Better Be Slytherin!

Harry stared at the Professor, not sure what to think, really, because who ever did believe him? Besides, Snape would change his mind soon enough, if he did go see the Dursleys and they told him all about what a horrible little monstrous freak he was. . . . Harry's stomach clenched at the very thought. He was going to be in six kinds of trouble, come the holidays. He should never have written the essay, just taken a different punishment or something, or he should have lied through his teeth, and just made sure to emphasize what a complete rules-breaking idiot he was, instead of making excuses for his behavior by pointing out the lameness of certain rules.

He'd been stupid, really, and had even neglected his Transfiguration homework this afternoon, in favor of doing the detention work. But, he reasoned, while Professor McGonagall might get annoyed that he had not completed his work, Snape would be downright vicious if he didn't turn in the essay. So the choice was an easy one to make. As had going to detention last night, as Snape had told him previously, instead of to bed as Madam Pomfrey instructed. The ability to prioritize various contradictory orders or rules was a skill he used often, actually. He'd had to, in the Dursley home.

However, he had to admit, the expression of near understanding of Harry's situation that had come over Snape's face when Harry protested his planned visit . . . well, it made the rest almost worth it. It was like Snape knew. He knew what the repercussions would be, to Harry. And – dare he think it? – he almost seemed to care.

Not that it would help Harry in the long run, though.

All the same, he wondered if he could get a hold of some Veritaserum, and if Uncle Vernon was immune to it. He was about to ask if Veritaserum was on the regular curriculum, and when they might brew it, if so, when Snape's head turned away so fast Harry thought he might get whiplash. Harry followed the man's gaze to see a ghost . . . no, not just any ghost, but the Bloody Baron, float through the classroom door.

Harry dropped the knife still clutched his hand. It hit the stone floor with a clang.

The ghost looked over at him, staring with those dark pits he had for eyes, and Harry felt himself trembling. He tried to stop, but his muscles would not quite obey.

Somewhere, he heard the Professor's voice, 'I'm not sure this is the best time.'

'Nonsense,' the Bloody Baron told him, his gaze never wavering from Harry's face. 'It's best to just get this out of the way.'

Snape sighed. 'Very well. But let me procure a Calming Draught at least, or the boy will likely wet himself.'

Assuming he was the boy in question, Harry bristled. He'd never wet himself . . . not in fear, anyway, and not for many, many years. He scowled at the Professor, who sneered at him in turn. After a moment, Harry gave him a grim smile and shook his head. Seemed the insult had left him less fearful, and Snape knew it. Huh.

'I'm fine, sir,' he said stiffly.

'I'm sure you are.'

Harry glared at him again.

The Bloody Baron laughed, a low chuckle that raised the hairs on Harry's arms. 'I saw this mettle in you, boy,' he said, his voice tinged with humor, still. 'The other night.' His dark eyes flared with black fire. 'It would have been a shame to lose you.'

'What . . . what do you mean?'

Still not releasing Harry from his luminous stare, he said, 'Surely the good Professor has explained to you what happened? Why your memories of Friday evening were altered?'

'No,' Harry said accusingly, dragging his gaze away to meet Snape's eyes once more. 'He did not.'

Snape glared back. 'It was not the best time for that.'

'When would be the best time? Sir?'

The Professor's jaw worked and he spat out, 'When I had more complete information. Now, it's all just supposition.'

'Not all, Severus,' the ghost said in an almost chiding tone. 'I did lay out some facts for you.'

'Please,' Harry said, and turned his back to Snape, though it made a shiver run up his spine to do so, and faced the ghost again. 'Tell me what you know.'

'Very well.' The Bloody Baron nodded, with a touch of a smile. 'I came to your aid on Friday last, when you were under attack.'

'When I was what?'

'Under attack.' The Bloody Baron held up a shimmery, translucent hand. 'I am not certain as to the fiend's identity, but I have a few guesses.'

'Who?' Someone had really tried to kill him? His stomach clenched a bit tighter, and he was almost sure he was going to be sick.

'All in good time,' the Baron said. 'I happened to notice your passing, near the quarters of . . . someone long dead, and wondered what had led you to explore so far from home, and thus followed your steps until you reached the seeming end of the corridor. I was, apparently, not the only one to do so, and to my sincere regret, I did not realize that I, too, was being followed. Not until the first curse flew through me, I'm afraid.'

Harry held his breath for a long moment, but the ghost seemed to be waiting for something. 'It hit me, though, didn't it?'

The Bloody Baron nodded. 'That would have been the end of it, for you,' he intoned. 'The full Body-Bind Curse. You fell over, of course, the perfect victim, and I had little time to consider what I did next.'