Snape stalked back and forth across the front of the room, hands clasped behind his back, but still resembling a panther ready to pounce. Then as he reached the Slytherin side of the room once more, he made his attack. Whirling, the Potions Master barked out. "Potter!"

Harry's head shot up, wondering what he had done now. He had been simply looking through his potion stores to find the ingredients that Snape had listed on the board.

"Tell me what ingredient is missing from the list, Potter," Snape demanded.

Confused, Harry looked from the man to the board where Snape had flicked his wand, causing the directions and things needed for the day to appear only five minutes ago. Maybe this was a trick. Surely the man hadn't left something out on purpose. Or had he? Harry was clueless. So he attempted to stall for time while his mind tried to come up with something. "Um, missing?"

"Yes, missing," Snape walked closer, his voice oily and a sneer on his lips. "As is not there, not present, not a part of something. Like your attention in this class." This comment produced several snickers from the Slytherins.

Harry felt the color rise in his face. "I. . ."

It was as far as he got before Snape snapped at him. "Allow me to guess, Mr. Potter. You don't know." He smirked.

Ron tensed beside Harry and the dark haired boy shot him a look silently begging him not to say anything.

Quirking an eyebrow, Snape, without ever breaking eye contact with Harry, stated, "And you may put your hand down, Miss Granger. I am certain we all know that YOU know the answer. There is no need to wave it so wildly as I am not in the custom of waving back at my students."

"Now since Mr. Potter obviously doesn't know the answer since he obviously has not read the assignment from the last lesson," Snape stressed the word 'obviously' both times, "Mr. Weasley, why don't you help him out."

Ron frowned and when he didn't voice an answer right away, Snape continued, "Perhaps you did not read either. Dear me, I had no idea that such common skills as reading were lacking among the Gryffindors. Dare I try again? Longbottom! What ingredient is missing?"

Neville gave a little squeaking gasp and promptly knocked over his cauldron.

Shaking his head, Snape turned back to the Slytherins. "Mr. Malfoy, an answer, if you please."

"Cadlus root, sir,' Draco responded smugly.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Five points to Slytherin." Snape nodded. "As for Gryffindor, minus twenty points. Five for each of you." The Potions Master smirked and returned to his desk.

"What. . .??!" Ron exclaimed, but Harry elbowed him hard before his friend could say anything else.

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"Of all the slimy, underhanded. . ." Ron ranted in the corridor as he and Harry left the Potions classroom. "That was so unfair! He had no right to dock us those points! Granger KNEW the answer! Bloody git!"

Harry was pretty furious himself. Not only had they lost points but at the end of class Snape had found Harry's attempt at the potion unacceptable and given the boy an incomplete, informing him that he had best try harder or his Saturday would spent in the dungeon redoing what he should have learned during the week. "Yeah," Harry agreed, "he's a. . ."

"Pray go on, Mr. Potter," a silky voice spoke from behind the two boys. Snape had followed them unawares. "What precisely am I?"

In a moment of frustrated bravado, Harry whirled. "You're a right evil bas. . OW!" Once again what he was about to say was cut off, only this time it was due to the fact Snape had seized the boy by the ear.

His face inches away from Harry's, Snape hissed, "Am I indeed. Well you will learn more about that first hand tomorrow night, Potter." With a final painful pinch to the small ear, Snape spat out, "Detention with me. Tomorrow. Seven o'clock. And do not dare be late!" Then in a swirl of robes the angry professor stormed down the hall.

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6:57. Three minutes to spare, though Harry was sorely tempted to use those three minutes running and finding a hiding place. Once others had found out about his detention, namely Ron's older brothers, Fred and George, Harry had been subjected to all sorts of horror tales of what happened in the Potion Master's dungeon. It had been repeatedly stated that detention with Snape was the stuff of nightmares, only a step, or maybe a half step, up from serving one under the sadistic caretaker Filch.

Taking another deep breath and praying that he wouldn't get sick or pass out or forget how to talk or any other embarrassing thing, Harry raised a small hand to knock only to hear a sharp voice call to him.

"Get inside, Mr. Potter and stop wasting time in the hall."

Damn, could the bloody git see though doors too? The little boy wondered as he opened the office door and stepped inside. "I. . .I wasn't wasting time. I'm early," Harry stated with a bit more boldness than he truly felt.

"Are you indeed?" Snape looked over at him with an arched eyebrow, just as a clock chimed 7 o'clock.

"Well I thought I was!" Harry declared with a scowl.

"You thought? That will be a first. Or perhaps you only limit your thinking to outside my classroom, Mr. Potter. As you clearly do not do it IN my class."

Harry clenched his jaw and glared at the dark man, feeling the familiar sense of loathing rise up in him. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if his detention was going to be to stand here and endure insults or if he could sit down for it. But at that moment Snape rose from behind his desk and Harry involuntarily took a step back. The man was intimidating, whether he liked it or not.

"For the first hour you will scrub cauldrons," Snape decreed. "Then you will spend the next forty-five minutes writing lines."

Okay that didn't sound so bad, Harry thought to himself and gave Snape a cocky look. "Sure. Where are the cauldrons?"

Snape narrowed his dark eyes. "Your insolence will have you here for a return visit tomorrow if you do not mind your tone, Potter." The man was pleased to see that the boy looked away. Still too defiant for Snape's liking, but he would learn to control himself and understand that the precious Boy-Who-Lived was not running things anymore. This was Snape's domain, and he ruled with an iron hand.

"You will, as I was saying, wash the cauldrons. Without the aid of magic. And you will have completed twenty-four of them before you time is up or there will be consequences. Likewise, for the lines, you will have finished one hundred or there will be more punishment."

Harry blinked. Consequences? More punishment?? This wasn't something that the others had warned him about. It wasn't fair. "That's not fair," he heard himself protesting. "I don't want anymore punishment."

Snape sneered. "I am certain you do not, Mr. Potter. You had best get to work then. Through there." The professor pointed to a door.

Harry stalked over to it, thinking all sorts of things about this man, not the least of which was the fact that he wished he knew a hex to throw at him. If he had been thinking logically, Harry would have known that any hex could and would easily be blocked and the repercussions would be great, but at the moment the eleven year old was to mad to allow logic to enter the equation.

The door lead to the Potions classroom and waiting for him beside the sink was an immense pile of small and medium cauldrons and a pair of protective gloves. Slipping them on, Harry got started. At first the scrubbing was hard and furious but as Harry's temper settled, it gave way to a more rhythmetical washing which cleaned the stained vessels well. Harry was no stranger to cleaning and so the time passed quickly, but the number of clean cauldrons grew nearly as quickly.

When Snape called a halt after an hour, he was amazed to find the boy had washed twenty-eight cauldrons, four more than his quota. However, there was no way he was going to comment favorably on that to the boy. Instead, several worn in stains were pointed out on three of the cauldrons and Snape sneered, "I will not count those. Therefore you only just reached your goal, Potter. Take off the gloves and return to my office. We shall see how well you do with the lines."

Ready to protest, Harry took one look at the sneering face of his teacher and scowled right back. "Yeah, we will."

Snape had a sudden urge to lift the boy by his collar and shake him. Who did this insolent brat think he was? Oh wait. . .he was Harry-Bloody-Potter, the little savior of the wizarding world. The one allowed to say or do as he wished. Snape snorted. Not around Severus Snape he wasn't! The Potions Master was determined to bring this child down a peg or two.

"Get in there and sit down at the student desk. The parchment and quill are ready," Snape ordered, pointing through the doorway and then following the boy as Harry moved ahead.

Flopping down, Harry tried not to gulp as he saw the prompt for his lines. 'I will not use crude names or obscene language when referring to Professor Snape.' It was long and writing wasn't his best skill. Cleaning was something the boy knew about having had more than enough practice at his aunt and uncle's house. But it wasn't as if they had ever made him write out correspondence for them. His handwriting grades in primary school had been average, but that was with a pencil and neatly lined paper. A quill and parchment were different. While Harry had no problems with his homework for the most part, he didn't have a quota and time limit with that either, at least not as short of one as he had now. He stared at the paper and idly fingered the quill.

"Daydreaming will not write lines, Mr. Potter. Nor will it extend your time or bring back the seven minutes you have already wasted. One hundred lines are still due. I suggest you get busy," Snape spoke coldly from his desk as a reminder of his expectations.

Frowning at the unfairness and inwardly seething, Harry began to write.  There was no way he could do that many and he knew it. What would Snape do? Assign more lines? Another detention? Take away house points? Regardless of what he was writing, the little boy was doing the exact opposite as silently he called the professor all the names he could think of!

The time ticked ever later and Harry paused to rub his hand. Seventy-five lines. Swiveling his head around, he located a clock and his face paled slightly. Only ten minutes to go! He would never, ever make it! Furiously, the boy began to write again.

When the clock read a quarter to nine, Snape looked up from his grading and ordered, "Lay down your quill and bring me your lines."

Harry looked up and bit his lip, his voice faltering a little. "I. . .I still have ten. . ."

"Did I ask you how many you had? I said bring them to me. Now do so."

Rising from his seat, Harry brought the parchment over to Snape's desk and handed it over, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

Snape scanned the paper and tsked. "Slovenly work, Potter. But then I don't know why I expected more. Your homework is always barely legible and if you take no pride in that then you certainly would not make an attempt to be neat in writing lines." The black eyes looked up at the boy who shifted a moment and then looked at Snape. Defiant as ever, the Potions Master thought to himself.

"Be here in the morning. Eight o'clock," snapped the dark haired professor.

Harry blinked in astonishment. "Eight o'clock? In the morning??"

"I did not stutter."

"But. . .but, it's Saturday."

"Oh very good, Potter, you have learned the days of the week," Snape sneered. "Yes, it is in fact Saturday. And you will be in detention."

"That's not fair!!" Harry protested.

An eyebrow arched upward. "I could care less what you deem fair, Mr. Potter. You WILL be here or the consequences will be dire."

The tone and words made the little boy swallow. Deciding there was no way he would let Snape know that he was nervous, Harry snapped, "Fine! Can I go now?"

"No."

"No? Why not? You have the lines," Harry pointed out.

"And you have no manners, Mr. Potter," came the reply. "Once you can address me with proper respect and ask to go in a courteous manner, I will consider honoring your request."

Scowling but wanting to make it back to his dorm before curfew and before he found himself with more problems, Harry ground out, "May I leave now, Professor Snape?"

Snape considered it for a long moment. Not the best request he had ever had and very much forced, but he would teach Potter to be more respectful before all was said and done. Merlin knew SOMEONE needed to! He gave a nod. "Eight in the morning. Do not be late. You may go."

The boy was out of the room as quickly as he could move. Without a proper 'yes, sir', Snape noted. It was only after Harry had left that it occurred to Snape that he had considered the boy needed someone to teach him manners and worse yet he had entertained the idea of doing it. That was NOT a thought Severus Snape wanted to have again! The less he had to do with the brat the better!

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A scream ripped through the still darkness and a form shot upright in bed. Snape's breathing was heavy and his heart was pounding. Damn it!!! Another nightmare. Or vision. Or whatever in the bloody hell they were! This was the worse yet. The scream had been more internal the previous times. This time the man could hear it still ringing in his ears. The piercing cry of a child who was terrified. Snape shuddered.

Swinging his legs out of bed, he took a moment to calm down and regain his composure. It had been too vivid. He had seen HIM. The evilness had been near tangible this time. Why? The Dark Lord was no more. The events that he had seen were ten years old. It was nothing but a memory.

Shaking his head, Snape got dressed and went to his lab. He might as well work on some potions since sleep would not be gained again tonight.

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Hidden behind the maroon bed curtains in the boy's dormitory, a small boy huddled in a ball, eyes wide open and tears coursing down his face while he shivered in fright. Pulling the covers even tighter around him, Harry cried quietly not wanting anyone to know. He had had the dream again. Only this time it was different. He was accustomed to his mother and the 'bad man', as he had always thought of him, being there, but there was someone else. The shadowy figure that had lurked just out of his view last time had been in the doorway this time. He couldn't tell who it was, but there had been someone there. Someone who had turned away. Leaving him alone again. Always alone.