The Master Plan

Chapter 13: Green Eyed Monster

Snape lectured for more than two hours, and Harry and Hermione were both in heaven, if for completely different reasons. Hermione filled multiple rolls of parchment with her neat, miniscule writing, and her eyes shone with a manic sparkle. For her, this was the only way to learn; accelerated classes, writing and practicing and discussing theory, discovering why spells were the way they were, what they were intended for, and who used them. Harry was learning quickly as well--although he suspected Snape would have thought his note-taking skills feeble. He thought he was still managing to get everything he needed. Snape was making them turn their notes in at the end of class, and that made Harry kind of nervous. It didn't seem fair to be graded for their shorthand, on top of everything else. Still, he couldn't mind too much, because Snape was talking again, treating them to the luxury of his velvety voice.

The best thing about it all, to Harry, was that the lesson was interesting, truly interesting. He never thought of History of Magic as useful for anything more than slumber, but he found that having a good teacher made all the difference. And Snape WAS a good teacher, once he settled down and started to forget how much he hated all of them. It was obvious that his subjects were fascinating to him, and he had no trouble getting his pupils absorbed in them, as well. Crafty, enthusiastic and mercurial, Snape did not stick rigidly to his own outline, but flew from subject to subject, called on them show whether they could do some spells immediately, without any training, and expounded with relish on any topic that came up.

Even Ron was having a better time than he'd expected, though he didn't seem sorry to leave. "I guess he wasn't TOO bad," Harry heard him mutter to Hermione as they were glancing back at him with commiseration, "when he wasn't being, you know, all Snape."

Harry knew what Ron meant, and privately agreed. However well Snape might teach certain things, he was not Professor McGonagall, who was firm but fair, and could even be a bit soft about certain things. Snape was not soft on anything, but could be very, very hard about some things. He did not tolerate stupidity of any kind, and was never gentle when you gave an incorrect answer. He pretty much, Harry felt, chewed up students' egos the way a dragon would crunch up their bones. Sometimes when Snape got that scornful, 'I am about to incinerate you' look on his face, Harry felt he'd rather face the dragon, who, after all, at least would not know as many insulting long words.

"Well, Potter, what do you suppose you should do for your extra punishment? There is an extra wall; I suppose more lines couldn't hurt. Though I daresay they hardly helped. It puzzles me that you work to be such a thoroughly monstrous brat for no apparent reason. I fail to see where I was either unreasonable or opprobrious this evening, at least, compared to how I might usually seem. So I cannot understand why you were being so provocative. These classes were entirely your idea, and I fail to see why I should continue them if you are more interested in attempting to deliberately rouse my ire than you are in receiving instruction."

Harry felt distinctly embarrassed. It had only started out with wanting Snape to stop questioning him and trying to change the subject, but it really had degenerated very quickly into seeing whether he could get Snape's goat. Harry cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, sir," he said quietly. "You're right; that was pretty childish of me. I'll try not to let it happen again."

"Try?" Snape snorted. "I fail to see the great difficulty in not aggravating me to the point of psychosis. Do you mean to imply that you are somehow impelled to infuriate me?"

"No, sir," Harry sighed. He was actually starting to feel guilty about annoying Snape to the point of another detention. He shook his head. Wait a minute, why are YOU feeling sorry for HIM? You're the one with an extra detention. Not to mention, hey, its just Snape. Who cares what he thinks?

"It really wouldn't surprise me if you did it out of pure bigheaded malice. You are, after all, very like your father, and in--"

"No, sir!" Harry broke in vehemently, and Snape found himself staring into flashing green eyes. Harry was suddenly right in front of him, fists clenched at his sides, head tilted upward to make them as close to nose to nose as possible. "I'm not! I'm not, really. I wouldn't--"Harry swallowed, trying to work out a phrase that wouldn't just make the man even angrier. "I wouldn't do that to you. That was wrong. It was beastly. I wouldn't do that. I'd never have done that to you." His eyes were pleading, desperately hoping Snape would understand, knowing full well the incident referred to was better left unsaid. "I wouldn't," he insisted gently, and the professor blinked a couple of times, seemingly taken aback by Harry's fervor. His face softened a little, and Harry suddenly felt the urge to blush again, and quashed it firmly. How would anyone ever take him seriously if he went round flushing like a schoolgirl all the time? Instead, he reached up and gently touched the silver clasp at Snape's throat with the tip of his finger. "It's a nifty charm," Harry told him. "Where did you get the clasp?"

"It was...my grandfather's, actually," Snape informed him, his face inscrutable. Harry realized how close they were standing, toe-to-toe, with Snape's back directly against McGonagall's desk. Snape was starting to look distinctly uncomfortable, and Harry dropped his hand and took a step back, feeling self-conscious. "Well," Snape heaved a great sigh, and, making at effort to completely ignore the episode, said, "I suppose we might have another go at somehow hammering Occlumency into your evidently cramped mind. I suspect last night was the first occasion you'd even bothered to make an honest effort, and I must say it was uninspired, at best. Wand out, then."

Harry shook his head again, for some reason having to suppress a smile. Snape wasn't upset with him for almost bringing up a taboo topic. He wasn't upset that Harry had touched him...almost touched him. Plus, Snape was doing it again; being a hypocrite. Why it bothered Snape when Harry was rude, if Harry only found Snape amusing for doing the same thing, Harry couldn't fathom. ...And why on earth was Harry so happy to have an extra hour of detention with Snape, anyway? Maybe it was better not to know. Maybe it was enough just to accept that he was happy, and not question why. Maybe. For now.

The next day, Harry, Ron and Hermione faced endless snickers from the Slytherins for their involuntary graffiti, and the other houses were not averse to putting a dig in where they could. Even Seamus and Dean couldn't resist; they kept passing Hermione in the halls saying, 'How's life, love?" and "Oh, fair. Fair." When Ron told them to shut up, they replied, "Hey, you should've thought about that before," then snickered their way off to their next class. Harry was told so many things were for his own good--from the foot Pansy Parkinson stuck out to trip him in Care of Magical Creatures, to the homework given by McGonagall, to the chocolate cake that was dessert--that Harry thought he might have given himself some kind of eyestrain, he'd rolled them so often.

Snape's class that night was both better and worse than the evening before. When they walked in they were told that two of them would do lines while the other practiced Occlumency, and they would take turns from there. Harry got to go first, and he managed to throw Snape out quickly enough that Snape managed a near compliment--'That was somewhat less than miserably incompetent. If you manage to keep up this show of astounding almost-mediocrity, perhaps I'll be forced to...reward you somehow. Perhaps I could refrain from calling you your father's son for an entire week?' He gave Harry a sneer that was close to a smile.

Harry smiled back. It meant something to him that Snape realized it bothered Harry to be compared like that. And the man must have been in a especially good mood to offer a comment like that. Snape really must be enjoying his new position. Harry bit his lip. "Or you could draw a smiley face on my report. No, I guess that would be too much of a payoff for almost-mediocrity. Perhaps you could draw an ambivalent face on my report?"

"Do your lines, Potter," Snape told him in reply, but his eyes and voice both held just a touch of dry amusement, and Harry grinned and turned away before he started blushing again.

Harry was in such a good mood that he even saw the humor in having to write 'I WILL STOP PURPOSELY TRYING TO ENRAGE THE PROFESSOR.' He was doubly pleased because he knew his lines had been tailored to suit; Ron was writing the more conventional 'IT BUILDS CHARACTER,' while Hermione was stuck with the much duller 'PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT.' Harry had to hide a grin; that was Hermione all over. It'd do her good to see what it was like on the receiving side of preachy-ness.

Everything began to go downhill when Snape announced that both Ron and Hermione were far more naturally adept at Occlumency than Harry, and what a relief it was, and how it would go so much more quickly than Snape had supposed when he thought they would both 'mimic Potter's abundant wrong-headedness,' and 'be unable to learn the thing without the aid of blows, bondage or at the very least sugar cubes.' Hermione had had to go sit down to recover from her fit of giggles at this (Snape claimed to have no idea what was wrong with her) while Ron appeared, for the next hour, like he might suddenly have to sick up. Harry wished the night over, and also that his default facial colour could be something other than bright red.

The lessons that evening were difficult, and Harry found himself in competition with Hermione. She knew how to explain things so much better than he did, and her book reading definitely gave her an edge when it came to answering questions, but Harry had sharper instincts, and thought very quickly. It annoyed him that Hermione had to try so hard, though; she had always been the better student, she outdid him in everything else, so why couldn't DADA be just his? He would like it if there were just one thing (outside of Quidditch, which took more speed than intelligence) that he could really shine at. Why couldn't she see that?

Professor Snape noticed their competition, and even seemed entertained by it. He often pitted them against each other, trying to get them to see the flaws in one another's arguments and positions. Harry wondered if they were being encouraged to think harder, or if it was just Snape's nasty small-mindedness. By the end of the class, Harry and Hermione were barely on speaking terms, and Ron was completely baffled by their rivalry. Harry told himself it wasn't Hermione's fault she was smart and wanted people to acknowledge it; and heck, it had gotten them all out of trouble a fair few times. Still, he felt a strange, unpleasant sensation in his stomach whenever Hermione answered a question right, or Snape gave her one of his rare, backhanded compliments. Harry couldn't tell what it was he felt: resentment, anger, jealousy? All he knew was that it lasted until the end of class, when he got back the notes he'd turned in at the end of class yesterday.

There was a--no, not a smiley face, exactly; it had a straight line where the mouth should have curved up. Harry was speechless. There was an ambivalent face at the top of the paper. He chuckled and hid it from the others. He was purposely slow to leave the classroom that night, just so he could be the last to go, and beam at Snape like an idiot before he went. Which was how Snape saw it, too.

The man had his head bent to a paper, and shouldn't have even been able to see Harry, but he still remarked, "Potter, stop giving me that dreadful, drippy, disgustingly happy simper and leave already," without looking up. Harry just laughed, and went to catch up with the others and apologize to Hermione.

"I'm sorry if I was an utter berk back there," he said in a low voice as they headed back to Gryffindor Tower. "I don't know what's up with me, lately."

"Not your fault, mate," Ron replied, as though he were the one Harry was apologizing to. "Having to spend an extra couple of hours a night with Snape is enough to turn anyone a bit funny." Then he made a goofy face and clutched at his head like he was going insane.

"Right," laughed Hermione a little weakly. "And I'm sorry, too. I know how much being good at Defense Against the Dark Arts means to you. I've heard you talk about wanting to be an Auror, and you'd have to have top grades in DADA for that. Though you'd have to raise your Potions grade, and then there's always the other classes--it's one of those professions that requires an 'E' in numerous classes, and you--" Harry looked at Ron and they both rolled their eyes; it was such a Hermione-type of lecture to give. He turned and pretended to be interested in her talk all the way back to the common room. She really could be a little bit of a bore. Still, he was happy to be back on speaking terms...especially since now there was something he really wanted to talk to her about.