The Master Plan

Chapter Two: A Sarcastic Sort of Hell

"Did you really blow up the potions lab?" Seamus asked; eyes filled with alarm and amusement.

"Absolutely not," Ron told him firmly. "You can't get us to incriminate ourselves like that."

"And it was only the stuff that was breakable, flammable, or otherwise easily destroyed," interjected Harry. "I mean; it's a dungeon. Stone walls, stone floors--how much damage could we really do? We didn't blow up the whole lab. It's still standing."

Ginny Weasley glared at Harry. "Why did you have to go and do something so stupid?" she queried. "You were supposed to help me learn that refracto spell. The one I keep screwing up and amplifying whatever hexes are aimed at me? You swore up and down that you'd help me with that tonight!"

Harry gave a helpless shrug. "That was just, you know, pillow talk," he told her, winning himself that dangerously sharp Weasley elbow directed at his ribs. He'd never really have slept with Ginny, and Ron must have known, because despite the fact that he was pretty protective of his younger sister, he just rolled his eyes in response.

Dean Thomas shook his head in amazement and admiration. "No potions for at least two months," he said in awe. "It's like I've died and gone to heaven. How the hell did you do it? And why the hell did you do it? Not that I'm not grateful," he added hastily. "I just would've thought a year's worth of detentions wouldn't be worth two months without potions. I mean, really, if you think about it."

Harry gave a little shrug, looking kind of distant and disgruntled. "Just a prank, really. We never--you know--really do stuff like that, just to say we did."

"Well, I don't know about that," Dean replied, looking thoughtful. "It seems to me you do a lot of crazy things, you just usually seem to be doing them for...noble reasons or something. I guess it really doesn't seem like you ever do them, just to say you did." He gave Harry a glance that was a little shrewder than Harry would have liked.

"*I* just can't believe you aren't mad at us for losing all those points," Hermione said hastily. "I mean; there goes the house cup, at the very least. We're lucky we weren't suspended."

"Weeeelll..." Seamus admitted, "a lot of Gryffindors are mad at you, like Parvati and Lavender."

"You're telling me," Ron jumped in. "Did you hear what Parvati called me yesterday? Right in front of McGonagall, too."

"And someone slipped a sardine into my oatmeal this morning," Hermione added glumly. "And they'd enchanted it to sing, er...it wasn't very nice." She'd tried to be a sport about the whole thing, and laugh along with the guys, but it was easy to see she still wasn't into the spirit of pranking. "Anyway, I still don't understand why the two of you aren't angry with us."

Dean and Seamus glanced at each other, grinning a little, and Dean shrugged. Seamus tried to explain. "The LOOK on his FACE..." he said. "We only made it down there just in time to watch Snape get his first glance at the smoke coming out of his classroom...After seeing as how he's taken God only knows how many points off of Gryffindor in the past, just because he was Snape, and not because we'd even done anything..."

"Yeah," Dean added, looking a little pensive, but still grinning, "and after all the times he's been horrible to Harry, or taken points off of him for no reason at all! I think it was kind of cool, just this once, to know the Gryffindors had actually DONE something--kind of almost that one big something that made up for all those little things in the past."

"What Dean is saying," Seamus said expansively, "is that this was the most perfect, point-blank, satisfying 'SCREW YOU' the Gryffindors ever could have given the overgrown grease-ball. And he thoroughly deserved it, too."

Several hours later, more than an hour into their first detention with Filch, Hermione couldn't hold back the complaints she'd wanted to let loose all day. After Filch had left them trying to restore the classroom to its original state (shards of glass were taken care of with magic, but everything else was to be done by hand) she'd finally given a loud sigh and began letting everything out.

"I don't know what I was thinking," Hermione moaned, shaking her head. She squeezed some water out of the sponge and dunked it in the bucket again. "Three hundred points! A year's worth of detention! Why did I let you talk me into it?" Unhappily, she went back to scrubbing at the soot on the floor.

"I didn't talk you into it," Ron frowned at her. "It was Harry's idea, not mine, remember? Besides, I thought you would talk him out of it. You're supposed to be the sensible one! Why didn't you tell us this would happen?"

"I did," Hermione responded waspishly, pushing her hair out of her face with a soapy hand. "I DID tell you, you idiot! And how come I always have to be the sensible one? Am I ever allowed to have fun and be a dolt? And how come you're just sitting there, instead of helping me with this floor? If Filch comes back, and you know he will any moment, and you're still sitting there like that..." she trailed off, and went back to scouring at the soot.

"'Course you aren't allowed to have fun," Ron replied, biting back a smile. "You're the voice of reason. Why would we keep you around, otherwise?" He spluttered as a soapy sponge hit him in the face. "Well, I like that! Next time you get us into one of these stupid messes, you can handle it yourself, then!"

Hermione shook her head, torn between amused affection and exasperation. It was so like Ron, especially lately, to tease her like that, never taking anything seriously.

"You really did surprise me," he added quietly. He sounded so sincere that Hermione looked up again, questioningly. "I really thought you'd talk him out of it again. You'd talked him out of all the other crazy stuff he'd come up with. I figured I could just agree with him and then let you set him straight. Why didn't you?"

"It really isn't my responsibility," she responded, brow furrowing. She dropped the sponge and sat down next to him, leaning back against the wall. She bit her lip, thinking about it. "I just...I don't know. I was so glad he was talking again, and. And. And--I guess I just worried he would stop, you know, if we didn't do something."

"Yeah, I guess I know what you mean," Ron said, shoulders sagging. After what had happened that summer, Harry had been so different. Explosive one moment, and then taciturn the next. And then he'd started having these weird ideas; like finding some way of bringing Sirius back to life, or getting a medium to talk to his Godfather for him. And Ron and Hermione hadn't let him, wouldn't agree to any of it, because they could see how bad it was, and how unhealthy it would be for him. And after the last time they'd refused, he'd just...stopped. Wouldn't talk, not for months. Hardly ate, hardly slept, only responded to adults, only responded in halting, quelling sentences. Snape had been the only one to get any kind of rise out of him, and then only half the time. And when he'd finally broken his muteness, and raised the subject of blowing up Snape's classroom, Ron had readily agreed. He didn't care what happened, anything was better than the stifling silence. "Yeah. And he's talking again," he pointed out hopefully. It was true; ever since the two of them had embraced his plan, Harry had seemed almost Harry again, and had schemed a way to get under Snape's skin with enthusiasm.

"Yeah...he seems better, kind of. He really does," Hermione had to admit.

Ron slung an arm over her shoulder and grinned. "Then it was worth it," he announced firmly.

Hermione looked at him for a long moment. "For us, maybe. Harry's stuck with Snape right now. I wonder if he still thinks it was worth it." She gave a dry smile.

Ron pulled a face. "Yeah, stuck with Snape for most of the night. Dunno. It'd be a nightmare, that. I sure hope Snape doesn't pull anything, you know, too vicious. He can get real nasty."

Harry was, in fact, supposed to be copying several hundred lines across the blackboard in the transfiguration classroom--since the one they used for potions was out of commission for a while. Snape hadn't even bothered to stay and watch him copy the lines. He got the feeling he could cheat and use magic, and Snape wouldn't notice or care. He looked up that the fifty lines he'd done so far: I WILL STOP BEING A COMPLETE IMBECILE, over and over and over. He scowled. The plan had turned into a complete failure. Snape was supposed to be mad at him, so mad that he'd...do something rash, Harry supposed, although he wasn't entirely certain what, and instead...he'd just set him to copying lines and left. Rat pig bastard git...won't even be angry when he's supposed to... Harry thought as he glared at the board.

He turned quickly as the door opened again, and the Professor himself stepped through, looking sour and suspicious. "Are you going to gape at me like an idiot, or get back to work?" he inquired in that mellifluous, arrogant voice. "I'm sure if I thought about it, I could come up with a much more entertaining punishment. It would be my pleasure." But belying his words, his feet carried him straight past Harry to McGonagall's desk, where he removed a book from his robes and began to read, ignoring Harry completely.

Harry's eyes narrowed. He did not like being ignored. Instead of finishing the lines, he flopped down at one student's desk and kicked his feet up on another, trying to pretend that he wasn't looking at the Professor as he blew his unruly bangs out of his eyes.

Snape slowly looked up, and arched an eyebrow in a menacing fashion. Harry's heart skipped a beat, but he looked away, as though he simply didn't care if the teacher jinxed the bejeezus out of him, right then and there. Snape ground his teeth. "Just what are you doing, Mister Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "You don't seem to be all that angry with me anymore. You've definitely cooled off since this morning. Maybe I'm just kicking back because I think I can get away with it," he said with an abstracted air, never looking at the teacher.

He saw Snape jerk a little, like he was taken aback, and allowed himself a lazy smile. Maybe it was better this way; Snape, when he was angry, was just a little too intimidating, and Harry always felt himself lose control, and then he made a fool out of himself. Snape when he was merely irritated could actually be pretty amusing. Harry watched the man out of the corner of his eye, saw the way his hands gripped the desk very tightly, and how he frowned as though working on a particularly difficult puzzle.

"I don't think you've gotten away with much of anything, lately," Snape said, quietly, looking at Harry almost accusingly.

"So, what; first you're all hot and bothered that I went and demolished your precious potions lab, and then you're mad because I didn't, really? Very mature." He gave Snape a practiced smirk. He'd only done it a thousand times in front of the mirror this summer. He knew he didn't wear it as well as someone like Malfoy did, but he actually was quite angry, and he knew he did it better when he was really mad about something.

Snape's lips thinned, and his eyes narrowed even further. "What are you playing at, Potter?" he demanded in a clipped voice.

"You know what I'm talking about," Harry responded, even managing to sound a little bored. This was fantastic! He actually had the upper hand. It was so exciting. He hoped to God he didn't blow it. "I didn't blow up your stupid classroom, I'm sure you know because you must have found the potions by now, and you'd be an idiot not to realize that if we really had caused a large explosion in there, the chemical reactions, and the damage to the rest of the castle, not to mention ourselves, would have been considerably worse." He gave another oily smirk, pleased with himself. Oh, I am so damn good.

"And what," Snape replied, standing and walking over to Harry's desk, looking down with arms across his chest, "exactly was the point of pretending to blow up my potions laboratory? Hmm, Mister Potter? I know you are somewhat the school record-holder for doing incredibly stupid, dangerous, senseless things; did you merely not want to break the winning streak?" His voice was calm, cold, and Harry felt that tight anger building in his chest again.

"Well, you looked at me, didn't you?" he threw back. "You spoke to me. I have witnesses who can say you did; you were only bellowing at the top of your lungs."

Snape sneered. "All this effort, just to get a little attention from me? I'm flattered, I really am. Please. A pathetic excuse," he spat. "What is your real motivation behind that inconceivably unintelligent act?"

"That was why I did it!" Harry yelped. "First you break off the Occlumency lessons and then you only throw, like, half the poisoned barbs at me that you used to, and you totally IGNORE me the rest of the time. You even threw me out when I stayed after class to ask you a question, on three separate occasions! And it was a really important question, too!"

"Poor, spoiled Harry is unused to not being fawned over and made a fuss of by the entire wizarding community. I see." Snape's lips twisted in an unpleasant smile. "I did assume that it would have to be some kind of preposterous, self-serving reason. Really, Potter; you're fatuousness is only surpassed by your overwhelming conceit. And only by the slightest margin."

Harry felt his face go red. It didn't help that he didn't have the vaguest idea what 'fatuousness' meant, although the last time he'd been locked in Dudley's old room, he actually got so bored that he read a great deal of his cousin's dictionary. "I most certainly am not. Er. It certainly is not," he replied, but he felt the effect was rather spoilt by the fact that he'd screwed it up the first time round.

Snape's lips actually twitched at this. "Do you mean to say that your fatuousness far surpasses your conceit?" he enquired wryly.

Harry went, if possible, even redder. "I meant that I really needed to talk to you, and you just. Just. Fine! You know what, just fine! If you want to ignore me, you go right ahead and do that! I'm leaving." He marched toward the door, shoulders hunched.

"That would be inadvisable, considering you are, in fact, still in the very midst of being punished for your last transgression," that dark velvet chocolate of a voice trailed after him.

Harry stopped, flinching. "We didn't even actually do much of anything, you realize. And what we did do was totally my idea. I had to bully Ron and Hermione into having anything to do with it. All we did was a minor spell that seemed like something bigger. It just made a loud noise, covered everything with ash and soot, and gave the place a little shake. I think Hermione said it was supposed to be a sonic boom type of thing. We even packed all of your potions and stuff away, all carefully labeled, and put them where they wouldn't get hurt. Why are we even being punished?"

"Why won't you give me a straight answer as to your motivation?" Snape countered. "'I needed attention' is far too childish to be believable, even for you, Potter."

"I did give you a straight answer," Harry replied in a flat voice. "I don't care if you believe me. I just wanted to ask you one fucking question. And you can say or do whatever you want from here on out; dole out any punishment you please. I'm utterly past caring." He turned again and walked out the door, his footsteps rather listless.

He almost could have sworn that he imagined the soft, frustrated sigh that wafted out behind him. He could not, however, have imagined the voice. "Potter, get back in here. If you want to ask your wretched question, do so now. I won't ever give you another opportunity, be aware." And Harry found his feet slowing, as he turned back to the door.