Chapter 12—What's In Front of Him

Harry knew there was no time to hide the fact that he'd been brewing, nor what potion he'd chosen. He thought of burning the ingredients, but their smell would probably still give them away to Snape—and anyway, the fumes from the burning might be dangerous. Harry had no interest in killing Snape, or himself before Christmas Eve.

Harry flicked his wand, trying to ignore the sensation of his complicated locking charms dissolving, and Vanished the liquid still in his cauldron. Then he pulled the corked vial out of his pocket, wrapped it in his Invisibility Cloak, which he'd used to sneak to this room in the first place, and bundled it into a corner.

Just in time. The charms dissolved completely, and Harry turned to face the door as Snape came striding through.

Severus did not know why he was so surprised at the layered locking charms on the door; layering was an effect taught in fifth-year Charms, after all, in anticipation of the O.W.L.'s. Perhaps it was only because he had long since stopped expecting Potter to be good at anything but getting into trouble.

And then he reminded himself of the Occlumency, and shook his head grimly. That view of the boy is outdated now. I must be careful when I watch him, to ensure that emotion does not blind me to what is in front of me, as it has so far.

The last of the charms melted, and Severus thrust the door open. Potter stood next to a cauldron, staring at him, eyes wide as an owl's. Severus sniffed, and the scents of belladonna and sweet's-acid came to him.

"Potter," he said, voice dangerously low.

The boy only backed a step away and went on watching him. Had he come in here with his old view of Potter firmly in place, Severus would have thought he was paralyzed with fear. But he doubted that now. Potter was controlling his reactions in an effort to give nothing away.

"Why are you brewing Medea's Draught?" he continued, briefly meeting the boy's gaze. Yes, there were the Occlumency walls. Potter tried to lower them in the next moment, to pretend his mind was normal, but Severus had seen them.

"Do not play games with me, boy," he said, and enjoyed the flash of panic that crossed Potter's face at that. "I know you are an Occlumens."

Potter clenched one hand into a fist, but his stare remained cold, without the hot anger that would have flooded it last year. "I was brewing the Draught because I want to use it to kill Voldemort," he said. "Sir. And I told you, I've been trying to train myself in Occlumency, but I didn't—"

Severus cut him off mercilessly. Time to show the boy that he was trapped, with no getting out of it. "Your Occlumency is your own, Potter, and not due to a charm. And it is quite advanced. Or did you suppose I would not figure it out after you used the Siren Song on me?"

The boy stiffened, and for a moment his hands were quite still. Then he said, "I'm surprised you can admit anything that's a compliment to my skills. Sir."

Severus gave the preparations around the cauldron a critical glance. The boy hadn't even laid out the ingredients in the right order for brewing a poison of this caliber. He would want them near enough to hand that he could add them when necessary, yet far enough away that he could save himself from the effects of the volatile potion. Whatever Potter had managed to accomplish as an Occlumens, he was not a master brewer.

But he had tried to be one.

Severus bit back the snide comment that it was a pity Black could die only once, if this was the kind of revolution of personality his death produced in the Boy-Who-Lived. "I know you have changed, Potter," he said, turning around and meeting him eye-to-eye again. This time, Potter kept his Occlumency walls up. Severus inclined his head in the small acknowledgment that he sometimes used with Albus, when they had been trying to pry information from one another but both had their minds too well-guarded to let anything pass the shields. "I know your study has finally produced results. And I know something you may not. Every student who learns Occlumency has to have a guardian. Someone who watches over his use of the art, that he may not harm himself or others." Severus felt a faint smile pull at his lips, given the boy's thunderstruck expression. "That he does not, for example, give others a massive headache with the Siren Song."

Harry felt a momentary flash of irritation so intense it was almost enough to make him attack Snape. He didn't want this! No matter how many preparations he made for the only duty left to him, it seemed that something else popped up and dragged him back towards the world of the living.

I don't belong there any more. And now Snape wants to talk to me about my future. Harry had to bite his lips against nerveless laughter.

Still, so far Snape had given no sign of knowing that Harry wanted to commit suicide. That meant that Harry could handle this small distraction in a small way. He gave a half-shrug with one shoulder and nodded. "All right. I'll find one."

Snape sneered at him. Harry felt relieved. The notion of his teacher speaking to him with respect was too foreign to be tolerated. "And do you really think the Headmaster has the time to spare for a mentoring relationship as intense as this one usually becomes, Potter?"

"I wasn't planning to ask him, sir," Harry pointed out, enjoying the way the sneer grew more pronounced. "I do have someone—a friend—who'll be able to put me in contact with an Occlumency teacher." When he explained the circumstances to Scrimgeour, Harry thought he would be more than ready to help. Snape was a former Death Eater in the Minister's eyes, not someone whose opinion Scrimgeour was likely to trust over Harry's. And Harry was about to go public with his support of the Ministry in the Daily Prophet interview in any case, so letting Snape and Dumbledore know about his search for an Occlumency teacher at the same time wasn't a problem.

Snape laughed. Harry backed up a pace and touched his wand. That was the nasty laugh Snape uttered whenever he thought he'd won. "And what makes you think I will let you seek another teacher than myself, Potter?"

Did he sniff the mercury? Harry folded his arms. "Because you hate me and I hate you? Sir."

Snape regarded him in silence for a moment. Harry frowned. He had an odd expression in his eyes.

It was true that, a few days ago, the idea of tutoring Potter like this would have been repugnant to him. But, of course, he'd believed the boy talentless then, no more capable of learning Occlumency than he was of flying to the sun.

And, since the beginning of the term, he had wanted to talk to someone in the same impossible position he was in, caught between Dark and Light, walking a thin path that no one else understood. Potter was. He had tried to brew a poison that would have revolted him under ordinary circumstances, so determined was he to get rid of the Dark Lord. And he had learned Occlumency, an art he had strong reasons to hate, for no better reason than honoring Black and taking revenge on his enemies.

Severus also wanted a student who was interested in the arts he taught for their own sake. Draco was not, despite his natural grace at Potions; he never expected to make his living at it, so he had no reason to improve his gift, and his Occlumency was pitiful. Granger was good at Potions, but in the same way she was good at everything, as one subject among others, and Severus doubted she would pursue it when she had left Hogwarts.

Potter, on the other hand, had managed to learn Occlumency quite competently on his own, and he had a reason to want to be better at Potions than he was. And he had earned an E on his O.W.L.'s. That was not good enough to enter Severus's sixth-year class, but it was very far from entirely hopeless.

The Potter of last year, he would have rejected, however talented he was. But this boy was—different. The more he thought about it, the more Severus was certain that Potter had maneuvered him, and others around him, since he returned from the summer holidays. Certainly he had no other reason to want to stir Severus's emotions up so often, or not betray the depth of his obsession with Black's death to Albus, or do things such as quit the Quidditch team, a move that stunned Severus when he heard of it.

Potter had hidden his intelligence as long as he could, and he had developed skills only in response to a great crisis, not because the temptation of being good on its own was enough to lure him. But that hardly mattered. Now that Severus knew he was capable of this, he intended to push the boy. Potter could do it, so he would. Some of these skills would be useful in helping to defeat the Dark Lord. Albus would probably even approve the guardianship Severus intended to claim, since, while he had acknowledged the mistake of the Occlumency lessons last year, he couldn't quite help wanting two of his "favored children" to like each other.

And, by the time the Dark Lord died, Severus intended to have inculcated enough interest that Potter would want to pursue the arts Severus taught as his future course—Occlumency, if not Potions. The boy was praise-starved, as almost all teenagers were. He lacked a proper guardian figure since the death of Black, and he did not completely trust the Headmaster. Severus was certain it would not take much to fulfill that role for him.

And he would take some pleasure in maneuvering Potter as Potter had maneuvered him.

"Sir?" Harry pressed. He really didn't like the way Snape was looking at him now, as if he were some pet to be trained. He can't want to teach me. I hurt him with the Siren Song, and he hates me. I hope he hasn't forgotten that. "What's wrong with seeking a teacher outside the school?"

Snape shook his head and seemed to snap back to himself. "For one thing," he said, "how could you be sure that such a teacher would not talk about your studying Occlumency to the press? And from there it might leak back to the Dark Lord—if your teacher was not a Death Eater himself, which, considering your luck, is extremely likely to happen. And there is a small fact you have forgotten."

Harry remained silent, refusing to be baited.

Snape flicked a glance at the Medea's Draught ingredients and the cauldron. "You were trying to brew a highly illegal poison without adult supervision," he murmured, voice almost neutral. "Such a thing indicates desperation at best—Dark behavior at worst. Even the Headmaster would frown on what you intended to do here. And you know it." He turned back and looked at Harry with intense eyes. "I intend to show you how to do better with potions, since you are right; you will need such knowledge to fight the Dark Lord. But if you seek another teacher for Occlumency, I see no reason not to release this knowledge. Your future teacher should know exactly what kind of pupil he would be taking on, after all."

Trapped.

For the first time since he'd come back for summer term, Harry couldn't think of a thing to do or say. He had barely fooled Dumbledore once with the lie about Snape taunting Sirius, and so he doubted that a second Memory Charm would be accepted. And there was no way he could destroy every scrap of evidence that he'd been trying to brew Medea's Draught.

He'd counted, all the while, on Snape's hatred remaining intact. Even if the man had figured out what he was doing, Harry had been certain he'd confiscate the ingredients for the potion and assign him to detention for the rest of the year. After all, why wouldn't he be angry at Harry's maneuvering him?

Snape laughed. "If you could see the expression of frustration on your face, Potter!" He lowered his voice and leaned forward. Harry wanted to take a step away, but those dark eyes seemed to pierce him.

"This is not the end of the world. I promise that we shall get on much better than before." He extended one finger to point at Harry. "After all, you have a brain, and you have proved it. So long as you do not try to hide it again, I see no reason to treat you as stupid."

Damn it! Harry glared harder than ever. So much would have been easier if Snape had just gone on believing he was stupid. And why not? Stupid people did stupid things. Snape could have come up with an explanation for any amount of Harry's behavior as long as he believed in that stupidity. He would also lack foresight, and a means of evaluating the consequences of his actions, and any number of traits that Snape cherished in himself and other people he thought were brilliant. Now, he would be watching Harry more closely, and Harry hated the idea that any attempt to fool the man was doubly likely to fail.

"You know, sir," he said, in one final attempt to recover what he saw slipping away from him, "I only learned Occlumency and tried to brew this potion because of Sirius. That doesn't mean I'm actually smart, or good at these things. It was determination that made me do this, not talent. You said yourself last year that I wasn't actually naturally good at Occlumency."

Snape laughed again, but this time, it was softer. "How long have you been studying Occlumency, Potter?"

Harry contemplated lying, but the more he acted as if he had something to hide, the more Snape would press. And, if worst came to worst, Snape could always ask Hermione, and she'd reveal that she sent the Occlumency book to Harry for his birthday. "Since July thirty-first, sir," he said.

Snape smiled, and Harry had to look away; the smile was so full of gloating that he was afraid he would punch Snape if he had to keep on looking at it. "Then determination can substitute for talent," he said. "You have achieved things that people who study Occlumency for years have not." He paused, as if watching the effect of his words on Harry, but Harry only snorted. Did the great git think that Harry would believe any compliment he gave? "Maintain the same level of dedication, as I will see that you do, and this study will be comfortable for both of us."

Harry didn't respond. Every habit of thought he'd learned since the summer revolted at this. Snape was supposed to ignore Harry and go on with his life like everyone else. The substance of his plans had to remain secret. And his Occlumency had to improve on its own, without training.

"Have you not thought this through?" Snape asked softly. "I can help you with the Siren Song and other techniques you will not have thought of, Potter."

And, just like that, Harry's whole perspective on the issue changed.

Potter's face relaxed, and he looked at Severus with something more than hatred. Severus restrained a smirk. The boy hadn't thought of actually being helped, had he, or having license to practice dangerous, hurtful things under a teacher's watchful eye? Well, now he would have that permission.

He would be obedient to the pace and program of study that Severus set, of course, and that was another thing that made intriguing an idea that would have revolted Severus yesterday: the thought of having control over Potter. The boy had changed enormously, but he was still the son of an old enemy. Severus had lost most of his authority over Potter when the boy refused to earn a high enough mark to enter Potions. Now, he would have part of it back again.

And he looked forward to pushing and pushing Potter for the last grains of his effort and intelligence. No doubt, the boy had bottoms to his dedication, but Severus doubted he had discovered them yet. This much Occlumency in three and a half months was beyond impressive.

"All right, Professor," Potter said, and bowed his head.

Severus was under no illusion that he'd given up, but that only made the next challenge something to be looked forward to, instead of resented. And now it was time for a demonstration of their respective positions.

His eyes on Potter, he summoned, one by one, all the ingredients for Medea's Draught and tucked them carefully away in his pockets. Potter jumped as a cluster of belladonna leaves shot out of his pocket. He blinked, then looked resigned.

"You will come to see me in two days' time, after lunch," he added as he prepared to leave the room. "Do not be late, or I will come searching for you."

With a mixture of gratitude and resentment in his eyes that was no doubt confusing for him, Potter nodded.

Severus left the room, and suppressed the smile that wanted to creep across his face. Yes, he had a fellow manipulator and the son of a Marauder under very firm control now, and he had a student whom he at least knew could be intelligent and persistent. But that was no reason to grin like a fool.

He had won.

I won.

Harry couldn't believe how well the evening had turned out, given that it began with Snape pounding at his door. He had permission, now, to practice the Occlumency he'd been fretting about, and a teacher to smooth the path before him. Snape wouldn't even realize he was doing it, since the choice to take Harry on as a student was all his. He would stop prying into Harry's affairs, too.

And he had not a clue that Harry had already finished the Medea's Draught.

Harry picked up the bunched Invisibility Cloak from the corner of the room and took out the corked vial of poison. He patted it, then put it in his pocket and went to fetch his cauldron.

He could still kill himself, and he'd better the preparations to trap Voldemort right under Snape's nose. What could be better?