The Master Plan

Chapter Three: Is That a Confession, or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

Harry took a deep breath before re-entering the classroom, and gave Professor Snape a defiant look.

Snape did not look impressed. "Well?" he offered, sounding silk and smooth and perfect. "You said you had a question. You'd best be quick about it, before I decide you were lying and just trying to keep my attention. If you were, you are about to be VERY sorry."

Harry blinked a couple of times. One chance. What were the odds, he wondered, that he'd completely muck it up once again? Taking a deep breath, he said, "You'retheonlyteacherherethat'sactuallyworkedwithVoldemorteandweallknowyouwanttheDefenseAgainsttheDarkArtsjobandIreallythinkI'vegoneasfarasIcanonmyownandIreallyneedyoutohelpme,becauseI'msickofeveryonelookingtomeandIdon'twanttogetanyoneelsekilledbecauseofmysheerstupidity...all right?" He sagged. All that in one breath had been a lot. And he'd probably just mucked it up again. Yeah, that was mucking it up, all right.

Severus Snape stared at him for a long moment. "Was that Parseltongue, Gobledegook, just plain gibberish, or possibly Welsh?" he inquired, arching one of those elegant, black wing brows.

Harry fought the heat that threatened to rise in his cheeks once again. He cleared his throat. "You're the only teacher here that's actually worked with--with you-know-who," he stuttered, remembering the Potion Master's distaste for hearing the name. "And...we all know you want the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, and I really think I've gone as far as I can on my own," he continued, careful to go much more slowly than his first unintelligible outburst. "I...would really like for you to help me, because--because I'm sick of everyone looking to me, and I don't want to get anyone else killed because of my sheer stupidity." He squeezed the last few words out through gritted teeth, waiting for Snape to snap out the inevitable insults.

When he looked up at the teacher, the man still had not said anything, but was staring at him with an intense, contemplative air. His black eyes were glittering and, to Harry, completely unreadable. "You blew up my potions lab because you wanted...my help? Is that what I am being let to believe?"

Harry shrugged, feeling frustrated. "Well, you just...you wouldn't answer me. You wouldn't even look at me."

"As I recall," Snape said in an all-too-casual voice, "your main reason for approaching me for most of the summer and...then again, after the return to classes, was to accuse me--as vituperatively as possible--of having been the reason your Godfather died." He raised his eyebrows, and Harry was surprised that Snape had managed to say it so calmly. "I can't remember having been approached with any course-related questions, nor can I, in fact, recollect ever being spoken to with anything less than malice, virulence, or even with any measure of coherence."

"I could say the same," Harry muttered spitefully, but he fell silent when Snape looked down his nose at him.

"Indeed. But my point is that, as I recall, there was never any mention, in any of our more than memorable encounters, of you needing my help. The discourse did not, I think, run in that direction at all. Conversely, I remember the dialogue going something along the lines of, "You worthless, greasy haired bastard; I hate you I really do, no, in fact I loathe you; you should die; it should have been you; do you have any idea how you make my skin crawl; every time I'm near you I have to fight the urge to Avada Kedavra you and don't think it wouldn't work, because I have the pure, unadulterated, utmost abhorrence running through my blood that would definitely give you a good boost on your way to hell; I don't believe for five seconds you're really on our side; you're just waiting for the right time to sell me out to him, aren't you; I detest you, I really, honestly do." Professor Snape had said all this in a subdued, almost bored sounding voice, in the exact same manner as anyone would if they were compelled to recite a particularly long and tedious grocery list, and Harry was astonished.

He felt a wave of shame wash over him, and found he couldn't meet the professor's eyes. He remembered all that? The only thing Harry remembered clearly about the earlier part of the year was that Snape seemed to be avoiding him, and it was almost driving him mad, they way he didn't have anybody to let loose on. He bit his lip, thinking back. Yes, he could remember saying such horrible things, but... "You gave as good as you got," he pointed out softly. He flashed back on the sorts of things Snape always said to him. He grimaced as he said, "You're a nasty, horrible little boy; you never listen to anyone, always assume you know better; all arrogance and no common sense; better off if we broke you down for spare parts; you're an absolutely repugnant, insufferable brat; oh, please, Potter, go ahead and try a killing curse on me, won't that be amusing, seeing as how you manage to make such a disaster of every little thing when you lose your temper; how thoroughly atrocious, to find you waiting for me after class again; if you don't leave me the hell alone and stay the fuck away from me, I'll save the Dark Lord the trouble and kill you myself, don't you think for one moment I won't." Harry stopped, his mouth clamping shut.

Snape's eyes had grown wider and wider during the recitation, but he seemed to stop and make a conscious effort to narrow them once Harry had finished. "And I suppose you're expecting an apology?" he sneered, glaring at the student.

Harry merely shrugged. "Not really, no. I said shit to you, you said shit to me; as far as I'm concerned, we're even. And anyway...at least you yelled back," he added quietly, half-turned so that Severus almost didn't hear him.

"What do you mean, I yelled back? I don't recall you trying to provoke any of your other teachers into screaming matches, nor for that matter your friends, or even, for that matter, your enemies. Your misdirected, meaningless ire was focused entirely on me." His arms were still crossed, and Harry noted how his hands seemed clenched on his upper arms.

Instead of the denial his teacher had been anticipating, Harry gave him a bitter half grin. "Yeah, I guess it rather was, wasn't it? Er. Sorry about that. It's just that I couldn't *do* that with anyone else. I mean, I tried, I did for a while, but...whenever I got really steamed up and started throwing a fit at someone...well. Dumbledore would just stand there and look like he felt sorry for me, and then say something that was supposed to be wise, but was really just, on the whole, empty. And Molly Weasley would get flustered and worried, and Ron and Hermione would act all hurt, and Tonks just pretended it was all ordinary, and Moody scowled at me like he'd like to tell me off but couldn't. And Prof--um. Lupin just looked like he was ready to fall apart anyway, and couldn't take much more." At this, Harry looked furtively guilty. "You were the only one that was...ah, normal. And you didn't baby me about it, or try to get all sensitive and understanding." He had to hide a grin, picturing Snape getting sensitive and understanding and babying anyone about anything. He cleared his throat, scuffing his shoe against the floor, feeling oddly shy.

When he glanced up, Snape was giving him that I am a suspicious bastard so I know you're up to something look he had. "That may be," he stated baldly, "the only time anyone has ever dared to call me normal."

Harry laughed aloud, and Snape looked, for a moment, simply astounded. It may well have been the first time he'd ever done anything that had warranted a genuine smile from the boy. He quickly recovered, donning his icy glare-of-bitterness-misanthropy-and-the-will-to-torture-puppies once more, but Harry hadn't missed the look. For some reason, this made him feel even more shy. How weird, to try to converse with Snape as though he was a regular person, and not a vicious demonic sadist sent from the deepest pit of Hell merely to make Harry's life a misery.

For a long moment, they were both quiet, unable or unwilling to breach the uneasy stillness. Harry tried not to look at the Professor as the moment stretched, twisting and shuddering. Harry was so nervous he felt he might start laughing again, and not be able to stop. And it wasn't as though he had any reason to be nervous; he was just standing here with Snape, talking and arguing and taking the occasional insult. What could Snape possibly say to him that was worse than the sort of things he usually said? To his discomfort, Harry found his thinking didn't lessen the tension between them. How odd, to feel this tautness to the air, when they had done nothing except nearly share a joke, which you'd think would give a bit of release, not make the whole thing awkward. Except Snape had made a joke, and Harry couldn't remember him ever doing that. Perhaps that was it; just the strangeness of it that they couldn't get used to. Tentatively, he glanced up through his thick lashes, seeking to make eye contact with the professor, but when he did, the man gave a quick intake of breath, and looked sharply away.

The tension in the room seemed to have been spun gossamer-thin, and Harry felt something sort of twang inside him, and he glanced quickly back over at Snape, to see if he noticed it, too. The professor had his eyes closed, looking somehow shocked. Had he felt anything, when that silvered, fragile thread had snapped?

"You...your punishment is over for this evening," he said in a faltering voice. "Leave. You can--we can speak more of how you might defend yourself against the dark arts tomorrow." His voice grew steadily stronger as he spoke, and when he'd finished, and opened his eyes again, he was the same as Harry remembered. Harry stared at him for a long moment. "Are you planning on waiting until I physically eject you from this room?" he asked, his brows lowered.

Harry quickly shook his head. "I just thought...none of your potions were really damaged, were they? We just threw some glasses down to make it look like they'd shattered. We'd put them in the storeroom, packed in straw. We thought they'd be all right there, but the spell came out a little...it was a bit more vigorous than we'd expected."

Severus Snape pinched his lips together. "The potions were fine. No thanks to your...idiocy...Can't fathom why anyone would do something like that," he muttered. "You could have easily blown something up in class, you know, if you wanted attention that badly. Or after class, since it seemed that's when you were so hell-bent on having your say."

Harry smiled at him again a little, and Severus tilted his head, waiting for a response. "Yes, well...when it became obvious you weren't going to speak to me anymore, I kind of...um. And you know I wouldn't have liked to mention Voldemorte in the middle of class, or go on about how I get people killed, so I decided I'd rather do it in private. And I was so mad that you wouldn't talk to me *after* class, so...I decided to pull a prank, in true Marauder fashion. I figured it had to accomplish three things; one, it had to get your attention--and keep it--while making you forget you weren't speaking to me, no matter how angry you were. Two, it had to be something that incited you to put us in a position where we would be alone together. I figured you would have to be *really angry* for that to happen, and that, for the prank, my friends and I would have to do something where none of the other teachers would interrupt before that happened; in other words, somewhere closer to you than them. I really thought you'd grab me by the robes and haul me off to a torture chamber, or drag me outside and throw me in the lake or something. I figured you'd do something right away, and I'd have to talk quick. And be convincing. So that part was an utter failure on both our parts, but I realized detention alone with you would be even better; you'd have had a chance to calm down and maybe actually listen to me." He grinned at his teacher, who was gazing at him in incredulity.

"I see. So you...put some thought into this. As stupid as that sounds, and, frankly is. Putting thought into being an idiot. I did always think you could make a career out of it. And the third thing, Mister Potter? What was the third thing you meant to accomplish?" His voice lacked venom, but Snape was still looking rather skeptical and unimpressed.

"Ah. Well. The third thing...now that one wasn't...*strictly* necessary, but I felt it needed a certain something to give it panache. You see, I'd realized I'd kind of been making a bit of a fool of myself, standing outside your office after class and trying to get you to let me back in, all the while screaming at the top of my lungs. So it was all about pride, really. Style. And for Sirius, in a way, because that's the way I felt he would go about it. Like a tribute, in a sense."

"How touching," Snape rolled his eyes, looking sour.

"Yeah. So it was important that it got your attention, really got it, had to be something you couldn't ignore. It had to force you to speak to me, alone and in private. And it had to be big enough to make you as mad as you'd been making me. Revenge, I guess, petty as it sounds. That really wasn't the most important thing, but I kind of thought it needed a twist. Because the third thing was to reverse our roles. I could have done it anywhere, but I wanted to have you chasing after me and screaming, for once. And of course it would have been easier, to track you down after classes and ambush you somewhere. But...the elegant part was forcing you to come to me."

Snape was speechless. Harry, seeing the stunned and rather offended look on his professor's face, gave the man a cherubic smile before turning gracefully on his heel and heading back to Gryffindor Tower.

So while Hermione and Ron were still languishing under Filch's oppressive glare, worried about Harry, and wondering how bad his punishment had been...Harry was waltzing through the deserted halls, grinning a little, and thinking about his detention. On the whole, he felt it had really gone rather well.