Harry had navigated Malfoy's spite with reasonable cleverness, but Potions with Snape was another matter entirely. Malfoy lorded over the classroom with Snape's favoritism at her back, playing the undisputed mistress of the room.
Snape opened his Potions textbook.
"How many methods are there for using dragon's blood in a potion?"
Hermione raised her hand, as she always did. And Snape ignored her, as he always did, sweeping his gaze across the rest of the class.
"Have any of you so much as opened your textbooks? Pathetic. Then what are the uses of blowfish eyes?"
Hermione raised her hand again. Snape ignored her again.
Carina Malfoy watched Hermione with a sneer, then mimicked her raised hand in an exaggerated, mocking pantomime.
"How desperate. Waving yourself about just to show off whatever scraps of knowledge you've managed to collect."
Hermione's ears were going red when Harry turned around.
"That's enough. Hermione studied hard. That's all."
"Oh—do you fancy Granger, Potter?"
Malfoy's smirk made Harry's expression darken.
"Why are you being so childish? If you want to beat Hermione, beat her with knowledge, Malfoy. Don't just talk."
"I have no need to prove myself through knowledge the way she does, Potter. I'm already great enough without it."
Even so, Malfoy couldn't resist adding one more line.
"Not that I don't know the answers, of course. I simply don't parade it around as though it's the whole of my existence, the way Granger does."
"It isn't the whole of Hermione's existence."
"Right. I think I understand exactly where your heart lies, Potter."
Snape had drifted to Harry's side without anyone noticing. He spoke loudly enough to fill the entire classroom.
"You are remarkably like your father. The incessant flirting, the complete inability to read a room—you have it all."
This time it was Harry's face that went scarlet. He clenched his fists and shouted.
"Don't speak badly of my father!"
"I am stating facts, Potter. Your father was the greatest troublemaker Hogwarts ever produced... and you are his perfect image."
"Don't insult him. My father was a great man who died fighting Voldemort!"
Even the name Voldemort, wielded like a trump card, had no effect on Snape.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter."
Snape received the outburst without a flicker of emotion.
"I fail to see what connection your father's manner of death has to your disruption of my class. What I can tell you with certainty is this: if you do not begin your potion immediately, Gryffindor will have no points left by the end of today. Get to work!"
Snape's voice cracked like a whip. Harry, deflated, obeyed.
From the back of the room, Malfoy watched him with undisguised satisfaction.
The moment Snape moved away, Harry turned and said quietly:
"...Is this really how you want to fight? Hiding behind him?"
"Hiding? Potter, you understand nothing."
Malfoy lifted her chin with a contemptuous smile.
"Talent, magical ability, appearance, wealth—even connections. All of it is power, Potter. I am simply making the most efficient use of the power I have."
"...Remember you said that, Malfoy."
Harry held her gaze without flinching.
Malfoy faltered—just slightly—but a glance toward Snape refilled her with confidence. She flashed a self-assured smile and called out:
"Of course I will. Do your worst. If you're capable of it."
Harry did his worst.
"Professor Dumbledore!"
Snape was a teacher. Harry couldn't beat him directly.
Which meant he needed someone above Snape.
It was the simple, uncomplicated logic of a child—and so Harry went to find Dumbledore himself.
Dumbledore received his unexpected visitor with wide, surprised eyes.
"What is it, Harry?"
"It's about Snape."
Harry proceeded to explain, in exhaustive detail, just how unfair and unkind Snape had been. It was one-sided and impetuous in the way only a child's account can be, but the feeling behind it came through clearly enough.
Dumbledore stroked his beard.
"Harry. Professor Snape is an extraordinarily gifted Potions Master, and how he conducts his lessons is entirely within his discretion. I'm afraid I have no authority to intervene."
"He's not fair!"
"Everyone is inclined to favor someone, to some degree—that is something I have come to understand with age. If there is one truth I have learned, it is that even the most accomplished wizard cannot govern the inclinations of his own heart. How he chooses to exercise his authority within his discretion is entirely his own affair."
"...That still isn't right. It isn't."
Curiosity surfaced in Dumbledore's eyes.
"There is something else behind this, I think. What is it, Harry?"
"If things stay the way they are, Malfoy will only get worse. She'll keep running to Snape and using him to do whatever she likes. I don't want to let that happen."
"Ah."
Malfoy would keep picking fights in every Potions lesson. Sheltered by Snape's authority, with no one to stop her, she would go on insulting Ron, Hermione, Neville—anyone she pleased.
Harry wasn't going to allow it. Because it was the sort of thing he hated.
Harry had changed since coming to Hogwarts. He played Quidditch, learned magic, filled each ordinary day with something new.
Hogwarts was already home.
If Harry Potter could change, then Malfoy could change too. And if she wouldn't change on her own, Harry intended to change her.
"...You're right. I was thinking too narrowly. In my eagerness to support you, I had rather left the Slytherin students behind."
Dumbledore, having understood what Harry truly meant, smiled.
"Let me tell you something, Harry. Severus Snape is a professor."
"I know. I'd rather not believe it, but—"
"That isn't what I mean. Harry, no matter how much you provoke him, Professor Snape cannot do anything to you beyond deducting points or assigning detention. At most, he can frighten you."
To a ten-year-old Harry, point deductions and detentions were already catastrophic. They frightened him—and more than that, if they kept accumulating, he might be expelled.
What could possibly be worse than being thrown out of Hogwarts?
But looking at Dumbledore's face, Harry found himself wondering whether perhaps it wasn't such a terrible thing after all.
"Do you understand what I'm telling you, Harry?"
"...You're saying I shouldn't be afraid of a few lost points or a detention?"
"You may be afraid—Snape's punishments will certainly be unpleasant. But if you have the will for it, enduring them is one way forward."
Snape terrified him. But Harry decided not to be afraid.
The parents Harry was proud of had died fighting Voldemort.
However frightening Snape might be, he was surely nothing compared to the one whose very name people feared to speak.
Harry made himself a promise. Whatever Snape threw at him, he would stand his ground.
"As things stand, it would be an unequal fight. This may be somewhat harsh, but let me tell you one truth, Harry."
Harry had the sense that Dumbledore's expression had gone cold. But the coldness was not directed at him.
It was as though Dumbledore were looking through Harry to test Snape himself, as he said:
"Professor Snape had a deep connection with both your parents—your father and your mother. He owes them his life. I stake everything I have on this: he is bound to protect you. He must repay that debt."
Harry watched for his moment.
He wanted Snape to stop favoring Malfoy so openly in class.
To accomplish that, he would need to negotiate in private—and so the moment Snape emerged from the Great Hall, Harry followed him.
"Professor Snape."
"...I did not expect you to come to me first, Potter."
Snape wheeled around, his black robes billowing.
"What do you want? If this is a waste of my time, I'll take points."
"What? That's not—"
"Five points from Gryffindor. The next interruption will cost ten. State your business."
He was, and always would be, impossible to like. Harry swallowed his frustration and spoke.
"Professor Dumbledore told me. He said you owe your life to my parents."
"...Dumbledore said that, did he."
Snape's lips twisted.
"How convenient that he left out the parts that might be uncomfortable for the Chosen One, Harry Potter. Do you know what actually happened?"
Harry shook his head. Snape fixed him with a contemptuous glare.
"Your father played a very dangerous prank on me. The sort of prank that could have gotten him expelled. If he hadn't intervened, he and his friends would have ended up in Azkaban. In the end, your father saved me to save himself... Do you understand?"
Harry's courage faltered at Snape's expression.
This was nothing like what Dumbledore had told him. By Snape's account, there was no reason at all for him to protect Harry.
Perhaps I came at this without thinking it through, Harry thought, and immediately regretted it.
Why had Dumbledore called it a life-debt? Dumbledore didn't seem the type to say meaningless things—but what he'd shared hadn't helped at all.
Harry was silently cursing Dumbledore when—
"You'll have to pay for wasting my time, Potter. Ten points from Griff—what is it, Quirrell?"
"S-s-sorry to disturb you, Severus. I was j-just passing through."
"Then pass through quickly!"
Quirrell scurried past them. Snape watched him go, saying nothing until he had disappeared from sight.
It was just as Harry's gaze drifted to the back of Snape's head that it happened.
"Ngh."
A sudden, searing pain in his scar made Harry wince. Along with the burning came a rush of images, flickering past like torn pages.
His father's shout. A flash of green light. A robed figure pushing open a door.
'Not Harry—not Harry, please—'
'Stand aside...'
His mother's scream. A wand raised. And then green, flooding everything—
Triumph. Arrogance. Emotion and memory bleeding through. A wizard who had ruled with overwhelming power had received information from someone—information about a boy who might be his undoing.
'Well done, Severus! Very well done!'
'Her—spare her, please—'
He owes them his life.
A life-debt.
"...No. That wasn't what he meant."
Harry pressed his hand to his forehead. The scar throbbed.
Something living inside that scar laughed. It laughed with such delight that even he—who was merciless to his servants—had offered his personal praise.
Harry's breath came short. The scar felt as though it might split open.
But more than the pain, what had just surfaced in those images—
"It wasn't my parents who saved you, was it."
Voldemort, laughing. And kneeling before him—Snape.
He had brought Voldemort crucial information, and in return had earned his master's favor. A man with no great family name, no distinguished background, who had nonetheless risen to the position of second-in-command.
Harry didn't know how he knew. But he knew.
Rage and hatred bled through him. Harry looked up at Snape through the pain, his green eyes cutting straight through him.
"You're the one who got my parents killed."
Something in Snape's face cracked—barely, almost imperceptibly, but it cracked.
After that day, Snape ignored Harry. He behaved as though Harry simply didn't exist, and Harry, for his part, watched Snape with the eyes of someone looking at the person who had destroyed his family.
He had uncovered something of enormous consequence—but Harry didn't go back to Dumbledore.
He was suspicious. Why hadn't Dumbledore told him the truth plainly? Why had he hired Snape as a professor, knowing what he knew?
Harry didn't think Dumbledore was an enemy. But right now, he couldn't bring himself to trust even Dumbledore.
"Longbottom. Why on earth did you make a stew? You could drop your toad right in and it would fit perfectly."
Malfoy was being her usual unpleasant self. But the circumstances surrounding her today were entirely different.
"Shut up, Malfoy."
Harry's voice was sharp—sharper than usual. The edge in it startled Malfoy into silence.
"Don't you disappoint me too."
"Who do you think you are, talking about being disappointed in me?"
"They call you the Chosen One—the one who made Voldemort disappear. But what does that matter? Voldemort may be gone, but the people who followed him are still walking around perfectly free."
Cold eyes. A cutting voice. The naked hostility coiled inside both, flickering like a serpent's tongue.
For one brief moment, Malfoy felt genuine fear. The words wound around her, tightening, and she could almost feel the fangs pressing into her skin.
Only when Harry clicked his tongue and looked away could Malfoy breathe again.
A silence fell over the classroom. Slytherin and Gryffindor alike were stunned.
In Snape's classroom, of all places—invoking Voldemort and his followers?
"What is wrong with him? Has he lost his mind?"
Goyle's outrage on her behalf gave Malfoy the cover she needed to compose herself. She smoothed her expression and raised her chin.
S-stupid. Did you think throwing a tantrum like that would frighten me? Not a chance.
Her allies were here. As she always did, Malfoy looked to Snape—a silent appeal for support. She was certain Snape would not let Harry Potter get away with this.
But today, Snape only told them to keep quiet. He didn't take sides.
Malfoy felt a flicker of unease when Snape failed to come to her aid.
Something—something was going wrong.
Harry Potter was brewing his potion without sparing Malfoy a single glance. She had no idea how he'd managed it, but his potion was already glowing a soft, luminous violet—nearly finished.
The Harry Potter who had always been so attuned to her every move was gone. He no longer reacted to her words with that satisfying, hair-trigger sensitivity.
Even his arrogance—invoking Voldemort while still trying to get the better of her—was something she almost missed. The Harry Potter in front of her now felt wrong. Foreign.
Something like being discarded—no, not that. More like the hollow, vaguely dissatisfied feeling of a toy she'd thrown away turning out to be broken. A tightness settled in Malfoy's chest that she couldn't quite name.
Malfoy did not say another word for the rest of Potions that day.