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Snape tightened his grip painfully around his wand, clenching it so tightly that all the blood drained from the knuckles. That he could see, even by the pale wandlight that cast out from the tip of his wand.

More giggling. And he swore that those infernal voices were familiar. He would eat the stack of ungraded assignments in his office if it was not the same pair he'd told off last time.

Snape was almost certain he'd located the source of the giggling this time. He never had understood why this particular corridor had so many decorative curtains…. It was almost as if the castle had been designed with disrespectful, rule-breaking little cretins in mind.

Snape stole up to the curtain, his footsteps as soundless as a cat's, and in one fluid, violent motion jerked the heavy velvet back. He brandished his wand before him.

His lip curled into a particularly nasty sneer. He was certain he was baring his teeth at this point, which was a tendency he normally schooled himself not to indulge, but his irritation was at its peak tonight, and the troublemakers before him would not be spared.

"Fawley," he enunciated, layering as much disdain as he could muster into each syllable, "and Gossamer."

Whatever the two had been giggling about before, they certainly were not amused now.

"Sir," Fawley began, his lips trembling, "I—"

"Silence," Snape bit out, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Wandering the corridors at night again? Ah, but I should have known. After all, the consequences of your last escapade were not sufficient, were they? Here, my colleagues go on and on about clemency and letting things slide, and so I thought, ah, perhaps I am a touch harsh. Perhaps I have been going about this all wrong."

"Sir, we were—"

"Ten points from Ravenclaw, Gossamer, for not knowing what the word silence means. I suggest you make use of a dictionary when you return to your common room, lest you disgrace your house any further."

Snape's steely glare flickered between the two students for a moment longer as he continued to breathe harshly through his nose. Satisfied that neither of them were about to venture another foolish remark, he continued.

"Because leniency does not encourage respect for the rules, as I have known all along, I fear I shall have to correct the grave error I made last time. Fifty points from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and both of you will be serving detentions with me for the rest of the week." Snape took a moment to brush a stray stand of hair back from his face. He allowed his wand arm to lower, though only marginally. "In addition," he continued coldly, "I will be informing both of your heads of house of this purposeful flouting of the rules, and I will be strongly recommending additional consequences in order to beat this lesson into your thick skulls."

He gave the two another moment for his words to settle in. Both looked utterly dejected now, their heads hung, their shoulders slumped. Clearly his lecture had had the intended effect.

"You will both report to my office tomorrow evening, seven o'clock sharp. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," they chimed in chorus.

Snape continued to glower at them before finally snapping, "Come."

Fawley's eyes flashed up, confused. "Sir, where—"

"I will be escorting you back to your dormitories," he growled, teeth clenched again, "since it would be utterly foolish of me to simply assume that you would find your own way back."

Snape had to resist the temptation to snare the both of them by their ears and drag them along like the miscreants they were. But, he thought, Filius and Pomona would have words with him about laying hands on their students. And a tense conversation with both of them would do nothing to improve his mood, he was certain.

Besides, this way the old fool could wait on him and wonder for a bit if Snape was coming after all. It would serve him right.

As if Dumbledore's portrait was anything more than a weak imitation, Snape thought to himself, feeling the pain of guilt and sorrow stabbing into him hard, twin needles that pierced his core. Dumbledore, the real Dumbledore, was gone, sealed in his tomb.

"Sir, I just wanted to say that seven is not a good time for me."

Gossamer's timid voice drew Snape out of his morose contemplations, and immediately hurtled him back into his state of extreme irritation.

"And why is that, Miss Gossamer?" he challenged, casting a terrible glare at her.

"Sir, my study group—"

"Will surely understand that detention for wandering the corridors at night will cause you to miss your normal session."

"Sir, if you would just consider postponing… I've an Arithmancy test the day after tomorrow, and—"

"Your class schedule is not my concern, Miss Gossamer. If your academic performance is so very important, perhaps you should endeavor to follow the rules and avoid detentions that might interfere with your studying. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." Defeat rang out in every syllable of the girl's words.

"I suggest you drop the matter now," Snape suggested icily, "lest you lose any more points tonight. Sixty seems to be quite enough."

Snape did not turn to look at the girl, but he swore that he could feel the blush radiating from her cheeks.

Twenty or so minutes later, Snape had dropped the pair off at their respective common rooms and was well on his way to the headmistress' office. He decided he would write down their names tonight and make a point of speaking to Pomona and Filius in the morning. He had a feeling that penning notes after his chat with Albus would not be the best idea, given his already foul mood.

All too soon, Snape found himself making his way back up the same familiar moving staircase and pressing into the office. He lit a fire in the hearth, just as he had last time, and turned his attention to the headmaster's portrait.

"Severus."

"Albus." Snape barely parted his lips. And he did not venture to say any more.

The former headmaster smiled at him gently, his hands folded loosely in his lap. "Thank you for coming."

Snape had the good sense to cast several silencing and privacy charms then. He didn't want to cause Minerva to come stumbling back into the office, not for all the world. Once they'd been set, Snape dropped back into the chair he'd occupied during their last chat. "My apologies for my tardiness."

Dumbledore's smile turned into a knowing smirk. "Ah, I'm certain there was good cause. You were always rather vigilant when it came to rulebreakers."

"Just as some of my colleagues have been rather negligent," Snape replied tartly.

"Balance and counterbalance. I believe the students benefit from a wide array of approaches."

Snape side and crossed his leg over his lap. Sometimes he wondered if the man was capable of being blunt. "I assume you did not want to discuss my disciplinary practices."

A twinkle of mirth in his eyes, Dumbledore replied, "It was not my intention, no."

Snape fought back the impatient growl that rose to his lips. "And I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what you did wish to discuss?" he inquired, working to keep his tone mild.

"You, Severus." All trace of humor vanished from Dumbledore's eyes.

Snape laced his fingers tightly over his knee. "Me," he repeated, the word radiating disbelief. "I believe there are more important topics that we could discuss, namely recent attacks on students, which Minerva has no doubt mentioned. And as I am expected to take up her old post—as was your intention, I'm sure—I suspect you might have some insights for me as well as to how best to handle the situation—"

"My boy," Dumbledore chided gently, in that tone that made Snape feel as if he were eleven years old again, "you are also of paramount importance. I do not believe for an instant that you and Minerva cannot manage the challenges that have arisen this year. However—"

"I cannot possibly imagine what it is about me that would merit further discussion," Snape retorted, pressing his hands together even more tightly. "I believe that our little therapy session last time exposed the root of my issues. I believe I am beyond redemption and am thus allowing my past to continue to torture me. You believe that Lily would have forgiven me, thus releasing me from that guilt and need for redemption. I disagree, considering the degree of sheer hostility I've exhibited toward her son over the years. Thus, we find ourselves at an impasse. Thus, there is nothing further to discuss."

Snape made a move to rise, but yet again, Dumbledore's voice stopped him.

"I know your love for Lily is strong, but I cannot believe that you have put yourself through so many trials merely for the sake of her memory—"

"Then you understand nothing," Snape interrupted angrily, pushing himself up. "I thought for certain that after I cast my Patronus—"

"I do not mean to imply that your devotion to Lily is anything less than extraordinary," Dumbledore insisted in a conciliatory tone. "What I mean to suggest is that your singular love for her is more, too, that it is symbolic of so much."

Snape folded his arms across his chest, knowing only too well how defensive the gesture made him appear. But in front of a mere portrait, he thought bitterly, he would allow himself this amateur mistake now because he was so tired, and still so very weary of constantly hiding himself behind an iron curtain. It wasn't as if Dumbledore wouldn't see right through him anyway.

"I have never requested an analysis of my psyche," Snape growled, "and since, as you well know, I do not appreciate such inane speculation—"

But Dumbledore cut him off, continuing as if Snape hadn't even spoken. "Losing her was the loss of your only true friend, the one person who saw you—every part of you—and still cared for you. Her death marked any the loss of chance at redemption in her eyes, and if you could not be redeemed, you could not be loved."

"So I am unlovable," Snape stated bluntly. "I've said as much myself. I know what I am, Albus; I am not laboring under the delusion that I am amiable by any stretch of the imagination. I care nothing for the way I am perceived, and if that has not become painfully apparent over all these years, I have placed far too much faith in your perceptive prowess. I am unpleasant, and I am well aware of it."

Snape felt an uncharacteristic flush rising to his cheeks, and quickly turned so that Dumbledore could not see the change in color. Here he was, blathering on, showering himself in self-pity, calling himself unlovable. Pathetic.

He cleared his throat and added quickly, "And that is perfectly fine. I need no one's approval. So, if there was nothing else…."

"I have failed you, Severus, just as I have failed Harry."

The admission was like a thunderclap. Snape whirled around, arms dropping immediately to his sides. There were so many thoughts clamoring in his mind that he could scarcely get any words past his lips.

He knew that this was a mere portrait—the imprint of a departed soul, much like a ghost—yet in that instant, after such a profound revelation, he could not help but feel as if he was speaking to the man himself.

"Albus, no," he murmured, his tone instantly softer. "You have poured your life into stopping this travesty. You guided the boy from the onset. We may not always have seen eye to eye, but you did everything you thought was necessary, and at great personal cost—"

Dumbledore smiled at him sadly. "Once again, Severus, I fear you misunderstand. What we have accomplished—please, do not forget your role in this—what we have done to put a stop to Voldemort's designs, that was a great success."

"Careless mistakes aside," Snape said with a cursory glance at Dumbledore's unblemished hand, "our ends have been achieved. There is no room for regret."

"I beg to differ. You were at my side for sixteen years, the same length of time that young Harry was trusted to my care. You worked tirelessly not only to keep him safe but to leverage your past to our advantage, just as Harry himself spent nearly his entire Hogwarts career foiling Voldemort's many schemes. I cared for you both because of the roles you needed to play. Ah, and Severus, I fear my error with you was much worse than with Harry, who was in less dire need of support."

"There was no dire need of support," Snape hissed. "You've been planting ideas in that boy's head. He thinks that he now has to comfort me, you understand. I have managed well enough for those sixteen years, and especially during the last three when I was again called to lead a strenuous double-life, when I was teaching and spying and brewing for the Order and trying to teach the famous, reckless Harry Potter to keep the Dark Lord from toying with his mind. I was never pleasant under the strain, certainly, but I think that my less-than-palatable personality has been offset by the services I rendered—"

"I do not mean to imply that you could not cope with the strain, because you did so admirably, nor am I faulting you for not wasting time creating a pleasant front when amongst allies. I simply mean to say that I asked a great deal from you without once making a sincere effort to relieve that burden."

Snape began shaking his head at the man before he even finished speaking. "Ridiculous. As if you didn't have enough on your mind…. I am fine, regardless of whatever rumors you've decided to give credence to. As I said, there is no room for regret. We have managed well, despite our losses. Potter, in the end, was prepared for the mad task you set before him…."

"Do I detect admiration?" Dumbledore queried, just a hint of amusement lightening his words.

"Respect," Snape clarified, his tone clipped. "My point is that I, too, am managing. Yes, I find myself in a strange position now, and yes, the adjustments have been somewhat trying. But I am by no means an invalid in need of looking after, do I make myself clear?"

"Severus…."

"Last time, yes, perhaps expression of grief was necessary. Even I can recognize that there must be some outlet for an excess of emotion. But that has been sorted now, meaning that I've no further need of these counselling sessions, certainly not at this time of night."

"I mean to say that you have been expected to simply manage for too many years. At first, I am rather ashamed to admit, because I could not rouse enough compassion for you—"

"Albus," Snape cut him off sternly, using his tone to mask his own embarrassment. "I was a scarcely-reformed Death Eater who had just handed the Dark Lord a reason to slaughter Lily's son. I scarcely had a right to believe you would even shield me from Azkaban, so do not fault yourself—"

"We have all been young and reckless," Dumbledore murmured, a distant look overcoming his features. "I should know, better than most, that it is in our youth that we are in most need of compassion and understanding. And I was hardly young when you came to me. I should have known better, if not then, at least once you'd taken up your post here. Even after years, I fear I was, at best, lukewarm…."

"My mistakes were my own."

Dumbledore looked a little forlorn then, his aged lips fragile in the midst of his long white beard. "You have paid for those mistakes a thousand times over. As I have paid for my own mistakes. And knowing the price of my own shortcomings, and the burden I bore, I should have known better than to treat you with contempt—"

"Contempt," Snape sneered, though not cruelly. "You have never treated me with contempt. Except, perhaps, that night… but under the circumstances…." Snape shook his head to yet again force his thoughts from drifting down that unpleasant path.

"Distance, then," Dumbledore murmured. "Even once Harry began his school years and our collaboration became more involved, I was still never very forthcoming—"

"It was not your duty to coddle me. And as I've already stated, you had more than enough concerns at the time."

"You deserved better. You deserved to feel welcome here during your school years, and later you deserved greater empathy for what you endured on the Order's behalf."

Snape fought to maintain control. He would not break down again. Twice was enough, especially since one of them had been in front of Potter. "I appreciate the sentiment, but there was nothing to be done."

"I did not even ask what Voldemort put you through when you returned to his side."

Snape closed his eyes. "You saw my memories. We observed them together. You know—"

"Ah, yes, we thoroughly dissected them. We speculated on every last detail of Voldemort's return, on how it was even possible…. But I never asked you, Severus, if you were all right. I never invited you to discuss what he had done to you—"

"Because the matter did not need to be discussed!" Snape interjected angrily. "My feelings about the ordeal contained no tactical information. And need I remind you that you were planning a funeral at the time, and battling the ministry, not to mention the mess with Crouch and Potter. That, and the logistics of continuing to host two foreign schools in the midst of all that chaos… is it a wonder that we did not sit down for a nice heart-to-heart?"

"Feasibility aside, you deserved to speak about it," Dumbledore asserted gently. "You have become so accustomed over the years to bearing such heavy burdens that you cannot see that now you no longer need to carry them alone."

"My burdens are my own, full stop. I do not appreciate your meddling, or the implications that I am incapable of managing my own mental state when I have done so for years. Years! After the Astronomy Tower, not one tear shed, not even so much as a small facial tick. I waited five days before I could so much as falter in that façade. Five days, Albus! I—" But he snapped his mouth shut abruptly.

"As I recall, you never begrudged Harry his many confidants, even when you were so intent on criticizing the boy."

Snape's eyes narrowed to slits at Dumbledore's light tone. "I was not merely criticizing him, but the adults who allowed him to put himself in such terrible situations time and time again. Besides, as I see things, Harry was a child who has endured more than any boy his age ever should—"

Snape closed his mouth again, his cheeks coloring, when he caught the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye and realized his slip-up. "Potter was not accustomed to the responsibility," he summarized curtly, no longer meeting Dumbledore's eyes. "He needed guidance."

"What concerns me, Severus, is that I am not sure whether you feel you do not need help, or whether you think that you are not worthy of it."

Not worthy. He was still harping on about Snape's pain. It was his fault, really, for as much as implying that he was responsible for his own misery. By which, of course, he merely meant that he'd made his choices. He'd taken the Dark Mark. He'd reported the prophecy. Worst of all, he'd cut at his only friend with the sharpest weapon in his disposal, and he'd never truly apologized to her—with actions, not words.

He was not laboring under any twisted delusions of worthlessness, he thought. He was suffering for the consequences of his actions.

And he'd heard enough for one night.

"It's late. I need to return to my quarters. I've a class to teach in the morning."

"Severus—"

"Goodnight, Albus." With a wave of his wand, Snape undid his wards and swept out of the office, his robes rippling behind him.

XXXXX

"…So in the end, it all boils down to whether you endorse a consequentialist approach to the classification of Dark Artifacts, though I don't suppose a detailed account of all possible applicable philosophers would be possible in two feet…."

Harry had been listening to Hermione all day, at regular intervals between their classes and at meals, and he still felt like he was no closer to understanding his essay topic than he'd been before. And that was after he'd read the assigned section in the text.

It didn't help that Hermione had a tendency to overcomplicate matters.

They were sitting in Defense now, five minutes before their class was supposed to start. They were early at Harry's behest, of course. Ron had teased him mercilessly about it at the time, probably because Hermione had told him that he shouldn't complain about it since Harry was just trying to get on the right track with Snape. Besides, she enjoyed getting there early so she could set up all her texts, smooth out her parchment, and set up her self-inking quill.

Neville slid into the row beside them, interrupting Hermione's lecture on the topic. He didn't look happy.

"How's it going?" Harry greeted him.

Neville stole a hasty glance toward the classroom door. "Hiya Harry. Ron, Hermione. You see Snape today?"

Harry could see where this was headed. Ron and Hermione turned to Neville, their faces worried.

"Uh, no, can't say I have. He all right?"

"I ran into him in the hall—almost literally, actually. He looked pretty tired. Like he wasn't in a really good mood."

"Great," Ron muttered. "So much for not losing scads of points in Snape's class. I bet my broom today's going to be just like good old times." Ron dropped his voice down low to do an imitation of Snape's precise diction. " 'Fifty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley, for your insufferably rude sneeze.'"

"Well, he didn't take points at our practicum," Hermione pointed out defensively. "Even though someone couldn't produce a Shield Charm to save his life."

Ron blushed a little at that. "I just can't do it without incanting. There's a big difference."

Hermione cocked a disapproving eyebrow at him. "Can't?"

"Oh, you know what I meant! I can do it if—"

"If your wand's angled just right and the light's not in your eyes and nobody's distracting you," Harry teased.

"Like you were any better! I heard you, you know." He dropped his voice down again. " 'Focus, Mr. Potter. I don't need to read your mind to know that you're utterly distracted.'"

Harry flushed. "He wasn't actually that bad, you know. I got it on the second try."

"Well, I might've got it too if he even gave me a second—"

The sound of the door thudding heavily cut Ron off mid-sentence. Snape stalked in briskly, in his usual fashion, his robes billowing behind him like dark wings. Everyone straightened in their seats immediately as he approached the podium.

He took a moment to deposit his notes, then surveyed the class coolly. Neville had been right, Harry saw immediately. There were the beginnings of dark rings beneath his eyes, and he swore that the professor looked sallower than usual. But the harsh impatience that Harry had expected was nowhere to be seen in the man's face.

"Today," he began, "we will continue our discussion of the identification of Dark Artifacts. I suppose it is too much to hope that, over the course of six years of abysmal Defense instruction, any of you has acquired a decent corpus of scanning and detection spells. So to begin, we will be learning the most common ones that are used as preliminary identifiers, and if you prove proficient, we will move into more advanced spells capable of detecting subtler hexes and curses.

"What is one of the primary spells one might cast to ascertain if an object bears a curse?"

The question hung in the air for a few seconds in the dead silence of the room. There was not even the scuffle of feet or the scratch of a quill to break it up.

Hermione, it seemed, had finally learned the futility of attempting to reply to Snape's questions, since it had only ever put her in a position to be mocked and insulted. That, or she had taken Neville's warning to heart and decided that today was not a good day to rock the boat.

Snape sighed wearily. "Miss Granger?" He did not bother to look at her. Instead, he turned to the expansive blackboard at the back of the classroom and began spelling it to show the three main categories of detection spells.

Hermione seemed a bit wary. "Sir?" she inquired, a bit of nervousness showing through in the syllable.

"Care to venture a guess?" The thin layer of sarcasm left Harry no doubt that Snape knew Hermione's response would be much better than a mere "guess".

"The Ostenderus charm would reveal any simple spells cast on the object, either evil or benign, though it has been notably unreliable for detecting complex Dark spells. Additionally, it rarely is able to parse out individual spells cast if there are multiple charms, hexes, or curses present."

And after what was a surprisingly succinct answer for Hermione, she clammed up, as if she were afraid that another syllable might earn her Snape's ire.

Snape flicked his wand almost lazily at the board, where under the "Primary" category, "Ostenderus" appeared in Snape's looping scrawl. "Five points to Gryffindor."

The words didn't make any sense to Harry at first, who was so stunned that lost the thread of whatever Snape launched into next.

Not so with Ron, who leapt to his feet, his face twisted in a look of outrage. "That's not fair!" he cried. "She didn't even raise her hand, and you bloody well know her answer's right—"

Snape's cool, unperturbed stare swung back to Ron. He raised an eyebrow, still remarkably calm considering Ron's outburst.

Ron had shut up immediately and now stood stupidly, as if dazed.

"He said 'to', Ron," Harry muttered helpfully.

Ron slumped back down.

"Problem, Mr. Weasley?" Snape inquired, still oh-so-cool.

"No, sir," he mumbled. "Sorry, sir."

Snape continued on with his lecture, acting as if nothing had happened. Which was, if nothing else, extremely disturbing, since in years past the man would have used Ron's outburst to take back five times as many points as he'd just awarded. Which Harry had thought to be his plan all along.

But that didn't seem to be the case.

Once he had them pair up to practice casting a few of the simplest detection charms on jinxed jewelry he'd provided ("Nothing that will kill you, though I would not recommend accessorizing with these particular pieces," he'd warned), Harry took the opportunity to discuss with Ron the bizarre incident that had just taken place.

"Maybe he's sleep-deprived," Ron suggested quietly before uttering a quick "Ostenderos" over the mother-of-pearl necklace they'd been provided.

The necklace didn't react.

"You think I cast it wrong?" Ron wondered. "Anyway, maybe he's gone 'round the bend—"

"Sh," Harry hissed, casting a quick glance over at Snape, who was explaining something or other to Hermione and Neville. "You want to tick him off? And anyway, maybe he's just more fair when he doesn't have a cover to maintain."

"Yeah, right, he had a cover to maintain for those first four years—"

"Well, there were Death Eater's kids still at Hogwarts, weren't there? And Voldemort didn't just take him at his word, you know, when he went back—"

"Oh, you're just making excuses because you want to make nice now," Ron accused. "You can't stand not to be liked, can you? You're worse than Hermione—"

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley."

Both of them spun around, startled. Snape stood just behind them, arms folded over his chest, glaring.

"Have you identified the jinx or jinxes on your necklace?"

Harry heard Ron swallow thickly. Sometimes, it really wasn't hard to see why Neville was so terrified of the man. There seemed to be some terrible threat in Snape's question simmering just below the surface, an unspoken answer or else.

"Not yet, sir," Ron mumbled.

"Then I suggest you cut the chatter and focus on your assignment. Unless you prefer to do your diagnosis the old-fashioned way—by trying it on."

That was enough of an over threat. Both of them replied with a faint "yes, sir".

Snape continued to glower at them for a moment longer before sweeping off to his desk.

"See, he didn't even take points," Harry muttered under his breath before casting a more complex detection charm. This time, the necklace glowed red and a few sparks glanced off its surface. "Mm… not sure what spell that was supposed to be…."

"He didn't take points because you still had a bit of brown on your nose. 'Oh, he's fair now, he acts like a normal professor, he didn't even assign a detention for a bit of chit-chat—'"

Harry elbowed Ron in the ribs. "Just pay attention, would you? Maledictus revelius." The necklace glowed a more brilliant red this time, and a phantom image of it rose above like a ghost, crackling with a red, static energy. "Do you know what spell this is?" Harry asked, squinting at the occasional white-hot streaks of light that would slip out, like little lightning-strikes.

"Er… Stupefy?" Ron guessed. "Don't suppose he would go with something easy, would you? Something that we could actually identify?"

Harry sighed and glanced back at the board. There wasn't much help for identifying magic by sight, just spells to force enchantments to be known. "Maybe you should try it on after all," he suggested.

The rest of the class period really wasn't bad. Harry managed to discreetly get Hermione's attention, and she was able to tell them with just a quick glance that the spell manifesting was a Jig Jinx, something that would force the wearer to dance madly until the object was removed. Harry had sniggered at that, finding it funny that Snape, of all people, would put such a ludicrous jinx on a necklace.

That was, until the end of the class period when Snape gathered up the few jinxed pieces they'd been working on and set them to hover at the front of the room.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Longbottom." Snape cast his wand at a tiny charm bracelet, which hovered out to the front of the other floating pieces of jewelry. "What enchantment did you find spelled into this particular piece?"

"A Tickling Charm, sir," she replied, straight-faced.

Ron and Harry were having a hard time fighting back their grins.

Snape nodded once in affirmation. He forced the charm bracelet back into place and forced forward a silver brooch, shaped like a branch. "Miss Dinnett?" he inquired.

The Hufflepuff girl rose from her seat to deliver her answer. "A Howling Jinx, sir."

A snort escaped Ron, though he immediately lifted a hand to cover his mouth.

Snape sent the mother-of-pearl necklace forward last. His brow drawn together in a way that made Harry think that he'd noticed their repressed giggling, he demanded, "And Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, what jinx did Miss Granger identify on your necklace?"

Harry felt a few dots of color on his cheeks at that. So he'd noticed. And he didn't sound very impressed. That sobered Harry a little, but not Ron, who still kept his hand up over his mouth.

"An, um—a Jig Jinx, sir," Harry retorted.

"Jigs and howling and tickling," Snape mused, though his eyes were dark, belying his light tone. "What a festive little combination we have here. Mr. Weasley, you obviously find these jinxes amusing. Tell me, what do you suppose would happen if, say, a young lady donned your necklace and was unable to remove it?"

Ron cleared his throat and straightened up a little. "Uh… guess she'd be in for a night of dancing?"

"And if she never removed it?" Snape pressed, his coal-colored eyes flashing.

"Ever? Well, I guess she'd… dance herself to death?"

Harry suddenly remembered a rather macabre Muggle fairytale where, in the end, the evil queen was forced to dance to death at a wedding because they put hot iron shoes on her feet. The image was pretty gruesome.

"And if someone were unable to remove your bracelet, Mr. Longbottom?"

Neville swallowed thickly, though it didn't seem to be from nervousness this time. "They might suffocate from lack of oxygen or something."

"And your brooch, Miss Dinnett?"

The girl didn't rise this time. "The same. They'd have to keep on howling without catching their breath—because the jinx wouldn't wear off so quickly. They might scream themselves to death."

Snape nodded again, just barely inclining his head. His steady gaze swept over the classroom. "I did not choose these spells haphazardly," he informed them quietly, though his voice carried easily in the classroom. "These are children's spells. Innocent, playful. Yet when misused…." He waved his wand at the jewelry, banishing all three pieces in one fell swoop. "They can be just as deadly or excruciating as an Unforgivable Curse. Something to consider while finalizing your essays this weekend. Class dismissed."

Harry had thought to linger after class for a word with Snape, though now he was less sure of that plan, since he and Ron had obviously used Hermione to get out of the hardest part of the day's work. He'd never really cared about Snape's approval before, since the man had been hell-bound from day one to ridicule Harry regardless of how hard he tried.

But this year had been different. Snape had been stern, as usual, but no more so than McGonagall. He'd taken a no-nonsense approach to his Defense course. But even when he'd caught Ron and Harry chatting, he hadn't docked points. Hell, he'd even given Hermione five for her correct answer!

Well, Harry thought, everything was different this year. So maybe trying to get a few words in with the man wasn't courting disaster.

"I'll meet you up in the Common Room," he told Ron and Hermione.

Ron made a show of rubbing his nose. Harry ignored him.

Snape was just gathering up his notes when Harry approached the desk. His dark gaze flickered up briefly before returning to the parchment.

"Mr. Potter."

"I just wanted to know if Pansy had any idea who attacked her, sir," Harry began, his words more confident than he felt. "She was still out of it when we visited."

Snape's eyes flashed up again, and for a brief instant they glimmered with a softer emotion. But then they were hard and distant once more. "Miss Parkinson has not been very forthcoming on details. I spoke with her yesterday, but she insists she has no clue as to who might have attacked her." Snape tamped down a stack of parchment, straightening the edges, before settling it neatly at the corner of his desk. "She appreciated the card and the well-wishes, though I personally found the card a trifle ostentatious."

Harry sensed no real malice in the words. It was obviously a gibe, which was too strange coming from Snape, who he was certain had no sense of humor whatsoever.

"Ron thought so too," Harry mumbled, because he didn't know what else to say.

Snape made a face, as if to say that he would not be caught dead in the same frame of mind as one Ronald Weasley.

"Um, what about the other Slytherins? Have they said anything?"

"Not yet," Snape muttered. It sounded almost menacing—though Harry supposed that half the things the man said just naturally seemed like threats. "Professor McGonagall has the matter handled. I know that by now you believe you are responsible for resolving every crisis in this school, but as Dumbledore is no longer here to insist that you shoulder the responsibility, perhaps you can leave this to the staff."

The words were cutting, a dressed-up way of saying mind your own business. Harry didn't miss that. And the remark about Dumbledore rankled. But Harry bit his tongue, not wanting to spoil this perfectly civil conversation. At least it was becoming more of a commonplace thing between the two of them.

"Certainly, sir." Harry half expected Snape to rebuke him then and there for his "cheek", even though he hadn't meant the comment to be sarcastic in the least.

To his surprise, Snape heaved a deep sigh. "The matter's in hand. Don't let it spoil your only normal year here." And with that Snape straightened his robes. "I'm afraid I have an appointment to keep. Good day."

Harry didn't know if that was an excuse to leave the classroom or not, but Snape certainly did stride out of the place as if he had somewhere to be.

Harry shook his head to himself in disbelief. Snape had been… decent, the remark about him not playing savior aside. At least Snape hadn't called him the Chosen One.

Maybe he was making progress after all.