The Master Plan

Chapter Eleven: All You Have to Do is Everything I Tell You to Do

"That's! That's...disgusting!" yelled Ron, his face the same shade as his hair.

"But practical," Hermione sighed shrewdly.

"And...he thought about it beforehand," Harry pointed out. "At least he *had* a plan. We usually don't. We need this kind of foresight."

"What?!" Ron cried incredulously. "After that, the two of you are just...I can't--You. I. Aughhhhh!" he finally roared, tearing at his hair.

"Well. That's just what I would have expected from you, Weasley," Snape sneered. "An inarticulate scream. You must simply excel at cocktail conversations."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, looking at Ron warily. "But you have to admit, for an inarticulate scream, that was pretty expressive. I mean; it got his point across and all." Ron's mouth was working vigorously, but nothing was coming out, and Hermione gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"Don't worry. We've done all sorts of idiot things. We always come out more or less all right. I'm sure after we've all calmed down, it will be just fine." Ron's mouth stopped moving, but he looked more morose than comforted.

"Right. Now, if we've got all the childish drama finished, I'd like to lay some ground rules," Snape snapped at them, whirling and striding quickly to the blackboard.

"Rules?" Ron managed to gulp. "Signing over are souls wasn't enough? You want ground rules, too? This is just getting better and better." He rubbed his forehead forlornly.

"Watch your tone of voice, Mister Weasley," the professor growled at him. Taking his wand, he began to jot a number of things on the blackboard. "Number one; since you will be ostensibly 'detentioning' with me, there need to be an assortment of actions taken which further the deception."

"We could bitch a lot about you behind your back," Ron offered dryly.

Snape stopped writing for a moment, and the three tensed up, awaiting an expressive barrage of reproach. Snape however, merely shrugged and said, "As you like it. So long as you are very cautious about relating any specific complaint, I'd have to acknowledge that it would be prudent. Certainly, no one would expect you to look forward to or derive pleasure from my company." He ignored Ron's vehement, 'No worries, then,' and continued to scribble. "People will suppose you are serving detention, and that some kind of work will be required of you. Therefore, you each shall perform some menial task on a nightly basis; to whit, you will use your wands to each cover one wall of this classroom with lines that I predetermine and give to you at the beginning of each night. These lines will be left for the following morning, and, no doubt, be observed by Professor McGonagall's early classes."

"But--the whole wall?" Ron gasped. "That would take, like, hours! It'd end up being thousands of lines a piece!"

"And, ah, wouldn't that leave us without time to do any learning?" Hermione added timidly.

"You are actually supposed to be punished." Snape did the maneuver with the eyebrow again. "You do remember why we're all here, and not in my own classroom, don't you? You will each start by doing one hundred lines each, and then I will allow you to magically multiply them.

"Now, number two, whatever happens in this classroom as to your magical edification shall stay within the walls of this classroom, unless I have specifically deemed otherwise. If I teach you an enchantment that is either innocuous enough, or easily found out, I may perhaps permit Potter to teach it to his little band of vagabond simpletons that envisage themselves an army.

"Number three, do not DARE forget my honorific again. You will call me Professor Snape, Sir or Master. You will treat me with respect. You will not speak out of turn. You will apply yourselves to the lessons given you with serious mien. You will not badger me for answers with which I choose not to supply you. If I do not inform you of something, it will be for a reason. You will arrive on time every time and be prepared. You will not discuss topics which are outside the scope of the lesson. You will be tested, and the tests will be rigorous. If you do not succeed at your first attempt at the test, you will perform it again. And again. And again, however many times it is necessary for you to meet my standards. I am not hopeful that you will manage any without multiple tries. Some of the tests will be written, and some will be practical. You will be expected to perform equally well at both. You will not cheat on the tests or during the lessons. If this means I have to bind and gag Miss Granger and instill in her notes password charms, I shall. The two of you mindless boobs are going to have to achieve something on your own for once.

"Number...where was I? Number...twelve, I believe. You will learn to appreciate the arts and talents of your opposing house, namely by adopting their better traits. Potter, here, has always been a pathological liar; it shouldn't be too difficult for him to get in touch with his Slytherin side. You will learn cunning, artifice, discretion, forethought, chicanery, and if we are lucky, circumspection. You will unlearn your obstructive Gryffindor habits, including, but not limited to: idiocy, imprudence, overconfidence, haste, incivility--"

"I like that, I don't think!" Hermione gasped, sounding affronted.

"I was TALKING up here, Granger! As I was saying, incivility, idealism, your petulance, over-sensitivity, and your deplorable obstinacy, even if I have to beat them out of you with a broomstick. Ahem. Yes. And last, but certainly never least, and you had better be paying close attention to this, you are going to keep everything about this our secret. You will not, under any circumstances, do ANYTHING that could give my colleagues the indication that I am giving my evenings to coddling and spoon-feeding wisdom to the three most encumbrancing holy terrors in existence. You shall not attempt to break the Fidelus Charms. In other words, the ORDER DOES NOT KNOW, NOR WILL THEY FIND OUT. Is that perfectly clear?"

Wordlessly, they nodded. "Good. Then get out. I need to prepare the first lesson. And even breathing the same air as the three of you has given me a migraine." He turned swiftly back to the board, erasing all points with one sweep of his hand. "Quills, ink and parchment tomorrow, class. It will be a documentation-filled evening."

They scurried to the door, and through it, before stopping and looking at each other. Hermione opened her mouth, but then thought better of it, and they were almost to Gryffindor Tower before they finally felt there was enough distance between themselves and their rancorous new tutor to speak safely.

"That was positively excruciating!" Ron burst out. "I've changed my mind. I'm not going back there! You can't make me!" Hermione leaned over and whispered something briefly to him, and he glared. "You wouldn't!" Hermione raised a brow, à la Snape. "You would! Why you--you," he spluttered into silence.

Harry gazed on, bewildered. Hermione gave him a quelling look, so he simply shrugged and said, "I don't think it will be so bad. Really. I think he was just snappish tonight because it was his first time teaching it, and he was nervous." He ignored the way Ron's eyes appeared as though they were about to pop out of his head. "We'll learn a lot, and I honestly think it could be the difference between making it through this and not making it through this. I think he'll be a big help."

"Harry!" Ron squawked, "He's an evil git!"

"Well, I mean; I wouldn't go into a dark alley with him, but that's neither here nor there. And I think it'll go more smoothly as we get used to each other, and he doesn't have to put the 'Scary Death Eater' act on anymore. We might even have...like...an all right time. It could be fun with Snape." He became aware that both Ron and Hermione were staring at him dubiously following this remark. Fun with Snape. It sounded like the most peculiar home arts and crafts show. 'And to brighten up that torture chamber, try placing tea light candles in the mouths of some delightfully arranged skulls! Next, how to insert surreptitious pastels when your palate is mostly black, gray, and blood red. Many human organs are pink, let's start with a few of those...'

"Harry...er...we still, you know, *dislike* Snape, on the whole, right? I mean...do you, um, kind of like him? All of a sudden?" Hermione was watching him anxiously.

"You don't like him, do you? Why would you like him? How could you?" Ron demanded. "He's utterly evil!"

"Look, you know how I was talking about...perspective earlier? It's sort of about that. Like, mine's suddenly changed over the past couple of days. Before, all I could focus on were the things he said to me, the times he was cruel, goading, all that. But thinking of him being dead...if he hadn't been here. I mean. He was trying to save me when Quirrell wanted to hex me off my broom. He came running out to the Shrieking Shack, when he thought Sirius was a deranged lunatic out to kill me, and that Lupin had been letting him onto the Hogwarts' grounds. He was always following me around, yelling at me about not staying where I was supposed to be, and I was forcing him to go looking for me and trying to keep me from getting killed. No, I don't LIKE him. He's still Snape. But I don't have to like him, to maybe sort of appreciate him, in a detached, intellectual way. All right?"

Hermione nodded approvingly. "I think you're being very mature about all this, Harry. I'm glad to have you back. I mean, yourself again...And you're right. I'm sure it will get easier." Harry smiled and gave her a quick hug and thanked her.

"It had better," Ron muttered mutinously. "It had very well better. Because I am NOT looking forward to tomorrow night."