There was a short knock on Snape's door. He looked up from his book, an obscure volume on the theory behind healing spells.

It was times like these that he wished he'd confiscated and figured out how to work Potter's blasted map.

"Yes?" he called.

"It's me, sir."

Potter again. He drew a deep breath. Well, he thought, he couldn't avoid the boy forever. Best to get this over with.

"Enter."

Harry slipped in, a friendly smile on his lips again.

Snape much preferred the boy's open hostility to this new attitude. It was unsettling to him.

"Sorry to bother you, sir. I just had a couple of questions about the essay you assigned."

"I would think your friend Miss Granger should be able to clarify for you," Snape muttered, rising to his feet and turning his attention to his bookshelf. "She rarely misses a detail."

"Well, it was more on the subject matter. I was just a bit confused on the line between Dark objects and plain magical objects. Like, certain enchantments can be beneficial to their owner—like the Hand of Glory, for example—but are still considered—"

"I believe the text covers this quite thoroughly, and I would refer you to that, as I did in class," Snape bit out. Then, working to calm himself, he pinched the bridge of his nose and, closing his eyes, he demanded, "Why are you really here, Potter?"

"I wanted to see how your research was coming."

Snape heard the lie in the boy's voice, and he was about to call him out on it, but something stopped him. It wasn't worth it, he thought. He would just update the boy without making a fuss and get him out.

"Poorly. I will notify you if I make any breakthroughs, as I've already promised. Now, if there was nothing else…."

Harry did not quit at that, though. "Well, I thought I could maybe help you. You know, comb through books for you or something—"

"Potter, you will be sitting for your N.E.W.T.s at the end of this year. And while I have no doubt that the famous Chosen One will have no trouble being named an Auror, you should not discount the importance of your examinations. If you hope to be effective in your position, you will need a wide breadth of knowledge."

"But sir, I can—"

"The answer is no. Concentrate on your classes."

"Professor, please, it would do me good to learn about undoing Dark Magic and developing original counter-curses. Consider it independent research—"

"I said no," Snape hissed, whipping around to fix the boy with his glare. "Don't think I don't know what this is. You're fishing for an excuse to hang about. And I think that I made it very clear not two days ago that I have no need of your company."

But just like before, Harry stared back, undeterred. "Would my mum have left you alone?" he asked quietly.

Again with this. The boy was goading him, trying to push him over the edge. "I am not discussing this with you—"

"Be honest," Harry demanded. "You knew her for a long time. Would she have just let you be if you were acting like this?"

Snape's jaw was clenched so hard that it ached. "Potter, you are a student here, regardless of what you might think or what special privileges you believe you have earned. You have no right to speak to a professor like this. You are crossing many lines here. I suggest you leave, before you make another grave misstep."

Still Harry did not move. Why did the boy have to be so stubborn?

"I know how my dad and Sirius were," he said quietly. The sudden change of subject caught Snape entirely off guard. "I've been trying to defend them for years, but the truth is they were awful to you. They were brave and clever and a whole lot of other things, but they were bullies too. And they both should have apologized to you."

Snape had to dig his nails into his palm just to keep himself grounded. He did not know what to say; he was caught between screaming and sobbing, and he did not know which was more appropriate.

"But they didn't do it while they had the chance," Harry continued. "So I just… I wanted to apologize, on their behalf. I want to believe that they both grew up a lot, and that they were ashamed—at least a little—"

"I said that I do not wish to discuss this with you. I've already told you, I gave you those memories so that you would understand—so that you would see that I was sincere in my efforts to help you, so you would know that I had not tampered with them at the Dark Lord's behest. I do not wish for you to continually drag them up—"

"I'm just trying to say that you were right. That I understand why you've hated me all these years. I'm ashamed of what my dad did, and I just wish that he could've had the courage to admit that he'd acted badly. Because then… maybe…."

"We could've been friends?" Snape sneered.

"You could have made peace. Shown her that you'd grown too."

"You don't know the half of that story." He stalked over to the window and gazed down at the grounds. "I had many opportunities to turn from that path. I was too proud, too desperate to prove myself, to be appeased with a mere apology." Snape drew a deep breath. "We will not discuss this again. Now leave."

"Sir—"

"We will not discuss this again."

"If you can forgive them, then you have to believe that my mum could forgive you—"

"Potter, if you breathe another word on this subject, I swear that you will be serving detentions for the next month, Chosen One or not. Go."

That, at least, managed to shut the boy up. But still he stood there like some dim-witted troll, too stupid to take a hint.

"Let me help you with your research. If you do, I swear I'll never say another word about any of this."

Snape lost his temper at those words. He glared at Harry fiercely, his lip curling in a snarl. "Are you threatening me?" he demanded. "Are you planning on continuing to torment me if you don't get your way?"

"No!" Harry cried. "I'm not trying to torment you…." The boy actually looked mortified. "I just… I wish things could be different. That, after everything, we could get along. I should have realized that I've just been making things worse. I'm sorry."

Snape sank down into his chair, suddenly feeling very tired. Of course. Of course Lily's son was just trying to do him a kindness. He might as well call the boy something unforgivable right now and get it over with.

"Spare me the martyr act, Potter," Snape muttered. "If you haven't realized by now that I am generally an unpleasant person, you're even denser than I thought." Snape took his book back up and began leafing through it, searching for his place. "Don't waste your time trying to fix the unfixable. It will only turn out badly for the both of us."

Harry approached Snape's desk, looking surprised, a bit wary, but mostly determined. "Please, just let me help. Just with the research. We'll keep it strictly professional, and only talk about the readings."

Snape tried to angle his book as to block out the boy's face, but Harry just leaned in further so that it was impossible to ignore him.

"It'll make me feel better too. George was only there because he was trying to protect me—"

"You did not cast the curse," Snape cut him off angrily. "You do not have to fix my mistakes—"

"That's not what I meant," Harry backtracked hastily. "I just meant that—that the Weasleys are like family, and I want to be doing everything I can to help."

"I think you remember what happened the last time I tried giving you private lessons," Snape articulated softly. "Drop it, Potter—"

"These won't be lessons though! You just tell me what to read, or what I can do to help. I can even run books from Madame Pince, or organize your notes, or—"

"Fine," Snape hissed, "fine. But if you breathe one word about anything other than reversing the effects of the Sectumsempra curse, we are finished. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes sir," Harry agreed, pushing himself back from Snape's desk.

Snape reached into his desk and dragged out the folder he'd been keeping. He rifled through it until he found his most recent reading list. He inked a quill and, after striking through a few of the titles he'd already skimmed, he passed the parchment over to Harry, who began scrutinizing it.

"Start with that. Ramkin's Evolution of Dark Arts Theory seemed most promising, particularly the section on Vermillion's lock-key model of incantations."

Snape could tell that the boy was struggling not to look too overwhelmed. Alas, he thought, if only he'd inherited his mother's brain…. Maybe he could dismiss the boy on the premise that he was more of a hindrance than a help.

Knowing him, he would likely wheedle Granger into doing the work for him. He just wanted to use this arrangement as an opportunity to spy on Snape….

"Er… right. I'll get on this then. When should we meet up to touch base?"

"Why don't you contact me if you find something?" Snape suggested smoothly. "Until then, there should be plenty on that list to keep you busy."

Harry continued to scrutinize the list of over twenty titles. "Okay. Sounds good."

"And this will not be an excuse for handing in poor or late work, Potter," Snape added sharply. "If you dip below 'Acceptable' even once, this arrangement is over."

Harry's head snapped up at that. "Right," he agreed easily.

"In any of your classes," Snape clarified, keeping his voice very soft.

That seemed to take some of the wind out of the boy's sails. "Of course."

Snape picked his book up again.

"See you Thursday, Professor." Harry left then.

Snape took a moment to contemplate why he would be seeing Potter before their class on Friday. Then it struck him.

Why, he wondered, had he insisted on practicums for every class above the first year?

XXXXX

"Where do we have to go again?" Ron demanded through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

He, Hermione, and Harry were just finishing up their dinner, and preparing to go to their practicum for Snape's class. None of them really knew what to expect, though Ron seemed to think that it would be a half an hour of Snape shooting curses at them.

"The History of Magic classroom," Hermione replied promptly. "Ron, would you please finish chewing before you speak?"

Harry smirked. "I thought you found it charming," he teased.

Hermione snorted. "About as charming as the spot of dirt on his cheek—"

Ron swallowed thickly and, a faint blush spreading over his face, picked up a napkin and began his cheek vigorously. "Thought you were my girlfriend," he muttered, "not my mother."

"Well, if you'd just act your age, I wouldn't have to be your mother—"

"So Hermione, did you get a chance to look over any of Snape's books?" Harry interrupted, deciding it was time for a subject change.

Hermione sighed. "No! Do you have any idea how much work I have this year? And on top of that, I'm doing all I can to help McGonagall—"

"You're doing too much," Ron interrupted. "Just because you're Head Girl—"

"This has been a difficult year! They still haven't repaired all the damage to the castle, and there has been an unprecedented number of students with injuries and special accommodations. I've been very busy trying to keep on top of administrative duties for McGonagall. So no, I haven't had a chance. But really, Harry, you were the one who promised—"

"I know," Harry cut her off, flushing a little with shame. "I know. I just thought—you know, if you had a spare moment. But I can handle it."

"Honestly, mate," Ron said, shaking his head, "you've got to be a masochist or something. I'm not even sure George wants his ear back. You know he got a placard made for his office that says Holey St. George, don't you? Mum doesn't think it's funny at all, but he won't take it down."

Harry prodded at the half of a sausage that remained on his plate. "It's more than that. Helping with research was the only excuse I could come up with to spend time with him—"

"You sure you weren't brain-damaged when You-Know-Who blasted you?" Ron interrupted, making the speculation not for the first time. "Look, you tried to make him feel better. He sent you flying out of his office. Just take the hint."

Harry pushed his plate away from him, deciding he was done. "It's not that simple. Anyway, we're still going to see him Saturday, right? After Quidditch tryouts?"

"Of course," Hermione agreed.

Ron just grunted, but Harry took it as an affirmation.

"We'd better get going," Harry said, glancing down at his watch, "if we want to be on time…."

Ron sighed and pushed himself away from the table. "Can't be late for old Snapey's class, now, can we? Wouldn't want Harry to disappoint his new favorite teacher."

Harry ignored Ron.

The three of them made their way down the hall toward the classroom, with Ron and Hermione lingering behind Harry, as usual, so that they could hold hands.

Harry didn't mind. It gave him a little time to think about how he was going to handle this upcoming session. At least, he thought, it was short, just half an hour. But the scant number of seventh year students enrolled in the class meant that all houses would be present for this session, including the few Slytherins who'd returned. And that meant that not only would he be juggling Snape, but Draco as well.

"We weren't supposed to bring our books, were we?" Ron asked suddenly, just as they rounded the corner to the classroom.

"Well, as it's a practicum, I highly doubt it, but—"

"You brought them just in case," Harry and Ron said in unison, smirking at each other.

Neville was waiting outside the classroom, hanging close to the wall, along with Luna, who was staring intently up at some invisible thing near the ceiling.

"Hiya Harry," Neville greeted him. Ron had started whispering something to Hermione, who was grinning. They seemed fairly absorbed in each other, and Neville seemed disinclined to interrupt them, so he focused on Harry. "Having a good start of term?"

"Good as can be expected."

Neville gave him a lopsided grin. "Yeah, kind of weird being back here, isn't it? After everything…." Neville lowered his voice to a whisper. "Especially with Snape."

Harry frowned slightly. "Yeah. But I guess it's better to have him completely ignore us."

"Right! He wouldn't even look at us in class, did you notice? Acted like half the room was empty. But you're right, guess it's better than having him breathing down our necks—"

The door to the classroom flew open, and Snape's cold voice echoed from within. "Were you five planning on joining us sometime tonight?" he demanded impatiently.

The five of them quickly scurried inside, where the other students were already waiting. Three Slytherins—Draco Malfoy, Daphne Greengrass, and Pansy Parkinson—and one lone Hufflepuff, Heather Dinnett, a quiet girl whom Harry had never actually spoken to.

Upon seeing Harry, Pansy turned her body away from him, her face flushing a deep red. Harry averted his gaze and pretended not to notice her or the other Slytherins.

Harry, Luna, Neville, Ron, and Hermione all chose to file into the right side of the classroom. The desks and chairs had been cleared out of the middle, leaving the room mostly empty for whatever activities they would be doing.

Snape was waiting for them at the front, though he only briefly looked in their direction before turning his attention back to the Slytherin contingent. "These sessions will be devoted to perfecting your use of nonverbal magic," he began slowly, pacing along the blackboard. His black robes billowed out behind him. "When confronted with an opponent, two of your greatest advantages are speed and the element of surprise, both of which can be achieved only through rigorous drilling. We will begin with review of the basics, primarily the Shield Charm, which I expect you shall master completely by the end of this course. Your final grade will, in part, hinge on your ability to effectively block hostile spells nonverbally…."

Snape had them pair up then. Heather readily joined the Gryffindors and Luna, so that the Slytherins were left in a rotating trio. Harry partnered with Ron (who knew how poor his chances were against Hermione), Hermione with Luna, and Neville with Heather.

Snape instructed them to use this session to practice casting disarming and Shield charms only, with partners alternating between being attackers and defenders.

"Reminds you of the D.A., right?" Ron said under his breath as he and Harry squared off. "You could probably take Snape's place—"

"We are practicing nonverbal spells, Mr. Weasley," Snape called from behind him. "Meaning that there is no reason to speak."

Ron rolled his eyes.

Harry shrugged at him.

Despite the apparent simplicity of the exercise, Harry found that, yet again, it was very difficult to muster the concentration necessary to effectively cast even these spells, what Harry had once called the "bread and butter" of the wizard's arsenal. Then again, it wasn't as if he and Ron had been practicing extensively over the past year. They'd been a little busy with other things.

Luckily, neither of them were very good—either with the disarming spell or the shield charm. Mostly, they stood there, waving their wands at each other, faces fixed in constipated grimaces. By the end of the session, Ron had managed to disarm Harry once, Harry had disarmed Ron twice, and only Harry had successfully blocked one of Ron's disarming spells.

From the looks of the pleased expression on Hermione's face, Harry guessed that she had been rather successful. Then again, she'd done very well mastering nonverbal spells during their sixth year and had never shown signs of giving up on her efforts.

"All right," Snape called brusquely from the front of the room. "Line up. You will each attempt to block my disarming curse before you go, so we can see what progress you've made, if any."

The Slytherins went first. Pansy and Astoria both failed at their attempts, causing Snape's lips to turn down slightly in disapproval. Draco managed to whip his wand up in time—though just barely, since he stumbled back—deflecting Snape's spell without uttering a word.

"Good," Snape approved. "You may leave once you've been tested."

The Slytherins did not linger after that. They exited the classroom in a tight pack, not looking back at Harry or the others.

Neville stepped up next. Harry was surprised to see that, when he lifted his wand, his arm trembled.

If Snape noticed, he gave no sign. The professor's face remained blank as, without warning, he slashed his wand upward.

Neville did not manage to block the spell, which hit him squarely in the chest. His wand went flying off to an empty corner of the classroom.

Harry ran to retrieve it, casting a glance at Snape, whose expression twisted for the briefest of seconds into an emotion Harry could not quite place.

As Harry moved to give Neville his wand back, Snape announced, "That was a pathetic attempt, Longbottom. Have another go at it."

Neville winced.

Harry pretended to trip so that he could lean in and whisper to Neville. "You stood up to Voldemort and beheaded his snake, but spell practice with Professor Snape scares you?"

Harry's words had the bolstering effect he intended. Neville seemed to steady a bit once Harry had framed the situation in those terms.

Back in place, his wand ready, Neville looked much more determined and undaunted this second time.

There was a flash of white-blue as Snape whipped his wand, but the light dissolved uselessly before it reached Neville.

Harry couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw the corner of Snape's mouth twitch up in grim approval.

"You're dismissed."

Neville looked only too relieved to leave Snape's presence.

Hermione, of course, had no trouble blocking Snape on his first attempt. He merely nodded to her with apparent disinterest. She smiled nervously at Ron and Harry before disappearing out into the hall.

Heather Dinnett failed miserably at her attempt, and Snape sent her away without giving her a second chance, just as he had with Pansy and Astoria. Luna, however, proved to be remarkably adept at the charm, deflecting Snape's spell almost as easily as Hermione had.

Ron, however, was just as dismal as he'd been against Harry. He barely managed to lift his wand before it went soaring out of his hand, landing in Snape's.

Snape arched a condescending eyebrow at him. "Slacking off, Weasley?" he inquired coolly.

Ron cleared his throat. "Should probably practice that a bit more…."

"Indeed," Snape agreed, his mouth barely moving. He tossed Ron his wand. "You're dismissed."

And then it was just Snape and Harry. If Snape felt anything, he did not let it show in his face, which was as stony and unreadable as the stone wall behind him.

Harry gripped his wand and tried his best to focus. He readied the words in his mind. Protego. Protego. Protego. Pro—

Snape's wand flashed. Harry's mind blanked. He lifted his wand, but there was no spell readied, and so the force of the Expelliarmus Charm washed over him, sending his wand flying from his hand.

"Concentrate," Snape commanded. With an cursory flick of his wrist, Snape sent Harry's wand flying back into his hand. "Stop fixating on the incantation and pay attention to your opponent."

Harry flushed, feeling a prickle of anger rise in him. "Stay out of my mind—"

"I do not need to read your mind to see the glaring mistake you are making. Focus on me and trust your reflexes."

Harry was still bristling, but he beat his anger back and forced himself to do as Snape commanded. This time, he caught the barest ripple of Snape's sleeve. With enough time to react, but not to think, he instinctively erected a shield in front of himself, unconscious of the incantation itself, successfully blocking the disarming charm.

Snape lowered his wand. "That will do for tonight."

Harry stared at Snape in shock for a few moments. Had the man actually taught him something useful? Of course he'd intended to turn over a new leaf with his professor, but some part of him had believed the man to be incapable of effective instruction, given his propensity for sniping at and insulting his students.

"Right," Harry mumbled, coming out of his dazed state. "Right, of course. Thanks, sir."

Snape did not respond. So Harry left to meet his friends in the hall.

Luna and Neville had waited with Ron and Hermione.

"I don't care what you say," Neville muttered as the five of them headed off to the staircase. "Snape's way scarier than Voldemort."

"Bloody fast with a jinx, too," Ron muttered.

"If you would just put in the effort," Hermione began, but Harry interrupted.

"Would you two stop bickering already? Save it for when you're married."

Both Ron and Hermione flushed at Harry's words, casting their gazes to opposite sides.

"Why isn't Ginny taking Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Luna wondered aloud suddenly.

Harry smiled a little to himself. "Doesn't have time. She took up a part-time position with the Daily Prophet. They have her writing Quidditch articles every week."

"Yeah, they have her running around the country on weekends," Ron griped. "McGonagall gave her special permission to go. Gets free tickets and everything. And d'you think she could get a couple for me?"

"Well, given your inability to block a simple charm tonight, maybe you don't need to be running off to Quidditch matches. Maybe you should be spending more time—"

"You're a nightmare!" Ron burst out, and stalked off ahead of them.

Hermione rolled her eyes and let him turn down the corridor before hurrying off after him. "Ron, come on—"

Neville turned to Harry, alarmed. "Is everything all right between them?"

Harry couldn't suppress his smirk. "Yeah. They've just gone off to snog. It's a little weird, but it's sort of their thing. You get used to it."

Harry was just about to suggest that they walk Luna up to the Ravenclaw common room when he heard a shriek echo far down the hall.