The Master Plan

Chapter 10: There's Nothing Wrong With Fear...as an Aphrodisiac

The trio entered the Transfiguration classroom that night quite meekly, each feeling like a bundle of nerves. Harry had begged Ron before hand not to make a pig's ear out of it; just to give Snape a chance, and Ron had agreed, but with great reluctance. Hermione, Harry felt, was a trooper as always, but of course they were doing this in the name of knowledge, and that made all the difference.

They found Snape standing at the front of the class, face indecipherable and black eyes glinting. He pointed silently to three desks that had been moved to the middle of the room, and they uncertainly took their seats. On each desk was a piece of parchment, filled with Snape's elaborate handwriting down to the very bottom, where an 'X' proclaimed they should place their own signatures. Ron and Hermione exchanged uneasy looks, but Harry skimmed through quickly and decided it made good sense to him; he quickly graced the parchment with his name, ending with a flourish, and then turned to his friends, giving them a persistent look.

"I am about to place a silencing charm on this room, so that we may speak freely," Severus said, drawing his wand. "Are there any objections?" No one responded, so he did as he'd intended and turned to face them. "I suppose you're wondering why I am asking you to sign such a thing?" He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to prevent himself from rolling them. "Yes, Granger?"

Hermione, who'd had her hand raised even before the professor was done with the charm, quickly noted, "Sir, there are several spells on this contract that I recognize. There's the Consentius Oblivatum, and a Fidelus Oath, or a version of one anyway, and at least two Tacitonium Persuedi, and--"

"And your point, Miss Granger?" Snape was watching her closely, tapping a foot. He hadn't once glanced at Harry since the moment they'd entered the room.

"Ah...I'd only wondered. I mean; these are strong spells, and I'd hate to sign a contract that I couldn't get out of..." Hermione was turning slightly red, but she held her ground. "And that's what it appears most of these spells do. Bind you to your word."

Snape stared at her for a while, as if debating. "Of course they do. I could, in fact, lose my job over this unlikely agreement. I would hardly have been prepared to do so without assuring my self, in some small way, that you would not be able to do this specifically for that purpose. Potter, here, agreed to do this without question. If it is something that your beloved golden boy can accept, why should you find it so onerous?"

Harry glowed at this, reveling in the rare and unexpected praise. Snape had said something approving of him. He felt as though he'd been dunked in a vat of warm, honey-flavored liquor. He had to bite his lips to keep from beaming.

Hermione cleared her throat, carefully not meeting Harry's eyes. "Because sometimes Harry thinks with his heart, and not with his head," she rejoined, looking pained. "And because one of these stipulations says that we agree to have our minds wiped of memories at your discretion." She bit her lip, and Ron gasped. Harry was glaring at her. How could she say something like that about him? And in the contract...well...Snape wouldn't have put it in if it wasn't important, would he?

Ron looked angry, but he didn't say anything, and Snape stared at Hermione for some time, as though she was a particularly bizarre new potion that he was trying to memorize. Harry stared at him, and he realized the man's hands were shaking almost imperceptibly. Was he nervous? No, Severus Snape was never nervous. Had he been taking some potion with less than desirable side effects? That certainly sounded more Snape's thing. He watched curiously as he waited for Snape's verdict. "...well spotted, Miss Granger. Five points for Gryffindor." He turned and walked up to the blackboard, where he wrote the words Occlumency, Legilimency and Consentius Oblivatum. Harry reeled. Snape just gave points to Gryffindor! Snape just gave points to Hermione! This was...awful? Why would it be awful? Because Hermione was getting attention, and Harry wasn't? If Harry wanted that kind of attention, he'd just have to work for it. He had no right to be jealous of Hermione, one of his best friends, simply for doing what she always did. He ought to be supportive. Then why did he feel like reaching over and giving her bushy hair a vicious yank, and asking her what she meant by it? Harry firmly stamped the urge out, and forced himself to pay attention to Snape.

"These words are all related. I've no doubt Miss Granger has figured it out by now, and Potter certainly ought to know due to his experience--though I highly doubt he does. Weasley? What do these words mean, and how do they relate to one another?"

Ron, put on the spot, blinked a couple of times. "Er. Well. Ah, Harry, he took Occlumency with you because of the dreams he was having. Because, er, Dumbledore thought that You-Know-Who, was like, getting into Harry's head. That was supposed to stop him from getting in. And Legilimency, that's like, what you use when you want to get in to somebody's head. So I'm guessing that last one--Consentius Oblivatum, it says here? I'm guessing it has to do with getting in someone's head, or keeping someone out of someone's head or something. Something to do with heads, anyway."

Snape licked his lips a few times. "Ahem. Well, aside from the most appalling mispronunciation of Consentius Oblivatum I've ever heard, that was a...logical train of thought. A small thought, to be sure, and one that falls far short of what I will be expecting from you if we do, indeed, decide to continue with these...distasteful gatherings, but a thought nonetheless, and therefore, I suppose, more than I would have expected from you. Potter, can you continue with Mister Weasley's train of thought until it actually arrives at the station?" He gave Harry an arch look, as though he knew Harry would not be able to arrive at any worthwhile conclusion.

Harry broke out into a sweat. His first real test. The first time he might have a chance at proving to Snape that he was not a total prat. It didn't help that Hermione could barely sit still, she was so eager to give them all the answer. "Um," he said, forcing the word past his suddenly dry mouth. "Well, when you use the spell Obliviate, it erases the memory. So I'd have to guess, seeing how the root word seems to be the same, that Consentius Oblivatum has to do with erasing the memory. Er. Like Hermione said."

"And the Consentius, Mister Potter?" Snape probed, giving no clue as to whether Harry was correct.

"I'm...not sure," Harry replied, cautiously.

"Take a guess." Snape's eyes were glittering madly, and Harry was a little thrown. He looked like a seeker who had just spotted the Snitch, but didn't want to make any sudden moves toward it because it would draw the opposing seeker's attention.

"It sounds like consent, so, er. I suppose it could mean that it was kind of a...consensual memory-wipe?" He bit his lip, clear eyes piercing the teacher with their tentative hopefulness.

Snape looked quickly away. "And what could agreeing to have your minds wiped possibly have to do with your studies of Occlumency and being subjected to Legilimency? Hmm?"

"Well, Voldemort can get into my mind, sometimes, and there might be things that we don't want him to know. If a memory was...really dangerous, like maybe it showed someplace we didn't want him to know about, or something like that, then maybe it would be better if I just couldn't remember it, so he couldn't get access to it that way."

Snape nodded curtly. "Voldemort is, in fact, highly adept at Legilimency. I do not know that any of you will ever meet him...again. But if that unhappy circumstance should arise, I would you all be prepared. And I am not partial to the concept of you doing so with certain...liabilities floating unchecked in your minds."

"You're worried we'll give away your role as a spy," Hermione noted solemnly. Harry felt something clench inside, and something tugged at his mind. Not his memory, exactly, but as though a thought had surfaced briefly, but before he could scrutinize it and discern what it meant, it slid down beneath the waters of his consciousness once more.

"We. You. This could put you in a lot of danger," Harry realized, thinking, This could be why Dumbledore doesn't want him in the Defense position. How could he teach the class everything without Voldemort finding out? Even being in the same room with us will put him in danger later. Because of his memories, and our memories... Out loud, Harry said, "I don't think we should do this. I mean it. I think. I think I made a mistake. I think this was a bad idea." His stomach felt like it was trying to twist itself around his other vital organs, or maybe come up through his throat and escape. He clamped his mouth shut, feeling nauseous.

"Well, it would certainly not be your first, would it?" Snape replied, one eyebrow raised in the expression Harry knew so well.

What would it be like, if Voldemort discovered Snape had been helping them and killed him? If Snape left for a Death Eater gathering, and never returned? What would it be like, knowing he was never coming back? What would it be like, knowing he would never see that eyebrow raised like that again? Suddenly, the whole room spun, and Harry found he couldn't breathe. His stomach was worse, and he turned sideways in his chair and doubled over. His heart was pounding rapidly, and he slipped from his chair.

"Harry? Harry, what's wrong?" he could dimly hear Ron's and Hermione's voices against the fore noise of his own deafening heartbeat. He could hardly feel the floor under his body; it all seemed so insubstantial, like he was disconnected from his own body, and couldn't quite get back in. Was he dying? This was what he imagined it would be like to die. He could still hear his friends' agitated dialogue, and suddenly there was Snape's resonant, mellow voice rising above the others, and he relaxed fractionally. Not dead, yet. He's still here. He's still alive. You haven't gotten him killed.

"I think he's having a fit!" Hermione was saying, frantically chafing Harry's wrists. "Just look how pale he is."

"It might be an attack by Vol--Him!" Ron gasped, looking anxiously at the professor. "We were just talking about him! He could've heard and now he's in Harry's head! He's making Harry sick!"

"Compose yourselves," Snape said, tamping down their rising alarm. "He's only panicking. There is nothing physically wrong with the boy; his mind is simply insisting otherwise, and has convinced his body to believe the lie." He put a hand behind Harry's neck, helping him to a sitting position. "Head between your knees," he instructed brusquely. "Listen to me, Harry. Concentrate on my voice. Do as I say. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. And out." He was speaking quietly; not quite soothingly--this was Snape, after all--but the effect was the same. Harry tried to adjust the time it took for the air to come into and be forced from his lungs. Soberly, he did his best to match the tempo Snape's voice gave. His heart was still pounding painfully, and he feared he might be having a heart attack. "Harry," Snape said sharply. He took the youth's chin and forced his head up, so that he was looking down into emerald eyes that were wide with terror. "You have control over this," he told the boy with soft conviction. "Breathe in. Breathe out."

Hermione was rubbing circles on his back, and Ron was clutching at his right arm. Snape's fingers were warm against his chin. This was good. He could see them. He could feel them. He hadn't managed to leave his body, after all. Gradually, his heart slowed, and he could feel his breathing returning to normal. He closed his eyes and swallowed a couple of times, relishing the sensations of the hard floor beneath his hands, and the repetitive circular motion Hermione's palm made against his back. He could still feel Ron gripping his arm, so tightly that it hurt, and Snape's hand, no longer wresting his jaw upwards, but simply maintaining the contact, almost cupping Harry's chin. He opened his eyes slowly, looking up at the professor. Harry swallowed again, feeling his heart skip a beat, and then begin to speed back up. If Harry tilted his head only a little, and leaned forward, their lips would meet. He felt the inexorable heat rising up his neck again.

Swiftly, the professor stood and stepped back. The man didn't say anything, and his features were as hard and impassive as always. Except for the touch of his hand, there had been nothing gentle about his demeanor; in fact, he looked almost angry that Harry had dared to become so unwell. There was a line between his brows, and his eyes were turbulent. "Perhaps you were right, after all, Mister Potter. Maintaining this endeavor would be most unwise."

"No!" Harry exclaimed, throwing them all off a little. "I mean; no. Not because of that. If you don't want to do it, it had better be because you're worried about your own safety, not whether I'm too delicate to handle it. All right?" He lifted his eyebrows, giving the man a challenging look. Ron put a hand under Harry's arm and helped him to his feet. Snape pointed to the seats again, and they resumed their earlier positions. "I want to do this," Harry told them quietly. "But I'm not willing to pay Snape's life as the price."

Snape sighed. "Mister Potter, I long ago resigned myself to the fact that I would not likely live to see Voldemort's final defeat. I am a spy. It is a profession that holds certain...hazards to one's health. That being said, I am no glory-hound, no foolish brave champion. I should like to continue to exist, for as least as long as possible. I do not take needless risks. This is why I came up with the solution of the three of you binding yourselves to the contract. I felt it was necessary." He looked steadily at Harry, and said, "It is also possible they could get to you through me. I felt the precautions I'd taken were adequate, but now I feel...that I ought to admit that it is not my risk to take." His words were somehow placid, but the man's voice was harsh.

"I'm in it over my head, anyway," Harry said bitterly. "I'm clutching at you because you've managed to keep from drowning, and you've been in it longer than I have. To me, you're a life preserver, not a weight. Not a risk."

"Yeah, but..." Ron interjected. "That's a strong contract. It gives him an awful lot of power."

"Even I'm not honestly comfortable with it," Hermione added. She turned to Professor Snape, offering a suggestion. "Can't we...just tweak it a little bit? Change it so there are...reasonable limitations as to when you could exert your right to wipe our memories? We could say, 'only if you think there is serious danger of physical harm, or only if you know of some immediate circumstance that would absolutely require our memories to be wiped."

The man looked as though he wasn't at all pleased, though he might consider this, but Harry interceded. "No," He said with conviction. "No, we can't put limits on it that way. We have to trust him. We can't say, do it 'only' if this happens, or 'only' if you know that, or 'only' if such and such comes up. We have to trust him."

"But why, Harry?" Ron murmured insistently. "He's Snape. Don't you remember? Why should we trust him? He hates us!"

"Because we have to," Harry responded shortly. "Because he's an adult and he--he sees farther than we do. He has, what did Lupin once call it? Perspective. He has loads and loads of perspective. And that means he'll see angles we don't always notice. And because he's been a Death Eater, and a spy, and a member of the Order, which is almost like being an Auror. To do all that and still be alive, he's got to have good instincts. He has to be able to act on those instincts. And he's Snape. You can't expect him to explain himself to us beforehand. That's just the way he is. I think it's the right thing to do."

Ron heaved a great sigh and turned to Hermione. "Well, it's your call," he said. "Harry's developed into a ruddy lunatic and Snape's a certified soulless fiend, but I reckon you're still a dominant shareholder in the 'common sense' factory. You talk some reason into them."

Hermione looked very staid as she replied, "I think we ought to do it, for Harry's sake, if not our own."

"What?" Ron cried, gobsmacked. "For the love of--How can you--You just! You did it again! Just like blowing up the lab! You were supposed to talk him out of it. You need--do I have to explain your role to you again?" He threw his hands in the air. "Fine! Fine, you're all nutters, but that's just dandy. I'll just go along with you to see if I can minimize the damage you do yourselves. Where's the quill?"

Snape handed it to him, looking menacing as he did so. "Your quill, Mister Weasley. Might I add that the next one of you juvenile ingrates who refers to me by cognomen will suffer unspeakable woe as well as horrendous physical pain? Do not consider leaving off my honorific again," he squeezed the words out through clenched teeth. "If you do call me Professor, you will call me Master."

The man drew himself up to his full height, glaring down at them with dark, imposing stature. Folding his arms formidably across his chest, he sent them a searing look through his dark curtain of hair. Harry thought that even if he were Voldemort, there would still be NO WAY IN HELL he would cross Snape right now. The man absolutely radiated power, as if he'd harnessed lightning, or a tsunami, or pure volcanic power and was simply waiting to unleash it on the next unfortunate bastard who happened to hack him off. It made Harry feel inarticulate, sweaty palmed and somewhat weak-kneed. And, of course, it was all down to terror, really. Pure, undiluted fear; the kind that made you shiver and cringe and flush and really, really make an idiot out of yourself. Fear. Yeah, that.

Still malcontent, Ron and Hermione slowly put quills to parchment, scratching down their names. As soon as they were finished, all three contracts burst into blue flames and crumbled quickly into ash. They stared at the sad little heaps of soot that had once been their free will.

"Um...Professor?" Hermione queried tremulously. "What would you have done if we hadn't agreed to sign the papers? If we hadn't agreed to have our memories wiped? I mean, since we would have known this much, at least, and could have given it away..."

She stopped speaking under Snape's furious expression. "What do you think, you thickheaded little girl? I would have wiped your minds forcibly, then sent you back to your rooms lacking the memory of tonight's events. And you'd never even have recollected enough to wonder why."