- Rating:
- R
- House:
- Schnoogle
- Ships:
- Harry Potter/Ron Weasley Harry Potter/Severus Snape
- Characters:
- Harry Potter Ron Weasley Severus Snape
- Genres:
- Romance Slash
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Spoilers:
- Goblet of Fire
- Stats:
-
Published: 02/02/2003Updated: 04/14/2003Words: 58,873Chapters: 14Hits: 107,447
Primer to the Dark Arts
Icarus
- Story Summary:
- Harry learns he is to be given private (and secret) tutoring in the Dark Arts to protect himself next time he meets Voldemort. His teacher? Professor Snape. Features ghost cats and cursed harps, spells that are supposed to go wrong and don't, a friendly sociopathic Death Eater... and Snape's very naughty, naughty library.
Chapter 05
- Chapter Summary:
- Harry learns he is to be given private (and secret) tutoring in the Dark Arts to protect himself next time he meets Voldemort. His teacher? Professor Snape. Features ghost cats and cursed harps, spells that are supposed to go wrong and don't, a friendly sociopathic Death Eater... and Snape's naughty, naughty library.
- Posted:
- 02/18/2003
- Hits:
- 6,802
- Author's Note:
- Thank you to CLS for the Beta review (go read her stuff, now! Start with Black Shadow). And to Wilderness Guru for reading slash and liking it.
Between Friends
by Icarus
Both Harry and Ron lazily skipped breakfast the next morning. Although Dean, Seamus and even Neville threw T-shirts at them and razzed them to try to bring them back to life, it was useless. Harry and Ron only groaned and opened their eyes briefly. Then they blinked at one another, their eyes met rather muzzily. They nodded, and in the same moment, rolled over. Definitely sleep was far more valuable. They'd been up half the night after all, happily shooting the breeze about the Chudley Canons, the latest pranks against the Slytherins, and other little things.
Now Harry was comfortably stretched out on his bed, robes abandoned for jeans and a T-shirt. The bed was an unmade mess, over-flowing with Ron's magazines. As Harry flipped through a back issue of Quidditch Today, he sighed contentedly, happier than he'd been in a long time.
Ron had put a Veneer Charm on the window between their beds and tried to use it as a mirror. Ron wasn't very good at these though, and the thing was still rather see-thru. Ron preened and fussed at his hair, brushing it first one way, then another. He'd abandoned robes for Muggle clothes as well, jeans and a T-shirt that looked a little too small.
"How's this?" Ron asked, squinting at his almost-mirror. He gave his hair a few tentative swipes.
"Huh? Fine," Harry said absently from behind his magazine, without looking up. "Look at this rubbish. They say here that the Aegis Arrow formation renders the Flying Tortoise completely ineffective, but look how bunched up their Chasers are! Way too vulnerable to Bludgers. Maybe if you put everyone in armour, perhaps..."
Ron brushed his hair the other way. "How 'bout this?"
"Fine." Harry glanced up and shrugged. He saw no difference. "I suppose if you had a good Beater defence -- but it would really overwork them. You could only use it late in the game...."
Ron parted his hair on the right, feathery red bangs sliding into his eyes. "Well, what about now?"
"You look ridiculous."
"Yeah." Ron scowled at his tenuous reflection, and mussed his hair irritably.
"But I suppose with the two new dragons we have as Beaters," Harry continued blithely, "we'll just cook our opponents and not worry about strategy."
Ron stood back from the mirror and posed; Harry stifled a laugh. "All right. How's this look then?"
"It looks the same as always and Ron, you're not listening!" Harry complained and dropped the magazine to his lap.
"Yes I am. Dragons as Beaters. Good idea. You'll need 'em this year," Ron answered, brushing the hair behind his ears.
"Yeah, with all the injuries... You know, Ron, if you like, you can try for the second string Chaser..." Harry offered gingerly. He didn't want to get Ron's hopes up of course, but Ron had wanted to be on the Quidditch team for as long as Harry could remember.
"Nah. Half-way through Seventh year? Not much chance of it," Ron said, with careless disinterest. He ran his fingers through his bangs and tousled them a bit. "How's that, eh?" He peered at the 'mirror' with satisfaction, standing sideways.
Ron? Not interested in Quidditch?
"Ron, it looks the same." But Harry glanced up for a moment and realised well, actually, his hair looked a lot better. And that T-shirt was way too small. It rode up a little, revealing a flat stomach. Harry blinked.
Ron seemed to think it looked good, too. "Lunchtime! C'mon Harry, I'm starving!" Ron took down the Charm in a shimmer of silvery sparks, and made for the stairs with a... swagger?
Ron took the steps two at a time, and tagged the archway as he jumped the last three. No one else could reach that. If Harry didn't know better he'd say that Ron was showing off. With a devilish grin, Ron held the portrait door for Harry, bowing in an overly polite courtly gesture. Harry rolled his eyes and cuffed his shoulder in disgust, and shoved Ron through the portrait-hole first. "Wanker. Go on...."
Ron fairly skipped down the corridors. Harry had to hurry to keep up with him as Ron almost flew down the steps. He grabbed the banisters and swung at each turn, landing with a thump. Harry trundled down the stairs behind him with light quick steps.
The jeans were too small as well, Harry noted as he descended the last flight at a slower pace. Especially where his thigh met the curve of his... Harry wondered if his eyes might not just burn a hole in them. But at least they were long enough in the leg for a change. When did he get those, Harry wondered.
At the bottom step Harry smirked at him, probably standing a little closer than he should, "Ron, uh, won't those cut off the circulation in your legs?"
"Nah. They stretch out." Ron tossed his hair. "They're okay, right?"
Harry had nothing to say.
Over lunch, Ron ate as eagerly as ever, but he paid as much attention to the people around him as his food, glancing up from his plate as he shovelled it in. Which was definitely unusual. Harry watched as Ron gave a rakish smile to a group of Gryffindor fourth years, and Harry was surprised to see that it worked; and just who else grinned back. Some fourth year girls giggled, whispered behind their hands to each other; then giggled some more. Harry rolled his eyes and Ron chuckled. But there were older girls, too.
"Hermione, did you want som'more tea?" Ron leaned over. Hermione just nodded blankly.
A group of girls detached themselves from the Ravenclaw table, and Ron hurriedly wiped his mouth and got up. He patted Harry on the back, "See you later." He nodded to Hermione. "All right?"
"Ron, you haven't finished lunch!" Harry complained.
"I'll nick something from the house-elves," Ron said as he tossed his napkin to his plate. He waved, "Hey... Miranda, wait up!"
Hermione answered weakly, "Um, see you..."
Ron paused uncertainly. He walked backwards a few steps. Then he trotted after the Ravenclaw girls, with a last glance over his shoulder.
Hermione commented, "Ron looks different somehow...did he change his hair or...?"
Ron had caught up with Miranda right under the Great Hall archway. Her friends made a half circle around him as they chatted, and he leaned a forearm against the doorjamb; the T-shirt rode up a little more. Then from the Great Hall entrance Ron aimed a brilliant smile - that smile - back at Harry as he left.
Oh, wow... Harry dropped his fork.
Harry ploughed into his lunch with renewed focus. He decided that if Ron Weasley discovering girls had been bad, it was nothing compared to a Ron Weasley who had discovered sex.
Harry shook his head. For some reason, he couldn't help but feel a little pleased with himself. He wondered just how he'd look in a pair of those jeans, and grinned rakishly at the spot Ron had last stood.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The Gryffindor common room was a complete and utter disaster, Harry decided. It looked like someone had hit a Fotomat with an Exploding Charm. Every table, chair, stool, and even much of the floor was taken up with Hermione's project. There were moving, waving, smiling photos just everywhere. Dozens more were stuck to the walls with various gluing spells, or hovering in midair.
Hermione had her wand handy and she was gloweringly ready to use it should anyone decide to move or otherwise touch her pictures. Even Dean wasn't such a fool as to tamper - tempting targets though they were - not with that deadly wand aimed in his direction. Neville attempted to walk around, and found himself levitated over The Project and set down gently by the door.
"I wasn't gonna touch it!" Neville complained.
"We're both safer this way," Hermione said curtly.
She was making a photo album for her parents for Christmas. She had taken a lot of their old Muggle-style photos, made new prints, and developed them wizard-fashion so that they were all moving. It was a nice gesture, Harry thought, but certainly a lot of work. For once he was grateful the Dursleys had never given him more than toothpicks and old socks. At least he wasn't obligated to get them anything extravagant in return.
Ron was sprawled out among the stacks, eyeing the pictures in his hands warily and looking somewhat confused. He gave Harry a helpless look, as Hermione scolded him.
"No, Ron - those need to be organized by year! The others by vacation. Now get it straight, or I'll just have to do all of it myself!"
Harry couldn't see why Ron didn't take her up on her generous offer. But somehow Hermione had suckered him into this. Ron struggled on gamely.
Harry took pity on Ron, set aside his Firebolt and helped for a bit. There was one photo Harry particularly liked, of a grinning three-year-old Hermione, her hair poofed like an angry cat's. She was on a swing and came right at you. It was a great action shot. But after less than an hour, Harry lost patience with the never-ending project, though Ron seemed ready to stick it out until the bitter end. Ron hovered over Hermione anxiously.
"Have fun," Harry smiled to him. He picked up his Firebolt and waved goodbye to the exasperated Ron. This was not how Harry planned to spend his Saturday.
Harry had been lucky. The Dark Arts classes had been inexplicably cancelled at the last minute. Several times now Harry had been ready to leave for class, and Professor Snape had waved him over to explain, picking at a hangnail:
"Harry, I need to reschedule again. I am far too busy this week." The excuses had been invariably weak. Not that Harry minded at all.
"Oh, well. That's okay."
Then Harry would feel the lingering glare at his back; but when Harry looked, Snape had always turned away in time, before Harry caught him at it. Harry supposed that Snape was disappointed now that he had actually done something - well, not right, but at least something - in the Dark Arts. Although he had seemed pleased at that time.
At first Harry had studied furiously after hours in the restricted section, terrified this halt might mean an excruciating test. But none had come, and Harry began to slack off and enjoy his unexpected break. Harry felt a momentary pang of guilt that he hadn't done anything about that beaker yet. But it had now been nearly two weeks since he'd had to endure a Dark Arts class. The normal school schedule seemed a breeze by comparison. Best yet, Snape had stopped teasing him about Ron and seemed, if anything, to be avoiding Harry.
Harry quickened his pace through the corridors. He didn't have Quidditch practice for at least another hour, so he could get some training runs in beforehand, to work out the kinks at last. Snape's Dark Arts class had put quite a dent in his practice time.
Not a soul was on the Quidditch field. The stands were completely free of people, the grass a soft spongy green. It was grey and there was a slight mist, an almost-rain, but otherwise the conditions were perfect, with only a low wind. The grounds were slightly veiled in soft grey.
He did a running kick-off from the field, an illegal manoeuvre in games, but it gave him exhilarating height as he soared. He executed several kick-turns, barrel-rolls, skimming the stands, then pushed himself high above Hogwarts until the pennants were mere flickering dots below. He turned, and, making a vertical arc that left his stomach in midair... he let himself drop.
Harry moulded himself to his broom handle as tight as he could, and steered for the ground at maximum speed. It was easy to spin like a top in this kind of manoeuvre, which lost your line of sight with the ground. That's how you crashed. Harry managed to hold it to only one or two spins, and the hotter air of the ground rushed by him at incredible speed as he pulled out of it, within inches of hitting the dirt. The blood rushed to his ears. He saw something black, out of the corner of his eye, but whizzed by it too fast to see. Harry was breathless with joy, and whooped, pumping the air with his fist! Oh, he'd missed this!
Then Harry caught sight of something white, arcing through the air. A practice golf ball. Harry took off after it, and snatched it all too easily. But another soared - high, too high to have simply been thrown. This one zigged and zagged, avoiding Harry's outstretched hand nimbly. He trapped it from below. Two others zipped, going in opposite directions. This took more planning - Harry's mind raced. An impossible catch. Whoever threw them meant for him to miss. Both were falling quickly. He dove for the furthest one, with the lower arc. Then, in a ground-skimming sweep, he just barely caught the other, executing an end-to-end flip and skidding to a stop in mid-air. He spun around triumphantly to hold up his captures to whichever teammate had thrown them for him. But it was no Gryffindor who threw them, Harry realised with a shock.
It was Professor Snape. His black figure gazed thoughtfully at Harry from across the field.
Snape raised a black-gloved hand and the golf balls launched themselves from Harry's possession. They flew directly across the field to him, bobbing and dancing in the wind. He caught them. Then Snape gave a slight mocking salute, turned, and strode back to the school. The golf balls followed, floating idly behind his head.
What was that about?
He didn't have time to wonder, as his teammates poured onto the field.
"Was that Snape?"
"He's not spying for Slytherin, is he?"
"No," Harry said absently. Though he wasn't sure how he knew.
~*~
The Gryffindor Quidditch team laughed and stomped their way through the Hogwarts main halls, smelling of rain and the outdoors, voices loud from shouting to each other from airborne brooms. They were dripping wet, and tracking in more mud than was safe, given Filch's hopeful predilection for torture. But they had plenty of company, and there was already a fair puddle outside the Gryffindor common room. If any of the other houses wanted to learn where a common room was located, all they had to do was follow the mud on a rainy day. Harry laughed, and hoped they didn't bring disaster on Hermione's photo album.
But it looked as if she had finished. There were no photos to be seen, and both she and Ron were gone. She must have worked Ron like a slave! Harry grinned to himself. But he was a trifle disappointed. He wanted to talk to them about Snape's appearance on the Quidditch field, and it seemed like ages since he'd seen them. He'd been too busy, what with the Dark Arts, and the trouble with Ron and all. After the Quidditch practice he felt like he'd just come back to life somehow, in a way he hadn't felt since the Dark Arts classes had begun.
He waved his teammates on to the showers without him, and hunted around for signs of where his friends might have gone. Colin Creevey was perched precariously on a windowsill, magicking raindrops with a Magnetism Spell and moving them into a snowflake pattern. There were already various smiley faces, blinking at him, and a complicated dragon squirmed and scowled on an upper pane. Colin was rather good at this stuff, Harry observed.
"Ron and Hermione - ? Out on another date," Colin answered without turning around. "Hermione wouldn't go 'till they finished those pictures."
"Another date? When was the first?" Harry was astonished.
"First? Try second and third. Where've you been?"
Studying for Dark Arts classes, Harry growled to himself. Wow, he'd missed a lot. Harry had had no idea.
~*~
"Fourth date," Ron grinned at him from his bed the next morning. "I don't think we got back until eleven o'clock! Hermione was frantic! She kept thinking that we would get locked out!"
"You could have always stayed at Hagrid's..." Harry suggested somewhat lecherously. It was one of the places he and Ron had found when they were playing around with the Book of Eros. Quite cosy, when Hagrid was off in the Forbidden Forest or Diagon Alley. Harry was starting to miss Ron and that Book already. But his friendship with Ron had just recovered, and he wasn't going to chance anything messing it up again.
"Oh, I thought of that - ! " Ron wiped his face as if trying to remove his grin. He was not succeeding. "But she's, you know, not ready for anything like that yet." Then a look of concern crossed Ron's face.
"You're okay with this, aren't you?" Ron lowered his voice and glanced about cautiously. "We were uh, just - you know - fooling around, right?"
"Well - you're okay, right?"
"Yeah. Sure. Of course! Who wouldn't be?" he said and sighed. "Hermione...."
"Then of course I am," Harry lied.
~*~
The real test came a week later, late at night in the Gryffindor bedroom. Harry woke to soft, wet sounds. Kissing. And a familiar whisper. Two familiar whispers. Coming from Ron's bed. His bed curtains were drawn.
Apparently Harry had slept through most of it. Thank God.
"I can't find it!" one voice whispered, more loudly than they should have in a room full of sleeping Gryffindors.
Ron's head poked out from behind the curtains. He felt around on the floor, and retrieved what looked to be a bra. He glanced up, saw Harry, grinned and put his finger to his lips. Harry inwardly groaned. Ron had those familiar bright glazed eyes, a look Harry knew quite well.
Are you Crazy?! Harry mouthed to Ron.
Ron nodded eagerly, and disappeared back under the curtains.
Moments later, Harry saw Ron and someone with fluffy hair, fuzzier than usual, back-lit against the window by the door.
"See?" Ron whispered, "I told you - these guys can sleep through an Oroborus Bomb."
"Okay, but honestly, if - !"
"Sh!"
"See you tomorrow...."
"Yeah." Ron stood staring after her a moment.
Harry was furious. How could Ron do this? Here? Of all places! How dare he even consider - ! He wanted to let Ron have it, right there and then, but knew he wouldn't be able to keep from waking everyone else up. So Harry turned his back on Ron, slamming his shoulder into the pillow.
"Weasley." It was Seamus' voice. "Never again, you got that? Not here. I won't say anything to the others this time."
That was his cue. Harry spoke up, "Look, Ron, this isn't going to do Hermione's reputation any good at all, if you pull things like this. Think!"
"Oh, my opinion's gone up," said Dean from the opposite side of the room, "Waaaaaaay up. In fact, it's raised its hand!"
The dark room filled with guffaws of laughter. There was a suppressed giggle from Neville Longbottom's bed. Everyone was awake. Hearing even Neville, Ron moaned and put his head in his hands.
"Don't tell her! Damn you, don't tell her!" he groaned.
"Hey - we're Gryffindors, right?" It was Seamus again. "And we stick together. But Weasley, if you do anything like this again - all bets are off."
There were noises of agreement throughout the room.
"If you don't mind - " Dean slipped off his bed with a thump. " - have to have a shower." There was more laughter.
"Leave some cold water for the rest of us!"
"Geeze, Ron.... I can sleep through an Oroborus Bomb alright - but that?!"
Surprisingly, that last comment was from Neville, startling another burst of laughter and a round of applause. Ron threw the covers over his head, muttering, "If one of you tells her, I swear, I will kill you.... "
~*~
The next morning, Harry decided he was going to have a private talk with Ron. Aside from discussing the night before, he had a lot to say to Ron. Even if he wasn't exactly sure what it was.
Frustratingly, Ron was already gone before he woke. Later, he kept hovering over Hermione in the Gryffindor common room, then again downstairs at breakfast. They disappeared together into the library afterwards. Harry couldn't get a moment alone with him. It was very annoying.
Harry tried again at lunch, with no greater success. Harry almost thought Ron was sticking by Hermione just to avoid him. Harry almost burst with frustration.
Hermione and Ron chattered next to Harry at lunch as if they were the only people in the world. As Harry picked at his dessert, he felt that familiar prickle, and glanced up. Professor Snape was watching him again.
Harry shot him a look over his glasses that said: Go away!
Snape tilted his head to the side, in a subtle kind of shrug. If you say so, it said. Snape glanced aside.
But somehow, Harry didn't have the energy to yell at Ron anymore. Or... whatever. He left Hermione and Ron to their conversation, suddenly aware that Ron hadn't been avoiding him today. He had just been more wrapped up in her than he had ever been in Harry.
Today, he simply hadn't noticed Harry. At all.
Suddenly Harry was very glad he had followed Professor Snape's advice.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Snape sat on the boulder they used as a table for the Dark Arts class; Harry sat on a low stool Snape had summoned for today, his chin in his hands. Harry had known his good luck couldn't hold. At some point the Dark Arts classes had to resume.
The clouds above them were streaked with sunset red and pink, the Forest black about them, and there was a brisk wind. Harry's breath froze in the air in front of him. It was unlikely they would unfreeze anything in this cold, Harry mused. A chill was starting to sink into Harry's skin. Usually they kept active, as Harry fired spell after ineffective spell at some supposedly doomed object. The beaker remained stuck to the rock like an accusation. But tonight, Snape simply sat, looming darkly in front of him, his face a sharp landscape of more subtle shadows in the twilight.
"Harry, we need to have a little talk," Snape said in his most professorial manner.
"Is this about Ron?" Harry asked, and then winced suddenly, wishing he hadn't been so open. The last thing you did with Snape was to give him an advantage.
It seemed a slight smile flickered across Snape's face, though it was hard to guess in this light; but he said only, "No."
"Harry, I'm under the impression you feel the Dark Arts are somehow dark and evil, despite the benefit of our classes."
"Well, aren't they?" Harry said, in spite of himself. It seemed safer than usual to ask questions, though one could never tell.
Snape made a satisfied sound. "Yes. They can be. And I will not lie to you: they usually are.
"But the Dark Arts are not in themselves evil, Harry. That is an ignorance perpetrated by the ignorant. They have been in my family a very, very long time, and I flatter myself to think I perhaps understand them a bit better than the likes of the Minister of Magic. Maybe, even more than our beloved Professor Dumbledore." His smile was grim.
"It is not the type of magic one uses that corrupts the mind; not the power itself, but the quest, the desire for power. Voldemort - " Harry noticed with a small shock that Snape didn't fear to use his real name either. "- he would have been a danger no matter what form of magic he practiced. Trust that I know, Harry. He could twist anything to his ends. Willful ignorance, Harry, letting the other side know more, learn more, than you is deadly. Letting them have an advantage - simply because we have the weaker stomach - is nothing less than suicide. This is what you of all people must learn."
Snape produced from a pocket in his robes a small furry vole. It nibbled cautiously at Snape's hand, then sniffed the air experimentally. Harry gasped with sudden understanding - so far all they'd hurt was a few vases and rosebuds. No....
"Sublimino!" Snape pronounced.
The vole toppled and lay completely still in Snape's hand, as if hit by the Avada Kedavra curse. Harry suppressed a whimper, looking up in appalled shock at Professor Snape. Snape's eyes were blacker than the night falling around them.
"Ah. You think it's evil. But it is not what you think at all, Harry."
Snape's face was eerily outlined by stars; some creature rustled and stirred the branches behind them, but Harry paid it no notice. The vole didn't move or breathe.
"I'll tell you a story. A wizard, a very nasty wizard, was keeping Muggles for experimentation. He didn't want to feed them, these Muggles, while he, ah, kept them - stored them is the better word - between experiments. He was a madman, long caught and dead for his trouble, but... he devised this spell. To stun them, to Suspend all life functions. Indefinitely. Until the counter spell is applied:
"Revivo!"
The vole perked up, stirred. And it sat up in Snape's hand, sniffing for food. Snape's long fingers delicately caressed it. Snape looked down at Harry.
"This spell is now used by every Medi-Wizard in the field, throughout the Wizarding world. A patient with wounds so severe they are draining him of blood is Suspended, until he can be brought in for treatment.
"Is that evil, Harry?"
And the Avada Kedavra curse, Harry wondered, can you say that has benefits? But he said nothing. Because he very much feared Snape would say yes. Even about the Three Unforgivables. Thinking of how his parents had died, Harry found he resented even the thought. Nor did he believe it for a second.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Harry returned to the Gryffindor rooms very late that night, and lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. He thought of the last moments of his mother's life, his only memory of her other than the photo album Hagrid had given him. Up until tonight, he had been starting to think Snape was okay. In a strange, Snape-ish sort of way. Harry traced every wooden beam with his eyes, all the way down to the fireplace and the windows, but sleep would not come. Finally he shook Ron awake and told him what Snape had said. Ron's eyes grew big.
"Thanks, Harry. I'm going to have nightmares now!"
"But what do you think?"
"That he's a loon! You know that. Wow, I don't envy you those classes, at least - not anymore. Not with Snape as a teacher," Ron shuddered.
"I mean about what he said."
"Well. He is right about that Suspend Spell. Everyone uses it. Charlie uses it on injured dragons - their blood's poisonous, you know. One gusher'll kill. But - Harry, I dunno. You should talk to Hermione about it. She's good at this sort of thing."
"You know I can't tell Hermione!"
"Well... um, you can tell Hermione a lot of things, Harry...all sorts of things, you - you'd never think," Ron mumbled. He sounded a little evasive all of the sudden. Harry was instantly suspicious.
"What do you mean by that?"
But Ron wouldn't answer, and pretended to be asleep. After several tries Harry gave up. He supposed he would find out soon enough. At least worrying about it took his mind off Snape.
~*~
The next morning at breakfast Hermione was in a wonderful mood. Her hair bounced as she cheerfully plunked down next to Ron, and gave Harry a warm smile. A very warm smile. Then she shot a knowing look at Ron, who blushed and avoided looking at Harry altogether.
She kept this up all through breakfast, glancing over her copy of The Daily Prophet at Harry with warm looks. She was acting very strangely.
Harry got junkmail as usual, from various different stores in Diagon Alley. Because he paid for his own things instead of his parents buying them for him, he got all of the advertisements. He neatly ground a particularly loud one under his heel. He opened a letter and it announced:
"SALE!!!"
- before he could crumple it to shut it up The entire school turned in his direction.
He could tell that the next letter - which was flashing a painful orange! yellow! pink! - was another sales brochure. He ripped it up without opening it. The store wasn't one he recognized anyway; someone had sold their mailing list. How else would he get advertisements from Knockturn Alley? At least those were quiet. They smoked and threatened the reader: "If you miss this Event, you will regret it the rest of your life." The burning letters smouldered, then burst into blames and burned a hole in the tablecloth. How anyone thought you could attract customers by sending them rude notes, Harry had no idea.
Harry wafted the smoke away from his breakfast, and caught Hermione smiling at him again.
"What?" he finally asked her. Ron looked distinctly uncomfortable. "What is it?"
"Oh. Nothing. Nothing at all," she beamed and stood. "Now you two behave yourselves." She left with a wink and a knowing shake of her head.
"What was that all about?" Harry turned on Ron.
"Look, Harry, it.... it just slipped out, you know? I borrowed the Book and all, and I was explaining about it and - "
"I thought we were never going to tell Hermione!!"
"Yes but - "
"Don't ever tell Hermione, you said!" Harry shoved his plate away in disbelief. How could Ron be so stupid?
"But, but - Harry, she's fine with it," Ron's face heated, "a little more than fine actually. I think - well, she likes it. A lot."
Hermione waved to Ron and Harry from across the room. Harry slumped with his head in his hands. Unbelievable, he thought. Of all the stupid gits....
"Well, we're all friends, aren't we?" Ron blinked.
I'm going to die, Harry thought.
"We were just - you know - goofing around a bit, that's all...." Ron muttered.
"Still, maybe the three of us sometime.... " Ron continued. Harry gave him a steady look, picturing himself and Hermione worshipping at the golden shrine of Ron Weasley. Ron took his point, "... or, well then - maybe not."
Strangely, he was more upset with Hermione than Ron. Things had been going just fine, until she started cosying up to Ron. But that wasn't quite fair, or even true, Harry told himself. Snape's love potion had already put a dent in his private life. If Snape hadn't... Harry shook his head, realizing he was trying fix the blame somewhere, or on someone. He was going in circles. It was just a run of bad luck, worse than usual. But the worst had been done, and now he just needed time to assess the damage. At least Malfoy didn't know.
It was odd, come to think of it, that Snape hadn't slipped this knowledge to his own house. But he had kept his word and other than a few snide remarks, kept it a secret. Better than Ron had, Harry thought ruefully. Even if Snape wouldn't in principle tell the Slytherins, he easily could have hinted broadly enough for Malfoy's dirty little mind to figure it out. Yet he hadn't. Strange. But then everything about Snape was strange.
At least Harry didn't share any class but Arithmancy with Hermione today. They had assigned seats, so that left her - 'G' - far across the room from Harry - 'P'. Sitting at his desk he groaned inwardly as he saw his classmates turning in their homework scrolls. He hadn't finished their assignment for Arithmancy! And he'd left it in his room to boot. "Accio: Homework!" Harry caught the scroll, and scanned down it. It had many cross-outs and was rather messy, but, well, at least half of it was done. He sealed the scroll quickly, and waited till the end of class before he turned it in.
Just when Harry thought his day could not get any worse, Snape pulled him aside before Potions. He whispered in Harry's ear, a little too close. The purr of his voice sent a chill down Harry's spine.
" 'Detention,' Harry. Seven o'clock." Snape sounded rather pleased with himself. Never a good thing. "You will travel alone and meet me there this time. I have some - special preparations - I need to complete for this particular assignment."
Snape had a strange gleam in his eye as he said the word 'preparations.' It was the look that people got when heard the word 'present,' or that Ron had when you said 'Chudley Canons.' Plus, the class wasn't going to start for a full two hours later than usual. What kind of preparations were so special they took so long? It was right over the dinner hour, too. Harry couldn't start skipping meals on top of missing Quidditch practice, and everything else. He felt hungry just thinking about it.
This did not bode well at all.
Finis. Next: 'Trafficking in Magic.'