Snape's remained absolutely deadpan, so much so that Harry couldn't tell if his father had overheard Draco going on about Pansy. Slytherin. "The spells are on the laboratory only, Harry. And since I do not recommend you conduct distracting conversations while brewing sensitive potions, perhaps you could talk about girls in the privacy of your bedroom."
"Yeah, yeah--"
"Harry, listen to me. I don't use monitoring spells without good cause."
Harry thought of Devon, then. Draco might have done something drastic... actually, with the Venetimorica he had done something drastic. "Is there one on our bedroom?"
"Of course not."
Harry sighed. "All right."
"You believe me?"
"Yes."
Snape's dark eyes twinkled. "I must cure you of this lamentable tendency toward trust. Very Gryffindor, that."
"Very funny, Dad."
"I thought so."
Harry laughed, then. "Good night, Severus."
"Good night, Harry."
-----------------------------------------------
Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry thought a few days later, might as well be renamed Offence Against Harry Potter. If Aran had been difficult to tolerate before, now he was positively obnoxious. After that altercation with McGonagall, he clearly knew his days at Hogwarts were numbered. And whom did he blame?
Harry.
No longer was Aaron Aran content merely to forbid Parseltongue in his class. Now he made incessant comments about its unnaturalness and how those who spoke it could never quite be trusted. Now he invariably marked Harry's work as Acceptable or Exceeds Expectations when it was clearly Outstanding!
Even worse, now Harry couldn't get through a class session without earning a detention on one pretext or another. For Aran had noticed, of course, that while Harry had threatened to tell his father about any loss of points, he hadn't said the same of detentions. Harry thought about playing that card, but decided he'd really better not overplay it. He didn't think Aran would cave in. More likely, he'd tell Severus what Harry had said the week before.
Oh well. Summer'll be here before I know it, Harry started telling himself when Aran was being particularly unbearable. And it wasn't as though he was any stranger to detentions. Snape had certainly given him enough over the years.
For all that, though, Harry was having a hard time not telling Aran that his job would have been lost to the curse, Harry or no Harry.
"You might as well be rude to him again," said Ron on Thursday after class. "Since he's going to punish you anyway. And it's not like he's going to take points."
Harry had already thought of that. And Aran definitely didn't deserve any respect... but what McGonagall had said had got him thinking. It was more Slytherin to keep his options open. Even with someone like Aran.
"Stop giving him horrid advice, Ronald," said Hermione before Harry could answer. She added in a louder voice, "Ronald and I will just sit here and study while Harry cleans the tables, Professor."
Aran didn't seem to care about that plan one way or another. But Ron did.
"Ha. You study. I'm going to be a friend and help him so we can get out of here!" Ron turned his back on Hermione.
"I happen to have an Arithmancy test tomorrow, Ronald!"
"Stop calling me that!" Ron yelled, whirling around.
"It's your name, isn't it?"
"It's your tone I can't stand! Or maybe it's just you!"
Hermione went pale, then slammed open a book and buried her nose in it.
Harry went to the far end of the classroom to fetch rags, waiting until they were well away from Hermione to talk. "Listen," he said in a low voice. "This has to stop, Ron. I can't stand it for much longer, this arguing all the time."
"Well, if she'd just stop with all those Ronalds and rude comments about how much smarter she is than the rest of us--"
"And if you'd just stop with getting so angry that she won't badmouth Draco the way you want her to--"
Ron threw the rag Harry had handed him down onto a table. Droplets of water spattered everywhere. "Well I can't even figure out why she'd want such Muggle-hating prat. Her own parents are Muggles. You'd think that'd be enough to sour her on Malfoy for good, but no.... she has to go on about how she's so sorry she thought he was beating you to a pulp, and she so wishes she hadn't written that letter, and it's so surprising how well you two are getting on as brothers. Makes me sick, Harry. Absolutely sick."
"She's happy for me. Yeah, that's sick all right," said Harry dryly.
"No, I meant--"
"I know," Harry interrupted. "Look, you said you can't believe she'd want Draco. Well she doesn't want Draco. No offence, but you're an idiot to even think that. And Draco doesn't want her. He's stuck like mad on Pansy. So... just talk to her, all right? This fighting thing is getting... well, it's stupid. And I'm the one who's sick. Of listening to it!"
"She thinks that Slytherin prat's handsome, though," Ron muttered, scrubbing away at a table hard enough to dent it. "I just know it. She looks at him."
"Half the girls in Gryffindor swoon looking at him, Ron," Harry pointed out. "He's got that kind of... I don't know. He's got a look girls like. Hermione wouldn't be normal if she didn't think so as well. It doesn't mean anything."
"Doesn't, schmuzint," grumbled Ron.
"He calls her a walking library," Harry added, more than a little exasperated. "Look, he's not after her. He's just interested in getting along these days, because he knows he can't be on my side and still be at war with my friends. If he's been a little more polite than usual, that's why. He's a Slytherin!"
"He really called her that?" Ron asked, brightening.
"Yeah."
"Tell her as much."
"She doesn't need to know what Draco thinks; she needs to know what you think!" Harry said, raising his voice.
"I need to know if he thinks," muttered Hermione from where she sat studying.
"You see?" shouted Ron.
Tired of listening to them, Harry whipped out his wand to get the cleaning over with. A couple of Parseltongue spells later and the tables were all spotless. Not that they had been dirty to begin with, of course. This was Defence, not Potions.
Aran had said no magic, but since he was up in his office...
As it turned out, Harry had calculated wrong. "Potter," snapped the teacher as he appeared on the staircase leading down from his office. "What do you think you're doing?"
"A few filthy, no-account spells, sir?" asked Harry in an innocent-sounding voice.
Aran all but sputtered. "You admit it! And you've no shame about it, none at all! And the Deputy Headmistress takes up for it. It's shocking. It's shameful!"
"Yeah," said Harry, smiling broadly. "Isn't it. Well, the tables are all clean so--"
"You've another forty-five minutes of detention to serve."
"All right." Harry dropped his school bag with a thud. "Ron, can you run and tell Severus I'm going to be late for dinner with him? Be sure you mention why, mind--"
"Fine, fine, go. Get out, all of you," growled Aran.
Once they were out in the corridor, Hermione gave a long sigh. "If you're willing to hold your father over him then why serve the detention at all, Harry? It's not like you had really earned one. Well, not today at any rate."
Harry shrugged. "Well I don't want it to be too obvious that I'm using Severus to fend Aran off. We have Defence with the Slytherins and word would get back to him."
"So?" asked Ron.
"Well if your father worked here would you really go running to him about another teacher? Even if the other teacher was an arse?"