Chapter Text
“You’re probably wondering why I’ve gathered you all here today.”
None of them were wondering why they had gathered. Each and every person before them had been deliberately slipped a hint about a new defence club, and none of them were blind to the stakes of what they were implicitly agreeing to by just showing up.
There was an awkward silence. Someone cleared their throat. He thought it might be Hermione, but a glance over his shoulder revealed Ron hiding a smile behind his hand. Harry’s annoyance was enough to spur him onward.
“None of us are happy about Umbridge and her awful teaching, and I think it's only fair that we want to learn how to defend ourselves. Voldemort’s back, and even if you don't believe that, there's still dragons and lethifolds and stuff out there, in the world, and we shouldn't be helpless against them!”
“‘Lethifolds and stuff.’”
“Shut up, Ginny.”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
“Anyway, I'm no professor or anything, but I have learned some stuff over the years.” Yesterday's lesson had been very illuminating as well. Harry was already trying to figure out how he could incorporate Snape’s lesson into the defence meetings. “So I'm going to do my best to teach you what I know. I just want everybody to be able to protect themselves.”
There were murmurs of agreement. He took a deep breath and began to relax as the subject shifted to defence itself. This was something he'd always been good at. He began explaining the day's meeting while Hermione went around with a sheet of paper for everyone to sign their names. “I want to start with something pretty basic but useful. The disarming charm: Expelliarmus.”
He demonstrated on a dummy the Room had provided. Some of the people clearly thought it beneath them, but paired up to duel each other good-naturedly enough. Truth be told, with their past defence education as spotty as it had been, he didn't know where everyone's skill levels were at and wanted to start with something easy to get a good judgement.
It seemed most members knew at least how to cast it, if not well. Soon spells were flying across the room, the sound of laughter and shouted incantations filling the air. Harry walked around, helping correct technique and pronunciation. There was something distinctly satisfying in seeing someone take his suggestion and use it to improve.
After finishing up, passing out another of Hermione's ingenious inventions, and agreeing on a name (the D.A. for Dumbledore’s Army, or Defence Association if you wanted to be boring), the members all eagerly asked about when the next meet up was.
“We don't know yet. Keep your D.A. galleons on you, and we'll let you know as soon as we can figure it out.”
“What will we be doing?”
Harry glanced over to Hermione, but she only smiled as if to say you're the expert, not me. He turned back to the others.
“So, what do you all know about duelling styles?”
The three of them giggled as they ran down the hall, peeking their heads around the corner. They had checked the map before they left, but things could change fast in a place like Hogwarts.
“Do you think everyone else got ba–”
“Wait! Shh!”
“I'm sure–” Ron started before Hermione clapped a hand over his mouth.
“We should have kept the map out. Do you hear something?”
Harry and Ron looked around while Hermione gave a quiet yelp and wiped her hand on her shirt. “Ron, that's gross,” she said so quietly it was almost inaudible. Harry looked over briefly and saw his best friend smirking. Realising he had licked her hand to get her to let go, Harry rolled his eyes and returned his attention to their surroundings.
It was not down the hall they were about to enter that Harry saw something, but the one they had just passed through. Some shadow, indiscriminate in the dark, ducked out of sight just as he caught sight of it. It happened so fast, he almost doubted his own eyes, but the prickling feeling down his spine told him that they had been seen.
Ron and Hermione hadn't noticed, bickering in hushed tones now. He grabbed their arms and pulled them forward mutely, deciding it would do no good to tell them what he’d seen. He could only hope that they would get safely to Gryffindor tower before their rule breaking caught up with them.
The next day, a new Educational Decree came, along with a simpering little speech from the most hated person in Hogwarts: “All student organisations, societies, teams, groups, and clubs are henceforth disbanded on threat of suspension or expulsion. Anyone even suspected to be in contempt of this decree will be immediately placed on student probation.”
Sitting between his best friends in the Great Hall, Harry blanched.
“P’ss ov’rere, R'brt,” Dean slurred in his sleep.
Harry bit back a groan of frustration and punched his pillow instead. Sleep was eluding him, and his usual Occlumency techniques weren't working tonight.
He sat up and reached for his wand. A quick Tempus revealed that it was 12:42 in the morning. He fell back onto the covers limply, staring up at his bed hangings. A muffled kicking sound came from Dean’s bed. Harry thought he was dreaming about football.
He laid there for what felt like hours before giving in and casting Tempus again.
12:49.
Grimacing, Harry climbed out of bed as quietly as he could to go sit down in the common room. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would drift off in his usual armchair. He reached for his winter cloak—even in a magic castle, February nights in Scotland were cold—with the full intention of spending a restless night in front of the fire when his hand hesitated inches from the heavy wool. He stared at it for a long moment. Then, not really sure what he was doing or why, he threw open the lid of his trunk and grabbed his invisibility cloak instead.
He was halfway through the school when he realised he had forgotten his socks. His bare feet slapped the flagstones with quiet thuds, and he shivered as he passed into the even chillier dungeons.
What was he doing? Sure, he’d been able to turn to Snape loads of times during the night at the village, but this was not the village. In their cottage, Snape had been there without Harry even having to ask it of him. He was already at his side by the time Harry knew he needed him.
This was different. So, so different. He wasn’t waking from a nightmare with Snape shaking his shoulder; he was actively seeking the man out when their paths would not have otherwise crossed. He'd never done that before, not quite like this.
His bare, freezing feet faltered in their step. Shouldn't Snape be asleep by now? Would he be annoyed that Harry woke him up?
He was never annoyed in the village.
Deciding he couldn't just stand here deliberating forever, he forced himself forward. He'd never find out if he didn't try, would he?
He had descended to the level of the dungeons on which Snape’s office, classroom, and quarters were located when sharp footsteps clicked down the hallway ahead of him. Cursing his bad luck—this was the second night in a row that his nighttime prowling had been intercepted. Hogwarts really was turning into a difficult place to break rules—he flattened himself against the wall and trusted his cloak to do the rest.
Umbridge pranced past him, humming tunelessly. What is she doing here? She carried a heavy bag in one hand that clanked with her movements. A smirk graced her wide, slack mouth, and he shivered. She had soon rounded the corner and was out of sight.
“What the hell?” he mouthed silently to himself, watching her go. He waited a few seconds for the sound of muffled clinking (was it metal?) to fade. As soon as it had, he turned and sped to Snape's.
He stopped at the door to his office, realising he didn't know the location of the entrance to his quarters from here. Now feeling more awkward than ever, wondering if Snape would even hear him, he knocked on the door.
There wasn't an immediate response. He didn't know why that surprised him, but somehow, it did. The longer he stood out there, beginning to shiver in earnest, the more he doubted his own resolve to remain, until…
The door swung open quickly, a ruffled-looking Snape standing there. His attentive expression began to shift into one of anger as he scanned the hallway.
Harry realised Snape couldn't see him and pulled off his invisibility cloak hurriedly, mourning its lost warmth as soon as he did.
“Harry?” Snape asked softly, glancing up and down the hallway. At least his angry expression had disappeared. He didn't know if he'd have been able to brave staying if Snape glared at him for waking him up. “What is it?”
“‘S cold,” Harry said, as that was his biggest concern at that moment.
Snape gave him a once over, a frown of disapproval shortly creasing his forehead when he saw Harry’s bare feet peeking out past his pyjamas’ trouser legs. “Well, I suppose you had better come in then.”
Harry gladly darted past him and into the office, heading straight through to where he knew the tunnel opening was and triggering its release. He rushed in and beelined for the fire. Plopping down on the floor with his feet stretched towards the blazing warmth, he gave a loud sigh of relief.
A blanket hit him in the head. Disoriented, he pulled it off and looked around to see Snape smirking at him. Sniffing with false dignity, he pulled it around his shoulders and fell into a comfortable slump.
“What has you up and wandering the halls past curfew?”
Curfew? Oh, right. Well, at least Professor Snape hadn't caught him or anything.
“Couldn't sleep,” he muttered as village Snape took a seat on the coffee table behind him. He turned his gaze to the fire and his thoughts back to what had kept him up so long.
He didn't know why he was suddenly feeling so apprehensive about the D.A. now. Their first meeting had gone really well and he didn't even have any doubts about continuing to meet up. He was filled, not with the spillover of mindless fury from Voldemort (as another Harry, in another world and another time, had been), but the righteous anger of a person who saw injustice and wanted to do something about it. Teaching his friends and classmates how to defend themselves was important and worth the risk, and the new Decree didn't change any of that. It wasn't like they wouldn't have gotten in trouble if she had found out about them before it was written.
“What is the matter?” Snape's voice was deep and rumbly in the dark. Harry leaned back so his shoulder blades were resting against Snape's knees, debating on how to respond.
“Do you remember when we snuck out for Quidditch?” he finally asked.
He could feel Snape tense behind him. “Yes…?”
“It's nothing like that.”
A hand cuffed back of his head, so lightly it was more like a ruffle to his hair. Harry grinned. “Impossible. I assume, then, it is related to this idea of Ms. Granger’s that had you so occupied on Friday?”
“Yeah. She had suggested a defence group so we can study for DADA and learn how to defend ourselves, and she asked me to be their teacher. I'm not sorry for it, either,” he added, when he glanced over and saw Snape's face. “But with this new Decree… I can't help but feel like it'll be my fault if they get into trouble over it.”
Snape sat there for a long minute and thought about that. “Did you hold them at wandpoint and force them to join?”
“What? No!”
“Precisely. You said that you personally felt the risk was one worth taking. Clearly, they also came to that conclusion on their own.”
“Yes, but–”
“People have free will, Harry. And Godric knows teenagers will take every opportunity to use theirs.” His hands fell comfortingly to Harry’s shoulders. He smiled up at Snape crookedly.
“I guess life would be boring if I weren't at risk of expulsion or death at any given moment.”
“Must you be at both, though?” Snape asked, with a falsely pained voice. Or maybe it wasn't so false.
“It's OWL year, I've got to step it up,” was Harry’s cheeky reply.
Snape nudged at Harry with his foot. Harry obligingly sat up so he could stand. “It is late. You had better get up to Gryffindor tower.”
Harry gave him the saddest eyes he could manage, but was sure they would never work on him. He was surprised, therefore, when Snape relented. Surprised, but pleased. “Oh, alright, you incorrigible brat. One more night on the couch, I suppose, for old times sake.”
Harry scrambled for the small sofa and curled up happily on it, watching through half-lidded eyes as Snape began stocking up the fire some more.
“You will have to be back up in Gryffindor tower by the time breakfast starts.”
“Alright,” Harry agreed easily.
“Until then, sleep.” He gave him a critical look. “You certainly seem to need it.”
“Gee, thanks, Dad,” he murmured into the couch, hiding his sincerity behind sarcasm.
A long pause followed that; Harry held his breath and pretended to be drifting off while he waited for Snape’s reaction. Finally–
“Goodnight, Harry.”
He let out his breath and smiled in the dark. “Goodnight.”
“Harry, where were you last night?”
“Oh… wandering around. Couldn't sleep.”
Ron gave him a doubtful look but didn't press. Harry appreciated that about his friend: he knew when to just let things go. He wasn't Hermione, who got like a dog with a bone when there was something she didn't know.
“Speaking of Hermione…” Harry trailed off.
“Were we speaking about Hermione?” Ron wondered aloud as the third member of their trio came up to them.
“Ready to go to breakfast?” she asked, adjusting the weight of her cursed satchel. It made him think of the book Snape had given him, and he cleared his throat.
“Say, did you still want to make a copy of that journal?”
“What? Oh, that! Yes, please,” she said eagerly.
“I'll just go get it,” he said, running up to his dorm.
The room was empty. Everybody else had already left. Harry stared at the handwritten book. It was really useful information, and he had no doubt that his brilliant friend could make good use out of it. There was just one thing…
He flipped to the page titled Severus Snape. All of his weaknesses were there, laid out on the page. The moving illustration stared up at him with serious black eyes, slowly twirling a wand. He doubted Hermione would use the information against the man, but it still bothered him on a deep level to share the vulnerabilities of someone he cared about. Snape was important to him, and he didn't want anyone else to have a way to hurt him. Their talk last night had only reminded him of how much Snape had come to mean to Harry.
Impulsively, he grabbed the page near the book's spine and tore it out with one, swift tug.
Downstairs, again. “Here, ‘Mione. Info on all of the Death Eaters, at your disposal.”
“Is it really all of them?” She asked in glee, flipping through it quickly.
“Yes,” Harry said firmly.