The Master Plan

Chapter 21: Two Steps Forward, and Three Steps Back; Everybody do the Snarry

Harry felt enormously frustrated and troubled the next morning. And hung over. And very sore. And just what the hell did Snape expect him to do about THAT? He couldn't very well go to Madam Pomfrey and say...what? 'Er. I walked into a switch. Backwards. Repeatedly.' Uh-huh. Putting on his jeans was tricky, and he did it in bed, so no one else would get a glimpse of his...injuries.

Strangely enough, what bothered him most about the evening before was the end of it. Why had Snape gone and tossed him out on his ear like that? He thought back, trying to recall the exact moment it had gone really wrong. This was problematic. The whole bloody NIGHT had gone wrong, as far as Harry recalled. Snape had...well, really gone too far, although Harry hadn't minded it as much as he probably should have. Really not nearly as much as he should have. Because hey, it was attention, and time with Snape, and Snape had touched him... 'Oh, my God, I am so completely pathetic,' he thought. 'And probably masochistic, besides.' But at any rate, Snape was ALWAYS losing his temper; it was just part of what made him Snape. Harry even thought he understood why Snape had done it. The man was scared. Harry assumed it was all Malfoy...who probably watched the whole thing very closely. But Snape had seemed more frightened, or maybe just rattled, by the end of the night. At which time Harry thought everything was better...well, somewhat better, anyway. Snape HAD seemed worried he would lose his job, which...was possible, although Harry didn't think the Order so well off that they could afford to lose a member over something as trivial as a light caning. It wasn't as though Harry would tell anyone, anyway. Really, who would that embarrass more?

He kept glancing up to scowl at Snape during breakfast, wondering what the man was thinking. What was his problem? First the humiliation of the night, and then the guy has the nerve to ignore him; he wouldn't even let Harry in to feed his snake. Again and again, he replayed events in his head. He'd TOLD Snape he wasn't going to tell anyone. He'd told Snape that everyone would have expected there to be some kind of retribution anyway. He'd even told Snape he'd DESERVED it, and--did he really say that? No, that's stupid; that made it sound like--he glanced again at the man, who was awkwardly avoiding his eyes. Oh. Dear God, so he HAD said that. No wonder the man was so ill at ease. And Snape had taken it the wrong way. Well, the probably as Harry intended it, but he certainly hadn't intended Snape to know that he intended it that way. Harry sighed and banged his head on the table a couple of times. Why did he have to be so brainless?

"Oy," Ron sat down next to him. "What's for eating? I'm famished." He dug into breakfast with gusto, not noticing that Harry was repeatedly smacking his forehead against the table. "I heard you got into trouble last night after we'd left," he said, stuffing some eggs in his mouth. "Honestly, can't take you anywhere."

"Where's Hermione?"

"Still asleep. Most of the girls aren't up yet. Too busy TALKING, I reckon. Do they ever want to do anything else?"

"I don't know," Harry replied archly. "Do they?" Ron's ears went pink, and he pretended to concentrate on his food.

The next several days were extraordinarily strained in detention. Every time Snape looked at him, Harry turned pink, causing Snape to look cross. Both of them tried valiantly to pretend nothing had happened. Harry wasn't sure it was working; both Ron and Hermione had been shooting him quizzical looks. Hermione actually trapped Harry one day, and tried to get him to talk about it.

"Really, Harry, you're both acting so odd! I know something's up. You haven't been this overwrought since the two of you had that little spat. And you made up about that ages ago, so what is it?"

Harry hemmed and hawed. "It wasn't--that wasn't a SPAT! He was just. He was more abusive than ever that night, and I got sick of it. That was all. And anyway, eventually he apologized, and it was no big deal, but it wasn't a SPAT. And besides, nothing is up. I just said something stupid to him on Halloween, and he took it the wrong way, that's all. And I don't want to talk about it!" He really didn't.

"If you don't want to talk to me about it, that's fine," Hermione told him. "But you really ought to talk to him. Real Gryffindors are brave enough to talk about their feelings," she informed him goadingly. He gave her a withering look.

Which was why he was somewhat startled to find himself standing in front of Snape's desk the next night, after the others had left. Snape refused to look at him. "Did you have a question regarding the Resiliency Spell, Potter?" he asked, shuffling through some papers.

"No, sir," Harry replied unhappily. He really didn't want to do this, but he didn't want for the two of them to be uncomfortable around each other all the time, either. "I kind of needed to talk to you. About what happened." Snape's head snapped up, and he glared at Harry fiercely. Harry ignored him, and plowed on. "You see, I didn't really mean to say that I deserved it, as such, just that. That people would think I sort of did, and that you'd given me ample warning about how I was supposed to be careful, and all that. I didn't mean that I deserved it in the sense that I wanted it, or anything like that. And. Um. I'm quite happy to pretend the whole thing never happened if you are. I mean; I want things to be normal again. As normal as they ever could be, considering they've never been. I just didn't want you thinking I was some kind of sicko, that's all."

Snape took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I see. Well. I, too, would be more than satisfied if the subject was completely banned from this moment forward. I trust that will be all? Good. Then you can stop blathering on and haranguing me like an abnormally large and ungainly gnat, and go about your business." Harry, relieved to have gotten it over with, started for the door. "And oh, Potter?" Snape added. "Last night was the third time you failed my test on Evasive Enchantments. Tomorrow we shall try again, and if you are inclined to make it a fourth, keep in mind that you will deeply regret it." The sadistic glint was back in the man's eyes, and Harry wiped his palms on his robe.

"What are you going to do if I do fail again?" Harry asked him in trepidation.

Snape shrugged languidly. "I don't know yet. I'm sure I'll think of something." Harry went pink again, but this time, Severus just smiled evilly.

Potions class was going again, and Harry thought he rather liked it. He still wasn't any good at the subject, but it meant he got to see Snape twice a day. Of course, the earlier class was spent with Snape calling him the most offensive names he could come up with, and making as many wounding remarks as he could, but Harry could live with that. It did irk him that he had to put up with the Slytherins making personal remarks, as well, and calling him things like the Mascara Fairy, and the Gryffindor Whore. He hated them all. Except, he supposed, Jack, who acted like the whole thing was boring and couldn't be bothered, and Blaise Zabini, who actually winked at Harry once. Which astonished Harry, although when he thought about it, it really shouldn't have. Everybody knew about Blaise Zabini.

And in detention, or the other class, as Harry thought of it, Snape was totally normal. This meant that he still sometimes insulted Harry or made cutting remarks, but at least Harry knew he wasn't doing it because he had to. When Harry passed Snape's test in the Forest with ease the next night, that eyebrow almost seemed impressed. And Severus actually gave him a sincere smile. The professor sent Ron and Hermione ahead to the castle while he waited for Harry to gather his things. "Well. For a supposed flaming shirtlifter, I guess that was an adequate performance." Harry trailed behind, not knowing whether to be pleased with the approval, or just exasperated by the insult. He struggled with the dilemma until he heard Severus's voice, barely carried to Harry's ears by a sigh that wafted back on the breeze. "Ten points to Gryffindor...Good show, Harry. Good show, indeed." Harry had to swallow the bubble of merriment that welled up inside of him. He knew if he called out, 'I'm sorry, what?' Severus would merely give him a grouchy look and equally mumpish reply. But that was all right. He held in a breath for a long period.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Severus turned to give Harry an 'I know perfectly well you heard me' vulture-like scowl. "I said, 'If the shuddersome, tedious, hopeless task of teaching you three malignant little miscreations doesn't put me in St. Mungo's by the end of it all, your persistence in pretending you have suddenly developed a hearing problem of unknown origin will. And quit grinning at me like that, you tiresome whelp!'" For all his harsh words, he managed to throw a small, laconic smile over his shoulder to the boy.

Harry threw back his head and let his euphoric peals of laughter carry them into the castle.

The next night, Harry, Ron and Hermione met outside Snape's dungeon only to find a blank parchment pinned to the door. They took it down and inspected it closely, but could make nothing of it.

"Perhaps it's meant to be a test," Hermione suggested reasonably. This was promising, as Snape seemed to be quite fond of the things lately, but it didn't help them figure out what to do with it. They tried revealing spells, discerning charms, and even discussed breaking into the office to find a Perceptibility Potion, before deciding it was unlikely Snape would do anything that would require them to break into his office.

It was only after having passed the paper around several times, and tried every spell they could think of on it, that Ron remembered the Marauder's Map. Unfortunately, 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good' had only two effects, and those were to shoot angry red sparks at the person who said the phrase, and then spell out, 'Don't be an IDIOT.' Which, Hermione pointed out, pretty much summed up how Snape probably felt about the map and its makers. However, this led Harry to describe what had happened when Snape first came across the supposedly blank map. Hermione, as the best student of the group, took the parchment and tried everything Harry remembered, but nothing worked.

Rather pessimistically, Harry repeated them, poking the paper with his wand, as Hermione and Ron argued about what to do next. "I don't care if it IS a test," Ron was telling her wearily, "I'm TIRED and I could use just one night without Professor de Sade's contribution. Let's just give up and--"

He broke off when Harry, who had just muttered, "Harry Potter, student of this school, er...commands you to reveal the information you conceal," suddenly saw ink spreading and filigreeing its way across the paper. "Hey, you guys! Look!" Ron and Hermione crowded close, reading over Harry's shoulders.

Potter, if you've managed to get even this far, I'm frankly amazed. And if you remembered this much, perhaps your Quidditch-packed, underused mind might just be able to dredge up the person I called on when it didn't work. Much good that it did me, I must add. You'll be going to see him tonight. He will be staying at Hogwarts for a short while; I've no doubt you know where to find him.

I probably won't be back for at least the next couple of nights. This will not be a holiday. I cannot countenance you learning absolutely nothing of value for defense during this time. That is why I let that woe-begotten werewolf talk me into letting him take over your detention for the next few days. As a special treat, the flea-ridden pillock will watch over you and give you DADA lessons. Be careful, he doesn't know about our classes. The idiot truly believes this was all his idea.

Don't even bother to pretend you aren't thrilled to have him instead of me. I can only imagine the joy you feel at my absence. Get Granger to find a subtle way of requesting that Lupin teach you relaying spells and energy amplifying charms. I will expect you to have grasped some way of putting the two together to make one adapted spell by the time I return.

Signed,

Your Considerably Skeptical Professor

P.S. Potter: The key to my rooms is in your desk in the Transfiguration classroom. Be sure to feed that bloody snake. I do not fancy the notion of coming home to find that my chambers smell of rotting reptile.