It was nearly midnight when Harry left the banned corridor and made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. He removed his shoes, padding silently in sock feet, and the sleeping portraits in the cold dark hallways took no notice of his passage.

The Fat Lady stirred when he whispered the password, squinting at him groggily. She frowned and opened her mouth as if to scold him for his late return, then shrugged, evidently too drowsy to bother. She opened the door and dozed off again almost before he had passed through.

As he slipped into the common room, he was surprised to find Ron and Hermione slumped on a sofa before the fire, sound asleep. Ron snored gently and Hermione was muttering something in her sleep that sounded suspiciously like the dates of Goblin battles. Harry grinned in spite of his melancholy. He shook Ron's shoulder firmly, then jumped back in time to avoid flailing arms.

"Wh- wha?" Ron yelped, staring about stupidly. Hermione yawned and sat up.

"What are you two doing down here so late?" Harry asked softly.

"Waiting for you," Ron muttered, blinking at him. "Hang on! What time is it?"

"After midnight."

"We were worried about you, Harry. You haven't been in detention all this time, have you?" Hermione looked shocked. "That's just wrong!"

"Snape's not allowed to keep you after curfew, is he?" Ron scowled.

"He didn't," Harry admitted.

"Then where you been, eh?"

"I just took a walk up to the Astronomy Tower. You needn't have waited up for me."

"Why are you getting back so late? What's wrong?" Hermione frowned suspiciously.

"Nothing's wrong," Harry assured her. He was grateful for the dim light and prayed they wouldn't notice his red eyes. "I was looking at the stars and I feel asleep."

"Up there? Are you mental? It must' a been freezing!" Ron grumbled, yawning hugely.

"We ought to get to bed," Harry said, tugging on Ron's sleeve. "C'mon, Ron. Night, Mione." He led the way to the stairs, Ron stumbling sleepily behind him.

Harry huddled under his quilt and listened for the telltale sounds of Ron returning to sleep. Soon his friend's snores joined those of his other dorm mates. Harry wished he had truly taken a nap. His heart still ached and his stomach hurt. He had a feeling he'd get little sleep. As the hours passed, this proved correct, for he tossed and turned, only managing to doze a little before a cold dawn crept in the windows.

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

Severus stalked up and down the rows of tables, watching the First Years mangle a perfectly simple Silencing potion. The Slytherins were gossiping quietly amongst themselves as they worked, and the two lumps, Crabbe and Goyle, were snickering at some tale being told by Pansy Parkinson. Severus was tempted to make the annoying girl test her own potion just to silence her shrill murmur. However, since her gray sludge was nowhere near the proper fuchsia color the Silencing potion should be at this stage, it would probably fail to produce the desired effect. He was almost tempted to feed it to her anyway. . . but if she were poisoned in his class, there would be all that tedious paperwork, and Dumbledore and her father would be less than pleased, so he was forced to abandon the notion.

He was satisfied to note that Draco's potion was nearly completed and appeared reasonably accurate. He paused by the boy's desk long enough to give him a curt nod of approval. Draco beamed up at him, pleased with himself.

Snape's penetrating gaze returned once again to Potter. He had found his attention straying to the boy throughout the lesson. Potter had not returned that attention - in fact, he had not looked Snape's way in two days. He was apparently deliberating ignoring his teacher. Until this class, the final one of the term, Severus had only glimpsed the boy at meals. Potter had sat with his back to the staff table at the furthest end of the table with his little clutch of friends. He ate quickly and left early and hadn't once glanced at Snape.

Still sulking, I suppose. Stubborn, childish attitude. . . totally out of proportion, as usual!

Of course, Potter is still a child - just a young boy. . .whereas You, supposedly, are an adult. . . Severus snarled silently at his traitorous conscience. For two days, an inner voice had been badgering him with unwelcome guilty thoughts and he had resorted to arguing with the blasted thing.

The brat needn't have gotten so worked up about it. Such over-reaction - such drama - all over a few harsh word!.

His damned conscience whined again. You hurt him. You made him cry. He doesn't want to talk to you anymore.

SHUT UP! Severus stifled his wayward thoughts with a furious snort that caused some nearby students to flinch. He couldn't suppress the pang of regret that made his chest ache.

He paced around the back of the room, stalking the Gryffindors who were working feverishly on their potions. Longbottom ducked as his professor approached. Fortunately, the hopeless dunderhead wasn't far enough along to do any serious damage - yet - so Severus ignored him for the moment. Beside him, Granger's potion was very close to the proper color, so he ignored her too. Weasley's effort, however, was gummy and colored an alarming shade of pea green.

"Too much elderflower, Weasley," Snape snarled, vanishing the gooey mess with a wand wave. "Start over." Weasley turned beet red and stomped off for fresh ingredients, muttering under his breath.

Severus stopped beside Potter and scrutinized his potion. The boy set down his stirring rod without looking up at him. The potion was nearly perfect - even better than either Draco's or Granger's attempts. Much to Snape's surprise, he felt a surge of pride at the boy's progress. Words rushed from his lips before he had a chance to censor them. "Acceptable, Potter. You may bottle a sample and put it on my desk, then clean your station."

Harry stilled and every student in the room stared at the Potions Professor in shock. Snape realized with belated chagrin that it was the first time he had ever complimented a Gryffindor in the class. Harry cleared his throat nervously and followed instructions without comment, ignoring the stares. Snape hesitated a moment, but when Potter still did not speak or look at him, he snorted in disgust and walked away.

You'd think the boy would show some appreciation. . .it's not like I hand out compliments every day.

He felt a strong desire to keep the boy after class - to assign him a detention to force the boy to speak alone with him and break this stalemate. But he would feel like a fool punishing the boy after admitting his potion was correct, and he didn't want to be the first to give in.

He was actually rather stunned when Harry hadn't come to him the next morning after their session. He had expected the boy to apologize for shouting, if nothing else. But Harry hadn't come - hadn't spoken a word. And the holiday's began tomorrow. . . he would have no reason to see or speak to him except perhaps at meals.

I'll let him continue his tantrum. . . but before the next term begins, we will settle this!

With this resolve, Severus assigned a detailed essay for the next class, disregarding the expected muttered whines and complaints about holiday homework.

Perhaps Potter will decide he needs help with the essay, and surrender to the inevitable.

A quick glance confirmed that the boy was scowling as he wrote down the assignment. Severus sat contentedly at his desk when the bell rang, ignoring the students as they departed with undisguised relief. A pleasant image floated in his mind - a tiny daydream he allowed himself to indulge. He saw himself seated by his cozy fire, and a small boy at his dining table - dark head bent over parchment. He could even imagine the faint scent of peanut butter in the air.

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

Minerva paused in the courtyard, not surprised to see Harry sitting alone, perched on a stone balustrade. She had seen him leave dinner early once again, noting how little he had eaten. She studied his glum expression with some concern. The boy had seemed quite despondent for the last few days, and she had glimpsed him moping alone more than once. The few students who had remained at the school over the holidays usually congregated by the fire in the Great Hall during the long, lazy evenings, reading and playing games. But she had noticed that Harry often left their gatherings, slipping away unobtrusively whenever young Weasley became involved in a chess match with one of the other boys. Worried for the child, she had decided to approach him, hoping he would confide in her.

She strolled casually in Harry's direction, intentionally making enough noise so as not to startle him. Harry looked up at her with a timid smile.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," she greeted him amiably.

"Good evening, Professor."

"How are you this evening, Harry?" she asked kindly, softening her usual professorial tone to one of friendly informality.

"I'm fine, M'am."

"Are you enjoying your holiday?"

"Yes, M'am - thank you. And you?"

"Oh, yes. It's quite nice to have a little break from our routine, isn't it?" She moved next to him and dusted snow off the wall, leaning against it. "Harry," she began gently. "I have noticed you seem a bit down in the dumps the past few days. Is something troubling you?"

The boy frowned slightly and ducked his head. "No, Professor. Nothing."

"Are you sure? I do hate to see you unhappy. Perhaps if you told me what's bothering you, I might be able to help in some way." When Harry didn't respond she tried again. "Do you miss being home? I would understand, you know. It's Christmas after all - most students would miss being home for the holidays. A little homesickness is nothing to be embarrassed about, Harry."

"No, M'am - I'm not homesick - I promise!" The boy looked up, a peculiar, almost amused disgust flickering across his face. "I'm glad to be here, really! Hogwarts is just brilliant at Christmas, isn't it? I mean the snow and the trees and the decorations - I've never seen anything so beautiful before - have you?" He blinked up at her with wide-eyed innocence, but Minerva recognized a diversion maneuver when she saw one. The boy was trying to change the subject. She refused to be distracted.

"It is lovely," she agreed with a smirk. "Which doesn't explain why you are so glum," she pointed out.

The boy's ingenuous look slipped and he sighed, then shrugged. "It's nothing, really."

"Harry," Minerva urged gently. "I'm just trying to help. Even if I can't, you might feel better if you talked about it, dear."

Harry considered this a moment, then shifted on the wall to turn to her. A troubled frown creased his forehead and he studied her with obvious wariness. "It's about another professor," he offered, watching her face to gauge her reaction.

"I won't repeat what you tell me, if you don't wish me to, Harry - I promise. If you're having problems with another teacher, perhaps I can advise you how to improve the situation," she encouraged. She had a strong feeling she already knew the source of the problem now.

The boy seemed satisfied with her offer, and nodded. "It's Professor Snape," he admitted sadly. "We had a bit of a row, and now he. . ." Harry's face crumpled and his voice was suddenly hoarse with suppressed emotion. ". . .he. . hates me!"

Minerva's heart clenched with pity and she grasped his cold little hands sympathetically. "Oh, Harry - I'm sure you're wrong! Professor Snape doesn't hate you!"

"Yes, he does," the boy insisted miserably. "He - he yelled at me and - and he thinks I'm stupid and lazy and - and I'm never going back there - EVER!" he declared vehemently, tears filling his wounded eyes.

Minerva resisted an urge to gather the distraught child in her arms - his stiff posture discouraged any physical comfort. She tried to convey sympathy in her voice instead. "Harry, it's all right. I know Professor Snape doesn't think you're stupid - and I promise you he doesn't hate you. In fact I'm certain that he's quite fond of you. He's just a little - well - temperamental at times. I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding. Why don't you tell me what happened, and we'll see if we can't sort this all out, hmm?"

Blinking back his tears, Harry reluctantly recounted his last tutoring session with Snape with more than a little resentment in his injured voice. "And I don't even know why he was so angry with me. . .I don't know what I did wrong!" he concluded unhappily.

"Perhaps it wasn't anything you did, Harry," Minerva consoled him, saddened by the breach between the child and the prickly man. "Perhaps he was just angry about something else, and you were unlucky enough to be nearby when his temper got the best of him. It probably wasn't personal, Harry. That's just the way Professor Snape is, I'm afraid."

"It sure felt personal!" Harry retorted bitterly. "And it isn't just that one time! He's always picking on me in class! He makes fun of me and says the meanest things!"

Minerva scowled and started to reply but Harry was fired up now, and seemed intent on venting.

"He picks on all the Gryffindors, and he lets the Slytherins get away with everything! He's perfectly horrid to Neville - the poor guy is terrified of him! But he's the worst to me! He singles me out in every class and insults me and says nasty things about my dad and - and I just don't understand!" he practically wailed. "Why does he have to act like that?"

"Oh, Harry," Minerva sighed. She wasn't sure how to respond, or what to tell him. "Professor Snape is a complicated man," she began uncertainly.

"He's a bully!" Harry declared angrily. "He's nothing but a big bully! He picks on little kids ‘cause he knows he can get away with it! He's a teacher and we're just students and he can fail us or punish us all he wants and there's nothing we can do about it!"

Minerva winced. There was far more truth in this statement than she wished to admit. "Harry, listen to me. I know Professor Snape can be harsh at times - and perhaps a little unfair. But it's not all his fault."

"What do you mean?" Harry glared at her, disgruntled.

Minerva sighed. She would normally dismiss such accusations and uphold the strict boundary between staff and students in the interest of maintaining authority. . . but Harry and Severus were both special cases in her mind and she wanted to repair the rift between them. She struggled to reassure the boy without undermining Severus' autonomy too obviously.

"To begin with," she explained carefully, "Potions is a very difficult subject - and potentially very dangerous. You have already seen the damage than can occur when a student makes mistakes. . .explosions and the like can cause serious harm to the students. And teaching a room full of children, all working with open fires and hazardous ingredients - while trying to monitor all of you to prevent accidents - that is not an easy task, Harry. Surely you can see that?" The boy shrugged grudgingly. "Frankly, I don't know how he does it - it would make me a nervous wreck! I am sure that tension wears on the Professor after a while. And while you may not agree with his teaching style, I believe Professor Snape chooses to use a certain amount of . . . well, intimidation to force his students to stay alert and to take a dangerous subject seriously. It is his way of protecting you."

Harry looked sullenly skeptical, but didn't comment, so she continued. "As for his fairness to other Houses - well, that is not entirely Professor Snape's fault. The fact is," she admitted, "Slytherin is not always treated so fairly by others. Some of the teachers can be just as biased against Slytherins as Professor Snape is to Gryffindors. I must confess that I am occasionally guilty of this myself, " she sighed regretfully. "I believe that Professor Snape's favoritism to his own House is an attempt to balance this discrimination and is partly justified. He cares very much for his Snakes, Harry, and he does what he can to protect and champion them."

"But why does he have to pick on me? He's had it in for me since the first day of class! Why is he so mean to me around everyone else? He's not like that when he tutors me - at least he wasn't before. Why does he have to embarrass me in class?" Harry complained.

Minerva eyed him hesitantly. This was a little more difficult to explain without getting too personal and revealing political facts the boy had no business knowing about at his age. She decided on bluntness. "I'm not sure I can explain that, Harry. It's complicated, and there are some things you are still too young to understand."

Harry scowled, obviously displeased with this excuse. "Does it have something to do with my dad?"

Minerva couldn't suppress a startled frown. "Why would you think that?" she asked carefully.

"Snape's always saying bad things about him - and he's always comparing me to him. He says I'm arrogant and spoiled and stupid - just like my dad. Did he even know my dad?"

"They were classmates, Harry. Professor Snape and your father were in the same year, here at Hogwarts."

"They must have hated each other," Harry snorted in disgust. "At least, Snape must have hated my Dad."

"It's true that they didn't get along very well. They were rivals of a sort," she paused thoughtfully. "Rather like you and Draco Malfoy, I should think."

"Oh." Harry's face lit with rueful understanding, then he scowled. "But why does he have to take it out on me?"

"I doubt he means to, Harry. It's just. . ." She felt quite awkward discussing another teacher with a student, but she supposed the boy had a right to know. . .and she had invited this conversation. "It's just that - well, your father wasn't very nice to him when they were boys, and you look so much like James, that Professor Snape is most likely reminded of him every time he looks at you."

"That's not my fault!" Harry protested. "He shouldn't blame me cause he hated my dad! I'm not my dad!"

"No , you're not," Minerva agreed, studying him intently for a moment. "You look quite a bit like him, but in truth, you're not like him in personality. You're much more like Lily, I think. You're kind and generous and loyal, like her - and you are very considerate of other's feelings. It's a pity Professor Snape fails to see that in you." The boy blushed a bit at the unexpected praise and ducked his head. "I doubt Professor Snape means to punish you for your father's faults, Harry. I doubt he even realizes that he's doing it."

"Did. . .did you like my father, Professor?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Yes, Harry, I did. I was closer to your mother - especially after she left school and was married - but I admired your father very much. He was a good, decent man."

"Then why was he mean to Professor Snape?"

Minerva winced at the simple question. Trust a child to strike at the heart of the matter. "I don't know, Harry. They disliked each other from the start. You must remember, they were only children at the time."

Harry thought about this for a minute. "I still don't understand why Snape treats me differently when we're alone."

"I think that's something you should ask him, Harry," Minerva hedged.

"We're not speaking," Harry retorted stiffly. "He doesn't like me anymore."

"I think you're wrong. Have you tried to talk to him since you had your disagreement?"

"No," Harry admitted. "I was scared to, honestly. I mean, I did yell at him, and I slammed the door, too. He hates that, you know," he confided somberly.

"I would imagine," Minerva agreed, suppressing a smile. "I'm sure if you apologized for your rudeness, he would be willing to talk with you. I think you'd both feel better if you got all of this out in the open and talked calmly about your problems."

Harry gave her a very dubious look.

"Well, you don't wish to continue this way, do you? It's clear you are unhappy about this situation between you," Minerva pointed out. "I'm afraid it won't go away by itself, Harry. You understand that, don't you?"

Harry nodded reluctantly. "I do want to make it up with him. I miss our tutoring sessions. I wish we hadn't fought."

Minerva smiled. "Then that's precisely what you need to tell Professor Snape, Harry. Just as you've told me."

The boy shrugged glumly. "I guess so - I know I should apologize for being so rude - I mean, he is a teacher, after all - but I'm afraid to just go up to him," he admitted. "I'm afraid he'll yell at me. I hate when he yells at me."

The boy's unhappy admission tore at her heart and she patted his hand in encouragement. "I don't think he will, Harry. Honestly. But if you're really anxious, I would be happy to go with you to see him."

"No," Harry sighed in resignation. "I yelled at him. I guess I should face up to it on my own." He grimaced and made a wry little face. "I'm supposed to be brave, aren't I? I mean I am a Gryffindor."

Minerva grinned at him and squeezed his hand. "Naturally. And I wouldn't be too worried. I'm sure once you talk with Professor Snape, everything will work itself out."

Harry smiled weakly. "If it doesn't, I may end up as one of the Professor's potion ingredients. Just in case - do you know a spell to turn me back from a newt's eye into a boy?"

"Oh, I haven't had to rescue a student from a potions jar in several years!" she quipped. "But I believe I still remember how."

Harry eyed her with an uncertain grin - as if not entirely certain she was joking. Minerva laughed and stood, pulling him up with her. "Come along, Mr. Potter. It is growing quite chilly out here. Why don't you join your friends by the fire? I'll wager the house elves could be persuaded to provide some nice hot cocoa for a cold winter's night. Shall we try?"

He let her guide him back into the castle, smiling shyly up at her. A peaceful silence settled over the snowy courtyard, as the shadows lengthened, drawn out by the pale setting sun. Nothing disturbed the darkening stillness except the faint drip of icicles from the eaves, the occasional flutter of a passing owl, and the quiet, agitated breaths of the man who had remained undetected, seated in the black shadows of a hidden alcove.

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

Severus Snape was ashamed. Ashamed of what he had overheard - of the boy's just accusations, of his colleague's defense of him, and of her astute assumptions. But one word stood out from all the rest - one word had pierced his heart with shock and self-loathing.

Bully.

Harry called me a bully.

And the worst was - the child was right.

Severus thought of James Potter. . of Sirius Black and their little gang of four. He thought of the dozens of daily torments they had perpetrated on him over the years. . .the vicious pranks, attacks and insults.

They were the bullies. They ganged up on me. They humiliated and bullied me. . . and now I'm doing the same thing. I'm as bad as Potter and Black . . . . .no, I'm worse. I pick on those smaller and younger - on defenseless children. I use my authority over them to torment and humiliate them, knowing they cannot fight back. I'm the worst kind of bully.

I have become exactly what I blamed them for. Sweet Merlin - how did I come to this?

He sat for a long time, his head in his hands. He examined his life under the baleful scrutiny of unforgiving honesty. There was much he was not proud of - so much he regretted. But nothing more painful than this - that he had allowed his bitterness to turn him into the one thing he never meant to be.

He didn't mind conflict. . . he didn't regret facing and defeating his enemies. He even enjoyed the challenge of conquering a worthy foe. He was committed whole-heartedly to the destruction of the Dark Lord and all who followed him, and was not at all squeamish about using any means necessary to achieve that end.

But when did mere children become the enemy? When did I declare war on helpless students?

He didn't like children - there was no denying that. They were loud, annoying, disruptive and troublesome. They were irrational and emotional - not at all logical - they rarely applied themselves, they didn't think. They were sloppy and lazy, often dirty and smelly and just. . . well ...childish.

But dislike for children was no excuse to persecute them. And that is what he did. He hounded and harassed them, and took pleasure in terrifying them.

What a small man I have become. What a coward - taking pleasure from frightening children. What's WRONG with me?

And Potter. . . little Harry. He had wronged this child more than most. He had taken his own juvenile resentments out on an innocent boy. . . a boy not responsible for the actions of a father that he never even knew. This hurt the most. Admitting to himself how badly he'd mistreated the child.

He liked the boy. Deep in the throes of self-condemnation, he came at last to this simple realization: he - Severus Snape - was fond of Harry Potter. He enjoyed being with the boy; enjoyed their evenings together, and he didn't want to lose him.

It was many, many hours later - after he had retired, shaken and chilled, to his own quarters. . . after a sleepless night analyzing his life, facing his own flaws and wrestling with the demons of his soul. . . .that Severus finally came to some momentous conclusions.

His foremost conclusion was, he did not like Severus Snape. He did not like the man he had allowed himself to become.

Some of his unpleasant traits were unalterable - some critical to playing the part he must; others crucial to staying alive. But some were deplorable traits that he had indulged out of sheer pettiness and false pride - that were unnecessary for his complex role. These he could and would change. He had many faults - but he had once held his personal honor above all else. Somewhere, down through the long years, he had forgotten that honor. He meant to recover it.

He could not change overnight. He could not afford to even reveal many of those changes to others. But there was much he could change within his own heart. And he would start with that part of his tattered heart that now belonged to Harry.