Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

The Wrong Answer

Breakfast had been weird, Harry thought. Hermione was avoiding him, again, though she looked more hurt than angry, and Ron was almost too friendly and shooting dark looks at her -- obviously they had fought about him, again.

Potions was no better -- Malfoy sniggered whenever Harry talked, and bumped Harry's table hard enough to spill things on his way to the supply closet. Harry, of course, lost points for making a mess, but that didn't bother him so much as the sheer childishness of Malfoy's spite.

In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ron had saved a seat for him. Hermione was sitting with Padma. When Malfoy came in, he sat with Hannah, who immediately turned pink and started subtly rearranging her robes. Harry thought it was rather disgusting.

Professor Lupin entered a step behind Neville.

"For the next week," he said, "we are going to be working on an understanding of what makes something Dark Arts, and how we define, detect, and restrict Dark Arts. Today's class, I'm afraid, will be entirely theory, but I hope to have a few engaging demonstrations for next week, to break the monotony, a bit."

Harry glanced surreptitiously over at Malfoy. The Death Eater's son already looked contemptuous.

"First," Lupin said, "can anyone give me a definition of Dark Arts?" He managed not to look at Malfoy as he asked. Harry was impressed.

Ernie Macmillan raised his hand. At Lupin's nod, he said:

"Harmful or coercive magic?"

"No, although the expression is sometimes used loosely to cover that. Neville?

"Spells cast by hate?"

"Closer. Anyone else?"

Harry raised his hand. When Lupin nodded at him, he began.

"Dark Arts spells require part of the caster's soul to augment and direct the magic used in casting. Emotion is often required, but it doesn't need to be hate. It doesn't even need to be negative, though negative emotions are more frequently used. The danger of this is—"

Lupin cut him off. "We'll come back to risks later, Harry. There's actually a classification division, here. Some systems class all the magic Harry described as Dark; others reserve that label for only those cast using negative emotions as Dark Arts, and refer to the entire class as Soul Arts. In Britain, at least, the entire class is proscribed--"

Harry, who was already annoyed at not being allowed to finish his description, tensed at this oft-repeated falsehood. He raised his hand. "That's not true!" he said, without waiting to be acknowledged. "There are at least three Dark Arts spells in controlled use -- the Binding Oath, in government, and two healing--"

"Harry!" Lupin snapped. "Please wait to be called on. Yes, there are a very few exceptions, but in general--"

"We are not a lot of second-years that require simplification!" Harry shot back. "If you are going to talk about this, Remus, do it honestly!"

Lupin stared at him. "What did you call me?"

"'Re-' Oh." Harry reddened. "Sorry, sir."

A few people snickered.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter." Lupin softened the punishment with a slight, amused smile. "And please wait your turn to speak. Had you let me finish my sentence, I might have mentioned exceptions -- you don't know, now, do you?"

"No, sir. Sorry, sir." Harry glanced over at Malfoy, and found the Slytherin watching him in a amusement. When their eyes met, Malfoy raised his eyebrows in an expression of astonishment. Harry watched him slowly raise his hand.

Remus finished what he was saying about the Binding Oath, and called on Malfoy. Malfoy settled back in his chair, and his eyes again locked on Harry's.

"Harry," he drawled, making Ron tense at Harry's side, "described that surprisingly well, but with one omission -- a rather interesting one, I think, for him." He smirked. "Many Dark Arts spells also use part of the soul of the victim -- sorry, subject. This is true of all those that leave a permanent mark." His eyes flicked up significantly, though at his distance there would be no difference in focus for Harry's eyes and Harry's scar. Harry brought his brows down in question. Malfoy nodded seriously.

Lupin seemed rather taken aback. After a moment of awkward silence he said:

"Er... Thank you for that contribution, Mr. Malfoy. I had heard that of binding spells, but not of ... er, curse scars."

Privately, Harry thought that, considering the effects of his scar, it could probably be classified as a malfunctioning binding spell, however unintentional. He gave Malfoy an evaluating look. Malfoy smirked.


The rest of the class was somewhat better. Harry waited his turn, and Lupin did allow him to say his piece on the risks of Dark Arts, which brought him satisfyingly incredulous looks from Malfoy, even if it did make Lupin seem a bit uncomfortable. Ron shook his head, but didn't seem quite as disturbed as the professor.

"Well, that will be all," Professor Lupin said brightly. "I'd like ten inches from each of you on Monday -- just a short review of what we covered today, so that I can be sure everyone understood it. Harry, could you stay after, please?"

Harry looked at Ron. "Wait for me?" he asked in an urgent whisper. Ron nodded. He stood by the door while Harry walked up to Remus's desk.

"About the scar...." Remus began.

"I bet he's right. It behaves like a binding spell, just one with no focus."

"Those are called linking spells, Harry."

"Fine, but they're in the same class."

Remus nodded. "Could you, perhaps, ask your friend to wait outside for a moment?" he suggested.

Harry stepped back. "Sorry." He could feel himself reddening. Remus's entire face tightened.

"Back to that, are we?" he asked. If Harry had not known him well, he would have called Remus's words light, but he could hear the touch of tension in the familiar voice.

"Sorry," he repeated sincerely. "Want to schedule a meeting?"

"That is acceptable?"

"Yes. Oh, absolutely. I'd like to talk."

"Tomorrow afternoon, then."

"Sounds good. Time?"

"Three-thirty. My office."

Harry nodded and smiled as warmly as he could. "I'll see you then, Professor Lupin."


Care of Magical Creatures passed without major incident, although Hermione, this time, requested a Calming Draught. She looked on the verge of tears most of class, but Ron restrained Harry from approaching her.

"You'll just upset her more, mate. Come on, now. Parvati will take care of her."


Quidditch practice was odd. Ginny and Ron seemed to have fought, as well, and Ginny was twitchy whenever Harry tried to talk to her. She, also, appeared to have been crying. Harry decided there must be something up with the girls other than Hermione's argument with him -- that could not possibly have upset Ginny so much.


After dinner, Ron suggested they go right up to the sixth-year boys dormitory.

"The girls have some sort of drama going on. Let's give it a miss. We've hardly spent any time together since first night back."

Harry shrugged and followed Ron upstairs. For a while, they sat and talked about classes and Quidditch, but the conversation was oddly strained. After a while, Harry began to wonder why Ron was keeping him in the room. He stopped pacing, which made him wonder when he had started, and looked over at his friend.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked. "You look upset."

Harry shrugged. "I'm not upset. Just thinking."

"What are you thinking about?"

"Just ... wondering what's going on. I mean, you've just spent all day with me. You don't do that, anymore. Now you seem set to spend all evening with me. What's up?"

Ron looked embarrassed. He stretched back on his bed, rummaged in his bedside drawer for a moment, and pulled out a chocolate frog, which he tossed at Harry. "Here. Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Thinking."

Harry put down the sweet, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against his bed. "All right. What's going on downstairs that I'm not supposed to know about?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are we here?" Harry growled.

"Because I miss you."

The reply was short, cross, and utterly sincere. Harry didn't know how to respond to it. He sat down. Ron sat up and crossed his legs in front of him, but looked down at his calves.

"What do you remember about when we met?" Ron asked. Harry hesitated, wondering what was wanted of him, then finally shrugged, and began to talk.

"It was your family first. I was all alone, with no idea how to get to the platform, and terrified I'd miss the train. Then this family came by -- with an owl! And your mother helped me. She was very kind, and didn't make me feel stupid." He looked appraisingly at Ron, who was still looking down, but now smiling slightly. Harry continued.

"You came to sit with me on the train, and you stared at me at first, but you caught yourself and were nice enough to try not to, and you got over my name pretty quickly. You told me about your family, and I told you a bit about mine.

"When the trolley came by, it had nothing I'd seen before, so I bought some of everything and shared it all with you. I'd never had money before. It was fun, and the sweets were better than Muggle ones. My first Chocolate Frog had Dumbledore's card, and it was the first time I'd seen a wizard picture. You thought it was strange that people in Muggle pictures stayed put. You explained to me about houses and Quidditch -- oh, and Hermione brought Neville by; that was how we started talking about houses -- and Malfoy came by and was a conceited ass, then left when Scabbers bit Goyle."

He stopped, feeling odd at the thought of Scabbers, back when he'd just been Ron's rat.

"But you're nice to Malfoy, now," Ron said bitterly.

"Ron! That was years ago! We were little kids! And the start of it was him trying to make friends with me --"

"By attacking me."

"Oh, yes!" Harry gave him a wry smile. "He obviously had no idea how to make friends with someone who wasn't already eager to be in with a Malfoy." He thought about James's description of the Hogwarts Express. "Rather sad, if you think about it."

"Sad?"

"He'd probably never met anyone who hadn't been ordered to be nice to him. I must have been a shock."

"It would never occur to me to feel sympathy for the overprivileged."

Harry didn't want to argue the point. He shrugged. "Honestly, Ron, you're much better at justice than mercy. Hermione even more so."

"And you?" Ron challenged.

"And me. It's a Gryffindor trait, I think." Harry frowned thoughtfully. "I spent a lot of my summer thinking about this -- the good and bad sides of our traits, I mean. Not just as right and wrong, but as productive and not productive."

"Sounds rather Slytherin."

"Does it? I mean, something can be morally right, but still not useful or kind -- freeing house elves, for example."

"Oh." Ron chewed at his lower lip a moment. "Okay. I see what you mean."

"Treating Malfoy as my enemy hasn't got me anything but trouble, and it certainly hasn't improved him, any. I'd like to see what treating him as an intelligent acquaintance does."

"And the Dark Arts stuff?"

"Came rather out of the same thing. I was interested in where the line is drawn -- especially between legal and illegal, or between levels of punishment. It's a bit inconsistent, actually, when you start looking too closely. Scary, when you start thinking about people like Lupin, or even Hagrid -- there's talk about mandating registration of part-humans, now."

Ron frowned. "But ... it shouldn't be any problem if they don't do anything wrong, right? A lot of the werewolves can't be trusted -- Lupin even says so. Registration is for his protection, as well, so he can't get in trouble for something he didn't do."

"It doesn't protect him at all, Ron! If a werewolf attacks in the area he was known to be in, they'll round him up. Say something happens in Hogsmeade, and it's done by an unregistered werewolf, or a werewolf who claimed to be somewhere else. They'll bring in Lupin for questioning, and they have the right to give him veritaserum, rather than getting testimony, because it's quick. So even if people saw him in his room, he'll be questioned."

"But questioning will show he didn't do it. So what's the problem?"

"What if questioning also shows he knows about a werewolf who didn't register? Or that he lied, some previous time, about where he would be? Or anything else? Helping Sirius? Then he can be jailed for that. Even if it shows nothing, he's had his privacy ripped away, and we've had days of Snape as a substitute."

"Now, that's a scary thought." Ron smiled wanly at Harry. "Of course, now you're back to championing morally right, and I'm defending useful."

"People should be treated decently," Harry said stubbornly. "Not just wizards, and not just humans, either. All people."

"What do you consider a person, though?"


They talked for hours about everything from the line between people and creatures to favorite sweets. Neville came in and went to bed, then Dean, then Seamus. After several complaints, Harry and Ron ended up on Harry's bed with the curtains drawn to protect the others from whispered stories and spelled light. In the middle of a very funny story about Fred and George charming their mum's broom to go into long speeches, whenever she tried to sweep with it, about how it was going to run away and become a Quidditch star, Harry realized he couldn't stop yawning.

"Am I boring you?" Ron asked, and promptly yawned himself.

"No, it's funny. I'm just exhausted. What time is it?"

Ron poked his face and wand out of the curtains. "Oh no!"

"What?"

"It's three o'clock. A little past."

"Oh. No wonder." Harry had been feeling achy, as well as tired, and realized now that it was past time for him to take his potion. He usually did that before the others were up in the room, or while they were out getting ready for bed, and he'd skipped it the night before.

"Better go brush our teeth, and stuff," he said, pushing the curtain open.

"You can," Ron yawned. "I'm too tired." He crossed to his bed and lay down. "G'night, Harry."

"Good night." Harry decided to do his usual bedtime things. Ron should be asleep when he got back.

"Harry?"

Harry stopped with his hand on the door. "Yeah?"

"I'm glad we're friends."

Harry smiled. "Me too," he said.


When he got back, the room was full of peaceful breathing. He went straight to the drawer of his bedside table, opened it with a muttered spell, and took out a vial of the muscle-relaxing potion. Quickly, he shook it, opened it, and downed it while it was still fizzing.

"Harry?"

Only exhaustion kept Harry from flinching. "Still awake?"

"What was that?"

"Just something I take for muscle pain. I'm supposed to have it every other day, at least."

"Muscle pain?" Ron repeated questioningly.

"It's ..." Harry thought quickly. He certainly hadn't shown any signs of pain, and if Ron went and talked to Madam Pomfrey, he'd find out that she had not given any potions to Harry. He decided to borrow liberally from the truth.

"Since the Death Eater attack. It had some ... complications."

"You weren't there." Ron sounded strangely panicked.

"No, but I was affected by the wards coming down." That, Harry thought, was pretty good. Even other members of the Order didn't really understand Dumbledore's wards. "So I need this potion," he said. "I will for a few months. Snape makes it for me directly. Talk to Dumbledore if you like, but not Pomfrey. She doesn't know."

"Shouldn't she, though?" Again, Ron sounded more distressed than Harry thought reasonable. Honestly! I've just given him permission to talk to Dumbledore about it. He can't think it's anything bad.

"No. He'd need to tell her too much about what happened to the wards, and what happened to me. He hasn't even told his old crowd that. It's strictly for people who need to know."

Chapter End Notes:
Next: Damage control, plans, and discoveries (no, not that one)

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