The first thing Harry did upon arriving at the manor was to drop all his stuff in the front hall and race around the place like a crazy person. He went up to see his bedroom, ducked into the bathroom, and even pulled open some of the drawers in both rooms to see if stuff was where he left it. Once satisfied that no one had rearranged his rooms, he dashed to the library and then galloped into the family room, the dining room, and other rooms of the manor.

He was unpacking his things in the middle of the entrance hall and pulling out his broom when Snape caught him.

"Where do you think you're going, young man?"

"Out to fly."

"Indeed you will not. Look at this mess. Why didn't you unpack in your room?"

Despite Harry's protest that they only had a few hours of light left, Snape persisted in being horrid and made him take all the stuff upstairs, without any help from the house elves. Then Harry had to put away his belongings (not to cram them under the bed) and then get himself ready for supper.

"Can't I ride after?" Harry asked as they sat down to dinner. "I'll stay near the house."

"You'll catch your death," Snape replied. "It's freezing out there."

"I'll put on a coat and gloves and a scarf."

"With your luck, you'll twist it around your neck and hang yourself from your own broom. Oh, take that sad look off your face. You may fly for a bit, but you stay near the house, above the trees, and try no tricks. Then it's upstairs for a hot bath and bed."

Harry grinned and dug into the soup before him.

Flying in the dark in December over the Manor was an entirely different matter than flying in the summer had been. The wind bit against his face, his glasses felt like icy steel, and his ears were red and raw after the first ten minutes. At school playing Quidditch, all the gear and the excitement kept him from noticing the cold, but here Harry wanted down after the first twenty minutes. But he kept flying, not wanting to go inside to hear Snape's "I told you so." Snape might be right about a lot of things, but Harry saw no reason to encourage the man's arrogance.

Harry made a point of flying for an hour and then limped back to the house with stiff limbs and chattering teeth. After hanging his things up, he went straight upstairs and drew himself a hot bath to soak in to get the warmth back into his body. He had finished brushing his teeth and padded back into his bedroom to find Snape there.

"What are you doing?" Snape sounded cross. "I thought you were going to have tea downstairs like we always do."

"Sorry," Harry said at once. "I was cold. We can have it now."

"Put a robe on and slippers," Snape relented. "And you'll brush your teeth when you come back up."

Three minutes later, Snape had him in a large armchair in front of a roaring fire with a strong cup of tea in his hands. Snape even forced him to take two sugar biscuits and refilled his cup when he was done. Snape talked to him for a while, asking what the flying was like and how Harry felt about his team this year. Despite their rooting for different teams, Harry found he could have a long conversation with Snape about Qudditch and playing techniques.

Two hours later, when Snape finally hustled him up to bed at midnight, Harry collapsed into his bed where Snape had charmed the blankets warm. Right before he fell asleep, Harry decided that he definitely would not sneak off to Diagon Alley for New Years.

------

"I can't believe you're making me train during the holidays," Harry grumbled as he slumped into a chair, his hair damp from the bath he had taken after a grueling afternoon of exercise and spell-casting in the garden. "And making the stone wall turn into a monster to attack me was unfair. I'm never going to be attacked by a stone wall!"

"Mmm," Snape did not look up from his book. "Rest for a bit. You have two hundred push-ups and sit-ups to do after supper."

"I'm sore," Harry heard the whine in his own voice, but he couldn't help it.

"Good, good," Snape nodded, not listening anymore.

"What are you reading?" Harry craned his head to see the page.

"None of your concern. I need time for this - go amuse yourself for a while."

Harry opened his mouth to complain, but a loud clanging went off at the moment, signaling the wards being broken. Harry jumped to his feet, but Snape closed his book and rose serenely. "Right on time."

Without waiting for the house elves, Snape strode into the entrance while Harry behind him. Snape pulled the day open to reveal McGonagall and Moretta on the front steps.

Harry blinked at the sight of his head of house, but he couldn't help glowering at Moretta. When Snape let them in, Harry said, "Good afternoon, Professor," to McGonagall, but to Moretta, he muttered, "'Lo."

"Harry," Snape reproved before turning to the women. "Welcome, please come in. There is a fire in the family room."

Once the women were situated by the fire (Snape even gave Moretta Harry's armchair, the traitor!), Snape turned to Harry.

"Why don't you prepare some tea for our guests? The tea tray is waiting outside on the table."

"But Snape -"

Harry got that look, the one that told him not argue. Scowling, he went outside, purposely leaving the door a crack open so he could heard whatever they might say.

"A bit sulky, isn't he?" Moretta, the old hag, commented.

"Nonsense," McGonagall said in her usual pert way. "He's a different boy all together. Happy, bright, active, never looked healthier. I don't know what you're doing to him, Severus, but I hope you continue."

Harry could not believe his own head of house had turned on him. He set the cups on the plates as quietly as he could to hear the rest of the conversation.

"I don't pander to him," Snape replied. "I've always said he needed strictness and a firm hand. He's been mollycoddled far too long, getting away with disobedience left and right."

"Well, it is hard, sometimes," McGonagall objected, though she sounded only half-convinced. "He looked so miserable before, and he lost his parents. I hated having to scold him or take away house points during his first few years. I always thought he needed good friends and an open ear to listen to him."

Harry had always liked McGonagall.

"Please," Snape scoffed. "The only thing he ever needed was discipline. Structure and discipline without too much leeway or bleeding hearts feeling sorry for him."

"I quite agree," Moretta added.

It was all too much to bear. Harry stood there seething, while they talked about him like adults might discuss a small child.

He looked down at the tea set. He could switch the sugar out for salt or grind up rocks to put in the tea or conjure up bugs to place on top of the small tarts and biscuits. That would show Snape to talk like he had Harry all figured out.

But . . . if he did that, Snape would explain away his bad behavior as being cooped up to long with nothing to do or as being evidence that more strictness was needed to stop such naughtiness. Harry growled - trust Snape to set up circumstances where Harry had to do the right thing or risk appearing childish.

He entered the room with the tea prepared. He served McGonagall first, careful not to spill a drop and then served Moretta, resisting the urge to spill the whole pot of tea on her lap. Then he served Snape.

"May I have some tea or do I have to get on the floor and beg, master?" Harry asked sarcastically.

"Have some tea and don't bother us," Snape dismissed him with an indulgent look.

Harry got his tea and sipped on it while the conversation turned to school and classes and curriculum. He thought about chiming in on the conversation, but Moretta might say something about children being seen and not heard, and Harry knew he couldn't endure that, so he stayed quiet. However, listening to people talk and not being able to participate soon became boring, and Harry amused himself by dropping sugar cubes into his cup and pouring in small bits of tea. He drank the super sweet tea until Snape told he had had enough and should go to the library to study.

Harry went without a fight, but he stopped outside the door to listen at the keyhole. However, Snape cast a silencing spell, and Harry couldn't make out a word they were saying. He went to the library, but just wasted time in general rather than study. The two teachers stayed for almost three hours, and when they left, they said nothing though Moretta looked very pale and McGonagall's eyes were suspiciously red.

Snape made Harry tell them goodbye. Moretta stepped outside without a word, but McGonagall put her hand on Harry's shoulder and said, "You mind your adopted father."

When Harry nodded, McGonagall gave him a weak smile. "Severus, take care of him."

"What rubbish," Harry groused as soon as the women had gone. "You would have thought I was some meddlesome five-year-old."

"Mmm," Snape looked at him, considering.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I'm debating whether to have you stand in the corner or send you up to your room for the day. Can you not be polite to our guests for five minutes?"

"Sorry," Harry muttered.

Snape pressed his lips together. "Well, see you behave in the future."

"Then you're not going to tell me why they came here? What you talked about after you made me leave?"

"No."

Harry had not expected Snape to relay any information at all, and while that frustrated him, he knew that Snape had he reasons for keeping secrets. "Guess you'll tell me when I need to know."

"Indeed," Snape turned and walked away without looking back.

No doubt about - Harry planned to sneak out to Diagon Alley for New Years. That was his secret and Snape would learn about it once he realized Harry was gone

------

Four days before Christmas, the letter arrived.

Harry had taken it upon himself to open the window before breakfast every morning to let the delivery owls in. He had told himself that he was doing it as a kindness to Snape, a small chore to show he was not completely useless around the Manor, but of course that was all nonsense. Harry checked everyday to see if his marks from Hogwarts had arrived.

He also tried to convince himself that Snape had not been serious about the marks, that the man had no intention of doing anything for low marks other than frowning and saying he hoped Harry did better in the future.

Yet the morning the letter arrived - a thick square parchment envelope with elaborate writing on the front and Hogwarts seal on the back - Harry felt his palms go sweaty.

His first impulse was to hide the letter. Put it under the chair, or slip it under the rug, hurl it in the fire - just get rid of it!

He managed to push down that hysterical reaction and next thought about just giving it to Snape and feigning disinterest until Snape told him what his marks were.

But that was nonsense, too. The letter wasn't addressed to Snape - it had Harry's name right on the front - Mr. Harry Potter. They were his marks, the marks he had earned with the hours of lessons and studying since September.

"Ugh, sodding mess," Harry grumbled as he tore the envelope open.

For a moment, he looked at the parchment and could not comprehend what it said. Unlike the O.W.L.s that he had taken at the end of last year, these marks were graded on percentages, 0 to 100 though Hermione had once scored 112% in Charms and 320% in Muggle Studies which Harry thought was cheating since she had been raised with Muggle parents. Harry had never really paid attention to the mid-year marks or the end of years marks either. They always sent them to him, but by then it was Christmas or summer holiday, and who cared about marks then?

But there in the middle of the paper were his marks for the fall.

Charms                                                - 93%

Defense against the Dark Arts            - 94%

Herbology                                           - 91%

Potions                                                - 82%

Transfiguration                                    - 97%

Charms was good - he had studied hard in that. Defense, also good mainly because Snape was teaching and Harry never, ever went to class unprepared. Herbology, fine - Transfiguration, good - Potions -

Harry swallowed hard. 82%. Not good. Not horrible or awful or failing, but not good like the others.

It was all Moretta's fault. She was out to get him, as always. Sneaking around, watching him, judging him, nasty bitch!

Not a nice thing to think about someone, but Harry stalked around the dining room, working himself into a temper. He would have revenge - he would make her life a living nightmare, he would torture her with more pranks than Fred and George imagined possible. He would drive her crazy with his bad behavior until she had to leave Hogwarts to keep her mental health. They would put her in St. Mungo where she would spent the rest of her short life fearing that Potter boy might come back to torment her.

The dinner room door opened, and Snape stepped in. "Oh, Harry, do you know where I put -"

"She has it in for me!" Harry nearly yelled. He held up the parchment. "And now I have proof. Right here on the paper. It might as well say ‘Die, Harry Potter'!"

"What on earth are you going on about?" Snape demanded as he took the paper. "These are just your marks."

"Yeah, I know," Harry crossed his arms. "See what she gave me in Potions."

Snape glanced at the sheet for moment. "Well, Harry," he finally said, "you did very well for the most part. These marks tell me that you can certainly stay in the top ten percentile. As for Potions, I think it is a poor excuse to blame Moretta. When you were in my Potions class, we never got along, and you still managed an Exceeds Expectations in your O.W.L.s."

Harry nodded, dreading whatever might happen next.

"Since you're doing so well in your other classes, I think you might concentrate on Potions a little more. I'll be honest with you - I was hoping you might be at the top of your class because you had plenty opportunities to ask me questions about Potions."

Harry felt his heart sinking and his stomach twisted horribly. He wished Snape would just start smacking him and make him feel better about being such a disappointment.

"All I ask from you is your best," Snape went on. "I'm never taking less than your very best. You owe it to me and you owe it to yourself."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered.

"Very good. Well, what say we have breakfast now? I was looking for my coat a minute ago because I can't seem to find it, but I suppose the house elves -"

"Wait, that's it?" Harry demanded. "That's the end of the marks? You aren't going to do anything else about it?"

"82% isn't that bad. Believe me, if it had been 42% we would be having a much different conversation."

"But I was scared to death!" Harry declared. "I've been worrying about these since exams, since you told me I would be in trouble trouble if I got poor marks."

"And it helped you study harder," Snape shrugged. "I should have told you what they were earlier, but I forgot."

"That's right! You said you would know my marks once all the teachers were done. How long have you known?"

"Before we left Hogwarts. But I thought I'd give you a bit of a rest at home first."

"You said wanted perfect marks. None of these are perfect marks, not even Transfiguration."

"You're right," Snape nodded. "Put your hands out, palms up."

Harry offered out his hands, wondering what instrument of torture Snape would use on them. Harry had the fleeting thought he might be slightly masochistic, but he had thought that ever since last year when he seemed to provoke Umbridge into punishing him, a way of atoning for Cedric's death. He might be going mad, but he liked the feeling after Snape had punished him, when he was forgiven and they could the whole wretched business behind them nad he didn't have to mentally beat himself up anymore.

Snape rolled up the parchment and then he swatted Harry's left hand, then his right hand. "Naughty Harry," Snape scolded. "Bring those marks up."

The parchment would not have hurt on normal hands, and after weeks of training, Harry's hands were so hard and callused that he barely felt anything. His mouth dropped open at what Snape had done.

"Now that's done," Snape put the parchment on the table. "Can we have some breakfast or do I need to swat you with the envelope, too?"

"Miserable bastard," Harry grumbled as he sat down the table.

"Your language is deplorable," Snape shook his head as he sat down at the table as well. "I would soap your mouth out, but you might like it, and then you'd make me do it every time you swear."

"I do not like being punished," Harry insisted. "I only like it when everything is over and finished."

"You've always wanted closure," Snape told him. "You like the fact that you have to answer for your behavior to an authority who remain constant. And once it's done, it's done. As I told McGonagall and Moretta - and I knew you were listening at the door - you need structure and a firm hand."

Harry yanked his napkin off the table with a scowl. He was definitely sneaking out at New Years, and he would do his best not to feel one speck of guilt about it. That would show Snape.

------

The next a miserable rain cloaked the manor in fog and mist. Harry stood at the window in Snape's study and watched the drizzle while Snape worked at his desk. The rain did not seem to be letting up.

He sat down in the window seat and drew his knees up, looping his arms around them, and stared at the raindrops sliding down the pane.

Sometimes the raindrops ran straight down, but sometimes two drops would connect together before tumbling down the glass. It looked like the window was crying, the tears streaming down in broken despair.

Harry pulled his knees to his chest and wonder if -

"Fine," Snape threw his quill. "If you're going to sit there sulking!"

"I'm not sulking," Harry was surprised. "I was just sitting here, watching the rain and -"

"You never give me a moment's peace," Snape stood up. "We might as well get this over with."

"Get what over with?" Harry looked wide-eyed.

"Don't play innocent with me. You knew Draco send me a note this morning asking if he could come over and then if I would take both of you to Diagon Alley for some Christmas shopping this afternoon. It's pouring outside, but you two have to go out and catch your deaths."

"I didn't know Draco sent a note," Harry said honestly, but Snape would not listen.

"We're going to wrap up, and you're taking a warming potion before we leave, and I don't want to hear one word of protest," Snape was doing his best martyr look, the beleaguered father with a pestering son. "And then you'll want all of your allowance to buy gifts for all your useless friends - I don't know why I put up with this wretched behavior, I really don't."

Harry had not thought about gifts or the possibility of shopping in Diagon Alley, but that sounded a million times better than sitting and watching the rain fall. He took the potion without complaint though Snape told him to stop making faces, and then he wrapped up in warm clothes. Snape handed him a small bag of coins. Harry was about to count it all out to see much he had saved in the recent months, when the doorbell rang.

They found Draco on the doorstep, fighting to get his umbrella closed and splattering himself with more rainwater than the umbrella had kept off.

"About ruddy time," Draco said when they opened the door. "You said you'd meet me at the gate ten minutes ago."

"Stop your griping and get in," Snape pulled the door back. "You should be grateful I agreed to this at all."

"How come the wards didn't go off?" Harry asked.

"They spelled to let me in," Draco smirked.

"Wipe that look off your face and come to the floo," Snape directed them into the next room.

"We're flooing there?" Harry asked. "Last time we drove."

"Come along," Snape said impatiently.

They went to the study where the working fireplace burning brightly. As Snape took his wand and spelled the fire out and began hovering the logs out, Draco leaned close to Harry.

"Guess what?" he whispered. "Luna's going to be at Diagon Alley. I'm going to distract Snape, and you two can meet inside the Leaky Cauldron, just the two of you."

Harry blinked, but Snape had already turned back with the wooden bowl of floo powder. Harry took a handful, but Draco also grabbed some and stepped up to the fireplace.

Draco smirked again at Harry and then flung down the powder. As he disappeared in a puff of green smoke, Harry wondered what kind of trouble Draco would get him into.