Chapter Text
Hermione practically salivated over Snape's—obviously the man had made it; it was in his handwriting, and who else would?—book when Harry showed it to her and Ron in a dim corner of the common room that night. He could tell she wanted it. She refrained from seizing it immediately, however, only begging to be allowed to see it once Harry had studied it so she could make a copy. He hesitated, unsure, and she let it go for the moment.
“Have you thought about Hermione’s idea?” Ron asked lowly, glancing around to make sure no one else was close by.
How could he not? “Yeah.”
“So what are you gonna do?”
Harry stared at the closed book in his hands. He ran one finger down the cloth cover, a frown creasing his brow. “I… I’m not sure. I want to, but I’m worried that I won’t be as good at it as you think I’ll be.”
“No one is saying you have to commit to this for life, Harry. You’re not choosing a career. We don’t even know if the club will work out. We could just start by asking around, seeing what kind of interest there is.”
Ron nodded along. “Besides, you don’t have to be teacher of the year, just better than Umbridge. And that can’t be too hard, eh?”
“You could ask Professor Snape for some teaching tips,” Hermione suggested. Ron blanched.
“No, don’t,” he begged Harry, who laughed.
“I remember the best lessons on my own, and what made them better. I guess I’ll try. I can’t promise it’ll be great, but I’ll try.”
“Oh, thank you!” Hermione launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He fell back under the assault as Ron snorted.
“A little help?”
“Think of it as practice for evasive manoeuvring, Professor,” Ron quipped as Hermione sat up, face flushed, obviously already starting to plan.
“We could start writing up lesson—”
“Hold on, ‘Mione, let’s start with the asking around part.”
“Oh, alright, fine.” She produced a quill and parchment from nowhere that Harry could discern, starting to scratch down some ideas. By the time the three of them had gone to bed for the night, they had arranged a meeting place and way to spread the word to those who might be interested without letting the Inquisitorial Squad get wind of it.
As Ron and Harry were getting ready to sleep, Harry sat on the edge of Ron’s bed.
“What’s up, mate?” Ron asked, getting his head stuck in the sleeve of his nightshirt momentarily.
Harry snorted at him and tugged on the shirt’s hem, righting it. “This thing Hermione’s thought up. I trust her by now, she’s had so many good ideas, but I’m worried about this one.”
Ron finally sorted himself out and half-sat, half-fell down onto the bed next to him. “Don’t worry too much about running the whole thing. She’s got it all planned out already, even if she hasn’t said. You’ll just have to teach it.”
“Just like copying homework then, huh? No, Ron, I don’t think it’s going to be that easy this time.”
“Well, maybe not. But the homework’s not easy, either. OWL year!”
Harry nudged him. “There’s not really another option, though, is there?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s awful, and needs to be stopped.”
“Hermione?”
“What? No, Umbridge!” Harry asserted, before realising that Ron was smirking. He lowered his voice, glancing around at the beds around them. “Oh, piss off. But with the way she’s teaching and the stuff she’s doing, this war’s gonna look more like a blood bath.”
Ron grew serious too. “Then it sounds like you know what you need to do.”
There was a small hole in Ron’s bed curtain from Scabbers’ in their second year. The elves had missed it over the years. Harry reached out and fingered it, rubbing his thumb over the frayed ends of thread sticking out into the irregularly-shaped gap.
“Harry, what’s worse? Embarrassing yourself in front of a bunch of our classmates, or watching them die in a war because they can’t protect themselves?”
Cedric fell to the ground, killed in a heartbeat, all because of Voldemort’s casual order. He pulled at the curtain, watching the threads snap and the hole widen. “It’s obvious, I know. Thanks, Ron.”
Ron clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Woah, woah, Ginny, wait. What’s wrong?”
Fred and George bracketed their sister on either side. She was fuming, hands clenched into fists, hair practically standing on end. The rest of the common room watched attentively. Hermione, Ron, and Harry hesitated at the portrait hole. By unspoken agreement, they decided breakfast could wait and cautiously approached the gathering crowd.
“Umbridge,” she spat.
“What is it this time?”
“You know she’s had it out for me since I got in that fight with the Slytherin Quidditch team, yeah? Well, she caught me ‘n Michael together and-”
“What about you and Michael?” Fred interrupted with narrowed eyes.
“Oh, you two can shove off with the ‘big older brother’ act, it makes you look like Ron when Bill’s got the last sausage.”
“It does not,” George gasped in genuine affront. Fred recoiled as if struck. Beside Harry, Ron started spluttering.
“And,” she talked over them, “her reaction was pretty extreme, considering it was over a minor infraction. Ugh, we were just holding hands, you can stop scowling like that! See, not a big deal, right? Well, she stood there with her stupid hands on her stupid hips smiling her stupid horrible smile and said that if I broke the rules one more time, I would be put on student probation.”
“What is student probation?” Hermione asked, picking up on the unfamiliar term. She shoved her way through the students so she could see Ginny properly, and Harry and Ron followed.
“That’s what I said, and she was only too happy to explain. Apparently, if you get put on student probation, you have to turn your wand in to her and she keeps it unless you absolutely need it for a class. Then the professor for that class has to sign off on it and collect the wand right back from you at the end of the period. You can’t have it in the halls, in the dorms, on weekends, practising spellwork, any of it.”
“But that’s so dangerous!” Hermione protested. “What if someone got into an unsafe situation and there was no one around to help? Without a wand, they’d be practically defenceless.”
“Making people defenceless seems to be one of her priorities,” Harry growled. Several students looked at him askance. Perhaps they were remembering that he was supposed to be a dangerous criminal.
“She didn’t take your wand, right?” Ron asked, looking Ginny over anxiously.
“She’s gonna wish she did,” the youngest Weasley began, but the twins clamped their hands on her shoulders.
“Better be careful,” George said, not unkindly. “Never know who’s listening.”
As if on cue, almost all of the gathered students glanced around like Umbridge was going to pop out from behind a couch. Similar to a cheap Halloween jumpscare, except actually frightening.
Hermione was more focused on the topic at hand. “If Umbridge starts taking students’ wands, that’s going to cause a real security risk.”
“Maybe we can work on something for that,” Fred mused.
“Shield charms, I’m thinking?” George picked up.
“Extended from…”
“Yes, and maintained by the inherent magic…”
“Could work. Might not last long, but-”
“-better than nothing, yeah?”
“What are you two on about?” Ginny huffed, calmed down, but clearly irritated by the way they were talking over her head.
The twins returned their attention to her. Big grins spread across their faces. “Nothing you need concern yourself with, sister dear. Although, if we’re talking of going on about something, why don’t you tell us more about your Michael Corner?” Fred reached out to pinch her cheek, and she swatted his hand away.
The crowd began to disperse as they realised the drama was over. Harry grabbed Ron and Hermione, pulling them off to the side where they couldn’t be heard. He lowered his head and voice, feeling his face tense with suppressed anger.
“I was wrong, Hermione,” he said, glancing to the side where Ginny was laughing and trying to fend off Fred and George’s attempts to make her feel better. “About trying to do this defence thing.” He turned back to them. Their eyes were wide at his intensity. “Trying’s not an option anymore. She isn’t going to stop, and we have to do something. No more.”
They stared at him in shock for another minutes, before Ron grasped his forearm. “We will, mate. We will.”
Hermione wrapped both of her hands around the strap of her enchanted satchel. “No matter where this goes, we’re with you.”
“I trust you memorised the book?” Snape asked Harry as soon as he entered the office for his very first defence lesson.
“Er– I read it,” Harry stammered. Memorization in a day was something Hermione could do, but not him.
Snape gave him a very knowing look. “Work on that.”
“Alright,” Harry said begrudgingly, not thrilled but also not surprised.
“You should be able to see a Death Eater in battle and immediately recognize who they are, what their weaknesses are, and have a strategy to defeat them.”
“And if I can't?”
Snape's dour look darkened further into a glare. “Then run.”
“What if running's not an option?”
“Then I suppose you will have to rely on that cat-like luck of yours, and hope that you have not wasted all nine lives.”
“What if–”
“What if you memorised the blasted book?”
Harry sighed with mock tragedy as Snape swept past him towards an object in the corner that he hadn’t noticed when he first came in. Looking at it now, he wondered at his inattention, because it was quite conspicuous in the gloomy office. A large, ornate bowl sat upon a stool. Some kind of blue-white, shimmering liquid inside emitted a strong glow. Harry drifted towards it without realising, enthralled.
“What is it?” he whispered, as if being in its very presence demanded reverence. Even after years in this world, blatantly magical things still seemed to make him feel like a gawking first year again.
“A pensive,” Snape said lowly, eyes also locked on the swirling liquid within.
“What does it do?”
“It allows the user to view memories.”
Harry perked up at that. “Really? Whose memories?”
“In this case?” Snape tore his eyes away from the pensive and met Harry’s. “Mine.”
Harry was about to ask another question, but Snape was lowering his face to the glowing liquid, and he hurried to follow.
With a falling sensation, he landed in a thin stretch of wood next to a field. Snape was standing beside him already, staring at a figure in black kneeling behind a bush. After almost losing his balance, Harry looked at the person as well and gasped. He clamped a hand over his mouth, but the young man didn’t turn around.
It was Snape. Not Harry’s Snape, but a younger version. He looked to be only a few years older than Harry, face more gaunt and form more gangly than the professor’s. He gave no reaction to their appearance.
“They cannot hear or see you. They are only memory,” his Snape said, impassive.
“‘They’?” Harry asked, looking over.
Snape gestured with his chin at the clearing his younger self was watching so intently. Harry heard a yell and whipped around to see two wizards duelling in the open space. One he recognized after a moment as Mad-Eye Moody (minus the mad eye, but already using a peg leg), but the other was unfamiliar, although clearly a Death Eater based on the robes and mask.
“Evan Rosier.”
“He wasn’t in the book,” Harry said. He might not have memorised the whole thing, but he did remember enough to know that he hadn’t come across that name.
“He did not survive this duel.”
“Oh.” Harry was quiet for a while after that, solemnly watching. Then the younger Snape shifted slightly, and his attention was drawn to him. “Why aren't you doing anything?”
A pause; he thought Snape might answer, but then—
“Keep watching the duel.”
Harry wanted to press, wanted to find out more, but could immediately tell from the look on Snape’s face that it would not be welcome. Redirecting his curiosity to the duelling wizards instead, he soon became invested in the fight.
Mad-Eye had planted his position with his back to a tree, casting spell after spell in a rapid-fire sequence. Rosier was fast, dodging and casting back, but he couldn’t keep up the pace that Mad-Eye was setting. Harry watched with bated breath as Rosier stumbled, visibly flagging, and a curse of Moody’s hit his shoulder and sent him spinning. He swore and shot a very nasty looking cutting curse at him even as he tumbled back. Moody hissed in pain as the cutting curse sliced his forearm.
Then their surroundings began to fizzle and fade out, things dissolving around them. Harry automatically panicked, but Snape—his Snape, not the younger version that seemed frozen in place—grabbed his upper arm in a firm grip and Harry felt a tug upwards.
He stood up straight, gasping for air in the office. Snape’s hand was still wrapped around his arm, lending a steady support as he fought to regain his bearings.
“Was that it?” he asked, rubbing at his face as if he could rid it of the memory of the slippery feeling it had so recently been submerged in. “Didn't you stay to watch the whole duel?”
“I did.” The man released his arm, and Harry ignored how cold it suddenly felt.
“Then why did the memory end there?”
Snape watched him with an inscrutable expression. “I did not feel it would be beneficial for you to watch a man die.”
“I'm not a child,” Harry said quietly, but he was grateful. Seeing Cedrics's death had plagued his dreams for months, and still occasionally made an appearance before Harry’s sleeping mind automatically Occluded it away. While a large part of that had certainly been guilt, there was still something inherently painful in watching the mortality of another living human catch up with them.
“Perhaps I did not wish to see it, either,” Snape said.
Harry knew it was said to get him out of his own head, but it made him suddenly wonder about Snape. He knew his mentor had seen a lot of terrible things as a Death Eater and a spy. How had they affected him? Did he ever have nightmares like Harry? Did the thought of letting someone die under his watch give him that same horrible pit of failure inside?
“Tell me what you noticed about the duel.”
Harry pushed his musings to the back of his mind for later and thought back to the memory they'd watched. “Er, they were pretty evenly matched at first, until Rosier got tired. They fought differently. Moody cast spells faster, but Rosier dodged more. They were the only two fighters, but obviously younger-you was there.” He wanted to ask about that again, but resisted the urge.
Snape leaned his hip against his desk and crossed his arms. Harry recognised it as his teaching mode (when he wasn't trying to exude the scary persona he so often cultivated). “A general overview, yes. The purpose of today's lesson is to analyse duelling styles. I am sure you noticed that the entries in your text all have notes on this topic?”
Harry nodded.
“We are studying this particular duel today because Rosier is no longer a threat, and therefore not in the book. I want you to learn how to watch an unfamiliar opponent and immediately pick up on their habits and tendencies.”
“If I can do that, why do I need to memorise the book?” Harry blinked innocently.
“Potter,” Snape growled.
He grinned.
“I will give an in-depth dissection of Alastor Moody's duelling style. Then, we will return to the memory. Using the way I approach my own analysis, you will discuss Rosier's as we watch.”
Harry nodded and settled into the least uncomfortable office chair, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them as he listened attentively.
“At the time of that particular duel, Moody had already lost part of his leg in the Aurors' service. This makes it more difficult for him to move quickly, and as he did not yet have a magical eye to inform him of his surroundings, he chose a position with his back to a tree rather than open space. A potential danger: if the tree behind him had been cursed to explode, he would have had no time to dodge or bring up a shield before the debris injured him. Nonetheless, it was a preferable option to leaving his blind spot open and vulnerable to attack. Upon finding a place to make a stand, he fell into a wide and sturdy dueller’s pose, swivelling to keep up with Rosier’s changing position without shifting his feet during the exchange.
“The spells he cast, especially in the beginning, were mostly non-fatal. This is in line with both his moral code and occupation. He would cast multiple offensive spells in quick succession. These spells had swift, simple wand movements and shorter incantations, enabling him to set such a rapid pace. When possible, he would cast silently. I am not sure whether you noticed, but there were multiple times he cast a flashy spell aloud and immediately followed it with a subtle nonverbal one. The first spell would draw his opponent’s attention from the second, which was invariably more dangerous.
“When necessary, he used strong shields to deflect against Rosier’s spells, only holding them up long enough to protect himself before dropping them to go back on the offensive. He also, near the beginning of the memory, cast an extra perception spell on himself. This, I suspect, was to help him keep additional tabs on his surroundings in case of more enemies arriving. Evan Rosier was known for fighting in pairs or small groups, rarely an individual duellist. Had this been the case here, Moody would have had a much greater task in surviving. As it was, the duel was intense but relatively short.”
Harry gaped at him for a few moments, then cleared his throat. “Uh, wow. That’s more than was in the book.”
Snape rolled his eyes with exaggeration. “Obviously,” he drawled. “The book is a general summary, not a perfect encyclopaedia. That is why you must learn how to analyse style on your own.” He began pacing, a fervour in his face that Harry found it hard to look away from. It was clear to him that this was a subject Snape felt strongly about. No wonder he’d applied for the DADA position so many times. Watching him now, Harry began to wish he had gotten it. “When you assess a dueller’s style and skill, there are three things I want you to focus on. First, the subject’s offensive techniques. For Moody, that is his rapid casting and tendency to stick to simple spells that support it. Second, look at their defensive habits. Moody stood his ground in a single spot and employed shields. Third, pick out their vulnerabilities and what the subject is doing to protect them. Mobility is one of Moody’s weaknesses, so he kept a tree to his back. Keep in mind that these three disciplines are tightly interconnected. Constant casting that forces his opponents to stay on the defensive lowers the frequency of needing to dodge their offensive spells in turn, lessening the impact of that weakness in mobility. Once you can pick apart someone’s fighting style, you can look for ways to disrupt it and turn their strengths against them. If you were Rosier, how could you take advantage of Moody’s vulnerability?”
Thrown at having a question suddenly slung at him, Harry blinked several times while he thought. “Well, er, I could… cast a spell that makes the ground roll? That would throw off his balance and give me an opening to go on the offensive while he tries to get it back.”
“Precisely! That is the kind of thinking that will keep you alive, Harry Potter. Luck is all well and good until someone luckier than you comes along. Know how to turn a fight in your favour, and you will not need that luck. You will have the skill to see you through.” Harry jumped to his feet, interest in the lesson deepening into excitement at the infectious passion in Snape’s manner. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “So how do I start?”
Some of the emotion in Snape’s voice was covered by a sneer. “I believe that is what we are doing, no?” He turned and walked back to the pensieve. Harry followed close behind. “We will re-enter the memory. This time, pay close attention to Rosier’s style in particular. Dissect it aloud for me as we watch.” He lowered his face to the bowl.
Harry saluted even though the man couldn’t see it and dove into the shimmering contents once more.
The second time around, less distracted by the novelty of it all and with instructions on what to look for, Harry noticed a lot more about the duel itself. He forced himself to ignore the younger Snape and stepped forward through the treeline. He was confident that nothing now could hurt him and wanted a better look. His Snape followed easily as he emerged on the edge of the clearing.
Much less concise than his teacher had been, Harry gave a summary of what he saw after a few minutes of observation. Rosier ducked and dodged spells rather than put up shields to stop them. While it meant that he could cast more easily without switching between shields and spells, it also tired him out quickly. The advantage of not having to cast shields was lost anyway, as Rosier obviously preferred longer and more elaborate curses. He produced some no doubt very dangerous and powerful spells, but Moody could cast three quick hexes in the time it took Rosier to send just one such curse back in retaliation. Getting very few hits in and wearing himself out with the constant manoeuvring, Harry could begin to see how the Death Eater’s fate had turned out the way it did.
When Harry asked about one particular deep purple curse that Rosier sent, Snape gave more insight than just its name and function. “A repertoire such as Rosier’s is extremely helpful in the midst of a small force. Others can keep opponents occupied or their own shields up while the first casts these elaborate and hard to deflect curses. A less experienced opponent would have been unable to defend himself even in this one-on-one duel. Unfortunately for Rosier, Moody was already a highly experienced Auror at this point and had enough knowledge to deflect or cast the correct counter-curses against even the most esoteric and complex things he was confronted with. If he had not, his vulnerability in mobility would have left him in a tight position as he struggled to dodge what he could not deflect.”
Harry watched the memory come to its abrupt end. He was much less disoriented by the return to Snape’s office this time, barely needing Snape’s hand on his arm but choosing not to brush it off.
After seeing that his pupil was steady, Snape flicked his wand at a blackboard. A piece of chalk danced across its surface, creating a chart of some kind as Harry wandered back over to his chair. He plunked down into it. Snape snatched the chalk out of the air just as it began to fall, task complete.
“Here are the five major offensive styles typically taught in traditional duelling circles. Most classically trained duellists—which the majority of pureblood Death Eaters are—will have some variation or combination of these five principle styles.”
They went over the pros and cons of each together, and then Snape gave him a blank chart that looked similar with the four common defensive styles taught to the same group for him to do on his own. He set to work as Snape settled behind his desk and started grading essays.
Dodging and Evading. Pros: less potential for a curse to break through a shield, less magical energy put into casting a shield, possible to cast while dodging. Cons: physically tiring, narrows focus, dangerous in difficult terrain.
“Professor?”
“Hm.”
“What’s my duelling style? I haven’t been trained or anything, but I’ve gotten into enough fights by now that I must have developed one. What is it?”
Snape looked up from his essay to stare at Harry. A large drop of red ink fell onto the essay from his suspended quill. The man didn’t seem to care, but gave Harry a grim little smile. “If you prove yourself as talented at defence as you are rumoured to be, then that is something you will be able to tell me before long.”