A Wizard Song

Chapter 9 - The School For Scandal

By Telanu

       

"They're coming?"

Ron stared at the letter in disbelief. Harry and Hermione were a bit nonplussed themselves.

"I didn't know people could come back to visit," Harry said, frowning.

"I've never heard of it either," Hermione added.

"Well, it's probably not in Hogwarts, A History, is it?" Ron snapped, tossing the letter aside and concentrating ferociously on his scrambled eggs. "They never do things like normal people do anyway. Honestly, we finally get a bit of peace and quiet round here, and then Fred and George tell me they're just deciding to 'pop by' -- "

"Well, I'm looking forward to seeing them," Ginny said. "We don't get to go to Hogsmeade till Hallowe'en, and I want to hear how they're doing in the shop!"

"So they could write you a letter!"

Hermione blinked, looking puzzled. "It's only for an afternoon, Ron," she pointed out. "And they're your brothers. I mean...you seem..."

"Why are you so angry?" Harry broke in. Ron did seem a tad peeved for someone who'd just heard his brothers would be stopping by for a few hours. "I bet they'll be happy to see you, and you're just -- "

"Well, they aren't coming to see me, are they?" Ron asked acerbically. "At least they don't say so." He waved the letter. "Wrote a load of nonsense about coming to see you." And he pointed the letter directly between Harry's eyes.

Harry flushed and felt his stomach contract.

"Oh, not that again!" Ginny said indignantly. "Honestly, don't they learn? Why would they want to come down here just to bother Harry with all their stupid..."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Hermione interrupted. "I bet they just wanted to needle you, Ron, really. You know how they are, life's just a big joke...right, Harry?"

"Ha ha," Harry agreed weakly. He hoped Hermione was right, because as much fun as Fred and George were...and they probably almost certainly really were kidding when they did and said all that stuff to him...well, it was enough to make a fellow uncomfortable, anyhow.

Then he shook his head. Of course it was a joke. Everything was a joke to Fred and George, and it was his own stupid fault for leaving himself open to it by asking for that kiss. He'd be paying for that one the rest of his life. "Hermione's right," he said. "They're just kidding around. I'm sure of it." Almost. "You know they're coming to see all of us. Especially you and Ginny."

"Do you want to read the letter?" Ron snapped, but the flush was dying down in his cheeks.

"I don't think I could," Harry replied, eyeing the wadded-up parchment. "Look, I won't even be around this afternoon, okay? I've got practice, and then loads of homework to do. I'll be scarce."

"You don't have to do that!" Ginny said, dismayed. She turned to glare at Ron. "Now look what you did. You tell him...Harry, don't be silly, you don't have to hide from Fred and George!"

Ron was starting to look a little guilty now, under the combined influence of Hermione's and Ginny's glares. "Aw, you know I didn't mean that, Harry..."

"I know you didn't," Harry said as diplomatically as he could. "But it's true -- I do have practice. I probably won't be able to see them for more than a few minutes."

The girls' glares ratcheted up a few notches and Ron said, "Well, you know they'll want to see everybody, that's just the way they are...hey, Dean," he called down the table a bit desperately. "Guess what? Fred and George are coming to visit this afternoon!"

Within a few minutes, he'd caught the interest of everyone at Gryffindor table who'd heard of the infamous Weasley twins -- which was to say, everybody but the first years, and even some of those. Some seventh-year girls cooed excitedly and fanned themselves. Seamus and Dean asked Ron if there was any way to write to the twins quickly and get them to bring some Zonko's stuff along with them. Harry was sure Fred and George would need no such urging, but he kept that thought to himself.

This was good -- now everybody would want to monopolise the two popular boys, and Harry wouldn't have to worry about anything embarrassing happening...unless, of course, they decided to embarrass him in front of all of Gryffindor. He blanched. That would be just like them, wouldn't it?

Maybe he'd make himself scarce after all.

       

It very nearly worked.

Fred and George had said in their letter that they wouldn't be coming round from Hogsmeade until three, precisely when Harry had Quidditch practice, which Imogene would no more allow to be interrupted than Oliver Wood in days of yore. It lasted until five, when Harry took a quick shower that didn't entirely erase all the aches and pains of a vigorous workout -- really vigorous this time, as he'd almost got smacked off his broom by an overenthusiastic reserve Beater. Imogene had said it would "build his character" and told him to "walk it off," a curious phrase for someone injured twenty-five feet up in the air. So it was with a slight twinge in his side that Harry made his way down the corridor to the Gryffindor Tower stairs.

He wasn't avoiding Fred and George, he told himself firmly. He wasn't. Quidditch practice wasn't his fault, after all, and he had a lot of homework to do now. He'd just make it up and see them on the next Hogsmeade trip. Preferably without any witnesses to the inevitable teasing (and probable groping) he would have to endure before telling them to lay off, he meant it. It'd be fine.

But as he passed by a very rusty and slightly sentient suit of armour, two very red heads popped out of nowhere, wearing matching diabolical grins which informed him in no uncertain wise that chance encounters have a way of happening on purpose. Harry tried not to jump. "Harry!" Fred said happily. "Long time no see," added George. "Where've you been?" they chorused.

The flow of words was accompanied by a swirl of movement as they surrounded him, giving him quick, disorienting hugs, rubbing his head rather too hard, slapping him on the back. Harry had the paranoid thought to dust himself down for any prank items that might have been planted along the way, and quickly did so.

"Oi, that's nice," Fred said in outrage. A tiny Purple Smoke Bomb fell out of Harry's shirt. "Oops, how'd that happen," he added, flushing a bit as he picked it up from the ground.

"Can't imagine," Harry said dryly. "Hullo, you two."

"Hi!" they said.

And then they all just stood in the empty corridor staring at each other for a few moments that were unaccountably awkward. Harry cleared his throat. "Er. Sorry I missed you earlier."

"Where have you been?" George asked curiously.

"Oh. Quidditch," Harry said, feeling a wary tendril of guilt creeping through his stomach. He'd been avoiding them deliberately, and they were his friends...

"But you were right on your way to catch us before we left, right?" Fred asked shrewdly.

The tendril grew not so wary. "Sure," Harry lied. "Glad you found me." Well, that part wasn't exactly a lie. They did have the most infectious smiles, and simply radiated good cheer that seemed to light up the stony halls.

"Us too," Fred said promptly. "So how's the team this year? You getting along okay without your best Beaters?"

"Er," Harry said, and absently rubbed the twinge in his side again. "Sometimes. We've got a few reserves this year." He smiled ruefully. "Imogene's doing her best, but yeah, we could use you."

They beamed, as if having all their suspicions confirmed. "It's nice to be missed," George sighed wistfully.

"You are," Harry assured them. "You caught up with Ron and Ginny okay?"

Fred waved a hand negligently. "'Course we did. Proper big brothers and everything." He grinned. "Learned a few things. Ron says you're a regular little study-buddy this year."

Harry flushed darkly. "I, um, er."

"Been doing a lot of reading, eh?" George added, waggling his eyebrows, and Harry abruptly got very nervous. Oh God, here it comes. "Anything especially educational? You've still got it, of course..."

The Manual! He'd forgotten all about it. "Yeah, I do," Harry said quickly. "I'm sorry, I've been meaning to give it back. I've finished it. It was good. I mean, helpful. I mean, I was going to return it next trip to Hogsmeade..." He was babbling. He stopped. "Let me just run up to the Tower and get it for you. Thanks for letting me -- "

"Hey, no rush, Harry," Fred said, his voice dropping into a purr that made Harry's skin tingle in spite of itself. Then he felt a long-fingered Weasley hand tugging lightly at the hem of his sleeve. "Keep it as long as you want."

"Take plenty of time to...absorb the contents," George added, drawing in close to Harry from the other side and running a teasing finger down his cheek.

Harry quickly pulled his head away, managing a nervous grin. "Yeah, well...think I've got a way to go on the theory before I get into the practice..." Liar, Potter, you miserable liar.

"Oh, I don't know," Fred murmured, moving the finger to the back of Harry's neck and making him shiver. It also made him a little angry -- nobody but Severus was allowed to touch that place, nobody but Severus was supposed to know how to make him shiver like that... "What's the good of a books-only education? Hands-on is all the way to go, I should think."

"You would," Harry said with some asperity, moving his head away again and tugging his sleeve out of George's grip. Neither of them seemed particularly put off, to his distress. "How's the joke shop coming?"

"Lots of work," Fred began,

"But we love it," George finished.

"You've got to come and visit, Harry," Fred added, drawing closer again to him. "We've made lots of innovations."

"Mr. Zonko's really proud..."

"And the flat above the shop's just big enough for two..."

"...or maybe three. If we squeezed in tight."

"Look," Harry said in irritation, good-humour face slipping at last, "I'm glad about the shop, all right, but stop joking around about...this." Enough was really quite enough. He didn't like being pawed in corridors, even in jest.

Then, to his eye-widening surprise, he was faced with an extremely serious-looking George as Fred, the git, got even closer behind him. "Who said we were joking, Harry?" George asked softly.

"We don't joke," Fred added. "Not about this sort of thing, anyway."

"Although maybe you do," George said with a frown. "Remember last term? In the loo -- "

"Of course I remember," Harry snapped, face flaming, voice sharper than he'd intended due to his sudden embarrassment. "I also remember telling you I was only curious. So would you -- "

"You're not curious any more?" Fred whispered in his ear. "Harry, God knows we'd never push you, but -- "

"Oh, you wouldn't? Like all bloody summer when I couldn't get a moment to myself? Geroff, Fred," Harry said angrily, and elbowed his way free, the twins finally parting enough that he could breathe. "Listen, I don't want to be a prat or anything but I said n -- "

"What is going on here?" asked a soft, deadly voice from somewhere behind them. Harry froze, eyes going wide, as he, Fred, and George glanced up to behold the menacing figure of Snape stalking down the hallway. Harry gulped.

Snape was angry. Of course, he always seemed to be angry about something, but this went beyond his normal unpleasantness; the black eyes, so rarely warm, were glacial, and glittered with something that looked very dangerous. His eyes were fixed on Fred and George as unblinkingly as a snake's. Was this how Snape had been with Neville last week? God, no wonder Neville had been in hysterics.

But Fred and George were made of sterner stuff. "Hallo, Snape old man," George said brightly, though Harry could definitely see a gleam of malice in his eyes. His stomach turned over. Please don't say something stupid. Please don't... "Been a while, hasn't it?"

Snape's face clearly said it hadn't been nearly long enough. "Weasley and Weasley," he snarled. "What are you doing here?"

"Back for a visit," Fred said insouciantly. "What business is it of yours?"

"I should think it is my business," Snape said softly, "when two good-for-nothing miscreants take to molesting students in the hallways of Hogwarts."

The twins' faces turned red, and Harry's stomach plummeted even further, though he hadn't thought it possible. He opened his mouth to say, They weren't, even if that wasn't strictly the truth, when George snapped, "Why? You got a monopoly on it or something, you greasy old bastard?"

Harry's jaw dropped and he stared at George in horror. Snape drew up until his back appeared to be ramrod straight and his lips were the thinnest of lines. "Watch your mouth," he said quietly, in a voice that anybody would have known meant trouble. "You watch your mouth, you disgusting little urchin, and get out of here this instant."

But maybe Fred and George didn't qualify as "anybody," because they weren't taking the hint. Harry, feeling paralysed, could only stand and watch helplessly as Fred said, "You know what? We finished last year, you daft git. We don't take orders from snarky creeps any more if we don't feel like it."

"Fred," Harry said urgently, breaking out of his stupor, "George, no, I think you two should -- "

"That's right," Snape said silkily, his eyes suddenly gleaming in a way that was quite terrifying. "You finished. As sad a commentary on our educational system as that may be, it also means you no longer fall under the protection afforded the students of this school." And suddenly his wand was in his hand. "How...unfortunate."

Harry went cold all over, his eyes glued on the wand. No, no, he wouldn't, even he wouldn't -- The colour was slowly draining out of Fred and George's faces, but they weren't moving.

"Get out," Snape whispered again.

Fred swallowed with an audible click."No," he managed, though his voice actually trembled. "No. We're not leaving you alone here with Harry."

Harry gasped before he could prevent himself and Snape, if possible, went even paler with rage. "Go, Harry," George was saying urgently. "Look at him, he's a nutter, trying to kill us, you go tell somebody, we'll keep him away -- "

Snape's hand clenched around his wand. Fred and George made movements to go for their own and suddenly, with visions of catastrophe flashing before his eyes, Harry cried, "No!" and jumped between them. It was the only thing he could think to do, and it worked; the three other men paused mid-action.

Snape stared at him with no small amount of fury, but didn't move. Fred and George glanced back and forth between him and Snape, pale and undecided, hands hovering over their wand pockets. "Honestly, it's a mistake," Harry heard himself saying. "Professor, they weren't hurting me, honestly, they were just joshing around like they always do, you know how they always do. They wouldn't have..." And judging by their protective behaviour maybe they really wouldn't have. It was kind of a relief, actually. Snape didn't seem to be buying it, though, from the murderous glare he sent the twins. "Fred, George, really, Professor Snape won't hurt me. He's a -- he's a professor! And he...well, he wouldn't," he finished lamely. "Please. Don't do this. Just go."

George's eyes narrowed. Fred glanced at Snape, at Harry, and then back at Snape again. "Harry," he began, slowly.

"Just go!" Harry said, startling even himself with his abruptness. "Everything's fine. I'll -- I'll see you soon. Okay? Promise."

Snape muttered something that sounded vaguely like the hell, but as it came hissing between his teeth it was difficult to tell. Harry winced, expecting a new barrage of protests from the twins, or worse, a showdown between them and Snape. But to his relieved surprise, Fred merely gave him a long look, with George giving Snape the same. Then they looked at each other, raised their eyebrows, and nodded decisively.

"Right," George said, though there was still strain in his voice as he looked back at Snape. "If you say so."

"I do," Harry said quickly. "I'm fine."

Fred nodded. "Well. See you in Hogsmeade, then." Then he and George turned back to Snape, eyes narrowed, before they chorused, "Later," and turned to walk off without another word.

Snape's jaw went as rigid as the rest of him, but he remained thankfully silent. He and Harry watched the twins go down the hallway together until they were out of sight, Harry's stomach churning with apprehension. What was he supposed to say now?

The twins' footsteps finally rang out of hearing range, and he slowly turned to face Snape, swallowing at the hard look in the dark eyes. "Er," he said.

Snape said nothing.

"They weren't," Harry tried, and stopped again.

Snape still said nothing.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly. "I'm sorry they were...like that to you."

Snape finally spoke. "You cannot control the words of your peers," he said in a clipped tone. "Any more than you can, apparently, control their actions."

"They wouldn't do that, really," Harry said pleadingly. "Um -- that is, they wouldn't...do what you said..."

"It certainly looked that way from here," Snape said coldly. "Unless, of course, I misinterpreted your 'Get off,' and rather fruitless struggles to get free?"

"No! I mean, yes, you misinterpreted -- " Harry pinched his nose, trying to stave off an impending headache. "Even if they had," he said finally, "which they wouldn't, I could handle them. I could!" he added indignantly at Snape's raised eyebrow.

"There are two of them, and they're bigger and older than you are," Snape pointed out. "At your age that makes rather a difference. Even if one is famous Harry Potter," he added sardonically.

"I hate that phrase," Harry snapped. "And -- and what were you going to do, anyway? Hex them into next week, right here in the hallway?"

"For a start," Snape said, the cold expression coming back into his eyes.

Harry shivered. "Not for me," he said quietly. "Please, please don't do things like that, not because of me. Anybody could have come and seen you!"

"My actions were eminently justifiable," Snape said darkly. "And I hope you don't expect to hear that I regretted them, or would have regretted them if I'd been forced to go further. For Merlin's sake, Harry," he snapped, losing control at last when Harry opened his mouth to protest again, "if you've got no sense in your head, at least promise me you won't be alone with them again or I won't be responsible for what I do. 'Geroff, Fred,' indeed -- I remember where I've heard that before." His eyes narrowed into slits of burning coal. "You spent weeks at their home this summer. With them waking you up, apparently. I wonder, I really do."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Wonder what? They were only kidding..."

"I don't think they were kidding," Snape snapped. "They had their hands on you -- " His own hands clenched as he slipped his wand back into his pocket.

For a minute Harry couldn't think of anything to say, and they just stared at each other in an empty hallway. Good thing nobody's here, Harry thought half-hysterically, he'd have to pretend he was angry at me, only this time he wouldn't be PRETENDING --

"I won't let them get their hands on me," he finally blurted. "I don't want them to." Those dark eyes skewered him and his breath hitched. "I don't want -- " he stopped himself quickly.

But Snape wasn't letting him get away with it. "You don't want what?" he asked quietly.

Harry's mouth moved for a minute before he heard himself saying, without his conscious will, "Anybody but you to..." his voice trailed off and he could feel the wretched blush returning. On second thoughts, though -- it might just be worth it if it got Severus off his "kill the Weasley twins" kick. And from the sudden colour staining the sallow cheeks it looked like it might work.

Snape cleared his throat. "I see. Well." He glanced around. "Ah...this is hardly the place."

Now the man finally deigned to notice they were in a public corridor. It figured. "I know," Harry said, feeling horribly inarticulate. "I just...wanted you to know...he touched my neck," he added, suddenly inspired, "and I shook him off, because he's not supposed to be touching my neck, you know? I don't -- like a lot of people touching me." Just you. Just you.

Snape's eyes went from cool to hot in a fascinatingly short amount of time, Harry noted with a distinctly tingly feeling in his stomach. "I see," his lover said hoarsely. "Mr. Potter...the not-very-tactile. Who would have thought?"

It took Harry a minute to remember what "tactile" meant. "Well, maybe I am, a little bit," he said, and dared to try a cheeky grin, hoping Snape -- Severus here? -- had mellowed sufficiently to appreciate it. "With certain people."

The dark eyes burned again, and in a far more pleasant, much less murderous way. Harry felt -- again! -- that strange tendril of warmth inside him. No, he wouldn't look at me like he did them. He...cares about me. He wants to protect me."'Certain people?'" Severus repeated slowly, with the faintest shadow of a smile. In the darkened corridor, it could have been mistaken for a trick of the light.

"A certain person, maybe," Harry clarified, before it hit him full force that he was standing in a hallway, not just talking, but flirting with Severus Snape, in an almost casual sort of way. It was a really odd feeling. They just weren't the...flirty type, were they? And hard on the heels of that realisation was the thought that, if the gleam in Severus' eyes was anything to go by, Harry was a much better flirter than Ron. Hermione's eyes certainly never gleamed like that. He tried not to puff up with pride.

"A certain person," Severus said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Harry said, feeling the blush creep higher. "Just one -- but I imagine I'd make up for it. You know, er, give this certain person lots of...um, liberties."

Then, to Harry's pleased surprise, Severus flushed and tugged at his collar with one long finger. Once again, he glanced around the hallway, his tension finally relaxed somewhat. "As fascinating as this conversation is, Mr. Potter," he drawled, giving Harry shivers from the richness of his voice, "I'm somewhat at a loss for time. We shall have to continue it elsewhere." He raised an elegant eyebrow. Harry was very glad for his concealing robes because, what with the combination of leftover adrenaline and his lover's proximity, he was aroused something awful. Then Severus said, "Perhaps later tonight?" And Harry was about to nod a frantic "yes, anytime," when another realisation struck him.

"I can't," he said miserably. "I'm, uh." His voice faltered for a second before he pulled himself together. "Tutoring Neville." And a little of the sarcasm that could have landed him in Slytherin made him add, "On my own time and all, you know. I promised. It'll take a while."

Snape's brows knitted together mutinously, but it was mere annoyance, not real anger. "So my words come back to haunt me," he muttered. "Very well. But tomorrow is Friday and I know for a fact that Gryffindor Quidditch practice has been moved up to Saturday afternoon -- " at Harry's surprised expression, he added acerbically, "it is in one's interest to know these sorts of things, is it not? You have no impediments. I shall expect you tomorrow night." This time it lacked the usual "if you can make it" or even "if you want to." What would have been the point? Snape's eyes were burning and so were Harry's innards, and they both knew it.

"I'll be there," he promised, reached out and gripped his lover's hand quickly to seal the bargain, and then darted down the hall before they could commit yet another indiscretion.

He'd never regretted his promise to tutor Neville, though it was a good one, so keenly as he did right then. Almost two days, and he was so wound up...

Well, maybe it was time to exercise some of that "patience" stuff he'd been trying to cultivate. Kind of a...a test of endurance. Yeah, that was it.

Still, he couldn't stop the soft, yearning whisper inside him that ceaselessly repeated, Tomorrow night. Tomorrow night.

Tomorrow night, unfortunately, had different ideas.

       

Tutoring Neville did, indeed, run into the small hours of the morning, and it was almost two-thirty before Harry felt they'd made enough progress to go to bed. Neville was falling asleep over the Potions text anyway. Class, as Harry had known it would, had become even more difficult for his luckless friend; Draco, no doubt suspecting that Snape really wanted the both of them to get blown up, took out his anger by tormenting Neville mercilessly and Snape did nothing about it. As for Harry, he was now paired with Pansy Parkinson, who seemed even less pleased about it than he and wrinkled her pug nose whenever she looked at him. Ron and Hermione had also been split - Ron was with a Slytherin named Adrian Nott and poor Hermione was actually stuck with Goyle - and spent what seemed like an inordinate amount of time looking at each other across the classroom, costing Gryffindor quite a few points in the process. Surprisingly, the pairs were Gryffindor-Slytherin for the most part, and Harry had wondered what Snape meant to accomplish by that, before finally giving up and deciding that it might just have been random malice.

At least Harry's marks were keeping up. Pansy might not lift a delicately-manicured finger to help him, but she didn't get in the way, apparently happy to soak up good marks without exerting actual effort to get them.

At any rate, Neville needed the extra help more than ever, and Harry, seeing as how the new arrangement still seemed like his fault -- at least partly -- felt obliged to give it. Tonight had been especially gruelling. Neville just couldn't grasp the principle behind a Dreamless Sleep Draught to save his life. Finally they'd given up after Neville had eventually proved he could at least memorise the list of ingredients satisfactorily, though Harry was certain that Draco would terrorise the knowledge right out of his head tomorrow. They trudged up the stairs from the common room into their dormitory, bade dreary goodnights to each other and Seamus (who was still scribbling at his Arithmancy homework), and then Harry collapsed into his bed after the briefest of ablutions. He was so tired that he needed no Draught -- if he dreamed, he didn't remember it.

The morning, he would later think, had seemed like any other morning when he'd woken up. His roommates had stumbled blearily around in the showers, and then into school uniforms and robes, raking brushes through messy hair -- always a hopeless exercise in Harry's case -- and brushing teeth. Harry was slower than the rest of them, owing to staying up so late, and indulged himself in a long warm shower, hoping to wake himself up. By the time he was clean and dressed, everyone else had gone downstairs.

Still yawning, in spite of the shower, Harry shouldered his bag and headed down the stairs to the Common Room. His stomach rumbled. He hoped there would be those little link sausages for breakfast today. Must be the teenage metabolism; it felt like it had been days since he'd eaten...

The Common Room was unusually crowded when he arrived. It was also unusually quiet, and when he stepped through the door, all eyes turned to stare at him, from the first to the seventh-years. Ron and Hermione seemed to be holding court in the centre on one of the red couches, clutching at a newspaper and looking at him with pale faces.

Harry's stomach turned to stone and all desire to eat abruptly fled. "What is it?" he blurted. Nobody answered. "What is it? Has something happened? What -- "

Finally Ron seemed to find his voice. "Now, Harry," he quavered, in what was apparently meant to be a soothing tone, "we know it's not true. We know that. Just keep calm." Ron didn't seem to be doing such a good job of that himself. "It's...it's in the paper..."

Harry found himself moving forward on shaky legs, Gryffindors parting before him. "What's in the bloody paper?"

"Remember," Hermione said quickly, "nobody in their right minds will believe it's true -- "

"Right," Dean Thomas added. "We've got your back, Harry, we'll find out who did this..."

Harry's stomach had transfigured from stone into thousands of wriggling worms. He held out a shaking hand, half-terrified he knew what he would see. "Let's have it." Just stop keeping him in suspense, just stop...

Hermione bit her lip and handed the copy of the Daily Prophet over to him. "I went down early," she whispered, "and the teachers were all whispering, and it was lying on the tables...hundreds of copies...I can't imagine who..."

But Harry barely heard her. His gaze was fixated firmly on the enormous front-page headline.

BOY WHO LIVED DISCOVERED IN TRYST WITH PROFESSOR / FORMER DEATH EATER!

Even though he'd been half-expecting it in the pit of his stomach, he still sat down hard on the floor, his jaw falling open. Act surprised, his brain gibbered, act shocked -- act angry -- It shouldn't be too hard, he was all of those things --

He looked at the byline. Rita Skeeter, Investigative Reporter.

Bile rose in his throat, and he raised horrified eyes to Hermione. She seemed to be fighting tears. "She's back," she whispered, unnecessarily. "It was...I only told her a year, I should have...I'm so sorry, Harry! I never thought...and that she'd say this, of all things..."

Still unable to speak, Harry's eyes fell back down to the text of the article, but he could only pick out certain words and phrases. "Harry Potter...saviour of the wizarding world since infancy...Hogwarts...Potions master Severus Snape...formerly an ally of You-Know-Who but cleared by the Ministry...irony...Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, was unavailable for comment at this time..."

The paper fell out of Harry's nerveless hands.

How? How had she possibly? Did she have any proof, did she...?

"Harry? Harry," Ron said urgently. "It's okay. Well, no," he added, as everybody stared at him incredulously, "obviously it's not okay, but you know that nobody in their right mind will believe this. It's just that Skeeter cow getting back at you for embarrassing her in fourth year!" Everybody else in the Common Room exploded into a raucous chorus of agreement and support that would have been welcome if Harry hadn't felt like throwing up.

Instead of puking, though, he nodded vacantly. "But why him?" he asked softly, the wheels in his brain grinding to a halt. "Why Snape?"

Hermione blinked. "Didn't you read the article?"

"He might have been a bit distracted," Seamus Finnigan said sarcastically. "S'not every day somebody accuses you of banging the slimiest man on earth in front of the whole wizarding world, now is it?"

Harry closed his eyes again. "I feel sick," he mumbled.

"Of course you do," Ron said immediately. "Here, clear off, you lot -- give the man room to breathe -- "

Slowly, Harry's brain was staggering to its feet. Salvage. He had to salvage. Had to draw on every skill at lying and fudging he'd cultivated this term so far. From somewhere deep inside, he dredged up a weak laugh as he held up the paper. "Snape. My God, me and Snape. Of all the..." wonderful things I had for just a little while...

Ron laughed too, though it was just as shaky and sounded slightly nauseated. "I know. What kind of sick mind -- "

"Oh God," Dean Thomas suddenly burst out, "we have class with him in half an hour!"

And for a moment Harry was absolutely certain he would throw up, except the door to the Common Room opened right then and Head Girl Rosemary Wilkinson strode in. "Headmaster wants a word with you, Harry," she said in a subdued voice.

Harry stopped feeling ill. It was impossible to throw up, because all of his internal organs had suddenly disappeared. "What?" he croaked.

"Relax, Harry," Hermione said instantly. "I'm sure he just wants to make sure you're okay...and he's probably obligated to talk to students if something like this happens, no matter how silly it is..."

Somehow, he couldn't quite remember how later, Harry got to his feet without shaking. Deliberately unclenching his fists, he nodded to everybody, heard himself say "Everything will be fine," and followed Rosemary out the door.

       

He was fully halfway to the headmaster's office, trailing behind Rosemary, when the truth hit him.

MALFOY.

It had to be Malfoy. It couldn't be anybody else; Draco was the only one who'd ever seen him kissing Snape (though Harry still didn't know how he'd managed that), and with his newfound reasons to take vengeance on both of them...Harry cursed himself roundly for not thinking of it instantly, and cursed the meeting with Dumbledore for preventing him from hunting down the little Slytherin bastard and kicking his arse clear across Hogwarts.

Thoughts of punishing Draco distracted him for the rest of the trip, so that he only half-noticed other students pointing and whispering at him; he didn't emerge from his trance until Rosemary said "Jelly Bellies" to the stone gargoyle and he found himself riding the ascending staircase to Dumbledore's office. Then his nerves returned in full force and it took all his courage to keep his knees from shaking again. He knew he was pale, and tried to keep any telling expressions of terror from his face.

Dumbledore. Dear God. He was going to have to lie to Dumbledore -- something Harry really, really didn't want to do.

Rosemary rapped smartly on the door, and then turned to give Harry a sympathetic look. "Don't worry," she said softly. "Really, you know how nice he is, and nobody's going to think this is actually..."

"Thanks," Harry interrupted, nodding hard as if that would somehow convey his sincerity. Probably none of his peers could believe that he and Snape would ever...do what they'd been doing. He just hoped Albus Dumbledore couldn't either. At the moment that seemed to be hoping for quite a lot.

Then the door swung open. Harry's vision swam. He heard Rosemary say "Here he is, Professor," and then she seemed to vanish from his side as quickly as if she'd Disapparated. Dumbledore's mild voice called, "Come in, Harry," and he was moving forward on legs that had minds of their own. Next thing he knew, he was sitting in front of that desk and staring at Dumbledore in a daze. It suddenly occurred to him that he should be very, very glad that Snape wasn't here as well. Then it occurred to him to wonder why Snape wasn't here, and he felt an all new flutter of panic.

"I expect you know why you're here, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly, and the world snapped back into focus. Harry found himself face to face with that penetrating blue gaze, that shining silver beard and realised he had no idea what to say. So he just nodded mutely.

"Now," Dumbledore continued, holding up a copy of the Daily Prophet, at which Harry tried unsuccessfully not to wince, "this must, of course, be addressed at once. We cannot have it said that our staff behave towards our students in such a manner."

Harry screwed his courage to the sticking place as best he could. This was it, then. He was about to lie outright to Dumbledore, and that was something you couldn't turn back from, and he had to get away with it. He opened his mouth to say -- he didn't know what, some kind of denial -- Professor Snape never behaved towards me like that, sir --

-- when Dumbledore continued on, still in that amiable voice, saying, "Now, I want you to rest easy, Harry. This nonsense will be nipped right in the bud, I assure you. In a few weeks, I hope you will be able to look back on it and laugh..." he looked Harry dead in the eye. "You and Professor Snape, indeed."

Harry's skin turned to ice as he sat staring at the headmaster.

He knows.

Dumbledore knew. Quite abruptly, Harry was as certain of that as he was of his own name. Dumbledore knew everything, and Harry knew that he knew, and Dumbledore probably knew that Harry knew that he...that he...Harry had to stop himself from shaking his head in horrified disbelief. What had he been thinking? Of course Dumbledore knew. He knew about everything that happened at Hogwarts. Harry had been ten kinds of idiot to think he could come in here and lie to the headmaster -- and yet...Dumbledore was acting as if he automatically assumed whatever the newspaper said was a lie. Why?

Harry certainly didn't dare ask.

Instead he managed an extremely feeble smile. "Yeah. Er."

"Have you read the article yet?" Dumbledore inquired politely.

"Erm...I skimmed it...I was a little..." nauseated "...surprised."

"I imagine so." The headmaster smiled and offered Harry the paper. "I suggest you give it a thorough reading. It is best to know what is being said in cases such as these, I think."

Harry swallowed hard and forced himself to concentrate on the columns of text before his eyes. On one side of the article was a picture of him from at least two years ago, wide-eyed and scrawny, and on the other was a picture of a scowling, snarling Snape. Placed in context with the photo of a much younger Harry, he looked every inch the evil sexual predator. Harry bit his lip and forced himself to read.

It wasn't pretty. In spite of her Hermione-enforced hiatus, Rita Skeeter appeared to have lost none of her talent for insinuation, innuendo and really awful prose. Apparently, according to "a student at Hogwarts who wishes to remain anonymous" -- I'll just bet, Harry thought savagely -- "the young saviour of the wizarding world" had been beguiled and fallen into the clutches of Severus Snape, "one-time Death Eater" who later "claimed" to have been a spy for Albus Dumbledore. Nevertheless, "his criminal activities as a servant of You-Know-Who have undoubtedly been kept on file at the Ministry, which has declined to comment." Snape's house had been burned this very summer, and while the authorities had called it "a freak fire", this reporter would not be surprised if it had been a deliberate act, "perhaps by someone with an understandable grudge". Why such a dangerous, immoral man was allowed to walk free, let alone hold a teaching position at Hogwarts, remained unknown. Professor Dumbledore could not be reached for comment. Rita Skeeter applauded the anonymous student for having the courage to expose such corruption within the walls of Hogwarts. See photo on Page Three.

Harry's heart stopped. Photo?

He tore the paper open to Page Three, and gaped. It was a picture of him and Snape, all right -- a Muggle-style still photo, where they were standing in what seemed to be a dark corner with Snape's arm over Harry's shoulders. Harry didn't know where the image of Snape had come from, but he recognized the picture of himself as one that Hermione had taken of him one day at Hogsmeade last year. A week later, her camera had been stolen and Crabbe and Goyle had looked insufferably smug for days afterward. The contrasts of light and shade in the picture were all off; Harry looked to be standing in bright sunshine, odd for a photo supposedly taken in a dark corridor, while Snape's face was so smudged as to be barely recognisable. More, it was a Muggle photo!

It was almost a relief, in a way. Harry looked up at Dumbledore, laughing in spite of himself; Dumbledore did not return his laugh, but looked very grave indeed. Harry's mirth faltered. "It -- the photo -- it's fake," he stammered.

"Obviously," Dumbledore said.

"Yes, obviously!" Harry said, hope resurfacing. "I mean, anybody could tell that! It doesn't even move! Nobody's going to believe this!"

Dumbledore sighed heavily, and steepled his hands on his desk. "It pains me to tell you this, Harry," he said slowly, "but there are a great number of people who will believe a great many things. I do not believe that your fellow classmates will -- though some may give you a hard time, nevertheless -- but for every person who has seen the animosity between Professor Snape and yourself, there are at least a dozen more who haven't." He frowned. "I expect a rain of owls to descend upon me at any moment, frankly, calling for Professor Snape's immediate removal."

Removal? Harry felt a chill. People were going to demand that Snape be...removed? "Well, Hagrid didn't have to go, did he," Harry ventured, "two years ago? When she wrote that awful thing about him?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Hagrid was never a Death Eater, Harry, nor was he accused of an actual crime. And I would wager that the past generation or so of Hogwarts alumni have a far kinder view of him than they do of Professor Snape."

Harry's stomach revolved. "You -- you're really going to sack him?" he blurted. Snape? Sacked? And not just for any crime, but for an affair with a student? That would mean he couldn't stay on at Hogwarts in any capacity, he'd have to leave --

He wouldn't be safe anywhere. They'd find him, Voldemort and the Death Eaters. They'd already torched his house, he hadn't even been able to leave the school over the summer, and now...Oh, God, why hadn't Harry ever thought of that? Why hadn't he realised how dangerous this was for Snape? He was so stupid. He was so thoughtless!

I'll -- I'll go with him. This is all my fault. I'll go -- we can -- look out for each other. He can still teach me. His thoughts were almost pure gibberish now. I can't let him go alone!

But Dumbledore was saying, "Calm yourself, Harry. It is not Hogwarts policy to punish people for crimes they did not commit."

An answer that wasn't an answer, Harry realised, head spinning even through the nearly debilitating wave of relief. Sure, it was probably general Hogwarts policy that the innocent went unpunished, but he and Snape weren't innocent and Dumbledore obviously knew it. What possible motive could the headmaster have for covering this up? Why wasn't he furious at Snape and Harry?

Well, Harry couldn't exactly ask him, could he? Instead he swallowed again, and nodded. "Um...er...so what should we do?" Inspiration struck. "Should I write a letter to the Prophet or something? Or, um," what was the phrase, "issue a statement?" Issue a statement, that sounded right. The royals were forever doing that sort of thing on the telly. Aunt Petunia watched it all the time.

Dumbledore's lips twitched. "I think the letter is a fine idea, Harry," he said. "I hope you will come to me if you need any help with it."

Recognising the thinly-veiled command, Harry nodded. "I'd, er, be much obliged if you'd look it over for me, sir. I'll, uh, write it as soon as I can. Tonight. Today." He bent and began fishing around in his bag. "In fact, I have some parchment here, if you want me to -- "

But Dumbledore shook his head with a faint smile. "Write and send it tonight, Harry. It would only make it into the Evening Prophet if you sent it in now, and I am afraid that has but half of the Daily's circulation."

Harry nodded. Sat there, twiddled his thumbs under Dumbledore's gaze. Finally the headmaster said quietly, "Was there something you wanted to ask me?"

He swallowed. "Are there…you know. Going to be…investigations?" Because if there were -- one drop of a truth potion or something and it didn't matter what Dumbledore did, the cat was out of the bag.

Dumbledore gave him a long look. "I do not believe that will be necessary, do you?"

"No," Harry said in relief, trembling slightly. "No, not at all. Of course not. Erm. Have...you talked to Professor Snape?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I let him know this morning that I expected him up here at nine o'clock sharp." He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was a quarter till. "I, er, think you had better go now, before he arrives..."

Harry nodded. He wasn't up to facing Snape yet, certainly not in front of the headmaster. They'd have to talk alone somehow; Harry had to explain, to apologise for not taking Snape's safety into account, to promise his discretion, his patience. Although he was pretty sure it wouldn't be safe to even try and see Snape alone for quite a while -- maybe even days. Everybody would be watching them, after all. And Snape wouldn't be in the best of moods right now, he was pretty sure. Harry repressed a shiver.

It was all so surreal. Only yesterday in the corridor, they'd been...

Dumbledore cleared his throat, bringing Harry back to attention. "That is all, I think. Do be patient and try to bear up as best you can; you have, of course, our total support." The tired eyes twinkled gently. "This too shall pass, Harry."

Harry nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted. "Erm -- is Potions class still on, then, if he's coming here, or should I -- "

"You should make the day as normal as possible," Dumbledore said firmly. "Go to your classes; I have arranged for a substitute while I speak with him. Hold your head high." The blue eyes seemed more piercing than ever. "After all, you have done nothing to be ashamed of."

The words sparked a warm glow somewhere deep in Harry's chilled recesses. Dumbledore knew, and it was okay -- everything was going to be okay, given time. He'd write a letter to the Prophet. Snape wouldn't be sacked. Surely this would all blow over soon.

Feeling much relieved, Harry hurried out of the office, half-anxious to avoid Snape, half-hoping that they'd meet on the stair and could maybe exchange a quick word. But he made it all the way down and out of the tower without a glimpse of the Potions master. By the time he was making his way through the deserted halls to the dungeons, his mind was spinning with worry again. What would Snape say to Dumbledore? He wouldn't confess, would he? Then the headmaster would have no choice but to sack him -- but no, he probably wouldn't, not if Dumbledore treated him the same way he had Harry. Or -- had Snape already known Dumbledore knew about them? And didn't disapprove (for God only knew what reason)? But wouldn't he have told Harry, if that was the case?

Why didn't Dumbledore disapprove? How was Harry supposed to talk to Snape about it? What sort of letter should he write to the Prophet? Questions, what seemed like thousands of them, buzzed in his head, right until he opened the door to the Potions classroom.

To his surprise, Fleur Delacour sat at Snape's desk, reading something while the rest of the class scratched away on parchment at what looked to be busywork. All of the cauldrons and ingredients were stored on the shelves. At Harry's arrival, however, every single head looked up and Harry could feel himself turning red. He automatically turned his burning face towards Delacour, who gave him a kind smile.

"Come in, Harry," she said. "Professor Dumblydorr 'as sent me ze message zat you would be late. I am filling in for Professor Snape today; you are taking notes on Chapter Five in your text."

He'd already taken notes on Chapter Five this summer. Lots of them. Well, at least it was something that wouldn't require concentration Harry didn't have to give.

He went to the table he shared with Pansy, sending what he hoped were reassuring glances to his Gryffindor friends on the way. Ha ha, everything's fine, what a silly, stupid thing, Snape of all people, yes, yes...

As he passed by the table Draco shared with Neville, though, he heard the softest whisper say, "Too bad, Potter. Gotcha."

Harry nearly froze in place. Nearly went for his wand and hexed Draco on the spot. But something inside compelled him to keep moving, though it seemed his guts were burning up with rage, compelled him to go to his table, sit down, and open his book without acknowledging that he'd heard a thing. Still, even as he got out his quill his mind was whispering intently, Too bad, Potter...too bad, Potter...

Maybe for now. But some day it was going to be too bad for Draco. Really too bad. Harry would get him for this if it was the last thing he ever did. And it would be slow and painful and horrible and --

Next to him, Pansy sniffed. "Well, Potter," she muttered, delicately dipping the nib of her quill into her inkwell (even though Harry couldn't help noticing that there were very few notes written down on her parchment), "you've gone and done it now, haven't you? I suppose you're happy to have ruined Slytherin's reputation. As if someone like Professor Snape would even consider someone like you..." While Harry stared fixedly down at his parchment, ears burning, she continued, "Although -- Professor Snape really hasn't been himself this term, has he? He's been simply ghastly to poor Draco." She sniffed again. "Perhaps it's just as well -- maybe now he'll remember that one must treat the Malfoys with the respect they deserve." It sounded like a well-rehearsed phrase. "Once your latest attention-getting scheme has blown over, I'm sure things will be just like they used to be. Just like they should be..."

Harry lifted his head and turned to look her in the face, very slowly. He didn't know what the expression on his face was, but it must have been pretty frightening, because Pansy blanched and her eyes went wide.

He didn't say a word. He just looked at her.

Eventually, he said, very quietly, "What are you staring at, Parkinson? Weren't you working when I came in?"

To his mild gratification, she immediately turned her gaze back down to her parchment as she started scribbling down random notes again. He watched her for a few more moments before turning to his own work, his mind wandering off instantly.

So. Pansy didn't know the "rumour" was true, and she apparently didn't know that Draco had been the one to spread it, although Harry wasn't too sure about that last bit. "Treating the Malfoys with respect," indeed -- but even Draco wouldn't be stupid enough to tell people he'd leaked to the Prophet, not if he'd been so careful to keep himself anonymous. And Harry didn't think Pansy was smart enough to be that good an actress, anyway.

He was so consumed with thoughts of revenge on Draco -- Boiling oil? The Cruciatus? -- that he barely noticed he was copying out the entire chapter by hand instead of just taking notes. He barely noticed Ron's repeated attempts to catch his attention so he could give him a shaky grin of support. He barely noticed anything, in fact, until the door to the classroom slammed open --

-- and Snape stalked in.

Harry's stomach dropped all the way to his feet. He could feel the entire class swivelling to stare between him and the Potions master, and kept his focus firmly on the parchment before him, aware that his cheeks were bright red and that his lips were clamped into a thin line. It's okay...they'll think I'm just angry...it's okay...

He could hear a chair scraping as Professor Delacour stood up. "Ah, Professair," she said, and from the apprehensive tone in her voice Harry could just guess at the expression on Snape's face. Uh-oh. "You are back...is zere anythi..." Pause. "I shall just be going now, I think."

"Thank you." Snape's voice was very quiet and very, very cold. Harry refrained from biting his lip even harder, but he couldn't stop the miserable squirming in his stomach. Oh, God, he wanted to be anywhere but here. Even his room at the Dursleys' suddenly seemed attractive.

Delacour's footsteps went to the door, which then scraped shut on the stone. Other than that the room was deathly still. Harry felt certain that everyone was looking at him.

The silence seemed to go on and on, and Harry didn't even notice that he'd stopped copying his notes, although he never took his eyes from the parchment. He was totally focused on listening for sounds of movement from the front of the room. After an eternal moment, they came -- in the form of sharp, clicking footsteps making their way over to his and Pansy's table.

"The vast part of the morning has already been wasted," Snape hissed as he glided over, and Harry, still staring doggedly at the table, winced. There had been a few occasions when he'd heard that level of hidden rage in Snape's voice and he hoped he never would again. "It's too late to start you lot on a potion now; rest assured you will make up for it on Wednesday." Now he was standing directly in front of their table. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Pansy looking apprehensively up at the Potions master.

"Potter!" Snape snapped.

Here goes nothing. Harry swallowed hard, and looked up. Snape's face looked down at him exactly as it had for the past five years: filled with loathing and contempt. His eyes were cold and hard as glass. Harry tried hard to keep from shivering, and thought to himself, It isn't real, it's all for show, it isn't real, it's all for...

"I suppose you thought," Snape said in a deadly whisper, which the whole class strained to hear, "that this little game of yours would somehow free you from having to do work?" He looked pointedly at Harry's quill, sitting idle in his frozen hand.

This little -- what? Harry blinked, horrified, suddenly remembering what Pansy had said. Was this what was going around in Slytherin dungeons -- that Harry had made up this rumour himself? But Snape would never really believe that. No, of course he wouldn't.

"I shouldn't be surprised. I have come to understand that there is very little which is beneath you in your eternal quest for attention."

Harry's jaw clenched as he forced himself to keep meeting those heartless eyes. Pansy sat frozen next to him. He doesn't mean it. He doesn't really hate me. He cares what happens to me. He --

"Some might say," Snape added venomously, "that such behaviour is only natural for an orphaned young man. For me, it is only a sign that you have inherited your parents' stupidity."

-- He did not just say that.

A gasp came from somewhere behind him. He thought it was Hermione, while the muffled exclamation sounded like Ron. You have to say something to that, the small functioning part of his brain whispered, they'll all be expecting you to say something...

"I didn't," he croaked, and he couldn't stop his eyes from darting to Draco, who merely raised a mocking eyebrow. Rage boiled again and unfroze his tongue. "Are you crazy, I'd never -- "

"Thirty points from Gryffindor!" Snape hissed, his eyes beginning to flash alarmingly. "You insolent little -- " Then he appeared to collect himself and glared with narrowed eyes at the entire class while Harry, still open-mouthed, continued to stare up at him. "What are you looking at?" he barked, and everybody immediately bent heads to continue scribbling on their parchment -- although Harry rather thought he got a glimpse of Ron sending Snape a truly vicious glare first.

"As for you, Potter," Snape continued, his voice sending slivers of ice through Harry's skin, "you will copy out that chapter word for word and hand it in to me by the end of class. For every page you're short, you lose your house a point." When Harry just kept on staring at him, horrified, he roared, "Unless you want to make it an even fifty! Get going, boy!"

Then he was gone, swooping back up to his desk as Harry found himself blinking at empty air. Then his hand mechanically took up his quill and he bent back to his book, forcing himself not to think about it, reminding himself that Dumbledore knew and would protect them both and that it was all going to be fine, really. He and Snape could talk later. This was all for show. He just needed to distract himself. Good thing he'd been copying out the chapter already...

For an instant, he toyed with the idea of slipping a little note to Snape in with the copied chapter. But he had no idea what to say, and Snape was sure to make good on his threat of docking a point per page. And -- and with the mood Snape was in right now...perhaps he had better not.

It will get better, his mind whispered, and Harry prayed that was the truth.

He tried, but his concentration was shattered, and by the end of class he still had ten and a half pages left to go. Snape rounded it up to eleven points lost and there was nothing but ice in his eyes as the class scrambled for the door, even the Slytherins seeming cowed. Except for Draco, who moved with a casual, unhurried grace, that cool smirk never leaving his face. Harry had to clench his fists again to keep from reaching for his wand.

It was time for lunch. Harry and Ron always complained about having to deal with disgusting potions ingredients right after breakfast and right before lunchtime, but today Harry was nauseated for a totally different reason. All those eyes, all on him. And Snape would be there. He couldn't do it, he couldn't face them -- but he had to. He'd only look guilty if he skipped out. He'd only look afraid.

And he was guilty, and he was afraid, but he couldn't afford to slip up even once. Not about this.

Ron and Hermione flanked him protectively on the way to lunch, talking loudly and distracting him from the wide-eyed stares and gossiping whispers that tried to follow them up the hallway. Neville did his bumbling best to help by bringing up the rear -- with all the extra help Harry was giving him, he'd apparently taken him on as his patron saint. At one point Ron patted him reassuringly on the back and said, "Don't let them get to you, Harry. Not any of them. Nobody's going to blame you for losing those points, once word gets out..."

"I hardly think now's the time to be talking about points, Ron," Hermione said severely, her prefect badge winking in the light. Ron sighed heavily, but Harry agreed. At the moment he wouldn't have much cared if Gryffindor had lost a hundred points. He just wanted to know which way was up.

And then the next thing he knew they'd arrived at the Great Hall, filled with noise and light and the smells of food and jumbling bodies all vying for their seats. Was it his imagination, or did the noise grow even louder when he entered? Probably not, he decided morosely. To his dismay, he noticed a few copies of the Daily Prophet still lying scattered around -- well, Hermione had said there were "hundreds" this morning...

Draco probably made a special order, Harry thought savagely, and fought hard to contain the new swelling of anger.

He took his seat with his friends, aware of murmurs all round and voices saying things like "looks like he's in shock!" and "don't worry, Harry" and "that greasy git." He was vaguely aware of a concerned smile coming his way from Ginny. Then his plate was sitting before him, filled with delicious-looking food, but he didn't even make a move towards it. "Come on, Harry," Hermione urged gently, "I know Snape was absolutely rotten, but you'll feel better after you've eaten something..."

I'll feel better after I've stomped on Malfoy's face. But before he could say it, the room fell silent. Feeling slightly paranoid, Harry looked up from his plate, expecting everybody to be staring at him -- but all eyes were trained on Dumbledore, who had risen from his seat at the staff table. Harry kept his eyes focused on the headmaster as well, deliberately not looking at Snape, who sat at the end of the table, face chiselled from stone.

"If I may have your attention," Dumbledore said, both gravely and unnecessarily. Every face was already riveted on him, except for the occasional one that darted glances at Snape or Harry. "I am certain that you have all read the unfortunate headlines of this morning." A low murmur started up, and Dumbledore instantly raised his hand. "Silence, please!" he said, a bit more sharply than normal, and Harry felt a pang of guilt on top of all his other unpleasant sensations. Dumbledore already had so much to deal with...this was just another thing to heap onto his shoulders. Another stress. Maybe I can pay somehow for him to go to the Riviera this summer, Harry thought, half-hysterically, before Dumbledore began to speak again.

"I have been in touch with the Daily Prophet over this regrettable issue," Dumbledore continued. His eyes, steely blue, swept over the assembly, and everyone within felt that he was assessing them from the inside out. "I told them what I will tell you now: it is not Hogwarts policy, and never has been, and never will be, to punish those who have done no wrong." The murmuring grew. "Silence!" Dumbledore shouted.

Then it faded into a shocked stillness. Harry didn't dare look at Snape, but he felt fairly certain that the Potions master looked as stunned as everyone else; it was rare that Dumbledore raised his voice, and Harry had never heard him yell.

"According to the article," Dumbledore continued coolly into the silence, "it would seem a student spread this unfortunate rumour. If and when we discover the name of this student, rest assured that he or she will be immediately expelled." And then, Harry was positive, his gaze lingered briefly on Draco Malfoy before sweeping back out to encompass the entire Hall. But Draco didn't look in the least discomfited -- he merely smirked again.

Still, Harry felt marginally better. Draco might be arrogant enough to believe he -- or his father -- could outsmart Dumbledore, but Harry knew better. If Dumbledore suspected Draco, well, surely things were as good as wrapped up, right?

Then he remembered his hard-won lesson: Dumbledore couldn't fix everything. And they had no proof of Draco's guilt, and even if they did, Draco might retaliate by making an actual charge against Snape and... Harry sagged a little, before comforting himself with the thought that at least Dumbledore knew who was responsible, and wasn't happy about it. Maybe he'd be able to do something.

But they couldn't count on that, he thought grimly, as he turned down to stare at his plate as it filled with lamb chops and vegetables. Dumbledore had seated himself and to all appearances was looking quite sunny again, making a great show of passing the salt down the table to Snape, whose own face was still set in stone.

No. It would ultimately be up to Harry and Snape to make things right. They'd have to put on a bit of a show for a while, as they had this morning. Harry silenced the treacherous voice inside him that said it hadn't felt like a show. It would be necessary, for appearances' sake. Everyone would expect them to act even more hateful around each other now, and they'd just have to fit the bill. And then, after it all had gone away...

He thought this to himself until he felt well enough to nibble on his lamb chop, although by then lunch was nearly over. They had a half-hour break before Divination, and then Care of Magical Creatures; then the weekend would come, bringing with it entirely too much time to think -- though maybe, Harry hoped, time to talk as well.

His friends herded him up, away from the crowds -- especially the jeering Slytherins -- before any fights could break out. Next thing he knew he was sitting bemusedly in the Gryffindor common room, surrounded by a protective barrier composed of Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Dean and Seamus. Their glares warned their other housemates away.

"What a pack of filthy lies," Dean said hotly. "Honestly -- I don't see how they can let someone like Skeeter work for the paper!"

"Oh, they'll let her work, all right," Hermione said, with a special measure of bitterness in her voice. "They don't care about truth at the newspaper, any more than the Ministry does! Just drumming up sales, that's all they're after!"

"I bet they were nice and drummed," Ginny said gloomily. Then, when Ron glared at her, she added quickly, "But honestly, Harry, everybody's right. No one's really going to believe this. I mean...you and Snape?"

"Harry," Neville murmured hesitantly.

"Right," Harry muttered, staring at the red carpet and wanting again to disappear.

"That's not all of it, you know," Ron said in exasperation. "You weren't in Potions with us, Ginny -- you didn't see what an utter bastard Snape was. He's going to make Harry's life hell."

"Harry," Neville repeated.

"I'd like to see him try," Seamus said defiantly. "You're worth ten of Snape any day of the week, Harry, eh? We all know it. You can take anything he can dish out!" Harry almost choked at that one.

"Harry -- " Neville tried again, doggedly.

"But Snape's a professor," Hermione argued. "Really, Harry's very limited in what he can do, unless it gets so bad we can complain to Dumbledore -- "

"Harry, what did Malfoy mean when he said 'Too bad' in class today?" Neville blurted.

That shut everybody up as they turned to stare at Harry. "Malfoy said something to you?" Ron asked, frowning.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, mustering up the effort to meet their eyes. He had to show a little gumption -- he couldn't get by on "being in shock" forever. Even if all he wanted was to go sit on his bed and pull the canopy and be alone for a while. "Just that... 'Too bad, Potter.'"

"Um. I think...he also said, 'Gotcha,'" Neville added, as if worried he was overstepping his bounds. On cue, jaws dropped all over the circle.

"'Gotcha?!'" Ron repeated incredulously. "Malfoy said -- ?"

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "Now that you mention it, I think he did..."

Ginny gasped. "Then...then it was him, wasn't it?" she demanded, looking at everybody, eyes wide and clear. "Don't you think? He must have been the anonymous student!"

"Why'd he do that, though?" Seamus asked with a frown.

"Snape has been nasty to him," Hermione reminded them all, perhaps remembering the private conversation she, Harry and Ron had held earlier in the year. "It's like killing two birds with one stone this way, isn't it?"

Ginny shuddered. "How awful! Oh, Harry, I feel so bad for you..."

"Er. Yeah," Harry said, suddenly wanting more than ever just a few minutes to himself before Divination. He didn't want to face Trelawney right now. The way he felt he'd probably hex the old bat through the window if she so much as alluded to --

"Excuse me!" Neville interrupted again, his voice so shrill that they all stopped talking and turned to stare at him. He'd pulled a copy of the Prophet's front page out of his robe pocket and was waving it. "Isn't -- don't you think -- we all ought to be asking another question? Why would Malfoy and Snape hate each other when they're both Death Eaters?"

Silence fell all over the Common Room and Harry's stomach caved in. He'd wondered how long it would take before somebody brought that up. In the wake of the more lurid aspects of the story, he'd hoped -- foolishly -- that maybe people just wouldn't...notice...

God, he was an idiot!

After another quiet moment, Dean muttered, "Have to say, I'm not awfully surprised..."

"Me neither," Seamus added. "He just...seems the type, doesn't he?"

"No," Harry said instantly, before he could stop himself. Then they all turned to stare at him and he wished fervently he'd kept his mouth shut -- except he couldn't let them say those things, not about Snape, he just couldn't. "I mean," he said lamely, "she doesn't have any proof. For any of it. I mean, it's not as if we like Snape or anything, but why should we believe this any more than we believe...the other?" There, that hadn't sounded too bad... "And besides -- d'you really think Dumbledore would let a Death Eater teach at Hogwarts? I -- I don't believe that."

Ron bit his lip, obviously itching to reveal what he'd seen fourth year in the hospital wing, but was restrained by Hermione's warning hand on his arm. The look he sent Harry clearly said, 'Why are you protecting that git?' and Harry hoped he could get away with another lame 'It's what Dumbledore wants.' But in the meantime, Seamus, Dean and Ginny were all nodding reluctantly.

"I didn't think about that," Dean admitted. "I mean -- you're right, he's an utter shite, and I hate him, but I suppose Dumbledore would never -- "

"He might!"

For the second time, all eyes turned to stare at Neville Longbottom who had, in the interim, gone quite an alarming shade of red. His grey eyes were suspiciously bright.

"Neville?" Ron asked, astonished.

"Dumbledore can make mistakes!" Neville said, and quivered. "He can -- and this, it all makes sense -- of course Snape is a Death Eater, anybody can see how that could happen -- "

Harry suddenly got very nervous. "Neville," Hermione said cautiously, "I think you might be getting a bit overworked..."

"I hate him!" Neville screamed, suddenly throwing the paper to the floor as he rose to his feet. He now had the attention of everybody in the Common Room, even those who had been pretending to read, or stare out the windows. "He's EVIL! Don't you see? He was a Death Eater and they killed my parents!"

A gasp went up around the room. Harry's jaw dropped, and he caught himself right before he pointed out that Neville's parents were in St. Mungo's, not the grave. He wasn't supposed to know that at all. But why was Neville saying...?

"D-Death Eaters killed your parents?" Ron stammered, horrified.

"Yes," Neville said hoarsely. "Yes. Th-they're dead." He bit his lower lip hard and didn't meet anybody's eyes. "They died when I was just a baby. I-I never even knew them."

"Oh, Neville," Hermione whispered. "I'm so sorry...we never knew..."

"I don't want to talk about it!" Neville cried, waving the paper as his cheeks flamed red again. "But you -- how can you sit here and make excuses for him when we can get rid of him now? He's horrid, he's hateful, he...he hates me, and I bet he hated my parents, I bet he helped kill my parents! I bet he -- "

All around them, pale faces were starting to nod, and Harry saw the situation spinning out of control before his eyes. He had to say it. He had to. "Neville, he didn't do it!"

Then everybody stared at him. Ron sighed heavily and Hermione looked uncomfortable as he looked to them for backup. "I mean, this stuff," Harry said quickly, pointing to the paper. "With me. You know he…didn't do that. And, and I'm really sorry, Neville, but I don't want people thinking he did. You understand? Don't you? A-and about your parents," he added much more hesitantly, "I -- I'm sorry. But...but..." He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, Neville." Was that all he could say? There had to be more. "If it's true Snape was a Death Eater, well, there'll be records, won't there?" Which there weren't. Snape had never even been brought to trial as far as Harry knew -- the reward of spying for Dumbledore, probably. "And...it'll come out. I'm sure of it." He bit his lip. "I mean, you know Rita Skeeter."

Neville stared at Harry, his eyes still glassy with rage and pain, but he nodded mutely and sat down hard on the floor. Harry awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. "It'll be all right," he whispered, to convince himself as much as anybody else.

"Of course it will!" Ron said bracingly. "I dunno about the whole Death Eater thing," he and Hermione glanced at each other uneasily, "but this thing with you, Harry, that's bound to go away quick."

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "Dumbledore said...tonight I should write a letter. Send it to the newpaper and all that."

"Well, of course you should!" Hermione said. "Why -- in fact -- "

"We'll all write one," Ginny put in firmly, reaching over to pat Neville's shoulder when Harry stopped. The chubby boy continued staring at the carpet and said nothing. "One stupid 'anonymous student' won't hold up too well against lots of students with names, will he?"

"Truth," Seamus said, sounding dreamy all of a sudden, obviously composing the letter in his head already. "Dear Daily Prophet, I just want you to know I've been in Harry's dormitory since first year, and I know for a fact he's a boy of good taste and would never consider sleeping with a walking sack of slime." Harry managed not to cringe. "Or a sadistic greaseball. Or a stupid prick. Or a..."

Ron was looking very enthusiastic. "Yeah," he said, eyes going wide. "Just think -- a chance to insult Snape every way we can think of in front of the whole wizarding world -- and all as if we're defending him!" He cast a quick, guilty glance at Neville. "Not that we are, of course, evil bastard," he said quickly. "Be nice if he does get sacked, but I'm with you, Harry...I wouldn't want everybody thinking it was 'cos I'd slept with him." He shuddered. "Yeuch!"

Harry stood up abruptly. "I...right. Thanks, everybody. Um...I just need..." he gestured in the direction of the stairs.

"A minute to yourself," Hermione said sympathetically, and if Harry had felt less nauseated he would have been grateful. "Go on then...you've got fifteen minutes till next class..."

"Start composing your letter, Harry!" Ron called gleefully after him. "All those insults -- they'll be right therapeutic, you know!"

It seemed to take forever to climb the stairs up to his dormitory, but he finally made it. Harry staggered over to his bed, wishing he'd never got out of it in the first place -- wishing that this whole day had never happened. He opened his bedcurtains, flopped down on the bed and let them close behind him, then curled up into a ball on the mattress, gritting his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, trying very hard not to think about anything at all.

       

The rest of the day passed in a daze for Harry. Professor Trelawney, alone out of everybody in the school, appeared not to have even heard of the scandalous headline -- she probably hadn't even come out of her tower all day, Harry thought, and for the first time was glad of her odd habits. The class passed normally, with everybody staring blankly into teacups and his classmates making one or two jokes which Harry found in very poor taste about him finding "new love." Ron finally scowled at everybody and told them to shut up.

"Snape," he muttered, and shuddered again. "Not even something to joke about, is it?"

"No, it's not," Harry agreed, staring into his own cup and trying not to think about the taste of mint. "Let's talk about something else...how're things with Hermione?" As if he didn't see them together every day. But Ron obviously didn't mind and proceeded to talk Harry's ear off about a squabble they'd been having last night. It served as a suitable distraction.

Next came Care of Magical Creatures, and Harry suffered through Hagrid's heavy-handed attempts to cheer him up by teaching him to feed a Diricrawl. By the end of class he was glad to escape the none-too-subtle encouraging smiles. Hagrid meant well, he always did, but Harry couldn't take it right now. He couldn't stand to think about it.

No Quidditch that afternoon; no flying to look forward to until the next day. He could have flown a few laps by himself to clear his head, and often had in the past, but the weather was lousy anyway -- high winds and dropping temperatures. Harry wasn't sure he had the focus to even stay on his broom, much less negotiate treacherous updraughts. So he trudged through his afternoon, enduring Slytherin taunts, less vicious jokes from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and the well-meaning support of his own House. It felt like the damned day would never end.

But eventually it did, as all other days did, and Harry found himself washing his face that night as he composed the letter to the Prophet in his head. Dean had already set to, with great glee -- he'd failed a Potions test last week and was looking forward to getting a bit of his own back. Dear Daily Prophet -- was that how you started it? -- I just wanted to say that...no, no, I feel the need to inform you...I would like to ask that you...I want you to take it back, you bloody stupid bastards, I was happy and then you had to go and...

Harry brushed his teeth and padded towards his bed where he'd left his books, along with parchment and quill. Hopefully it would just fall together when he was writing the damned thing -- he wanted to write it tonight so he could show it to Dumbledore first thing in the morning.

He twitched aside his bedcurtains with his wand, whispered "Lumos," and settled himself comfortably inside the lit cocoon to write. He moved to lift his Potions text out of the way -- and had to stifle an audible gasp.

There was a note peeking out of the top of the pages.

His heart started pounding double-time as he fumbled the book open and tugged out the slip of parchment. Snape had done it again, somehow. Maybe it would tell him how they could talk, or at least when it would be safe for them to talk, and they could finally figure out what they were going to do now and where they were going next --

The slip of parchment contained two words in Snape's precise script.

Never again.

Harry stared at it blankly for fully two minutes before he finally curled over on his side, still clutching the note, but now staring off into space, although he could still see the words floating in front of his eyes, their imprint on his brain.

Never again.

Well. That had sounded...final...

He closed his eyes, inventing and discarding a hundred different plans. None of them mattered now. Not if Snape was...calling it off. All off. Everything.

I really wanted to talk to him.

never again

I...I liked talking to him.

never again

I was going to leave to be with him if I had to...all my fault, I would have gone...I would have done anything to keep him safe...

never again

...and I still...would.

Harry sat up, swallowing down the lump in his throat, though he couldn't dispel the rocks sitting in his chest. So -- so it was over. Fine. It couldn't last. Of course it couldn't. Harry should have known better. Nothing good ever lasted, not while there were Voldemorts and Malfoys in the world. But Harry…had his responsibilities. To Sever -- to Snape. Snape.

He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. And then he pulled out a piece of parchment and his quill, and began to write, concentrating so his hand would remain steady.

Dear Daily Prophet, he wrote, the words appearing in front of him as if he'd nothing to do with their creation. I am writing to tell you that there is absolutely nothing between Professor Snape and me...

He told himself it was better, not having to lie.

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