Harry was barely able to focus on McGonagall as she lectured at the front of the room. Even though it was only the first day of classes, the strict Head of Gryffindor was already off and running on a complicated lecture explaining the proper techniques of Transfiguring potatoes into pocket watches. Harry truly did try to listen to what she was saying, but just couldn’t seem to do it. His mind was too far away, roiling in a storm of confused thoughts and emotions.

He’d been released from the Hospital Wing earlier that morning after his talk with Dumbledore - after the old Headmaster had explained his plans for the young Gryffindor’s new study of Occlumency.

Harry was still trying to come to grips with what Dumbledore had proposed.

“These lessons will be of the utmost importance to you, Harry,” Dumbledore had said. “You must learn how to close off your mind to Voldemort. These visions are a sign of his growing power. If he somehow finds a way to control you or infiltrate your mind, all will be lost. You must learn to push him out. It does not seem he knows of your ability to share minds with him yet, but when he does - and I have no doubt he eventually will - he will try to somehow use it against you to his advantage.”

“But, Sir,” Harry had countered. “Why Professor Snape? Why can’t you teach me?”

Dumbledore gave him a sad smile. “I fear to do so would only raise the risk of your connection with Voldemort being discovered sooner. Voldemort does not seem to know you can see into his mind just yet, but if I were to try and teach you how to close your mind, he would almost assuredly sense my presence and learn of your connection with him. That is why I want Professor Snape to do so. He is a master Occlumens and knows how to avoid Voldemort’s detection. Plus, from what I’ve seen and know, you and he already have a working relationship established considering what happened only several weeks ago…”

“But, Sir…” Harry persisted. How could he make Dumbledore understand? “Something’s changed with Professor Snape since then. Something’s happened to him. He-”

“Harry,” Dumbledore sharply cut him off. “I trust Professor Snape with my life. Though he may seem harsh at times, he is one of the most honorable men I know. He has never given me any reason to doubt him. You yourself should know what I mean… He risked his life for you when your soul was separated from your body.”

“I know that, Sir, but-”

“Harry. I know you and he have had your differences in the past, but please believe me when I say I know he would rather die than see you or any of his other students die or get hurt. You can trust him in this task…”

But could he really?

That was truly the question.

Sure Dumbledore said he trusted Snape, but did Dumbledore see Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort put an Imperius Curse on said Potions master? No. And did he even believe Harry when he’d told him that Snape was now a danger to the school and the entire Order? No.

He was going to have to be careful. If Dumbledore still refused to believe him, he was going to have to be extra careful around Snape. Who knew what the man might do with no one else watching him. He’d barely even tolerated Harry’s presence, let alone spared him anything more than a fleeting sneer, before their grand misadventure together a week ago. But with Voldemort now controlling him, Harry wasn’t sure he could trust the man enough to turn his back on him to even tie his shoe anymore. Who knew what Voldemort might order him to do…

Harry must have been in deeper thought than he realized because it wasn’t until he felt the presence of someone standing over him that he was startled back to the present.

“Mr. Potter, I assume you heard me when I told the class to begin their in-class assignment?”

Harry winced and guiltily looked up at his Head of House who was currently standing over him, arms crossed, with a stern look on her face. “Sorry, Professor McGonagall…” he murmured. Looking around, he saw all his other classmates were already hard at work trying to Transfigure their potatoes into pocket watches. Across the room, Hermione had already managed the basic form, though its back face was still spotted with several sprouts.

McGonagall eyed Harry for a moment before her face slowly softened and a concerned look entered her eyes. Lowering her voice so only he could hear her, she said, “Dumbledore told me you spoke with him earlier this morning. He told me what happened… I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stay with you until you woke, but other students in the tower were woken by your screams and had to be quieted... Are you alright now? You gave us all quite a scare…”

Harry adverted his eyes from his Head of House and stared at his desk. “I’m fine now… ” he whispered. “Professor Dumbledore and I spoke, and he thinks he knows a way to stop these visions from happening again...” Even though he wants me to learn from the man I always see getting tortured in them… he mentally added.

“I’m glad to hear that,” McGonagall said, though she continued to study him over the rims of her thin spectacles.

Harry shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. He really hoped McGonagall wasn’t going to ask him any more questions. It was embarrassing enough he’d fainted in front of her the night before, but he was also sure Dumbledore had already told her the contents of his latest vision, and doubted she believed its authenticity any more than Dumbledore did.

For a minute it looked like McGonagall was going to ask or say something else. But then with a slow nod of her head she said in her usual crisp tone, “I won’t hold much against you today considering what happened last night, Potter, but please try and pay more attention in class.”

“Yes, ma’am…” Harry murmured.

McGonagall nodded in satisfaction and wandered away, checking on the other students’ progress thus far. Harry tried to focus his attention on the potato in front of him and the incantation McGonagall had just spent the last thirty minutes teaching, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t seem to focus.

He and Neville were the only two unable to properly Transfigure their potatoes by the end of class.

---

“So you saw Snape getting tortured last night? What did Dumbledore have to say about that?” Ron asked as he, Harry, and Hermione all leaned their heads together. Around them, other students were eating and talking, oblivious to the serious discussion taking place at Gryffindor table in the middle of the Great Hall. Though it was already lunch time, it was the first time Harry had been able to talk to his friends about last night’s vision; he’d barely left the Hospital Wing to make it to Transfigurations on time, and McGonagall didn’t tolerate any talking in her class once it started no matter what might have happened the night before.

“He thought I was misinterpreting my vision just like he did last time!” Harry angrily replied. “He didn’t believe me when I said it was Snape I saw. He said it could have been anyone wearing that mask, but I know it was him!”

“Calm down, Harry,” Hermione soothed. “At least he’s taking these visions seriously enough that he wants you to learn Occlumency.”

“Yeah, and from Snape no less…” Harry scowled. “He doesn’t believe anything’s wrong with him even though I know there is.”

“Hey, speaking of the greasy gi-” Ron began, but then seeing the sharp look he got from Harry, carefully rephrased, “er… I mean, grumpy ex-Death Eater… Where is he? He hasn’t shown up for lunch yet, and I didn’t see him at breakfast.”

Harry and Hermione both followed their friend’s gaze up to the Head Table and saw that their Potions master was indeed absent just Ron like pointed out.

“You’re right,” Hermione murmured. “I don’t remember seeing him this morning either…”

“That’s probably because he’s flat on his back in the dungeons, half dead from being tortured all night,” Harry hissed.

Ron and Hermione both stared at Harry. They’d never seen their friend so righteously angry before - at least whenever it’d come to their resident Potions master and spy…

Glancing back at the Head Table, Ron awkwardly tried to break the tension. “Dumbledore doesn’t seem to be worried though… He seems to be in his usual good spirits…”

Harry scowled. “That’s because he doesn’t believe anything’s wrong with Snape…”

“I wonder if anyone’s had Potions yet…” Hermione thoughtfully murmured. “Maybe someone’s seen him… Hey, Ginny!” she called down the table. Ron’s sister leaned into view from a mass of Fourth Year girls half way down the table.

“Yeah?”

“Have you or anyone else you know had Potions yet?”

Ginny looked thoughtful for a minute. “We were suppose to second period, but there was a sign on the door saying it was cancelled. Why?”

“Just wondering,” Hermione replied with a forced smile.

As Ginny turned back to her friends, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all shared veiled looks.

“See. I told you something was wrong,” Harry hissed under his breath.

“That doesn’t prove anything yet,” Hermione said. “Something might have come up with the Order that Professor Snape had to cancel class for.”

“Or he’s laying half-dead in the dungeons from being tortured all night,” Harry once again affirmed.

“Oh, Harry, stop jumping to conclusions,” Hermione huffed. “If anything we’ll see him tomorrow. We have double Potions with the Slytherins.”

Ron groaned at such an announcement and slouched down in his seat. “Maybe we’ll see him before then at dinner,” he said. “At least then we won’t have to put up with him doting all over Malfoy and his gang of gorillas just yet...”

Hermione didn’t say anything, but Harry swore he saw her give a small sniff of agreement under her breath. Looking back up at the Head Table and the only empty seat there, Harry found himself secretly hoping Snape really would show up for dinner - the first time in all his years at Hogwarts he’d actually found himself wishing for the Potion master’s presence.

---

As it turned out Snape did not show up for dinner that night; and from what Harry overheard from other Years, no one had had Potions that day, or seen any sign of the elusive man and his billowing black robes. It was like he’d completely disappeared. Harry thought he’d even seen Dumbledore glance at Snape’s empty chair at one point during dinner with a slightly worried look in his eyes. But the Headmaster’s attention had been quickly refocused on McGonagall as she leaned over to talk to him.

Unfortunately, despite the growing mystery of the Missing Potions Master, Harry was forced to worry about other things in his own immediate life. Namely the renewed, and even more unwanted attention of his fellow classmates. Apparently the Hogwart’s grapevine had once again lived up to its usual standards, and by ten o’clock that morning ninety-five percent of the school had heard about his episode the night before and how he’d woken up half his House screaming.

It had apparently even made it as far as the Slytherin common room because one of the first taunts out of Draco Malfoy’s mouth that day was, “Aw… I heard poor little baby Potter had a bad dream last night… Maybe someone should leave the light on for him…” Which was then immediately followed by the mindless laugh track of his neckless goons, Crabbe and Goyle.

Everywhere Harry went, he felt the eyes of those around him following his every move, watching him like he might suddenly attack, or he might be Lord Voldemort in disguise.

Though he tried to ignore them, there was no way for Harry to be completely indifferent of other students‘ reactions towards him. It was impossible for him not to notice the way everyone seemed to suddenly quiet the moment he stepped into a room, or the way the whispers immediately started back up as soon as he left. He saw the looks he got as he walked down the halls, and could almost feel the cold, accusing weight of fingers pointing at him as him as he passed.

Ron and Hermione were sympathetic and stayed by him the entire day, but they were only several of the few. By the end of the evening, Harry could finally take no more and retreated to the sanctuary of his room before even the youngest of the First Years had begun to wander off to bed.

Lying there, staring up at the canopy of his bed Harry felt more isolated and alone than he’d ever had in his entire life. Never had he had people treated him like such an dangerous outcast before - not even the Dursleys. And that was saying a lot…

When sleep finally did claim him - hours after his roommates had already drifted off - Harry continued to restlessly toss and turn in bed. He had no visions that night, but at one point in the dark hours of the morning he woke up in a cold sweat, the memory of a masked man screaming and writhing on the floor still playing like a horrible movie his mind’s eye…

---

Harry silently followed Ron and Hermione downstairs towards the dungeons. As they went, several students looked up to stare at him as they passed. Harry could almost feel the speculation, wariness, and fear in their eyes.

But in all honesty, he was too tired and nervous to care.

He’d barely gotten any sleep the night before. Breakfast and first period Herbology had been a total blur. He felt like he was going through the day on autopilot. His head felt like it was wreathed in some dense, cottony fog; and no matter how hard he tried, his mind continually seemed to wander. Ron and Hermione had noticed his distant, quiet demeanor that morning at breakfast, but thankfully had not asked him many questions. He didn’t think he could have handled an all out inquisition from them if they had. He had too many other things on his mind…

One of which being Professor Severus S. Snape…

The air was becoming progressively chiller the deeper the three Gryffindors delved into bowels of Hogwarts. Harry felt his stomach constrict with nervousness the further they went. It was time for Double Potions. But unlike yesterday when he’d been on an almost desperate warpath to find the whereabouts of his missing Potions master, Harry now felt his Gryffindor courage falter a little bit at the thought of finally seeing the man he’d just spent the last two days constantly thinking about. He could honestly say he was not looking forward to spending two class periods with the man he’d seen getting tortured by Voldemort twice now in his dreams…

Would Snape even be there today, Harry found himself wondering as he and his friends walked. Would he once again be mysteriously absent, or would he be back? What if he was back? What if Voldemort was planning to put in action whatever scheme he was planning to use Snape for? What if-?

All too soon, Harry found himself standing outside the door to Snape’s classroom. For a moment, he just stood there, hovering uncertainly in the doorway.

“You alright, mate?” Ron asked, studying his friend‘s face worriedly. A similar expression was mirrored in Hermione‘s face.

“I’m fine,” Harry mumbled, shaking himself out of his trance.

“You sure, Harry?” Hermione said. “You look a little pale…”

“I’m fine,” Harry repeated, and headed for the door. Together the three entered the already half-filled classroom. The front of the room was empty, Snape no where to be seen.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, the three took a bench together in the back of the room. Unfortunately, Harry’s arrival had not gone unnoticed, and a murmur instantly picked up as students from both Gryffindor and Slytherin leaned their heads together and began speaking in low tones. Harry saw not a few people turn to stare at him or point in his general direction. He might have been able to ignore his schoolmates’ unwelcomed attention and pretend like nothing was wrong.

But it seemed Fate was not on his side that day…

“So did poor widdle baby Potter have another bad dream last night?” a cold, mocking voice rang out over the murmur of other voices.

The background chatter immediately died down as Harry looked over towards Draco Malfoy on the other side of the room. Behind the blonde Slytherin, Crabbe and Goyle chuckled dumbly to their leader’s bad impersonation of a baby-voice. Several other Slytherins tittered softly.

“Stuff it, Malfoy,” Harry hissed.

“Or what? You’ll break down in tears and cry all over my shoes?” Malfoy jeered.

“Harry, calm down,” Hermione pleaded as she watched her friend’s face become a startling shade of red. And not from embarrassment. From rage.

“I said stuff it, Malfoy!” Harry snarled, pushing himself to his feet. “If you only knew half of what’s actually going on right now you’d be running home to your mother! Not to mention that sadistic psychopath father of yours!”

“How dare you call my father that!” Malfoy hissed, anger flashing through his eyes. Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle leaned forward, cracking their knuckles at Harry menacingly.

Harry, however, was not intimidated in the least.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he hissed. “Don’t you know what your daddy-dearest does for a living? Don’t you know how he goes around torturing other people for his own enjoyment? I don’t know what you “Purebloods” necessarily classify that as, but in the Muggle world, that’s what we usually call a sadistic psychopath…”

“How dare you!” Malfoy cried, leaping to his feet, wand drawn.

The room was now deathly silent, everyone staring at the two boys in horror.

Harry also raised his wand. He knew he was stupid starting a fight right in the middle of school, but Draco’s mocking voice coupled with the haunting images of Lucius Malfoy torturing a helpless person was too much for him to stand any longer.

For a moment, no one moved or even seemed to breath, everything focused on the two boys in the middle of the room. Draco and Harry simultaneously began to raise their wands, hatred burning in both their eyes, when-

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!”

Harry and Draco both froze. Everyone else in the room stared in horror at the one’s who’s voice just turned all their blood to ice.

There, standing silhouetted in the door like some towering black wraith was Severus Snape. His piercing black eyes quickly took in the scene before finally coming to rest on Harry and Draco.

“Potter started a fight and was trying to curse me, Sir!” Draco cried.

Snape glared at Harry. “Twenty points from Gryffindor.”

Harry was about to protest, but then remembered what Draco had said really wasn’t that far away from the truth (even though Draco had been the first to draw his wand). That fact however still didn’t stop a small note of outrage from worming its way up inside of Harry. In some warped and very indirect way, he’d been trying to avenge Snape. And this was how he was rewarded?

“If you are quite done standing there getting all red in the face, Mr. Potter, perhaps we can begin the lesson?” Snape snidely drawled. “Or would you like me to deduct another twenty points from Gryffindor?”

Behind Snape, Draco gave Harry a triumphant smirk.

“No, Sir,” Harry hissed between clenched teeth. Dropping back into his seat, Harry tried to calm his breathing and stop the dangerous surge of anger he felt right then towards Malfoy and Snape - the man he’d just spent so much time defending.

Snape eyed Harry for a long moment of silence as thought waiting for him to say something else before finally turning away with a disdainful sneer and sweeping to the front of the classroom, his long black robes billowing behind him. Tapping the blackboard with his wand, a long list of complicated brewing instructions appeared. “I assume everyone has done their summer homework?” he said, scanning the classroom with piercing black eyes. Several students shifted uncomfortably in their seats as Snape’s gaze happened to fall on them. “I hope for all your sakes you did because it will count for ten percent of this quarter’s grade.”

Snape’s eyes roamed the class again as if waiting for a groan or some kind of sound of complaint. When he saw he would receive none, he went on, “The first potion we will be studying this section is Dulaver’s Brew. Can anyone tell me it’s properties and ingredients - besides Miss Granger, that is…”

Hermione’s hand sank back down onto the table, a disheartened look spreading across her face.

Snape slowly scanned the silent sea of faces staring back at him. “No one else?” he sneered. “Well isn’t this just a shame… What I truly want to know is how the Headmaster expects me to teach this class of dunderheads when no one even knows what the potion they’re brewing is suppose to do. I will die of shock if anyone actually passes this course and goes on to NEWT level. This potion was part of your summer essay. If no one can-” Snape abruptly stopped his tirade. Staring at the table in the back of the room with an almost surprised look on his face, he drawled, “Yes, Mr. Potter?”

Harry slowly lowered his hand and met his Potion master‘s unyielding gaze. “Dulvar’s Potion is a powerful anti-poison. It’s usually used for animal or plant derived poisons. It’s three main ingredients are powered monkshood leaves, diluted bat blood, and shaved earwigs.”

Snape narrowed his eyes and stared at Harry for a long moment of silence as if wondering if he’d somehow cheated. “Correct…” he finally drawled. Eyeing Harry for another moment, Snape slowly turned back to the blackboard. “Brewing for this potion will be in two steps; the first of which consists of…”

Leaning back in his seat, Harry quietly listened as Snape went on with his lecture. Any other time, Harry might have been upset at Snape for not awarding him any points for his correct answer, but over the last few days, House points suddenly seemed to have lost all meaning to him. There was a war going on, and something very strange was afoot. Somehow Harry didn’t think Voldemort was going to care who won the House Cup at the end of term while he continued to try and take over the Wizarding world…

As Snape continued to lecture, Harry found himself surreptitiously studying the older man for anything that might explain why he’d been absent the day before. From what Harry could see, there was nothing wrong with the surly Potions master. He looked like he always did: long black robes, greasy lank hair, piercing black eyes, and ever present sneer. There was nothing to indicate the man had just survived a long night of torture at the Dark Lord’s own hands. But then again, the Cruciatus Curse never left any visible marks on its victims, so there was no way for him to rule that out just yet. Snape had also had a full day to recover. To anyone else, that might not have been enough time. But to a skilled Potions master who knew which pain draughts and healing potions to take, it might have been just enough to ensure no one found out about what’d happened. Except for Harry, that is, who was not about to be dissuaded by anyone that his visions weren’t real…

As Harry sat there studying the acerbic Potions master even closer, he began to notice several little things that both surprised and startled him. For one, although Snape didn’t seem to be limping around in any sort of noticeable pain, there was no denying there was a certain tension around the acerbic Potions master. His body language was strained and over-alert, like one expecting to be attacked at any moment. His eyes - though sharp and calculating as always - were somehow also dull and shadowed, as if they were really the eyes of some old man who’d seen too much in the course of his long life and was now wearied by the world and all of Life‘s hardships. Glimpsing beyond the Potion master’s stern façade, Harry couldn’t help but think how tired and… drained… Snape suddenly looked, even if he knew no one else chose to see it but him.

Harry sat there in thoughtful silence. Seeing these things, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if they’d always been there, or if they were results of what he’d seen in his latest vision. Certainly being a spy was not an easy job, but… had Snape always looked this strained?

Harry found himself distinctly unsettled by the thought. Even though Snape had never been his most favorite person, that didn’t mean he liked the idea of the man who’d saved his life so many times slowly being worn away. For that was exactly how Snape looked: worn down and strained around the edges. But Harry couldn’t be sure if that was from being both Hogwarts’ Potions master and a spy, or from some other horror haunting the Potion master’s life… (Namely one red-eyed murder by the name of Lord Voldemort…)

Class continued despite the unsettling storm of thoughts going around Harry’s head, and it wasn’t until they were brewing their own potions that a thick acrid smell filling Harry’s nose suddenly brought him back to the present.

Thick purple smoke was beginning to billow off the surface of his cauldron and fill the air with noxious fumes. Other students were beginning to turn and stare at him.

Harry looked into his cauldron. What should have been a bright red mixture was now an ugly maroon sludge. Quickly consulting his textbook, Harry saw he must have forgotten to add the shaved earwigs before the ground nettle root two steps ago.

Harry mentally kicked himself. He knew he shouldn’t have let his mind wander away like that… especially in Potions…

Grabbing a bottle of shaved earwigs, he quickly added them to the smoking concoction, hoping it might help. But instead of the mixture turning red like he hoped it might, the botched potion instead began to bubble in wet, gurgly pops; slopping maroon sludge over the side onto the table.

The smoke was getting thicker now. Several students were beginning to cough and hold their sleeves up over their mouths.

His cauldron began to rattle ominously in its stand over the fire. More sludge was beginning to bubble over the side onto the table. The smoke was now so thick, Harry could barely see Hermione anymore to ask her for help.

Its contents burbling like hot tar, his cauldron gave a little jump in its stand. The smell was getting even worse. As his cauldron gave another volatile jump, Harry could finally take no more of the smell and backed away, holding his sleeve up over his mouth.

Where’s Professor Snape? he frantically thought, trying to look through the cloud of smoke for the man. Doesn’t he see I need help…

As if in answer to the boy’s thoughts, a dark figure suddenly materialized out of the smoke by Harry’s side.

“Evanesco! Vapora!”

In an instant, the air magically cleared, all traces of the noxious fumes suddenly gone. Harry inhaled a deep drag of clean air. Around him, other students were also dropping their sleeves and taking deep breaths of air.

Glancing into his now-quiet caldron, Harry saw it was completely empty, his botched potion nowhere to be seen as if it had never even been there. With a tiny feeling of dread, Harry slowly looked over and met his Potions master’ gaze.

Snape stood with his arm folded across his chest, glaring at Harry down his long, hooked nose. “Not even the first day of class and already you’re botching simple potion assignments… If it’s not Longbottom, I suppose it would have to be you… I wonder if you can even tell us what it was that you did wrong? Or is that asking for too much?”

Harry felt a small flush of warmth on his cheeks, but managed to keep his voice steady. “I forgot to put the shaved earwigs in…” he murmured.

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “And I suppose you though you could remedy that by putting them in after you’d already put in the ground nettle root?”

“Yes…”

Snape gave a disgusted snort. “Of course… Why am I not surprised… That’s exactly what I’d expect some Gryffindor to do. If they can’t do it properly by actually listening to instructions, they automatically try to fix it by brute strength without even thinking about what it is they’re doing. Ten points from Gryffindor. And I want to see you after class…” Then turning his back on him, Snape swept back towards the front of the room. “Everyone else back to work!” he barked. “Ten more minutes, and I expect a sample of everyone’s potion on my desk and everyone’s workstation cleaned up by then!”

Harry felt a flash of anger go through him as Snape sat back at his desk, but forced himself to remain calm. He wasn’t going to let Snape get to him. He wasn’t going to let the older man’s snarky attitude stop him from finding out what was wrong with him. He was going to help Snape even if he ended up assigning him detention for the next four months. Maybe he was being stupid, or maybe it was his own Gryffindor determination, but he was going to do it…

Dropping back into his seat, Harry shoved his books back in his bag. With only ten more minutes of class, he didn’t have time to brew another sample for today’s assignment. It looked like he was going to get another zero… What a great way to start off the years…

When the bell finally rang ten minutes later, everyone quickly headed for the door. Ron and Hermione hesitated for a moment as if uncertain whether to leave their friend or not, but Harry waved them on with a forced smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right there,” he assured them.

When it was only Harry left, the young Gryffindor hesitantly looked towards the front of the room and the dark man sitting there. Gathering his bags, he hardened himself and went to stand in front of Snape’s desk.

Snape glanced up from the papers he was grading as Harry came to a stop in front of his desk and glowered. “I am sure Dumbledore has informed you of his wish for you to take Occlumency lessons?” Snape said without preamble.

Harry blinked in surprise. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting after Snape told him to stay behind (probably another ringing for almost blowing up the classroom), but the Potion master’s question caught him slightly off-guard. He’d almost completely forgotten about the Headmaster wanting him to take extra lessons he’d been so preoccupied with other things the last few days...

“Yes, Sir,” he replied warily.

“You will begin Occlumency lessons this Friday after dinner,” Snape curtly informed him. “Be here on time or I will not hesitate to deduct fifty points from Gryffindor. I am not doing this out of the goodness of my own heart and am not looking forward to this Friday any more than you are. But seeing as the Headmaster is set on it, it seems I have no choice in the matter…”

“One never does simply ‘just refuse’ Albus Dumbledore…” Harry mumbled under his breath, almost fondly.

His aside however had not escape the Potion master’s ears. Snape looked at him strangely for a moment as though startled by the boy’s choice of words. Harry thought he saw some familiar emotion pass over the Potion master’s eyes - like he’d suddenly remembered something important but was confused by its meaning. But then, as if shaking himself out of some kind of trance, Snape’s eyes once again turned cold.

“You are dismissed, Mr. Potter,” he said and turned back to the rolls of parchments he was reading.

“Yes, Sir…” Harry softly murmured, a little bit disheartened by Snape’s dismissal for reasons he couldn‘t quite explain, and then left.