CHAPTER 3

"This is delicious, Lily," Harry said around a mouthful of eggs as he sat at the breakfast nook table alongside Jilly and Snape.

"Don't speak with your mouth full," his father immediately chastised while sipping a mug of steaming coffee. "Little cretin."

"What's a cretin?" Jilly immediately asked, and his father gazed down his long nose at her for a moment before motioning to Harry, as if that was all the explanation needed.

Lily laughed as she brought them a large plate loaded heavily with bacon. The happy sound filled the bright, cavernous room and only added to the magnificence of the view beside them. Placing the plate on the table with a small clack, she sat opposite Snape and winked at Harry, as if sharing a private joke.

Harry supposed that the notion of a private joke was true, for it was only the people in this room who knew his father's true nature. He doubted any of the students here at Hogwarts would actually believe him if he tried to explain that the cranky dungeon bat was actually not such a bad guy.

Harry smiled at the thought, ignoring his father's murmured insult but making sure to swallow before speaking again. "I always hated making French omelets," he told Lily as he took another bite. "I could never get the eggs properly folded over without everything falling apart."

"That used to happen to me, too," she replied. Leaning in, Lily asked in a conspiratorial whisper, "Want to know my secret?"

"Sure."

"I use my wand to fold them over now. They come out perfect every time," she gave another wink. "Imagine that." This time it was Harry who laughed.

"You know you don't have to go through all this trouble," Snape drawled, carefully reaching over his morning edition of the Daily Prophet to take a piece of bacon from the plate. "The house elves are happy to prepare any meal we desire."

"I know," Lily replied in a chipper tone while buttering her toast. "They're such sweet little creatures." His father rolled his eyes. "But… I kind of miss cooking. And besides, I like taking care of my family." There was a contented glow to her features when she smiled, and Harry didn't miss the fact that his father seemed to soften as he and Lily's eyes met.

The floo suddenly flared to life in the large sitting room behind them. Dumbledore emerged, unfolding his lanky frame from the large fireplace.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Jilly and Harry cried in unison, both immediately jumping from the table to greet the smiling old wizard.

"We missed you!" Jilly said earnestly.

"I missed you both, as well," he replied as he gently patted Harry's shoulder. Then, pretending to ponder Jilly for a moment he said, "You're going to be even taller than Hagrid if you don't stop growing soon." Jilly giggled, throwing her arms around his middle in an affectionate hug, and the old wizard patted the back of her head with a smile.

He is definitely looking much healthier since returning from his travels this summer, thought Harry as the old wizard beamed at him over Jilly's head. But he was disturbed to see that Dumbledore's hand still had the same burned, withered appearance from that dreadful night in his tower.

"Albus!" Lily exclaimed, also rising to greet the older wizard with a warm embrace. "How wonderful to see you! Would you like to join us? We were just sitting down to breakfast."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude–"

"And yet, here you are," Snape grumbled.

Lily glared at Snape over her shoulder. "Don't be silly, Albus. We would love to have you." His father only harumph'd and went back to drinking his coffee as he flicked through the paper.

"Yes, come join us Professor!" Harry urged.

"Well…" The man gazed kindly at them. But his eyes gave an especially vibrant twinkle when they landed on Snape, who stubbornly refused to look up from the Daily Prophet. "Alright," he finally replied. "Thank you."

Harry made room at the table for the headmaster, and Lily went to get him a plate full of food. When Dumbledore was settled between Harry and Jilly, he took a bite of his cheesy, meat and vegetable-stuffed French omelet and exclaimed, "This is delicious, my dear. I wasn't aware that you were such a talented chef."

"Thank you," Lily said with a smile. "It's nice not to have to worry about cooking all the time, but I still enjoy it every now and then."

"It must run in the family. Molly is also an exceptional–"

"You're here early, Headmaster," Snape interrupted with a pointed look. "I hadn't even gotten around to telling him yet."

It took Harry a moment to realize that his father meant him. "Huh? Tell me what?" he asked, looking between the two wizards in confusion.

With a small smile Dumbledore turned to him and explained, "Professor Snape has officially accepted the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."

Harry was stunned, and for a long moment he didn't react at all. When he did, a huge grin spread across his face and he turned to his father asking, "Really? You're going to be teaching my favorite subject!" A corner of Snape's mouth lifted. "But…" Harry's smile disappeared, to be replaced with a worried furrow of his brow. "What about your hands? I mean, I guess Defense is better for your hands than Potions. But won't they still…?" Harry let the question hang in the air, unable to finish it due to a sudden wave of guilt.

His father's quiet voice interrupted his thoughts. "My morning periods will be made up of lower years, which consist mainly of book work and the very simplest of spells. It is after lunch that concerns me. That is when I teach the O.W.L and N.E.W.T. years – during which I will have to demonstrate more complicated spell work. Lily can reapply the cream during lunch, but as I begin actively using my hands again during the year, the temporary relief it provides can only take me so far. If I am not careful, at one point the pain will surpass our ability to mask it."

Harry's voice was almost completely strangled by remorse. This is all my fault… It was difficult to speak, and he had to clear his throat before he could say a word. "What are you going to do?" he asked quietly.

But surprisingly, it was Dumbledore who answered. "We were hoping that you could help us with that."

"Me?" Harry asked in astonishment. "How can I help with anything?" All I'm good for is getting people hurt... Or killed.

"Well," the headmaster explained with another of his notorious twinkles. "As of this moment, you have more experience teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts than Professor Snape."

Huh. Well I guess there's that.

Glancing at his father, it looked to Harry as if the man had just swallowed a giant lemon, and couldn't decide between pursing his lips in disgust or puffing his chest with pride.

"I…" Harry began. "Well, I… Er..."

"Oh for goodness sa– Harry, its fine. Stop acting like I'm going to throw you off the ramparts for making good use of your talents and experience. Your lessons more than likely saved the lives of your fellow students."

The words looked like they cost his father's ego a bit, but Harry felt himself relax when he heard them. "You're not upset?"

"Well, the thought of a sixteen-year-old boy having more experience at teaching my own appointed subject doesn't exactly make me happy," Snape grumbled. But his eyes shone brightly with pride when he gazed at Harry and quietly continued, "However, you did the right thing by teaching your peers to defend themselves when the Ministry would not, especially during such dangerous times. I'm proud of you."

Although he would not have done anything different when it came to the D.A., Harry had to admit that it was nice hearing firsthand how pleased his father was of his decisions.

"Well…" he said with an uncertain, but still very happy smile. "What can I do to help?"

. . . . .

Hours later Harry, Dumbledore, and Snape sat inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on the first floor. The two older wizards continuously peppered Harry with questions on exactly what spells he taught the D.A., as well as the teaching methods he found most successful. Harry not only talked them through it, but also demonstrated his techniques and ideas.

In all honesty he was a bit baffled and surprised at the level of detail that the two wizards asked of him. Snape had been teaching for almost as long as Harry had been alive, and Dumbledore for more than half a century.

Surely the two of them know what they're doing when it comes to educating students…? Why do they need my advice?

Harry shrugged off his curiosity however, especially when his father began taking notes. He was obviously determined to make D.A.D.A. a productive class in the school curriculum once again. After the serious manipulation of the subject by the Ministry the previous year, Harry knew that the course definitely needed improvement.

However, it wasn't too long after his father produced the quill and parchment for his note taking that Harry could see his fingers beginning to bother him. Noticing Harry's concern with a dark scowl, his father hunched himself over the notes to block his son's view.

Harry exchanged a troubled gaze with Dumbledore over Snape's shoulder. Without a word, the headmaster stepped forward and plucked the quill out of his father's twisted grasp, and with a flick of his wand transformed it into a Quick Quotes Quill. Unlike the ugly acid green quill that Rita Skeeter liked to use, this feather was purplish-black in color, which Harry thought fit his father's personality.

But instead of thanking the headmaster, Snape only glared at the feather as if it had personally offended him.

"It better not have the same talent for outrageous exaggeration as Ms. Skeeter's dreadful apparatus," he growled.

The moment the words left his mouth, the black feather started zooming across the parchment. From where Harry stood he could see the writing: "Brilliant and darkly handsome, Hogwarts Professor Severus Snape is steeped in mystery, intrigue, and danger. Some call his form of teaching tyrannical, but Professor Snape knows that it is exactly what's needed to whip the asinine students and his brainless coworkers into proper shape–"

Harry had to cover his sudden laughter with a fit of coughing. However, he could tell that Snape didn't believe his act for a second, for he glared darkly at Harry as he snatched the parchment out of the air and ripped the bottom portion from it. Aiming his wand at the offending bit, it immediately burst into flame as Snape grumbled, "There will be no more of that, thank you very much. And you!" His father hissed in his darkest tone, threatening the long black quill with his wand. "Any more of that nonsense, and I'll give you to McGonagall as a cat toy." Quivering in fear, the quill clearly understood the seriousness of its transgression. His father seemed satisfied with the perfunctory notes after that.

After long hours of discussing his D.A. 'classes' and demonstrating his methods of teaching, Harry couldn't help wondering how his father was going to fare. It wasn't the earlier years that would trouble his hands so much, because as Snape said, those classes were mainly book work and very basic spells.

However, the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. classes were an entirely different story. The wand work alone was complicated enough that even now, with Lily's cream recently applied, his father's wand was falling out of Snape's swollen fingers and clattering to the floor every few minutes. Although his father was not a patient man to begin with, he seemed to have the least amount of patience with himself. Harry worried the edge of his lip as he watched Snape's mood become darker and more dangerous as the afternoon progressed.

If only there were someone here to help him, Harry thought desperately. An aide or assistant to show his older classes the wand movements, someone with enough credibility that the other students wouldn't be suspicious that Snape wasn't–

And then Harry gasped as it suddenly hit him. Of course!

"Dad!" he blurted, interrupting the man's attempt at some sort of nonverbal spell, and once again Snape's wand tumbled from his twisted fingers. His dark eyes flashed in irritation.

"Harry, I still have to figure out how I'm going to–"

"Me!" Harry cried. "Don't you see? I can be your – your distraction!"

His father stared blankly at him for a long moment, his eyes nonplussed. Even Dumbledore looked a little perplexed, and his silver brows were furrowed when Harry glanced his way looking for help. But the headmaster encouraged him with a smile.

"Go on," he said reassuringly.

"Well," Harry rushed, beginning to pace excitedly as the idea came tumbling out of his mouth the moment it began to take shape in his mind. "Dad has fifth year O.W.L. students after lunch, but his hands should be ok because he can use the cream during the lunch break, right? So that leaves the sixth and seventh year N.E.W.T. classes. I already know a lot of the N.E.W.T. level spells – I taught them to the D.A. last year."

He glanced at the two of them out of the corner of his eye as he marched past. "Well why doesn't Dad combine those years into a single class? There weren't many sixth years who continued with N.E.W.T. level Defense last year, not with the Toad teaching it." At this there was a snort from his father, and even a small chuckle from Dumbledore. But Harry was so focused on explaining that he didn't hear. "There shouldn't be many seventh year students, and since we're all studying for the same thing…" He shrugged.

"Dad could teach the first half of class out of the textbook – that doesn't require he do much with his hands. And then during the practical half of the lesson, he could set me against other students. Not only would it hide the condition of his hands, it would also help with his cover. It would make it look like he's setting me up to fail, thinking I have no experience with these spells and still making me duel. But it wouldn't be that surprising if I won more duels than I lost. I mean, everyone already knows about the D.A. – kind of. I taught people from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw. And the Slytherins were part of Umbridge's Inquisitional Squad, so they knew something was going on–"

"Harry."

His babbling immediately ceased and he stopped his pacing to gaze uneasily at his father. Snape's face was impossible to read, and Harry began to fidget uncomfortably as the silence lengthened.

Had he overstepped…?

Snape looked at Dumbledore out of the corner of his eye, then sighed in resignation as his gaze returned to rest on his son. "You've been reading The Art of War, haven't you?" he finally asked, referring to the book and corresponding essay he had assigned that very first, eventful night at Spinner's End.

Harry couldn't help himself, and as he nodded a broad grin spread across his face. He had to admit that the grudging respect he saw in Snape's dark eyes made him want to run to the tower and revise his essay in a very Hermione-ish yearning to make his father proud.

"Severus," Dumbledore interjected quietly, "It could work."

"I know," Snape responded, still not taking his eyes from Harry. "It's actually rather… brilliant." If the disgusted look on his father's face was any indication, the word must have tasted like ash on his tongue. But still his eyes glowed with reluctant pride. "We'll have to discuss the details, however. If this is going to work, then it's going to take some very polished performance skills."

. . . . .

It was closer to dinner than it was to lunch by the time they finished, and Harry was starved. As the three of them left the classroom his stomach grumbled loudly. "Should we head down to the Great Hall to eat?" He asked hopefully.

"Not yet. There's somewhere we need to go first," Dumbledore announced with a suspiciously chipper twinkle. And with a wave of his hand a bright, winged phoenix patronus shot from the end of his wand.

Who was that for? Harry wondered, intrigued by the way the headmaster exited the classroom and practically skipped down the hallway. Attempting to catch his father's eye, he was even more confused as Snape swept after the headmaster without even an eye roll aimed in the old wizard's direction first. His black cloak billowed behind him as he followed Dumbledore at a brisk pace. Harry shook himself of his confusion and ran to catch up with them, lest he be left behind.

"Where are we going?" He murmured as he drew even with his father's elbow. But Snape only gave him a sideways glare, so Harry wisely decided to stay silent. But as they climbed higher and higher through the castle's many floors, his interest grew with every step.

At first he assumed they were headed to Dumbledore's office on the sixth floor. He slowed as they passed the corridor with the gargoyle guardian near the end, expecting the headmaster to turn that way. But he and his father continued their quick pace, and Harry scurried to catch up once again.

Maybe Lily's, then? He wondered, for the suit of armor atop his war steed guarding the entrance to her tower was also on the sixth floor. But once more they bypassed Harry's anticipated destination, and both the armored guardians sat still and silent as the group breezed past.

Where in Merlin's name are we going…? Harry wondered as they climbed another set of stairs to the seventh floor. The only thing worth visiting up here is–

And suddenly the group was there, with Dumbledore striding confidently before the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and the tutu-clad trolls. "Wait," Harry gasped in surprise, his eyes on the headmaster as the man turned and walked before the tapestry twice more. "Youknow about–?"

Harry watched in shock as the cold, gray stones of the empty castle wall across from the tapestry began to melt and transform into a large wooden door. Approaching the awe-inspiring entrance, he only realized as he got closer that the door was engraved with pictures. Entranced, he ran his fingertips over the intricate scenes that were etched skillfully into the wooden surface.

It looks like the page of a giant story book, he thought, his eyes lingering on the carving of a boy on a broom speeding through the air with his arm extended toward a small, winged, walnut-sized ball. A snitch. Above that, there was a carving of many happy children in a train car that looked suspiciously like… The Hogwarts Express.

"What is this?" Harry murmured. "I mean, this is wonderful, I had no idea that you knew about… But why have we come here?"

Eyes twinkling merrily, Dumbledore glanced at Snape, and Harry was shocked to see his father smile back at the old wizard.

"What's going on?" Harry asked again, confusion swimming in his eyes as they darted between the two grinning men.

"By all means," Dumbledore finally responded. "Don't let us keep you. Go on in."

As Harry turned back to the massive storybook door and grasped the handle, a sudden wave of uncertainty fluttered through him. What could Dumbledore conjure in the Room of Requirement that could possibly make Snape smile? he wondered nervously. However, his curiosity got the best of him, and with a deep breath to ease the tension, he finally pushed the door open.

"SURPRISE!"