"I was practicing magic for years before my letter came," Draco said in a slightly gloating tone.
"I was, too, Malfoy!" Ron put in, then at Harry's challenging stare, mumbled, "Well, some."
Hermione huffed a bit. "Turn this stupid fat rat yellow didn't work, as I recall."
"Because Scabbers wasn't really a rat, now was he?" griped Ron.
"Yes, what was it like having your lifelong pet turn out to be the Dark Lord's right-hand man?" Draco snootily asked.
"How do you know--"
"He knows a great deal, I dare say," Snape interjected. "And if you think about that, you'll know why. Now as I didn't arrange this dinner so that I could listen to adolescent bickering, perhaps we could discuss Harry's training."
"All right," Hermione said in a casual tone, before tossing out, "You seem extraordinarily capable of teaching Defense, sir. Ah... have you ever thought of applying for the job?"
Snape narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't by chance be referring to that old rumor that I want it, would you?"
"Rumor?" Harry asked, his interest picking up. Even Draco and Ron appeared to have forgotten their dispute.
"Misdirection," the Potions Master shrugged. "Voldemort had ordered me to secure that position with all possible speed so that I could instruct his initiates in Dark Arts under the cover of private tutelage in Defense. I hardly wished to cooperate with that plan, though of course I had to look eager for it, and disgruntled each time the headmaster 'passed' me over."
"But now," Harry prompted. "Without a double-role to play, you could take the job and make sure Hogwarts has an ace Defense curriculum. I think you'd be really good teaching that."
"And you don't care for my instruction in Potions, I take it," Snape half-growled.
"Well..."
"I am a Potions Master. The other is incidental," Snape announced. "I am afraid you will have to somehow tolerate matters as they stand."
"Okay, Dad," Harry said without looking up.
Snape's nostrils flared as though he suspected a bit of manipulation in that answer, but when Harry said nothing more, the Potions Master went back to his meal, ignoring the students after that.
------------------------------------------------------
One more week, Snape had said. One more week, and Harry would be going back to live in the Tower.
The prospect actually filled Harry with equal parts excitement and dread. It would be great to be with the Gryffindors again, but going back to classes meant going back to Potions, and he couldn't help but feel nervous at what that might be like. Especially since he'd been neglecting Potions quite a bit this year. He hated to admit it, but his father was probably right about his needing more sessions in the lab.
Well, he was supposed to seem a bit inept in classes, but Harry didn't want to look like a complete idiot, did he? With only one week left to prepare, his changed his routine a bit and rushed through his other lessons so that he could spend most of the day in Snape's private laboratory, practicing making the Potions he should have learned during the last two terms. Draco thought his sudden interest in brewing was a bit amusing, Harry could tell, but he was pretty good-natured about it, bringing in his books and studying in there so Harry wasn't brewing "unsupervised."
Severus, they knew, wouldn't approve of that at all.
Harry was simmering a wart-removal potion he was supposed to have mastered months earlier when the magic doorbell rang inside his head.
The Slytherin boy cast Tempus with his wand, the action almost a reflex, and raised an eyebrow when he saw that afternoon classes would just have started. "Not expecting anyone, are you? Well, I'll just go see, then."
Harry let him; if he left the potion now he'd have to start it completely over. In the next moment, though, Draco was calling in a voice which sounded distinctly off, "Harry. Maybe you should come help me with this."
Since Harry couldn't recall a time when Draco had asked for his help, it wasn't something he could ignore. He gave his wart-removal potion one last glance before reluctantly casting Evanesco over it. Better that than he let it sit unattended when it was approaching a volatile state. Grabbing a rag on his way out, he wiped his hands as he walked over to where Draco was standing. The other boy was staring at the door parchment, his silver eyes a bit wild with apprehension.
Dubby, the parchment simply read.
"Do you know a Dubby?" Harry asked.
"Um. Yeah." Draco cleared his throat, his hands moving nervously in a way that was really quite unlike him. "House-elf."
Harry blinked. The house-elves didn't tend to knock; they just popped in and out of places as needed. Though, come to think of it, they didn't usually treat Snape's quarters that way. In fact, the only house-elf he'd seen in his father's rooms had been a disembodied face in the Floo. Harry was almost sure that the elves had actually come in to repair the charred furniture and wall after his Lumos, but he was equally sure that they did the vast bulk of their magic from the outside. Maybe they had to be specially invited in because of the wards?
That still didn't explain why one was knocking, though.
"Malfoy house-elf," Draco croaked, and then several things at once came clear to Harry. Why the elf had to knock, for one, and why Draco looked a bit like he'd just been punched in the gut. "Ah.... Harry. This'll sound a bit odd, quite likely, but can you find a way to see through the wall for me?"
"See through the wall," Harry repeated.
Draco ground his teeth. "Yes, Harry. That parchment's reliable for wizards, but Severus never said anything about it being able to read magical creatures."
"I can't see through walls. What about the enchanted picture frame?"
"Doesn't show sentient life," Draco muttered. "Not that Dubby's all that sentient, mind..."
They tried it, to no avail.
"I guess we'd better alert Severus, then," Harry announced, frowning. He hadn't forgotten how adamant Snape had been about not disturbing him in class, but surely this would count as an emergency! An envoy of Lucius Malfoy standing right outside their door? "He can't get through the wards, I don't think," Harry murmured, thinking his way through it. "But for all we know he's been sent here to kill us--"
Draco leaned both hands against the door then. "I highly doubt he's here to kill us. Well, you maybe," he amended. "My mother's heard me complain about you enough."
When Harry just stared at him, the Slytherin boy explained, "Dubby's my mother's house-elf, Potter. I mean, he's bonded exclusively to her, has been for years. Anniversary present," he spat. "Before that he belonged to Lucius but now he can't take orders from anybody but Narcissa Malfoy."
"So your mother... um, you don't think she would...." Harry wasn't quite sure how to phrase the question, but Draco had no trouble finishing it in bitter tones.
"No, my mother wouldn't send him here to kill me. You'd have to meet her to understand. She's the quintessential society wife, my mother is. She's never said a word against my father that I can recall, and when he announced a price on my head she probably just said, yes, dear with a vapid little smile, but she wouldn't take the initiative like this."
"But... if your father told her to send him here to kill you?"
"She'd just bat her eyes and say that it was up to him to rule the family, and that Dubby was terribly occupied finding her a hundred perfect tea roses or something."
"Uh, okay," Harry answered, not really understanding. "Let's call Severus now--"
Draco suddenly pounded a fist against the door, his whole face transforming into an ugly mask as he snarled, "What the fuck do you want with me, Grubby?"