Harry was almost afraid to tell Snape about it, when he went down for dinner on Saturday night. But he didn't want to keep secrets from his father, either, so when Snape asked how their classes were going, he told the truth.
"Mmm, and next week I do believe you'll be learning fudge," Snape said.
Harry's mouth all but fell open. "You knew?"
"No, Harry," Draco said. "It was a lucky guess."
Harry ignored his brother's snark. "I don't understand why you'd let him do that with your classes."
Snape shrugged. "I doubt quite seriously that I could dissuade him, and it's a small price to pay in order to be present during Defence. But primarily, I suppose I can withstand it because we had in fact already started seventh-year material."
"Seventh-year!"
A steady, unflinching glance. "Yes. I push my students as far as they can go."
Harry decided that if ever there was an opening, this had to be it. "We all love the way you teach Defence," he ventured.
Before he could continue, Snape frowned. "I most certainly do not teach Defence. As I have no desire for the curse to cause me to leave Hogwarts, I am merely supervising the Defence teacher."
"Right. Of course, of course." Harry took a breath and started over. "Well, we all love the way you supervise, and--"
"I think you all enjoy seeing an incompetent put in his place."
"Well, yes, but honestly, I don't think Lavender ever was going to learn half the spells, not from Aran. But you give us more help, and individual attention, and you aren't even sarcastic about it. Well, not most of the time, anyway, and I really think the same kind of approach would work wonders in Potions class. Don't you?"
Harry held his breath and hoped.
His father merely stared at him for a long moment. "I'll consider the matter over the summer," he said at last.
Draco scoffed slightly. "You don't need to change, Severus. I've certainly never had any trouble learning in your class."
"You're gifted in Potions!" said Harry. "Not everybody is."
"And Severus should adjust his teaching to the lowest common denominator, is that it? What sort a way is that to foster excellence?"
"Maybe he shouldn't be aiming for excellence in one or two people at the expense of competence for everybody else!"
Snape held up a hand. "I'll consider the matter, as I said. Now, shall we play a round of Wizard's Scrabble before bed?"
Harry started slightly. "Oh. Um, you didn't think I was staying over, did you? I kind of need to get back up to the Tower for some House stuff." For his needle, that was what he meant. Not that he really needed to go to the Tower for it; he'd taken to keeping that match in his pocket at all times. He couldn't work on overcoming his fears down here, though, with his father and brother so close. He needed more privacy than that.
Draco blew out a breath. "I'm staying over and I told Severus you might do the same."
"Well, you told him wrong then," said Harry. "I have to get going."
"He already let you out of your Potions lesson earlier today, and you can't even bother yourself to stay over and visit?"
Snape gave a light shrug. "Potions is effectively over for the term, be it in class or on Saturdays. Besides, Draco, that was arranged as a punishment. I think it's time to end it, though of course I still do plan to aim for excellence in your Potions skills, Harry. Perhaps over the summer I'll help you master another few brews."
"You know," said Harry slowly, "if you let me pick what I wanted to learn to make, that might make a big difference."
"Agreed." Snape's eyes narrowed, and Harry had a strong feeling his father was thinking something like At least I need have no worries that you will wish to brew something like Venetimorica . . . The words were left unsaid, though.
That was good.
Draco didn't seem to have sensed the undercurrents in the room, but he definitely wasn't happy. "Can't you just stay an hour, Harry? Please?"
A funny kind of shiver ran across Harry's spine, then. It probably had to do with the strangely intense way Draco was staring at him. Like . . . he knew something? Like he had something to say and he really, really wanted to talk to Harry.
But that, of course, only made Harry want to be all the more secretive. He pushed back his chair. "Who's walking me back, then? Because I really do have to get back to Gryffindor."
Snape nodded and stood up.
Harry couldn't help but notice as he left that Draco looked mildly frustrated about something.
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With the end of the year fast approaching and Potions class focussed on candy-making, those students not taking O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s had very little academic stress. Harry's classes had become much more relaxed and even fun. The one exception, though, was Transfiguration. McGonagall seemed determined to make up for the levity outside her classroom by making sure that her students worked extra hard within it.
Harry didn't mind so much, though. As long as the Gryffindor Head of House wasn't intent on singling him out, he could cope with the challenging practicals and long essays. However, when the professor asked him to stay after class, Harry felt a moment of panic. He'd been fingering his match, wishing it was a needle, while struggling to translate a new spell into Parseltongue. But McGonagall couldn't have known that, could she?
"Mr Potter, I've been asked to inform you that a visitor has requested your presence in the Headmaster's office. The password this week is Heavenly Hash."
Harry frowned. "A visitor, ma'am?"
A ghost of a smile crossed the stern witch's face before she answered, "An old friend recently back from the continent. He needed to pick up some job related research."
Remus. Harry's face split into a grin for a moment. But only a moment. In the next instant, panic gripped him and his heart began racing. "He wanted to talk to me, specifically?"
"Yes, is that so strange? Now run along; he's a busy man and hasn't got all day. Neither do you if you want to have your spell work sorted out before next week."
Harry took his leave and headed for the Headmaster's office, but the feet that carried him there were heavy. Remus had been talking to that painting. A lot, probably. No telling what that bastard has told him. Harry gulped, despair almost making him wilt, he was suddenly so exhausted. Oh, God. Lucius must have said I'm turning dark. And Remus has probably come here to make sure I'm not itching to turn more Death Eaters into statues . . . Harry couldn't help the thoughts that came next. I wouldn't mind doing just that, either, to Bellatrix Lestrange or Peter Pettigrew.
Suddenly feeling so itchy he couldn't stand it, Harry dove into an alcove and turning his back to the hall, quickly got his match out so he could transfigure it. A few quick jabs and his breathing steadied. There, that was better.
Yanking his sleeve back down, Harry continued on his way.
Once he was up the spiral staircase and knocking on the heavy wooden door, he started wishing he'd taken more time in the alcove and done a more thorough job with the needle. It couldn't be a good sign that Remus wanted to speak to him privately, could it?
"Come in," said a voice Harry recognised. Smiling nervously, Harry pushed the door open. The sight that greeted him was familiar and bizarre all at once. The face was Remus', all right, but the clothes weren't remotely similar to his usual well-worn robes. Harry didn't have much idea what to say, about the clothes or anything else, so he made light of the situation as he thought Sirius might do. He closed the door first, though. "Well, well. I'm not sure I like the new look."