"Nope."

"Harry — "

"No."

"But you've done it already! Obviously, it's possible," Hermione argued.

"Hermione, I cannot teach the DA to resist the Imperius Curse!" Harry snapped at her.

"Shhh!" Hermione hissed, craning her neck around to see if anyone had overheard. The Great Hall was packed for tea, and while Harry, Ron, and Hermione had taken seats further down the bench from their nearest neighbours, it was still necessary to practically whisper.

Harry kept his voice very low. "Obviously, in order to teach them to resist the Imperius, I'd have to put them under it, and that's an absolute no."

Satisfied that no one was about to expose them, Hermione turned back to Harry. "Then why even continue with the meetings?" she fired back. "What, we're supposed to keep practising Expelliarmus and learning how to foil hinkypunks?"

"It's an Unforgivable," Ron objected, holding his fork poised in midair. "Harry'd end up in Azkaban!"

"Not if no one found out," Hermione reasoned.

"There're almost thirty of us in the group, Hermione! Someone would let it slip, intentionally or otherwise," Harry protested.

"Harry," Hermione began in a reasoning tone, laying her hand on his arm, "The Imperius Curse is the one that can do the most damage — "

"Oh, you think so, do you? When's the last time — " Hermione put her finger to her lips. "When's the last time you were under Crucio?" Harry whispered furiously.

"If they used the Imperius on Fudge, or anyone in the Ministry, everything would fall to pieces. An Order member could be under Imperius, for all we know," she answered. "Learning how to resist is crucial, Harry. It could make the difference between life and death. Really, I don't know why they don't teach it in Defence class proper. Moody — well, Barty Crouch, Jr., anyway — knew how important it was."

"Look," Harry offered desperately, "I kind of already planned on doing boggarts tonight. So . . . maybe at the next meeting." Like if Hell freezes over in the meantime, he thought.

Hermione sighed in defeat. "I suppose we'd need time to prepare, anyway. But this subject isn't closed, Harry. Not by a long shot." By then, it was time for dessert, and she helped herself to some pudding. "Where are you going to find a boggart?"

"Dunno." Harry had been so anxious to put his friend off that he'd forgotten how scarce boggarts really were. "D'you reckon if we said we needed a boggart, the Room of Requirement could get us one?" he asked dubiously.

"Worth a try, anyway," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of cake. Suddenly, his face brightened. "Say," he added, swallowing his food with a sickening gulp that made Harry cringe, "why don't we experiment with the Room some . . . see how far we can take it? Like maybe we could ask for the answers to Snape's next test, or — " He caught sight of Hermione's face and hastily amended what he'd been about to say. "Or not."

Harry saw Hermione's mouth opening, and he rather sympathised with Ron. Right now, he wished he could get to the Room of Requirement himself. He could do with a set of earplugs.

Hermione gave a sigh of satisfaction. "There," she said. "Perfect."

Harry stared dubiously at the trunk sitting in the middle of the floor. It was later in the evening, and the Room of Requirement was filled with DA members, all chatting in small groups or browsing through the bookshelves that seemed to have become a permanent fixture for their meetings. As they studied new subjects, the objects necessary — whether cushions to fall on while practising Stunning or, yes, an angry hinkypunk to attempt to foil — appeared as well. But when Harry had voiced their need for a boggart, he really didn't expect a plain wooden trunk with a latch to appear in the room, presumably with a boggart inside.

"Er . . . it's rather . . . convenient, isn't it?" he asked. "It seems like we should have to go hunting for one, not just have it drop out of the sky like that."

Hermione chuffed. "In the Wizarding world, things are often a little too convenient, Harry," she said impatiently. "You'll find that out later, when we're down to two Hor — well, anyway, can't you just be grateful?"

And Harry was, if for no other reason than that it got him off the hook for the whole Imperius Curse cant Hermione had been on at dinner. Holding his hands up in surrender, Harry called the meeting to order and started in on his boggart lecture; after tea, he'd frantically crammed in every bit of information he could find on the creatures.

"Right, so a boggart is only powerful as long as you're scared of it," he finished up a few moments later. "The key is either to confuse it with too many people to frighten, causing it to keep changing, or to use your imagination and make it funny somehow. I'm going to open the box now . . ." Harry turned his back on the room and stepped up to the trunk, resting his hand on the latch. "Now, everyone needs to picture the thing they're most afraid of . . ." Harry frowned as he heard everyone shuffling behind him, then a faint breeze on his back. Had they all decided to leave now that his back was turned?

He snuck a glance over his shoulder and could just see four feet out of the corner of his eye, so he shrugged inwardly and turned his head back around. ". . . and you'll see how it keeps changing to try and scare all of you. Ready? One . . . two . . ." Harry popped the latch and stepped back quickly so as not to be too near the boggart when it emerged.

Harry felt an odd sense of déjà vu as he saw the creature's first chosen form rising out of the trunk; it was none other than Professor Snape, the Potions master. The exact same thing had happened back in third year when Neville had faced the boggart first. "Neville — " Harry began, turning to face the students . . . and stopped short. Suddenly, it all made sense. The boggart wasn't confused, after all. Right now, the greatest fear of all the students was Snape. Small wonder, since the real Snape was standing about three paces behind Harry, arms crossed and a malevolent expression on his face.

For a long moment, the room was so quiet that a pin could have been heard dropping on the floor. Harry's mind was reeling with excuses to offer . . . but what could he say? No matter what they could claim as the purpose for the meeting, the fact was that all student organisations had been banned, pending reinstatement by the High Inquisitor. If Harry claimed he had permission, Snape would simply ask Umbridge . . . and that would be disastrous.

The silence was reaching the point of being unbearable when Snape finally spoke. "I don't think I need to tell you that meetings of any kind are prohibited without authorisation from Professor Umbridge. I suggest you all return to your common rooms immediately."

No one needed to be told twice, and there was a temporary bottleneck at the door as the students all tried to exit at once. Harry would have joined them, but he was arrested by Snape's voice. "Not you, Potter," the irate man snapped, grabbing his arm.

Ron and Hermione hesitated at the exit, but Snape glared at them furiously. "Mr. Potter and I will be having a little chat," he said, "and you two are not necessary props. Get out." Harry nodded at his friends, and they reluctantly left the room. Snape's grip tightened, and the man pulled out his wand.

Harry flinched, wondering if Snape was going to hex him. But the professor only shouted "Riddikulus!" at the boggart, then banished the trunk once it had closed on the creature. He scanned the room, banishing various and sundry items, while Harry watched miserably. He dreaded the "talk" Snape had said was coming.

"What have we here?" Snape asked suddenly, breaking his hold on Harry’s arm and reaching for a piece of paper tacked on the wall. "Dumbledore's Army," he read, and Harry cringed. "Explain this."

"It's . . . a list of members," Harry unwillingly admitted.

The Potions master glared at him. "Brilliant as usual, Potter. Just leave a list of the involved students lying around for anyone to find."

"It wasn't — "

"Silence!" Harry complied, trying not to flinch at the venom in Snape's voice. The man regained his grip on Harry's upper arm, propelling him out the door into the hallway. "It isn't bad enough you've been holding illegal meetings right under the High Inquisitor's nose, but — "

"Mr. Potter! Stop right there!" Harry winced at the sharp voice of Umbridge as it echoed down the hall. Snape whirled around, and since he still had Harry in a death grip, Harry was forced to turn also.

Umbridge's shoes beat a staccato pattern on the stone floor as she advanced on them. "What is the meaning of this, Professor Snape? I was told that there was an illegal secret meeting of students on this floor, including Mr. Potter," she said, her eyes glinting with feverish light. "Did you break it up already? Because I — "

"I haven't the faintest idea where the rumour of a 'secret meeting' got started, Professor Umbridge, but I'm here because Potter is supposed to be serving detention with me this evening," Snape answered her smoothly. "He was late, as usual, making it necessary for me to chase him down." He yanked Harry's arm as he began striding down the hallway. "Come along, Potter."

Harry could feel Umbridge's eyes boring holes in the back of his shirt, but he forced himself to act nonchalant; not an easy feat, considering he was practically being lifted off his feet and dragged along. When Snape's shoes started clattering down the first stairwell, Harry finally spoke. "Would you let go of me?!" he cried furiously, gripping the banister to prevent Snape from dragging him further.

Snape was already two steps below him, but he was back at Harry's side in an instant. "You are going to accompany me to my office whether you like it or not, Potter," he hissed. "If I have to drag you down there, I will."

"You don't have to drag me," Harry protested. "I'm not going to run off." Even Snape sounded better than Umbridge just now.

Snape harrumphed. "See that you don't," he answered, turning and stomping down the stairs. Harry followed, his trepidation mounting with each step toward the dungeons.

By the time Snape's office door slammed behind him, Harry was sure the situation was hopeless. Why Snape hadn't given him up to Umbridge was a mystery, but the man would never willingly relinquish the chance to have him expelled. Harry was sure he'd be leaving school for good tonight. Well, at least I'll be living with Sirius, he thought recklessly.

Snape stood glowering at him. "Sit," he ordered, and Harry took a seat at a small table in front of Snape’s desk. "Explain yourself."

"Er . . . we . . . we wanted to practice for the O.W.L.s . . . so we kind of formed a Defence club," Harry stammered.

"Dumbledore's Army," Snape prompted. Harry nodded miserably. "This was cleared with Professor Umbridge, was it? And which of the faculty was advising you?"

"Er, well, no one was," Harry admitted. "And Umbridge didn't know. I was . . . teaching."

"You felt that you would be a better teacher than a fully qualified witch?" Snape's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "My, only fifteen years old and smarter than your professors, even!"

"She wasn't teaching us anything!" Harry cried. "All we did was copy text from that stupid Dick and Jane defence book! We're not prepared for O.W.L.s, and we're sure as hell not prepared for any real-life defence!"

Snape sighed, and his expression softened a tiny bit. "I'm not unaware of the . . . teaching methods . . . that our newest professor is employing. And considering the current state of affairs . . . I suppose it was a necessary action." The loathsome man sounded reluctant at even the faint praise. His expression swiftly changed to one of triumph, however. "Now, as to your detention . . ."

"You just said it was a good idea! Now I'm being punished?" Harry complained.

"You are in violation of Merlin knows how many Educational Decrees, and you've flouted the High Inquisitor's authority. Had the headmaster not overheard her plans and asked me to intervene, you would have been expelled," Snape shot back angrily.

"What do you care? You've been trying to get me expelled since I came to Hogwarts!" Harry cried.

Snape smirked. "I would like nothing better than to see the back of you, Potter. As it happens, however, the headmaster has this crazy idea that Voldemort has an interest in your demise. Is it really that difficult of a concept that he might wish you to remain here for your safety?"

Harry hadn't thought about that.

Snape crossed to the bookshelf and stood gazing at the selection. Finally, he found what he was looking for; he took down an ancient-looking tome and began paging through it. "I'm going to give you some text to copy," he told Harry, "and as I have my own work to do grading essays, I expect you to do it quietly." Snape returned to Harry's side and dropped the open book on the table in front of him, then pulled out his wand and conjured ink and parchment beside it.

"The Wolf and the Lamb," Harry read aloud. He scanned the story, which wasn't very long. "You want me to copy this?" he asked, looking up at Snape.

"Three times," the man answered.

Harry sighed and took up his quill. For some time, the only sounds in the room came from his and Snape's quills scratching on parchment, with the occasional rustle of papers as the Potions master finished grading one essay and switched it for another. Harry, after a short while, found a rhythm where he was able to copy one sentence — or at least a sentence clause — before having to glance back at the text. The parchment was soon marked with the ancient cadences that had been read over so often as to almost become part of the collective unconscious.

Once upon a time, a Wolf was lapping at a spring on a hillside, when, looking up, what should he see but a lamb just beginning to drink a little lower down.

"There's my supper," thought he, "if only I can find some excuse to seize it." Then he called out to the lamb, "How dare you muddle the water from which I am drinking?"

"Nay, master, nay," said the Lamb. "if the water be muddy up there, I cannot be the cause of it, for it runs down from you to me."

"Well, then," said the Wolf, "why did you call me bad names this time last year?"

"That cannot be," said the Lamb; "I am only six months old."

"I don't care," snarled the Wolf; "if it was not you it was your father;" and with that he rushed upon the poor little Lamb and ate her all up.

But before she died she gasped out, "Any excuse will serve a tyrant."

Harry laid down his quill and flexed his aching hand. The story hadn't looked long, but reading it and writing it were two different things. Harry was very thirsty, and wished he could get something to drink, but he wasn't about to ask Snape.

"Why aren't you writing, Potter?" demanded the old bat from his desk.

"I already copied it once; I was just rubbing my hand," Harry defended himself. Was Snape going to breathe down his neck the whole time? He was as bad as Umbridge!

"What do you think of the story?" Snape asked, unexpectedly standing up and coming to hover over Harry's little table.

"Well, erm, it's . . . it's just a fable," Harry stammered.

"Yes, I pieced that part together, seeing as how the title of the book is Aesop's Fables," Snape retorted impatiently. "But what about the story itself? The content?"

"A wolf, a lamb, a stream, I . . ." Harry threw up his hands. "What, is it supposed to be a riddle?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Mr. Potter, I realise you'll never be in the running for Head Boy," he said, smirking as Harry bristled, "but even you should be able to figure out why I had you copy this particular fable."

Harry sighed and picked up his parchment. How dare you muddle the water from which I am drinking? . . . it runs down from you to me . . . I am only six months old . . . if it was not you, it was your father . . . There's my supper, thought he, if only I can find some excuse to seize it.

"So, erm . . . the wolf wants to eat the lamb . . . so he claims it was getting his drinking water dirty. But the lamb was downstream . . . so then he said the lamb made fun of him the year before . . . but turns out he wasn't even born yet. The wolf finally ate him anyway, claiming it must have been his father, at least." Harry put down the paper. "Any excuse will serve a tyrant . . ." he said softly.

"Are you getting it yet?" Snape asked him, leaning up against the edge of the desk and waiting for Harry's response with his arms crossed.

"Well . . ." Harry frowned. "I'm always getting in trouble for things I didn't do. You thought I was stealing Polyjuice ingredients last year, and it turned out to be Moody. Or Crouch, pretending to be Moody. I finally use my wand to save my life and my cousin's, and suddenly they're all up my ar — well, I'm hauled before the Wizengamot, anyway." Harry nudged his glasses up so that he could pinch the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, and perhaps that was what made him reckless enough to say, "You're always out to get me because you didn't like my father, too."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "As much as I'd love to discuss your family's faults until we're both blue in the face, I expect you to tell me how you think this fable applies to your current situation," he ordered.

"Er . . ." Harry began, picking up the quill and twirling it between his fingers. "It seemed like Fudge wanted me expelled. Because I told the truth about Voldemort." While Harry didn't miss the look on Snape's face at the mention of the Dark Lord, he didn't stop to debate his use of the moniker. "So he didn't care why I needed to use the Patronus. I just don't see why it helps him to pretend V — he's not back."

Snape looked pensive. "Maybe you're still too young to really understand this, Potter, but public figures often feel that if they ignore the elephant in the room, it will disappear of its own accord."

"So why isn't everyone else talking about the ele — er, well, You-Know-Who being back? A lot of people don't even like Fudge, so why go along with his little fantasy?"

"Complacency is something that most are unwilling to give up, at any price," Snape rejoined, and Harry thought he sounded a little sad. "Right now, Potter, you and those who profess their belief of what you say are the only ones having any difficulty. The rest see nothing amiss. Generally, when things are going well, people see no reason for change."

"But if Vol — if You-Know-Who comes back, I mean really comes back like last time, anyone who isn't a Pureblood will be in danger," Harry protested. "They must realise that!"

"They will . . . probably after it's already too late," Snape said, and his tone indicated that the subject was drawing to a close. "So you understand the moral of the fable, at least. Now, what could you possibly take away from it?"

"Is this a roundabout way of telling me that life isn't fair, and it doesn't matter who's right?" Harry asked impatiently. "Because believe what you will, that thought has crossed my mind once or twice."

"I imagine that the Ennervating Draught has crossed your mind also, yet you still seem incapable of brewing it," Snape retorted. He took a few steps away from Harry's desk, then rounded on the seated boy. "Let me spell it out for you, Potter. Had Professor Umbridge been the one to catch you tonight, you would be on the train home right now. All the precautionary measures we've taken; the Order, Dumbledore, myself" — Harry snorted at the idea that Snape had been any help to him — "would be for naught, and you would be left wide open to any attack the Dark Lord wished to mount." Snape made an impatient gesture. "You've seen that even a bad excuse will do for that virago — why do you insist on providing her with an unlimited supply of good ones?"

Harry felt something snap inside of him. "I get it," he said heavily. "It doesn't matter who's right, and it doesn't matter what’s fair. Life isn't fair. So . . ." Harry's face slowly broke into a smile. "If I'm going to get in trouble whether or not I do something wrong . . . then from now on, I'm just going to do whatever I want. Whenever I want, and however I want, too. Starting with blowing off this detention." With that, Harry picked up the open ink bottle. Without hesitating for even a fraction of a second, he lobbed it at Snape, dousing the unsuspecting man in the black substance.

The expression on Snape's face was priceless. "You — how dare you — " the Potions master spluttered, furiously wiping at his eyes.

Harry just laughed. "And now, I think I'll just find Um — Dolores, that is, and cast a little Imperius Curse on her. See how she likes having her hand sliced open as she writes 'I must not be a sodding bint' over and over." Harry started for the door. He wasn't tired anymore, and there was a new spring in his step that hadn't been evident since . . . well, since too long ago to remember. Even his shoes sounded excited as they clattered on the stone floor outside Snape's office.

"Potter!" Was there possibly a note of panic in Snape's voice? "POTTER!"

But Harry was gone.