His mental wall was fortified, stronger than it ever had been before, but he didn’t take the time to congratulate himself. Any distraction could prove his undoing. Any moment now, the walls could be breached, torn apart to reveal his deepest, most guarded secrets-

And there it was. Harry felt Snape’s mind attack his wall, poking at it for weaknesses and unable to find any. Harry didn’t bother wondering whether his professor was taking it easy on him or not. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Harry keep the wall firm, not allowing the man any leeway.

It turned out that his need to keep his discoveries about Snape and his mum to himself was a powerful motivator for putting every last bit of effort into their Occlumency lessons. Not that he allowed himself to think that specific thought while Snape was in his mind, of course, but he didn’t have to think it consciously to know that it was true. He didn’t want Snape to know what was on his mind, not yet, not until he could figure out a way to bring up the topic in a non-threatening way, and the only way to keep the man from finding such things out while he was in his head was to become a quick study at this fortified mental wall thing.

As it turned out, he wasn’t half bad at it when properly motivated. Maybe he did have some sort of natural aptitude for the mental arts.

Even Snape was impressed, though Harry had to read between the lines to know it. The professor had been with them at Kneader’s Point for two nights now, and they had resumed lessons yesterday. For the first time, Harry had been able to block Snape throughout a full lesson of attacks. The professor had obviously been surprised but hadn’t said much, and Harry knew he’d thought it might be a fluke. But with Harry continuing to block him today, Snape’s mood was steadily improving. (And by improved mood, he meant that Snape was barely even frowning.)

After a few more tries, Snape withdrew his mind and broke their connection. Harry opened his eyes to find the professor’s black eyes studying him. “Either our last several lessons impressed upon you the need to discipline your mind, Mr. Potter, or the sea air is most effective in calming the senses. Perhaps both?”

Harry breathed in deeply of the fresh air and scooted back on the large beach towel, letting his fingers fall off the edge into the sand. Who knew that Snape would so easily agree to moving their Occlumency lesson to the beach? Harry hadn’t even had to try very hard to talk him into it. It was perhaps his favorite lesson yet.

“Was that your way of saying ‘good job’?” Harry asked with a small grin. He knew he’d done well in holding off the man’s attacks, and it was a good feeling. He only hoped the man wouldn’t find out why he’d been so motivated to succeed. Not yet, anyway.

“That was my way of saying that your performance was not quite so abysmal as your earlier efforts, but interpret it as you will,” Snape sniffed. That meant good job. Harry could tell, though he held off another grin. Wouldn’t want Snape to get so uncomfortable with the giving out of compliments that he stopped giving them, after all.

Snape stood and stretched his neck. “That’s enough for today, I think. You have progressed sufficiently with this concept. We will add in a new element tomorrow.”

“New element?” Harry questioned as he gathered up the towel and gently shook out the sand.

“We’ll discuss it tomorrow,” Snape waved off his question. “As for today, I have lesson plans to finalize. As classes begin soon, perhaps you should review your books and summer assignments?” The man gave him a scrutinizing look, as if daring Harry to tell him that he’d finished every last assignment. Harry wondered whether if he made that claim, Snape would demand to see his essays and mark them for errors. He wouldn’t put it past him.

“Yes, sir,” he agreed, even though he was further ahead on his studies than he’d been at this point during any previous summer. He was nearly done, as a matter of fact. Long weeks confined to an old house with a stern taskmaster would do that. He only had to finish his Herbology essay and then start in on Potions. If Potions was a possibility…

And that was how he found himself sitting across from Snape in the kitchen that afternoon, pretending to pore over his Herbology textbook but actually studying the man out of the corner of his eye and thinking of ways to crack some secrets and kindness out of that thick skull.

So...you and my mum, huh?

No. That was no good at all. Snape didn't respond well to blunt questions. He needed a bit of subtlety.

Did you have any best friends growing up? Redheaded, green eyed friends, maybe? Why am I asking? Oh, no reason. No reason at all.

He didn’t think he could manage a shrug that would be subtle enough to make up for the decidedly unsubtle questions.

Oh, Professor Snape, I was just thinking about how you went to school with my parents. Nearly forgot that! Anyhow…any chance my mum was good at Potions? Really? Hey, so want to do your old school chum a favor and let her kid use the Potions lab from time to time?

Sure, he could say that…if he wanted to never be allowed near the Potions classroom ever again.

He held in a sigh and chanced another covert glance at the object of his thoughts. Snape was calmly sitting at the table, head bowed over a book, hand poised over a sheath of papers he’d been writing notes on for the last hour. After another minute of reading, his quill scratched out a few more notes on the top sheet. He hardly seemed to know Harry was there.

Hermione had joined them for a while, always willing to join in on a study session, though she had seemed a bit wary of plopping herself down at a table across from Snape. When the professor didn’t acknowledge her presence and Harry gave her a welcoming smile, she spread out and adapted quickly to the unusual situation. Even so, she’d remained silent as she studied, probably unwilling to test the theory that Snape really was as fine sharing his workspace with two teenagers as he appeared to be.

Her books were still on the table but she was gone now, pulled away by a smiling Ginny to go down to the beach. They’d invited Harry, but he’d opted to stay behind, hopeful that he’d get up his courage to broach one of the several topics he wanted to ask Snape about. This was a good opportunity, with Mrs. Weasley taking a nap, Remus sleeping another day away, and Kneader out and about doing…whatever it was he did when he disappeared. Gardening, maybe. The day before, Harry had seen him watering a rather impressive garden around the side of the house. All the big, fresh vegetables in the fridge made a lot of sense now.

But that didn’t matter. What mattered was extracting information from the too-intelligent-for-its-own-good head attached to a certain Potions professor’s body. It was all well and good to ask the man about his hobbies and acquaintances, knowing that it didn’t really matter if he didn’t answer. But the keys to Harry’s past and future were on the line this time. And not only that, he was kind of enjoying the new rapport he and Snape had developed. He’d never thought they could get on even half as well as they had been lately, and he didn’t want to jeopardize that.

So…yeah, a lot was riding on finding the right words to say and then saying them when Snape was in the right mood to respond.

Therefore, what was Harry to do but abandon any pretense of doing homework and whip up a batch of Aunt Petunia’s neighborhood-famous biscuits? If Harry had learned anything from living with the Dursleys, it was that the smell and taste of good food had a way of making people happy…okay, at least less tense. And happier minds were usually more receptive to talking. Or, in the Dursleys’ case, less prone to doling out the worst punishments.

It was a long shot, particularly as Snape was a million times more rational than the Dursleys, but it had the side benefit of procrastination. Snape didn’t even look up the entire time Harry rooted through the pantry for ingredients and utensils, which gave Harry all the more time to study him and consider what to say.

Maybe he could draw a parallel between Potions and cooking? Harry wasn’t a half bad cook, having had plenty of practice in Petunia’s kitchen. It wasn’t quite the same thing, but it could be a starting point from which to work his way toward Potions. And Snape would have good food in front of him, so…bonus.

It really was a lame plan, he knew even as he was going through with it, but he had no good plan. He could just come out and ask, but Snape was very, very good at shutting down questions with one-word answers and then refusing to consider them further. Harry’s only hope was to start up a conversation and hope that Snape was curious enough to keep the conversation going.

Potions first, he decided. He would feel let down to get a negative answer about that, but his soul wouldn’t be crushed. He’d get over it. Also, Snape would be less likely to have a conniption when asked something about school than about his own personal past.

So, yeah. Potions first, as a test run. Then Lily, if the Potions talk went well.

He had plenty of time to mull over those thoughts by the time he set out a plate of freshly baked biscuits, complete with some fresh fruit and cream he’d found in the fridge, and a pot of tea. He took care to set it and an extra plate and teacup slightly closer to Snape, obvious that he meant it as an offer to tuck in.

“You do realize the house-elf could have done that,” Snape said with the barest of glances before scribbling a few more notes on his parchment.

Harry held in a frown. The man really needed to learn how to say a simple thank you. “I didn’t mind,” he said instead. “It’s nice to have something to do.”

Snape didn’t reply, consulting the pages of one of his books before jotting down another note, and Harry was beginning to wonder if he’d need to cajole the man into taking a snack break when Snape snatched a biscuit and took a small bite.

Harry grinned and poured himself a cup of tea. Nobody tasted Petunia’s biscuits and stayed silent about them for long…

“This is…not terrible,” Snape finally said after eating the entire biscuit. He set down his quill and poured tea into his own cup. “You cook quite well for a boy your age.”

“Thanks.” Phase one of the plan: success!

“Was that one of your regular chores for your relatives?”

“Um…” He paused long enough to wonder if it was a leading question and try to figure out a way out of it. He was trying to get around to Potions, not to the Dursleys. “Yes. Sort of. Just breakfast, mainly. Petunia likes to cook, so she usually cooks dinner and I help sometimes.”

“You make it sound so domestic…as if your life there were normal.”

Harry shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “It’s not like I lived in an actual dungeon, professor. My childhood wasn’t the best, but some parts of it were probably pretty normal. Like helping out in the kitchen.”

“Hmm. And how old were you when you started helping out in the kitchen?” Snape looked at him like he expected an outrageous answer, like Harry was going to tell him he’d been two or something, which was just ridiculous. He was fairly certain he’d been at least three. But maybe that wasn’t an acceptable answer either. He didn’t have a good concept of how old children were supposed to be before they started certain chores.

“I don’t remember exactly,” he hedged.

“How old were you when you first burned yourself on the stove?” Snape smoothly asked.

“How did you-” Harry caught himself, then narrowed his eyes. “You’re a sneaky Slytherin, you know that?”

“It is hardly an illogical deduction,” Snape answered dryly, though his eyes betrayed a certain amount of disgust with Harry’s answer. Or, more likely, with what Harry hadn’t answered, which was that he had burned himself more than once. “They have shown little consideration for your safety in every other way. Why wouldn’t they intentionally place a toddler in direct contact with hot surfaces and scalding liquids?”

Harry harrumphed. “I wasn’t a toddler,” he mumbled. “And it didn’t happen very often. I’ve always been pretty coordinated, even back then. I learned fast what not to touch and how much I could carry.”

“Yes, fear of blistering pain is a powerful motivator for a young child,” Snape said, dark eyes flashing, and Harry dropped his eyes to the table and took a bite out of a biscuit to keep from having to respond. The idea that Snape was offended on his behalf was still a new concept, one he didn’t know what to do with. And it was rather off the topic that he’d been hoping to work his way around to…

“I always thought Potions was a bit like cooking,” he said, equally determined to get around to what was on his mind as he was to not talk any more about the Dursleys.

“Potions is nothing like cooking,” Snape scoffed, going along with the clumsy attempt to change the topic, though Harry could tell he wasn’t fooled by it. “It requires a precision lacking in most culinary endeavors. Too much salt can be rectified. Too much foxglove will kill you by inhalation alone.”

“Not every Potions ingredient is poisonous,” Harry argued. “And too much salt may not kill you, but it can’t always be rectified. You’re always going on about the different solutions to the mistakes we make. Too much flobberworm mucus? Add borage to soak it up and fix the consistency of the potion. Stuff like that.”

“Not every potion can be corrected so simply.”

“Neither can a chicken that’s been burnt to a crisp!” Harry snapped. He could vouch for that personally. He’d gotten into quite a bit of trouble with Petunia over that one, never mind that he’d been too young to even reach the knobs on the oven without a stool. He still sometimes equated the smell of burning meat to being locked too long in his cupboard and desperately looking for something to use as a makeshift loo. He looked down at the table and rubbed the back of his neck at that thought. There was no way he was going to chance Snape seeing that memory in his eyes, even though he was fairly certain the man wasn’t Legilimizing him without warning these days.

This was not going the way he’d planned. Well, it was a rather half-baked plan, he knew. He couldn’t believe he’d thought he could start a casual conversation with Snape that wouldn’t devolve into disagreement before they even got around to the point of what he wanted to ask.

“Potions does tend to require more precision,” He offered into the silence, trying not to sound like the admission was dragged out of him. “I only meant that it shares some things in common with cooking, that’s all. Don’t you think?” He shouldn’t have looked up at Snape. If he hadn’t, he would have missed how the man had leaned back and was eyeing him contemplatively, and he wouldn’t have felt the need to fidget.

“Something on your mind, Potter?” Snape drawled, lifting his eyebrows knowingly.

Harry slouched back in his chair. How did Snape always know when Harry was up to something? Never mind. He didn’t need to ask that question, not really. He was as easy to read as a book sometimes. He often managed to maneuver the Dursleys, but they were so thick, they wouldn’t notice an elephant about to step on them. As much as Snape wanted him to be more like a Slytherin, he had way more practice being a Gryffindor, so accustomed was he to facing challenges head-on. Maybe he’d best stick with the direct approach, then. Or…well, first he could try one more roundabout way of approaching the issue…

“Actually, yes,” he answered, jutting out his chin just enough to give him courage. “Hermione and I were talking about our NEWT years, and we were wondering over some of Hogwarts’ testing rules. Maybe since you’re a professor and all, you’d know the answer?”

Snape cocked his head to the side and gestured for Harry to ask away. He could tell that the man was curious. Good.

“I think I heard someone talk about doing an independent study,” he lied, “and I wondered how that works when it comes time to sit exams. Can they sit a NEWT for that subject without having completed an official course?”

Snape scrutinized him for a long moment. “Don’t tell me that you are planning to partake in an independent study, Potter. What in, History of Quidditch?”

“Why do you assume it’s me?” Harry protested. “Maybe I’m asking for Hermione. Or maybe I’m just curious.”

“Credit me with observational skills,” Snape drawled. “Not only are you quite personally invested in the question, were Miss Granger to be considering a course of independent study, she’d have arranged it with Professor McGonagall well in advance of one week before the start of term.”

Harry had to give him that. “So can they? Sit the NEWT?” he pressed without answering Snape’s question.

“It entirely depends,” Snape said. He crossed his arms and watched Harry with his assessing gaze. “NEWT-level exams are only offered in specific areas of study. However, there are some available that are not on the Hogwarts course curricula. Durmstrang, for instance, offers a course of study on the maintenance and care of dragons alone. Beauxbatons encourages its students to study the arts. Wizard sculpting is all the rage, apparently.” His sneer told what he thought of the usefulness of that skill. “Should a Hogwarts student wish to pursue such studies, they may be able to, provided they obtain the permission of the headmaster and the commitment of a professorial sponsor.”

“Sponsor?”

“To guarantee access to course materials, oversee studies, track assignments and practicals, and submit written permission to the NEWT testing board to administer the appropriate exam at the end of the year.”

“Oh.” His chances of success just kept getting worse and worse, didn’t they?

“If your plan is to study the maintenance and care of dragons, you can save your breath. You’d be better off arranging an apprenticeship with Charles Weasley after graduation. Legend has it that the last time that course was allowed at Hogwarts, an entire wing of the castle was nearly destroyed.”

“Really?” Harry asked, curious despite wanting to stay on track. “When was that?”

Snape waved a hand. “Who knows. A century or two ago, at least.”

“Well, I, uh…don’t want to study dragons,” he said.

“What then?” Snape asked.

“This professor sponsor…” Harry bit his lip. “I suppose it has to be somebody familiar with the area of study?”

“Invariably,” Snape agreed. “Although I highly doubt you’ll find a talented magical ice sculptor on the Hogwarts staff, if that is your desire.”

Harry snorted. He didn’t know if Snape had meant that to be funny, but the thought of McGonagall spending her free time carefully chiseling swans and flowers out of blocks of ice just about made his day. Although…come to think of it, she might not be half bad at such a hobby, with her transfiguration skills.

“No,” he agreed, grinning to himself. “I don’t think I would have much luck there.” Snape gave him a look, as if to say out with it, and Harry took a breath to fortify himself. “What if…the class was already offered at Hogwarts, but I wanted to…study it on my own and take the test anyway?”

Snape stared at him blankly for a moment before barking, “No.”

“Just hear me out-”

“I maintain a high standard for incoming Potions students for a reason, Potter! NEWT Potions is highly specialized and requires an extreme attention to care and detail. Practicing it in a classroom under strict supervision is dangerous enough; I am not about to approve a less accomplished student to study it independently of a classroom environment! Where you would even get such a harebrained idea-”

“I can do the work!” Harry insisted. “And I wouldn’t be unsupervised. Hermione’s offered to tutor me. We’d just need permission to use the lab from time to time after classes are out, and you know she knows what she’s doing!”

“It isn’t her I’m worried about!” he snapped. “And the answer remains no. If you are not a student in my class, then you do not have access to my classroom.”

“Alright fine,” Harry huffed. “I’ll find another classroom then.” He almost brought up the Room of Requirement but decided to keep that plan to himself.

“That is not the point!” Snape hissed. “You cannot simply embark upon an independent study without the headmaster’s permission. And he will never grant you that permission without my agreement to oversee you! As I have no intention of allowing any student to run around Hogwarts concocting dangerous potions in random classrooms, you are, as they say, out of luck.”

Harry could have screamed out of frustration, but he knew that wouldn’t do any good. Instead, he tried the only thing he had left in his arsenal: appealing to the heart he knew the man had to have buried somewhere underneath all that black clothing. “I want to be an Auror, professor,” he said quietly, willing him to see in his eyes how much it meant to him. “It means the world to me, and that one grade is standing in my way of doing that. Please.”

“You should have thought of that before you failed to achieve a more satisfactory grade,” Snape answered without mercy. He hadn’t said it cruelly, but his matter of fact tone was almost worse, because Harry could hear the truth in the words. How could he be angry at Snape when he was the one who hadn’t managed the grade?

He sighed miserably. “And there’s nothing I can do or say..?”

Snape shook his head, though he had the courtesy to not look delighted about kicking Harry’s dreams to the curb. “I would far sooner admit a student into my sixth year class than allow such a thing as an independent study of Potions,” he spat as if merely saying the words violated his most deeply held convictions. “But neither is possible. I have never made an exception to my standards for incoming NEWT students, and I will not start now.”

Harry stared dejectedly at the plate of biscuits before grabbing another one and taking a large bite. It had been a stupid idea, trying to bribe the man with food as if it would make any difference. But at least now he could eat his disappointment away. He wondered offhand if Kneader had chocolate sauce in his pantry. His disappointments could definitely use a biscuit drowned in chocolate sauce.

And he definitely wasn’t asking about his mum right now. A boy could only deal with so many disappointed hopes in one day. He stuffed the rest of the biscuit in his mouth and chewed as he watched Snape watch him. The man seemed to be saying your move, Mr. Potter, never mind that Harry was out of moves.

Well…

He swallowed his food, took a sip of tea, and asked, “What if I proved to you that I was up to your standards?”

Snape’s eyebrows pinched together. “Potter-”

“I was under a lot of stress when I took that exam, you know. Not an excuse, mind,” he rushed to add. “But if it’s my overall skill you’re worried about, one exam could be wrong. Give me a test, any test, as long as you know it’s fair, and let me try to meet your standards. If I do, let me into the class. If I don’t, I’ll never say another word about it.”

“Don’t you ever give up?”

“I’m learning how not to,” Harry said honestly.

“You forget that I’ve had you in my class for five years. I know what kind of brewer you are. I do not need for you to sit a special exam to know that you are not up to par.”

Okay, Harry could admit, if only to himself, that the professor had a point there. But he could make good points too. “You forget that every Potions class you’ve seen me in has been in the presence of an intimidating professor who hated my guts and, to the best of my knowledge, was plotting out ways to kill me. You can’t possibly expect me to not make mistakes with that kind of pressure constantly lurking about!” He thought he might have crossed the line, as Snape was sporting a rather sour look, but…it was the truth!

“Performing under pressure is one of the most important skills for an advanced Potions student to have cultivated prior to taking on their NEWTs.”

Harry opened his mouth and promptly shut it, hating that Snape was such a good arguer. But, he reminded himself, at least the man was arguing. If he was arguing then he was still engaging with the conversation, and if he was still engaging, then he hadn’t shut the idea down yet…which meant that Harry needed to keep going in case there was the slightest chance of success.

Before he could formulate his next argument, Snape had tacked on, “Additionally, were you to make another attempt, that same professor would be decidedly present, watchful as ever, and unlikely to make any silly overtures to put you at ease!” Yep, Harry had definitely offended him.

He shrugged to show what he thought of that. “Yeah, but I won’t be as nervous since this time I’ll know you’re not trying to kill me.”

“Do you now?” Snape growled.

Harry grinned in answer, probably too cheekily, but the man had practically asked for it.

Snape sneered, but it wasn’t up to his usual abilities. “It is a moot point. I already told you that I do not make exceptions for students. Not even Harry Potter.”

“You mean especially not for Harry Potter.” Harry wrinkled his nose. “Though I think you know by now that I don’t expect or want that. Anyway, I’m not asking for an exception, not technically. An exception would be for you to let me in even if I’m a bad student. All I’m asking for is an exam to show you that I’m a good enough student to be admitted to the class in the first place. Per your usual standards.”

“A second chance that I have never offered, and therefore would be making an exception were I to offer it to you.”

“It’s not an exception if you were to allow the same of any student who asked. I just happen to be the only one who asked, right? That’s hardly my fault.”

“Ah, yes…I can see it now: a line of sixth year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs outside my office door once it spreads around Hogwarts that I am allowing makeup OWLs.” The professor visibly shuddered.

“I think you’re overestimating your class’s popularity,” Harry pointed out.

Snape growled again, this time without words.

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Just telling it like it is. You’re the one who cultivates the scary Potions professor image. Don’t jump down my throat for telling you that it’s working.”

“I do not cultivate an image,” Snape said sharply. “I am a frightening Potions professor. And you would do well to remember it.”

“See, if you had me in your class, you could remind me as often as you like,” Harry said with a carefully straight face.

Snape shook his head. “You are one of the most incorrigible teenagers I know.”

“Thank you,” Harry smartly replied.

Snape helped himself to another biscuit, which Harry thought was a good idea. He didn’t want the man’s temple veins to start to throb or anything, not when Harry seemed to be gaining ground. It also gave Harry a minute to consider whether it was wise to talk up his ability to pass whatever test the professor could come up with. He’d been impressed by his own grade of Exceeds Expectations, and he truly wasn’t at all confident that he’d be capable of pulling off the equivalent of an Outstanding. It was his only shot though, and if he could manage to get that shot, he’d put everything he had into trying.

He let the silence linger while the professor ate a few bites and sipped his tea, surveying Harry all the while. “If,” Snape finally said, “I were to do something so uncharacteristically generous as what you suggest, what benefit would there be to me? More students to run wild in my classroom? You may not realize this, but unlike the bulk of tedious instructing I do each day, I do actually look forward to my NEWT classes.”

“Helping students achieve their hopes and dreams isn’t enough?” asked Harry innocently.

“Do I seem the type to care about the hopes and dreams of the pimply-faced youth I am forced to babysit each day?” asked Snape, perfectly serious.

“No,” admitted Harry, “but you’ve been telling me all summer to figure out how to do things that don’t particularly excite me. Sometimes you do something because it’s the right thing to do, not because it gives you joy.”

“Oh, so now you’re moralizing to get your way?” Snape gave him a sardonic look. “Come now, you can do better than that.”

“It would win you good will?” he tried. “Never underestimate somebody else being beholden to you.”

“I never cared for the good will of others,” the man shot back.

Good point. Harry wracked his brain. He had the feeling Snape was only humoring him so far because he was curious how far Harry would take it, what arguments he would come up with. It was hard to tell if Snape would truly consider it or if he was simply enjoying watching Harry try to bend unbendable steel.

He heard the front door open and close, which kicked his brain into overdrive. He didn’t have much time left to convince the man of his point of view.

“Do you care about the state of the wizarding world?” he blurted out. “Knowing that you’re contributing to the ranks of the Aurors, making sure to give them a candidate who knows his way around potions-making…that isn’t nothing, you know. With how involved you’ve been in the war, how many incompetent people you’ve probably come across, I’d think you would put a high importance on that.”

“Do you have no other appeals than to my better nature?” scoffed Snape, “assuming I have one.”

“You do,” said Harry immediately. “I’ve seen it. Anyway, what other appeals would you have me make? I’m hardly going to bribe you.”

“Merlin have mercy,” muttered Snape, looking to the ceiling. “Don’t tell me your sudden interest in academic pursuits are about to make an extorter out of you.”

“Ha. Ha. I said not going to.” His heart sank as Kneader rounded the corner, took in their books and snacks with his hawk eyes, and nodded a silent hello on his way to the pantry. Maybe he’d be lucky and the man wouldn’t linger. Harry wasn’t finished with this conversation.

Only, it appeared that Snape was. “You make a fascinating case, Mr. Potter,” he said in his I’ve humored you long enough tone. “I will take it under advisement.”

Under advisement? Harry stared, hardly daring to hope. “That doesn’t sound like a no…” he fished.

“Would you prefer a definitive answer? I can certainly-”

“Nope,” said Harry quickly. “No definitive answer needed. I’m good. You take your time, think about it, get back to me. I’ll be…um, finishing my Herbology essay now.” He shoved his plate aside and reached for his Herbology book and mostly finished essay.

He didn’t miss Snape’s smirk, and he ducked his head and raised his teacup to his lips so that Snape wouldn’t see his own grin.

It was hardly a victory, but it was far from the failure Harry had expected. All things considered, maybe he had a future in making lame biscuit-centric plans work out after all.