Chapter Text
A good start to the day begins in the morning.
A simple saying, yet one with an unmistakable truth. And that truth was all too real: the day had turned into a disaster from the very first moment.
Two hours of Divination kicked things off and, as per tradition, Professor Trelawney had predicted his death by the end of the year. Nothing new, of course, but hearing the same curse repeated year after year certainly didn’t help him stay in a good mood.
Dumbledore had made it clear to him that Sybill, in class, wasn’t exactly a reliable source. Yet Harry knew all too well that, in his case, that prediction would eventually come true. The prophecy that had cost Sirius his life was clear: he and Voldemort would face each other, and one would kill the other.
What a beautiful prospect, the Golden Boy thought bitterly.
As if that weren’t enough, two hours of Potions had completed the job. Snape was in a foul mood—if he had ever known any other mood—and he’d started complaining about the general incompetence even before anyone had brought out the cauldrons. Harry wondered, not for the first time, if the bat had ever been happy in his life. Well, the answer was obvious: no.
Unless it involved taking points away from Gryffindor or playing his favorite sport: Unjust Punishment and Tormenting the Chosen Idiot.
The lesson had ended in the most predictable way: Harry’s cauldron had exploded—thanks in part to Neville’s contribution—Snape had insulted and taunted him for no real reason, deducted fifty points, and given him his first detention of the year… that very evening.
Harry continued to wonder how it had been possible, given that he’d only uttered two sentences, one of which was even “I’m sorry, Professor.”
Of course, the exasperated snort while the other spat out venomous insults hadn’t helped, but he’d made an effort to remain seemingly polite.
Luckily, the afternoon was saved: only Quidditch practice was on the agenda. A light lunch, then straight to the pitch.
After nearly three hours of flying, feinting, and shooting, he felt sore but his mind was finally clear.
I really needed this.
A long, hot shower restored a modicum of energy. He then reached the Great Hall, where Ron and Hermione were already waiting for him at the table.
“Hey, mate! How long did this take you?” Ron exclaimed, biting into a chicken leg. “Sorry I didn’t wait for you after practice, but I was so hungry…”
“Ron, when are you not hungry?” Hermione interrupted, annoyed.
“Yeah…” the redhead muttered with his mouth full.
Harry watched them bicker, a hint of a smile. “It’s okay, Ron. Maybe I pushed myself a little too hard in practice today. I was exhausted, so I treated myself to a long, hot shower.”
Hermione watched him carefully. Although Harry seemed more relaxed than in the morning, his expression remained tense and tired. She knew him too well to delude herself: the grief over Sirius’s death was still raw, and he almost certainly hadn’t spoken about it to anyone.
She had tried to get him to open up, but Harry had refused. So, after several attempts, she’d decided not to force him. It wouldn’t do any good.
Sooner or later, her best friend would break down: only then would he finally open his heart. Then she and Ron would console him and help him put the pieces of his life back together, as had happened in the past.
For now, the only thing she could do was stay close to him and wait for the inevitable. And, judging by the signs, it would happen very soon. Harry was too nervous and irritable. Hermione hoped with all her heart that he wouldn’t get into trouble… especially with Snape. Those two were like the explosive components of a potion: a slight shake was enough to blow up an entire laboratory.
The Golden Boy put the remains of a half-eaten sandwich on his plate, then stood up.
“Guys, excuse me, but I have to go. See you later, at the Tower.”
The curly-haired girl whirled around, grabbing his arm.
“Where are you going, Harry? You just got here! Stay a little longer. I know you want to be alone, but… I won’t let you isolate yourself.”
“I can’t, I have detention with Snape! Don’t you remember what happened in class this morning?”
“Oh, that’s right, sorry! I forgot. Merlin, Harry! Then you have to hurry, there’s only ten minutes left!”
Ron almost choked on his cake.
“Yeah, mate, hurry! If you’re late, Snape will kill you!”
“Thanks, Ron. You always know how to cheer me up,” Harry replied, annoyed, before walking away.
He quickened his pace, so much so that he was almost running through the intricate corridors of the dungeons. Between the dim lighting and his anxiety, he didn’t notice anyone coming toward him at all, and as he rounded the corner, he bumped into another student. They both fell to the ground.
As he stood up, without looking at who it was, he said, “Er… sorry, but I’m really in a hurry!”
“What the hell are you doing, Scarhead! You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You’ll pay for this!”
“Malfoy?!” the dark-haired boy snapped, indignant.
Damn, among all those snakes, him of all people… that’s bad luck!
“I don’t have time now. Move!” And he tried to walk around him.
“Oh, I don’t think so!” Draco snapped, drawing his wand.
Harry wasn’t the least bit intimidated. He wasn’t afraid of Malfoy; he was just a stupid, spoiled, arrogant bully.
With his wand pointed at the Slytherin, he hissed, “Look, tell me where and when, and we’ll settle this once and for all. I really don’t have time for this now. Snape’s waiting for me in his office.”
The blond’s grin widened.
“Good, good, Potter. If that’s the case… then I really think you’re going to be late.”
Then he launched an Immobilus at him.
Harry deflected the curse effortlessly and, immediately afterward, cast an Incarcerous of his own, which hit home.
Draco Malfoy hadn’t expected the brunette to evade it so easily. When his nemesis counterattacked, he was caught completely off guard.
He found himself on the ground, tied up like a salami, right at the Gryffindor’s feet.
“Potter, you’ll pay for this!” he shouted furiously.
Harry glared at him, then growled, “Serves you right, Malfoy!”
He was about to turn when he heard an unmistakable baritone voice behind him.
“POTTER!”
His heart skipped a beat in shock.
Oh no! Why did he have to come?
He turned slowly: Snape was livid. The man had his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.
This is the end of me. He’ll never believe I defended myself…
“What the hell is going on here? I demand an immediate explanation as to why Mr. Malfoy is tied up like that!” hissed the Potions Master.
“I was on my way to his office for detention. It was dark in the corridors, so I didn’t see him coming and we bumped into each other. I apologized, but he attacked me!” Harry replied.
“Finite Incantatem!” hissed the man in black, then added, “Mr. Malfoy, get up.”
The blond-haired boy got to his feet, dusted off his robes, and calmly approached Snape.
“That’s not true, Professor. It was Potter who attacked me first, and for no reason at all!”
The brunette glared at him.
“You’re lying! I didn’t—”
“SILENCE! I’m fed up with your stupid squabbles! Mr. Malfoy, I want a two-foot essay on the rules against using curses on other students on my desk. By tomorrow morning.”
Seeing that the boy was about to retort, he hissed, “Go. Now!”
Draco was no fool. He knew that tone well: if he dared to challenge his Head of House, he would be in far worse trouble.
He turned and shouldered past Harry.
“You’ll pay for this! Watch your back, Scarhead!” he hissed before walking away.
“As for you, Potter… follow me!” Snape snapped, turning. His cloak billowed enormously, which never boded well.
Harry sighed in exasperation.
“Yes, sir,” he muttered, knowing this was only the beginning of a horrible evening.
***
Two tiring days later, Harry Potter was walking the corridors of the castle dungeons for the third evening in a row, heading to the office of his most hated professor. Hoping to avoid further punishment from the man, the Golden Boy had paid the utmost attention to a few fundamental matters: arriving early, or at least right on time; keeping his tongue and temper in check, despite the sarcastic comments and insults the Potions Master invariably hurled at him.
Come on, be brave. There are still three nights and two Saturdays to go, and then it will all be over.
With that resolution in mind, he quickly passed the same corner where he had clashed with Malfoy the first night. Suddenly, he heard a noise behind him. He whirled around, wand firmly in hand.
“Good, good, Scarhead. It’s a showdown,” sneered a scornful Draco Malfoy.
The Gryffindor was about to respond in kind when he saw the Slytherin’s two henchmen emerge from the shadows and step in front of him. They had him surrounded. Now he knew he was in trouble. They were three against one. This wouldn’t end well.
“You’re the same coward, Malfoy! Three against one? That’s not fair!”
“Potter, Potter, Potter… strategy is a virtue. If you’re stupid enough to wander around the dungeons alone after I warned you… it’s not my fault.
I think you’ll be late for your detention again. Oh, what a shame… Snape will be very, very annoyed,” and then he laughed evilly.
The Golden Boy, at that point, knew there was no way to avoid the fight. So this time, forced by the vastly outnumbered team, he attacked first. He promptly cast a Petrificus Totalus! on Crabbe and Goyle. The two didn’t even realize what hit them before they stiffened like stone.
Unfortunately for him, however, the blond was more than prepared. The Slytherin responded with a shielding charm, and immediately followed with a stunner. Harry narrowly avoided it, then began running toward Snape’s office, in the vain hope of arriving unharmed, on time, and—perhaps—avoiding a confrontation. And thus further detentions. It seemed to him the only sensible thing to do, but he quickly changed his mind: that idiot Malfoy had no intention of stopping.
“Stop it, Malfoy! Do you really want Snape to find us here again?!” the brunette growled, annoyed, as he dueled with the other boy.
“Oh no, Potty! He’ll only catch you this time!” he replied, sneering.
The Slytherin stopped a few steps away from Harry, pointed his wand in his face, and then shouted angrily, “Combinatum!”
Just as the blond cast the curse, Harry felt a presence behind him, followed by an angry voice shouting:
“Stop! NOW!!”
That second of distraction was fatal. The hostile spell struck both him and his wand simultaneously. The force of the blow sent him flying backward, straight into Snape.
Malfoy froze in terror. The beam of black light had bounced off Scarhead’s wand and hit Snape squarely in the chest. Now both wizards lay slumped on the ground, a few feet away from him, unconscious.
He was about to run when a Ravenclaw prefect grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Malfoy, what happened here?!”
Draco was in shock. Snape would kill him when he woke up. With that thought running through his mind, he managed to stammer:
“I… I… I don’t know! I just got here…”
The prefect eyed him suspiciously.
“We’ll see about that. Professor Snape will decide when he wakes up. Just hope this whole mess isn’t your fault, because if it is, you’ll be in big trouble. Now hurry up and get Madam Pomfrey!”
The blond didn’t even manage a single step, because a large group of his housemates, returning from dinner, were already gathering around Harry and Snape. The shouts and screams of the students soon attracted the ghosts. In short, within minutes, news of what had happened was already all over the school.
Finally, Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and McGonagall arrived in quick succession.
The deputy headmistress looked extremely stern.
“Can someone explain to us what happened here?”
The question was directed specifically at Draco Malfoy and his two friends, who had by then been freed from Harry’s spell, thanks to the Ravenclaw prefect.
It was the Headmaster who temporarily saved them from that unfortunate situation.
“Minerva, let’s take Harry and Severus to the hospital wing first. We’ll have plenty of time to listen to our three young Slytherins later.”