It didn't take long for Harry to learn that his strategy for handling Snape hadn't worked quite as well as he'd hoped.
Dumbledore had called Harry to his office soon after the term began, but Harry had expected that, too, and was prepared for it. He met Dumbledore's eyes without fear, and layered memories close to the surface of grief for Sirius, the end of last term, and the times when he had believed he would finally have a home away from the Dursleys. They were all genuine emotions. And Dumbledore, being Dumbledore, did not probe any further; Snape would have. He just nodded, and offered Harry a sweet now and then, and shared memories of Sirius in a rambling way.
Harry could no longer listen to those memories as eagerly as he would have before. He wondered how many of them had occurred just before or after Sirius hurt Snape or someone else, and he had to bow his head and fake a loud sob to get Dumbledore to let him go.
Ron had flung himself into Quidditch with a passion that made Harry confident of Gryffindor's success on the Pitch this year. Hermione almost had new smile lines in her face from the amount of time she and Harry sat quietly in the library together, reading, and the way that Harry even encouraged other people to study for the N.E.W.T.'s. McGonagall had taken Harry's announcement that he no longer wanted to be Seeker well enough, though with more than a hint of sorrow in her eyes.
Only Snape continued to be a problem. Harry didn't understand why. He was nasty, and insulting, and James Potter's son. Couldn't Snape concentrate on something else? He could have no pleasure in thinking of Harry.
It was remarkable, really, how rapidly his hatred for Potter had climbed.
There had been no more open insults. There had been plenty of whispers when he took points from Gryffindor or simply passed Potter in the halls—which happened often when Potter went halfway to the N.E.W.T. Potions class with the Granger girl—and muffled laughter that made Severus swing around more than once, certain James Potter's ghost and not his flesh and blood were standing behind him.
More provokingly still, Potter refused to come to Severus in any capacity. He certainly did not beg to be let into the sixth-year Potions class. He apparently ceased to trouble the other teachers at all; indeed, Moody had joined Minerva in bragging about him. He acted as though the goal of his life was to irritate Severus, and he was succeeding with both skill and aplomb.
The hatred between them had been mutual, Severus was certain. Potter could not have rejected that as if it never existed. He should have paid more attention to his Potions teacher than this.
If that were not enough, his duties as Dumbledore's spy and Draco's teacher had both increased. Albus was judicious enough not to ask him to take unnecessary risks, and to listen to his reports in silence. They both knew that it was likely Severus would have to stop spying sometime this year, as the Dark Lord's guesses about who in his ranks might be a traitor moved closer and closer to the mark. Severus could not say this work was relaxing, but at least he could come back and deliver what he had to say to an understanding brain, and know it would be usefully employed.
Draco was a different matter. The boy had never learned the meaning of "silence," useful or otherwise.
"I don't see why we can't use Dark Arts," he whinged, after the seventh time Severus had vetoed a training plan that included pain curses. He had made Draco think about what he wanted to study, and try to come up with his own course of magic. It at least made the Malfoy boy's face turn red more and more often. "It's not as though there are spells on the school that detect them—"
Severus gave him a look. Draco blinked and bit his lip.
"There are?" he asked.
"Of course," said Severus, raising an eyebrow afterwards that said, more eloquently than words could, what an idiot Draco was being, and checked on the potion in front of him. It had settled into a light purple color, with a scrim of green on the surface. Severus nodded. Five minutes more, and it would be ready for the addition of the frost-flowers.
"But I know people have done Dark Arts in school before, and no one picked up on it," Draco was now expostulating.
"Really, Mr. Malfoy." Severus leaned over the cauldron with a speed that made Draco take a step back. "And who of our Lord's servants has been flapping his tongue at you, to make you think that?"
"I mean—I didn't—" Draco stood still for a moment, sweating, then made a sweeping gesture with one hand. "Rumors, that's all. Of what the Dark Lord can do, how he could get inside Hogwarts."
Severus resisted the urge to rub his temples. Draco Malfoy had the potential to be a fine man, wiser and more cautious than his father, and acting on a political stage that did not include the supremely dangerous threat of the Dark Lord. He simply had to change almost everything about himself first.
"Rumors," he said, with a single sharp nod. "And relying on the evidence of others' words instead of your own senses has worked so well for you, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco's face became pale and quiet. Severus held his gaze. He wouldn't have needed to be a Legilimens to know what Draco was thinking about, since he had been there to share it, but since he was, he could see the darting memories just under the surface of his eyes.
Narcissa Malfoy had looked red and black at the last, even her thick blonde hair soaked through with caked gore, layer after layer of it.
Draco overcame that silence a moment later, of course, drawing himself up and throwing his head back imperiously. "You dare to throw this in my face, Professor Snape?" Only someone paying strict attention would have heard the slight tremble in his voice. "I don't—"
And someone knocked on the door.
It took Severus a moment to remember that Albus had insisted on sending the Potter brat to him tonight. He had assumed that he would be done with Draco before then; he had not counted on the boy staying so long to complain and sulk. And he had rather enjoyed the notion that Albus had told Potter to beg for the Occlumency lessons to resume, since it enabled him to hold something over Potter's head.
Severus briefly considered dismissing Draco, but decided against it. It would add an extra sting to Potter's humiliation if he had to ask for more "remedial Potions" under the eye of the most skilled Potions student in the school. And Draco, believing as he did that Severus was a faithful servant of his Lord who hated Potter, would not tell others what had happened tonight, but save it as a secret to enjoy with his mentor.
"Enter," Severus called, and sat down behind his desk, watching a small, cruel smile appear on Draco's face when Potter came in. In this matter, Severus could fully approve of the boy's impetuous temper where Potter was concerned.
"Sir," Potter said, between clenched teeth, in a tone that spoke volumes about how much he hated asking this favor. He folded his arms and scowled at the floor. But nothing could lessen his swagger or his resemblance to his father, and that meant Severus's scorn could remain safely intact.
"What do you want, Potter?" Best to force the boy to enunciate the words. Severus intended to draw every bit of pleasure from this he could, since Potter had so provoked him.
Potter hissed, again between his teeth. Severus considered taking House points, but his instincts told him to wait. This would be sweeter if Potter were not interrupted.
"I've—that is, Headmaster Dumbledore says—" Potter paused, breathing hard. Severus half-frowned. If he had been listening to the sound under other circumstances, he would have said that it sounded forced, faked. But Potter would never have come here of his own free will to ask that the lessons begin again. This must be a symptom of his distress, nothing more. Severus's enjoyment grew.
"Perhaps it's lessons in elocution, Professor," Draco observed brightly, his own voice perfectly correct and loud. "He could certainly use them."
Severus worked to subdue a snarl. Draco could not have known, of course, how long it had taken Severus himself to make sure he sounded like other pure-blood children, to rid his speech of his Muggle father's influence, in both accent and vocabulary. But the testimony to his success was that Draco had never even suspected that his trusted Professor and Head of House was a half-blood.
"It's not that!" Potter burst out, swinging his head up, and making a gesture with one arm that Severus would have called theatrical and extravagant under other circumstances. But this was Potter. He lived to be extravagant, and to annoy other people in doing so. "It's—Remedial Potions, sir." His face had at least turned satisfyingly red again, and he met Severus's eyes fully for the first time. "I need Potions if I'm going to be an Auror."
Severus had his wand under the desk, pointing at Potter, and he could certainly use Legilimency without a verbal component. He passed through those green eyes into the mind behind them, undetectably, as he was used to doing, intent on finding a memory he could use to rip the brat apart.
And there was—
Nothingness. The same smooth slick of shimmering oil that Severus sensed when he looked too long into Albus's eyes. A shield of Occlumency overspread Potter's mind as if he had poured it there.
In his shock, Severus lost control of his Legilimency. Potter gave his head a faint shake, but did not seem to understand what had happened. He never had in the past, when Severus read his mind to determine if he had been lying or not.
This is impossible.
Severus's mind was working furiously to find some explanation, and finding none. He knew Potter had nothing of the talent needed to master Occlumency, not the self-control, not the intelligence, not the temperament. Even if he had chosen to work at it on his own, there was no way that he could have achieved this particular result.
Albus could have taught him, but in that case, he would not have sent the boy to ask for lessons.
That left outside interference into Potter's mind from elsewhere—an amulet that mimicked the effects of Occlumency, perhaps, or influence from the Dark Lord. Severus contrived not to hiss between his teeth, but it took an enormous effort. Could the boy never have an end of getting in trouble?
"You assume that I must grant special privileges for you, Potter," he said, aware that he had been too long silent, and Draco was looking at him curiously. He rose to his full height, to have the effect of intimidation and give himself a moment more to regain his composure. "But, though it may surprise you to learn this, not every Professor in this school has as high an opinion of you as you have of yourself."
Potter met his eyes directly again, and in his gaze glittered all that defiance that made Severus's wand hand twitch. "Yes, that's right," he said. "Some of them actually give me credit for my talents."
"You have none in Potions," Snape replied swiftly, mentally thanking Potter for such a perfect opening. "Therefore, I have no reason to open my class to you. You probably merited your E by bribery of the exam proctor." And he was convinced that had happened along the way, even if it was only the proctor deciding that Harry Potter deserved an Exceeds Expectations on his Potions O.W.L. Severus knew the boy could not have earned an E. He'd taught him for five years, hadn't he? "I accept only students who earn an O into any lessons I teach the sixth-years, and that includes remedial ones. Now that I am finally free of your presence, why should I wish to reinstate it?"
Draco snickered, but Severus was only partly telling the truth. He did wish to have Potter near, if only to figure out how to make panic and pain appear in those angry eyes, and discover where that Occlumency had come from.
"In the interests of doing something honorable for once in your life?" Potter drawled, and met Severus's eyes once more.
Truly, the only talent Potter had acquired over the summer was the talent of enraging him.
Severus did not speak as he wished, because he knew it would come out strangled, and that was not the image he desired to project. He said only, "You know little of honor. Your behavior proves that. Thirty points from Gryffindor House for disrespect of a teacher, and detention—"
"With Filch, I suppose," Potter put in, looking bored.
It was the bored expression that did it, Severus was later sure. He had to break the boy. He had never hated anyone half so much, save Sirius Black, and unfortunately he could not insult the mutt as he wished in front of Draco. "No, Mr. Potter," he said. "With me. Every evening at seven-o'clock for a week, beginning Monday. This will include Saturday and Sunday. And ten more points from Gryffindor for interrupting me."
Potter froze for a moment, eyes wide, but then shook himself as if he were a horse shaking off flies, gave him one more murderous glance, and departed.
Severus turned to Draco, who was laughing. Draco stopped his chuckles when he caught sight of his expression, which was a warning to Severus to calm as much as he could.
"Why don't you deliver him to our Lord right now?" Draco asked softly.
Severus gave him a withering glance, and luckily Draco looked down. He had, fortunately, made so many mistakes during the summer that when Severus implied he did not know or understand something obvious, Draco would automatically believe it was so. "Many reasons, Draco," Severus said, "and some of them you may even grasp before the end of the year."
Draco gave a subdued little nod. "May I go now, sir?"
"Go," Severus said, glancing once at the ruined potion. He would have to begin brewing from the ground up, and that was a further annoyance. His head began to throb. "And, next time, come back with a list you can use."
Draco fled. Severus sat back and spent a few moments breathing with his eyes shut.
Something niggled and squirmed in the back of his mind. He remembered Potter's gestures, and reexamined them in his mind's eye.
The odd behaviors that seemed false, so unlike the open arrogance he remembered of the boy…
If the Dark Lord has possessed him, I will take great pleasure in shredding his mind to pieces to get rid of the infection.
Harry shook his head as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. What was wrong with Snape? Harry had achieved two of the things he'd planned for this evening—annoyed Snape so drastically that there was no chance of the Occlumency lessons resuming, and tested his own ability to defend his thoughts—but, after that, Snape was supposed to look away and give up. Harry was an irritant. Why would he want to spend more time with someone who irritated him so much? Of all the people in Hogwarts, Harry had believed Snape would be the easiest to focus on his own pursuits and away from Harry's life, since he was so self-centered anyway.
But he seemed more determined to spy out the causes of Harry's Occlumency.
Harry grimaced. He resented taking the time away from study, but he would have to make sure he had an "explanation" by the time he began detention with Snape on Monday. He wished he could be sure that Snape would discover the truth, laugh, and help Harry hasten his death, but it would be just like the man to stand in the way for spite, because killing himself was something Harry wanted to do.
Don't worry, Sirius, Harry promised. I'll find some way to fool him. This is just a bump on the road to making up for what I did. Snape is only important because he might stop me. But he won't. I've decided he won't.
Harry cast the Tempus charm, and then turned towards the library. He still had enough time before bed to research the glamour charms he might need, as well as to practice the Siren Song, the Occlumency technique he would need to catch Voldemort's attention. He reached into his robe and touched the shrunken book that rode everywhere with him.
It'll be all right. I'll make it be all right.
That bright calm he'd earned in the summer returned again. He could do anything that mattered to the defeat of Voldemort, and this did.