Cursive speak: Parseltongue.

Chapter 3

Ron and Hermione had insisted on hearing all about his training the moment he entered the Common Room. When finally he rolled into bed it was already late evening. As he burrowed under the covers, the whispers of Dean and Neville's conversation a low buzzing his ears, sleep was evasive. With eyes wide open he looked at the sinister shadows bearing down from the canopy above him. He let the events of the day before play out in his mind, of the connection he had shared with the Dark Lord. His hand involuntarily went to his forehead, fingers tracing the ridges of his scar.

The burning had started then Voldemort had touched him and instantly the pain had ebbed away. It had been replaced by something alien, something exhilarating and frightening all at once… It must have something to do with the mysterious connection they shared. He remembered the wildness of the Dark Lord's magic in response to his own. It had felt ...liberating. His cheeks reddened as the treasonous thought slithered to the surface. Anything had been possible in that moment. Was this what Voldemort felt each time he used dark magic?

What was Voldemort playing at anyway?

The scene kept pulling at him, making him toss and turn to find rest. After what seemed like hours of waiting, his brain finally caught up with his tired body and murky thoughts tided him over into sleep.

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The long fingers before him viciously rumpled the letter into a tight fist. Little sparks flew over the trapped paper. Things would have gone so much more smoothly, he reflected.

"M-my lord?"

He flicked his wand towards the servant on the ground.

"Crucio. Remind me why I set you this task again, Antonin," Harry said in a bored tone

A throat-ripping scream answered him. Watching little flames lick at the letter in his opened hand, he lifted the curse after a minute.

"My lord, I- I can explain. They used Veritase-"

"What?" he spun around to face the man lying at his feet. Kneeling down he looked into his servants grey eyes and hissed:

"Legilimens".

Behind Dolohov's irises a scowling goblin came into view.

"What does your organisation plan to do with our business activities?" rasped the creature.

"The Dark Lord will change the financial system into a closed one only accessible to those in favour," came the monotone answer. "The accounts of those opposing the new regime will be suspended-"

Suddenly the scene shifted and Harry was once again looking down at the bowed head before him. With a twist of the hand Dolohov was thrown against the damp wall, hands and feet splayed wide. His groan echoed loudly in the cave-like surroundings.

"Not only did you fail pathetically, you have now exposed my plans…" Striding towards the crumbled figure Harry felt the air around him warming pleasantly. He cut off the whimpered reply with a slither of tongue:

"Bend," only a hiss to the uninitiated ears, the magic came as a sensual glide through his arms, like a serpent climbing up his sleeve – and Harry would have gasped if he had any control over his mouth. The same ear-piercing shriek as before rend the air, only now Dolohov's body was bending backwards impossibly into the rough stone…

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Harry was awakened by a hand shaking his shoulder roughly. His eyes flew open and he drew in a large gulp of air. Ron was standing over him looking worried.

"Are you alright?" he whispered urgently. "You were moaning. Was it," Ron lowered his voice even more, "your scar?"

Harry was grateful for the lack of light as he felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. He rubbed said scar. It was tingling. "Yeah."

Ron shuddered and sat down beside him. "What was he doing?"

"Torturing someone." At Ron's horrified look he whispered: "I know, I'll ask Pomfrey for more of that Dreamless Sleep potion tomorrow." Once, Harry had put Silencio on his bed and Ron had been very angry when he found out.

"You shouldn't take that stuff so much, you know."

"You're sounding like Hermione." Harry sighed. "I'm not using it every time, I just need to get some sleep once in a while." He sounded tired to his own ears.

"Alright mate, I'm just saying, don't use it too much," Ron said seriously.

"I know." Harry smiled, grateful for his concerned friend. Ron patted him on the shoulder and went back to his own bed. Harry's smile faded when he thought about what Pomfrey's response would be when he asked for his second Dreamless Sleep potion of this week.

When the Tempus spell showed 06:00 Harry stood up to go to breakfast.

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Two hours later Hermione and Ron joined him at the Gryffindor table while Harry was absorbed in Magicks of the Darkest Arts. It was still quiet in the Great Hall with many people choosing to sleep late during the holidays.

'Good morning," Hermione began, taking the seat next to him, "I heard from Ron that you had… dreamed again last night. I think you should-" she gasped mid-sentence staring at a page in Harry's book.

"What are you reading?" She looked incredulously at the drawings depicting various torture methods.

Harry memorized the page number before closing the book. "Something for Snape. He wants me to learn more about the Dark Arts, to understand them better. You already know this, Hermione," he said in a low voice.

"I know, but… isn't this taking it a bit far? Does Dumbledore know about this?"

Harry's glass of pumpkin juice refilled for the fourth time that morning and he took a sip before answering:

"He doesn't know the details I don't think, but he generally knows what Snape's up to". He searched her disapproving frown and tried to muster a smirk:

"Come on, can you imagine me getting into the Dark Arts? I can only assume that's what you're afraid of."

Ron grinned from across the table, gesturing with his sausage-filled fork: "All those secret Dark Arts lessons last year starting to pay off eh?"

Hermione scowled. "That's not funny Ron." She rounded on Harry. "I just think there are more… clean books to learn about the Dark Arts."

"I've got to be prepared, Hermione," Harry said. "And I'm not going to get that by reading clean books. I need to know what I'm up against."

Hermione huffed. "So according to that reasoning it's alright for you to practice the Dark Arts."

"No of course not! I need to know about them, to recognise them so I can learn to defend myself."

"It sounded to me like you were talking about using them."

"Fine," Harry said, exasperated. "What do I have to say to convince you? Obviously Snape is going to use them on me, but he'll sooner lend me his Potion's lab than allow me to practice dark arts on him."

Hermione's gaze turned sad. "I know. It's just that… you're playing with fire, you do realise that right? Something's bound to go wrong." She looked so worried that Harry felt himself melt inside. He put an arm around her and said in a gentle tone: "Don't you think that if anyone knows what the Dark Arts are capable of, it's me? I know what I'm getting myself into. I'll keep you updated on what we're working on, alright?"

"Alright," Hermione agreed, smiling for the first time. Then her eyes widened. "I almost forgot, I have that extra credit essay for Ancient Runes due next week!" She began eating her breakfast at a brisk pace. Harry and Ron shared a 'typical-Hermione' look before Ron engaged him in an animated discussion of Ravenclaw's chances for the next game.

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Harry was proven wrong the next day, however: Snape apparently did want him to learn the Dark Arts. His first instruction after testing Harry on his assigned readings was for him to show his knowledge of dark curses. Harry lifted his wand but hesitated.

"On you?" He cringed inside at the stupidity of the question. Snape looked back disdainfully.

"Obviously".

His teacher took a defensive stance and waited for the assault.

Harry wracked his tired brain. He didn't know that many curses. There were plenty in his assigned readings but he hadn't tried them out. Those he did know came from the Half Blood Prince's book and were rather ugly, judging from the marks they left on the table he'd experimented on. Scindo Cutis – definitely not. There was one spell that hadn't damaged the table too much, he recalled…

"Sectumsempra". He slashed his wand through the air but before the curse had come halfway to it's intended target he was thrown back hard with a flick of Snape's wand. He craned his neck upwards. Snape's face was set in grim lines. He looked pissed of.

"Using my own spells against me, Potter?" he spat.

Harry scrambled to his feet, frowning. "What do you mean?"

His chin was caught in a vice-like grip. Snape's eyes searched his face. There was a moment of déjà vu as he tried to block his mind. An image of an old and battered copy of Advanced Potions Making shimmered into his vision and Snape released him with a shove.

"The copy. Give it to me." He held out his hand, palm upwards. Harry tried to decipher the expression on his face but only Snape's eyes seemed alive, glistening with a deep black colour. Harry walked stiffly towards his bag lying against the bolted door. He strode back with the book and shoved it into Snape's still outstretched palm.

Snape trailed his hands over the binding, eyes roaming the cover.

"Where did you get this?"

Harry's swallow sounded loud in the silence. "I- didn't have a copy yet when the year began, and Slughorn gave me this one to use."

"And you didn't have a copy, because I would have never allowed you in my N.E.W.T. class." Snape's eyes glittered maliciously.

"Yes," Harry bit out. "What's it to you anyway?" he said rather rudely.

Snape for once let it pass. "This book is mine, Potter. I am the Half-Blood Prince." He watched closely for Harry's reaction.

"You? But- so all those spells-" he stammered.

"Indeed." Snape replied simply, a sneer taking over his face. "You're a fraud Potter. But you never deceived me. I think I will have a little chat with Horace after our lesson. All that Gryffindor fairness must be dying to come out, hm?"

The nails of Harry's hands were cutting his palms open. Staying silent was the safest course of action, he decided.

"I would have thought that the Chosen One-"

"Don't call me that." He just couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"Ten points from Gryffindor." An eyebrow lifted. "You will yet learn to show respect, Potter. Make that fifty actually, in case Horace decides to let you off easy again."

Harry gnashed his teeth. Snape's smirk widened.

With a wand gesture the book vanished. Snape briskly stepped away from Harry and turned around, bringing his wand up before him.

"More spells, Potter," he drawled impatiently. Harry didn't hesitate a second time.

"Ferveo cruorem!" * This one he had not learned from the Half-Blood Prince.

Snape formed a shield in response but still staggered back a little from the force of the spell. Instead of getting annoyed or angry at Harry, he could have sworn that Snape actually grinned for a second while blocking the spell– but the expression was wiped away too quickly to be certain and then Snape was back to his usual defensive pose, eyes devoid of emotion.

"Another."

Although the start was promising, his next spells did not make any dent in his teacher's shield and the session passed with Snape flicking away his attempts with bored, minimalistic gestures and Harry feeling more and more like the incompetent wizard Snape thought him to be.

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The last week of Easter went by without incident. Harry was able to enjoy a bit of free time in between training sessions, which he mostly spend by sitting in the Common Room playing Wizard Chess and Exploding Snap with Ron and others from his year, Hermione sometimes joining in but mostly buried in a thick tome. Ginny didn't have any time to spare as she was busy cramming for her O.W.L. exams like the rest of her peers.

The feared conversation with Slughorn never came. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Snape could not actually say anything when it was his book in the first place, Harry reasoned. Of course for Snape the whole point had been to provoke him.

When classes resumed Harry's homework suffered under his training schedule. He had taken to practicing the spells Snape had assigned him during study sessions. While Ron and Hermione were busy revising in the library he enclosed himself in his four-poster to perfect a wand movement or pronunciation. He figured training to stay alive was way more important than classes, though Hermione wasn't so sure about that. Something told him it couldn't hurt to wait a bit with informing her of the precise details of his training.

Defence Against the Dark Arts class was becoming more demanding. Snape, after sneering that they ought to be capable of incanting spells non-verbally by now, had them form dueling pairs. The winner of each pair would go on to duel in the next round. This made the lesson an impromptu dueling competition, which was welcomed with (carefully subdued) cheers by his classmates.

Harry first paired with Hermione. She used an Expelliarmus, which he sidestepped, then a Freezing Charm which he was able to bounce back to her, winning the duel. When she was back on her feet Harry gave her a pained smile and she returned it with good humour.

They stood to the side to wait for the next round. Harry watched Snape striding between the dueling pairs, correcting stances and un-cursing students. Snape would expect him to use specialised counters, he realised, the way he'd been taught. He fingered his wand thoughtfully. Now was as good a time as any to start.

The next round began and Harry tried to use counters that were most efficient against his opponents curses. In the beginning he felt a little unsure, which made him slow with his shields. But as he got into the rhythm of the duel the counters came to mind more swiftly. He met Lavender's Blinding Curse with a mirror shield which made her stagger sideways and lose her balance. The Liquefactio Vestimenta that Crabbe threw at him which would have melted his clothes against his skin, was neutralised with a Conducting Charm. The air around him became pleasantly balmy as a result. A shame Snape wasn't around to see it.

Finally only two duelists were still standing. Harry scowled when he saw who his partner was going to be. Malfoy, who he had seen steadily working through his less skilled opponents now strode over to him, eyes intent.

Harry regarded the boy before him coolly. Malfoy tilted his head to the side, studying him, a corner of his mouth curving upwards slightly. They stood like this for some time, holding their wands at the ready but not raising them. The Slyterins on one side of the classroom and the Gryffindors on the other gradually fell silent.

A Skin-crawling Curse was a hairbreadth from touching Harry before he thought to jump out of the way. Annoyed with himself he gave a vicious swipe with his wand but Malfoy blocked his curse easily, throwing back a Tickling Charm. Well, if he wanted to jerk around, fine by him.

"Pulmos moderatus!"**

A trickling of the curse managed to seep through Malfoys defence and he bend double, taking in large gulps of air. Harry took the opportunity to send a stunner his way but Malfoy spun aside and send back a low netting charm. His feet tangled, Harry stumbled and lost his balance. He hissed, feeling a sharp pain issuing from the back of his head and he realised he'd banged it against the stone floor. Groaning, he tried to sit up but the classroom spun around him. He let his head fall back slowly. Malfoy crouched beside him and bend over him with one hand on his shoulder, the other holding a wand to his neck.

"You lose, Potter," he wheezed. Harry felt a sensation of tiny needles attacking his body. Shiny black boots came to a stop on his other side.

"Mr. Malfoy wins," Snape announced. Cheers went up from one side of the room.

Malfoy's head moved towards his ear.

"You will all be losing soon," he whispered ominously.

The pressure of needles intensified and Harry shivered, teeth chattering. He tried to lift his wand but his hand came up empty. Of course Malfoy had to hit him while he was down, he thought furiously.

Fortunately Snape turned towards them in the next moment and Malfoy released him, straightening. The cold stings all over his body dissipated, but not the sinking feeling brought on by Malfoys words.

He felt the back of his head. His hand came back sticky with blood.

"Infirmary," Snape said from above him. An incantation lifted Harry from the floor and on to a transfigured stretcher. The nearest student who wasn't Malfoy was tasked with hovering him towards the infirmary. When was the last time he'd been in that boring-to-death place again? Ah yes, he thought moodily, that would be last week.

* Ferveo cruorem: my incantation of the Blood-boiling curse

** Pulmos moderatus: the lungs restrained.

All Latin phrases I made up, so it is likely that words and form are not correct.