Detention
He comes and goes and comes again. He does not speak of where he is but no matter how much time goes by, it’s like he hasn’t aged a day.
- Albus Dumbledore’s musings about Harry Peverell
At first, he’d been confused as to why he found himself following an oddly dressed man through a winding country lane, and even more so when he dipped through a gap in. large hedge, already with his wand in hand.
It wasn’t until the conversation between Bob Ogden, and one Marvolo Gaunt became hostile did Harry realise the significance of the memory he was viewing.
Parselmouths.
The Gaunts were able to converse with snakes, did so proudly whilst declaring their lineage.
Marvolo.
This man had to be Voldemort’s father, which was strange given how old he was. Harry certainly could not imagine anyone becoming intimate with his feral son or rather unattractive daughter, who could barely string a sentence together.
Already having seen that the Dark Lord had been placed in an orphanage, where Dumbledore had first made his acquaintance only left Harry with more answers than questions, though with several other memories to view, he was certain he would be granted a clearer understanding of what had transpired.
Even so, it was quite the revelation to learn that he was undoubtedly related to the destitute remains of what had once been a revered family.
He thought elicited a deep frown.
Why hadn’t he been given the Gaunt name?
Marvolo was certainly proud of it, and with only one son and daughter, Harry expected he would welcome another among them, unless neither Marvolo nor Morfin were responsible for the birth of Tom, who Harry already knew was a half-blood.
No, neither of the men would sully the name by lying with a muggle.
The girl.
The girl had to be Tom’s mother, but that too only raised more questions.
With a shake of his head, he continued to ponder what he had learned thus far whilst readying himself for the day, acutely aware that the cold presence within him was reacting to the knowledge he’d obtained.
“I know,” he soothed. “I will figure it out.”
The presence calmed; something he found himself needing to do throughout the day.
He couldn’t quite describe the nature of it, but Harry felt it becoming a part of everything he was. He could feel it within him, almost as though it flowed with the blood through his veins, and he certainly felt it in his mind whilst he continued to work on becoming familiar with it at the behest of the cloaked figure, whom he’d yet to see.
Pushing those thoughts aside for when it would inevitably become poignant once more, he ensured everything was packed away before opening his curtains.
Dean, Seamus, and Neville had already left the room, and Ron was perched on the edge of his bed, evidently waiting for Harry to wake up.
“Breakfast?” he asked eagerly.
Harry merely nodded in response, knowing better than to keep the redhead from his food.
“I was just going to come up to wake you,” Hermione informed them as they joined her in the common room. “I wonder what classes we will have today.”
She’d likely already been awake for some time and would’ve been studying one of the many textbooks in her over-laden bag she carried.
Ron shrugged in response.
“Well, I’m not going to Potions. I don’t care who’s teaching it. By the time Mum learns I can continue it, it will be Christmas.”
Hermione shot him a look of approval.
“Ron, Potions is one of the most important…”
Harry allowed her to go on her rant, choosing to allow the two of them to get the first argument of the school year out of their system. He remained silent until they reached the Great Hall, where he helped himself to some eggs and toast.
Ron too quickly turned his attention to his breakfast, and Hermione continued to scowl at him, evidently not having gotten through to him.
Not that Harry could blame Ron for not wanting to continue with potions. It had been a miserable experience for them both for the past five years. Still, Harry would not be granted the same reprieve. Dumbledore had all but insisted he attended the lessons with Slughorn in a bid to get a measure of the man.
For now, he would do so, but did not expect he would enjoy the subject any more despite having a new professor. Worse still, was the prospect of learning Defence Against the Dark Arts from Snape.
Harry had not spoken to the man since he’d been unceremoniously thrown out of his office when he’d somehow managed to reverse his attempted invasion of his mind during their last Occlumency lesson.
That was something he would not be continuing no matter how insistent Dumbledore became. Of course, he was grateful for the introduction, but he preferred to work on it himself, and truthfully, he wasn’t certain how the presence within him would react to the man’s efforts to enter his mind.
It would unlikely be something Snape would wish to repeat.
Maybe Harry would like one final lesson with him, after all.
“What’re you smiling at?” Hermione asked.
“Nothing,” Harry denied, nodding towards the approaching Professor McGonagall, who began tapping timetables with her wand and handing them out.
“Mr Weasley, I am sure you will be pleased to know that your mother has already forwarded a copy of Advanced Potion Making, so that you may continue your lessons without delay,” she informed the redhead, placing the text in front of him.
Ron stared at it as though it carried a horrific disease of sorts before looking towards their amused head of house.
“How did she find out?”
“I may have mentioned it to her,” McGonagall replied, “and she told me to pass on the message that if you do not continue with Potions, you should forget about becoming an Auror and even playing Quidditch. For me, I thought your time would be better occupied in class than loafing around the common room. You’re welcome, Mr Weasley.”
She moved along the table to the next group of students, and Harry stifled a snort of his own. Hermione, however, was not so successful at hiding her amusement.
“I can’t bloody believe this, and we have potions first!” Ron groaned.
Harry patted him on the shoulder comfortingly.
“Come on, it can’t be any worse than it was when we had Snape. Slughorn was nice enough when I met him.”
His words did little to appease Ron, and he paused before he managed to stand halfway.
“Wait, Quidditch! Who’s the captain this year?”
“That would be me!”
Harry nodded approvingly as the beaming Katie stood in front of them, pointing to the badge pinned to her chest. He really was pleased for her. Katie was a brilliant chaser and would be just a good a captain.
“So, when is our first training session?” Ron asked eagerly.
“Well, we need to have trials first,’ she sighed. “We have five positions to fill.”
“Five? We need two beaters and two chasers.”
“And a seeker,” Harry broke in with a shrug. “I’m not playing this year.”
Ron visibly recoiled as though he’d been slapped in the face.
“But why, Harry?”
“I just don’t feel like it, and I played for most of four years. Someone else who does want to play should do it.”
Ron opened his mouth to argue but decided against doing so when Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.
“Come on, Ronald, Potions,” she reminded him, leading the dumbfounded boy away.
Harry would’ve liked to have played, and he knew he would probably regret his decision, but the amount of hours he would need to invest in it were not something he could justify, not with all he had planned and what awaited him outside the castle.
“McGonagall told me the only reason I’m the captain is because you handed the badge back to her.”
“She should’ve chosen you in the first place.”
Katie offered him a sincere smile as she shook her head.
“No, you were the better choice, but I am grateful, Harry. It will go a long way for me when I try to secure trials for next summer. Both Alicia and Angelina are on the reserve team for the Harpies. Maybe I can make it too.”
“I don’t doubt you will,” Harry offered. “Soon enough, it will be the three of you together in the pro league running rings around the other teams.”
“I hope so,” Katie sighed. “Really, thank you, Harry.”
She placed a kiss on his cheek before taking her leave of the great hall, and for the first time, Hary felt as though he had indeed made the right decision. He loved Quidditch, but Katie Bell was truly passionate about the sport in ways he wasn’t.
No, his focus was and would need to be elsewhere for the foreseeable future, and without the added pressure of the sport, there was nothing holding him back from working on what required his attention.
(Break)
He continued writing, determined to unburden himself of all he could that Harry might find of use; magic he had come to rely upon when facing Tom and his followers over the years, and anything else that came to mind.
For the most part, what he was creating was little more than a list of spells he’d accumulated, their uses, strengths and vulnerabilities. Oh, Albus did not doubt that they would be useful to the boy, but on their own, would mean little.
Harry would indeed need such magic in the coming years, but what he needed more than anything, was an intricate understanding of magic itself, well, his own, at least.
Already, he had shown potential in detecting magic, as demonstrated when he had discovered Horace’s ruse when they’d sought him out.
With what little time he had, Albus intended to help Harry understand magic, to use what he possessed to the very best of his potential, and from what he’d seen, it was already exceptional.
Protecting himself and Sirius from around 100 dementors was no small feat, and even summoning his broom from such a vast distance to the Quidditch stadium had been quite the sight to behold.
Yes, Harry had potential to be a truly great wizard should he dedicate himself, but it was his character that gave Albus even more hope that he could be successful where all others had failed.
He was strong-willed, stubborn, focused when he wished to be, and unyielding in the face of adversity, which he had proved on numerous occasions.
Even so, the headmaster wondered if he was indeed doing the right thing.
“He is very good, Albus.”
He looked towards the unusually solemn expression of Phineas Nigellus Black.
“He has spent the summer practicing, learning all he could from the family library, and has been doing incredibly well, better than most I’ve witnessed undertake the same journey. In just a year or so, he could be incredible, with the right guidance.”
“I have less than a year with him, Phineas.”
“Then you make every moment count. Set him on a path that his footprints will not merely be blown away by a gentle breeze. A road of stone well-worn leaves no trace of those who walk it, one of sand, though harder; the footprints shall not last. But a knew path forged through the mire that only perhaps a fool shall forge, will remain.”
He nodded resolutely and fell silent once more.
“His path is already difficult,” Albus sighed.
“And it must become harder still,” Everard interjected. “The path will be for nothing if he is defeated by the mountains he must climb.”
Albus released a deep breath as he nodded.
“As ever, your wisdom is most appreciated,” he replied, taking more notes, and idly wondering if Harry had already delved into the memories he’d given him.
Undoubtedly.
Harry would come to understand the importance of them, and soon enough, he would be able to see the mountains on the path before him. Of course, Albus would do all he could in the interim the help the boy, but inevitably, Harry would one day find himself alone on his journey to put an end to the Dark Lord that had torn his family asunder.
Truthfully, he wished he could only do more for Harry, but he would do what he could whilst he still had time to do so.
At the very least, Harry would know what it is he needed to do, would have many useful tools at his disposal, including something that Tom cannot be prepared for.
Albus did not know what the uniting of all three Hallows might achieve, but perhaps they were indeed the power the Dark lord knows not, or maybe it would prove to be something else.
Regardless, Albus had every faith in Harry and his ability to live beyond survival, and in aid of that, he would play his part in readying him to face his destiny.
(Break)
He’d never denied that he had coveted the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. For his excellence in Potions, Severus’s true passion had been the Dark Arts themselves, and he was quite the expert in them, only behind the Dark Lord in knowledge and perhaps talent.
The man did have decades of experience on him, after all, and had undoubtedly delved into things that Severus would not.
Nonetheless, Dumbledore could not have chosen either a worse or better time to finally appoint him.
With the former at the forefront of his mind, Severus had seen enough people come and go over the years to believe there was indeed a curse on the position.
He expected that he might die for his part in the war; as punishment for his transgressions, and likely in the pursuit of righting his own wrongs. He did not wish his demise to be for nothing, however.
“Promise me you will spare her!”
“I promise nothing, Severus.”
He swallowed deeply at the memory of his pathetic pleading, which had fallen on deaf ears. It was shortly after that very conversation that he had sought out Albus in a bid to save Lily’s life.
His efforts had been for nothing.
He’d shed no tears over the loss of James Potter, but Lily was another matter entirely. She had been his first real friend, and the only one who’d never wanted anything from him other than companionship.
Severus had squandered that friendship, leaving him with only guilt, remorse, and regret for his own actions. Not a day went by that he didn’t curse himself, and that guilt he carried was his burden.
No matter what happened when the war was concluded, he would still carry it.
Still, it pained him to admit that the war itself all but rested upon the shoulders of her son. Oh, the boy looked so much like his father that it was painful, an ever-present reminder of the man he’d despised.
Even now, he saw James Potter whenever he looked at the boy, but whenever he met his gaze, it was Lily staring back at him with the same disdain she had the day he had uttered that slur.
He waited for the students to be seated before addressing them, his tone leaving no question to how seriously he took the subject he would be teaching.
“By some miracle, most of you managed to achieve an ‘Outstanding’ on your OWL.”
Severus did not miss the many appreciative glances sent towards Potter.
The boys’ not-so-secret-club had undoubtedly bridged the gap between Umbridge’s failings and incompetence, and what they’d needed to be capable of to pass with such distinction.
“If you thought your OWLs were difficult, you will soon realise that they were merely a sample of what your final two years here will be like. Beginning today, I expect all of you to begin working on your non-verbal casting. You will be expected to be able to do it for your exams at the end of your seventh year. Stand up, and wands out.”
The students complied, and with a sweeping motion of his own wand, the tables and chairs were stacked neatly against the wall.
“You will be put into pairs, and you will work on shielding and casting a disarming charm non-verbally,” Severus explained. “Weasley, you will be with Goyle. Finnegan with Crabbe, Granger with Parkinson, and Longbottom, you will be with Malfoy. Potter, you will be working with Nott…
None were pleased with who they were paired with, and when the entire class was standing opposite one another, Severus questioned whether or not he had made the correct decision to pair them this way.
Nevertheless, one day soon, they would be expected to co-exist with one another. Although he himself was not a member of the Wizengamot, many within the room would be, and needed to be able to let go of any petty childhood grudges they may bear.
Severus knew that he was being a hypocrite.
He’d never been able to let go of his, but not being a member of the Wizengamot meant it didn’t matter so much. When the war was over, those who survived would need some common ground, and even such a seemingly insignificant class in their sixth year at Hogwarts could be something of a foundation.
“You are to attempt to disarm only,” Severus warned. “You will take it in turns and engage your partner only. Begin.”
As expected, he did not see a flurry of spells or wands being torn from the grips of their owners. Instead, he witnessed a gathering of quickly reddening faces, foolish flapping of arms, and Longbottom being blasted backwards by his own efforts.
Severus could only shake his head but he did not intervene.
He continued to watch almost amusedly and frowned at the only boy in the room doing nothing. Potter was waiting for Nott to successfully cast his spell, and the other boy was indeed trying.
His face was scrunched up in concentration, though no spell was forthcoming.
“Non-verbally only, Mr Goyle,” Severus snapped, not missing the boy attempting to whisper the spell.
He could only shake his head at the ineptitude of the students. Five years of mostly pathetic instruction had certainly not served them well.
“Switch,” he huffed irritably. “Those attempting to disarm will now shield. Begin!”
He expected nothing more than more flailing and purpling faces, and certainly not the need to intervene as Nott was launched through the air towards the wall at a blistering speed.
Fortunately, Severus was able to cast a cushioning charm before the boy collided with it, though he thudded quite painfully to the floor.
Before he could chastise Potter, however, the furious Nott was on his feet and had cast a rather unpleasant singeing curse towards the other boy, who shielded it without uttering a syllable, following up with a trio of spells of his own.
By now, the rest of the class had abandoned their own efforts to focus on the spectacle, and Nott was sent skidding across the length of the classroom, no longer holding his wand, his feet facing the wrong way, and his tongue so swollen and stretched that it hung almost comically out of the side of his mouth.
Severus was taken aback by what had occurred and looked on as Nott moaned in discomfort.
From a defensive perspective, what Potter had done was rather brilliant, his wandwork had been rather exceptional, and he’d not even whispered a single incantation.
Still, as impressive as it was, he could not simply allow what had transpired to pass without punishment. Both had been damned foolish, and Severus would not tolerate it in his classroom.
With a few waves of his wand, Nott was righted, for the most part.
“Zabini, take him to the Hospital Wing,’ he instructed. “That will be a detention with me tomorrow night at eight pm, Mr Nott, and ten points from Slytherin.”
The boy could only groan in protest as he was half-carried out of the room.
“Potter, that will be ten points from you, and you will be here at eight pm tonight for your detention.”
He received only a shrug in response.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Get on with it!” Severus instructed irritably. “Potter, work with Thomas.”
He watched as Dean Thomas was sent sprawling time and again, bereft of his wand as Potter expertly disarmed him repeatedly.
When it came to potions, the boy had always been rather mediocre at best, and Severus had paid little heed to any who’d praised him for his wandwork.
Now, however, seeing it for himself, he could not deny that Potter was certainly no average wizard. Of course, his feats were well documented; how he’d repelled dozens of dementors, and how he’d comported himself during the Triwizard Tournament against those older than him.
Even so, he’d spent much of his life fumbling through one disaster after the other, but Severus could not deny it. Potter was different since he’d lost Black and even looked different.
Nonetheless, it meant nothing in the grand scheme of things if he did not have the potential to defeat the Dark Lord. It was one thing to get the better of one of his peers, but it was meaningless when his foes were many and powerful witches and wizards in their own right.
Severus frowned thoughtfully to himself before nodding.
With Albus on the cusp of dying, he’d all but given up any notion of the Dark Lord being defeated, but maybe, just maybe mind, all hope wasn’t lost.
Perhaps there was something in what the headmaster had been assuring him of all these years, but Severus was not one to put his faith in others lightly.
Still, he could not deny that thus far, although he’d been exceedingly fortunate, Potter had managed to defy the odds time and again.
The question was, could he do so when he could not simply rely on luck?
Severus harboured his doubts, and always would, but perhaps Harry Potter was not an entirely lost cause, after all.
“Enough! That will do for today, but I want eight inches on the benefits of non-verbal uses of magic. Now, get out.”
He watched as the students left and checked the clock. He did not need to teach this period, and Severus too left his room. He wished to speak with Dumbledore about what had happened during his lesson and have something of a frank conversation with the man regarding a certain boy he would find himself tied to when the old fool perished.
(Break)
Neither she nor Ron said anything as the three of them left the classroom, and Hermione took a moment to observe Harry. Usually, he would be vocalising his displeasure at having been given a detention with Snape, but he seemed to be taking it in his stride.
“Harry, when do you learn to use non-verbal magic?”
“I’ve been practicing it over the summer.”
“And you didn’t get in trouble for it?”
“The Ministry can’t trace magic in Grimmauld Place. Kreacher told me.”
“The little git could’ve told us that when we were cleaning the house without magic. I got three doxy bites!” Ron grumbled.
Hermione was rather curious how the magic could not be traced. Perhaps it was the extensive protections around the building that prevented it.
“Well, what you did to Nott was bloody brilliant,” Ron declared. “I only wish it was Malfoy.”
“Ron, Harry has a detention with Professor Snape for what he did!”
Harry merely shrugged.
“It was bound to happen. Snape always gives me a detention.”
Hermione frowned.
It was odd for him to take it so well. It was no secret that Snape despised him, and the feeling was certainly mutual. Nonetheless, Harry would usually be angry at being punished by the man, but now, he was rather calm and measured.
“At least you won’t be scrubbing out cauldrons,” Ron pointed out.
“No, but he’ll find something else just as miserable to keep me occupied,” Harry chuckled. “Ah well, there’s nothing he can do that he hasn’t done before. Greasy haired tosser.”
Ron snickered, and the three of them made their way towards the greenhouses for their Herbology lesson with Professor Sprout whilst Hermione continued to ponder the changes within her friend she’d seen thus far.
They were not so troubling.
If anything, Harry seemed to have matured considerably these past months, but she still found it to be rather strange with it being so sudden. Maybe losing Sirius really had changed him, and although she was glad to see him calmer than he had been, she wished the catalyst for them had not been something so devastating for her friend.
(Break)
Albus nodded thoughtfully as Severus explained what had happened. Evidently, Harry had indeed been practicing and was making significant progress.
“It is as though he has been using non-verbal magic for some time, Albus.”
“He is determined,” the headmaster replied. “I have seen it in him before. When Harry is determined, there is nothing that can stop him.”
“And you truly believe he can do it?”
Severus had never hidden his disbelief that anyone could better Tom. Of course, Harry had done so several times already, had proven himself against the man, and Albus, though surprised by his own thoughts on the matter given the route he expected Harry to take, nodded resolutely.
“Yes, Severus. I believe in him just as much as I do you. Soon enough, I will no longer be here, and they will all unfairly look to him. Harry will not fail.”
The younger man did not appear to be entirely convinced.
“Have you told him about…?”
“Last night. As you would expect, he was not brimming with confidence, but I intend to help him, Severus, as much as I can,” Albus assured him, gesturing to the sizeable stack of parchment on his desk. “I would ask that you do the same, Severus. Your goal is one and the same, and your help would be most invaluable.”
“Help him?”
“In all ways that you can,” Albus said pointedly.
Severus frowned and swallowed deeply before nodding.
“For her. I will do it for her.”
He left the room, and Albus smiled sadly.
It would take a lot for both Harry and Severus to co-exist, though it couldn’t be any more difficult for the two of them as it had the previous year. If there was anyone who could truly help Harry with what it was he would inevitably face, it was the man who’d just left the headmaster’s office.
(Break)
The Great Hall was once more rather subdued. Housemates spoke quietly amongst themselves, but there was no interaction between students sitting at separate tables.
What Harry did find interesting, however, was that there was a distinct division among the Slytherins. The likes of Malfoy, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and Bulstrode were sitting with both older and younger students whom Harry knew had family members as marked Death Eaters.
On the other end of the table were those of a more neutral perspective like Greengrass, Davis, and even Blaise Zabini. It was clear which side had more students, and it wasn’t those who did not wish to be involved in anything to do with the war.
Harry didn’t miss was the glare sent his way by Theodore Nott, and he merely shook his head at the boy. If he harboured any intention of seeking revenge against him, then it would not end so well for him.
He smirked at the thought, and Nott looked away.
“I suppose I’d best get my homework done before I have to see Snape,” Harry sighed as he stood. “It’s fine, Ron. I need to go to the library anyway,” he assured the redhead who was only halfway through his second helping and hadn’t even started dessert.”
Hermione had already left several moments prior, and undoubtedly already had the books she would need for her own homework.
Shaking his head amusedly, Harry ascended the staircase in the entrance hall, only to be stopped in his tracks as he rounded the corner, holding up his hands to avoid being bumped into by a teary-eyed blonde.
“Sorry, Harry,” Hannah Abbott offered. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
Harry waved her off, and Hannah choked back a sob.
“I’m sorry about Susan.”
She nodded and offered him a sad smile.
“It’s just strange being back here without her. I thought I was doing okay, but…”
She broke off and shook her head.
“I miss her.”
“I get it,” Harry sighed.
“Sirius Black…”
“Was innocent of everything he was ever accused of and was murdered by his own cousin. I’ll catch up with Bellatrix one day.”
“And him?” Hannah spat venomously.
“And him,” Harry promised.
She swallowed deeply and nodded.
“How do you do it, Harry, how do you manage to stay so brave?”
“Because I don’t have any choice, Hannah,” he answered simply. “He wants me dead more than he wants anything else right now, and I can either try to hide from him, or make sure that I am as ready as I can be. I got tired of running a long time ago.”
He vividly remembered the many times he’d run away from Dudley and his group of cronies, and even the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries.
Harry was tired of running, especially from those things he couldn’t hope to outrun, after all.
“Well, I believe in you,” Hannah said sincerely, “and thank you.”
“For what?”
“For the help last year and talking to me now. No one seems to know what to say to me.”
“Anytime,” Harry replied as Hannah continued on her way.
He did so too, entering the library to find it mostly devoid of the other students, and having retrieved the books he needed under the watchful, eagle-eyed gaze of Madam Pince, he found a tucked-away table to complete his homework for Snape.
When he was done, he checked it to ensure the man could find no reason to mark him down before packing his things away, and taking his leave of the library to attend his detention.
It had already been an a rather strange day, and though Harry was not thrilled by the idea of already being punished, he was pleased for the normality of it.
With everything else seemingly so different, Dumbledore’s impending death on his mind, and wizarding Britain having changed so much in such a short period of time, he could at least rely on Snape to never miss an opportunity to have him in detention.
“Close the door, Potter,” the man instructed when he entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
For several moments, Snape continued to read through some parchment on his desk before standing, and with a sweeping motion of his wand, he cleared the desks and chairs to the side, just as he had during their lesson that morning.
Immediately, Harry felt the cold presence with him becoming more prominent.
It had not done so when he’d been faced with Theodore Nott, and it was as though his own magic was warning him but was equally ready to face whatever was to come.
Oddly, Hary felt rather calm.
He did not think for one second he could defeat Severus Snape in a duel, not yet at least. He, and his magic, however, were undeterred, and he merely nodded in response as he drew his own wand.
“Nothing immediately fatal,” Snape instructed. “I do not believe either of us killing the other would be well received.”
Harry chuckled humourlessly.
“No, I think Tom would prefer to kill me himself.”
“Undoubtedly,” Snape agreed. “Non-verbal magic only. On my count.”
Harry’s grip tightened around his wand and he narrowed his eyes as the man began to count backwards from three, though neither made their move, both choosing to study the stance and movement of the other.
“At least you are not so brash,” Snape commented before unleashing a flurry of spells, many of which Harry did not recognise.
Even so, he managed to shield and avoid the onslaught, earning a speculative nod from Snape.
Instead of waiting for another offering, Harry sprang into action, firing half dozen of his own, which Snape defended against, but he was certainly surprised by the variety of curses consisting of a spleen rupturing jinx, a blood boiling curse, and even one that would collapse the lungs.
“Good,” Snape praised, not hesitating to continue with his own efforts.
The impromptu duel devolved into something of a back and forth between the two of them with neither giving any ground, and yet, Harry knew he was outmatched by a wide margin.
For every spell he cast, Snape had a defence and rebuttal already poised and ready, but if anything, Harry was determined to rise to the challenge before him, as was the coldness that continued to grow.
Despite this, although he’d managed to avoid everything thus far, he knew that Snape was holding back significantly and could end the bout at any given moment.
Why he didn’t, Harry wasn’t sure, but before he could ponder it further, another plethora of spells was sent his way, and this time, he was not quick enough to avoid every spell.
The one that collided with his arm sent him sprawling, but it was the sudden and overwhelming nausea and disorientation that kept caused him to struggle back to his feet. Even when he managed it, the room was spinning, his feet were unsteady, and he was struggling to focus on Snape, who fired another curse.
Instinctively, Harry managed to parry it, and with a shake of his head and surge of his own magic, the effects he’d fallen under began to fade rapidly.
Snape was evidently taken aback by the recovery and held up a hand.
“I’ve seen enough,” he declared thoughtfully, placing his wand back up his sleeve and returning to the seat behind his desk. “Sit, Potter.”
Harry did so, and before he could speak, Snape did so.
“I needed to see it for myself.”
“See what?”
“Your potential, tenacity, and resilience. You will need all three if you are to defeat the Dark Lord.”
Harry frowned but said nothing.
“Some years ago, I put my faith In the headmaster and his ability to end the war. Of course, that did not truly happen, and not in a way any could’ve expected. With Dumbledore dying, I need to know that faith wasn’t misplaced. Believe it or not, we have a shared goal. I wish to see an end to the Dark Lord.”
“Why?”
“My reasons are my own. I will not share them, but just now, I could’ve rendered you unconscious and delivered you to him with little difficulty on my part.”
Harry conceded the point with a nod.
“You cannot hope to defeat him with the Dark Arts, nor anything else you may have dug up in the Black library. Bellatrix has undoubtedly shown him how to defend against such magic, and you cannot hope to match him in knowledge and ability in the former, but you must become an expert in the defence of them. That is non-negotiable. Whatever it is you are doing, I urge you continue. It will certainly help when it comes to fighting his followers.”
“But not him.”
Snape shook his head gravely.
“I have seen the Dark Lord take no small amount of joy in tearing his enemies limb from limb with the darkest of magic, his sheer brilliance, and extraordinary power. To even stand a chance, you must find something that he is lacking and become the very best at what you seem to do best. It is no that you taught your peers last year, but now, it is time to truly dedicate yourself to what is to come, and even then, it may not be enough.”
“You’re going to help me?”
Snape nodded reluctantly.
“I will push you much harder than I did last year during our Occlumency studies and give you knowledge that so few will ever obtain. I can teach you the true nature of the Darks Arts, Potter, and every conceivable way of defending against them. The rest will be up to you. How you will defeat him, I do not know, but it seems that the same faith I placed in the headmaster must be given to you. Every night, even on weekends, you will report here at nine pm, and I do hope that you are continuing with your Occlumency. You will need it.”
Harry nodded as he stood.
“Then I will see you tomorrow.”
Snape merely nodded in response, and Harry took his leave of the room, pondering the strange turn of events the evening had taken.
He was not too proud to admit that he needed as much help as he could get when it came to his eventual confrontation with Voldemort, and from what little he had seen from Severus Snape, the man could certainly provide just that.
At the very least, he would learn the most valuable of skills, and that was being able to defend against whatever he would face in the months, and perhaps years to come.
“I know,” he murmured, calming the cold presence within him.
Somehow, it was rather displeased that he had been bested, but that was unlikely to change any time soon.
No, Harry knew that Snape had meant every word he’d said, and for however long the two of them worked together once more, he would be pushed to his very limits.