughty. Seeing Fleur's mischievous expression, she rolled her eyes and sat back down on the bed. "You didn't have to scare the life out of me."
"I wouldn't have if you had been paying attention," Fleur chided gently. "What is bothering you, Hermione? You have been this way for a while now."
Embarrassment filled her, and Hermione's cheeks bloomed in a full blush. "Has it been that obvious?"
"To me, perhaps. But then again, we've become so close that I notice things long before others likely would. I think Harry may have noticed it, but he's far too polite to ever say anything."
A moment later, Hermione had visibly straightened her posture and, taking a deep breath, she looked Fleur in the eye. "Do you remember what we talked about before coming to Hogwarts?"
"About Harry?" Fleur asked cautiously.
"Yes," was Hermione's succinct reply. "I've come to a decision. I want to take you up on your offer."
A smile spread over Fleur's face, but she was cautious. "Have you discussed this with your parents?"
Looking down at the floor, Hermione shook her head. "I haven't yet, but I know I will have to. I know they will support me in whatever I decide, but it will be a shock to them. That's why I want to take this slowly."
"How slowly?" Fleur asked bluntly.
"I don't exactly have a schedule set up," Hermione said with a wry grin. "I just want to give myself a chance to become used to it, and not overwhelm Harry. Let's keep it between you and me for now."
"It's not fair to Harry for us to be plotting behind his back."
"I don't want to plot," Hermione rejoined. "It's just that Harry has so much happening right now, that I don't think it's fair to dump it all on him now. This needs to be handled delicately—he doesn't even know that he can have more than one wife. And besides, we don't even know that he will go for the idea.
"Oh, I know what you've said about his feelings," Hermione continued when Fleur would have interrupted, "and I do think that he fancies me to a certain extent. But he might find the idea of two wives distasteful. I don't want to set myself up to be hurt."
Fleur gazed at her friend with some understanding, but also a determination that Harry not be kept in the dark. The set-down she had delivered to her father also applied to Harry's closest friends, after all—he deserved to know things which would affect his life.
"Don't you think that the love and support of his closest friend would be a great asset to him?"
"Yes it would. But we have to be careful, not only for his feelings, but for mine too."
Fleur considered her friend's words—it was not difficult to agree with her. But Harry did need to be told, and soon. Perhaps there was a way to make it easier on him and on Hermione both. "I do not think that Harry is as clueless as you seem to think. I think if we made it clear to him in a memorable sort of way, he would be all for it."
"Memorable is good," Hermione responded with an impish smile. "I assume you have something in mind?"
Smiling wickedly, Fleur sat down beside her friend on the bed. "I think I do have an idea which will make it very memorable for him."
The next day, Sirius had to force himself to concentrate on his classes and though meeting the students and teaching the material was as interesting and engaging as it had been previously, his mind was preoccupied. His words to Snape the previous day had not been mere bravado; something about the whole situation—the prophecy, Voldemort's return, the attack on the Potters, and Dumbledore's insistence on keeping Snape in the castle, regardless of the evident drawbacks—something bothered him. The fact that he was not quite able to put his finger on it exasperated him to no end, but his frustration with himself did not bring any answers.
One thing Sirius was certain of was that Snape was somehow complicit in either the Potters' betrayal or their death, whether the Death Eater had intended for them to be killed or not. Certainly Sirius could not imagine that the man had wished for the death of his closest childhood friend, despite the less than savory path he travelled as one of Voldemort's followers. James, however, was another matter altogether—Sirius knew that Snape would most likely have pumped his fist and screamed with glee at James's death, likely topping off with a session of dancing on his grave. Sirius would not put it past Snape to have tried to engineer James's demise so that he could swoop in and "comfort" Lily upon her becoming a widow. Privately, Sirius felt that Snape fancied himself to be in love with Lily, but Sirius was certain that Snape was the type of person who could only ever love himself.
But something was off about the whole thing. Try as he might, Sirius could not imagine how Snape could have engineered the whole thing. The prophecy had been known before that night in October when he had lost two of his closest friends—Dumbledore had taken James and Lily aside to explain it to them once he understood the implications, and James had been quick to share what he had learned. It had been one of the primary reasons why Lily and James had acceded to his wishes and gone into hiding. The fact that Voldemort had chosen to target the Potters appeared to be chance, regardless of what Dumbledore had told Harry. Frank and Alice had been just as much of a thorn in Voldemort's side as Lily and James had been. It was entirely possible that he had intended to kill both Harry and Neville the same night, though it seemed unlikely; they knew that Voldemort had already owned the Potters' secret keeper, but the Longbottom's secret keeper had not been compromised until after Voldemort's disappearance.
What Sirius could not be certain of was how Snape fit into all of this. Had he urged Voldemort to attack the Potters, asking Voldemort to spare Lily's life? That was certainly possible, but there were several problems with that line of thought. First and foremost was the fact that Voldemort was not known for taking advice from anyone, even his own advisors. The thought that he would do so from a relatively new follower, one who was a Halfblood, no less, seemed doubtful. Or had Snape somehow been the means by which Pettigrew had been turned? Again, it seemed unlikely—Snape had hated the Marauders equally, and moreover, he doubted Snape would have known that it was Peter who was the secret keeper, not Sirius. He and James had told no one else after they had made the switch. What else could Snape have to do with the Potters' betrayal? Unfortunately, Sirius could not think of anything, and it was bothering him. The answer seemed like it should be clear, but clarity would not come. Unfortunately, he would need more time to consider the matter. Perhaps something would jog his memory and the answer would become clear. Some of the patience he had learned in Azkaban was obviously required.
It was late afternoon before Dumbledore returned from his ICW duties, and as Sirius was busy with his classes, it was after dinner that evening before he was able to take his concerns to the Headmaster.
"He's reverted, has he?" Dumbledore asked while running a hand down his long and flowing beard. "I cannot say that I am surprised. He has behaved quite well for the past several months, but I always knew that it would not last. It appears that hiring you for the Defense post has pushed him over the edge."
"So McGonagall was right?" Sirius queried. "Snape covets the Defense post?"
"He does," was Dumbledore's simple confirmation. "He has pressed me for the Defense position every time I must find a new professor, which has unfortunately been yearly. In the past several years, he has become more and more insistent. I have put him off every year, as his strength is obviously potions, but I may unfortunately have to accept his offer, if obtaining the services of a Defense Professor continues to become more difficult."
"You don't need to worry about that," Sirius stated definitively. "I can continue to teach, at least until Harry graduates. After that, you may need to find someone new, but until then I will stay on."
"That is very much appreciated, Sirius."
Sirius glared at Dumbledore with some asperity. "I'm not doing it only for you and the school. I want to remain close to Harry, and this gives me the opportunity to do so. Besides, whatever Snape feels about his abilities, he is most certainly not qualified to be the Defense instructor."
"I think you underestimate him."
"And I'm certain that I don't," replied Sirius, somewhat dismissively. "He is a talented—even gifted—potions master, but you forget that I grew up with him. He was never any more than an average student in defense. Now, when Voldemort is stirring up trouble again, it's more important than ever that the children receive a good education in defense. I mean to ensure they get it."
Dumbledore nodded, but chose not to respond. He likely still thought he was in the right about Snape, but Sirius was not about to give one inch in this argument. He was right and he knew it.
"Then that brings us back to Snape's anger with me. He has always coveted the position, and suddenly, in the middle of the school year, I waltz in and take over. And moreover, he hates me and resents my very presence in the castle."
Albus's responding tone was gently remonstrating. "There is some justification for his feelings, Sirius."
Sirius just waved the Headmaster off impatiently. "I am well aware of my failings and my behavior as a teenager. I am much more concerned about the fact that while I have grown and matured, it appears that your potions professor has not. His persecution must stop, Dumbledore. Otherwise, he must go."
"I understand your point, Sirius," Dumbledore responded with a sigh. "I have blunted the worst of his excesses over the years since he has joined this faculty, but he has become more difficult to control since Harry began attending. He has always treated Gryffindor with a certain contempt, but Harry particularly has been his target."
"Excesses?" Sirius demanded. "What are you talking about?"
"Severus has always been quite… liberal in deducting points from other houses, particularly from Gryffindor. He does not often award points to anyone, even his own house, so that has been less of a problem. But as I told Harry earlier this year, I review every point deduction he gives out, and will adjust them if I feel they are unwarranted. Like I said, until Harry arrived, it was much less of a problem. To be sure, it may have influenced the house cup in Slytherin's favor if allowed to stand, but I have avoided that."
Considering what he was being told, Sirius once again wondered at the fact that Dumbledore was willing to overlook this behavior in favor of having the potions master here. Was the man here due to his use as a spy, or was there something more which necessitated—in Dumbledore's mind at least—his continued employment? Sirius doubted that Dumbledore would be completely explicit, but there was no harm in trying.
"I understand that you've done your best to keep him from making a mockery of the house cup, but really, why is it so important that he remains in the castle?"
"His value as a spy is beyond measure, Sirius."
Sirius snorted. "I think you overestimate his value—he doesn't appear to have done much for our cause, to be honest. And yes you have helped him be a little fairer to the students, but the inescapable fact is that they are receiving a substandard education with him as the professor. 'Instructions are on the board. Begin!' is not exactly a sterling teaching method. And how can you be certain he's loyal? If his attitude is any indication, I doubt he's given up the dogma he embraced, and he's perfectly positioned to play both sides to ensure he comes out on the winning side."
The effect of Sirius's statements was almost instantaneous—Dumbledore's eyes flashed and his face fell into a mask of disapproval. The Headmaster did not show it often, but his elderly grandfather act only masked the intimidating defeater of Grindelwald. That was why he was one of the most feared and respected wizards in the world.
"Do not insult my intelligence, Sirius," Dumbledore snapped. "I am far from stupid, and am more than capable of ensuring that one man stays loyal."
While Dumbledore's displeasure was impressive, Sirius was not about to be intimidated by anyone. "How so?"
"I cannot be explicit," the Headmaster responded evenly, "as it would betray certain confidences. But I can tell you that I have bound Severus to me and to the light with unbreakable chains. He is incapable of acting against the interests of the light and beyond that, he has a powerful motivation to comply."
The way Dumbledore was speaking, it almost suggested an unbreakable vow. Sirius was certain, however, that it could not be so. Not only would Dumbledore have had to trust someone to be the binder, but Snape would also have had to agree to it, highly unlikely in Sirius's opinion. That left some type of life debt, or magical oath. How Dumbledore could have gotten Snape to agree to such a thing Sirius could not say. He seemed certain of his assertions, and would brook no opposition.
"Very well, but you cannot expect me to suddenly trust him," Sirius replied, aware that further argument would not be particularly useful.
"No, I'm certain that your mistrust of each other is far too ingrained for that," was the Headmaster's response. "All I ask is that you attempt to behave civilly with each other. I will speak to Severus again and direct him to rein in his inclination to persecute Harry."
He took at deep breath and stared Sirius in the eye, his demeanor and words conveying his seriousness. "I want you to know that I do not do this lightly. I have often thought about removing Severus when his actions, as they are now, were egregious and indefensible.
"But I must warn you that I will do anything to ensure that Voldemort is defeated." Dumbledore's gaze was steady and his words were firm and filled with conviction. "If Voldemort prevails in this struggle, Britain—and indeed possibly the entire world!—may entire an age so dark, that it may never recover. Every time I think of dismissing Severus, I think on what a world under Voldemort would be like. I will not leave an arrow in my quiver unloosed, especially as important and potentially devastating an arrow as Severus may turn out to be. A substandard education in potions pales in significance to the world I foresee should Voldemort win."
"Very well," said Sirius, rising to leave. Before he did, however, he turned back to Dumbledore. When he spoke again, his voice was implacable. "But I will warn you—I suspect that Snape had a hand in what happened to James and Lily. If I ever confirm my suspicions, I will have justice."
"Don't do anything rash, Sirius," Dumbledore cautioned. "That is all I ask."
Sirius nodded tightly before turning to leave. There was much more to think about now, and he would need to ensure he considered all the angles.
Updated 08/09/2013