Chapter Text
Time: A few days later, Potions class
The bubbling of simmering cauldrons scattered sparsely across the dark dungeon room like a multicolored splash of glitter across the void, formed a nice background for the most dreaded class in Hogwarts.
Thunk. The sound of a silver knife hitting wood, the sound it made as it sliced through the sea slug's soft flesh almost inaudible.
Another wooden thunk, a few seconds later.
In sharp contrast to the other students, who were hurrying with their potions, their work meticulous and spotless and their bubbling cauldrons varying shades of cobalt, the sharp blur of a dozen knives set to work chopping ingredients that would make seasoned chefs at the busiest of kitchens green in envy, Harry couldn't move any slower.
Each movement of his knife made it look like he was utilizing days off his lifespan just to muster the energy behind every little twitch of his muscles, as he chopped the ingredients with tired hands more reluctant than an old man, until it made his partner wonder whether they would even be able to complete the potion before the class was over.
"Uuuh." He groaned like a zombie whose flesh was rotting off its bones from years of toil, and he raised the knife once more.
"Could you work a bit quicker?" Warm eyes like molten chocolate glanced at him in mild irritation.
"I'm trying." Harry yawned.
"Hmm...." The voice trailed off. "What was that letter you received in the morning, Harry?" Tracey's whisper betrayed her curiosity, gleaming in her chocolate brown eyes as she leaned in close enough that Harry could feel her sweet breath on his skin, her warmth washing over his skin, somehow distinct from the heat of the fire.
Leave it to her not to be worried about the state of their project nor the rebuke they were going to get- no, Snape's insults had become as regular as the sunrise for the two, and it was so like her to go nosing into other people's businesses, especially when it was her best friend they were talking about.
The crackling orange flames reflected off her soft, flawless caramel skin, glistening with a fine sheen of sweat from the stuffy heat in the dungeon. Her sweet fragrance, like molten chocolate, blended with the chemical stench of the bubbling cauldron, and Harry had to physically resist the urge to lean in closer just to have more of her. The way her full pink lips glistened with her lip gloss, her jaws relaxed for once and not working on another Muggle confectionery- even the rebellious resident Slytherin bastard knew better than to snack in Professor Snape's class.
A mercurial bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as the Potter Heir shifted so that they had some breathing space between them, not interrupting the slow pace with which he was slicing the Northern Azure sea slugs, each movement a lazy flourish. "Nothing too important, just Hagrid sending me an invitation for tea this afternoon after classes are over. Fancy accompanying me, my beautiful lady?"
Tracey's cheeks tinted pink, invisible in the poor lighting and the glow from their potion. "When have I not?"
"I, for one, won't be accompanying you to see the brick-headed fuckwit, Potter." It was Daphne who let her thoughts be known in a furious whisper from the workstation beside them.
"Woah." Harry's voice had as much energy as his movements, like a coal miner off a sixteen-hour shift. "If I hadn't known better, I would have thought you were eavesdropping on a private conversation, Greengrass. Who said you were invited, anyway?"
Being that they had to work in pairs and there were only four Slytherins in their year, Daphne was stuck working with her archnemesis Celeste, leaving the nerdy Ravenclaws to fumble around on their own at the back of the dungeon with the man-bat breathing down their necks, his long black robes rustling like the wind among tall grass as he ghosted between the cauldrons, somehow magically avoiding lighting the hem of his robe on fire.
Tracey pouted at his callous display of nonchalance as he deflected her question with half-lidded eyes, heavy with encroaching sleep, before returning to stirring the cauldron they were working on.
Three times clockwise, once counterclockwise.
"I didn't know Hagrid was sending his letters in expensive smooth parchment with a Gringotts seal lately," Tracey muttered under her breath, but loud enough to be heard over the crackling fire and the bubbling liquid. "Maybe we have to visit Diagon Alley for that tea party."
The simmering liquid turned from a shade of cobalt to a bright, hot pink so obnoxious it made Minister Fudge's undersecretary look grey. Harry did not respond, afflicted with the selective deafness that he had seemed to have contracted from their esteemed, senile old Headmaster.
"I could have been working with Daphne right now. At least then I wouldn't have had to wait until after my potion was complete to add the sea slugs. It was basically a free grade. Gimme that."
She grabbed her own knife, dull with years of use and lack of maintenance, and snatched the squishy, icky bisected invertebrate, going ham on it just to avoid having their cauldron blow up in their faces- again- just because Potter was too slow to add critical ingredients in time.
"Woah, slow down, Trace. The slices are of uneven thickness-"
"Shut up, Harry." Tracey hissed at him as her dull knife crushed- rather than cut- the blue slug she held in a death grip. "You're lucky it's not your dick in my hand right now."
"I would consider it lucky even if my dick was in your hands right now." Harry winked at her. "You're free to touch it anytime, Davis."
"Fuck you, I'm not in the mood for this."
"Wow, first time I'm seen Tracey not act immaturely at a dirty joke." Daphne's voice was drier than an overcooked turkey. "Glad to see my girl all grown up."
"Would you please focus on the potion, Greengrass?" Celeste hissed from her other side, making Daphne groan and roll her eyes. "You can go being a blood traitor all you want on your own time, but I don't want my grades to be ruined just because little Miss Greengrass couldn't leave her two cute little pets alone for a few minutes!"
Daphne blew a very grown-up raspberry at the platinum-blonde Malfoy. "Just because your unevolved brain doesn't have the mental capacity to pay attention to your potion while holding a conversation doesn't mean everyone can't. Just admit it Malfoy, I'm better than you."
"You wish, Greengrass." Celeste's knuckles tightened around the ivory handle of her fancy, custom-made Potions knife, and Harry got ready to see blood flying. "Just because your standard of an intelligent conversation is a Mudblood and a Squib doesn't mean everyone is like that."
"And you're saying that those inbred mutant fucks you keep around you are so intelligent? Luckily, they can tell their hands from their feet- especially given they look so alike."
"Woah, look at those two go." Harry was having so much fun. He always had fun in classes like these. "If I wasn't scared that you were going to stab me with that, I would have egged them on just to see who would be the first one to throw a spell."
"You want to go, Greengrass? I'll make sure that all that is left of you is an annoying smear on the dungeon floor that would only serve to annoy that Squib Filch as he scrubs it off with that dirty little toothbrush of his-"
"Wooh!" Harry cheered, making sure to keep his voice as low as he could without being inaudible. "I want to see those clothes flying."
"I'm going to stab you with this knife, Potter."
"There will be no stabbing and no turning people into smears in my class, Miss Davis and Miss Malfoy." Tracey yelped violently, like somebody had just hit her with the meanest Stinging hex known to wizardkind, almost dropping her knife into the cauldron at the silky smooth, somewhat greasy voice, like aged whiskey over round gravel, that suddenly appeared behind them.
"P-p-professor Snape." She couldn't help but stutter, resisting the urge to clutch at her racing heart trying to escape through her throat as she turned to face the man bat himself.
Professor Snape looked as miserably hideous as ever, towering over her, with black hair more greasy than a hamburger from a cheap Muggle food joint, and a hooked nose akin to a starving vulture's beak, and skin as sallow as yellowed parchment of old newspapers at the Leaky Cauldron. His robes were somehow even darker than the corners of the dungeon room where he held his classes, which even light had abandoned for decades, his robes a uniform monotone of the darkest black he could get his hands on cheaply. His black beady eyes, like a sewer rat, glanced down at her in contempt, and Tracey had to physically resist the urge not to wrinkle her nose at the acrid stench of old whiskey and innumerable Potions that he reeked of, and she found herself suddenly missing the comforting scent of Harry's expensive cologne.
At the sudden thought, Tracey found herself awfully curious as to what said Potter was doing, but she resisted the urge to glance at him- more like she couldn't, pinned in place by Snape's contemptuous glare that burned a hole through her the same way her potions projects burned a hole through the bottom of the cauldron.
He snorted at the terrified girl's expression, ignoring the way she cringed away from him, seemingly eager to return to her work- anything that would get her away from his gaze.
"As for you, Potter....." He turned his wrathful attention to the prodigal son of House Potter, his eyes narrowing until they were barely venomous slits not unlike a viper poised to strike. Potter, as arrogant and as callous as his incompetent father, couldn't pay any less attention to him. He was dozing off even as Snape stood right in front of him, his head nodding off limply as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, leaning against the cold stone wall of the dungeon and making Snape's temper bubble over to the point that his hands itched to slip the foolish third year a potent vial of concentrated Draught of Living Death just to teach him a lesson. "...You're lucky you are in the noble house of snakes, you stupid, incompetent dunderheaded.... Miss Davis, wake him up!"
His voice never raised over a monotone, a hideous parody of the weather forecast on the Wizarding radio, yet the students cringed away from him, refusing to meet his gaze lest his wrath should be turned upon them. Still, they stole innumerable gazes at their interaction- Snape scolding students was always great entertainment for those not getting scolded, and there wasn't any lack of people who wanted to see Harry Potter put in his place.
"Harry, psst..." Tracey's eyes were almost watery as she grabbed his shoulder, shaking him violently. "Harry, wake up."
"Woah." The Potter Heir jerked awake at the violent shaking, a bit disoriented yet alert, blinking his eyes to get rid of the little shreds of lingering sleep that clung to his consciousness. He didn't even remember dozing off- the last thing he remembered was Daphne and Celeste at each other's throats, and then he was staring down Severus Snape's nose, which looked like it was doing its best Pinocchio impression.
"Would you look at that? One would need a metre scale- ouch, fuck." He hissed as he felt a sharp pinch to the somewhat sensitive skin near his armpit, making him frown and rub his arm as he glanced at the offender, standing beside him as if nothing had happened. Tracey's back was ramrod straight, and she looked straight ahead as if a military supervisor had told her to stand at attention, not budging for a single moment, not even glancing at him, as if doing so would incriminate her as well.
Snape narrowed his eyes. "You're lucky your.... friend cares for you enough to stop you from completing that sentence. Stay back after class, Potter! I'll decide then what I shall do with you."
Harry yawned in his face.
An angry vein throbbing in his forehead, Snape moved his gaze from the nonchalant Potter Heir to his partner, watching her stiffen underneath his gaze, and then to their Potion, an incomplete cure for icteric pruritus, an obnoxious shade of pink that made Snape cringe internally despite his infallible poker face. He reached for his wand underneath his robes, his hands disappearing in the sea of black silk as he withdrew his wand from his sleeve, enjoying every moment of the way the girl's expression of terror turned to one of resignation.
"You are three steps behind the rest of the class, Miss Davis." Snape sneered as he waved his wand, making the contents of their cauldron vaporize into thin air and automatically cleaning their workstation until it was spotless, just as it had been when the day had started. "Not that I would expect anything else when you have chosen such a.... liability as your partner, quite a risky gamble for one with such.... average grades as yourself." He sniffed like he was disappointed in her, when in reality he couldn't be more gleeful, his expression making it clear that she was barely scraping through his class, like so many others, and the little stunt that Harry had pulled had just cost her that, as well. "Miss Greengrass and Miss Malfoy have shown an uncanny ability to somehow turn in a somewhat acceptable potion even when I hang this lump of deadweight around their neck, but of course.... that ability doesn't extend to everyone."
He glanced from her to the Potter, trying to gauge his reaction, almost goading him into reacting.
Harry smiled back at him in the same insufferable way he always did, a mischievous grin stretching from ear to ear, showing off his perfect gleaming set of pearly teeth, like he couldn't be less pleased with the turn of events, his bright emerald eyes twinkling at full blast.
Ugh.
As if Snape couldn't get enough of that damned twinkling at the regular staff meetings.
Snape decided to steamroll on. "It has barely been one week since classes started, and you have already managed to make me reconsider whether I should start dishing out punishments and detentions for Slytherins as well. Congratulations. You have broken the previous record, set by yourself only last year. It takes a different type of idiot to redo the same mistakes." Snape took extra pleasure in noting the hitch in her breath. "It's a T for this class as well for you. Off to a great start this year, I see. As for you, Potter..... impeccable slicing technique. I think an A is in order."
Snape took extra glee in watching the various stages of anger and despair cycle through the young Slytherin's features faster than weeds bloom amongst flowers, as she parted her lips to protest but then thought better of it and averted her gaze. Maybe there were some brains underneath that dirty old beanie after all.
If there was anything that Snape loved more than making the lives of his students miserable, it was making Harry Potter, in particular, miserable. He glanced at the latter, punishments ready at the back of his throat eager to be uttered, just waiting for the so-called Potter Heir to merely raise his voice against the injustice, to show even the slightest shimmer of the obnoxiously golden Gryffindor Snape knew was hidden somewhere deep beneath those familiar silver and green robes.
The bastard yawned again without shame when their eyes met, looking away and eyeing the dungeon wall as if it had been hexed to give people near it a compulsive sleeping disorder, leaving the almost trembling girl beside him to sit in silence. Silent tears welled up in the bastard Slytherin's brown eyes, reflecting the dying orange embers of the fire in front of her as she made herself seem even smaller than she was in her seat, her face downcast as she refused to meet anyone's gaze, knowing that all that awaited her were looks of pity and silent judgement.
Snape sniffed contemptuously. How foolish, for a Slytherin to wear their emotions so openly on their sleeve and be so easily swayed by the words of others, till even such a mild insult could make her feel nervous to the verge of tears. If one were so moved like a grass in the breeze, then one deserved to be miserable.
That was House Slytherin's, and by extension, Severus Snape's, mantra.
Tracey Davis, huh?
Well, despite how much she belonged in Hufflepuff, she had been sorted into the noble house of Slytherin anyway, and thus, her emotional troubles were only hers to deal with- as was the norm in the pit of serpents.
Beside her, the friend she had risked herself to save was dozing off, his head of shaggy, messy raven hair resting limply in his crossed arms as he leaned against the wall as if it were the softest of pillows he had ever had the privilege of resting his head upon. This was not the first time Potter's extraordinary sloth had gotten them in trouble, and Snape suspected that it wouldn't be the last either.
How callous. And here Snape thought that he was supposed to be the heartless one.
Not paying the two any attention, he turned his back on them, the duo of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff misfits in the House of Snakes, his batlike robes billowing behind him and almost smothering those dying flames as he turned towards Celeste and Daphne- two Slytherins, equally prodigious in the art of Potioneering with their skill running only as deep as their deep-seated enmity. He turned his nose upwards, peering down at their potion with critical eyes, judging the uniform shade their bubbling potion had assumed.
"....Marginally acceptable." It was as far a compliment as he could mutter, and the two of his prized serpents showed as much emotion as he expected them to.
Apart from a short, brisk 'thank you, sir' devoid of any emotion, positive nor negative and dry as a salmon beached ashore, the two third years remained impassive, their facial muscles as if paralysed with how stone-faced they remained. Daphne shifted a bit, trying to arrange the already well-written notes that she had taken in that class, her handwriting like small pearls of dark ink on fine, smooth parchment, her gaze darting here and there, but her expression giving nothing away. For the inexperienced observer, it might have looked like the Greengrass Heiress was just trying to pack her things up, but Snape knew better.
Celeste for her part, fared better than Greengrass, though even that was to be expected, even the small glint of smug triumph that shone through her steely grey eyes.
"Class is dismissed!" Snape turned towards the teacher's desk, his mind blank and his Occlumency barriers like the black walls of a fortress, the silky sound of his robes billowing and the sharp click of his shoes against the cold stone of the dungeon floor drowned out by the scraping of desks and chairs as the students hastened to get out of the dungeons as soon as they could. With a lazy flick of his wand, the board wiped itself squeaky clean as if it had just been bought, the recipe for the potion they had just made was gone and replaced by another. A piece of chalk, white against the inky blackboard floated in midair, the little sounds that it made as it noted down the formula of the potion Snape had planned for the next class, soothing.
He crashed into his chair unceremoniously, his bony fingers massaging his temple as he looked at the scrambling third years with his black, beady eyes as if they had somehow insulted his dead mother with how they had failed to evacuate themselves in the three seconds it had taken him to get into his chair. "What is taking so long? If you all love the dungeons so much, I can get you a toothbrush and put you to work scrubbing the stones. Look at your seniors, it took them exactly one second and seventy-three milliseconds to disappear after I told them that class was dismissed."
Snape groaned loudly, a sound which made many of them flinch as if struck as he opened a drawer and rummaged through it, looking for some pain relieving potions to deal with the headache he could feel coming.
"If anybody forgets to turn in a vial of their potion for grading- and if it looks even a shade different from the one given in the textbook, it's an immediate T for this class..... And I want a two feet essay on the different causes of pruritus- both Muggle and magical- and if anybody submits an essay on jaundice again, I'm gonna show them exactly why you don't feed anyone raw Alpine goat liver extract.... and then test the effectiveness of the potion you've made in this class." He felt his fingers wrap around the cool glass vial of the potion he was looking for, and he withdrew it, examining it in the dim light of the dungeon to make sure that it was indeed the one and not some poison that one of the fools he had to teach had finally snapped and slipped him. Oh well, either way, he won. "Oh, and Potter, stay back after class."
Normally the latter would have been the object of at least a few pitiful gazes, but not today, not on Snape's watch. Maybe it was the excessive homework he had assigned them, partly holding him accountable, or maybe it was just ill will. But today, Snape watched in silent triumph, as Harry was left alone, dozing off in the corner of his class as he usually did, as his yearmates packed their belongings around him and left, but not before they slid in a labelled vial of their work into the test tube holder sitting at a corner of his desk.
Snape wasn't gonna look at those anyway, he was just going to toss it all into the trash and grade people based on what he felt they deserved, but oh well, he had to look like he was doing something worth the hefty salary Dumbledore was giving him.
"Professor." Greengrass was the last to leave, nodding respectfully at him and not even sparing a glance towards her friend as she deposited her vial in through last remaining spot on the holder, before scurrying off to look for that Mudblood friend of hers. A pity that he couldn't make the girl get along with Celeste, such talent was wasted on trash.
Making sure that she was really gone, and waving his wand to cast a silencing and locking charm on the door just to be sure that they wouldn't be overheard, Snape kicked his feet up on the desk and relaxed finally. "How long are you gonna pretend to be asleep for, Potter?"
"I didn't sleep last night. Neither the previous night. Nor the one before that." Harry dropped all pretense, cracking his sleepy eyes open and straightening as he frowned. "I've been running on caffeine and pepper-up potions ever since the academic year started."
He paused for a moment, watching Snape uncork the potion he was holding and down it in one gulp. "And you knew that. You knew I was working my ass off, and still you did that. You're a right asshole."
"Wow. Imagine what I could have done if you had said that to me in public. Mad that I managed to make your little girlfriends angry at you?" Snape didn't pay much attention to him, his own voice as dry as could be, and Harry didn't respond tk the jibe either. "Look at you, with all the deductions. Think you're so smart, Potter?"
"Cut the crap." Harry briefly considered reminding him how well he had fared with the only woman who had ever paid him any attention, but that would require acknowledging that his beautiful goddess of a mother had ever been friends with this greasy dungeon bat. "What do you want?"
"Professor Dumbledore told me that he has taught you all that there was to learn. Something about assigning you your first test?"
"Yeah." Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek. "And he also told me that Professor Snape didn't beat around the bush. But I see that that's a load of dragon dung."
Snape ignored him, his eyes focused on the remaining droplets of amber fluid clinging to the opening of the vial. Such childish remarks were beneath his attention. "And how long is the duration of this test?"
Harry remained silent for a moment, wondering how much to reveal. "I have got a year to succeed, and nothing to show for it yet."
"And how is that progressing?" Snape ignored the last comment, prying for more details. Although the Headmaster had told him about the test he had given his sleepy squib of a protégé, he had refused to divulge the details, and Snape couldn't help but find himself curious- about Harry's competence and the task that the Headmaster, the most powerful man in the magical world at the moment, considered him competent enough to execute flawlessly.
"He hasn't told me anything about what he wants yet. Always the same shit about knowing when the time is right." Harry's hands itched towards his pockets, but he resisted. "I'm thinking I have to figure out what the test is all on my own, and I'm partly on my way there. I'll get my first real clue this afternoon."
"Depending on gameskeepers to leak something now, are we?"
Harry's expression gave nothing away, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"You can't fool me, Potter. I have watched your every move ever since you stepped foot in this castle and began studying under Dumbledore. I know all your tricks and what you do to get information." Snape sneered at him, before rummaging through his drawers again, looking for something. He emerged with a scrap of scribbled paper. "Maybe I'll help you with a little clue, purely out of the goodness of my heart. You should be grateful. Get me everything on this piece of paper, and you'll be just that much closer to figuring out what Dumbledore's grand test is."
With a sneer on his face, Snape held out his hand, and Harry snatched the parchment from him like a hawk upon prey, his sharp emerald eyes darting from his twisted features to the yellowed parchment, giving it a quick once over.
"This is just a list of ingredients...." Harry muttered, his brows furrowing as he finally concentrated, his emerald eyes focusing on the familiar handwriting. "Highly illegal ones at that. An Ironbelly's gut lining? It'll be difficult to find that even on the black market, let alone somewhere as conspicuous as Knockturn."
"Knockturn Alley is conspicuous?!" Snape's disbelief shone through his voice, and normally, Harry would have taken pride in the fact that he had made the greasy bat break his expressionless mask. But he didn't pay much attention to that, his mind already racing through all the options available for him to get the rare items listed, only two or three, but each rarer and more frowned upon than the last. It was clear that Snape was going to brew some horrible potion, or maybe do a ritual (though, given his expertise, Harry was leaning towards the former) and he had just handed over the job of getting all the ingredients that he couldn't get his hands on, to Harry.
"This is not a clue. You're just delegating your work to me." Harry held up the paper, giving it a threatening wave. "And this little piece of parchment is highly incriminating evidence. Imagine if I lost it, and this found its way to a -let's say- anonymous person, who leaked it to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. This, and that Dark Mark on your arm, and even Dumbledore won't be able to help you."
"And that is why I gave this to the last person likely to leak it to the DMLE. Mutually assured destruction, Potter?"
"Touche." Harry narrowed his eyes as he was shut down. Snape seemed to be enjoying toying with him, a rebuttal for every single thing that Harry could say to refuse the job ready on the former's lips. The bastard didn't even deign him important enough to focus on him, his eyes roaming across some research paper or half-written project that he had scattered across his desk.
"So, about the cash...." Despite how close he was to defeat, Harry wasn't going to give up. He had a trump card up his sleeve. "I need at least three thousand galleons up front. This shit costs four thousand galleons on the open market, the price will be inflated like horrible on the black."
Snape grimaced violently as if Harry had just set off a dung bomb underneath his nose, but he recovered almost immediately. If Harry had hoped that he would sputter and fumble around like Bagman when the goblins had finally got a hold of his residence, he would have to be disappointed. "Five hundred galleons. You'll get the rest after I have the items in my hand, Potter."
Harry shrugged, not wanting to argue with the greasy bat. Every single moment he lingered in the dungeon felt like days off his life, and the thick smell of the potions that hung in the air did nothing to help with that feeling. "Well, I'll just take it from Dumbledore anyway. Let's call it his.... fees to keep a pet like you watered and happy, shall we?"
"Potter, you dare!" Snape's nostrils flared, his sallow skin finally taking some colour as he lost his composure, making Harry snort at how similar he looked to a pufferfish, if its spines were matted against its skin. He took some sort of vindictive pleasure in watching the man lose his composure, the latter's face growing red, deriving a sort of catharsis out of calling Snape Dumbledore's pet, borne out of everyone always calling him Daphne's rabid dog. "Wait till the Headmaster hears about this. I'll tell Lily about your sheer insolence, you arrogant, stupid, Gryffindor-"
"Yeah yeah, go tell Dumbledore. He'll probably pat you on the back and give you a bone to chew on." Harry pocketed the list, hiding it deep underneath the flowing silk of his black robes, before he turned his back on the Professor, who looked like he was about to stab him in the back.
"Potter, you haven't heard the end of this! I'll have your head on a silver platter-"
Harry stepped out of the potions classroom, and not soon enough in his opinion, leaving Snape frothing at the mouth and with nothing to vent his rage on save for the next unfortunate class of students, shutting the door behind him gently. The gentle, barely audible sound of the door clicking shut was amplified and reverberated through the empty halls of the dungeon that he had stepped into, bouncing off the gray stone walls and getting lost in the labyrinth that was the Hogwarts dungeons, mixing in with the rhythmic clicks of his shoes against the floor.
"Fucccc...." Harry sighed deeply, feeling his legs almost give way underneath him as he leaned against the wall for support, feeling the cool stone of the dungeon through his silk robes against his skin. He was sleepy and tired, his eyes heavy and lungs burning for breath that refused to come, till every moment felt like he was running a marathon.
But this was nothing new.
He had been living with this for the last ten years, he could afford to go some more days with this.
No, he had more important things at hand.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath to gather all his strength, Harry pushed himself forward, staggering on unsteady legs as if drunk. He stood for a moment, holding on to the wall to balance himself as he searched the folds of his robes for his trusty invisibility cloak, hidden somewhere where nobody could see it.
His fingers wrapped around the hem of the familiar, silky silver fabric, and nobody was there around to see Harry Potter disappear into thin air.
Snape might have been a bastard asshole, but he had just given Harry a thirty-minute window free of Daphne and Tracey, a precious half hour that he could use to investigate.
As his footsteps, sharp against the stone floor of the dungeons melded into silence, Harry couldn't help but let loose one last groan as he remembered that he would have to somehow make up to the girls before the day was over.
___________________
Harry was happy to announce that he had succeeded in pleasing Daphne and Tracey with his impeccable self-discipline even before the hour was over.
That was pretty self-evident from the scene that the Girl Who Lived walked in on.
"Make yerself at home, Rosie." Hagrid crouched, making himself as small as possible to fit through the door of his hut- why he didn't make it big enough in the first place wasn't the question- "Yer brother is already in, enjoying some of that tea and my ol' rock cakes. Help yourself to some as well. I'll just be round the back- be back in a jiffy."
His thick, bushy beard, black and faded brown with the occasional streak of grey, was almost as large as Rose's petite torso as he barely squeezed through, clad in the same old faded clothes of his, a ragged coat and faded moleskin boots. His healthy belly almost knocked over poor, frail Neville, and Ron had to dodge out of the way -in his best Chudley Cannon's Seeker impression, as he would claim later- to avoid getting stomped to mashed meat.
"You better be sure I'll finish it all, Hagrid." Rose had to stand on her tiptoes to pat him on the elbow.
He beamed down at her, and for a moment, Rose was afraid that she was about to get her ribs cracked in a very familiar bone-crushing hug.
"Now tha's what I like to hear."
For a moment, it seemed like he was about to just stand there and chat their ears off, but then thought better of it, and went around the back of the hut to do whatever it was he set out to do, but not before flashing them another brilliant giant smile.
"Blimey mate, he looks even bigger in person," Ron whispered excitedly, as if he was looming just over their shoulders. "I always knew he had some giant blood in him. I wonder how the boats don't sink whenever he rides them."
"Do we really have to go?" Neville looked like he was about to cry.
"I told you that Hagrid is completely harmless, Neville." Rose sighed, turning to fix her first friend in Gryffindor with a stare. She adjusted her signature round-rimmed glasses, wrinkling her nose cutely. "I don't see what you're so scared of. Come on."
She led the way, trailed by the two Gryffindor lions.
"It's not Hagrid I'm so scared of, it's your brother-" Neville squeaked, biting violently on his own tongue when he remembered that Harry was right inside.
Rose ignored him as she stepped inside, whistling lowly.
"You know what, I've known Hagrid ever since I was a baby, but this is the first time I've ever been in his hut. It looks.... cozy." She finished lamely, standing in the doorway and blocking the little light that entered, obstructing her two companions from entering as she examined the room with a critical eye.
The roof was a bit smaller than she had given it credit for, which was saying something seeing as how a half-giant the size of Hagrid inhabited it. Its walls were expressionless grey stone, but it was somehow warmer and much more welcoming than the stone walls of the Hogwarts dungeons could ever be, reflecting the orange glow of the crackling fireplace. Maybe it was the countenance of its sole inhabitant for the last few decades, but even the walls and the thatched straw roof of the hut seemed to be cheerful, smiling happily despite the few weak, old rafter beams holding it all up, turned black from years of soot from the fire, the only source of light in the hut save for a tiny window right over Hagrid's low bed, barely large enough for an owl to squeeze into.
The floor was laden thick with hide, soft underneath their boots, and at a corner of the room, between a small table and the fireplace was a bed for Fang, Hagrid's pet boarhound, barely more than a misshapen lump of hide and fur. A kettle of tea was whistling on the fireplace, and there wasn't a little pot of Floo powder above it, accompanying Hagrid's crossbow hung on a crooked nail in a crack on the stone wall.
Inhabiting the room right then were three Slytherins, clad still in the familiar silver and green-lined black robes. Tracey- the bubbly girl who reminded Rose of Tonks, sat on the floor near the fireplace, gnawing on a rock cake that looked like it might chip her teeth if she were any less careful. Her left hand was petting Fang carelessly on the head as she leaned against the foot of Hagrid's bed, staring absent-mindedly off into the dancing flames.
'That shouldn't be there.'
Rose's mind short-circuited as she finally registered her brother sprawled across Hagrid's bed, dozing lazily with his eyes closed and a satisfied smile on his soft lips. The hem of his robes hung off the edge of the bed, almost reaching the floor. His tie was loose, the top few buttons of his shirt undone, revealing just the barest teasing glimpse of his well-developing, muscle-packed broad chest as he relaxed, his feet kicked up on one of Hagrid's few pillows that the latter had painstakingly stuffed himself with Hippogriff feathers.
But that was not what was wrong.
No, it was the fact that Harry's sleepy head was cradled lovingly in the Ice Princess' lap, as Daphne Greengrass, succubutic nightmare of the male populace of Hogwarts played with his long, messy raven hair, braiding and unbraiding, just the barest hint of what would have been a sweet smile playing at the corner of her soft, pink Pureblood lips. She was sitting near the edge of the bed, her dainty feet bare and hanging limply in Tracey's lap, sandwiching her between her slender legs.
Rose noted, somewhat jealous, how pale and flawless Daphne's skin was, smooth and glistening, her ankles flushed a light, healthy shade of pink.
For a moment, the three seemed to be lost in their own world, not registering the newcomers.
Harry seemed to be enjoying the lap pillow that Daphne was offering him, his head visibly sinking into the softness of her thick thighs, the satisfied grin on his face unwavering as he nuzzled against her soft skin, utterly relaxed and drifting in and out of sleep.
Daphne seemed to be enjoying herself as well, her gleaming azure eyes the same shade as a beautifully calm ocean, as she hovered above her only male friend, her delicate fingers running through his soft, silky hair, twisting it into various patterns like he was a doll made to suit her fancies.
"Should I braid your hair, Harry?"
"No, thank you. I heard someone got mugged the other day near the Charms classroom for having dreadlocks." Harry shifted, seeking a more comfortable position in Daphne's lap. "Something about cultural appropriation."
"Have you seen your size?" Daphne seemed amused. "I can't see anyone messing with a brute like you- you're better built than some of the seventh-year Beaters. Besides, I'm always with you."
"No thanks. I think it'll ruin my good looks." Harry blew a raspberry at her. "I don't want to disappoint the horny hordes waiting outside my dorm room every night."
"Good looks my ass." Daphne chuckled silently, running her hands through his hair, so soft that it felt like velvet. "Just a sidelock then. I saw it in an Egyptian spellbook, I think it'll look good on you."
"Uhh... What's the hold-up?" Ron's obnoxiously loud voice rang through the otherwise silent room, reverberating across the closed walls. "It's like the halftime break in the Chudley Cannons match of '74, I'm telling you-"
"Oh hey, Rose." Tracey perked up immediately like a dog seeing her after a long time, greeting her with a cheerful smile that showed all 32 of her gleaming, pearly teeth. "Come, make yourself comfy. Fancy yourself one of Hagrid's rock cakes? A bit tough for the teeth, but sweet nonetheless. It's like one of those lemon drops you can suck on- but sweet."
She got off all this in one breath, but Rose's eyes were not on her. No, her eyes were on Daphne Greengrass, and she felt like she had just locked eyes with a venomous viper coiled to strike as she stepped into the room. It was like one of those old Wild West films that their mother liked to watch when she had nothing better to do, only that they didn't have guns. The older Slytherin was expressionless as she greeted Rose with an acknowledging nod, her azure eyes cold and calculating locked onto emerald like a homing exploding curse, pinning her with her gaze, challenging, volumes unspoken behind their azure shade.
In a silent display of superiority and possessiveness, Daphne lifted her legs, folding them underneath her to give Harry a better pillow to rest on, never taking her eyes off the Girl Who Lived.
Rose felt an ugly emotion in her heart, something that she had felt before yet was unfamiliar with at the same time.
She didn't like this girl- she was Slytherin through and through, till Rose suspected that she even bled green venom from her veins. What was she trying to accomplish by challenging her with her own older brother?
She instinctively wanted to physically pull her brother away from this seductress, to protect him from her guiles, yet Rose knew that it wouldn't be appropriate nor appreciated.
She forced a smile onto her own face. It didn't reach her eyes, a fact that she saw Daphne taking in with a little smug smirk.
Wow, Rose registered it a bit late. They were fighting over her brother.
"Slytherins?" Ron yelped as he came into view, flinching almost violently at the sound of his own voice. Lowering his tone slightly so that only Rose could hear, he whispered to her, "Hagrid invited Slytherins? I thought he was on the Gryffindor's side."
"Hagrid is just the gamekeeper. What sort of fool would pull him into a petty house rivalry." It was Harry who replied, cracking an eye just wide enough to fix them with a tired glare. "Now if you would just shut up, I'm trying to catch up on a few missed hours of sleep here."
He closed his eyes again, relaxing in Daphne's lap. Her delicate fingers continued to play with his hair, scratching his scalp soothingly as she lowered her gaze back to him, not paying them any attention and unbothered what anybody thought of her.
"Who's that?" Ron whispered conspiratorially, like they were discussing battle tactics in front of the enemy, his eyes fixed half in jealousy and half in dreary awareness on Harry's drowsy self. "I know the blonde, she's Daphne Greengrass- a right bitch, she is, cursed Percy so bad he had to stay a week in the hospital wing. I heard even the twins are afraid of her. She's also chummy with Malfoy's older sister, if that wasn't enough."
"I see you're making friends, Rose." Harry sounded amused and half sleepy, his words slightly slurred. "Let me hazard a guess, Ronald Weasley and Longbottom right?"
"How did he-" Ron's incredulous whisper was cut off.
"Do you remember I told you I had an older brother?" Rose sighed, able to predict the redhead's reaction to the words about to come from her mouth. "Yeah, meet Harry. Harry, you already know Neville, and... well, I guess Ron as well."
"You didn't tell me your brother is a Slytherin!" Ron looked like he was seeing Rose in a new light. Rose looked like she was seriously considering divination as a side hustle. "I thought your brother was Gryffindor with the way the twins worship the ground Harry Potter walks on!"
"Longbottom!" Harry did his best Snape impression in greeting, ignoring the redhead fumbling about for words. "How are you? Managed to figure out the difference between a toad and a chocolate frog yet?"
Neville whimpered behind her, trying to make himself even smaller.
"Harry, stop bothering them." Rose took a seat on the floor beside Tracey, leaving Ron and Neville to squeeze into a single remaining chair, leaving the big armchair near the door, opposite the fireplace, free for Hagrid. "What are you doing here anyway?"
"Learning how to do a craniotomy while playing a violin with my feet- what does it look like I'm doing?" Harry clicked his tongue, changing the subject quickly. "A bunch of brave lions you got there, Rosie."
"You didn't tell me your older brother was a Slytherin!" Ron whispered to Rose again when he was ignored the first time. His freckled cheeks were turning a healthy shade of red, which was growing more and more vibrant the more he was ignored like he was not even there. "Percy told me that all Slytherins were slimy, scheming-"
"And the twins didn't tell me that their little brother was going to shit himself on seeing a Slytherin," Harry replied, his words warbled and drowned out by Daphne's venomous hiss. "You don't realise that we can hear everything, right? I fancy I can even hear the individual neurotransmitters in your brain- oh, oh, almost there, there we go."
Ron's cheeks reddened. Although he didn't understand half of what the older Slytherin said, her tone was more than enough to make him bristle. Beside him, Neville looked like he was regretting his life decisions, his face as pale as Snape, drained of all colour.
"Thank you." The Girl Who Lived accepted the tea that Tracey offered her with a gracious smile, refusing the rock cake with a polite wave of her hand. "Please leave those two alone. And don't mind Ron, he's just a bit... competitive."
"....." Harry lifted his hand, flexing his fingers and watching absentmindedly at all the twitching muscles, innumerable, tendons and bones mingling together in the back of his hand, a map of purple veins against pale English skin that hadn't seen too much of the sun. "How are you finding classes?"
"Snape was.... okay, I guess?" Cue the snort from the brunette sitting beside her. "McGonagall was nice, I felt like Flitwick was about to have a stroke.... and the DADA teach... I think his name is Quirell... I can't begin to list the things wrong with him."
Harry's expression was unreadable.
"Oh he was always like that, trust me. I've never seen a less competent Professor, the twins were saying that even his wife left him." Tracey stretched with a feline yawn, ignorant of the way her shirt rode up, and the pair of embarrassed Gryffindor gazes that immediately flicked toward her exposed midriff. "And you couldn't be more wrong about Snape. He's a right asshole, that's what he is."
"Back to Quirell.... we didn't have a class with him this week.... if you had to rank his incompetence on a scale from Binns to McGonagall- I'll let you decide which is which, where would you place him?" Harry's eyes were narrowed but his expression was thoughtful as he posed the question, his emerald gaze not turning from his fingers. Daphne's delicate fingers, weaving through his hair had stilled a long time ago, and he felt her shift underneath him.
"I rank him the same as Snape- lower than Binns!" Tracey let her opinion be known, but she was ignored.
"Well." Daphne shrugged. "I always knew something was wrong with that man. Otherwise, why would anyone choose Muggle Studies as their profession?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noted how red the weasel had got. A stark contrast from the faded mummy beside him.
He returned his gaze upwards, a mild raise of his eyebrows the only sign of the surprise that he felt when he realized that he couldn't see Daphne's face from his position on her lap. Wow, maybe he had given her less credit than she deserved, maybe an adverse effect of hanging out with Tracey all the time.
"Well.... he's weird." Rose seemed to be searching for words. "He wears that massive turban which reeks of garlic, and he checks even his food for shapeshifting vampires."
"He checks his food for vampires, eh?" Harry seemed amused. "What do you think, Greengrass?"
"I think he needn't worry. He has a higher chance of dying from slipping on a banana peel than he has of getting poisoned."
"Quirell thinks he's going to get poisoned?!" It was Ron who burst out laughing incredulously. Beside him, Neville looked like he was about to have a heart attack.
"The weasel clad in his older brother's hand-me-downs finds himself important enough to laugh, given present company? What next, the Longbottom Heir grows a pair?" Harry's voice was completely level as he responded drily. "You are even more of a nobody, Weasley, but if you want, you can be poisoned tomorrow. Greengrass here is known for her hand at potions."
"Thank you for volunteering, weasel." Daphne batted her eyelashes flatteringly at Ron, making him go red in the face. "I have always wanted to test what happens when I feed someone extract of monkshood and St. John's wort. I have heard that it makes your pancreas explode- getting digested from inside seems hilarious in retrospect."
"Back to Rose. All that is something that even Longbottom can notice. Please tell me you're not going dumb after hanging out with him?"
"Harry, I'm going to tell Mom if you don't stop right now." Rose stayed silent for a moment to let the threat sink in. "And for Quirell... I don't know what else is wrong with him. Although my scar does hurt sometimes."
Harry's ears perked up almost immediately, like a bloodhound picking up a trail. For the first time since they had entered, he opened his eyes, bright emeralds shadowed in the orange glow of the fireplace, and propped himself up on his elbows. Neville flinched violently, like they had been dancing around a sleeping dragon that had just woken up.
"That's new...." His gaze was a bit unfocused, before honing in on Rose, her emerald shade reflected in his gaze. "Have you told Mum yet?"
"No...." Rose looked a bit guilty, but Harry seemed unperturbed. "I didn't want her to be worried. I got something for the pain from Madam Pomfrey..."
She was cut off. Harry seemed impatient, looking like he was asking the odds for the next Quidditch Cup final. "When does it hurt?"
"I don't know," Rose muttered. "In class, when I'm at the Great Hall...."
"Does it hurt in Flitwick's class? Or in the Gryffindor common room?"
"What's the point of all these questions, Potter? Have you finally cracked?" Daphne looked a bit irritated at all the questions, more so because she found herself unable to follow Harry's trail of thought.
"I... I... no, I don't think so." Rose looked like she had just realised the fact, and the way her expression flicked through puzzlement to realization, acceptance and then back to confusion, gave Harry some sort of pleasure, her emerald eyes wide as they met his. "I just thought it was some sort of weird migraine."
Harry was going to say something more, but he was cut off by the door swinging open with such force that he was afraid it was going to be blown off its hinges. Standing in the doorway, blocking off all sunlight that managed to enter the room was a beaming Hagrid, the smile he was sporting almost threatening to split his face in half and brighter than the sun could ever be.
"A couple o' nifflers givin' me a bit o' trouble, tha's all. How are yeh all enjoyin' the tea? It's my own special blend." He looked so proud of himself, his chest puffed unwittingly as he entered, tracking in mud that caked his old leather boots, turning the faded tan colour to a grimy brown. For a moment, he stood there, looking confused as he glanced around the room, with Rose and Tracey on the floor, nibbling on rock cakes and sipping tea, Daphne with her legs folded and Harry half reclined in her lap, leaving Ron and Neville to squeeze into his armchair. "Yeh wanted to ask me something, 'arry?"
"Yeah, but I think I've got all the answers I could possibly want. Thanks, Hagrid." Harry relaxed again, melting back into the comfortable softness of Daphne's thick thighs and shutting his eyes sleepily. "So many answers, but not enough questions. How ironic."
"I feel like someone has hit you with a Confundus charm, Harry," Daphne asked, even though her voice seemed as scathing as always, acidic and insulting, Harry could hear the twinge of concern. Just the tiniest bit, but it was there.
"I feel the same way, Daphne." Harry whistled quietly. "Are any of you Gryffindors having trouble with any subject? You know we are always there in the library, if you need any sort of help you can always seek us out."
"Are you joking?" Ron yelped at the sudden change in his demeanour, like he had been kicked in the stomach. "Hagrid, those slimy snakes are trying to trick you! Don't trust them, they were threatening us-"
"Ah don' say tha', Ron. Harry, Daphne an' Tracey are all nice people, right Harry?" Hagrid collapsed on the only chair left for him in the somewhat cramped room. The chair was a bit too small for the oversized giant, with the hilarious effect of making him sit half scrunched up with his elbows on his knees, and his knees drawn as close to his chest as he could manage with the protruding belly of his. The sight of Hagrid back in the room, so large and towering over everyone else seemed to give Neville some of his confidence back, and a bit of colour returned to his cheeks as he finally got out of Ron's shadow, his eyes focused on Harry like a fawn ready to sprint at the slightest hint of aggression.
"You've said it Hagrid. I think Ron's just prejudiced against us Slytherins, just like his older brother." Harry nodded sagely.
"Yeah." Daphne sniffed, dabbing at her eyes. She didn't even put any effort into her acting, which could have normally fooled even McGonagall, but Hagrid was nevertheless blind to it. "I was so hurt when Ronald called me a scheming, venomous witch."
She didn't even try to hide her smile, nor the fact that she took it as a compliment. Besides Rose, Tracey snorted, somehow managing to disguise it as a sad sniffle and reminding Rose that no matter how cheerful and genuine Tracey looked, she was still a Slytherin at heart.
"Aw, look at what yeh did, Ron. Yeh made Daphne cry." Hagrid looked like he would have patted Daphne comfortingly if he hadn't been immobilized by the chair he had squeezed himself into- something which Daphne was infinitely grateful for, not wanting to feel her vertebrae rattling against her spine again. "Don' take his words to heart, yeh three. It's jus' his first week here, he didn' mean it."
"If you say so, Hagrid. You know we will always trust you." Harry shrugged, ignoring the slight pink that coloured Hagrid's cheeks at the praise and the small smile peeking out at the corner of his beard. It was always so easy to please the Hogwarts gamekeeper, so much so that he almost felt bad. "Anyway, how's the pumpkin patch coming along? I got you some good seeds and manure from Lady Longbottom, those any good?"
"I thought he was on the Gryffindor side," Ron repeated blankly like a wife lamenting over an unfilial partner, looking like he was about to have a stroke as Hagrid took their side over his, his suffering only furthered by the way Harry effortlessly painted him out to be the bad guy with only a few words. Beside him, Neville looked like he was about to be physically sick over the unnecessary reminder of how much his grandmother fawned over the Potter Heir, even though even Neville had better magical power than him.
As Hagrid started droning on and on happily, meandering between stories of pumpkins and beanstalks and niffler extermination, Harry felt himself zone out much like the others around him, interjecting occasionally with a 'hmm' or something in the same vein.
His thoughts were somewhere far away, yet not so far.
The third-floor corridor that he had scouted out. Guarded by the cerberus that Hagrid had been rearing. Sitting over a trapdoor.
The package that Hagrid had retrieved the same day Gringotts had been robbed.
Quirell and his pathological paranoia.
Dumbledore's test.
The lines of thought that Harry had been chasing seemed to tangle together again like a spider knitting a web, until the glinting light was out of sight again and all that remained was the fog of mystery.
All he saw was that Dumbledore was the spider knitting the web, a web that trapped all his loved ones, innocent students and Professors alike, a web that he had to undo, string by string.
The image of a massive, silver-bearded spider with purple robes and golden polka dots popped into Harry's mind, making him snort.
"The general who wins a battle makes many calculations in his temple ere the battle is fought. The general who loses a battle makes but few calculations beforehand."
"Huh?"
"Huh?"