Harry felt himself relax, leaning back in his seat. For a moment, he felt an overwhelming urge to wave at Snape with a grin, just to let the man know that his adopted son was in class, ready to learn. Harry stopped himself just in time, realizing how incredibly stupid that would look if he did it. Come on – waving at Snape? Snape would give him detention for that alone.

“Good morning, class,” Snape ran a stern eye over the entire class. “Mr. Malfoy, please take a seat so we can begin.”

Harry glanced back over his shoulder where he saw Draco saunter into the room, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. Draco came all the way to front and took the long desk opposite Harry’s. Draco gave Harry a “What are you going to do about it?” look as Crabbe and Goyle sat down beside him.

Harry rolled his eyes as he faced the front of the class. Snape was looking at him. To everyone else, Snape probably looked his usual stern self, but Harry knew that look. Behave or else.

Harry folded his hands in his lap and smiled sweetly, giving Snape his best angelic expression. It was one he knew Snape disliked because Snape thought he was up to trouble when Harry looked so blissfully good.

“As I was saying,” Snape said in a tight voice, “we begin your first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson as Sixth Year students.”

Hermione sat up very straight, her eyes glued to Snape, listening attentively. Ron lolled back in his seat and looked bored.

“My teaching methods will be different from those as your Potions master,” Snape continued, glaring at the whole class as if he held them responsible for some sin they had ignorantly committed. “I suspect you feel as you must start over entirely every year with a new professor. You have had professors sadly lacking in talent and teaching ability. The professor last year needs no comment – her incompetence shows in the attitude many of you show towards the Dark Arts. Gilderoy Lockhart still remains in St. Mungo’s, eager to sign autographs, I’m told. Quirrell is dead, Alaster Moody was an imposter, and Remus Lupin did not have the capability to teach his class successfully, either.”

“Hey, Lupin was a good teacher!” Harry protested. He didn’t even realize that he had spoken out loud until he heard the gasps of students around him. He realized they were all staring at him, Hermione shaking her head disapprovingly. He raised his eyes up to Snape’s cold gaze and then muttered, “Sorry.”

“Mr. Potter,” Snape observed, crossing his arms. “Already disrupting my class. We aren’t even four minutes into our first lesson, and you are trying to earn detention. Please, stand up and tell us all what you think of Remus Lupin.”

“That’s okay,” Harry said, trying to silently communicate to Snape that he didn’t mean to interrupt.

But Snape continued to stare at him coldly. “No, Mr. Potter, stand up. Tell us all what you think since we must acknowledge our famed hero and his very important opinion.”

Harry rose slowly, his cheeks turning red. He couldn’t believe that Snape was treating him like . . . like the summer hadn’t existed at all. Like they hadn’t reached a good agreement in the two months they spent together. Like Snape hadn’t adopted him or told him that he would always lo-

“We’re waiting, Mr. Potter,” Snape said coldly.

Harry looked around. The class looked divided between laughing at him and embarrassed for him. Since the class was only Slytherin and Gryffindors, Harry pretty much expected that.

He was going to have to say something – Snape wouldn’t let him sit down until he said something.

“I-I thought Lupin was a good teacher,” Harry explained, looking down at his desk. “He knew a lot about stuff.”

“Once again,” Snape droned in a bored voice, “Mr. Potter has demonstrated that a hero complex does not necessitate good communication skills. He seems satisfied with blurting whatever comes into his head with the attention span of a four-year-old. Sit down, Potter.”

The room filled with stifled giggles, Harry dropped back in his seat, feeling like he had just swallowed a lump of lead. Hermione gave him a sympathetic look, but Ron shook his head as if to say “What were you thinking?”

“We will be using the Sixth Year standard textbook,” Snape held up the thick volume for the class to see. “While we will sometimes vary our studies to include creatures and spells outside this book, it is vital that you all have a copy. Mr. Longbottom?”

Neville, on the back row of the class, jumped. He knocked his book bag off the desk, and most of the class smiled as they watched him hurry to put it up on the desk again.

“As you can see,” Snape commented, “Mr. Longbottom has acquired a new height of gracefulness. After last year’s clumsiness, I was sure he could not act like a bigger dolt, but he surprises me once again.”

The Slytherins laughed at poor Neville, but Harry cross his arms and glared up at Snape. This was not at all what he had been expecting when they returned to Hogwarts.

“Mr. Longbottom, you made high enough scores on your O.W.L.s to attend this class?” Snape asked, pretending to look amazed. “I require at least an E.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Neville stammered, turning red. “I did.”

“Really?” Snape raised his eyebrows. “You must have shown more competency in Defense Against the Dark Arts than you did in Potions. In Potions, you had trouble reading the list of ingredients in the correct order. Are you sure you got an E?”

“Yes, sir,” Neville said again, looking a little sick.

“A whole E?” Snape continued, looking very pleased with himself. “Are you quite sure?”

“Yeah!” Harry couldn’t stop himself. “He got an E, okay?”

The room fell deathly quiet. Snape walked slowly over to Harry’s desk and stood there.

“You’re dead,” Ron said under his breath.

“I did not ask for your opinion, Mr. Weasley,” Snape said without looking away from Harry. “Though I happen to agree entirely. Mr. Potter, that was your second outburst in my class. Are you aiming for a new record, or do you wish to annoy me so early in the school year?”

Harry raised rebellious eyes up to Snape. So Snape wanted to be like that? Two could play at this game. “Annoy you,” Harry replied smartly. “How am I doing so far?”

The whole class did not make a sound. Draco was leaning over the side of his desk, grinning like an idiot as he waited for Snape to come down on Harry.

“Congratulation, Mr. Potter,” Snape said in his darkly silky voice, “you finally succeeded in doing something right. You’ve just earned yourself detention tonight. Seven o’clock. my office.”

Harry felt slightly deflated. He knew Snape was going to give him detention, but something about the man’s coldness, the ugly look in his eyes, made Harry want to stalk out of the classroom and not come back.

Without another word to him, Snape began the lesson, lecturing about the different defenses they would study over the next year. Hermione began dutifully taking notes, and Harry pulled out his own copybook to jot down a few things. He didn’t really feel like writing, but he made himself copy a few lines. Usually, he and Ron would use their copybooks to write notes back and forth to each other, Harry jotting down something in his book, then Ron replying on his, and Harry answering back. It was fun to read the books later because they each recorded one side of the conversation. But they were careful to keep the copybooks from Hermione; she would not have approved. Yet, Harry did not feel like writing to Ron now. For one thing, he had nothing pleasant he wanted to say, and he doubted that Snape would like him writing cuss words in his class, the slimy prat!

So Harry sat, silently seething until the class ended. And then he snatched up his book bag and bolted from the room without a look back.

“What was that?” Hermione demanded, running to catch up with Harry as he stormed down the hallway.

“Nothing,” Harry snarled.

“Slow down,” Ron urged as he tried to keep up. “We’re not in a race.”

“Harry, what were you thinking?” Hermione demanded, keeping up his mad pace as Ron huffed behind. “You must have known Snape wouldn’t like you talking like that.”

“Yeah, well, Snape doesn’t like anything,” Harry growled. He swung around a corner, heading for their Potions class down in the dungeons.

“So?” Hermione asked, bewildered. “Snape has always been like that.”

“I’ve had enough of it,” Harry went down the stairs so fast he nearly fell. But he kept going, stalking into the Potions classroom and flinging himself into a chair.

“Harry, don’t let him get to you,” Hermione admonished, sitting down beside him.

“Right,” Ron panted as he sat down as well, letting his book bag tumble to the ground. “Sn-Snape’s just like th-that.”

“Maybe,” Harry growled. “But it’s going to change.”

“Do not do anything to aggravate him tonight,” Hermione pointed a finger at Harry. “You show up and be all ‘Yes, sir,’ ‘No, sir.’ You don’t want Snape angry at you this early.”

“He’ll have plenty of time to get onto you later,” Ron added, finally catching his breath.

“Harry,” Hermione warned, not sure that he had listened.

“Yeah, I get it,” Harry snapped. “I’ll be good.”

Other students started milling in. Neville came to sit behind them, but when Harry looked back at him, Neville looked away. Apparently, Neville was not ready to let the embarrassment from Snape go.

So now Neville was cross at him. Terrific. Everyone upset with Harry when Snape was the one to blame. Well, there would be one Potions-master-turned-Defense-against-the-Dark-Arts-professor who would get an earful that evening.

Harry sat, half-sulking, half-sneering, until Madame Moretta came in. She wore a black dress that made her complexion seem even paler, and she walked to the front of the class with a regal, proud manner. She did not face them, even as the last of the students came trailing in.

She lifted her wand and pointed it at the chalk lying at the corner of the board chalkboard. The chalk rose in the air and began writing in large, elegant letters. Madame Moretta, it wrote, Potions, Sixth Year.

All the students had arrived, this time the Gryffindors with the Ravenclaws. But they got into their desks quietly and waited for her to begin. After Umbridge last year, any new woman professor did not seem promising to any Hogwarts student. Harry reflected, as he watched the chalk write, that they had all suffered through Umbridge’s torturous detentions and endless rules. School had become nightmare for some of them; others, merely a drudge.

“Good morning,” Madame Moretta turned to face the class. “The seats you are in will be your permanent seat until Christmas. I will not have students moving around randomly. I hope you chose wisely today. I am Madame Moretta, and you will address me as such with the proper respect. I have heard from your previous professor that some of you do not show Potions as much respect as you could.”

Her gaze settled on Harry for a second.

Snape, you bastard, Harry thought angrily. It was just like him to poison the new professor against him before classes even started.

“But I’m sure that will all change,” Moretta continued. “I know Professor Snape had higher qualifications as to whom he let take his Sixth Year class. I have allowed some of you in,” again she looked at Harry, “because I believe every student should be allowed to study whatever subject he or she feels led to study. That being said, I will hold every single one of you to higher standard of behavior and academic excellence. There will be no lolling about in my class, no talking out of turn, no passing notes, no whispering while I am talking, no chewing gum, Seamus.”

Seamus froze and quietly took the gum out of his mouth. Harry shook his head; he had forgotten about Seamus always chewing gum.

“No late assignments turned in,” Moretta continued sternly, “no cheating, and no sloppy work. Am I understood?”

“Yes,” Hermione answered, almost eagerly. She looked delighted to have found a teacher than took studying as seriously as she did.

“Thank you, Hermione,” Moretta smiled. Then she blinked, and her face went stern again, a cold mask back in place. “As Miss Granger has demonstrated a keen understanding as to what I expect, I will ask her to start a sheet for you all to write your names down so I will learn them. For today, we are going to start with antidotes for usual poisons.”

Harry waited until the sheet came to him and he jotted his name under Ron and Hermione’s.

The class went on without anything unusual happening. Moretta remained strict and almost hard until the end.

“And that concludes class for today,” she said, closing her copy of the textbook. “Please read Chapter 2 for our next class on Wednesday. There will be a quiz.”

Hermione smiled as she loaded up her books.

“Look, Harry,” Ron noted. “I think Hermione’s found her twin.”

“Oh, hush,” she told him in a whisper. “I think Madame Moretta is going to be exactly what this class needs – very firm discipline and structure.”

“Yeah, because Snape was so easy on us,” Ron quipped.

“You would have us not learn a thing,” Hermione snapped at him as she headed for the door.

“Wait . . . ah, Mr. Potter,” Madame Moretta called out. “I need to speak to you.”

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, but they kept on walking, giving him uneasy looks as they left the classroom. A few students were still about, mostly packing up their books, but Harry walked the few steps up to the front of the class.

“Yes, ma’am?” he asked respectfully. Really, it didn’t make good sense to have two teachers upset with him on the first day.

Madame Moretta stepped forward, and for a moment, Harry thought she was going to put her hand on his shoulder. But she stepped past him to the chalkboard where she directed her wand to erase the board. “This will be a very difficult year for you,” she said in a strained voice.

“I suppose,” Harry answered slowly, not sure what she was talking about.

“You will need to train, to practice, if you plan to succeed,” she said calmly, still facing the board.

Harry blinked. Was she talking about Voldemort?

“I plan to help you in that training,” Moretta continued, her voice frigid but too low for anyone other than Harry to hear. “Saturday night, you and I will practice, starting at nine p.m. You will meet me at the door of my classroom. Wear your Invisibility Cloak. And tell no one else.”

She turned to face him, and Harry stared at her proud, chiseled face.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” she said in a louder voice. “That will be all.”

And Harry found himself heading for the hall.

------

But of course, he told Ron and Hermione as soon as he sat down to lunch. Snape was at the teachers’ table, but Harry tried to ignore him as he told his two friends what had happened.

“She’s mental!” Ron exclaimed in a hushed whisper. “What does she want you sneaking around for? Don’t do it. Right, Hermione?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione looked doubtful, yet very concerned. “It sounds very suspicious. But I wonder more about how she knew you had the Cloak. I thought only Dumbleore knew that.”

“It doesn’t add up,” Harry pressed on, feeling uneasy that Snape might be watching. The man couldn’t hear from where he sat, but knowing Snape he probably had ways of listening to everything. “Something is wrong about her.”

“It’s still early to say that,” Hermione objected, though she did not look convinced herself.

“The whole signing our names thing,” Harry reminded her. “She already knew our names. She called you and Seamus before she even started the sheet.”

“Maybe she didn’t know everyone,” Hermione protested weakly.

“And she called you by your first names,” Ron noted. “No teacher has ever done that. I don’t think some of them even know our first names.”

“And I could swear for a moment there she almost called out Harry instead of Mr. Potter,” Hermione said thoughtfully.

“Do either of you know who she is?” Harry asked anxiously. “Ever heard of her before she came here?”

“No,” Hermione shook her head, “but I can do some research into it.”

“I think the main question is ‘Is she on our side?’” Ron pointed out. “Because if she is, who cares who she really is. And if she isn’t . . .” he trailed off awkwardly.

“So I should go Saturday night?” Harry looked back and forth between his friends.

Hermione hesitated then gave a quick nod. “Yes, but be careful.”

“And take your wand,” Ron advised.

Harry nodded with them and then started eating. He glanced up at the teachers’ table, but Snape had already left.

Harry next looked at the Slytherin table, wondering if he would see the little boy who had been crying, but he wasn’t there either.

Well, he just had to make it through the next few classes and supper tonight, and then he could go see Snape and get some answers.

------

“What was that about?” Harry demanded as he stormed into Snape’s office, not bothering to knock. He closed the door behind him and stalked farther into the room.

Snape sat at his desk, looking over papers. He looked up with a frown.

“I expect you to knock. Show some manners for once, please.”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry threw himself in a nearby chair.

Snape looked up from his papers and ominously turned towards Harry. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Harry retorted. “Thanks a lot for humiliating me in class. Getting your fun in early this year. Trying to see how many times you can embarrass me, make me look like a fool?”

“If you’re referring to my treatment of you in class today,” Snape said sternly, “I was perfectly content to treat you as one of the class until you started giving your opinion. What were you thinking, Harry?”

The sound of his name helped take the edge of Harry’s worry, but he still felt out of sorts. “What was I thinking? You were the one all . . . all drunk on power.”

Snape smiled suddenly, making him look much friendlier, like the man Harry had come to know over the summer. “‘Drunk on power?’ What are you now – a novelist?”

“You know what I mean,” Harry said crossly. “You enjoyed humiliating me in front of the class.”

“It was an act,” Snape told him. “You knew that. I told you we would have to hide the whole adoption and what happened this summer. Were you listening?”

“Yeah, but –”

“Then you must have known that I couldn’t let your outbursts just go,” Snape continued. “The class would have known something was different if you started mouthing off in my class and I did nothing. The first outburst was nice though I would have appreciated a chance to address the class for the first time before staging our act, but I guess you were anxious to get it over with. The second outburst was pushing it, Harry. No need to overkill. I would have found a reason to give you detention during the class without you inviting it. Next time, let me handle it – you tend to be a bit dramatic, nearly hysterical, when you try to pretend. But it was admirable, for your first time acting.”

Harry didn’t know what to say so he nodded. “Yeah, yeah, that’s what I was . . . aiming for, you know.”

“The yelling coming in sounded authentic as well,” Snape noted, “but knocking first might make it a bit more believable to anyone listening in the hallway.”

“Oh, sorry,” Harry shrugged, not sure what to say.

“For someone that lies out of necessity and habit, you seem to have trouble acting with someone else,” Snape remarked as he picked up his papers. “Hard to do a two-man show? Always wanting center stage, aren’t you?”

Ten minutes ago, Snape’s comment would have had Harry spitting nails. But now Harry just smiled and waved a hand towards Snape. “Go away.”

Snape smiled wryly. “Ah, the old cheeky attitude. And here I thought you might go a day without it.”

“And disappoint you?” Harry grinned. “Never!”

“I even went overboard with yelling at Neville,” Snape admitted. “‘Are you sure you got an E?’ I was sure you would burst out laughing at such a feeble attempt to be cold and cruel. I expected any minute you would turn to me and say, ‘Seriously? That’s the best you can do?’ And then the jig would be up.”

“Oh, no,” Harry tried to look cool and nonchalant. “I knew the whole time, but I didn’t want to give you away.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few seconds. Then Harry ventured, “So if you’re going to be acting from now on, how will I know when you’re serious?”

“Believe me, Harry,” Snape gave him a significant look as he stood up from his desk, “you’ll know.”

“Wouldn’t count on it,” Harry muttered under his breath.

Snape did not hear as he opened the drawers on a nearby bureau.

“Well, glad that’s taken care of,” Harry slouched back in his chair and propped his feet up on the seat of another chair.

“Shoes off the furniture,” Snape told him.

Harry shifted until just his ankles were on the corner of the seat before leaning back and closing his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Snape asked.

“The detention was a joke,” Harry replied, not opening his eyes. “It wasn’t real, so I don’t have to do anything.”

“What about working for me?” Snape asked. “Your allowance, remember?”

“Aw,” Harry sat up with a grimace, pulling his feet off the chair, “I have to work today? First day of classes, and you’re making me work?”

“Start out on the right foot,” Snape told him. He came to Harry and dropped a stack of papers in his lap.

“Ow!” Harry complained as the papers hit his knees. He caught them before they could slide off to the floor. “What’s this?”

“Last year’s tests that need to be filed away,” Snape told him. “Madame Moretta might want to glance over them.”

“I don’t trust her,” Harry declared. “She’s too . . . smooth and silky. She could talk her way out of everything.”

For a moment, Harry thought he saw Snape smirk, but the next moment the man was back to his usual seriousness. “Divide the tests up by year, one through seven, and put them in seven different stacks. They’re all mixed together so pay attention to the top of the first page that says which year it’s for.”

Harry thought about telling Snape what Moretta had told him, telling Snape what she wanted him to do. But Harry hesitated. Either Snape would tell him that he was being paranoid, or Snape would want to get involved. And Harry wasn’t sure he wanted Snape interfering, especially since Harry didn’t really know what Moretta was planning. Better to wait until he had more information. And he had at least another class with her before Saturday; Harry might know more then.

He picked up the first teat, which happened to be Draco’s. It said Fifth Year at the top, and Harry was about to place it on Snape’s desk to start the first pile when he hesitated. Snape wrote the grade on the last page, and as this test was three pages long Harry’s could not see what Draco had made. Very slowly, he lifted the first two pages, just wanting a quick peek at the last page.

“No,” Snape told his firmly, “you’re not going to start looking at other students’ grades. Just sort them.”

“Oh, come on,” Harry complained, still lifting the pages. “It’s Draco. How bad could he have done? A P? Draco made a sodding P?”

“Language,” Snape disapproved as he yanked the test out of Harry’s hand. “And I told you not to look. Am I going to have to spank you on the first day of classes?”

That sobered Harry right up. “No, sir,” he said quietly, “I won’t look anymore. But a P? For Draco? I thought he was good at Potions.”

“He is,” Snape replied, siting back down. “But he refuses to apply himself at times, and I have to mark him down to get him to focus better. Now stop talking and no more looking at grades.”

For the next hour, they sat together, both working in warm, friendly silence.