Harry knocked solemnly on the door to Snape's office later that day. His day had not gone as he had at first hoped. Whilst his discussion with Rogers had been fruitful, his time with his friends had been less so. He had made the mistake of telling Ron, Hermione, and Ginny about what Snape was trying to do for him in the Common Room. By the time they had retired to their usual tree by the lake following Lunch, practically the entire school was whispering about Harry getting 'special treatment' from the most hated professor at Hogwarts. Rumors were abound that Snape had been bewitched (or that they both had), that Harry had some form of leverage over the man, and a half dozen other conspiracies that grew more ridiculous as they went. The time Harry had hoped to spend relaxing with his friends had been interrupted endlessly with people seeking the truth. At one point, it had gotten so bad that Harry wanted to tattoo the words "I don't know" to his forehead.

Of course, those had only been the people who either wanted to express their good-hearted jealousy or well-wishes. The Slytherins, specifically Malfoy and his two dumbest cronies, had made a point of cornering Harry and making snide, unprovoked comments about his sexual preferences and the favors he must be giving to Snape and the entire Board of Governors to be allowed such a deviation from the norm. Harry hadn't bothered to argue, except to remind the idiot blonde that the boy's father was one of said governor's and he could ask the elder Malfoy himself he truly wanted the sordid details that bad. Malfoy had thankfully left him alone after that, and it had left Ron laughing for several minutes thanks to the green, sick look on the Slytherin's face as he scurried away with Crabbe and Goyle in tow.

Harry started as the door in front of him opened. He'd actually forgotten he was waiting out here for a reason. He blushed as Snape looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. It was ridiculous how much he was blushing recently, but he couldn't seem to make it stop. He stepped inside quickly, looking away from that burning black gaze, as Snape stepped aside to grant him entry.

"I do hope you will pay better attention as my assistant, Mister Potter," Snape said, closing the door. "I called for you to enter almost as soon as you knocked."

The blush deepened despite Harry's best efforts. "Sorry, sir, I-it's not much of an excuse, but I have had a rather hectic day. I'll do better in the future."

Snape smirked as he passed, moving to sit behind his desk which held jars of unknown ingredients and stacks of scrolls waiting to be graded. "I believe you, on both counts."

Harry started to blush again, in preparation for a rebuke, but sparkling black eyes looked up at him, a smile hidden in the dark depths, before turning to the papers before him. Without pause, the blush receded as Harry found himself confused. Once again, the snarky git of the past was gone and in his place was this almost kind, half-joking creature of unknown origin. Suddenly, an idea occurred to the Gryffindor.

"Sir, have you been poisoned? A-are you dying and haven't told anyone?"

Snape gave a scoff that could almost be mistaken for a laugh and looked up at Harry as if he had two heads. "What on Earth would give you that impression, Mister Potter? I can promise you, my health is as good as it has ever been, perhaps better without the threat of the Dark Lord hanging over my head."

Harry tried to question the man's sudden change further (again) but found he didn't have the words to adequately explain his confusion. Frustrated with his failure of vocabulary, he decided to let the subject drop. Let the man have his secrets, it was everyone's right.

"Nevermind, Professor, just a stupid idea," He said at last. Snape gave him another searching look, then finally returned his attention to his essays.

"As you say, Mister Potter." He replied evenly. "Have a seat. I need to finish grading the Fourth Years, and then we will begin our discussion. If you don't have something to occupy you, you may choose a book from my shelf so long as you remember to put it back where it belongs when you are through."

Harry nodded, even though the man likely didn't see it, and walked over to the only bookcase in the room that actually held books. A quick perusal of the titles revealed that most of the books were Potions related, unsurprising considering their owner, but there was an entire shelf dedicated to other branches of magic. Harry chose one that boasted its contents as being advanced defense techniques and took up the uncomfortable student chair in front of the man's desk.

He opened the book to its table of contents and scanned the chapter titles. He was surprised that, as the large tome advanced through it's chapters, the titles suggested that it integrated other forms of magic, and even muggle means, into defensive applications. The Gryffindor turned eagerly to chapter one, which detailed the use of Defense basics in complex situations. By the end of the first paragraph he was engrossed in the bowels of the author's mind as she began to detail scenarios and how even First Year spells, when used properly, could be effective against any enemy, or enemies, be they Dark Creature or Wizard.

The Boy Who Lived didn't know how much time had passed when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into the startling black eyes of his professor, and it took him a moment to remember where he was. When he did, his blush from before returned full force and he sat up quickly, dislodging the hand as he closed the book sharply.

"Sorry," He muttered as Snape raised a dark eyebrow and gave his trademark smirk.

"It's alright, Mister Potter, I have occasionally found myself lost in the world an author creates, even in an educational text such as this one," The Potions Master told him lightly.

Harry was struck again with the difference in the man when they were alone and wondered, not for the first time that day, if Snape hadn't been bewitched at some point. He cleared his throat, and regretfully set the tome aside on a rare empty space of the man's desk.

"Er, what time is it?" He asked softly, glancing at his watch.

Snape answered as he rounded his desk for the second time. "Almost dinner. My grading took longer than I expected. In the future, I will be sure to allocate more time to it before our meetings, to prevent this happening again."

Harry glanced mournfully at the book, knowing that this would give little time for his further pursuit of the author's knowledge, but recognized that this was also as close as Snape would come to apologizing for what he saw as a waste of Harry's time.

"It's fine, Sir," He said, looking back at Snape. "Miss Olivia Metting kept me well-occupied. She has some amazing ideas. I wish I could show this book to Ron, since he still has some dim hope of getting into the Auror corps someday."

Snape considered the book. "I could, perhaps, be persuaded to allowing you to borrow it, provided it was returned in the same condition in which it was leant. And, of course, should you choose to attempt some of the techniques and spells it mentions, that you do so under a professor's supervision."

Harry grinned. "I promise you, sir, it would be, and I would."

That half-smile again. "Then it is yours to borrow, Mister Potter. You may return it when you have done with it, or the term has come to its end, whichever should come first."

Harry ran his hand reverently over the cover of the book, his grin widening as he gaped, disbelieving, at his Potions professor. "Thank you, sir, honestly," He breathed.

A short, deep chuckle escaped the normally dour man. "I had hoped to use this first meeting as a means of divining your interests, Mister Potter," Snape said. "However, since you look as though I have just brought Christmas early, I think it is safe to say that your interests lie heavily within the subject of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Harry could feel his cheeks warming in abashed embarrassment. "Well, yes, actually, but not only that. I mean, there are other things, like Quidditch, but I suppose you could say that my interests lie just as heavily in the Dark Arts themselves."

Snape's near-smile vanished into a dark scowl. "Mister Potter, that is-"

"No!" Harry interrupted loudly as he realized what he'd said. "I don't mean as a practice!" He insisted. The scowl dissolved into a frown. "What I meant was that I'm interested in studying the Dark Arts as a branch of Defense. Studying defense of anything without understanding what you're up against is like walking blindly into a fight, something I've done more than once. You wouldn't send a boxing champ up against a master of karate, right?"

Snape gave a short nod of understanding.

"Well, it's the same concept, isn't it?" Harry inquired seriously. "I mean, when we learn about Dark Creatures like Werewolves or Hinky Punks, we don't just study general spells that help against them, we delve into their origins, their defenses and offenses. We learn what to look for, how to defend against specific attacks, even things as simple as where they sleep and what they eat."

"I see," Snape said slowly. "So you're saying that, while it isn't necessary to learn to cast Dark Spells, it is just as necessary to learn what a Dark Wizard has at his disposal as it is to learn what a Dark Creature has."

Harry smiled, glad that the man understood what he was trying to piece together. "Exactly, sir. Otherwise, and I can say this from experience, you wind up almost completely on the defensive, hoping for a break in your opponent's onslaught to make your move. Even dueling isn't real preparation for a battle with a dark Wizard, since the competitors are pulling from the same library, extensive as it is, of spells, both defensive and offensive."

"I suppose you have a point, Mister Potter," Snape conceded. "However, I would be careful who you approach with this ideology. Not many would be as quickly or easily persuaded as I was."

Harry ducked his head at the light rebuke. "Yessir, I understand." He glanced up through his fringe.

Snape gave another short nod, and his attitude lightened considerably. "Now that that's cleared up, I would like to address your other interests. There are a few, less obvious, careers which utilize Defense Against the Dark Arts, however, without other interests to base my suggestions off of, we will still be severely limited. You mentioned Quidditch as one?"

Harry looked up and nodded, then stopped and shook his head in the negative. "Well, it is and it isn't. I love Quidditch, but it's not really something I could see myself doing for the rest of my life, except as the occasional pick-up game. I suppose my real interest lies in the flying involved. I feel so at peace on a broom, like nothing can touch me…" He smirked. "Despite the many times and many somethings that have in my short career as a flyer."

Snape gave one of his new half-smiles, and Harry almost frowned at missing the chance to elicit that dark, secret chuckle that made his chest flutter in response.

"I will have to look into careers that might require flying, but in the mean-time I want you to think about what you could see yourself doing for the rest of your life. Even something you think is insignificant, or farfetched, I want you to create a list. The Wizarding World, much like the Muggle, has found a use for practically any preference, if you know where to look," The Potions Master said. "You can bring the list for our next meeting and we'll go over it together."

Harry couldn't help the playful smile that stretched his lips. "Homework, sir? What a concept."

The upturned corner of Snape's mouth widened slightly. "Quite, Mister Potter." He stood. "Come, it is time for dinner."

The Gryffindor stood, taking up the defense text he'd been allowed to borrow, and followed the man out of the office. When they reached the corridor, Snape paused for Harry to close the door before waving his hand over the barrier. The Boy Who Lived could feel the thick force of the powerful wards the man had summoned, and he shivered, earning him a sharp, unreadable glance from the Potions Master. Before they started down the corridor, it occurred to Harry to thank the man, for his time, and patience.

"Professor," Snape turned to him distractedly, a small scowl on his face. "I wanted to thank you, in case I hadn't already, for all the help you're giving me. I really am at a loss for words as to how grateful I am. I've never had someone take such an interest in me, and I'll admit it's a little unnerving."

There was a sharpness in the black gaze that had replaced the sparkling, hidden smile as the man grunted in response. "Get to dinner, Potter." The words were growled and Harry stared after the retreating form, utterly baffled.

At some point, he figured, he would get truly annoyed at the man's sudden mood swings as they moved from public to private setting, but for now Harry was still just surprised that the man was being nice to him at all. Shrugging off the stray thought that Snape was perhaps being possessed (or otherwise supernaturally controlled), Harry snugly tucked his new book against his chest and started towards the Great Hall. Even if the man was as mad as a hatter, Harry wasn't willing to risk that his goodwill would change should he, Harry, prove incapable of upholding his end of their bargain (any of the few they had made that day).