Wash Your Hair, Professor

"What happened?" Professor McGonagall waved her wand.

The chess pieces that seemed to be chasing her instantly froze.

"Did you beat up Professor Quirrell?"

"Granted, his teaching methods do leave much to be desired, but at least let me…"

"I mean, at least go a bit easier on him."

Snape sneered, though he restrained himself somewhat out of respect for McGonagall. "This isn't a professor, Minerva, dear. He's the Dark Lord's lapdog."

"Oh, right, the Dark Lord." McGonagall suddenly understood and turned to Harry. "Weasley told me you came here to stop him."

"You're just a first-year student. How could you dare…"

Harry cut her off, "It was Dumbledore's idea. I refused him twice."

His gaze wandered to Snape, who looked fierce and as if he wanted nothing more than to hang Harry upside down.

"The Dark Lord," Harry mused.

An interesting title—one carrying a tinge of reverence.

Before this, only one other person had referred to Voldemort that way: Ollivander, the wandmaker.

McGonagall's lion-like roar interrupted his thoughts.

"Albus! How dare you!" She shouted angrily. "You promised me. You said no one could infiltrate Hogwarts, no one could…"

"Minerva, oh, my dear," Dumbledore said placatingly, raising a hand in a gesture of surrender. "Rest assured, I will explain everything."

McGonagall, still seething, fidgeted with her wand.

"Minerva, Severus," Dumbledore said, addressing them, "please escort Professor Quirrell to the hospital wing. Our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor seems to be in dire straits."

McGonagall waved her wand, levitating Quirrell into the air.

"Minerva isn't one of those clueless Gryffindors," Snape snapped, glaring at Dumbledore. "I don't need to accompany her."

"There are three Gryffindors here, Professor Snape," McGonagall retorted sternly.

Dumbledore and Harry both turned to look at Snape, whose lips thinned as he averted his gaze.

"Very well, Severus, you may accompany her," Dumbledore conceded with a nod, waving them on.

As they left the room, they parted ways at the corridor's end.

The Headmaster's Office

Dumbledore gestured for Harry to sit. Turning to the wall of portraits, he requested, "I need to speak privately with my student. May I trouble you all to leave for a while?"

The portraits, understanding, promptly departed. Soon, the walls were filled with nothing but blank, empty backdrops.

"Now we can talk properly." Dumbledore settled into his chair, waving his wand to conjure a glass of milk for Harry and a cup of tea for Snape.

"Where were we?" Dumbledore pondered aloud. "Ah, yes—Voldemort. He was once an exceptional student at Hogwarts…"

"I'm not interested in Voldemort's past," Harry interrupted. "Please skip the pleasantries and get straight to the point."

Dumbledore's expression grew solemn. "I owe you an apology, Harry."

"Back then, distracted by other matters and my own negligence, I failed to see Voldemort's true nature or guide him properly. That failure contributed to the person he became today."

"Forgive me for testing you. Sometimes, people hide their true selves well."

"Like Voldemort. Every professor who taught him thought him charming, charismatic, and destined to become a great Minister of Magic."

Harry thought of Voldemort's current face and scoffed, "Do you all have a skewed definition of 'handsome'?"

"Or… in your aesthetic, is a lack of a nose considered cool?"

Dumbledore blinked in surprise, then chuckled. "No, he was quite good-looking in his youth, Harry—very much like you. What you see now is the result of his dark magic and self-inflicted transformations."

Harry clicked his tongue. "In that case, I think you owe me some compensation."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"I'd like to learn two spells from you," Harry said.

Dumbledore tilted his head in curiosity.

"Occlumency," Harry stated.

Dumbledore smiled. "Of course. Even if you hadn't asked, I would have insisted on teaching it to you."

"The Patronus Charm," Harry continued. "But specifically the corporeal kind, like the one you can summon—a Patronus with a magical creature form."

Dumbledore nodded. "That's no issue, though you'll first need to master the basic Patronus Charm before you can modify it."

"When can I start lessons?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore turned to Snape. "Severus, I trust you'll be happy to assist me with this?"

"I will not," Snape replied curtly. "I can tolerate his idiotic questions in class or after, but that's my limit."

"Would you enjoy spending extended time with a troll?"

Harry shook his head. "Dumbledore, this is your responsibility. Besides, Professor Snape's hair oil can be rather unbearable."

Snape narrowed his eyes, glaring daggers at Harry.

Harry remained unfazed.

"Harry, you've likely realized by now," Dumbledore interjected, steering the conversation elsewhere, "that your scar…"

"It's connected to Voldemort somehow," Harry said, nodding. "Maybe a fragment of his soul? Remarkable that even in defeat, he managed to leave behind something like that…"

The spell of love allowed him to harm Voldemort.

But why did his scar hurt?

Even if the pain was mutual, shouldn't it have been in his hands, not his scar?

The only explanation was that the scar wasn't Harry's own—it belonged to Voldemort.

Not even skilled sorceresses like Yennefer or Triss had discovered this.

"Perhaps even Voldemort himself hasn't realized it," Dumbledore mused. "Otherwise, with his cunning, he'd have used the scar to manipulate you long ago."

Snape's face grew darker and more forbidding. "Excellent!"

"Starting next term, you'll come to my office every Wednesday and Saturday to learn Occlumency and the Patronus Charm properly."

"Not Wednesday," Harry objected. "I've got detention with Professor McGonagall."

Snape sneered. "Ah, the pride of Gryffindor—still taking delight in breaking school rules, are we? Fine. Thursday and Saturday it is."

Dumbledore smiled, satisfied. "I knew I could count on you, Severus."

"Professor Snape's concern for me is truly touching," Harry deadpanned.

"Shut it, Potter!" Snape snapped. "If you can't master those two spells within a year, I'll make you understand what a troll's rear smells like!"

Harry smirked. "If you like trolls so much, Professor, maybe I should gift you one next Christmas."

"Planning ahead for your own headstone?" Snape countered sarcastically.

Dumbledore sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Enough. Keep it civil in my office, please. Fawkes looks positively terrified."

Fawkes, nestled comfortably in his perch, appeared perfectly content.

Dumbledore waved dismissively. "Heaven help me. Let's hope you two don't actually start brawling."

He suddenly worried about his decision to entrust Harry to Snape's care.

Though he trusted Snape wouldn't physically harm Harry, he wouldn't put it past him to leave the boy's face a mess and only fix it after lessons were done.

How had Lily and James's son ended up with a tongue as sharp as Snape's?

Snape stood. "Come along, Potter. To my office."

"Can't wait to start lecturing me already?" Harry asked, rising as well.

"Don't forget," Snape gritted out. "You still have an exam to prepare for. Don't you want your notes?"

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Powerstones?

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