Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor anything at all related to it.

A/N: It took me a while to develop this chapter, and a lot of extra reading. I guess I'm just not very good at student-teacher interactions, so I spent some time reading other fics and trying to get a feel for how the fics I like work scenes like that. Hopefully, this works out. I promise, I'm doing the best I can.

000000000000000 Chapter 22: Betrayal 000000000000

The next morning, Harry made a point to wait for Ron and Hermione before heading down to breakfast. He did not trust that Professor Murkwater would stay away from him, and he didn't feel safe being around the professor alone. He'd trusted the Moody-impersonator in his fourth year, and he'd never suspected Quirrel first year. Not until it was too late, of course.

Those had been two very disastrous mistakes.

"Class schedules," McGonagall announced, handing out three cards to Harry and his friends. Harry took the proffered schedule, scanning over his classes quickly.

"Transfiguration, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures," Ron said, sounding relieved. "No Potions until Tuesday!"

"Yeah, but it's for three hours," Hermione pointed out. Ron groaned.

"Hermione!" he whined. "Don't ruin it!"

"We have DADA Tuesdays and Thursdays before Potions," Harry said quietly. "In the mornings. We'll get a chance to hear about this new professor before we have him."

Ron gave him a sympathetic expression. "At least it can't be any worse than it was last year."

"Well, he can't say you're lying about You-Know-Who," Hermione added. Harry laughed.

"That's true," he agreed, then sobered as he remembered his short meeting with Murkwater in the hall the night before. He leaned closer to his friends, and they listened quietly as he told them what happened. Hermione, of course, told him to be careful and not go anywhere alone, and Ron immediately said that maybe the Professor was a death eater.

Hermione scoffed. "Dumbledore wouldn't make that mistake again," she said. Harry sighed.

"Well, he did it twice, sort of, didn't he?" he pointed out. "Quirrell and Moody?"

Hermione looked miffed. "Well, he doesn't purposely hire someone that's trying to kill you, Harry," she said defensively. Harry shrugged.

"So it's like I figure," he said calmly. "Stay on our guard around this guy, and we'll be fine."

"I suppose," Hermione said unsurely, then suddenly glanced at her watch and gasped, jumping to her feet and grabbing her bag.

"Come on!" she called, almost leaving the boys behind as they hurried to gather up their bags. "We're late!" she added. Harry and Ron hurried to catch up to the almost-flying witch, running down the hall until they reached her. "Late for our first class," she grumbled, once she realized that there was no way that they'd make it on time. Harry didn't really care if they were late, but Hermione sounded embarrassed.

"At least we haven't run into…" Ron started to say, but trailed off. "Snape," he groaned.

Harry looked over, and saw Professor Snape standing in a side hallway, arms folded. "Well, well, well," he said coldly. Harry frowned, trying to keep from all-out glaring. He hadn't seen Snape except for a glance at the Welcome Feast, and he'd hoped to keep it that way until the very last possible moment.

"We're going to class," Hermione explained. "We lost track of time, Professor, and…"

"Don't give me your excuses," Snape spat. Hermione shut her mouth with a snap, looking affronted. Ron's face flushed red as he stepped forward, but Harry saw Hermione put a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"Was there something you wanted, sir?" he asked, letting some of the anger he felt leak into his voice. He had had plenty of time now to get over the embarrassment he'd felt when Snape had used Legillimency on him that morning over the summer, and all that was left was the anger and that deep hate. Snape eyed him with a very ambiguous expression. Harry couldn't tell precisely what the professor was thinking but he refused to look away.

"Students should be in their first classes by this time," Snape said. "You three are not."

"Don't you have a class to teach?" Ron asked insolently. Snape scowled.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley," he announced. Ron scowled, but didn't say anymore.

"Is that all?" Harry asked. He turned to go, pushing his friends ahead of him, but Snape's voice reached him anyway.

"I would advise against being late to class again, Potter. You never know who might find you in these halls."

Harry pretended to ignore the words, but he wondered if perhaps Snape was trying to tell him to beware Professor Murkwater. It didn't matter, he decided as they filed into the Transfiguration classroom, three minutes late. He'd take care of any situation that arose on his own. He sure as hell didn't need Snape's assistance.

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"I haven't heard much either way on the guy," Ron informed Harry the next morning, after having spent all of Tuesday's breakfast planning for Quidditch practices and try-outs. Now, they were in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, waiting nervously for their new professor to arrive. "Everyone's been pretty vague on their evaluations of him, so far."

"Well, he hasn't killed anyone, so that has to be good," Harry sighed. Hermione turned to glare at him. She was sitting ahead of them with Neville, who looked much more nervous than anyone else.

"Just don't give him a reason to hate you, Harry," she asked. Harry blinked.

"Since when have I tried to make teachers hate me?" he asked, feeling a little angry. He didn't remember trying to provoke teachers…even with Umbridge, he'd only spoken out to stop her from telling the class terrible lies. Hermione sighed.

"Just don't provoke him, all right?" she asked. Harry just stared at her, refusing to answer. She turned back with a pensive expression as the door at the front of the classroom opened, and Professor Murkwater came through it, closing the door quickly before turning to face the students.

"I have heard from many that last year's Defense professor was not helpful," the man started, looking around. Harry felt the man's eyes rest on him a moment before moving on. "Although I did hear that a club was formed to remedy the situation."

Hermione raised her hand. "We had a school club for those wishing to learn practical defense," she explained. "Harry taught it."

Harry reddened, wishing Hermione hadn't said anything. He figured she was trying to show she was sorry for what she'd said before class, but it wasn't helping.

"Really?" Murkwater said softly. "As I was told, you were building an army," he added, a tinge of humor in his tone. Harry stared at the man's almost laughing face, noting quickly that the man's eyes were deadly serious.

"Seeing as the professor was worthless, we had to do something," Dean Thomas spoke up grouchily.

There were numerous cheers with his remark, but Murkwater silenced them with a wave. "Hopefully," he said, "This year will be much better. I was an auror for over a decade before I started teaching, so I have a great deal of personal experience in this field. Our focus in this class will be on practical defense, as well as offence. Defending yourself from harm is not enough to win a battle. You have to attack as well, or at last counter-attack."

Harry looked around, noting that just about everyone looked interested in what Murkwater had to say. They were with Hufflepuff for this class, and most of the sixth-years looked interested and somewhat excited. Of course, they'd all listened to the impostor-Moody two years earlier with just as much interest. It didn't mean anything either way.

"First of all, we'll work with simple stunning spells," Murkwater went on. "It can be shielded against fairly easily, but if it is not done right or the wrong type of shield is used, then it will be ineffectual. An opponent can kill you with an Unforgivable, but if you're stunned you're as good as dead."

The man's gray eyes roved the room. "Who would like to help me demonstrate?" he asked. No one said a word.

Harry sighed and raised his hand. This would be a good opportunity to get an idea of the man's ability, he figured. Just in case he needed to know.

Murkwater acknowledged him with a nod. "Mr. Potter," he said, gesturing for Harry to come forward. "I'm going to demonstrate the two spells we will work with today," he directed. "Shield them as best you can, Potter."

Harry nodded, raising his wand. They backed away from each other until they were about thirty yards apart, and then Murkwater raised his own wand. "Stupefy!" he said.

"Protego," Harry said, not bothering to shout the spell.

The red stunner bounced off his shield and crashed into the stone ceiling. Murkwater nodded. "Good. Petrificus Totalus!"

Instead of casting a shield, Harry easily side-stepped the spell. Murkwater smiled. "Of course," the professor said aloud, "Sometimes the best defense is just to step out of the way of an incoming spell."

Harry stayed up at the front, wand held ready, and watched Murkwater's eyes rove over the class. Harry could tell that this man had definitely been an auror—he was like Moody, scanning everything with a subtle but keen eye.

Murkwater turned to him with a small but genuine smile.

"You may be seated Mr. Potter. And thank you," Murkwater said. Harry took his seat. Murkwater's spells hadn't seemed that strong to him. Certainly he hadn't had to put much energy into his shield in order to deflect the first spell. But then again, perhaps Murkwater was not a strong, or perhaps he hadn't wanted to reveal himself entirely.

"Let's split into pairs and begin working on shielding charms," Murkwater said to the class. "Protego, mostly, and I will test each and every one of you on it. It is very important to learn your basic shielding spell, so that you can learn more complicated shields later. Mr. Potter here is already skilled enough to learn a few more types of shields."

Harry looked down. He didn't like it when people drew attention to him like that. Like Hermione had done at the beginning of class, no matter that she probably hadn't realized that it would make him uncomfortable.

It wasn't as if he could stay mad at her, he decided with a sigh, before pairing up with Neville and getting to work on shield spells that he'd known well for years.

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Halfway through the period was when it had happened. The class had moved on to demonstrating shield spells against Professor Murkwater, and almost all the way through that was when things went not so much wrong as…in an interesting direction.

Harry hadn't really been paying attention, much more focused on dreading the three-hour potions lesson coming up after this class finished. The Professor was testing a Hufflepuff girl, and her shield raised unsteadily. It was not perfectly done, and the red blast of a Stupefy bounced off at an unusual angle.

He didn't even think. He just raised his wand in surprise, words forming too slowly on his lips to keep up, and then suddenly the red light was gone.

Nobody said a word for a minute, perhaps more, and Harry blinked. Spells didn't usually just disappear like that. Not without some sort of evidence of their destruction or deflection.

"What did I do?" he asked the room in general.

Murkwater's slow applause rang out through the room for a few moments, then died. "Very well done, Mr. Potter," the man said. "You've just managed another type of shield. One that I had planned on introducing sometime around Christmas."

Harry blinked again, feeling really confused. "Huh?" was his intelligent response.

"What Potter did would be termed a passive shield," the Professor lectured, looking over the whole class. "There is not incantation to it—you just have to have the skill and the intent to create it. Some do not have the concentration to do spells without speaking the incantation, but most do, if they work hard enough."

Harry looked at his wand. How did it know what he wanted it to do, if he didn't say anything? Although how did his wand know what he wanted to do, when he did say something? It wasn't like it had ears…

"Stupefy," he heard. He looked up, raised his wand in shock as he saw that Murkwater had just sent another stunning spell his way, and once more the spell disappeared just feet from his head.

He swallowed, still feeling a little confused. "Er…I don't know quite what I'm doing," he said aloud.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Murkwater said in response. Harry still had his wand raised, and at the last moment realized that his mind was blank. He really had no idea what he was doing at all.

He fell over with a solid thump, his body frozen solid. "And that," Murkwater said aloud, while Harry waited for someone to unfreeze him, "Is what happens when you're not prepared. Finite Incantatum."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as his limbs relaxed, and he stood up stiffly, rubbing his very sore shoulder. He definitely wanted to ask Dumbledore about this…it would be incredibly helpful if he could use spells without having to say them aloud, which seemed a pretty easy way to give away his location to enemies.

"I think that's enough for today," Murkwater was saying. "I want a scroll on shield spells, especially those that are used by aurors in the field, by Thursday. Class dismissed."

Hermione came over to him, followed by Ron. "That was really impressive, Harry," she said. "The curse just disappeared about three feet from you!"

"I don't know what I did," he admitted honestly. "I was just about to say 'Protego,' and then suddenly the stunner was gone."

Ron grinned. "Whatever it was, it was bloody brilliant," he assured Harry, who grinned a little shakily.

"Yeah, it was kind of neat, I guess," he admitted, again thinking of the possibilities. It seemed Hermione was as well, because her face lit up.

"I wonder if the library has any books on this?!" she exclaimed. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Can't that wait until this weekend?" Ron groaned. Harry laughed.

"It's going to have to wait a little while, because we've only got another five minutes to get to potions."

Hermione grabbed her bag at his words, and grabbed Ron's arm with her free hand. "Let's get going!" she said. "I won't be late for class twice in one week!"

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"That, Potter, is the most ridiculous attempt at an invisibility potion that I have ever seen."

Harry clenched his teeth together, refusing to respond angrily. "Yes, sir," he said quietly.

Snape leaned closer over his cauldron. "It seems to me that you've added a bit too much of the chameleon tail. Dump it and start over."

Harry's back stiffened as he held his anger in check, counting backwards in his head and trying to remember that it was Snape that made his vision-free nights possible. If he ticked Snape off enough, the man might see fit to be a little…slow…on his brewing.

He emptied his cauldron with a wave of his wand a quick cleaning spell, though he really just wanted to curse Snape into oblivion. "Hmm," Snape said. "It seems you don't have enough time to finish today's potion. Detention, Potter. You will do it this evening."

Harry nodded curtly, trying to keep his hands from clenching into fists. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Malfoy laughing silently. He couldn't decide at that moment who he would prefer to attack more…Snape or Malfoy? Both looked like very good choices.

But instead, he breathed out slowly and answered the sour and hateful professor. "Yes, sir," he said again.

"Seven 'o Clock, here." Harry head Ron groan softly.

"Yes, sir," Harry said again. Snape seemed to hesitate a moment, and Harry refused to look at those soulless black eyes and did not even chance looking up until the man had swept by, obviously disappointed in Harry's refusal to rise to his baiting.

He knew Ron wouldn't be too happy with him. Tonight was their Quidditch tryouts. At exactly seven, which Snape had probably known. Harry figured that he'd probably get to keep his position anyway, since Ginny had seemed pretty interested in trying for Chaser this year. Ron could take care of the tryouts—he was the captain.

He felt a hand pat his shoulder, and turned to see Hermione smiling encouragingly. Harry just stared at her a moment, then shrugged. She might think it was a good thing that he hadn't talked back to Snape, but letting the man walk all over him was ridiculous. He'd live with Snape until he didn't have to any longer.

And in the meantime, he'd keep himself content with the idea of punching Snape straight in the jaw the day he graduated.

If he lived that long, a voice in the back of his head whispered. He quashed that thought violently. He had every intention of living well past that point.

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Harry trudged down to the dungeons with a feeling of utter loathing lodged in his chest. The last place he wanted to be was the dungeons, and the last person he wanted to see at the moment was Snape. Actually, he thought dryly, the last person he wanted to see at the moment was Voldemort, but Snape was a close second.

"Hello?" he said, to the empty Potions classroom that lay before him. He hoped for a wild moment that Snape had forgotten or found something better to do than torture him, but his hopes were dashed in a cruel instant.

"Potter."

He jumped about a foot in the air and whirled around, wand out. Snape had snuck up behind him, and now wore a very wide smirk. "How wonderful of you to make it."

The words dripped with disdain, but Harry just focused on putting his wand back into his pocket, keeping his face down in order to school his anger back into cold indifference. "What do you want me to do…sir?" he asked. Snape stalked past him.

"Just as I said, Potter. The potion. You have an hour, starting now."

Harry didn't say anything. He just got his cauldron from the cupboard at the back of the room, along with his ingredients. He hoped he'd have enough time to finish the potion…but it had taken almost two hours for even Hermione to finish hers during class. He was fairly certain he didn't stand a chance.

Quickly, he set to work anyway, setting up his cauldron quickly and measuring out ingredients. The instructions were in his notes, and when he reached the point he'd gotten to during he class he had to dig them out quickly.

Luckily, nothing had happened during that time and he quickly went onto the next step. As he read it, he realized with a sudden fatalism that there were at least another dozen steps, which would take over an hour on their own.

And he only had fifteen minutes left.

It figured, he thought bitterly. "Murkwater mentioned you several times at dinner tonight."

Harry jumped again, and silently groaned as the vial of ground crystal he'd been holding jogged, sending a great deal too much of the fine powder cascading into his cauldron. He knew at that moment that if he looked around, Snape would be smirking, condescending laughter in his eyes. "Did he?" he said instead, leaving off the 'sir' on purpose. If Snape wanted to be more snarky than he usually was, he wasn't going to try to be the least bit civil.

Someday, I'm going to knock his teeth out, Harry told himself quietly. He's going to find out very quickly that I'm not a little boy that he can push around.

"Its seems a certain celebrity couldn't avoid a chance to show off today in class," Snape spat. Harry forced himself to turn around and folded his arms across his chest.

"It was an accident, and I had no idea what I'd done, as I said in class," he said. "Besides, I have no reason to defense myself to you. You're my potions professor, not my DADA professor."

"One would hope that you could learn to be a little more…intelligent…as the years passed," Snape, almost hissing.

"Sorry," Harry said sarcastically. "Next time I'll try to keep the accidents to a minimum."

He looked at the clock on the wall. "My hour's up, sir,and the potion is again 'unsatisfactory,' I'm sure. Is that it?"

"Get out, Potter," Snape spat.

Harry needed no urging. He cleaned up his mess quickly and was out the door in less than five minutes.

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It was mid-October, actually just one week before Halloween and the anniversary of his parent's death. Classes were going…as well as could be expected, Harry decided. Ron had reported that Kirke and Sloper were still their beaters, however terrible they still were, and Katie, Ginny, and a second-year boy named Mark Evans were their Chasers.

His friend seemed to have channeled the spirit of Oliver Wood somehow, and Ron had scheduled practices for every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening, all in preparation for their first game on the last Saturday before Halloween. Between the practices and classes, Harry was starting to feel heavily strung out.

And of course, the interactions between himself and Snape had grown more and more tense, and Harry could almost feel the hatred in Snape's gaze every time it landed upon him.

Murkwater's class was almost worse, in some ways. The man took every opportunity to point out Harry's 'skill' with passive spellwork, and although Harry tried not to do too much, he ended up having to demonstrate as he got the hang of passively blocking several other spells. And with each improvement he made, Snape's gaze became that much more hateful.

And Harry was starting to wonder just why.

He dreaded Potions with a dire passion, but Hermione was insistent every single time. She continually assured him that things would be all right, and that Snape couldn't fail him without reason.

This wasn't reassuring. Especially since Ron seemed to think that Snape was planning on turning him over to Voldemort or something. Harry knew that that wasn't going to happen, but in class it certainly seemed like a very real possibility.

And so he was dreading Tuesday's potions class, a leaden feeling in his stomach. He was tired from heavy homework loads, Quidditch practice (in which Ron worked them liked machines), and worrying about the huge fortress that was still randomly appearing in his dreams.

"Get out your textbooks," Snape said tersely once the bell had rung. "Today is lecture notes only. Pay attention, because I will not repeat myself."

Harry exchanged a quick eye-roll with Ron before taking out his quill and several loose sheets of parchment. He stared hatefully at Snape's back while the man picked up his notes.

"The next section of this class involves poisons, and as such has heavy restrictions placed upon it. The Ministry feels the need for me to impress on your mostly useless and empty minds that poisonous potions are not to be taken lightly."

Harry ignored Snape's eyes as they glared at the Gryffindor half of the classroom. He heard Malfoy snigger, and decided he couldn't wait for the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match. He was going to make Malfoy wish he'd never heard the word Quidditch.

He was fervently hoping that he'd get the chance to try a Wronski Feint on Malfoy, and he grinned to himself, picturing quite clearly in his head what would happen. He'd pretend to see something…he'd dive…Malfoy trying to catch up to him…and at the last minute…

He smiled again as he pictured Malfoy plowing into the turf. That would definitely be a great memory to have, he decided. Especially if Malfoy didn't get up until someone woke him up…

"POTTER!"

The beyond-angry shout blasted through his daydreaming, and with a start he realized that he'd lost track of Snape's incredibly boring lecture. He looked up, refusing to feel embarrassed, and he realized that everyone looked rather shocked as well. Hermione glanced back, giving him a lopsided little grin of support, and Ron looked green.

Harry just glared. "Perhaps, Potter, you would like to tell us just what has you so amused?" the man demanded.

Harry blinked, pretending to look confused. "What're you talking about, sir?" he asked.

"You have been staring at your paper, grinning like an idiot, for almost five minutes, now!" Snape growled. "Certainly there must be some thoughts floating through that vacant mind of yours?"

Harry shrugged, refusing the bait. "Maybe, sir," he agreed, keeping his voice light and the anger hidden. It was too bad Snape didn't play Quidditch…

"Perhaps I need to employ more…forceful…means to keep your attention, Potter?" Snape asked. Harry felt an icy stab in his gut. Snape's voice had gotten dangerously low now, and Harry had the very bad feeling that the man was plotting something now.

"There must be some way to keep your arrogant and empty mind on something as simple as a lecture," Snape continued. Harry heard Malfoy laugh, and he couldn't stop the tic that made his left eyelid twitch several times in a row.

Harry couldn't keep it back now. Snape was being unfairly cruel, as usual, but this was ridiculous. His not paying attention hadn't been harmful to anyone, and as far as he knew, notes were for his own benefit. "Well, I'm certain you're exciting lectures will keep me riveted," he said aloud.

He heard Hermione gasp at his words, but he didn't even look at her. She could yell at him later, and he would think about Quidditch or something the entire time. He didn't need her scolding him.

But Snape didn't seem to be anywhere near finished. "My, my, Potter," Snape said. "A little testy today, are we?" he mocked.

"How about a little tired of your ridiculous insults and attempts to provoke me!" he shot back, all the while knowing that Snape had at least succeeded on that much. He was certainly provoked now.

"Lower your voice, Potter, when you speak to a professor," Snape spat. Harry glared, noticing that everyone was watching him now, waiting for his rejoinder. It was like some sort of duel, and everyone couldn't wait to see who won.

"I will," Harry said loudly. "That is, when I see someone who is a proper professor."

"Detention!" Snape snarled, face almost red with rage. That was something Harry had never seen before, he realized with a little thread of fear. Snape was angry. Very angry.

"You'll be cleaning cupboards from now until Halloween…" Snape smiled sourly, and Harry's gut clenched. Oh no, he thought, but Snape went ahead and said it. "Of course, you should be fairly familiar with cupboards, having lived in one for so—"

"SILENCIO!" Harry roared, then without looking back tore out of the room, leaving his bag behind. He ran as fast as he could away from the dungeons, racing up the stairs and past the Great Hall as quickly as he could. He couldn't believe it.

He just couldn't believe that Snape had done that.

No matter how far his hate went, he would never mention what he'd seen in Snape's pensieve to anyone, and now Snape had betrayed his slight trust, the little sliver of something that told him that even Snape wouldn't spout off his personal life to anyone, much less a classroom with all of the Slytherin sixth years in it.

He didn't even realize that he'd ran past the Gryffindor Portrait hole until he found himself slowing to a walk, too exhausted to keep running. Snape's last words were ringing in his head, and he could imagine the few moments it would take everyone to process what Snape had said before they reacted.

Slytherins, with laughter, and Gryffindors with something far worse…pity and their questions.

He thought he heard footsteps behind him, and he took off again, sprinting away as fast as his exhausted body would let him. He took stairs two at a time, up and down, and finally collapsed in an exhausted heap in a dusty corner of some unused hallway. It was utterly silent around him, and he lay back, breathing harshly and glaring up at the stone ceiling above him. "Bastard," he growled angrily. "Good-for-nothing bastard."

He didn't say anything else. There was nothing to say. He couldn't undp what Snape had said in front of so many. The man was a bastard, and that was all there was to it. The hate and the anger seemed to cool at that thought, and he realized suddenly that it was ridiculous to let Snape get to him so much. The man was nothing, less than nothing. There was an icy feeling in his chest now, as he thought of Snape's words. The hate was gone. He just…didn't care…what the man said anymore. The line was crossed, and it would not be un-crossed. He couldn't imagine this being fixed. Snape could say what he liked, Harry decided. He could tell everything just what he'd pulled from Harry's mind, and he wouldn't care. None of it mattered.

And someday, Harry imagined, Voldemort would find out that Snape was a traitor and would kill him.

And at that moment, Harry hoped with every last shred of his being that it happened sometime very soon.

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A/N: Not how I originally planned this chapter, which is why it took so freakin' long to get done. The whole 'Snape blabs something' wasn't supposed to happen for a bit, but it happened now. Quidditch really got shoved to the side in this, but I just figure for Harry everything else is hugely more important. He's thinking about how he's going to live through the year and all that more than sports. Don't worry, quidditch games will get attention, especially the ever-wonderful Gryffindor vs Slytherin one. That's always exciting.

So sorry for this chapter taking so long to get done, and hopefully I'll have more time to type more this next week. Updates are probably going to occur only every two weeks, I guess. My promise of once a week really fell through. I'm just having a little trouble connecting events right now, and getting in everything that I want. So don't be surprised if this chapter gets tweaked a little between now and the next few chapters, because I might decide some things need to change.

Thanks for reading, everyone.

Miss Laine