The-boy-who-lived sat in the great hall picking at his lunch. The morning had gone by excruciatingly slowly, and the afternoon didn’t look like it was going to bet any better. Going to classes was rubbish when you couldn’t speak, Harry had decided after several days of experience. You couldn’t do any of the really cool spells, and of course the only class that he could truly function in was potions. And even in potions he was doing worse than usual. For whatever reason, he found it difficult to concentrate on what his teacher was saying, and there were far too many times Snape’s wand came crashing down on the desk in front of him to wake him up.

He wasn’t looking forward to doing it all over again right after lunch.

“Harry? You all right mate?”

“Yeah, Harry, you’ve been awfully quiet today.”

“Hermione, really --”

She blushed at her mistake, “I just meant that he hasn’t really been communicating at all, even by quill and parchment.”

Grabbing said tools he scrawled out ‘I’m sick of writing. It’s tiring and hurts your hands!’

Hermione looked thoughtful for a minute, and then brightened considerably, rising from the table. “I'll meet you two in potions, I have something I have to do.”

Sure enough, potions class was a disaster. Harry had to admit that he brought most of his trouble on himself, but every time he had a class with Snape he couldn't help but drift back to the other day in the hospital. If what everyone said was true, that Snape knew what it was like to be – punished that way. Did that mean he and Snape were the same? Did that mean he was going to end up mean and angry too?

He snapped out of his reverie when Hermione poked him. Sighing, he turned back to his cauldron and attempted to catch up to the rest of the class.

To say that he was relieved when class was over would have been a gross understatement. He couldn't deny that he had made a mess of his potion, but he tried to forget the way his Potions teacher had spat out “absolute rubbish” upon seeing Harry's results. Ignoring the fluttery feeling in his chest, he headed out of the classroom only to find himself flat on his face on the stone floor of the corridor.

“Hey, Potter, you blind and deaf now too?” came the voice of Draco Malfoy from behind him.

“Mute and deaf are not the same thing Malfoy, you idiot!” Ron yelled.

Rising to his feet as quickly as he could, Harry whipped out his wand and aimed it at Draco only to hear another voice join the crowd. One which was higher up and much more frightening.

“You will lower your wand this instant, Mr. Potter.”

Shakily, Harry did as he was told, only to stiffen when he saw Snape bend down to pick up something up off the floor. His jar of balm! It must have fallen out of his pocket.

Snape studied the empty vessel quietly for a moment and then slipped it inside his robes. Turning back to the students he sneered,

“That will be 25 points from Gryffindor and a detention for you Mr. Potter. My office, tonight at 7:00.”

He turned back into the classroom leaving Harry to stare after him as the man walked away with the one thing the boy had wanted to keep for himself.

Detention was the last way the potions master wanted to spend his evening. Whoever thought of evening detention as a punishment for students obviously didn't realize that it was also a burden for their teachers.

Snape had been grading papers for the last hour, but found himself continually distracted by the empty healing balm container sitting on his desk, just at the side of his line of sight.

Why he hadn't tossed it into the rubbish bin yet, he couldn't quite understand, but he wasn't allowing himself to dwell on it. Indeed, he had picked the jar up to do just that many times since his first year class that afternoon, but had always been interrupted before he could manage to divest himself of it. He found himself continually frowning at the idea that the boy had been carrying the blasted thing around with him all day. What was he trying to prove?

Picking it up once again, he eyed the container suspiciously. It was slightly sticky, and he grimaced, wiping it on his robe. He fervently hoped it was only remnants of the balm itself, rather than any sort of goo the Potter boy may have encountered. With young boys one could never tell. Just one more disturbing thought to try and dismiss.

A soft knock came then on his office door, and he glanced at his pocket watch. 6:55 p.m. Potter was early. Surprising.

“Enter.”

The door opened, and the boy paused in the entryway.

“Don't hover, boy!”

The boy moved in to the room, but met his eyes with an expression Snape couldn't quite name. He seemed to collect himself, almost as if he was pulling an invisible mask down over his face. With a flourish he pulled a parchment out of his robes and handed it to the professor.

Snape's eyes threatened to roll back into his head, but he unrolled it anyway.

The parchment read: 'This detention isn't fair! Malfoy tripped me!'

“Yes, he did, but you also pulled your wand on him, which is hardly an appropriate response.” Potter moved to grab the paper to write a response, but Snape held it out of reach. “Besides, you idiotic child, what exactly did you intend to do to Malfoy when you can't speak the incantations? You set yourself up to get cursed or hexed with absolutely no defense!”

He hadn't intended to raise his voice, indeed, hadn't even realized he was angry until he spoke. He schooled his expression, but wasn't about to back down now that it was done.

And apparently it wasn't necessary, as Potter looked ashamed, and was writing a response already. 'I hadn't thought of that.'

“Clearly.” he drawled. “Besides, the quality of your work in class has been dismal, unless you think you can learn through osmosis?”

Pure and simple confusion was the only thing that currently played on the boy's face. He translated into smaller words.

“You're drifting off and when you're not staring into space, you're staring at me. Perhaps an hour or two of scrubbing cauldrons will teach you to pay attention to your work!”

While Harry maintained a strong look of defiance, his body language spoke volumes to the potions master, who watched as the boy shrunk back in the chair where he was seated.

The boy is a walking contradiction.

'Maybe I was trying to figure you out' came the words.

“Better people than you have tried and failed at that task.”

'So you know everything about everyone, then?'

“Hardly. Indeed, there's a thing or two I'd like to know about you.”

Harry's eyebrows disappeared under his fringe in invitation, and Snape could see him struggle not to appear curious. And indeed his curiosity vanished when the potions master snapped the empty balm container on the desk in front of the boy and rasped out,

“Like how you managed to waste all this balm!” His anger was apparent, and the small boy in the chair instinctively tried to make himself even smaller. But Snape didn't stop there.

“And carrying around the empty jar! Showing off to your friends, are you? Showing them all how quickly you can lay waste to my work?”

Gaining control of himself, Snape was finally able to focus on his student, who by this point had pulled his knees up against his chest, and was shaking his head back and forth emphatically.

“What then?” The quill and parchment went flying across the desk, where Harry grasped them, white-knuckled and began to write. His teacher's unexpected anger had obviously not disapated as he snatched up the parchment and read the few lines scratched across it. And when the man's face paled and twisted, Harry truly began to feel afraid.

“Do you think you're being funny? 'I liked having it with me. It was a present.'?” Harry tried not to think of the fact that Snape's face twisted like Uncle Vernon's when he was mad. Teachers aren't allowed to hurt students. They're not. He held his breath.

“You think it's okay to mock me to my FACE? GET OUT!” When the shock prevented Harry from moving, Snape came around to the front of the desk and began to pull the boy towards the door by his collar. Unlike in the hospital, Harry managed to escape the man's grip and threw himself towards the desk fast enough to grab his prize once more.

But only for a moment.

Somewhere in the back of Snape's mind he registered the fact that the fingers he pryed off the jar were very, very small. But it didn't stop him from taking it back. No, what stopped him in his tracks was sound of the Potter brat, who by all rights shouldn't be speaking at all, croaking out two little words:

“Pr'f'ser...please.”

And then Harry brought his hands to his throat and slid down the wall, hiding his face against his knees.

With a sigh, Severus dropped down to one knee and tried to lift the boy's face, to no avail.

“Potter, clearly you've hurt yourself. Let me see how badly.”

With a tiny shudder and a quick swipe of his eyes, Harry lifted his head. He tried not to flinch as Snape ran expert fingers over his throat.

“Still inflamed. You shouldn't have – are you in pain?” A surprisingly wry look came at him in return. “More pain than usual? Yes. Okay, wait here. In the chair.”

The man came back momentarily with a potion. “Swallow this. It will hurt at first, but it will ease in a moment.”

As the boy did as he was told, Severus collapsed into his chair, closing his eyes.

“Did you really think it was a present?”

Harry nodded.

“Well that's pathetic.” He saw the boy look away, and cursed himself not only for getting that reaction but for caring about said reaction. Taking a deep breath he added, “I didn't mean you, Potter. I simply meant that you have pathetically low expectations. Obviously we have the muggles to thank for that.”

Snape leaned across the desk and offered Potter the empty jar. By the way he snatched it from his hand, much like a starving child would snatch a piece of bread, it was plain to see that he didn't understand what his teacher was trying to say.

“Harry, it wasn't a present.” Hurt in those eyes. “No, let me continue. It was merely the assistance that anyone should expect to receive in such a situation.” Even you.

Merlin's beard, would the boy stop looking at him like that? He was barely even blinking. It was unnatural. Finally Severus looked away.

“Well, now that I know why you kept it,” he couldn't stop himself from smirking, “I still don't know why you've managed to go through a week's worth of healing balm in less than 3 days? I'm going to presume you have more injuries than we saw in the hospital wing.”

Harry tried to think of something decent in reply, but gave up when the professor drawled. “Do not lie to me, Potter. Not about this.”

So Harry wrote nothing, and watched as the potions professor made his way around the desk one more time. The next thing Harry knew he was being lifted and swung upwards until he was standing on top of Snape's desk. On top! Of his desk!

Harry made an angry face and quickly scrawled something, shoving it at the professor with as much strength as he could muster, given he'd just been swung around like a ragdoll.

Severus took the paper, reading it aloud.

“Stop doing that! I'm not a baby!”

At that he gave Harry a quick once over and a smile that if anyone was watching they would have said was indulgent. But it disappeared as quickly as it came. “No, of course you aren't. But my way is much more efficient. Roll up the legs of your trousers.”

Harry did as he was told, and waited while Snape once again checked his injuries. Straightening, Snape looked at him and said “You should have told us about this when we were all in the hospital wing. Now you, being the grownup that you are, can remove yourself from my desk and wait another moment.”

He returned with another jar of balm, this time twice the size of the last one. “This should last you at least a week, Potter, if you are not careless with it.”

Harry made another move for his quill.

“Potter, if you make one move to scrawl out 'thank you' in that wretched scratch you call penmanship, I shall cast incendio on that parchment faster than you can blink.”

Rather than intimidate the boy wizard, Harry only flashed a grin at the taller man and scampered out of the room.