The first thing Snape did was mutter a Lumos.  When nothing happened, Snape’s expression soured and he shoved his wand into his robes.

“So,” he barked, looking around the hallway.  “This is the place I’m forced to visit during Remedial Potions, is it?”  Without waiting for an answer, he started up the stairs.  Harry followed him, pleased to be putting distance between Snape and the Dursleys.  Snape paused at the top of the hall, staring at the enormous portrait of a piggy-eyed Dudley that greeted all visitors to the second floor.

“I do hope it doesn’t talk,” Snape said distastefully.  With a sniff, he opened the first door to his right.  Dudley’s bedroom, filled to the brim with toys and electronics.  “This must be your room,” Snape sneered, closing the door firmly behind him.   “Where’s the washroom, Potter?”

Harry pointed, and Snape disappeared into the loo.  “Wait here.”

Harry barely heard him, already taking two stairs at a time and racing into the living room.  He took the dinosaur out of his pocket and flung it on the ground, wishing with all his might that the toy would decide to rejoin this universe.  He didn’t care if he was messing with the past, all he cared about was ensuring that Snape did not witness his nearing humiliation.  To his surprise, the toy landed with a soft thump by Dudley’s feet.  With any luck, Harry thought, all Snape would witness would be his younger self cleaning up the kitchen.  Harry heard the loo flush, and dashed back upstairs, heart thumping.  He skidded to a stop outside the bathroom and ran a hand through his hair, trying to look nonchalant.

Snape looked at him suspiciously as he came out.  Harry took a couple of deep breaths, forcing his pulse to slow.  “What are you up to, Potter?”  Snape began, but they were interrupted by a howl downstairs.

“MUMMY!  Where’s my dinosaur?  HARRY TOOK MY DINOSAUR!” Dudley screamed at the top of his lungs.  Harry stiffened, trying not to look alarmed.  How could this be?  Even Dudley wasn’t stupid enough to overlook a toy sitting right at his feet.

“Let’s see you wriggle out of this one, Potter!” Snape said gleefully.  He glided past Harry down the stairs, towards the living room.  “No!” Harry said without thinking, grabbing Snape’s arm as he walked past.

Snape froze, staring at his forearm where the boy had hold of it, and then looked back at Harry.  Harry stared determinedly into Snape’s eyes, far preferring that Snape look at him rather than his younger version in the living room.  For a moment he thought he had done it, for a moment it looked as though Snape would do nothing but stare at him with a puzzled expression on his face.  But then a yell rang through the air, and the spell was broken.  Snape shook Harry off wordlessly and quickened his pace down the stairs, almost tripping in his hurry to get away from him.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Harry said in desperation, jumping the last two stairs once more and aiming a wild spell at Snape.  Nothing happened, except Snape turning around, an absolutely murderous look in his eyes.  “You’ll pay for that, Potter,” he spit, about to continue when escalating noises from the living room interrupted him.  Snape gave Harry one more warning look before disappearing into the den. 

Harry didn’t follow.  He knew what would happen next.  He leaned against the wall, folded his arms, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.  Soon enough, Uncle Vernon ran right past him, dragging little Harry behind him.  The child was silent, a grim, hard set to his jaw as blood dripped down his face.  Snape was right behind them.  He shot a look at Harry—a dark, unfathomable look, before turning back to the uncle and nephew.  Uncle Vernon finished berating Harry, opened the door to the cupboard, and threw him inside.  He locked the door with a satisfied click and stomped away.

Harry stilled, waiting for the memory to end as it had before.  Instead, Dudley waddled into the hallway.  He glanced slyly around him, before scurrying to Harry’s cupboard. 

“Hey, Potter,” Dudley whispered.  He leaned right up to the door. “I found the dinosaur under the couch.  Oops.”  He sniggered, wiggling the toy about, although of course Harry couldn’t see it.

The older Harry closed his eyes.  Oh, yes.  He’d forgotten that Dudley had come to taunt him afterwards.  Well, he always did that, there was nothing terribly memorable about it.  Or maybe now that he had altered the past, his memory was reflecting it.  Either way, it seemed this afternoon was doomed, no matter what Harry did.  Maybe, Harry thought, he was just destined to have the Dursleys despise him.  When he opened his eyes, Snape was staring at him.  He looked old, Harry thought.  Old and tired.  Then his features began to melt.  Snape reached his arm out, a blurred, smeared hand with dissolving edges, and briefly touched Harry’s shoulder.  His arm and Harry’s shoulder pooled together, a long inky pool of black, until the memory bled away and they were thrown back into the Room.

Harry scrambled to his feet, putting as much distance between himself and Snape as was possible.  The Room had changed in their absence.  A trunk was sitting in the middle of the room.  The ceiling was higher.  And there was a new door—

Harry lunged for it, desperate to get away from Snape, Snape who knew about the Dursleys, Snape who knew about everything now.  He gasped aloud in disappointment when he realized the door only led to a bathroom.  Nonetheless, Harry rushed inside and locked the door behind him.  It was a rather nice washroom, he thought distractedly, with a big marble tub and a sink with a dragon spigot.  Harry leaned over the sink and splashed some water on his face.  He startled at his reflection when he looked up.  His nose was badly bruised and there was caked blood near his upper lip.  He was ashen, and his eyes shiny with unshed tears.

He didn’t look much like a warrior.

Harry sank down onto lip of the tub, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob.  Why was he crying?  He never cried.  Harry swatted the tears away, bewildered.  He fished into his pocket, looking for a handkerchief, and came up empty.  The dinosaur was gone from his pocket too, he thought dully.  Dudley had it now.  Well, he’d probably chucked it ages ago.  Harry put his head in his hands, and took great gulping breaths, desperate to stop the tears he felt welling up in him again.  Tears over a stupid toy.  Stop it, Harry ordered himself.  Stop being such a big baby.  You never had any toys.  Finally, with a shudder, the urge to cry passed.

Harry scrubbed his face until all trace of blood and tears were gone.  He gazed at himself in the mirror again.  Buck up, you, he thought.  Or else you’ll never get through this.  His reflection gazed back at him, something like ice entering his eyes.  Good, Harry thought, and opened the door.

Snape was sitting on the closed trunk in the middle of the room, looking rather like a black island in a sea of stone.  Harry walked up to him, his head high.  He waited for Snape to say something, determined not to give anything away before he had to.  Finally Snape obliged him. 

“Do you know, Potter,” Snape greeted him, a distant look in his eyes, “how to brew Strength Serum?”

Harry opened his mouth and closed it, thrown.  “No, I don’t,” he replied.

Snape went on almost as if he hadn’t heard Harry.  “It requires a high level of skill.  Powdered dragon scale, very fine.  The saliva of a hippogriff.  Mermaid scales.  A bit of honeysuckle.  The eye of a unicorn.  Very difficult to procure the ingredients, of course.  Even more difficult to prepare.  It has to stew for long time.  Months.  And, even if you do prepare it properly, it doesn’t always work.”

“What does it do?” Harry asked sharply.

“Just what it sounds like,” Snape said absently.  “It makes you strong.  Strong of body, strong of mind.  Strong of character.  Superhuman, really.  Temporary, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry echoed, puzzled.  “Will we learn to brew it this year?”

“No,” Snape said, one finger tracing his jaw.  “It’s outlawed by the Ministry.  The fumes are fatal about half of the time.  It’s quite a risk.”

Harry nodded, thinking that such a potion would be useful in the fight against Voldemort.  “Yeah, sounds like it.  Does Dumbledore know about this potion?  Something like that could be helpful for the Order—“

“Yes, the headmaster knows about it!” Snape snarled, the venom in his voice so potent it made Harry take a step back.  Snape grimaced, and exhaled loudly as he looked at Harry properly.  “I would say Dumbledore has been making a Strength Serum out of you, Potter.”

Harry clenched his fists.  “Huh?”

“Tell me, Potter,” Snape said in clipped tones, tension gathering in his eyes.  “What do you think strength consists of?”  He had snapped into full professorial mode, now, and looked down his nose at his pupil expectantly.

Harry relaxed marginally at the emergence of this familiar persona.  “Well,” he said thoughtfully, images of Umbridge and the Daily Prophet flashing through his head. “I think it’s a matter of guts, really.  If you have the guts to do the right thing, no matter what, then you aren’t weak.”

“Inarticulate,” Snape said, “But sufficient.  Now, Potter, what would you say separates strength from heroism?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair.  “Well.”  He paused.  “I suppose a hero is a strong person who helps others, isn’t he?  No matter what others do to him.”

“No matter what others do to him,” Snape echoed, nodding with satisfaction as though this were a particularly clever answer.  “Rather the risky addition, wasn’t it?  Dumbledore could have exploded his cauldron.”

Harry crinkled his brow and looked at Snape.  “What?”

“Dumbledore left you to stew there for years,” Snape continued.  “And the fumes from those Muggles could have broken you, or worse, in the end.  But they didn’t.  Quite the opposite, really.”

“What are you going on about?” Harry said sharply.  “I’m not a bloody potion!”

“Oh, yes you are,” Snape retorted.  “The headmaster’s finest serum.  He saw your potential that night in Godric’s Hollow, didn’t he?  And he saw the future, he saw you becoming a stupid coddled prince like that cousin of yours, the useless joy of the wizarding world--”

“Which is what you’ve always thought of me!” Harry interrupted, every muscle in his body taut as if for flight.

“And so,” Snape relentlessly continued, like a freight train bearing down on Harry, “Dumbledore decided to season you, to strengthen you, by adding to the mix a miserable childhood!  The mystery ingredient that would keep you humble, keep you hungry, keep you sharp!”

“That’s not fair!” Harry yelled, not caring that he was defending the wizard who had ignored him most of the year.  “Dumbledore is the best man I know!”

“Oh, me as well,” Snape breathed, his words coming faster and faster.  “But then, you and I don’t know many good men, do we?  What about your uncle?  Is he a good man?”

Harry felt something clench inside of his chest.  “No,” he said, his voice going up an octave.  “He isn’t.”  And, at Snape’s smug nod, he added sharply “And nor was your father, was he?”

Snape smiled nastily, something like fire in his icy eyes.  “He never locked me in a cupboard.”

“What is it you want from me?” Harry cried out, all at once at the end of his rope. 

Snape jumped to his feet, his face inches from Harry’s.  “I want you to go away,” he hissed.  “I want you to go away so I don’t have to alter my beliefs to include a merciless Dumbledore and a bullied Potter!  I want this room to give me back my magic!  BUT THOSE DON’T SEEM TO BE OPTIONS, DO THEY?”  Snape stalked towards Harry, his words becoming deadly soft as he moved closer with feline grace.  “I want you to tell me the truth for once in your miserable life.  I want to know if you try to save everyone, Potter, because nobody ever saved you.  I want to know if there was chamberpot in that cupboard--”

Harry could actually feel all the color leaving his face as he backed away from Snape.  “Shut up,” he said hoarsely.  “You just shut up right now.  Or I’ll have the Room hurt you.  And,” he added, a snarl, or a sob, catching in his throat, “I won’t save you.”

“I dare say you will,” Snape said calmly, sitting back down on the trunk.  “Because you know what its like to be powerless, Potter.  I know you do.  And you can’t bear it when the strong torment the weak.  And here,” he said, the familiar smirk of a maneuvering Slytherin entering his eye, “I’m no more than a Muggle.  You wouldn’t dare hurt me.”

“You were powerless with your father,” Harry gasped, barely holding on to the thread of the conversation.  “I know.  I saw.  And you don’t seem to have any problems hurting the weak, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Snape said, looking rather more relaxed than Harry thought he had any right to be.  “That’s why I marvel at the risk Dumbledore took, leaving you with those people.  Because you could have turned out like me.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Harry spit out, clutching to the anger he could throw back at Snape.

Snape actually chuckled, the sound so low as to be nearly inaudible.  “Now I finally know why Dumbledore has indulged you so much since you came to Hogwarts.  He’s giving you the world after taking it away from you, isn’t he?”  A note of bitterness entered Snape’s voice.  “He never gave me the same courtesy.  Perhaps that is why you turned into a hero and I turned into--”

“A stupid Death Eater who won’t shut up?” Harry yelled, too far gone to care if that sounded childish.

“Yes,” Snape said.  “Ten points from Gryffindor for cheek.  Now, go on.  I believe you were going to order the Room to torment me, weren’t you?”  Snape’s black eyes sparked with interest as he leaned forward, the dare written all over his face.

Harry stared at him, heart pounding.  “Alright,” he snarled.  “You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?  Alright.” Harry flung his arms to the ceiling.  “Room!  I need you to give Snape exactly what he deserves!”