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THIRTY-SIX: Taught a Lesson

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To say that Harry was the topic of conversation at breakfast that morning would have been an understatement. Once Harry slunk back into his chair, Flitwick began chuckling, low and startled-sounding, Trelawney revealed she had known about Harry’s true House all along, and McGonagall desperately tried to catch Harry’s eye around Dumbledore’s attempts at pleasant conversation. Hagrid, who did manage to catch Harry’s eye, smiled encouragingly; Harry supposed that the half-giant had seen enough censure in his time to be perfectly unwilling to show Harry any. Harry smiled tentatively in return.

Professor Snape remained almost eerily silent, toying with the crepe on his plate and rather obviously not seeing it. Harry had the urge to break the other man’s silence, but had a feeling that, if he gave in to that impulse, Snape’s response would either be more silence or perhaps enough rage to warrant an Obscura – from Harry, the Professor, or both. He decided that he had been foolish enough for one day, and that he would leave the other man alone until he looked a bit more himself.

The moment that Harry rose, he watched Ron nudge Hermione and rise as well. Several of the Gryffindors noted this and followed suit, including Neville, Ginny, Seamus and Dean. From his vantage point, Harry could see that Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe, Yolande Zabini and half the Unsorted House looked like they planned on following him as well.

Harry could swear that Dumbledore looked ready to start laughing, but he blocked that out of his mind, scrambling for a way to avoid being swamped by curious students without looking like he was trying to avoid his two best friends.

“Oh, Potter?” Snape finally said, watching the goings-on with his old malevolence.

Harry turned to face his Potions Professor. “Erm, sir?”

“We can’t have you going about like that, now, can we?” Snape intoned, and flicked his wand, a whispered word on his breath.

Harry didn’t note a surfeit of hideous boils on his nose, so he glanced around himself –

“Oh,” Harry said.

Harry was now clothed in Slytherin robes, complete with snake seal; even the scarf he had tossed over the back of his chair in light of the early cold weather had shifted from red-and-gold to green-and-silver. The tassels were in the shape of little snakes.

Damn the man and his potions-induced attention to detail.

Harry grabbed the scarf from his chair and wrapped it around his neck, tossing a challenging glare back at his professor before escaping only a step or two ahead of his pursuers, fleeing the Great Hall. It wasn’t a very Gryffindor thing to do, but then, he wasn’t a Gryffindor: not anymore.

---

The first lesson went better than he had thought it would; the second-years were so very in awe of him, the Harry Potter, that they sat with slack jaws and sparkling eyes, quills racing feverishly across their parchment.

The first-years were another thing altogether. They trailed in morosely, finding their seats and stacking parchment wearing a quiet despair along with their new colors; Jessica Amos, the girl with the white-blonde hair, still hiccoughed periodically. Rae and Ewan were part of a huddled group that sat at the very centre of the room, as though fearing the touch of the walls.

“Good morning,” Harry said, once they were settled.

“Don’t see what’s so great about it,” Ewan muttered.

There was a general murmur of dispirited assent.

“Maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words,” Harry conceded.

“Where’s Professor Lupin?” Jessica demanded. “Where’s Lilac and Josie and Emily?”

“Don’t you get it?” William Avery said coldly. “We’re sorted by House now. This is the Slytherin/Ravenclaw class.” He paused. “Just as well, I guess, that we won’t have Hufflepuffs slowing us down.”

Ewan stood and whirled, facing the other dark-haired boy. “You shut up about Lilac!”

“Oooooh,” the class murmured, as one.

“What, Jones, you like her?” Will replied nastily.

“I just don’t see what being Hufflepuff has to do with being smart!” Ewan returned.

“That’s because you’re a Slytherin,” Will replied, “and so you’ve already forgotten that being Ravenclaw means you’re smart.” He fingered his blue badge proudly.

“All right,” Harry interjected. “Ewan, have a seat. Will, same to you. I think that this issue’s a bit more important right now than Defense, don’t you?”

Rae sniffled quietly.

“Let’s talk about the Houses, then,” Harry said, seating himself on the front of Professor Lupin’s desk. “Can everyone move the desks so that we’re in a circle? No, Will, not using your wand, thank you. Good.” He took a deep breath, observing the small faces around him, their eyes trained hopefully on his.

“First, for those of you who don’t know, Professor Lupin has a condition that means he’s ill three days for every month, so you’ll be seeing me around Halloween as well.”

Will snorted. “He’s a werewolf, you mean.”

“Yeah,” Harry said challengingly. “And?”

There was a slightly disturbed silence; after a moment, a small brunette piped up. “My mum says they’re vicious beasts,” she said. “She says they’re dangerous.”

“Name?” Harry inquired.

“Bettie Harmond, Slytherin.”

“I didn’t ask for your House, thanks,” Harry tacked on. “Professor Lupin isn’t dangerous right now because of a special Potion he takes. Can anyone tell me the name of a potion like that?”

Jessica raised her arm slowly. “Is it – is it the Wolfsbane Potion, Professor?”

Now that definitely sounded strange to Harry’s ears, but she was certainly right. “Excellent, take five points to–” He paused. “Five points for you, Jessica.”

The small blonde beamed.

“So he’s not dangerous right now, and he’s certainly not dangerous the rest of the month.”

“Professor Lupin’s a very nice man,” Rae opined in a soft, barely-heard voice.

Harry quirked a smile. “Very true,” he replied. “In any case, due to the Professor’s difficulty, I’ll be here three days out of the month.” He paused, then sighed. “Is there anything you’d like to know about me before we get started?”

A boy with ginger hair raised his hand confidently. “Adrian,” he said, “Adrian Klempf. And is it really true that you were Sorted into Gryffindor accidentally?”

“Not quite accidentally,” Harry responded. “I told the Sorting Hat that I’d rather be in Gryffindor, and it complied.”

Ewan raised his hand.

“Ewan?”

“Why didn’t you want to be in Slytherin?” he asked.

“It’s like you said,” Harry replied thoughtfully. “If I wanted to be judged on one quality, I’d rather it was my bravery than my ability to fool people.”

Ewan nodded. “Me, too.”

Rae shivered. “I don’t want to be a Slytherin. Voldemort was a Slytherin.”

The wizarding children in the class gasped and shuddered; Jessica looked near to a faint, and the room was full of shocked whispers. Harry waited for them to die down before speaking again.

“The man responsible for the murder of my parents,” he said firmly, “was a Gryffindor. You can be a good person in Slytherin, Rae. You can be a good person anyplace you like. All Slytherin is is a bunch of people wearing green-and-black dresses and silver scarves.” He tossed his over his shoulder, and Rae giggled.

“If that’s the case, why put us in Houses at all?” Will demanded.

Harry shrugged. “It’s history, I guess,” he said. “You heard the Hat: there were four founders, so there are four Houses.”

Ewan looked skeptical, but didn’t say anything to gainsay him.

“Regardless,” he went on, eyeing them, “I don’t think it’s such a great idea to judge people based on their Houses. My friend Hermione Granger has the best grades in my year, although she was mis-Sorted into Gryffindor; and I was Sorted to Slytherin even though I’ve been fighting Voldemort since I was your age.” He shrugged. “It’s better to get to know someone,” he decided, thinking of Draco and Yolande.

“But how?” Ewan demanded. “This entire place is set up so that you sort of have to act like the kids in the other Houses are stupid. Everything’s done by House – sports, those points, down to classes.”

“That’s certainly true,” Adrian piped up unexpectedly. “I don’t want to stop talking to the friends I made when we were all Unsorted.”

Harry worried his lower lip between his teeth. “Let’s all make an effort then, if we’re agreed. We won’t mention Houses or anything to do with them in this class. If you do, you’ll get a mark by your name; and if you get three marks, you’ll have a detention.”

Will groaned, but Rae interrupted him.

“I think that’s a perfect idea,” she said in her small voice, sounding surer this time. “Ewan’s right, it’s in the way the school’s set up... if we don’t make the punishment bad enough, we’ll keep on doing it.”

Harry nodded. “Let’s break the habit now. And while you’re at it, if you catch me doing it, I’ll get a mark by my name.”

Several of the first-years tittered nervously.

“...and if I get three in a lesson, I’ll have detention with Professor Snape.”

Gasps accompanied this startling pronunciation. Jessica looked pale as her hair, and wavered on the spot.

“I mean it,” Harry told them. He came to a sudden decision, perched there at the end of the desk. “And you’ll certainly have to know how to deal with other Houses – if you want to join the Defense Association, that is.”

Rae squealed with something like the delight she’d shown early that morning, and bounced in her seat. Harry smiled warmly at the Unsorted House, feeling a certain kinship with all of them. There were only two in the room – Will for Ravenclaw, and Ewan for Slytherin – who had correctly anticipated their Houses. The rest were, like Harry himself, suspended between two.

“Now as fascinating as all of that is,” he continued, turning to the board and pulling his wand from his pocket, “we do have some work to do.” With a flick of his wrist, the date appeared on the board in his angular, cramped handwriting, along with the words: Defense Against the Dark Arts: Curse Avoidance. “Today we’re going to practice a charm called ‘Expelliarmus’...”

---

Harry’s only joy was that the sixth-year mixed DADA class was not on his first day of teaching, although he knew he would have to face them tomorrow.

It became rapidly apparent that the detentions weren’t going to work when the fourth-year class piled in; not only did the fourth-years not really understand the point of avoiding the discussion of Houses, they seemed to be rather eager to land a detention with him, especially a knot of tittering girls who sat at the front and flushed a brilliant scarlet every time his eyes lit on them. It was almost impossible to get through a lesson, so impossible that he almost let up on his determination not to take points.

The worst, though, was the Gryffindor-Slytherin fifth-years. Neither group knew how to treat Harry, nor how to take an admonition not to discuss their House; both came to the bewildering conclusion that they were being slighted, and were insufferable. Ginny in particular looked as though she were ready to scream.

Harry himself was ready to scream by the time the day was over. Lunch had been taken up with fevered corrections to the afternoon’s lesson plans and those for the day after. He was starving, exhausted both mentally and physically, and in severe pain from a headache that had begun first period and continued to pile on throughout the day. He considered going to Madam Pomfrey, then decided to go straight to the source, instead.

Professor Snape handed Harry the headache cure, but looked coldly unsympathetic as Harry gulped it down.

“Ugh,” he said. “Couldn’t you make that taste better?”

“That’s what Lupin said last night,” Snape replied, examining the papers in front of him.

Harry sighed as the headache slipped peaceably away. “And what’d you say?”

“Yes,” Snape replied. “Of course I could.”

Harry snorted. “Uhm, actually I was wondering if you would do me a favor.”

“Another one?” Snape eyed the phial in Harry’s hand with a raised brow.

Harry laughed nervously. “Yeah. Er... what are you doing tonight?”

“Marking papers, what else,” Snape replied dryly.

Harry had always thought Snape gave so many assignments because he was sadistic but now, from the perspective of a teacher, Harry had to wonder if Snape was masochistic.

“I was wondering if you could accept a couple of detentions,” Harry replied.

“Disciplining your students is your look-out, Professor Potter.”

“Yes, sir, of course. Except that I got the feeling that they were angling for a detention.”

“Angling for one?”

“Yeah... er...”

Snape placed his quill down with exaggerated care, giving Harry his full attention. “Why would they want a detention, may I ask?”

“They were all girls, sir.”

“Girls? I don’t follow, Potter. I have never before found that girls desired detentions. Nor that they cause more trouble. In fact, over many years of teaching, I’ve noticed that, in general, it tends to go the other way around.”

“Sir, they were all twelve, thirteen, and fourteen-year-old girls.”

Snape merely stared.

“Who wanted detention. With me.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah.”

Snape considered this. Slowly, an evil smile spread across his features.

Harry took an unconscious, sliding step backward.

“You’ll have to convince them,” Snape said.

“Convince them of what?”

“Convince them that detention is – not a desirable place to be,” he continued darkly.

“Huh,” Harry replied thoughtfully. “I follow, but... I don’t really have any ideas.”

“Come now, Potter, surely you can think of something.” Snape picked up his quill and licked it absently, gazing down at the paper before him. “Mix up aconite and calamus? Why do I bother?”

Harry thought about that for a moment. Maybe, if he swept in wearing a black robe like Snape’s and refused to wash his hair, perhaps they would scatter.

Then again, they might just like the tragic villain bit.

“You sure you won’t...?”

“Potter, if you have to dole out punishments via myself or another member of the staff, they will never take you seriously.”

Harry opened his mouth to say that it wasn’t like he was a real teacher anyway, that he didn’t need to keep and hold their respect, but something stopped him. He realized he did want their respect. He didn’t want to disappoint Professor Lupin – or Ewan, Rae, or Lilac. So instead, he closed his mouth and nodded, placing the empty phial on the Professor’s desk.

“Don’t you have anything else to say to me?” Harry muttered anxiously, thrusting his hands in his pockets.

Snape slashed the paper beneath his hand with a particularly furious twitch, his usually cramped but neat writing looking almost sloppy. “What, Potter, could that possibly be?”

Harry winced, and fingered his scarf.

“Before you wriggle completely out of those robes, Mister Potter, let me assure you that I spoke with the Headmaster at lunch considering your little... incident. He is examining the new Sorting Hat as we speak.”

“Examining it – but why?” Harry wondered.

“Obviously it is faulty,” Snape replied, shifting the potions paper underneath the stack as he finished with it. “You. In my House? It’s perfectly ridiculous.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?” Harry inquired in a low, solemn voice. “And why do you keep calling me by my surname?”

Professor Snape paused, arrested mid-mark. Black eyes slowly lifted to meet green.

Something in Harry quietly unwound, and he felt his shoulders slump in relief. “Thank you,” he muttered, then paused, briefly. “I mean, I’m going to get enough flak from my friends, I thought you of all people would – well, would like that I was Slytherin...”

Snape frowned, writing rapidly on the next set of papers, not looking up at him anymore. “P... Harry... you are not Slytherin just because the Hat said so. Professor McGonagall said it best in the Headmaster’s office – it is beyond belief that you be anything but a Gryffindor.” His lip curled slightly around the hated word. “I do not know what Dumbledore seeks to prove...”

Harry pulled a chair close to Professor Snape’s desk and slumped into it; after a moment, when he realized that his professor was babbling slightly, he did as Snape had done for him back in the Hospital Wing, and placed one finger carefully atop the other man’s hand to stop its motion.

When Snape’s gaze jerked up again to his, he smiled apologetically.

“I'm sorry I didn’t tell you before now.”

Snape sighed, rubbing his temples.

Harry realized that the man was counting to ten again, although he was being a bit less obvious about it; his lips were barely moving. He waited until his professor was through before speaking again.

“Does this mean I need to sleep in the Slytherin dorms?” Harry inquired. “I’d really like to stay where I am.”

“No one has shifted House in their sixth year at Hogwarts before. Besides that, your friend Miss Granger has remained in Gryffindor, has she not?”

Harry gaped. “How did you know about that?”

Snape smiled at him, then barked a laugh. “It is the strange assumption of the young that teachers exist inside a classroom and cease to exist once classes let out. Miss Granger has made rather a production of her not belonging to any one House. Anyone with eyes and ears would take note.” He eyed Harry. “You might do well to point out Miss Granger’s position if it is suggested that you relocate.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Uhm, listen, my cousin confirms the thing the Dursleys told you. I wasn’t there over the summer. They got a letter – supposedly from Hogwarts – saying I’d remain here until the end of summer. Apparently I was there sometime in August, but that was it. Ron checked with the paintings to find out if I was really here, and they said I was – but they could easily have been tampered with...”

Snape tapped one ink-stained finger against the stack of papers before him. “I think it is safe to assume that you were here,” he said finally.

“It – it is?” Harry wondered. “Why?”

The Potions Master snarled, rising menacingly to his feet. “For Merlin’s sake, Potter, will you trust my knowledge for once? You were here!”

Harry swallowed past a sudden lump of fear. “Do – do you remember, Professor?”

“Of course not!” he replied, slamming his chair back under his writing desk with a furious motion. “But I know. How else would you have become so very excellent at Potions? So very adept at Occlumency, and, more specifically, Obscura, an unusual discipline, to say the least? How – unless I were tutoring you? You’ve managed to pick up my habits for Merlin’s sake!”

Harry gaped. “But – but what was I doing here?”

“Quite possibly picking up all you had failed to absorb the year before,” Snape shot back. “I should have realized it,” he continued, mockingly. “How could Dumbledore allow his prize pupil to be unsafe over the summer? There are only two places you could have possibly been: home – or Hogwarts.”

Harry, who hadn’t thought of it that way, slumped in defeat. “Yeah – that’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?” He paused. “But – if that’s the secret – what’s the big deal?”

“How much of the conversation with Dumbledore do you recall, Harry?”

Harry frowned. “Well – he showed us that memory thing. The memory ended at his Imperio.” He winced. “Sorry. Sore subject, reckon.”

Snape waved the apology away with one hand. “Never mind that. You heard me tell the Headmaster, then, that the Dark Lord had developed a new sort of Legilimens, one which I could not yet manage to counter?”

“Y-yeah,” Harry murmured.

“That, then, would be his reasoning,” Snape said, frowning. “If I do not know I was teaching you a lesson or two, it is as good as if I never did; the Dark Lord would have no way of finding out. The same goes for you. At the beginning of last summer, he had nearly taken you over on a handful of occasions. He would have no trouble sifting through your thoughts at his leisure if you still recalled what had occurred; and then he would have discovered the fact that I was aiding you rather than impeding your progress.”

“That reminds me, though,” Harry broke in. “Look, if you managed to teach me Occlumency – I mean – well, how didn’t he find out then, you know, as it was happening? We’d have to remember what we’d done day-to-day or I never would’ve learned anything.”

Snape paused. “Hmm. Yes.”

“So maybe I wasn’t with you at all.”

“Don’t place your galleons on it,” Snape returned. “You have merely unearthed a new dimension to the problem.”

“So... we spent the whole summer together?” Harry finally managed, feeling as though he’d been caught off-guard.

Snape gave a small pause. “Your bookmarks are in half of my novels,” he said, finally re-seating himself – an excuse, Harry decided, to avoid meeting Harry’s eyes again.

“Pardon?”

“That thing you do,” Snape replied, moving his papers slightly closer and straightening them, “where you transfigure something into a bit of white ribbon. There are three white ribbons in my books that, so far as my memory tells me, were not there last month. Hamlet, Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart, and the Black Cauldron.”

“More Potions books?”

“No, Potter, none of those are Potions books. They are a play, a book of poetry, and a work of fiction, respectively. My guess is that you were bored out of your skull.”

“I – I must’ve read your paper,” Harry realized.

“Indubitably.”

Harry’s shoulders sank slowly. “O-oh,” he stammered, flushing. “I’m sorry. I guess I really did steal the idea–”

Snape arched an eyebrow at him, the way he did when he was growing impatient with a student’s stupidity.

“I’ll – I’ll just have to come up with something even better,” he said, before he could stop himself.

To his surprise, the older man’s lips curved slightly behind the curtain of hair that was now an auburn so dark it was nearly black. Snape ducked his head a bit under the guise of examining the paper before him more carefully, but Harry had caught the – what? – approval? – amusement? He knew the professor wasn’t angry, anyway.

“You do that, Potter,” he said.

“Harry,” Harry told him.

“Yes – Harry. Come up with something even more brilliant. If you do, I’ll award fifty points to... Slytherin.”

“And people say you’re evil, sir,” Harry replied flatly. “Anyway – uhm, thanks for the headache cure.”

“Not a problem.”

“And, uh, thanks for taking so much time over the summer, I guess.”

Snape twitched upwards to stare at Harry, a slow, crooked smile spreading across his features. “Certainly, Harry. Any time.”

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