"Oh look," Ron said, reading over one of Hermione's posters. "Looks like we finally have a spew meeting."
Ron had left the infirmary two days after the accident, his mind and body making a full recovery from the trauma induced by Occlumency and the mind possession curse. While he was now obliged to go to Dumbledore's office every Thursday. When questioned about the reasons, his expression would become pained and he would say that he would rather not talk about it. Though Harry was alarmed by the fact that Ron would be concealing something, he did not press the issue. After all, he had his own skeletons that he had never shared.
"Indeed we do have a S.P.E.W. meeting, Ron," chimed in Hermione, sounding pleased. "All the material is ready and I've charmed the posters to mark the date and time. That is, today at five o'clock."
Ron gave Harry an exasperated look, appealing for support, then turned back to Hermione. "Well, we've Quidditch practice this evening and we won't be able to make it." He gave Harry a discrete nudge with his elbow.
Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "Save it, Ron. I already asked and you never have practice at five o'clock."
"Err," stammered Ron, cornered. His eyes flitted towards Harry in a silent plea for help.
Harry arched an eyebrow. "Well, then I guess we can make it then, right?" he said innocently, feigning ignorance. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione flash him a smile.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, now," drawled Gates, stepping out of the shadows like a wraith. His eyes rested on Hermione, shifted to Harry, and then landed on Ron for the briefest of instants before going back to Harry.
Ever since the Hit Wizard's discovery that Ron carried the personality of one of his parents' killers, Corlov Dren, he had avoided speaking to him, looking at him, or even acknowledging his presence. Harry strongly suspected that Professor Whams had something to do with it, as he had seen the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor speaking to Gates in hushed tones in the hospital wing while Ron recovered. It was almost like they were bargaining, as Gates, appearing severely disgruntled, eventually nodded his head and the two men separated.
"What is this inane discussion concerning?" Gates finished, sounding indifferent. Along with Ron's recovery, the Hit Wizard had also regained his usual arrogance. Harassing Harry was once again becoming a popular pastime to ease his boredom. Other students, who were just beginning to accept Gates's presence around Harry, veered off as they approached, intimidated by the wizard's nasty demeanor.
"There's a club meeting tonight," Harry said flatly, wanting the exchange to end as soon as possible.
Gates's weight shifted to his left foot and he eyed Harry critically. "On what exactly? Dueling? Curse breaking? Hex research?"
"Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare," replied Hermione.
Turning towards her, Gates's eyes narrowed and he looked at her as one would look at a moldering, filthy rag. "Excuse me?" he said conceitedly, his words so biting that no one could possibly mistake him for being polite.
"The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare," Hermione repeated in a stronger voice. Harry and Ron exchanged glances. If they ever doubted the lengths Hermione would go to benefit S.P.E.W., this quickly dispelled them.
"And what," Gates said slowly. "is that?"
"It's an organization that promotes the advancement of elves in society," Hermione said briskly. "Our short term aims are to secure fair wages and working conditions, and out long term aims are to change the law about non-wand use and to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
Gates stared at her, as though he did not know what to make of her. "Why would you need an elf in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?" he said in a carefully even voice.
"Because they don't have a single representative!" said Hermione. "So can I interest you in a donation?" She drew a tin can from out of her robes and extended it.
Harry watched her with incredulous eyes. If this was not happening directly in front of him, he would never have believed that this was happening. He turned to Ron and mouthed the words: Did she really ask him for a donation?
Ron nodded slowly, unsure of it himself. Hermione's passion for S.P.E.W. knew no limits.
To Harry's surprise, it appeared as though Gates was seriously considering it. "You are fully aware that house elves have no interest in wages, correct?"
"Only because they are brainwashed by centuries of control by wizards," Hermione said crisply.
Gates blinked several times. It was clear that he did not intend to get engaged with S.P.E.W. when he first approached the trio. "Gates manor possesses several house elves on its grounds, and none of them have ever expressed disapproval to the way they were treated."
"That's because they're ignorant as to what the world has to offer," Hermione said brightly.
The Hit Wizard's expression quickly darkened. "And what do you think the world has to offer?"
"A better life where they can do what they please without having to earn a wizard's approval."
Gates snorted. "Idealistic nonsense. A wizard's home provides them with comfort, security, shelter, and food; things they could not be guaranteed if they lived on their own. House elves exist to be subservient."
"Very well then," said Hermione said with a hint of feigned indifference, withdrawing the tin. They left for the great hall, Gates now trailing behind them, as though puzzled at what had just happened.
"You've lost your mind," Ron said, staring at Hermione up and down. "You asked the bastard for a donation of all things."
"Well," said Hermione. "It was the perfect opportunity, and S.P.E.W. needs funds, and I'm not picky of where they come from. You can let him intimidate you. He is rather powerless, after all, no matter what he pretends."
"But- But-" Ron sputtered, trying to find a hole in her logic. "He's Alexander Gates! The sadistic Hit Wizard! You just- just-" he stopped, unable to formulate the words to describe exactly what Hermione just did.
They entered the great hall and took their seats at the far end of the long table. Since its introduction, the four houses seemed to situate themselves on certain area of the table. The Slytherins would take the extreme right, the Ravenclaws to the left of the Slytherins, the Hufflepuffs next to the Ravenclaws, and finally the Gryffindors on the left end after the Hufflepuffs. Just as they sat down, a thick flurry of owls descended from the ceiling and swarmed over the hall. Harry noticed with a small measure of alarm that many of them were carrying scarlet envelopes: howlers.
"Wonder which poor blokes are getting those," Ron said absently, pulling every plate of food towards him.
"I've never seen so many," Harry murmured. He remembered the howler Mrs. Weasley had sent Ron in their second year after they crashed a flying car into the Whomping Willow. With morbid interest, he watched the owls' descent. To his surprise, all of them were heading towards the staff table. The babble of chatter that resonated within the hall died down as everyone else joined in watching the deliveries.
The first of the owls fluttered directly towards Snape's position at the table, and the Potions master stared at the owl with confusion written on his face, his expression showing disbelief. The owl hesitated, as though momentarily fearful of Snape's wrath, and then dropped its burden in midair, not even bothering the land. The red envelope fell from the air and collided with his goblet, knocking it over and spilling liquid across the table.
More owls joined in - barn owls, snow owls, screech owls, horned owls - all of them delivering the red envelopes in the same fashion: dropping them like bombs from the air, pelting Snape's meal and effectively ruining the food. The Potions master leapt backwards, heedless of his chair falling over. With growing shock, he watched as countless other owls delivered the same burdens: solid red howlers. Soon, his place at the table was piled with a small mound of crimson envelopes.
Dumbledore watched curiously from his seat, his eyes twinkling with faint amusement, though only one acquainted with his facial expressions would know it. Several of the other professors wore similar expressions, though Whams seemed to be unaware of the whole occurrence. He was currently reaching blindly under his seat for his lost spectacles.
"Fred and George," Ron said in an awed voice. "I know it's them. I owled them about Snape giving you all those detentions, and, well, they wanted to help out their former team Seeker. But don't worry, they were planning this for awhile. The detentions only gave them an excuse to go through with it," He grinned. "They've must have sent him at least fifty howlers!"
When the last owl delivered its howler, Snape tentatively stepped towards the small mountain of red envelopes, as though afraid that they would suddenly explode. Smoke and steam began curling up from the pile, and if the Potions master did not open them soon, they would open by themselves. He reached out and the howlers simultaneously burst open, thick black smoke billowing out from each one, and the loud, mocking voice of Fred erupting from them all in chorus. Snape went deathly white.
"PROFESSOR SNIVELLUS SNAPE!" Fred shouted. "YOU'VE BEEN WORKING AS A HOGWARTS POTION MASTER FOR SIXTEEN YEARS YET YOU STILL CAN'T BREW A SINGLE BOTTLE OF SOAP; OR EVEN SOMETHING TO COVER UP THAT HIDEOUS SMELL."
The letter paused, letting the entire great hall burst out with laughter. Even some of the Slytherins laughed, though they made sure to carefully hide behind their textbooks as they did so.
"WITH THE AMOUNT OF GREASE YOU HAVE IN YOUR HAIR," Fred continued in an even louder and mocking voice. "YOU COULD EASILY USE SOME TO FRY UP SOME SAUSAGE, OR EVEN SMEAR A SMALL AMOUNT ONTO THE HINGES OF THE DUNGEON DOORS WHICH HAVE BEEN SQUEAKING FOR THE PAST HUNDRED YEARS! PLEASE DO THE SCHOOL A FAVOR AND EITHER DOUBLE AS A SOURCE OF COOKING GREASE FOR THE SCHOOL KITCHENS OR WASH YOUR HAIR! AND TO EVERYONE ELSE IN HOGWARTS: VISIT THE WEASLEY'S WIZARDING WHEEZES AT DIAGON ALLEY AND WE'LL DISCOUNT ANYTHING YOU BUY UNDER THE SAME TERMS AS UMBRIDGE; PROVIDED YOU USE IT AGAINST THIS SLIMEY GIT, OF COURSE!"
You're finished, Potter, said Pseudo-Snape.
The letter burned and shriveled into ash, leaving a terrifying silence in its wake. The laugher was long gone, and Snape looked positively murderous. The Potions master's eyes went straight to Harry, and he did not need to be proficient at Legilimency to know what Snape was thinking.
"This is going to be bad," Harry said apprehensively.
"I can't believe they did that!" hissed Hermione. "That was a teacher."
"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy that?" Ron asked, the grin on his face very broad. "I mean, it's Snape."
Snape stood up and stalked out of the great hall, looking fit to kill. He glared at whoever so much as glanced in his direction, and his eyes were particularly fixed on Harry. Suddenly, Harry found himself dreading tonight's detention in the dungeons.
The next few hours passed by slowly, and soon, rumors began to circulate around the school that Snape was handing out a record amount of detentions. Students muttered 'Snivellus' under their breath as they passed by the dungeon classroom, or disguised it with a cough. Livid, Snape assigned lines or detention to anyone who even smiled in his presence. After managing to cram his schedule full of so many detentions that he could not possibly assign any more, he deducted ridiculous amounts of house points for minor offenses, such as laughing in the halls or whispering. When Harry next saw the hourglasses, nearly every house (Slytherin included) had lost at least a fourth of its total points.
In turn, the other professors were all too eager to replenish the house points Snape took away by giving out more rewards, even to students outside of their respective houses. Professor McGonagall awarded Ron twenty points for finally managing to transfigure his desk into a pig, and Professor Flitwick gave fifteen points to Hufflepuff for staying awake during a lecture. Every professor seemed bent on counteracting Snape's unbridled wrath, and an unofficial war was being waged across Hogwarts.
Snape's vindictiveness extended beyond detentions and house points, however. Within ten minutes of class, the Potions master vanished the contents in Harry's cauldron without saying a word. He went along and did the same to a few Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff, and for the last person Harry was sure that Snape did not even look into the cauldron. During Potions, Gates wore an obvious smirk and watched Snape carefully the entire period, his eyes never wavering from their target.
"The Weasley's are right," Gates had said sleekly. "You do smell like a cauldron, Severus."
Snape pretended not to have heard and proceeded to take thirty points from Gryffindor for no reason at all. The Potions master's eyes rested on Harry for a moment, and a vindictive grin spread across his face, as if to say: Just wait. I know you were behind it.
Needless to say, Harry was relieved when the last class of the day ended and they headed to the empty classroom in which the S.P.E.W. meeting was going to be held.
"And Harry," Hermione said as they traipsed through the corridors to the distant room. "I looked through the library on Occlumency related ailments, or anything regarding alternate magical personalities, and, well, they were all gone."
"Gone?" Harry asked almost incredulously. "You mean checked out?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes, all of them. Granted, there weren't that many to begin with, but someone has apparently taken an interest, because they're all in circulation."
Harry pondered this as they continued, and, at length, they came to a musty room with ancient wooden door.
Gates took one look inside and then stepped out again. "I'll wait here. I hope you can survive for an hour without causing some disaster, Potter."
"Well, here we are," Hermione said when they entered. Harry could see instantly why Gates preferred to stay outside. The air was stale and unused, as if the room had been closed off for the past five centuries.
Hermione drew the tin can again and placed it next to the door. "It's not much, but I think we can work with it." She strode over to the corner of the room and unloaded a bag that was there, apparently full of yarn and other knitting supplies.
"Erm, Hermione?" Ron asked indecisively, looking at the tin can by the door. "Aren't you supposed to be holding the can so you can shove it under everybody's nose?"
Hermione glared at him. "I don't shove it under anybody's nose, Ron," she said irritably. "I decided to place it next to the door so people can place money in it discretely when they leave. I think I was too direct before." she added as an afterthought.
"That's an understatement," Ron muttered.
"Well, well, I wouldn't have believed it unless I saw it with my own eyes," drawled Malfoy, sauntering through the door and peering disinterestedly at the dusty classroom. A wide, condescending smirk played on his lips. "And here I thought that those stupid posters - which have been ripped down off the walls in the Slytherin wing, by the way - were misfiring. You three are seriously going through with this?"
"Get out Malfoy," said Harry forcefully.
Draco wore a face of pure innocence. "I'm just taking a look, that's all. Just seeing what nonsense the mudblood is up to now. So starting up a, erm, club to free the house elves, are you?" he added, turning his gray eyes toward Hermione.
"Yes I am," Hermione said evenly, eyeing Harry, subtly telling him to stand back. "Why? Are you trying to get back the one you lost four years ago?"
Malfoy flushed. "Oh, well, I suppose you can have him. What was his name? Oh, right, Dobby. There's plenty more where he came from. Ever since that elf left, the other ones had to take up his duty of polishing the third floor galleon vault. All that gold never shone as brightly as when he did it, though," he sighed nostalgically. He rounded on Ron. "I think Donna had to take his place. Do you remember Donna, Weasley? Oh, wait, that was when the Weasleys had a bit of money, so you wouldn't know."
Harry and Hermione looked at Ron questionably.
"I'd rather not have loads of gold than be inbred, Malfoy," Ron retorted.
Malfoy shook his head and smirked. "If you say so, Weasley," He turned back to Hermione. "Anyway, the Malfoy family always helps those who are less fortunate, and when I owled my mother about how the school mudblood was starting a club to free house elves, she asked me to donate, and, well, here." Draco drew a handful of knuts, sickles, and galleons and tossed them carelessly onto the floor. Drawing his wand, he waved it and covered the coins in a thick pool of muck.
"Whoops," Malfoy said in a bored tone. "I hope the mud won't be a problem. Then again," His eyes flashed at Hermione. "That shouldn't be a problem for some of you. I'd hurry up and pick them up, Granger, before Weasley goes and steals them to buy himself new robes." Ron's ears turned a unique shade of red.
He's baiting you, Potter, Pseudo-Snape said.
Harry stared at Hermione, waiting for her to give him a signal to go ahead and hex Malfoy into oblivion. To his surprise, it never came.
"Waiting for the wife's permission, Potter?" mocked Draco, pausing to spit into the pool of mud near his feet. "I can't wait around any long, though, so unless you grow some in the next five seconds, you'll miss your chance."
That was the last straw. Whipping his wand out from his robes, Harry snapped "Waddiwasi!" at the pool of mud, and hoped to achieve the effect he was planning. The muck flew up and splashed Malfoy along the front of his robes, causing the Slytherin to recoil in disgust.
Draco's expression turning into a feral snarl, he drew his own wand and the two were prepared to duel when a commanding voice shouted "Enough!"
Malfoy whirled to find himself face to face with Gates. His expression quickly transforming into one of fear, he stepped back, almost slipping in the slippery puddle of mud. Gates advanced upon him, a dangerous look coming onto his face. He had been watching the entire encounter through the open doorway.
"You will not attack Potter in my presence," said Gates smoothly, his hand casually coming down to where he kept his wand. Malfoy's face went very white. "I am obliged to keep the boy alive, preferably without injury. And he will suffer no injuries by anyone, especially from a Death Eater's bastard son."
Malfoy seemed unsure whether to sneer or flee.
"Oh, yes," Gates continued, now thoroughly enjoying this. "You were conceived out of wedlock, Draco. How does it feel to be an heir of convenience?"
From the way Malfoy's fists clenched and unclenched, this was a dire insult. "Watch yourself Gates. The Malfoys know all about you," He smirked. "I even heard your mother was a half-blood. Is that true? Katashi told me she screamed like a muggle when Katashi performed Cru-"
Gates's wand was out so fast that it was practically a blur. Before Malfoy could even react, he dropped his wand and his body was thrown and pinned against the wall with such force that he cried out in pain. Stricken, he stared at his attacker, his face the manifestation of terror.
The Hit Wizard panted heavily, as though doing this cost him great exertion. "When you are of age," said Gates in a dangerous voice. "I will come for you." His wand snapped backwards and Malfoy fell from the wall, crashing roughly onto the ground. He quickly snatched his wand and scampered out of the room, stumbling in his haste, his slick blond hair tousled and disheveled.
Gates followed him out into the hall and vanished, the door slamming heavily behind him.
"Stupid git," Ron snarled. "If it wasn't for the upcoming Dueling Tournament, I would have cursed him into next week. But why bother when I can do it without getting in trouble a month from now?"
Rolling her eyes, Hermione drew her wand and vanished the muck Draco left on the floor, everything vanishing; including the coins. "I don't want anything from him," she said simply, and returned to unpacking her knitting supplies.
"Didn't she just tell us not to be picky about where to get donations?" Ron asked in a disbelieving voice. Harry shrugged. When Hermione went into S.P.E.W. mode, it was better just to leave her to it.
A steady stream of students began to flow in, consisting of a total of sixteen Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors. Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood were the only ones Harry recognized from the group, and it soon became clear that they had only come because of a whim, or simply out of boredom, as was the case of three second years near the back. Seeming pleased with the turnout, Hermione immediately began dividing out the material into separate piles.
"So what's this about?" whispered Neville, who sounded anxious. "She just came up to me and told me to sign."
Harry looked at him for the briefest of moments, then said: "It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."
A look of understanding lit up Neville's face. "Oooh, that's what she was talking about." he said, and then lapsed into silence as Hermione came to the front.
"So here we are," Hermione said albeit briskly, sounding more than a little nervous. "This is club S.P.E.W., and it's mission is to increase the status of house elves in wizarding society." She picked up a rolled up poster, unfurled it, and stuck it to the wall using a sticking charm. On it was listed each of the goals of S.P.E.W.
"Under short term goals," she continued, pointing at the poster. All of the goals listed under the 'short term' category were instantly highlighted. "we want to have house elves earning fair wages in acceptable working conditions, and for the long term," She directed her wand again with the same effect. "we want to eventually alter the law concerning elfish non-wand use. Also, we want to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Questions?"
One student raised her hand. "If house elves wanted to be free couldn't they just rebel?"
"House elves can't rebel," Hermione said, as if expecting this question. "That's the reason they're so popular among pure blood families. Once an elf is bonded to a master, it can't attack any wizard at all, even in self defense."
Everyone in the room was looking slightly dazed. A third year in the front had her mouth agape, while the second years in the back appeared perplexed. Sounding disconcerted, she continued on, her voice beginning to tremble. Harry locked eyes with her, trying to induce confidence.
"As a club, we are going to make occasional trips to the kitchens to visit the house elves and to observe and log their treatment within Hogwarts."
"We're going to see house elves?" a first year piped up.
"So far," continued Hermione, not hearing the student's statement. "I've noticed a distinct lack of social integration between the house elves. They only rarely speak with each other, and when they do, it's only on professional matters, not personal ones. They are so absorbed in their work they never learn each others' names, and they don't notice the coming and going of their coworkers. Dobby, one of the house elves, once told me that one of his partners accidentally trapped himself in a closet on the seventh floor, and no one noticed. He was living off of whatever little food was stored in there until a professor stumbled in on him. He even had to boil his own hands in water for eating food that belonged to the school!" she finished indignantly.
Suddenly, the stone wall behind her silently slid open and, to Harry's surprise, Dobby bounded through, carrying a rather large package and setting it on the ground. He bowed deeply. The first years watched him with odd fascination, some standing up to get a better view.
"Hello Dobby," Hermione said cheerfully. "Did everything come in through owl order?"
"Yes, miss!" Dobby said from under a wavering tower of knitted hates. Harry noticed that he was now wearing a thick green sweater that he was sure was the same one Hermione was knitting a few weeks ago. "Dobby is pleased to deliver this to young miss, and is also pleased to be in master Harry Potter's presence!"
Bowing once again, he turned and stroked the stone wall that he had come through with his finger in a way that reminded Harry of the goblins at Gringotts. Griphook, the goblin in question, had used his finger to open up a secure vault that could only be opened by goblins at Gringotts.
"That was Dobby," Hermione said, once again turning her attention to the students gathered in front of her. "He's the only elf in Hogwarts that accepts pay and wears clothes. While it is definitely a start, we still have a long way to go. Dobby proves that house elves can be converted into accepting payment for their services."
"But what if they don't want to be paid?" asked a third year curiously.
Hermione looked at her, startled, as though the answer to the question was obvious. "Well of course they want to be paid! They just don't know it yet. They've been brainwashed by centuries of custom and tradition that makes them think bondage is acceptable!"
"So, err, what're we going to do to free them?"
"Knit them clothes!" Hermione said eagerly, gesturing to the piles of yarn and needles. "The more clothes we knit, the more elves we can free."
"Hermione," Harry said in a hushed voice for her ears alone. He was sitting in the front. "Dobby has been taking all the clothes you hide."
"That's solved easily enough," said Hermione logically. "We'll hide them in different places and ask Dobby to only take some of them."
A deafening silence greeted this solution, and it was clear that several of the club members thought Hermione was mad. Ron stared at her as if she grew a third arm, and then nodded to everyone nearby, letting them know that she was, indeed, mental. Harry tried to silently reassure her but failed.
Looking uncertain once more, she said. "So you can come up and get your knitting supplies, I guess," she squeaked, becoming more and more nervous.
Harry instantly got to his feet and subtly glanced in Ron's direction to let the redhead know he was obliged to follow suit. No one else moved to stand up, but stared at Hermione with blank expressions. Granted, Harry would not have guessed that knitting would be a part of club S.P.E.W. either, but Hermione's confidence was diminishing quickly, wilting underneath the surprised gazes of her peers.
Ron muttered "Harry-" but caught on a second later. Hermione, fumbling slightly, handed them each a small kit of supplies and beamed at them as they sat back down. Soon, the rest of the club followed their example and awkwardly accepted the material, the boys looking positively confounded as to how they were going to work with, as they put it, 'two needles and a bit of string'.
Casually glancing towards the door, Harry found that it was open, giving a clear view of the outside hall. Standing directly across the corridor, pointedly within easy sight, was Gates, distractedly flipping through a battered book that Harry instantly recognized as his photo album. Occasionally, the Hit Wizard would stroke the photos with his wand, and then grin and turn the page, sometimes looking up to catch Harry's eye. Despite the distance, Gates's actions could not be any more obvious. He was defacing the pictures, one by one. Something within his bowels churned furiously.
Hermione, seeing that puzzled looks on everyones' faces, came around the room and showed them the basics of knitting, usually advising the beginners with socks or hates, and slowly moving up to sweaters. To the most desperate cases, she would show them how to use charms to aid their progress, though she reminded everyone that spells would only take them so far.
By the end of the meeting, nearly everyone held a shapeless form of clumped yarn, stray ends poking out from them and unsuitable for all practical purposes excluding fuel for the common room fire. Neville had cut himself several times with the ends of the needles. Slightly crestfallen, Hermione told them to take the material with them and work on it over the weekend. Ron stared at her incredulously, and, when she finally dismissed them, could not get out of the room fast enough.
While Hermione placed stray supplies back into a large, cloth bag, Harry discretely snuck over and peered into the donation tin by the door. As he suspected, there were a mere two knuts resting at the bottom, the bronze metal shining forlornly against the steel. Clearly, no one had much real interest in S.P.E.W. Making sure Hermione was not looking, he subtly drew a handful of sickles, knuts, and a few galleons and carefully placed them into the can, trying to make no noise in the process. He had planned for this particular predicament beforehand, and brought money to cover his donation and the others'. Harry knew that if she found out, she would most likely reject such a large donation, but that did not stop him. She had spent most of her money on material for the club, and was probably depending on those funds to continue her club. He was not deceiving her, was he?
Of course you are, Potter, said Pseudo-Snape. But that's what it's all about, isn't it?
Not maliciously, he answered, and Pseudo-Snape did not respond.
Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he tentatively approached her. Her back was facing towards him, and her arms were crossed as though debating something.
"Hermione?" he said softly.
She turned around and smiled a brittle smile. "Hi Harry, how do you think the meeting went? Bad? Terrible? Horrible?" she tried to chuckle weakly and failed.
"It went how all first meetings go," Harry said reassuringly. She wrapped her arms around him in a hug and his first thought was that this was hurting her more than he originally suspected. "Remember when we first started the D.A. in the Hog's Head? That didn't go too well at first, either."
"They hated it though," Hermione said. "Did you see the way they looked at me? It was awful."
Harry had never known for Hermione to be upset over other peoples' opinions before, and he wondered what had changed. It came to him, though, that she was not worried about what they thought about her, but what they thought about her idea with club S.P.E.W. She was not used to her plans being rejected so offhandedly.
"They'll see," Harry said. "That's what the club is all about, right? Informing people about the plight of house elves." he added with a hint of logic that surprised him. He gently kissed the top of her neck and separated, his eyes locking with hers.
"So you think they will come around?" asked Hermione, her eyes shining.
"Positive," Harry said instantly. "They wouldn't have signed up for the club if they didn't have some interest." He really, really hoped he was right with that presumption. "Well, except for Ron." he added. They both laughed; genuinely this time.
"To him it will always be spew," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Then you're okay?" Harry asked seriously.
"Of course," Hermione said, and stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the lips. He kissed her back, again, thoroughly enjoying the few moments of private time that they managed to acquire.
Just then, Gates strode in and Harry's head snapped in his direction.
"I hate to interrupt," Gates drawled. "But you have Occlumency with Severus, Potter, and I suggest you leave now so you will not be late. I won't remind you again: I'm a guard, not a babysitter."
Ignoring him, Harry smiled rather fragilely at Hermione, and then turned and went with Gates to the dungeons, his walk noticeably stiffer. He could not help but remember how carelessly Gates had marred his album, and cold rage flared within him.
"Potter," said Gates with a nasty sleekness. Harry's attention peaked. This was usually a prelude something especially sinister. "I could not help but notice your…attachment to the Granger girl."
"Yes?" Harry said evenly, knowing there could be no denying it. The Hit Wizard had seen them several times before.
"And I don't think you realize how easily I could make your life a literal hell," Gates said with the indifference of someone talking about the weather.
"Is there a point you are coming to?" Harry said, seething. He knew all too well the point the Hit Wizard was going to make, and it, if possible, made him hate Gates even more.
Gates looked at him easily from the corner of his eye, a smirk growing on his face. "You wish to keep this relationship secret, do you not? Wise idea, especially with your numerous enemies," he said. "I understand that you do not wish the Dark Lord to uncover this…affair, as it will add a rather attractive target to his list, would it not? Yes, Potter, I know how the Dark Lord wishes you dead. You have foiled in far too many times for him to disregard you, and you have now earned his wrath."
Harry struggled to control his warring anger. That bastard better not be implying what I think he's implying.
"So," Gates continued, his voice slowly growing tendrils of vindictiveness. "If you want your personal life to remain…personal…you will do as I say. I fear that your little album is not longer enough incentive, so if you so much as step out of line, I will break you three apart as easily as I broke Dolohov's spine."
That man has a mindset of a Gryffindor and the morals of a Slytherin, Pseudo-Snape said. The most dangerous kind.
Logic clicked through Harry's brain, leading him to disturbing conclusion. Gates realized that he was eventually going to run out of pages to burn, and he would need an alternate source of control, should additional control become necessary. This, of course, had become Hermione, and there was nothing he could do about it. If he went to Dumbledore about it, he might as well burn his family photo album himself and then owl Voldemort everything Hermione, because any intervention on the headmaster's part would only lead to retribution from Gates.
"Are you threatening her?" asked Harry in a tenaciously low voice. If he understood Gates's threat correctly, then the Hit Wizard had just said that he would somehow contact Voldemort and inform the Dark Lord of Harry and Hermione's relationship. It was a vague, low-key, and barely evident insinuation, but it was still there.
Gates paused, then slowly regarded him. "Why yes, I do believe I am."
Harry had his wand out so fast that he could only see it in one, blurred motion. But Gates, whose vast experience yielded him quicker reflexes, whipped out his ebony wand even faster, bringing it out with one swift jerk and slapping the wand out of Harry's hand, sending it spinning down the hallway. Smirking, Gates withdrew his wand.
"You need to work on your wand movements, Potter," Gates drawled. "A Death Eater isn't going to stand around and wait for you to bring your wand out. He could curse you two different ways in the time it takes you just to reach into your pockets."
Glaring, Harry marched over and reached down to pick his wand off the floor. When his fingertips touched the wood, it skid out from under him, and Harry looked up to see Gates grinning widely, flicking his wand like it was a fishing rod. Hate flared up in his chest, and he envisioned Gates himself being thrown down the corridor like a rag doll. Of course, no such thing happened.
Harry went over and this time snatched up his wand in one motion, thrusting it into his robes and starting the descent down into the dungeons.
They were greeted by a strong gust of reeking air, the draft flowing through some invisible hole further down the unlit section of corridor. The stone walls seemed to groan and creak, setting up a forbidding aura. Ever since his first year, there had been rumors that the dungeons were enchanted to reflect Snape's mood, and he never believed it until now, feeling chilled in the cold, dark stone hallway. Something scurried within the walls, a faint growl escaped from under the thin crack of a hinged steel door that appeared to be rusted shut. If Harry had not known better, he would say that this was a Grendel's lair.
Coming at last to Snape's office, Harry knocked twice and wrenched the door open, his first sight being a rather calculating Snape sitting behind his desk, his fingers steepled together. His expression was terrifyingly cold, and when he looked up at Harry, it could only be described as disturbing. When the door closed, his face transformed into a sneer and he motioned Harry to sit. Gates, as usual, waited outside.
"Well, I daresay it's Potter. Tell me, did you bring your books?" Snape said softly.
Harry looked down at the bag at his feet then returned his gaze, deciding that his meaning was clear. He noticed subtly that the book Confessions of a Dark Wizard: The Pravus Necklace sitting on the corner of his desk.
So he didn't pack it away, Harry thought.
"Good," said Snape. "You won't be using them. I have far more important duties for you," He strode over to his shelf and pulled down a massive storage box. "My third years fouled up their potions so badly that the liquid has quite literally turned to rock. I want you to clean every last one of my flasks, Potter. We can't go around wasting them."
Harry severely doubted that throwing away a few flasks would put a dent in Snape's extensive collection, but he said nothing. There was no point in provoking the Potions master's wrath. Wordlessly he grabbed the bucket from the corner and began scrubbing away at the concrete-like grit that clung stubbornly onto the fragile glass sides of the flasks.
He wanted to get out of there. Gates's threat was still fresh in his mind, and Haryy knew that he could not allow that. The Hit Wizard could insult, taunt, or otherwise provoke Harry all he wants, but he was not going to allow him to threaten Hermione
"You're becoming a natural, Potter," Snape said tauntingly, watching him chip away a particularly
resistant piece of stone. It was not a compliment. "Have you considered pursuing a career in that field? I daresay
I could use someone with your kind of talent."
Harry could imagine Snape enjoying nothing more than having the opportunity of endlessly berate him over the grime that caked the sides of jars, bottles, and various glassware for the rest of both their lives.
"I asked you something Potter, now answer."
Harry, not daring to look up, said: "I figure I could come back and teach Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said with a concealed grin. "Becoming rather attached the place, you know?" He could almost feel the heat radiating off of Snape's body at the mention of his long-coveted position going to his arch nemesis.
"That's an interesting dream, Potter," Snape said, then went back to his desk. "Unlike your other dreams, however, this one has no basis with reality."
After a back-breaking hour of scrubbing flasks, Harry looked up and saw that Snape had not moved. He was not sure of the time, but he was positive that it must be getting late.
"Is there something you need Potter?" asked Snape contemptuously.
"I think I might've missed dinner," Harry said.
A small, minute smirk tugged at his lips. "I think you're right," Snape said with feigned surprise. "I suppose I accidentally forgot to dismiss you for your meal. Pity…" He went back to failing essays.
He went back to work, his neck becoming cramped and stiff. Looking up to stretch it, he saw the rows of dead creatures suspended in their individual jars of liquid, and he wondered vaguely whether the Potions master actually used them for brewing, or whether he simply thought they added to the décor. One of the worms twitched in its pool of vile potion, and then had a spasm and went limp. After another minute, it came to life again, animatedly repeating the death process.
What the hell? Harry almost said aloud.
One of my finer experiments, Pseudo-Snape said casually. It's a draught of resurrection. Necromancy. Strictly controlled, of course, but I've only managed to brew it once. Ridiculously difficult, and the ingredients are worth more than some of those trinkets you broke in Albus's office. How many merchants do you know that sell Basilisk poison?
"Something interesting, Potter?" real-life Snape said softly. Harry rubbed the crick out of his neck and bent down once again.
When Harry started on the last batch of flasks, Snape got up from his desk, and, after making sure his cupboard was securely locked, left the office, undoubtedly to retrieve more bottles for him to clean. Seizing the chance, Harry stood up, stretching his aching knees, and walked around the room, gazing absently at the various objects lining the shelves. His shoulders begged for rest, but he could provide none. Remembering the book he had seen earlier on Snape's desk, he swiftly went over and flipped it open. He sneezed from the smell emanating from it.
At first glance, it appeared to be an unabridged textbook regarding the Pravus necklace. However, he found that several sections had pages missing, and in one instance an entire chapter was gone. Harry reexamined it and found that many of the pages were attached to the spine by hand, as though they too were torn out previously and then replaced. Knowing that Snape would be back any minute, and that it would be best not to be caught leafing through an exceptionally ancient book, Harry went back to the case of flasks and sat down.
It was a good thing that he did, as not more than a second passed before Snape once again swooped back into his office, this time carrying a tray of food, rather than a dusty box as Harry had been expecting. He set it indifferently on the chair and went back to his desk, not even bothering to look at Harry.
For several minutes neither of them said a word, Harry not daring to hope that that food was intended for him. His stomach growled hungrily, and he was reminded that he had not eaten since lunch, and that was probably eight hours ago.
Timidly, he stood up and approached the tray of food. It was a bland ham sandwich with a side of applesauce, and a goblet of pumpkin juice for a beverage. Not imaginative, but in Harry's eyes, it was a feast. He took another step forward, and Snape did not move.
"It would not do well for you to starve on my watch, Potter," Snape said without turning his eyes away from the essays. "Eat. I assure you I have not laced it with poison, though I was terribly tempted."
That was all the encouragement Harry need. He snatched the tray and backed away from the chair, almost afraid that Snape would change his mind. Once it became clear that he would not, Harry picked up the ham sandwich, hesitated, and then checked for tampering. Deeming it free of any harmful solutions, he took a large bite of it and swallowed, watching for Snape's reaction.
The Potions master flipped over one of the essays, scrawling a large 'D' at the bottom.
Taking this as a good omen, Harry finished what was left on the tray, shoveling the applesauce into his mouth in a Ron-like fashion, barely stopping to breath. At length, Snape looked up at him, disgust on his face.
"I have seen Voracious Wyrms with more couth eating habits than you, Potter," he said disdainfully. Harry easily ignored him.
Harry lifted the goblet and washed it all down in one swift gulp, feeling much more contented than he was ten minutes ago. Whatever had brought about this new, benevolent side of Snape, Harry had no idea, but Pseudo-Snape warned him that it was too good to be true. Harry subconsciously agreed. Suddenly, a strange, alien feeling crept up in his abdomen, and for a moment he was unsteady on his feet.
Setting down the goblet, Harry placed the tray back onto the seat and then turned to resume scrubbing the remaining flasks. Before he did so, however, he caught the sight of an evil sneer working its way on Snape's face, and my spine instantly turned to ice. That sneer told Harry only one thing: Run.
"Silencio! Colloportus!" said Snape softly, and his office door sealed itself with a squelching sound. "Now sit down in the chair, Potter, me and you are going to have a long…chat." he grinned and rose from his seat like a vampire, rubbing his long pale hands together menacingly.
Almost knocking over the chair and tray, Harry backed away, his eyes darting around the room as he frantically searched for an exit. Trapped. The odd sensation that he experienced when he drank his pumpkin juice surfaced in his mind, and he came to a single, terrible conclusion: The Potions master had spiked his beverage. He did not know what specific potion Snape had put into his drink, but he was sure that it was something malevolent. It could be poison…or worse…Veritaserum. He was overcome with an instinctive urge to flee.
"I said sit down, Potter," repeated Snape, pointing at the chair by his desk with his wand. The sneer had become more pronounced than ever.
"You-" Harry fumbled for words. "You poisoned me!" he accused.
Snape tilted his head in an expression of amusement. "No, I did no such thing. I assured you that I did not place poison into your food, did I not? Are you calling me a liar?"
Harry nodded his head without even realizing it. His instant and irresistible response confirmed his suspicions: He was under the absolute influence of Veritaserum, and he knew enough about Potions to know that there was no way to subvert its effects.
"I'm most disappointed you don't put more faith in me, Potter," Snape said, smirking. "Veritaserum is a drug, not a poison. But I suppose such a fine distinction is beyond your capabilities, isn't it?"
Harry shook his head.
"Those delusions will be rectified," said Snape scornfully, obviously disliking Harry's response. "I have wanted to do this for a long time, Potter. I even made up a list of questions I would ask you during the…interrogation. There have been so many strange occurrences that I have believed your person to be involved with, and, I'm afraid, I've succumbed to temptation since this morning's little prank. Where shall I begin?"
Snape strode over to his desk, yanked open a drawer, and drew a pale sheet of parchment. He reviewed it briefly, his grin becoming wider by the moment. Anticipation dripped off of him.
"Let's see," said Snape softly. "How involved were you with this morning's joke with the howlers?"
The Veritaserum answered through Harry's mouth. "I was not involved at all."
Snape blinked…once…twice, and then curled his lip back. "So be it," he sneered. "Did you use the Narro Charm, or any other spell for that matter, on my classroom's front board?"
"No."
A slight hiss escaped from Snape's lips, and he spoke in a quicker voice, as if on a time limit. "Did you steal gillyweed from my private stores in your fourth year during the Triwizard Tournament?"
"No," Harry replied truthfully. In fact, it was not him. It was actually Dobby, but Harry responded strictly within the question's parameters.
"Did you steal the Boomslang Skin from my private stores in your second year?" Snape demanded, his anger and impatience growing, causing him to speak faster and faster. Harry could not understand why. Shouldn't Snape be slightly mollified by the fact that he was not the culprit?
"No."
"You're lying Potter," Snape spat, his face whitening with rage.
Harry wanted to shout. "You're the one who put me on Veritaserum."
Harry swore that Snape almost growled. "How many of your friends did you tell about the contents of the pensieve that you looked into during Occlumency last year?" he snapped furiously. "Hurry up and answer Potter."
"I didn't tell anyone sir!" Harry countered. While the Veritaserum made it impossible for him to lie, it did not make him groggy, and it certainly did not stop him from adding: "I didn't do any of that!"
Snape's hands trembled with rage as he glared at Harry, the fragile parchment tearing down the middle as his fingernails dug into the paper. The tips of his teeth were just barely visible underneath his curling lips, and his eyes were rapidly darkening, the pupils dilating. It was like Harry was watching Snape transform into a gigantic bat.
Snape's face turned into the literal expression of a snarl. "What did you take from my storerooms when you broke into them?" Snape said so softly that it was frightening.
Harry was genuinely bewildered. "I was never in your storerooms except for detention!" Every one of Snape's long held beliefs and prejudices were flying out the window, leaving Harry with a satisfying taste of justification.
"Did you cheat on your Potion O.W.L. exam?" Snape continued in a louder voice. He looked ready to hit something. "How did you brew the Wolfsbane Potion?" he snapped. He clutched the paper in his fists as if it was his life.
"I followed your instructions," Harry said, letting the words play with themselves. In essence, he did follow Snape's instructions; the directions on the wall and the directions in his head. Right?
"How much money did you place on that duel between me and Alex?" Snape demanded, tearing the parchment fully in half and throwing it furiously onto the stone floor. "HOW MUCH?"
"I DIDN'T BET ANYTHING!" shouted Harry, desperately wanting to hit Snape or shake him. From the silencing charm Snape had placed on the office door earlier, Gates did not hear a thing.
"GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!" Snape snarled through his bared teeth, kicking over a simmering cauldron in his anger. "GET OUT AND DON'T YOU DARE COME BACK!"
The abrupt burst of rage surprised Harry so much that he actually stepped backwards a pace, but then quickly recovered his ground. "THEN LET ME OUT!"
"ALOHOMORA!" bellowed Snape, displaying some rare wandless magic as the door had suddenly clicked open. "OUT!" He snatched a jar full of vile green potion off a nearby shelf and heaved it at the wall directly behind Harry, the glass shattering into a thousand glittering fragments and a light spray of liquid wetting their robes.
Harry did not need to be told twice. He whirled and wrenched open the door, but not before he realized that he was missing his books. "I need my books," Harry snapped, reigning in his anger and striding over to grab his bag.
A terrifyingly dangerous expression crossed Snape's face and he violently waved his hands in the air, almost like he was tossing an exceptionally heavy case. On command, Harry's bag leapt up and shot through the air and through the doorway, landing some meters down the corridor. The bottom split and his books sprawled out across the stone floor.
"DON'T LET ME EVER SEE YOUR FACE IN THESE DUNGEONS AGAIN!" Snape roared and thrust his hand into his robes as if looking for his wand. Harry dashed out the door and slammed it shut with a metallic clang, his chest heaving from the incredibly violent encounter with the Potions master. It was the worst he ever had.
"Something wrong, Potter?" Gates asked, faint amusement on his voice. Evidently he did not regard one of Snape's rages as mortally threatening…at least not now.
Harry stalked up the steps returned to the Gryffindor common room, still fuming. He went over to the couch, fell down into it, and stared into the fire, his thoughts concentrated on the detention that he had just had with Snape.
Why did Snape explode like that? Harry asked rhetorically. He should have known that he would receive a response.
Because you just shattered my real-life self's illusions, Potter.
And I suppose you would know all about that, seeing as your just a voice in my head, Harry replied bitterly.
Pseudo-Snape answered: No; just a weak personality that has been warped around in that brain of yours.
Before Harry could respond, he felt someone sit down next to him and turned to see that it was Hermione.
"That bad?" she asked, biting her lip.
Harry remembered the sly threat Gates had made regarding her and he felt fresh anger returning. But of course, she was not referring to the Hit Wizard, but the detention.
"The worst I've ever had, actually," Harry said, sighing, not really caring about the detention at the moment. What was he going to do about Gates?
"He kicked you out again, didn't he?"
Harry looked at her. "How did you know that?"
"You returned three hours earlier than you usually do. That and a few first years came running up here claiming they heard a Grendel roaring in the dungeons." she answered, her warm brown eyes locking with his, probing for what happened. Harry knew instantly that he might as well tell her about the entire fiasco.
"Harry-" Hermione said when he finished, her voice trembling. "Harry that's illegal what he did," she sounded positively horrified. "He used Veritaserum? Are you- are you sure? Harry, that's illegal."
"Yeah and he interrogated me on everything he ever suspected me of doing since my first year," Harry said with a little fake laugh. "He really hated the answers though."
Hermione's brows knit together. "What do you mean?"
Harry said: "He started asking questions about stuff he thought I did, like whether I stole the Boomslang Skin during second year, which, of course, I didn't. I just told him 'no', so I didn't implicate you. Well, at the end he was running out of questions, and he began asking me random ones, like how much I bet in the duel."
"I think you scared him Harry," she said, frowning. "It's not your fault, of course, but I think you scared him."
Harry just stared. "Scared him? Are you serious? I doubt Voldemort himself could make him flinch."
"Regardless I think you should go to Professor Dumbledore…and tonight," she said logically. "He can't kick you out again. Not since your Occlumency is more important than ever."
Harry conceded with a nod. Remembering that her ideas tended to work out the best, he resolved to go tonight.
"I'll go see him tonight, he wants me to stop by once a week, anyway," Harry said, and stood up from the chair.
She smiled appreciatively and said, "Good luck."
With Gates on his tail, Harry climbed through the portrait hole and proceeded directly to the headmaster's office, wanting to get it over with. He was completely in the right this time, and there was no possible way for Snape to turn this around. He resolutely said the password and leapt up the steps, coming to a standstill outside of the office.
For a moment he stared at the door, puzzled. For some reason, the door had shrunk considerably and it just barely permitted him entrance. Had it been an inch smaller, he would have to duck just to pass through. Knocking on the door, he came in, greeting Dumbledore with a wave.
Gates, however, stopped at the doorway. As he was far taller than Harry, he could not enter in an erect fashion. His stature prevented him from cross the threshold with a straight back, and, in order to pass, he would have to bend down, or, in his mind, bow down. This, needless to say, was not something he was about to do willingly.
"You're an amusing man, Albus," Gates said, irritably eyeing the shrunken door. "I believe I can wait here."
"I had that precisely in my mind, Alex," Dumbledore said, and shut the door with a wave of his wand. "What would you like to speak with me about, Harry?"
"First," Harry said. "I want to know whether you could do something for me. No questions asked."
Dumbledore eyed him over his spectacles, a calculating look in his eyes that looked very much unlike the usual twinkle. "I will certainly consider your request, assuming it's a fair one."
"I have reason to believe Hermione and her parents will be in increased danger from Voldemort," Harry said quickly, hoping Dumbledore would not interrogate him. "And I would like it if her house had more protection."
Dumbledore stroked his long, silver beard, the only sound in the small office being the feigned snores from the various portraits on the walls. He popped a lemon drop into his mouth and rolled it with his tongue. "I see your concern, Harry, and it's very justified. While I do not understand your reasons for not volunteering the information that led you to this conclusion, I suspect it is well founded. And you can assure me that it is well founded, yes?"
Harry nodded. "Yes," he said quietly.
"Then I will allocate more Order members to the Granger residence, and I shall assign another portrait to watch over Miss Granger herself," He turned to the wall. "Norman Carwin?"
A bearded, venerable wizard stirred from his sleep and looked up with one sharp eye. While his face appeared old and wizened, his gaze alone was hard and penetrating, like that of a Legilimentist. His hair, carefully trimmed and combed, was cut short, though it was thinning with age. His expression stayed deliberately stony and Harry doubted that this man had ever laughed in his life. The epitome of seriousness. Adjusting his stiff gray robe and collar, he regarded Dumbledore with a curious and respectful eye. The characteristics of this man screamed "Ravenclaw!"
"Yes?" The venerable wizard said, his voice tempered with deference. "Is there something you require from me? You need only to ask."
"Would you be so kind as to keep an eye on Miss Granger?" asked Dumbledore pleasantly. "I fear that she has become a significant target for Tom, and that we must keep a closer watch on her. Though Hogwarts is far safer than anywhere else, we must ensure that no harm comes to her.
Mr. Carwin bowed deeply. "The Gryffindor girl with the mind of a Ravenclaw? Yes, I believe I know her. I sometimes listen to the Arithmancy lectures, and she always seems most studious. I daresay she would have been an asset to my own house, though who's to question the Sorting Hat's wisdom?"
"Then please do so, Norman."
"At once," Mr. Carwin replied, and immediately vanished from his portrait, undoubtedly heading for the Gryffindor common room. Harry caught the eye of Phineas in his original portrait niche, but did not say anything.
"And there's something else," Harry said heavily, and went on to tell Dumbledore about Snape's detention. When he finished, he was sure that he had never seen the headmaster so angry. Though his expression was outwardly calm, Harry could see his blue eyes become like lightning, the twinkle turning into a flash of electricity. It was rather alarming.
Dumbledore did not speak for a long moment, and his long hands slowly moved about on the desk, almost like they had a life of their own; gently moving the lemon drop jar under the desk, placing the quill in a drawer. These were all signs of inner turmoil that Harry had never seen in Dumbledore before. The flashing blue eyes grew harder, and it seemed that the headmaster had reached a decision.
"You are being completely truthful with me?" Dumbledore asked, though it was clear they both knew the answer and he was only asking for the sake of confirmation. "You are not leaving anything out?"
"Yes," Harry said quietly.
As if on cue, the door burst open and Snape ducked through, his expression betraying a sort of alien coolness as though he was trying to cover something. He sneered when he saw Harry in the chair. "Of course, I should've known you'd come running-"
"Severus," Dumbledore said in a voice that could only be described as disappointment, scorn, and astonishment all collided together. "Do you remember your oath? Or has time stolen it from you?"
Snape took a step back, and it was obvious that he also had never seen the headmaster in such a disposition. Carefully, he said, "There is much to discuss, I presume."
"Yes," Dumbledore sighed, sounding older than ever. It was strange how he could be extraordinarily powerful one moment, then tired the next. What was draining him? "Harry, I'd like to speak with Severus alone, please. If you have anything further to discuss, I would appreciate it if you come back tomorrow."
Harry silently got to his feet and stepped out of the office, going part way down the steps, not wanting to meet Gates down by the gargoyle, and slightly curious about what Dumbledore was saying to Snape. From this short distance, he could hear muffled parts of the conversation from the other side of the door.
"Severus," Dumbledore said sadly. "I am afraid I am more disgusted with you right now than I have ever been in my entire life. What happened to warrant this?"
That's harsh even for Albus, Pseudo-Snape said.
Snape's response was inaudible.
"A prank? This morning's silly prank? Severus, how old are you?"
"Old enough," Snape conceded.
"Exactly my point," Dumbledore said. "When will you learn? Is your oath no longer relevant today? Should I begin to doubt your loyalty as well?"
"You know the answer to that, headmaster," Snape said, affronted. "You know my motivations as well as have my oath. The trust is explicit."
"Then-why-did-you-use-Vertaserum-on-a-student?"
Snape hesitated and did not answer.
"And I heard you've been deducting house points for no reason at all, as well," Dumbledore continued. "Which, I admit, I have little concern of, but only shows me that your spite runs deep. Where does it end?"
Snape still did not answer, and Harry suspected that he was holding his head in his hands.
Dumbledore sighed a long, exhausting sigh. "So be it. Next week you shall restart the Occlumency sessions. You will apologize for your infringement on his rights, and you should be grateful that you do not get reported to the ministry. If he had even hinted that he wanted you punished in that way, I would not hesitate to do so, Severus. You are vital to our cause, no doubt, but I will not tolerate your bitterness. He-is-not-James, and you should do well to learn that."
"I know," said Snape in such a low voice Harry had to strain his ears. "But he is. Why don't you teach him?" he asked without sarcasm.
"Because Harry needs the best training that the Order can offer," said Dumbledore. "And I am simply not as proficient at Occlumency as you are, Severus, and I will not give second-rate lessons when a much better trainer is so readily available. I will not allow your personal prejudices interfere. This is the last time."
Snape remained silent.
"Tell me, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly. "What did you discover from the Veritaserum?"
A long, deep silence fell over the office and Harry wanted desperately to see what was going on. From the distinctions in sound, Dumbledore got up from his seat, walked around his desk, and stood next to or near Snape, possibly to put his hand on the Potions master's shoulder.
"What did you discover?" he repeated gently.
"Don't ask me that question, headmaster," Snape said, attempting to use his usual biting voice but failing. "Don't ask me questions I don't know the answer to."
"Your further actions will determine whether I suspend you or not," Dumbledore continued softly. "Remember, you-will-apologize. I suggest you get some sleep."
"Why do you care so much about the boy?" Snape asked almost desperately, as though he was asking a question that he did not expect to receive an answer to. "He's a tool, headmaster, nothing more."
A long, quiet silence fell over the office, and, at length, Dumbledore spoke, a hint of harshness in his voice. "I could say the same for you, Severus," Harry did not need to see Snape to know that the Potions master recoiled. "But for me, men do not equate into tools."
Harry silently crept down the steps and came down into the foyer, Gates not far behind. He was not sure what had happened in Dumbledore's office, but he thought that Snape was, even for just a moment, more human than he had ever intended to be.
(A/N: I was more than a little wary with this chapter…it brought up loads of issues where I had to basically go out on a limb and guess on Harry's reaction. I hope you liked the Snape sequence though. I am rather proud of that. And the howler-prank idea. I've been wanting to use that scene for a lonnggg time.
Side note: Nothing is in stone yet, but is there any huge outcry against bringing Dr. Perry back for a brief cameo appearance before the end of this fanfic? (It would help me solve some plot issues) Frankly, I don't know if anyone liked him, but I sure did, if not only for his dark humor.
And I'm going to take a week off, so the next chapter won't be posted until 2/19. I really, really need a short break. But don't worry; this won't be abandoned. I swear. I'll give an extended summary of what's going to happen next.
Next Chapter: The Quibbler releases a long-awaited article; the ministry brings in an Auror to survey Hogwarts; Snape and Gates have another lovely confrontation; we learn a little more about possession in Whams's class; and lastly, Gates has another training session with Harry, in which he brings up a demon in Harry's past.)