Harry squirmed in his seat. His bum tingled and felt numb at the same time, like it had gone to sleep. The chair had never felt so hard and uncomfortable before, and Harry wondered if Snape had altered it intentionally, just to make him suffer. Harry had no doubt the irritating man wanted him to suffer. . .he'd made that pretty obvious all night.

He shook his cramped hand and sighed heavily. He'd been writing for two solid hours and he scowled at the third revision of his Charms Theory essay. Third, mind you! The snarky git had slashed through his previous copies with so much red ink he would have had no choice but to rewrite, even if Snape hadn't insisted that he start over.

It wasn't that bad to begin with, for Merlin's sake! I thought it fairly decent, actually - until Snape trashed it all to pieces! And some of those variations he's made me include aren't even First Year stuff!

Snape had shoved a third year text at him and made him research additional validation for his hypothesis, then mocked him when he didn't understand any of it. Normally, Harry enjoyed the challenge of pushing himself - of earning his strict Professor's approval through a little extra effort. But nothing he did tonight seemed to please the man. Tonight felt like that first day in Potions Class all over again. Snape was sneering and barking like he couldn't stand the sight of him.

A part of Harry was hurt by Snape's manner. It stung to be treated so horridly by someone he was trying so hard to please. But that part - that aching part, Harry shoved deep down inside himself. He was used to hiding that part . . . experience with the Dursley's had taught him that to show pain only made you more vulnerable . . . to allow yourself to even feel it, meant your opponent had won. Harry was very good at denying pain.

Mostly, he was just pissed. He was tired of being scorned - tired of being growled at. He wrapped his anger around himself like a shield and scowled at Snape from under the screen of his shaggy bangs.

Rotten old villain! He has no right to pick on me! Just cause he's in a crabby mood, he doesn't have to take it out on me!

If Snape was troubled by Harry's frequent resentful glares, he certainly didn't show it. He sat by the fire, calming reading and sipping his tea as if Harry wasn't even there. And that was another cause for Harry's resentment. Snape had suspended their usual tea routine, claiming Harry was too far behind in his work to break early. After a hushed, terse conference with Roker, he had grudgingly plunked a cup of weak tea and a saucer of three stale vanilla crackers on the table beside Harry and ordered him to keep writing. Then, if you please, the snarky git had settled down before the fire with his own cup and a large plate of fresh, fragrant biscuits - some smelling suspiciously like warm peanut butter - and proceeded to make an insufferable show of relishing his superior treats.

I hate him! Greasy Git! I wish he'd choke on his biscuit!

Harry scratched furiously away at his parchment and permitted himself a full-blown sulk. He didn't care if Snape saw, or called him on it - he was too angry! He had barely finished the last paragraph when Snape's brusque bark startled him.

"Finally finished? It's about time! Only you could take a simple task and drag it out half the night, Potter!"

Fuming, Harry set down his quill with deliberate indifference, refusing to grant the man even a passing glance.

"Well, don't just sit there like a lump! Bring it over here."

Harry rose and obeyed with his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. He clasped the finished essay in one hand and clenched the other into a fist at his side, gripping so forcefully that his ragged nails dug into his palm. He didn't look up when Snape snatched the essay out of his hand, but merely stood staring at his feet as the man scanned the parchment.

"Pitiful!" Snape grumbled nastily. "You've still omitted sufficient justification for your conclusion, and your proofs are flimsy and inadequate. Your overall hypothesis is understated, and poorly supported. Even with the extra examples I practically handed you on a silver platter, you've still managed to make a muddled mess of the composition."

Harry knew better than to try and defend himself. It wouldn't matter anyway. He ground his teeth and tried to tune out Snape's ruthless criticism.

"I should have known better than to expect more from you," the man snarled disdainfully. "I should have known my efforts would be wasted on the Boy-Who-Lived! You're far too lazy and complacent to concern yourself with improvement, aren't you, Potter? Or perhaps you feel no need to improve?"

Snape rose to his feet and shoved the essay at Harry, glowering down at him with cynical distain. Harry took the rumpled parchment without looking up, hunching his shoulders and drawing in on himself in a futile attempt to shield himself from the man's harsh words.

"No doubt the great Harry Potter is already so superior, so above us all, that he doesn't need to learn anything - doesn't need to apply himself? How typical! You thrive on the constant flattery and pampering your celebrity status has afforded you, don't you Potter? You've never had to work for anything, have you? All your life, you've had everyone around you leaping to meet your every need!"

He didn't seem to notice the glare of incredulous disgust Harry flung at him. Or if he did, he interpreted the look as conceit, and retaliated with smoldering malice.

"How arrogant you are!" Snape hissed. "How like your father! You've his same egotism - his same smugness and contempt for hard work."

Harry's control shattered and he snarled curtly, "I wouldn't know. I never knew my father."

Snape glared at him. "Don't play that pity-card with me, Potter. Your ‘poor-little-orphan' act does not impress me. I know better. I know you far too well."

"You don't know anything!" Harry shouted, trying to still his shaking hands. " You're - you're just stupid!"

"Clever rejoinder, Potter. So erudite. Ten points for insulting a teacher," Snape smirked viciously. "Oh, yes - that arrogance again! Everyone else is stupid - everyone else is clueless! No one could possibly understand pitiful little me!" Snape mocked smugly.

Harry spun on his heel and marched back to the table to shove his belongings back into his schoolbag. He could feel the heat flushing his face and he furiously blinked back threatening tears.

I WON'T cry in front of Snape! I WON'T! I won't give the bastard the satisfaction!

Snape watched his jerky, enraged motions with disdain. He crossed his arms and lowered his voice to a silky growl. "I should have known better than to endeavor to educate such an ungrateful, indolent, spoiled little boy. I should have known it would be a futile waste of my time."

"Well, you needn't worry, then!" Harry retorted, snatching up his bag and stomping to the door. "I won't waste another minute of your precious time! I'm never coming back here! I'll do my homework on my own from now on!"

Snape snorted derisively. "That should prove entertaining - since you have no idea how to study on your own. You'd never have made it this far without me to spoon-feed knowledge to you like pablum to a weak, helpless baby ."

"SHUT UP!" Harry screamed. "I'm not weak! I'm not a baby! I can take of myself!" He flung the door open so hard that it bounced off the wall with a loud bang. Harry took one step, whirled and glared furiously at his teacher, oblivious to the tears that had begun to seep out and slide down his cheeks. "I DON'T NEED YOU! I DON'T NEED ANYBODY! I NEVER HAVE!"

He turned and ran, hurtling down the dimly lit corridor, his robes flapping fretfully around his legs. He didn't stop running until he had reached the third floor, when the tears in his eyes nearly blinded him and he slipped on the polished landing, landing hard on his knees.

With a stifled sob, Harry stumbled to his feet and darted into the darkness of the forbidden corridor. He halted just inside the door, slamming it shut and gasping for breath. Only then did he remember the torches that had automatically ignited, lighting the gloomy hallway the last time he and his friends were there. Anxious not to call attention to his presence in the banned area, he backed up against the door and held his breath. When the torches remained unlit, he sighed in relief and unlocked his stiff knees. He slid slowly down the door until he was seated against it, his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around his legs.

Most students would find the murky, dusty, cob-webbed corridor rather creepy, if not downright frightening. Harry found it oddly comforting. The welcome darkness, the musty smells - even the cobwebs were familiar - reminding him of his cupboard at home.

No. Not home. Hogwarts is my home now. This is where I belong. Privet Drive isn't my home anymore. It never was, really.

He hugged his knees tighter and let his melancholy wash over him. He had been so happy. He liked his classes - especially now that he was doing better in them. He loved magic, and flying, and Quidditch, and he had friends - real friends for the first time. Everything had been perfect.

He had even liked his tutoring sessions. He couldn't say he liked Snape - not exactly. He was too afraid of him to actually like him. But he'd liked spending time with him. No grown-up had ever spent time with him before, not like that - just him and Harry, and no one else. No grown-up had ever taken notice of his efforts, or encouraged him to do better. It had been kinda. . . nice.

I should have known better. You'd think by now I'd know better than to trust a grown-up. I should have known it wouldn't last.

Harry sniffled. And now it was over. . . it had all come crashing down around him. Snape hated him and resented wasting his time with him. And Harry had yelled at him and swore he'd never go back. Snape wouldn't forgive him now. Even if he wanted to, Snape would never let him come back.

The sessions were over. There would be no more help. No one to explain the difficult stuff, or push him to think. No more peaceful evenings in the hushed, cozy room, away from the noise and distraction of his dorm. No more tea and quiet companionship. No more peanut butter biscuits, warm and soft.

The corridor's darkness gathered around him with a familiar intimacy. Even the chill of the stone floor beneath him didn't bother him. He was all alone, in the dark. The dark was safe. It was restful. It concealed his thoughts and kept his feelings secret. No one could hurt him in the dark. No one could hear him. No one could see.

Harry laid his head on his knees and gave in to his misery. There - in the dark - no one would hear him cry.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

I don't feel guilty. There's no need. The little wretch deserved it.

Severus slammed his door and threw up hasty wards. He didn't want Albus wandering in uninvited - not tonight. The Headmaster had the most annoying tendency to show up at Severus' door at exactly the wrong moment - when he expressly didn't want to talk - didn't want to endure the old wizard's exasperating cheeriness.

Snape wanted no more company for this night. He stomped over to his chair and flopped down into it, snatching up the book he had been reading earlier. He was glad Potter was gone. Glad the brat had stormed out like the temperamental little monster he was.

I should have known he'd throw a tantrum! Can't take well-deserved criticism, that's all. He's only used to gentle words and baseless flattery! Mustn't hurt the feelings of the Savior of the Wizarding World, oh no!! Ha! The little prat just can't handle the truth!

He snorted, sipped his already cold tea and grimaced. His hand turned the pages of his book as if he honestly cared whether he found his place.

Potter is so easy to torment. It's so easy to worm beneath that arrogant defiance and goad him into a temper. He's too easy, really. His pride's too fragile - too easily dented. Just a tiny push, and he flies into a fit of pique. Insufferable little bugger.

He stared into the fire, fuming sullenly. His book lay forgotten in his lap.

I'm glad he's gone. I've got better things to do with my time. It will be nice to have back those two evenings a week. I can work. I can devote my time to my research, to my brewing. Who needs a whiny little brat underfoot anyway?

The clock ticked over the mantle. Severus hadn't noticed before how loud and annoying the tick was. His chambers felt oddly empty. . . . quiet.

Quiet is nice. Quiet is good. I've missed the quiet.

The faint musky scent of peanut butter wafted up from the half-empty plate beside him. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and pulled out his wand, banishing the leftover biscuits.

Revolting things, really. Can't fathom why the boy is so fond of them.

A sharp memory surfaced unbidden. A round-faced boy biting into a warm biscuit, his green eyes shining with pleasure behind the hideous glasses. Biscuit crumbs tumbling down the boy's untidy shirt front. A few crumbs clinging to a soft lower lip, which curls up in an infectious grin of embarrassment and bliss. A frayed cuff lifting to wipe at the messy mouth. A soft, bashful giggle.

Severus shook his head to banish the memory, and pursed his lips in tight repugnance.

Disgusting. The child had no manners whatsoever. It will be a relief not to be forced to watch the urchin eat again.

He tossed the book aside and abandoned any pretense of diversion. Unwanted images kept rising in his distracted mind. . .

Harry standing before him, his head bowed, shaking with indignation.

The boy's frantic haste to cram his belongings in his bag.

His small feet stomping across the floor in pure childish rage.

I don't feel sorry for the little prat. Potter doesn't deserve my pity! Doesn't deserve the time and extra effort I've devoted to him. He doesn't deserve my compassion or my concern.

Harry's injured stare, flashing with fury and pain. . . his screams of denial.

Bloody hell.

Tears leaking down flushed cheeks.

Bloody, sodding hell.

Green eyes filled with wounded betrayal.

Bloody, blinking, blasted hell!

Severus huffed in exasperation, rubbing his face with tired hands. He rose and glared at the ticking clock. It was well past curfew. The brat was sure to be back at his dorm by now - probably moaning to his obnoxious little friends about how hateful Snape was.

I'll wait until morning. Give the brat time to think about his ill-mannered behavior. He's certain to come crawling to apologize, and I will graciously condescend to continue tutoring him. . . . .after he atones for his disrespect by writing appropriate lines of penance.

Snape stalked to his bedroom to prepare for sleep.

Yes. Tomorrow morning is soon enough.

His face twisted with a pained grimace.

Perhaps I will have come to my senses by then.