Ron had to be dragged to Defense class the next morning. He hunched far down in his seat between Harry and Hermione. Snape strolled in on the hour and looked them all over. “Well, some of you that I had thought I was well rid of,” he stared pointedly at Ron and then Neville, “I seem to have back again. A side-effect I had not considered, I admit, when I asked to teach this subject.” He picked up the class list and glanced at it. “Well, one cannot have everything,” he breathed.

He tossed the list aside on the front table and unrolled another parchment. “As all but the least astute of you know, this is Defense Against the Dark Arts. It is optional. If you do not intend to work hard, you should not be here right now. This class is for those who intend to take the Defense N.E.W.T. at the end of this year. I will expect everyone to do extraordinarily well on it should they stay.”

His eyes took in the silent room again before he looked over the other parchment. “These. Are. Notes left by your previous instructor, Mr. Grey. He felt obliged to…warn, I suppose one could say, the incoming teacher about certain students.” Reading now, Snape went on, “Mr. Weasley, he states, is the most accident-prone student he has ever taught. Ms. Patil cannot demonstrate a spell without giggling first. Mr. Potter, he writes…” Snape glanced up at this point with a scolding look. “Is arrogant, presumptuous to the point of distraction, and apparently feels he should be teaching the class.”

Harry winced a little, but held Snape’s gaze. When Snape started rolling up the parchment, Harry raised his hand.

With a raised chin Snape prompted, “Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“There are no notes about…students from any of the other houses?” He had almost said Slytherins, but then thought better.

While continuing to roll the parchment tightly, Snape replied, “I believe it says Ms. Abbot shows promise, but she is unable to focus.”

Hannah, who had been gazing out the window at the clouds, snapped her head around at that, eliciting a chuckle from the class.

“Other questions, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked with an unusual underlying tone. No one else seemed to hear it.

Ron raised his hand. When Snape’s questioning look turned his way, he said, “Professor Grey didn’t like Harry and me. His comments are unfair.”

“He wasn’t as bad as some of the others,” Hermione countered. “He didn’t try to kill Harry, for example.”

“Yes, he did,” Ron retorted. Harry slapped him on the arm to shut him up.

Snape stepped to the edge of the platform. “Explain that, Mr. Weasley,” he snapped.

Ron’s mouth fell open and he hesitated with a drawn-out, “Aaaah…”

With a frown and a huff Harry bailed his friend out. “He got really angry one day and challenged me to a duel. Which we had, just inside the Forbidden Forest. I don’t think he was trying to really do me in though. The spell Ron is thinking of was just some kind of variant of a Blasting Curse that I ducked.”

“Yeah, but the tree behind you just exploded!” Ron insisted and then slapped himself on the forehead and muttered, “Shit.”

With another dirty look at his friend, Harry went on. “Basically, I beat him easily after his first offensive spell and he left it go after that.”

Snape looked dangerous. “I presume that you didn’t inform anyone else of this, Mr. Potter?”

“No, sir,” he admitted quietly.

“Stupid boy,” Snape muttered and went back to the table, where he put the comment parchment back down, crumpled from his hand gripping it.

“I’d think you’d be happy to hear that, sir,” Ron said accusingly.

“Ron,” Harry said in a low tone as he grabbed his friend’s sleeve. Snape was giving Ron a dangerously grim look, making Harry’s heart race a little. “You are not starting out the term well at all here.” Ron pulled his arm out of reach and refused to look at his friend. Harry sat back with a sigh and crossed his arms.

“Stay after, Mr. Potter,” Snape said as he flipped through his copy of the textbook.

“Yes, sir.”

Snape smoothly moved on, “I will assume you have all read chapter one. Who can tell me the six crippling curses?”

At the end of class, Harry hung back. Hermione dragged Ron out before he could try to stay after as well. Malfoy stalled too but a glare from the teacher sent him out.

When they were alone, Snape said, “Mr. Weasley needs to learn to think before he speaks.”

“Tell me about it. He has the First Years terrified of me.”

“That isn’t far from awestruck, in any event,” Snape said as he stepped off the platform and over to Harry.

Harry met his gaze before dropping his again. He felt worse about not telling his friends the truth. He waited for Snape to say something about that. Instead, his teacher, after a long pause, said, “I am going to report the incident, so expect to get called to the headmaster’s office to explain it.”

“You think it’s worth bothering Dumbledore for?” Harry said. “Grey isn’t teaching here anymore.”

“It will undoubtedly be Professor McGonagall who questions you. This is for you to know, only, for the moment, but you are going to be assigned a new Head of House, probably at the end of the month. McGonagall is taking over more of the headmaster duties and does not have time for both.”

At Harry’s down expression, Snape said, “It is inevitable, I am afraid.”

Harry swallowed hard. “Do you think it’s all right if I go up and visit Dumbledore sometimes?”

“I am quite certain that he would rather welcome that,” Snape said. “The password is Roverandom.” Snape stepped back to the front table. “Do you need a note for your next class?”

Harry hoisted his book bag. “No. It’s Transfiguration.” He gave Snape a sly smile and departed.

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry said as he stepped into the Transfiguration classroom in the middle of the roll call. “Professor Snape kept me after.”

McGonagall lowered her parchment and studied him over her glasses. “I am going to assume your are not in trouble already…a new record?”

Harry paused in setting his bag down on the floor under the table. “Uh…” At McGonagall’s disapproving look, Harry explained, “It is for something that happened last year.” He glared at Ron. “Something someone should have kept their mouth shut about. I’ve been informed, ma’am, that I will be explaining it to you at some point.”

“In my copious spare time, Mr. Potter,” she breathed.

“It wasn’t Harry’s fault,” Ron muttered.

“Ron,” Harry and Hermione said in unison. “You’ve helped too much already today,” Harry finished softly.

At the end of Transfiguration, McGonagall stepped over to Harry as they collected up the crickets they had been transforming into crockery. “Stay after, Mr. Potter. I would rather miss lunch then add anything to my schedule at this point.”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry said.

The door fell closed behind the last student. Harry hefted his bag onto the table and left it there. McGonagall was urging the crickets into a large, screened-in cage full of grass clippings and a ragged and skeletal potted fern. He helped her empty out the boxes, sometimes having to prod the clingy black insects from the inside of the lid.

“I have to admit, Harry, that I haven’t managed to locate the right paperwork to record Severus’ conflict of interest, shall we say. Nor have I had to time to determine which policy applies to punishment.” She shut the cage and hovered it to the top shelf. “If he sent you to me, he presumably doesn’t want to punish you for it himself—”

“You misunderstand, ma’am. He just said he wanted it reported.”

She stopped straightening things up and asked, “Wanted what reported?”

Harry swallowed hard and said, “Professor Grey’s attempt on my life, ma’am.”

McGonagall’s eyes lifted to the ceiling. “You had to have a full set, didn’t you, Harry?”

“I personally don’t count the incident with Remus Lupin,” Harry said defensively as he crossed his arms.

“Everyone else does,” she said. “So what happened?”

Harry summarized the events, pointing out that Ron thought the spell more violent than he did.

“What night was this? Do you remember the date?”

“I could figure it out from my study notes, I remember what he was trying to teach that week.”

“Figure it out. Write out what happened. Sign it. Have Ron read it and sign it. Give that to me. It would help me a lot.” She picked up her books from the front desk. “I admit it is much simpler now that he isn’t here to be kicked out. If you can at all help it, don’t get into a duel with another teacher for at least the next few months,” she said stridently.

Harry followed her toward the door. “What about Severus?”

She put her hand on the door handle and gave him a soft grin. “You are on your own there, Mr. Potter.”

“I am all right with that, Professor.” Harry grinned back.

Potions with Greer wasn’t the same as with Snape. She lectured more slowly as though they weren’t very intelligent, leaving them rushed to brew before the end of the class, unless it was double-Potions. Hermione didn’t seem to like or dislike Greer, which was okay with Harry. The other students, except the Slytherins, made a show of making her feel welcome, giving her little presents for the first week. While Harry thought it inexplicable, it did have the advantage of improving her mood.

She hadn’t lost her impression that he was a little dim. Even by the end of the first week, she still seemed surprised when he turned in a successful potion at the end of class. Harry found this more annoying than it really deserved.

“Greer’s okay,” Hermione commented on the way out of class.

“She thinks I’m an idiot,” Harry griped.

“Well, you do keep exceeding her expectations at least,” she replied brightly.

“Yeah. Great.”

Harry enjoyed Defense the way Snape taught it. He seemed less concerned with their safety than previous teachers, or maybe it was just that they were Seventh Years now and expected to figure things out and control what they were doing. This meant they were allowed to try rather loud, bright, dangerous spells on occasion, sometimes even on each other. The added benefit of this was that Hermione didn’t dominate the way she did in most other classes, since she didn’t necessarily want to make as much noise as was required by a particular spell. He and Neville and most of the other boys found the noise half of the fun of things and shouted the spells energetically. Most, but not all, of the girls remained more demur and staid as they practiced and demonstrated. Harry thought they were probably learning better spell control than the boys were.

“Like this,” Neville said to Justin while drawing a tiny rapid corkscrew in the air with his wand. A trail of shiny gold bled off from it and hovered. Snape was working with two of the other Hufflepuffs and Parkinson in the front, and had been for almost ten minutes. He glanced their way and then disregarded them.

Justin tried it a few times but he only got a gold sparkle or two. Hermione gave them a chastising look. “At least work on one of the spells from class, Harry,” she whispered.

Neville answered before Harry had a chance, “This one is good for an ice curse, which is coming up after this.”

“Is it?” Hermione asked with interest and leaned in to join them a bit, as did Ron.

From the front of the room, Snape cleared his throat. They all sat straight in their seats and waited more patiently for their fellow students to manage the assigned spells.

Finally the Hufflepuffs returned to their seats, looking worn by the extra effort they had been put to. Snape surveyed them before announcing, “Mr. Longbottom wishes to demonstrate a few counters to the next curse, I believe.”

Ron swallowed a smile as Neville slunk out of his seat and up to the platform opposite the teacher. Unlike in D.A., he stood a little slump-shouldered, but he had his wand up and ready.

Snape, looking unforgiving, said, “Mr. Longbottom will be demonstrating an Ororbis, correct?”

Neville nodded, obviously concentrating hard, but quickly adding, “Yes, sir.”

Snape sent an ice curse his way after a “Ready?” Neville’s arm was a blur as he drew a fast expanding spiral of gold ribbon in the air before him. As the curse arrived, tiny ice chips rained down onto the floor, not reaching him. The charm was strong enough that it hovered many seconds after the attack.

Snape waited for it to fade before saying, “And the heating charm from the assigned reading?”

“Yes, sir.”

When Snape cast at him, Neville performed both the heating charm on himself followed quickly by a fireball spell, which went off like a photographer’s flash. Snape lowered his wand. “Timing is usually considered too sensitive to use that counter against an ice curse,” he stated, apparently for the edification of the room. “Mr. Longbottom, however, managed to get the timing precisely correct, as surprising as that is. Although it did not leave him time for much of a heating charm as a backup. Take your seat,” he ordered Neville.

Neville lowered his wand and jumped off the platform. Harry could tell by Snape’s expression that his fellow student had earned a little of his grudging respect, but he doubted Neville realized this. Neville took his seat with a great sigh of relief.

As Harry left class, he glanced back to nod a goodbye and noticed Malfoy standing beside Snape’s desk with his book open as though to ask a question. His chin-length blond hair hung forward to frame his light eyes as he gave Harry a sly grin. Harry rolled his eyes in return and closed the door behind him.

“Ms. Granger, may I speak to you a moment?” Professor Greer asked as the students filed out at the end of class.

“Yes, ma’am.” Hermione waved Harry and Dean on and stepped to the front of the room.

“You are a very intelligent young lady, Ms. Granger. May I ask what career you plan to follow upon finishing school?”

“I haven’t decided, Professor, something in Muggle relations. I’m looking for something outside the Ministry if I can find it.”

“Why is that, dear?”

“They were too slow to admit that Voldemort was back. I haven’t forgiven them for that.”

“Dear me, you are a strident one, aren’t you?” As she spoke, she arranged the potions turned in by the students into a locked drawer of her desk. “You have been here for six years. Perhaps you can answer a few questions that have been bothering me?” Greer said this in an extra-friendly voice.

“I can try, ma’am.”

“The students seem very pleased to not have Professor Snape.”

Hermione frowned inwardly and hesitated. “He wasn’t the nicest Potions teacher, Professor. The Slytherins aren’t happy he’s gone. That’s why there are only two in the seventh-year class.”

“You have him for Defense though, still?”

“Yes, ma’am. I think he is happier teaching that.” Hermione shifted her book bag, wondering if she was out of line. Snape’s demeanor had improved, although she felt uneasy about voicing guesses as to why.

“Hm,” Greer muttered thoughtfully. “I’ve heard a few jokes about Parselmouths in this class, which is unexpected.” She hesitated, her voice sounding forced steady. “I realize it is a bit unthinkable, but is there someone in this school who speaks Parseltongue?”

Hermione laughed lightly. “Yes, of course.” She didn’t notice Greer’s alarm at this. “Harry Potter does. Everyone knows that.”

Greer’s expression went flat. Slowly, she said, “Really? That is very interesting. Thank you, dear. That is all.”

Hermione smiled helpfully and exited, failing to understand the quirky, dark, false smile the teacher responded with.

Saturday was the first chance Harry had to make his way to the second floor outside of class time. Snape was in his office marking essays. He greeted Harry relatively warmly, for Snape. Harry took a seat opposite the desk. “It will take me another hour to finish these,” Snape said.

“That’s okay,” Harry said. He pulled out his Transfiguration essay and worked on that.

Finally, Snape rolled the essays up into bundles by class and tied them. “How was your first week of seventh year?”

Harry finished the sentence he was writing out as he replied, “Fine.” He put his parchment and textbooks away. “The First Years are still terrified of me. And some of the other students as well who should know better. I’m not used to that yet and I can’t figure out how to get past it with them.”

“Does it matter?”

“It bothers me. I’m not scary or dangerous. They press themselves against the wall to let me pass in the corridor like I’m going to explode or go on a spelling spree. Ron just thinks it’s funny.” Harry waited for him to ask if he had told Ron and Hermione anything, which he hadn’t. Why the opportunity never seemed to arrive, he wasn’t certain. His dreading the moment of revelation might have something to do with it.

Instead, Snape opined levelly, “Give them time. They read those newspapers that you pass off as rubbish. People adore heroes and are slow to give them up.”

They had tea and talked for an hour, until Harry noticed the clock. “I have D.A.” He stood up.

“You are still holding that?” Snape asked in real surprise.

Harry pulled the Galleon from his pocket to check that he remembered the date and time correctly.

“What is that?” Snape asked.

Harry held the coin out. “Hermione created those for our meetings. The date and time are coded in the serial number with a Protean charm. We had to do that to avoid Umbridge.”

Snape handed it back. “Bright girl.”

“Too clever for her own good,” Harry quipped.

“One wonders what she sees in Mr. Weasley,” Snape commented idly as he placed the rolled essays into his satchel.

Harry hadn’t thought about it like that. He shrugged. “They’ve always liked each other.”

“Hm.”

“Gotta run.” At the door, he stopped. “Do you have time tomorrow?”

“Some. I will be brewing a few potions in the dungeon in the morning. Most weekends in fact.”

“I’ll try to come down,” Harry said brightly.

Sunday morning, Harry helped out in the dungeon for a little while, until Greer started hovering annoyingly. Harry begged off, not wanting to make trouble for Snape. As he headed back up the staircase, he realized that he was free to visit Dumbledore.

After the turning staircase bore him up to the office door, Harry knocked with an anticipation that made him realize he should have remembered to visit sooner. Dumbledore stood looking out the window behind the desk, his hands clasped behind his back. “Hello Harry,” he said, even before he turned.

“Good morning, sir,” Harry replied brightly. On the desk a model of the solar system was rotating and catching the light from the window each time around.

“Is there something on your mind, my boy, or are you just visiting?”

Harry took his eyes from the blue and green hollow orb with one white moon that represented the earth. “Just visiting.”

“Please. Have a seat.” Dumbledore invited him around the desk and conjured a pair of overstuffed chairs in a bright flowery pattern. From their seats they had a nice view of the lawn, part of the pitch and a vast expanse of forested hills. “You are doing very well, I hear.”

“We’ve barely had any assignments,” Harry pointed out.

“I don’t mean in your school works,” Dumbledore replied gently.

“Oh.” He took a deep breath. “I guess I am. Good to be able to go out if I want. No one seems to think Avery or Jugson is any threat.”

“The Ministry believes they will remain in hiding for a long while or leave the country. They were both considered by the Aurors and Professor Snape to be a bit of a drag, in fact, on Voldemort’s organization.”

Harry remembered seeing Voldemort brutally punish Avery in the graveyard. He had been a simpering wimp. Maybe Voldemort had kept him around just to take his anger out on. Harry fidgeted with his feet as a cloud moved over the sun. He thought about his inability to tell his friends about his new situation and fidgeted again.

“Something else is bothering you. Can I help?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry pulled his eyes from the view and looked at the headmaster. From this close distance, he looked much older than Harry remembered. It made Harry ache uneasily. He dropped his gaze and admitted, “I haven’t told Ron and Hermione about being adopted.”

“Hm.” Dumbledore sat back and steepled his fingers. “Would you like a butterbeer? I think I would.” He conjured two bottles and handed one over.

Harry sipped his: it was icy cold which was refreshing before the sun-soaked window.

“I assume you believe that they will disapprove,” Dumbledore said.

Harry nodded and felt the persistent knot in his stomach tightening up. He drank more butterbeer, but it didn’t loosen.

Dumbledore said gently, “In your place, I’d give them a chance. But then again, you know them better than I do. A true friend feels obliged to share his thoughts but in the end he, or she, should support you. I do believe they both are true friends to you.”

Harry’s stomach loosened a little.

A silence fell. Dumbledore finally interrupted it. “Quidditch starts soon. A full season for your last year. No Voldemort. No Dementors.”

“I’m looking forward to it, sir,” Harry said, more upbeat and glowing a little in anticipation.