Harry didn’t much feel like speaking to Ron or Hermione, so he set his alarm early, casting a charm around his bed so that the noise would wake only him; and when it did, he dressed silently. He wasn’t particularly hungry, so he grabbed his broom and headed for the Quidditch pitch.Outside, the air was still soft and mist-laden, damp from the rain of the night before. Harry grinned, relishing the feeling of being alone and free for the first time in what now seemed ages; kicking off of the ground, he soared through the air as fast as he dared, swooping through and around goal hoops, grinning with the sheer joy of speed and power.

After fifteen minutes, he sensed eyes watching him, so he descended out of the now-parting mists and landed.

It was three of the Unsorted House.

The black-haired boy was staring at him with open admiration. “’Lo,” he said with a smile. “What’s all that, then?”

Harry looked behind him. “Er... the Quidditch pitch?”

The blonde girl with the long plaits grinned up at him. “It looks like fun. Is it a game?”

Harry stared at her in incredulity. Is it a game? his thoughts echoed blankly. “Yes,” he managed. “Sure it is. And it is a lot of fun...” He frowned, wondering if any of these children could ever play for any Quidditch team. “I’m sure you’ll see it soon enough.”

The black-haired boy nodded decisively. “I’m Ewan Jones, and this is Lilac Johansen,” he announced imperiously, nodding to the blonde girl, who giggled. “And this is Rae Thomas.”

Harry peered behind the two to find the girl with the Weasley hair. “Any relation to Dean Thomas?”

She shook her head mutely.

“We won’t be any relation to anyone you know, I expect,” Ewan filled in quietly. “It took us awhile to find one another, but it appears we’re the only Muggle-borns in this year.” He eyed Harry. “That is how you say it? Muggle-born?”

Harry nodded. “Muggle-born, myself,” he announced. “I’m Harry. Harry Potter.”

The blonde’s eyes lit. “You’re Harry Potter!” she exclaimed.

“So he just finished saying,” Ewan supplied contemptuously.

“No, Harry Potter,” Lilac finished excitedly. “He’s a teacher!”

It was all Harry could do to keep a straight face. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Taught. “Assistant Teacher,” he mumbled, “and I haven’t accepted yet.” He looked at each of the three before him, wondering if they’d approached any Slytherins this way. He decided to try and warn them. “Look, if you ever see... well, if anyone tries to get you to...”

Ewan snorted. “Trying to warn us off of Slytherin, I expect.”

“Really?” Lilac’s eyes were wide.

“Well, he’s Gryffindor, isn’t he?”

Harry blinked, surveying his clothing. He’d left his robes inside; he found they interfered with his flying, dark cloth whipping into his eyes at importune moments. “Do I have ‘Gryffindor’ stamped across my forehead?”

“I saw you,” Ewan went on, his face carefully neutral, “at the Gryffindor table last night.” He turned to his companions. “The one with all the red and gold? He was holding court, the same way that the tall blonde boy was at Slytherin, and the long-haired black girl at Ravenclaw.”

Harry sputtered. “Holding court?” At the same time, he found that he had automatically Sorted Ewan himself: Slytherin.

“Yeah, they were all listening to you,” Ewan supplied, his eyes peering off into the distance, “nodding whenever you spoke, and laughing – even the ones farthest away, who couldn’t possibly have heard every word you’d said...”

Harry blinked. “That so?”

“That’s so,” Rae contributed unexpectedly. “But it was a bit more... obvious... where there was all that green.”

Ewan turned to face her, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, guess so. At least Gryffindor seems to find you genuinely funny, Harry.”

“So do I,” Lilac added. “What happened to your head?”

Harry was saved from answering that question by a small ringing on the watch at his wrist. “Uh, it’s time for breakfast,” he answered instead, herding them ahead of him.

When they entered the Great Hall, it was already full of people; the small table that had sat up near the Staff Table was now gone.

“Where will we sit?” Lilac wondered, her pale braids swishing as she examined each House Table in turn.

Ewan looked up at Harry. “What do you suggest?”

“Well... I suppose you lot ought to come with me, for now.”

“I want to sit with Hermione,” Rae said in the small, quiet voice Harry was beginning to realize was the only one she possessed.

“All right,” Harry agreed. “I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“She’s in Gryffindor, too,” Ewan noted.

“I like her,” Lilac said simply. “She’s nice. She made my bed smell like my name.”

“It was a cool trick,” Ewan added. “Wonder if she’ll teach me?”

Harry couldn’t help but find the three’s blatant admiration for Hermione somewhat warming. It showed good judgment on their part, for one thing. He began to reassess his immediate Sorting of Ewan as the trio settled at the Gryffindor table.

“Where’d you find this lot, Harry?” Ron inquired, while Hermione grinned at the two girls, sharing a private smile with each.

“Found them hanging about the Quidditch pitch,” Harry said. “Ron, this is Ewan, Rae, and Lilac. You three, this is Ron Weasley.” The conversation with the trio had warmed him considerably, and he no longer felt angry with Ron.

“Is he Muggle-born as well?” Ewan wondered.

When Harry shook his head, Ewan’s small nose drifted upwards a notch. “Delighted, I’m sure,” he said, in such an echo of Draco Malfoy’s parody of manners that Ron blinked in surprise before a familiar dislike crept over his features.

“Nice to meet you,” Lilac said pleasantly. Rae merely looked a tad more terrified than before.

Ron smiled awkwardly, and continued eating.

“What have you-all got first?” Hermione inquired, and a happy fifteen minutes passed while Hermione gave them all advice on each Professor. “As far as our temporary Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher goes,” she tacked on mischievously, “I highly recommend you not be late to his class. He hates that. And don’t let your mind wander for a moment, either,” she continued in tones of grave concern. “He’ll notice immediately and take you to task.”

Lilac giggled behind her hand, but Ewan appeared to be taking her seriously behind his pleased grin. Rae continued to look terrified until Hermione mussed her hair slightly.

“In all seriousness, I expect Harry will be one of our better Professors this year,” Hermione said. “Of course, he might have told me a bit about it before I had to find out from Parvati...”

Harry flinched. “Whoops?”

“I realize there were other things on your mind,” Hermione added graciously. She half-turned at her seat so she was facing Harry more directly. “Do you think you’re ready for Potions, this morning?”

Harry nodded resolutely. “Quiz me, if you like.”

Ron groaned and covered his ears while Hermione did just that. While Ewan and Lilac chattered for awhile in the background, Harry swept the Gryffindor table with his eyes, noting that most of the people seated there flickered their attention towards he, Ron and Hermione every two or three minutes, as though to make certain that there was not anything interesting or exciting going on. A couple of second- and third-years looked anxiously at Colin Creevey and Neville, who were both seated near to him. Harry stiffened, wondering if the right to sit near him was some sort of ...

“Are you listening, Harry?” Hermione demanded. “I just asked you to name five issues of quality in herbal potions ingredients.” She tsked. “If you’re not serious about this, I won’t waste my time.”

“Thank Merlin!” Ron announced, unplugging his ears.

“I am serious, Hermione, I’m just a bit distracted.” More than anything, he wanted to ask Hermione if sitting near him was a mark of power within Gryffindor, but, eyeing Ewan’s sharp gaze, he decided that a question like that could wait.

Once breakfast was finished, Hermione stood, the three Unsorted following her example. “Now, do you remember where the Transfiguration classroom is?”

When they all nodded, she sent them off.

“Dear Merlin,” she said. “That we were ever that age.”

Harry was surprised to find himself shaking slightly by the time he and Hermione entered the Potions classroom. Draco Malfoy was already there, looking oddly out-of-place without his cronies. The blonde Slytherin prefect entered the classroom a moment or two after Harry and Hermione. He noted that the blonde locked gazes with both Hermione, then Draco; she sighed, and picked a seat almost directly in between them.“Who’s that?” Harry inquired.

“Yolande Zabini,” Hermione supplied. “We’re, er, acquaintances. Sort of, anyway.”

When the dark-haired Ravenclaw prefect entered the classroom, Harry frowned, wondering just how many of Snape’s Advanced Potions students were, in fact, prefects. “And that?”

“Regalius Exclasia,” Hermione said, sounding far harder this time. “He’s a...” Hermione frowned. “Prat,” she decided, although it sounded like Hermione wished for a better, more descriptive term.

Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff followed on Regalius’s heels. He smiled at Harry and Hermione before taking a seat in the second row, the closest anyone dared sit to Professor Snape.

Harry was seated beside him.

Professor Snape swept into the Potions classroom with his usual aplomb, writing on the board as usual before deigning to turn and face his students. With a flick of his wand, the following words appeared:

Advanced Potions:

Syllabus

Week 1 – Review of previous years

Week 2 – Chapters 1-4 of Advanced Potion-Making

Week 3 – Chapters 5-6 of Advanced Potion-Making

Week 4 – Practical Exam; Paper Proposals Due

Week 5 – Chapters 7&8 of Advanced Potion-Making

Week 6 – Chapters 8-11 of Advanced Potion-Making

Week 7 – Chapters 12-15 of Advanced Potion-Making

Week 8 – Written and Practical Exam

Week 9 – Chapters 1-5 of Preparations text

Week 10 – Chapters 6-11 of Preparations text

Week 11 – Chapters 16-21 of Advanced Potion-Making

Week 12 – Potion Ingredients and Potion Proposal Due

Week 13 – Chapters 22-25 of Advanced Potion-Making

Week 14 – Outline and Resources Due

Weeks 15-30 – Independent Study and Research

Harry had barely written the sixth line when Snape whirled to survey them all. “As you are no doubt aware–” His voice hitched when his eye lit on Harry. “Mister Potter.”

Harry jumped. There was absolutely nothing he could have possibly done at this juncture. He was the picture of innocence, he’d made certain of it, all he was doing was sitting and taking notes. “Sir?”

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

Harry’s anger blazed. “Taking notes, sir.” Had Snape actually thought that not sending his assignments would keep him from attending the classes he needed to become an Auror?

“I am well aware of that fact,” Snape replied, moving to stand by his desk. “However, the question remains. I have not placed you in my Advanced Potions class, Potter. So, I repeat: what are you doing here?”

Harry flushed in combined anger and embarrassment that only increased when he heard Draco Malfoy chuckle somewhere behind him and to his right. “Professor McGonagall said you took those who received an ‘Outstanding’ on their OWL, Professor,” Harry replied stiffly.

“So I do,” Professor Snape replied. “In which case, that leaves you unqualified, as you received an Exceeds Expectations.”

Harry could almost feel Hermione straighten behind him in dismayed surprise. His face, he knew, was now a bright crimson, and his mind was reeling in confusion. Would Snape really go this far to ensure that he had a Harry Potter-free year? “No, sir, I received an ‘Outstanding’,” he insisted, wincing at the sharpness in his own voice. “I know I did. I have–”

“Here, then, Potter, if you must see.” Professor Snape was beginning to look angry, now, and it didn’t help Harry that he knew it had been the alteration in his own tone of voice that had done it. Snape slapped a sheet of parchment down in front of Harry, who scanned it. He was certain that it was a breach of protocol of the most serious degree for Snape to hand him the grades of every single student of his year, but that was precisely what the professor had done.

Sure enough, right by his name was a calligraphy letter ‘E’, written in an unrecognizable, lacy script.

The page seemed to blur under Harry’s eye. “But...” he murmured helplessly. He knew he hadn’t brought his own grade-sheet with him, so he could not show it to Snape. Could he have wanted that grade so badly he’d hallucinated it somehow?

Harry shook his head, pushing all of that aside and pressing on. “But Professor, I’ve done all of your summer assignments,” he protested, drawing forth a tightly wrapped scroll that felt heavy in his hands.

Professor Snape accepted the scroll thoughtfully, unrolling it and peering at its contents for a moment before scanning Harry’s face, his determined eyes. “Very thoughtfully done, Mister Potter,” he acknowledged. He eyed the paper once more. “Incendio,” he said ruthlessly.

Harry watched with horror as the toil of his last week of summer went up in flames. Suddenly, he could see Snape taunting him back in his very first year, asking questions no Muggle-raised child could possibly know, humiliating him, Snape, saying you’re not trying hard enough! when he had to know Harry would do anything he could to force him from his mind, Snape, taunting Sirius...

The rage built in him until it seemed it must have release, until it seemed bigger than the whole room, bigger than the whole world.

And just as suddenly, it was gone, leaving a yawning gap of nothing. Harry looked up half-fearfully at Professor Snape, but once again the accidental magic didn’t seem to have had any effect. As before, he felt mentally and physically exhausted.

The Professor was looking at him oddly, but all he said was, “Well, Potter? Remove yourself from this room, or I will!” When Harry began to pick up his books and stuff them back in his bag, Professor Snape stood in front of him tapping his foot, herding him to the door, and even shoving him slightly in the small of the back on the way out. “And Mister Potter?”

Harry turned, searching in his emotional range for dread, or anger, or sadness, and coming up empty. Professor Snape stood in the doorway, that odd look still on his face.

“You might consider taking yourself to the hospital wing,” he added, sotto voce, then slammed the door.

The Hospital Wing. Well, all right, Harry thought. It was as good a place to go as any, now he had a free period, although Snape’s words didn’t make much sense to him. He hadn’t been hurt, at least not physically.Madam Pomfrey busied herself about him, gave him a Pepper-Up Potion and in general looked vaguely worried. She gazed into his eyes, then quizzed him carefully about something called Fretandulus draught, which Harry assured her he had never taken nor even heard of. He still couldn’t manage to care much about any of it, but after awhile, her worry gave him cause for concern in and of itself. She was displeased that the Pepper-Up Potion hadn’t seemed to do him much good, and told him to lie still for the rest of the class.

Harry couldn’t really find a reason worth arguing, so he quietly complied, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what had gone wrong with his Potions O.W.L.

He supposed it logical of Snape to not really want him in Potions anymore. Harry himself never would have attended the class if not for wanting to be an Auror, and he could understand how Snape wouldn’t much like to see him either. Still, changing his grade seemed above and beyond natural Snape vindictiveness. Therefore somewhere along the line, there had been some kind of mistake. He doubted that it could be any sort of typo, not when the grades were probably double- and triple-checked; and, for that matter, he doubted Snape could change it if he wanted to. It was probably charmed to resist that sort of thing, or students would be altering their O.W.L. grades all the time.

Harry pondered his next move. He could go to Professor McGonagall, or Dumbledore. Frowning, he decided his Head of House was his best choice, especially given the scene he’d made in Dumbledore’s office at the end of last term. Frowning, he couldn’t really place why he’d been so upset at the time.

About forty-five minutes after Madam Pomfrey’s first order to have a lie-down, Professor Snape came sweeping into the infirmary. He exchanged a couple of words with the woman before standing beside Harry’s bed and glaring at him with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Been experimenting, I see?” he finally said in his most sinister voice, leaning over Harry and examining him much as Pomfrey had, tugging his eyelids up and peering at his pupils, holding his wrist with cold fingers to take Harry’s pulse. “Death Eaters and the Dark Lord and Quidditch and half the known Wizarding World out to kill him cannot possibly be enough excitement for our little celebrity...”

“Don’t know what you’re on about,” Harry said, his voice still sounding strangely flat. “I haven’t been...” He lost interest in the sentence halfway through, realizing that it would not matter what he said: Snape would continue to examine him in precisely the same manner, whether he talked or no.

“No,” Snape confirmed, sounding disquieted, “you haven’t.” He seated himself abruptly in one of the small wooden folding-chairs that Madam Pomfrey kept in a small corner and leaned back, his arms once more crossed forbiddingly. “Well? Talk.”

Harry didn’t quite know what Snape wanted him to talk about, but he took a wild stab at it. “I did get an ‘Outstanding’,” he said, a faint indignation filling him from somewhere far, far away. “Or, at least, my paper said so.” He frowned. “Oh. Maybe they mixed me up with someone else? Maybe all my grades are wrong? But I failed History of Magic and Divination just like I knew I would...”

The Professor appeared neither pleased nor displeased with this babble, but Harry continued, unable to think of a reason to stop. Snape’s comfort or discomfort seemed worlds away, in any case.

“I tried really hard this time,” he rambled. “I even got questions five and seven from the anemone article. Even got Dudley to help me.”

Snape’s brows raised. “The boy with the dog?”

It took a long moment to put that into context. “Oh, yes, but he’s matured. And I had the topic of my paper already, or I think I did – and I just wanted...” Harry paused, wondering what it was that he had wanted. He’d wanted to see Snape not frown at him, but even in his befuddled state he knew he couldn’t say that, or anything like it. Wanted you to be pleased, he thought absently, wanted you to think I’m worth more than a name and a scar. The thought pained him, and he squirmed slightly. Was there anyone, even Ron and Hermione, who didn’t think of him that way? Sirius hadn’t, he realized, but Sirius was gone.

Wasn’t he? Everything felt so muddled.

“We shall see about your grade, Mister Potter,” Snape replied. “As to your current state, I can only imagine one of my cleverer Slytherins has slipped you something. What did you eat this morning for breakfast?”

“Breakfast,” Harry repeated. “Eggs, I think.”

“And to drink?”

Harry frowned. “Oh, nothing to drink. Just some eggs. Was upset at Ron – not hungry.”

“The night before, then. At dinner?”

Harry stretched his thoughts back. All of the business with the Sorting Hat suddenly seemed laughable, the way everyone had gotten so worked up. “Not much,” he said. “Three or four bites of something, not sure what. Was distracted.”

Snape was frowning, now. “And before that?”

“Lunch?” Harry mused. “Well, Hermione handed me some tea on the train.” He blinked. “D’you think Hermione poisoned me, Professor?”

Snape snorted. “I think I have the answer, you fool.” He stood, moved to talk to Madam Pomfrey.

Five minutes later, Harry had a tall glass of pumpkin juice, a buttered roll, a heaping plate of still-steaming vegetables, cooked in olive oil and basil, and three or four pieces of ham.

“Don’t let him leave until it disappears,” Snape ordered. He whirled on Harry. “Next time you come to class,” he said flatly, “eat first.”

“Sir?”

“Potter?” Snape barked, a parody of Harry’s earnest query.

“Next time I come to class, sir?”

Snape glowered. “I am certain this matter with your grade will be soon resolved. Now, eat.”

Harry nodded, and set to.