Harry settled in the living room with Not Bad Enough and some spiced pumpkin juice. He had nearly finished the short section on death curses. In general, it was far less interesting than the section on command curses. Where he had read about those out of curiosity, he pushed through this section with a grim need to know as much as possible about the origins of the curse to which he had lost so much. He was just looking at a table comparing the limitations and requirements of the Killing Curse, the Curse of Painful Death, and the Curse of Sleeping Death, when there came a pounding at the door.

"Harry!" Snape screamed. Before Harry could reply, Snape yelled his name again. "Open the sodding door this instant! You had damned well better be in there!"

Harry ran over and opened the door. "Sorr-"

"What in bloody Hades do you think you're doing? Some kind of frigging joke, ch-"

"Remus followed me down here, this afternoon," Harry said angrily, over Snape's words.. "I'm sure he heard me give the password. I thought you wouldn't want him having the password to your rooms, so I changed it."

"You could have told me," Snape snapped, but he was obviously mollified.

"You could have knocked politely and waited a moment, then asked me what had happened," Harry countered. "Anyway, the new password is 'Aconitum.' Change it if you like."

Snape snorted in amusement. "'Aconitum?' You mean Wolfsbane?"

"I was a bit annoyed at him," Harry admitted. "Anyway, we made up later." He bit his lip. "I was in his rooms, by the way. Yell at me, if you like, but I needed to see him."

"Why?"

"Because I'd just screamed at Professor Dumbledore over something Remus had done too. Screaming at Remus seemed safer."

"This close to the dark of the moon, perhaps." Snape frowned. "What did they do?"

"They wanted to know why I hadn't 'told them' about the Dursleys. Except I did. Not details, because no one ever asked, but they knew I was miserable there, and they didn't want details. Remus says he assumed I had 'normal problems' with them, whatever those are. And Remus got mad at me because I said it wasn't such a big deal. He said I better never have children. But it isn't that I think the way they treated me was right, just that it was manageable. He doesn't get that."

"Normal," Snape said carefully, "is, by definition, a relative term." He looked seriously at Harry. "Remus's idea of a normal childhood has nothing to do with yours, or mine."

"Which have nothing to do with each other's," Harry pointed out.

"In many ways not," Snape agreed. "However, I had an abusive father, who damaged and left my mother, and I ended up living with relatives who hated me for being his. So I was also the unwelcome other child." Snape looked down briefly. "What did you do in Remus's rooms?"

"I was only in his office, really. I went there terribly upset, and he calmed me down and made me tea, then he tried to talk to me and we fought, then we calmed down again, then I said I shouldn't be there and he got upset again, or something like that. I think we were on okay terms when I left, but I wouldn't swear to it."

"Remus is customarily so soft-spoken that his pig-headed stubbornness goes unnoticed."

"The problem was, I couldn't argue properly without telling him you're my father, so nothing got resolved."

"We are not telling anybody," Snape said threateningly.

"I know! I was just saying it made things difficult. He's worried about how much I'm obeying you, and I can understand why. If you were some random staff member that Dumbledore had put me with, I'd let you tell me what to do in your rooms, and I'd help you with your work, but I wouldn't let you tell me what to wear or who to talk to when I wasn't in your rooms."

"Obviously you're not obeying me too well on that last point."

"I pointed that out -- that when I needed to talk to him, I did it anyway. He was reassured, but not much. It basically fell apart when I said I wasn't supposed to be there and insisted on leaving, rather than staying for lunch."

"That's something, I suppose."

"The problem is he's just baffled. So he's decided I must have been damaged by the Dursleys, somehow, this summer and become..." Harry waved his hands around -- "I don't know ... unable to stand up to you? I'm glad that he wants to protect me, but there's really nothing for him to protect me from, at the moment, and it's annoying to have him hovering about looking concerned." Harry sat back down on the couch, and idly picked up his book. "May I work in the lab, tomorrow? I still need to finish my summer assignment."

"Of course. Don't expect any help with it."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not a complete idiot, you know." He looked down at the book, and slid a finger in beside the bookmark, but did not open it. "How are you feeling?"

"My arm is a bit stiff, and the fingers hurt. Pomfrey says I can go back to my lab work tomorrow, as--" Snape's eyes widened suddenly, then narrowed. "Harry... What are you reading?"

Harry cheerfully held up the book. "It's a history of the origins of the Unforgivable Curses."

Snape covered his face with one hand. "Whatever possessed you to pick that? I have hundreds of books here! At least a third of which wouldn't give the headmaster fits."

"Honestly," Harry admitted, "I think it had the brightest cover. It's pretty good, though. I enjoyed the general parts and the section on command curses, anyway. I had to slog through the one on death curses, and I couldn't manage to read the section on pain curses at all."

"The brightest cover?"

"Well, I still would have picked something else if it looked boring when I started leafing through it."

Snape sighed. "Very well. What have you learned? As I recall, that author does not adequately describe the distinction between Dark Arts and spells that are unethical."

"Really?" Harry was confused. "That was part of what I liked. In the command section, he had--"

"She."

"Oh. She had this section on the Binding Oath, the Fealty Spell, and the Masters Spell, explaining why the Binding Oath was legal--"

"Legal, yes. However, that it is entered into consensually, and that the subject can describe the influence they are under, makes it no less Dark Arts, thaumaturgicly." Snape scowled. "A sixth year student should know this!"

"Well, as we've discussed, I had only two years of Defense Against the Dark Arts that were worth anything, and our third year was entirely Dark creatures," Harry protested. He looked up at Snape, who was still standing. "So explain it to me."

"Let me get some wine."

"Should you be drinking, now?"

"Don't start that! I was quite careful to refuse the pain-blocking potion. Pomfrey only tries to give it to me so that I can't drink. She knows I can tolerate the pain. It's one of her pet theories that alcohol inhibits healing."

"I think it does."

"In reasonable quantities, the effect should be minimal."

Snape came back with a goblet of dark red wine, and sat down in the armchair, at a corner to Harry.

"Dark Arts," he said formally, settling back in the chair and fixing his gaze on Harry. "First, being harmful does not make a spell Dark Arts. If it did, all you horrid little brats cursing each other in the hallways would create far more of a problem than it does."

Harry grinned.

"Second, not all Dark Arts spells are harmful. There are healing spells that are Dark Arts." He raised an eyebrow at Harry's look of surprise. "I assure you, Harry, this is quite true. The majority of Dark Arts spells in common use are harmful, because a person who wants to cause harm is far more likely to be willing to take the risk.

"And here we get to the distinctive nature of Dark Arts. Any work in the Dark Arts opens your soul in way that can be dangerous. The likely nature of the danger depends in part -- but only in part -- upon the nature of the spell."

Snape was silent for a moment. He looked meditatively off into the air beyond Harry's shoulder while he stroked the stem of his goblet of still-untouched wine.

"There is an ethical distinction I would like to be sure you understand," he said. He frowned. "That Muggle drug, the tobacco cigarettes -- is it bad of you to smoke them?"

Harry blinked. He was uncertain what he was expected to answer. He was certain Snape disliked him smoking, though he had never figured out whether this was because it was harmful, or because it was a Muggle behavior. He decided to just consider the question.

"Well... no," he ventured. "I mean, there are any number of reasons why I shouldn't, but it's not immoral."

"Correct. It is bad for your body, it gives you a potentially exploitable weakness -- actually more than one, because in addition to the considerable potential for addiction, there are also short-term effects, such as a scent that would make it difficult for you to hide with just invisibility -- but none of that makes it immoral, just foolish and self-destructive. It is a vice, not an evil. The Dark Arts, for all the fuss, are, similarly, a vice."

Harry found that he had edged to the front of his seat, and forced himself to sit back. Snape had paused to take a sip of the wine, and was again running his fingertips absently along the stem of the goblet. Harry found himself wishing he had something to do with his hands, which still held the book, with one finger of his right hand between pages, holding his place.

"That doesn't mean the 'fuss' is undeserved. They are a very powerful vice, and like many vices, provide convenient pathways to evil. As an example, consider the Cruciatus Curse."

Harry, as Snape seemed to be waiting for some response, nodded. "Cruciatus," he affirmed. He frowned. "Except I do consider that evil."

Snape inclined his head slightly. "We will get back to more ambiguous magics later." Contempt crept into his distant look. "I understand you attempted to cast Cruciatus on LeStrange?"

Harry bit back an impulse to bring up the circumstances of that event. He looked down. I will not defend the indefensible. "Yes, sir," he said.

"Despite the fact you consider it evil? Well, no matter."

Harry looked up to see Snape smiling slyly at him. "In any case," Snape continued, "you failed to cast it effectively. Why was that?"

Harry remembered what Bellatrix LeStrange had told him and what he had read in the beginning of the book's section on pain curses. He looked down at the book.

"Many of the more advanced pain curses require that the caster truly desire the subject to be in pain. The Cruciatus Curse, in particular, requires that the caster enjoy causing pain." Harry swallowed. "I really don't like hurting people. I can do it in a fight, but...."

"But you were unable to do it," Snape finished succinctly. He looked evaluatingly at Harry, but the contempt, at least, was gone. "So, imagine you decided that you were going to cast the Cruciatus Curse, and you were willing to meet this prerequisite. What could you do? You could incline yourself towards sadism by mental preparation -- reading materials that arouse that inclination, talking with friends who were more so inclined, casting immisericors on yourself to restrain any counter--"

"Immisericors?"

"The Merciless Heart Curse. It is occasionally useful, self-inflicted, though you must remember to give it an end-trigger, so--" Snape stopped, suddenly. His face spasmed as he shuddered. "What am I-- Forget I said that! If I ever catch you using that curse, which is, in itself, Dark Arts, I will demonstrate far more of the use of it than you ever wish to see."

"It doesn't really sound like my kind of thing," Harry pointed out. "And I can't imagine wanting to cast the Cruciatus Curse in any premeditated way."

"Understood. That is one reason I picked it as an example. The chances you will run out and try this are minuscule."

"Oh. I see."

"So. Were you to do this, and cast Cruciatus, the casting, itself, would have an effect on you."

"Opening my soul, you said."

"Yes. And opening it to that casting. So your induced pleasure in your victim's pain would be enhanced. The experience is exquisite. Were you to need to cast Cruciatus again an hour later, it would come quite easily. And each time, this feeling becomes a little more your own. Eventually, you would become unable to imagine not enjoying causing pain."

Snape's voice was as soft as silk. Harry could see his hand trembling where it stroked the stem of his goblet, and he found that even more disturbing than the man's words.

"That is the corruption caused by an 'evil' spell in the Dark Arts. The evil of it becomes enmeshed in your soul." Snape's voice lightened slightly. "So, let's take a more ambiguous example. You were reading about the Binding Oath?"

"Yes. The book says it's still a prerequisite for certain government positions."

"Correct. Even more of them, in recent years. And it is consensual, and the victim -- sorry, 'subject' -- can describe the effects he or she is subject to. It is still Dark Arts." Snape paused. "Another error in this book -- the Binding Oath, Fealty Spell, etc., are not closely related to the Imperius Curse. They are far closer to another spell in the Dark Lord's arsenal. Do you know which?"

Harry shook his head. Snape fumbled with the cufflinks at his left wrist. A moment later, he had pushed the sleeve up to the elbow, and sat holding out his left arm so Harry could clearly see the Dark Mark. The skin about it was still reddened with the aftereffects of Voldemort's displeasure, making an angry aura about the hideous design. Involuntarily, Harry caught his breath in a sharp inward hiss.

"This," Snape snarled, thrusting the arm still closer, "was consensual. That is a requirement of the spell; it cannot be otherwise. That is why a spy cannot be moved into my place. Receiving the Mark requires your sincere oath of loyalty. A spy cannot become a Death Eater. They must wait for a Death Eater to become a spy." He met Harry's eyes again. "I gave my consent, I know the effects, and I can talk about them as much as I wish, just like the Binding Oath. Does that make it right?"

Harry could not have said a word, even if he had known what to say. He sat staring at the mark of his father's servitude, his eyes drawn to the snake emerging from the skull until he was afraid it would speak to him. His scar hurt, so he concentrated on not thinking anything.

"Harry?" With a sharp tug, Snape covered the Mark with his sleeve. "Harry? You did know, didn't you?"

Harry nodded dizzily. It helped when Snape covered the Mark. "Sorry, I.... My scar started hurting, so I was working on not thinking anything."

"Ah."

"Go on, anyway. Did you have something to say about the Binding Oath?"

"It is still Dark Magic. It still endangers the mental and emotional state of the caster." Snape shook his head and rubbed his fingers across his forehead. "I don't recall where I was going with this, I'm afraid. Sorry."

"That's fine." Harry looked down at the book. "May I finish this, then?"

Snape nodded. "Yes. Just come and discuss it with me afterward. You can read most of what I have here; just let me know. Some works I will want to discuss with you, before or after you read them -- possibly both."

"Okay."

The next morning, they went to Snape's lab -- Snape to work on the Dreamless Sleep Potion, and Harry to finish his summer homework.

"Let's see if you've grown in the last two days, shall we?" Snape suggested wryly. He marked where Harry stood against the wall. "I'm not sure that's significant -- you may just be standing straighter. How do you feel?

Harry shrugged. "Same soreness. I can stand it during the day, but it's hard to sleep."

"Headache?"

"While you were in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey showed me how to fix my glasses."

"Good."

Snape put a ladleful of viscous silver glop into his cauldron. "I was thinking about the muscle pain."

"And?"

"This could go on for half a year, perhaps a bit more. You can't take painkillers for that long."

"Oh."

"However, I could give you a potion that relaxes the muscles and tendons, and that should reduce the pain. It will increase your chances of injury from any physical mishap, so you had best not take it during the day, but if you take it every night, I expect it will help."

Harry, surprised, looked up at Snape, who raised his eyebrows.

"Well?"

"Thanks!"

"Just don't tell Madam Pomfrey."

Harry spent most of the morning doing his homework assignment, then most of the afternoon doing it again. The second time seemed to work, and when he called Snape over, his father gave him nine of ten for it.

"Ideally, it would be completely clear," he said, explaining the missed point. "I'd guess that you neglected to tap the dust out of your chopped dry vervain."

"Was I supposed to?"

"Yes."

"The instructions don't say that!"

"If you are supposed to add an ingredient chopped coarsely, does it not make sense that you should add only that of the ingredient which is coarsely chopped?"

"I suppose, but...."

"Hermione will tap off the dust, because she is meticulous. Draco will do it, because he can't stand anything less than perfection. If one other person remembers, I will be impressed."

"So part of this exercise was to see if we knew that."

"No. Part of this exercise was to see if you could figure that out." Snape glared at Harry. "I do not always give full instruction. Nor does the world. If you can't think, this is all useless."

When Snape finished his second batch of Dreamless Sleep, Harry reminded him that they had a group dinner that night. Snape looked vexed, but immediately began cleaning up.

Back in his room, Harry combed out his hair and put on clean trousers. He looked at the red robes and was reminded of what Remus had said. Thoughtfully, he drew them on, and checked his appearance in the mirror. After some consideration, he put on a black shirt and opened the robes, slightly. Another look in the mirror showed him that he looked like an affluent, perhaps rather flashy, young wizard. He wondered if he liked that.

"You do look sharp, dearie," the mirror affirmed. "Is it a date, or a chic business engagement?"

"Just a dinner," Harry said.

"They'll be intrigued," the mirror promised him. "So proper, yet with hints of untapped strength. And it suits you, dearie."

Harry grinned, and then went out to the living room, where Snape was reading by the fire. Snape looked up as soon as he entered.

"How do I look?"

Snape smiled with obvious satisfaction. "If you weren't you," he declared, "I could take you to Malfoy Manor."

"Oh." Harry walked into the room. He sat balancing on the arm of the couch. "Remus said you couldn't afford these. He'd assumed I'd paid for them."

Snape looked curiously at him. "What odd conversations you have with Remus."

"So?"

"Were I restricted to a teacher's salary," Snape said, "he'd be right. However, I am professionally rather well known and occasionally freelance for certain difficult potions, such as the Wolfsbane, and working for the Dark Lord," he smirked, "is not without recompense."

"And here I thought people did it all for thrills," Harry said dryly.

"Some do it on principle," Snape said coldly.

"Now there's a scary thought."

"How so?"

"Because I'd rather deal with an amoral opportunist than someone who fully believes in Tom's sort of hate."

"Why?"

"The opportunist is more predictable."

Snape snorted. "It's a pity you didn't take Slytherin. I suspect I would have got over your resemblance to James." He stood. "Remember, of course, that the ones who do it for thrills are much more unpredictable than either."

"Right." Harry watched Snape stand. The man was dressed in his usual black robes. Although Harry remembered hearing him in the bath the previous evening, his dark hair was still hanging in clumped, greasy locks.

"What does your hair look like clean?" Harry asked impulsively. Snape turned on him quickly, his expression unpleasant, but Harry refused to be cowed. "Next time you wash it, could you use my shampoo? Yours is horrid. I thought it was going to burn my scalp off the time I tried it."

"That shampoo is specifically for neutralizing the aftermath of certain potions accidents. It is extremely harsh."

"You only wash your hair if you have a potions accident?" Harry said incredulously.

"I rinse it whenever I bathe," Snape answered. He sneered at Harry. "Unlike some people, I have no interest in my appearance."

"Well, you have enough of an interest in mine!" Harry exclaimed. "I'll go back to jeans, if you don't care."

"There is a difference between vanity and propriety," Snape said contemptuously.

"Keeping adequately clean is propriety," Harry retorted, imitating Snape's tone. He smiled disarmingly at Snape's glare. "Anyway, I have an ulterior motive. I'm fairly sure I'm going to end up with your hair. I'd like some indication of what it will be like. Could you try a wash with my shampoo? Please?"

Snape sighed. "You're an irritating boy. And I'm busy."

"I know. But I'll help you with brewing, tomorrow. I must be saving you enough time for that."

"All right! Next time I bathe. But don't expect much. It only stays clean for about twelve hours, when I'm working."

"That's okay. Do it before the next dinner then."

"Now you want me to show off?" Snape asked caustically.

"If you're going to the trouble, you might as well."

Snape scowled. "I don't like looking attractive."

"Why not?"

"It reminds me of a time in my life that I would much rather forget." Snape glowered at Harry. "Come along now. We'll be late."

When they got to the Great Hall, Professors Dumbledore, Lupin, Vector, and Flitwick were already present, as were Madam Hooch and Madam Pomfrey. Of the people who usually attended, Harry thought, only Professor Sprout was missing. He wondered when Hagrid would return. He hoped Hagrid wasn't bringing back any more giants.

As they crossed the hall to the single table of diners, everybody watched them intently.

"Good evening, Severus!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "We wondered if we would see you, this evening."

"Mr. Potter," Professor Vector interrupted, "those robes are stunning!" She smiled slyly at him. "Please assure me that you will be wearing your school robes in September, or I will need to update my wardrobe."

"Of course I'll be wearing school robes!" Harry exclaimed. He sent a nervous look at the headmaster. "Unless I manage to get myself kicked out."

"You have done nothing to merit that recently," Dumbledore responded.

Snape snorted. "And this definition of 'recently?' In the last day, perhaps?"

Harry shot him a quick grin as they sat, Harry next to Madam Hooch. Remus, on Hooch's other side, bent forward.

"How did you afford those robes, Severus? Sorry to put you on the spot, the other day -- I had thought Harry was paying."

Harry stiffened, as, he realized, did Snape, beside him. Snape either had to admit he paid for the robes, causing everyone to wonder why Snape was buying such an expensive item for his least favorite student, or deny it, making Remus suspect that Harry had lied to him. Dumbledore stepped in.

"Why, I gave him an allowance for Harry's clothes, Remus. He may, perhaps, have exceeded it, slightly...."

Everybody laughed.

This was the safest story for Snape, but Harry could tell he was humiliated by it. Eyes on Remus, Snape said caustically:

"Not that paying for it would have been a problem, Lupin. Thanks to my experience with you, I am now the primary provider of Wolfsbane Potion to several apothecaries." He smirked at the werewolf. "Those who need it pay quite well."

Remus glared.

"You are the sort of parasite Randolph rails against, Severus."

"Parasite? Watch your tongue, Lupin! That potion takes most of a day, and you know not many can brew it."

"But you receive far more than a day's pay, do you not?"

"Does this 'Randolph' wish to nationalize my services?"

"No," Remus said flatly. "He wishes us to hunt humans 'as nature intended.' That is the only way, he says, to regain control of our lives."

Harry looked at Dumbledore. The headmaster was attending to the conversation and people's reactions, but he did not seem inclined to intervene. Harry spoke above the whisperings from the other end of the table. "Some control," he said.

"Yes, well, some people ignore that," Remus said lightly.

"You'd spend the rest of your short lives being hunted!" Madam Hooch exclaimed.

"Ah," Remus said, smiling slightly. "But Voldemort has promised --" he lifted his gaze and looked straight into Harry's eyes -- "that we shall be allowed to hunt Muggles, when he rules the world."

"And the point to displaying this savagery, Lupin?" Snape sneered.

"The point," Remus returned softly, "is that extremism does not arise in a vacuum. There is a better solution for us, but most of us cannot afford it. I cannot afford it. When I am not at Hogwarts, I buy the Wolfsbane potion as often as I can, which is about every three or four months. I get through my other moons the old fashioned way. And I am not surprised that many of my kindred, set upon by society as we are, have started to think that they would prefer tearing someone else up to tearing themselves up."

"Would you rather I did not make the Wolfsbane Potion?" Snape asked caustically. "That would only decrease the supply. No matter what I charge, the apothecaries will charge what the market will bear."

"And the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures -- you will note we are not human, anymore -- will continue to prosecute anybody -- like that poor girl in Canterbury who killed a wizard who broke into her apartment, past locks and wards -- while not doing a thing to put a viable solution within the means of people like her -- and me."

Harry interrupted before Snape could respond. "Can werewolves -- during the moon, that is -- actually tell the difference between a Muggle and a wizard?

"Of course not. He proposes to designate hunting areas, that witches and wizards will be warned to avoid."

"How would you feel about killing Hermione's parents?" Harry asked coldly. Remus closed his eyes for a moment.

"Horrible," he said. "The whole idea is sick. But ..." He pushed up his sleeve, well past the elbow. Harry was horribly reminded of Snape, displaying Voldemort's Mark. There was no tattoo, here, but scars marked every inch of the werewolf's skin. One bite mark was still red and swollen. "Three hundred and nine times, I have done this. How many more can I stand? How many would stand even that? But every month, it is this: I kill myself, I kill someone else, or I mutilate myself, yet again." His eyes met Harry's with renewed intensity, the flecked brown shifted nearly to lupine gold. "I am a very patient man, Harry. I cannot endure to cause harm; I would kill myself before willingly killing another. But I cannot stand this. I was embarrassed at my relief to be trapped here once again, with my most beloved enemy," -- here he nodded at Severus -- "to brew my salvation." Those intense eyes fluttered closed, then open again. "For another eleven moons, I need not make my choice, and I rage for those who are less fortunate."