"Get Out! OUT!" Snape was so shocked he utterly lost control and screamed at the brat. The boy's face blanched white and he bolted. "Bloody Hell!" Snape shook with outrage.

"Sweet Merlin, Professor! You near 'bout broke my eardrums!" Filch griped, picking up the bandages he'd dropped when Snape shouted.

Of all the blasted, idiotic students to walk in on him. . . why did it have to be blasted, bloody POTTER!

"You all right there, Professor?"

"The nerve of that little monster! " Snape raged. "Of all the unmitigated gall! Walking in here without even knocking, as if he owned the place! That arrogant, brainless, ill-mannered. . . I'll wring his bloody neck if it's the last thing I do!" Snape tried to pace angrily, but his limp only made him wobble like a three-legged drunken kneazle.

Filch watched him with a nervous eye. "You want me to finish bandaging that leg, Professor?"

"No!" Snape snapped, then softened his response as his rage settled into a burning seethe. "No, thank you, Filch. I can handle it from here."

Filch leered evilly. "You want me to take care of Potter for you? Give me one detention with that boy – I'll break him! Headmaster won't let me use the whips or leg irons anymore, blast it! . . .but I got my ways." The ugly man's smirk was chilling.

"Thank you, no. I'll deal with Potter on my own," Snape growled.

"As you say," Filch looked disappointed. "Wouldn't want to steal your fun, but I'm glad to help any time you need me."

"Kind of you," Snape cast a quick locking spell on the door, took the bandages and finished wrapping the salve-coated bite marks on his leg. "Perhaps you could keep an eye out for the boy. . .let me know if you catch him out after curfew, or wandering somewhere he shouldn't be?"

"Aye. I'll keep me eyes peeled for 'im. If he's up to no good, I'll catch 'im, don't you worry."

"Thank you, Argus. I appreciate your discretion."

"Course, Professor. Most of the staff spoils these little ankle-biters, but those of us as knows better, have got to stick together, eh?"

"Precisely." Snape lifted the locking spell and nodded at Filch as he left, but he felt a touch uneasy by the man's allegiance.

Is this what I've come to? Aligning myself with a mean-spirited bully like Filch? Do the students think me as sordidly malicious as that bitter old Squib?

He smoothed down his robes and brushed away the tinge of regret that lingered at this thought. For some reason, the image of Potter's stunned face in the doorway returned to his mind. The boy had seen his wounded leg. There had been shock in his expression, and something else. . .if Snape didn't know better, he'd have sworn it was concern. Then he had yelled at the boy. Potter had been terrified – even Snape could see it - the way the boy had fled from the door. . .he had heard the clatter of the brat's feet as he ran away.

Bollocks! Why in Merlin's name did the boy walk unannounced into the staff room like that? Didn't his Muggle guardians teach him any manners? No doubt he is used to doing whatever he pleases, with no consideration of other's feelings or privacy!

Snape stalked from the room and made his way back to the dungeons. He harassed a few students along the way, taking Ravenclaw and Gryffindor points for imaginary offenses. It improved his mood a bit, but it didn't erase Potter's ashen face from his memory.

I shouldn't have lost my temper like that.

He prided himself on strict control over his emotions. But he'd been startled by the brat's intrusion, and embarrassed that the child had seen his injuries. He never revealed any weakness before a student, and now he felt exposed – vulnerable in an uncomfortable way.

Nosy little git! Always somewhere he shouldn't be. I don't like the way he looks at me – with those green eyes too old for a child his age – as if he sees things no one else does!

Snape resolved to assign the brat detention the next time he saw him. . .three or four hours of scrubbing cauldrons ought to teach him not to barge in where he doesn't belong! Snape paused to take points from a frightened Hufflepuff for dropping her book bag in the corridor, then stormed on to his office.

I'll teach that boy to respect his elders!

He snatched up a pile of first-year essays and settled at his desk with a sharp quill and two bottles of red ink.
Potter's face had turned deathly white when Snape yelled at him. . . not that the boy had much color to begin with – he was too pale and thin, really. But when Snape roared at him, he had been terrorized. . .not an easy feat, for the boy possessed way too much Gryffindor courage for his own good. But Snape had frightened him.

Good. I'm glad he's afraid of me. If I don't have his respect, at least I can instill fear in him!

A moment of wistful regret washed over him. Did he really want Lily's child to fear him? Wouldn't he rather earn the boy's respect?

No. The boy will learn respect through fear, if necessary. I'm not about to coddle the brat – he gets enough from Dumbledore and Minerva. It's up to me to teach the boy discipline and control, and I'll use whatever tactics are required.

If intimidation didn't work, there were plenty of other ways to make the boy's life miserable. Snape was very good at tormenting willful students. He'd make an example of Potter.

I'll teach that little fool to obey the rules!

With this bitter thought, Snape turned to his grading, slashing brutally through the pathetic essays with considerable red ink and ill-will.

……………………

"Sir?"

"You heard me, Potter. Detention – tonight – promptly at seven."

"But…but why? I didn't do anything!" The green eyes flashed resentfully.

"We will discuss your misconduct this evening." Snape rose from his desk and stared down at the indignant boy. "Be on time. One minute late will earn you another detention." He gathered his papers and glared at Potter. "Dismissed."

Potter opened his mouth as if to protest, then abruptly shut it. He stamped angrily out of the room to join his friends waiting for him in the corridor.

"What was that all about?" Snape recognized Weasley's irritating whine through the open door.

"He gave me detention – tonight," Potter growled.

"Detention? Why?" Granger squeaked.

"I dunno. Because he hates me."

"Oh, Harry," Granger's tone was patronizing. "Professor Snape doesn't hate you. He treats everyone like that."

"Everyone but Slytherins, you mean." Weasley snarked.

"He does hate me. He's always picking on me! He's hated me from the first moment he laid eyes on me," Potter sounded almost forlorn.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing! He wouldn't even tell me why he gave me detention," Potter's protested glumly, his voice receding as the trio moved away down the hall. "I guess I'll find out tonight."

Snape smirked. Let him stew over it for the rest of the day. Uncertainty would heighten the dread of his punishment, perhaps making the boy less confident and arrogant. It was Potter's first detention with him. Snape knew that his detentions were infamous, and nearly as feared by the students as Filch's. Potter should be a shivering puddle of nerves by the time he reported to the dungeon that evening. As he made his way back to his office, Snape had to fight the urge to smile with anticipation. A smile on the face of the dreaded Potions Master might cause passing students to faint from shock.

…………………………

Unfortunately, when Potter reported to the dungeon that night, he was not only on time, but five minutes early. Snape suppressed his disappointment when a timid knock sounded at the door.

"Come."

The boy shuffled into the room and came to stand in front of Snape's desk, his expression impassively blank.

Snape fixed his gaze on the parchments he was grading and ignored the boy for several minutes. Then he spoke without looking up. "There are a stack of cauldrons waiting to be scrubbed at the back of the room. I want every one of them spotless before you leave."

"Why?"

The soft inquiry startled him and he raised his eyes, glaring at the boy. "I beg your pardon?"

"You said you would tell me what I did wrong. I just wanted to know why I'm being punished," Potter replied quietly.

Snape searched the boy's steady gaze for signs of impudence, but the child stared back at him innocently. Snape sneered. "You are being punished for a deplorable lack of manners. Has no one ever taught you to knock before entering a room? Particularly the teacher's staff room?"

Potter blinked, a faint blush creeping into his pale cheeks. "I did knock. No one answered. You must not have heard me."

"And that gave you the right to walk in uninvited?" he snapped back, daring the boy to challenge him.

Potter studied his shoes for a moment, then glanced up at him. "No, sir. I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

"Contrition after the fact, Mr. Potter, does not excuse your behavior. Now get to work on those cauldrons. You will scrub them the Muggle way - no magic. I will inspect each and every one of them before you will be excused."

The boy sighed and turned away. He stopped halfway across the room and looked back at Snape, a worried frown on his small face. "Is. . .is your leg better?"

Snape's head jerked up and he glared indignantly. "My leg is no concern of yours, Potter! And you will not speak to me so informally in future. You will address me as Professor, or Sir. . .is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." Potter shrugged and headed toward the back of the room.

Snape heard the slightly cheeky emphasis on the boy's 'sir' but was too distracted to react. How did that brat have the nerve to even mention my injury? Did he have no sense of self-preservation? Snape studied the boy's slumped shoulders as he began washing a cauldron. Why would Potter ask that? Was he taunting him, or was he actually concerned? Snape watched the boy struggle with the cauldron. The laboratory sink was uncomfortably high for him – he could barely reach over the edge, and the sleeves of his robe were quickly drenched and soggy.

"For Merlin's sake, boy! You're getting more water on yourself and the floor than in the sink!" Snape barked irritably. He rose and swept down on him with an impatient snarl. Potter looked up, green eyes blinking nervously behind the ridiculously large glasses. "Take off your robe, Potter! Hang it up over there by the door."

While Potter scurried to obey, Snape transfigured a classroom bench into a step stool and moved it in front of the sink. The boy returned and climbed up on the stool, which placed him at a better height. Snape gaped at the boy's ill-fitting clothes. The baggy trousers were at least four sizes too large, and the faded shirt nearly swallowed the child's thin frame.

"What in Merlin's name are you wearing?" Snape growled.

Potter glanced down at his outfit and shrugged. "Umm. . .my regular clothes," he said. "The older students said I would probably have to clean during detention. I didn't want to get my school clothes dirty. . .Sir." he added hastily.

"And this. . . "attire". . . is this meant to be a joke? Are you mocking me, Mr. Potter!" Snape's voice hardened dangerously.

"No, sir," Potter frowned at him.

"Where did you get this appalling outfit? Did you borrow it from some back street tramp? This is a school, Mr. Potter – not Knockturn Alley! All students are expected to dress neatly and appropriately – even during detention!"

"I'm sorry, sir!" A flash of temper flared on the boy's face, which was rapidly flushing dark red. "These are my clothes – they're all I've got!"

"Nonsense! They don't begin to fit properly!"

"They were my cousin's, until he outgrew them," Potter muttered defensively. "My Aunt says they can't afford new ones just for me."

Snape eyed him furiously, searching for the lie in the boy's clearly embarrassed face.

"I didn't think it would matter what they looked like, if I wore my robe over them." Potter sent him a nasty glare, then lowered his head to stare at the floor. "I'll go back to the dormitory and change back into my uniform if you wish, sir."

Snape scowled down at Potter's flushed neck. "Never mind that now. I won't have you stalling to get out of work. Next time you have detention with me – and I have no doubt there will be a next time – you will report wearing suitable attire."

"Yes, sir," Potter murmured softly, and turned back to the sink.

"Roll your sleeves up, Potter. There's no need to become thoroughly soaked in the process," Snape grumbled. The boy tried to do as he was told, struggling with the long, frayed sleeves that were already rolled up several times.

"Oh, good grief." Snape sighed tiredly and grabbed one of the boy's arms. To his surprise, Potter flinched, throwing his other arm up to shield his face. Snape frowned, but said nothing. He quickly rolled up the sleeve as far as it would go – which wasn't far, considering the armhole hung almost to the boy's elbow. The boy's bare arm was disturbingly thin. Potter lowered his other arm from his face and peered warily up at him.

"Give me your other arm," Snape ordered. Potter turned to face him and watched silently as Snape secured the other sleeve. "Now. Try not to make a complete mess of yourself or the floor, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you, sir," Potter murmured as Snape stalked back to his desk.

"Hrumphh." Snape ignored the boy, returning to his grading.

The nerve of the child! Showing up in that shabby costume! Claiming his guardians didn't provide for him! What utter nonsense! I know for a fact that Dumbledore furnishes those Muggles with an overly generous annual stipend to care for the boy. They have an abundance of funds with which to spoil and indulge him! This whole charade is some infantile ploy to gain sympathy and attention! I'll not fall for such an obvious hoax. The brat put them on – he can bloody well work in the scruffy things!

For the next several hours he continued his work, glancing up occasionally to make certain that Potter wasn't slacking off. The boy never stopped, diligently scrubbing each gummy cauldron with genuine effort. His industry surprised Snape. He doubted the boy had ever done a hard day's work in his life. It was probably the first time Potter had ever washed anything besides his own grubby hands.

Snape snidely imagined the sulky scowl on the boy's face – a scowl he had seen on many a student's face plagued with the odious task. For some reason, the boy's stooped, thin back and bent head irritated him, and he rose and skulked silently to one of the back storage cabinets, pretending to verify the quantity of supplies within. He glanced over to watch the boy's face as he vigorously scoured at particularly stubborn stain in one of Snape's oldest cauldrons. To his amazement, Potter was not scowling. In fact, his small round face wore an almost contented look. A soft noise confused Snape and he glanced around trying to discover its source. With shock, he realized the noise came from Potter. The boy was humming quietly! Irrationally, Snape had a sudden urge to laugh. He curbed the impulse into an amused smirk instead.

"Enjoying yourself, Mr. Potter?" he crooned darkly.

Potter dropped the cauldron and nearly fell off the step stool. He gaped wildly at Snape. "Professor! You. . .you startled me!"

"Perhaps you should attempt to be more aware of your surroundings in future, Mr. Potter," Snape cocked an eyebrow at him.

The boy blushed, and settled himself, returning to his scrubbing. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"You were obviously. . .distracted. Perhaps you should pay more attention to your work."

"I was, sir," Potter retorted mildly. "That's why I didn't hear you sneak - uh. . . .come over."

"Indeed?" Snape sneered.

Potter shrugged diffidently. "I guess I have a tendency to get rather. . um. ..focused, when I'm cleaning." He frowned at the stubborn stain, and picked up a stiffer brush. "When my hands are busy, I guess my mind becomes more. . .uh – quiet. . .calm-like." He attacked the stain with renewed vigor, his cheeks warmed with a faint blush.

"It's a pity you cannot achieve the same focus while brewing potions, isn't it?" Snape commented snidely.

The boy rolled his eyes and almost smirked. "I suppose I do get a little jumpy when someone is constantly watching over my shoulder," he remarked quietly.

Snape snorted and fought the urge to grin. "Then perhaps I had best leave you to your 'tranquil' state of scrubbing. You still have five more to finish."

Potter scowled now, and visibly restrained himself from replying. He scoured viciously at the stubborn stain.A spark of reluctant admiration for the boy's effort forced Snape to comment. "That particular stain has resisted removal for over ten years, Mr. Potter. I doubt even your petulant effort will remove it now. I suggest you move on to another cauldron."

Potter flashed him a disgruntled glare and rinsed the cauldron, setting it aside. "Thanks for telling me, Sir," he grumbled.

Snape smirked and paced back to his desk. "Do try to speed it up, Potter. You have only one half hour to complete your task before curfew. . . and I will not write you a pass if you do not finish in time. I'm sure Mr. Filch would be delighted to find you outside your dormitory after hours."

The boy huffed and returned to his work. Snape finished the last of his grading and gathered up the parchments, glancing at the clock. Then he sauntered back to the sink. "It is ten minutes to curfew, Mr. Potter."

Potter turned and nodded. "Done, sir. I was just tidying up." Much to Snape's astonishment, the boy was telling the truth. A long row of gleaming cauldrons lined the back shelf. The sink and countertop were spotless, and even the spilled water had been mopped up. Potter wrung out a damp cloth and laid it neatly to dry over the sink edge, then hopped down off the step stool and looked up at Snape. "Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes," Snape muttered crossly. "Return to your dorm."

The boy hurried to retrieve his robe, then paused by the door. "Professor?"

"What, Potter?" Snape turned to glare at him.

The boy met his glare with a repentant face. "I really am sorry I barged in like that, sir."

"Hmmm. Hurry along, Potter, or you'll be late."

"Yes, sir. Goodnight, Professor." The boy slipped out the door.

"Goodnight, Potter," Snape replied absently. He gazed again at the cauldrons. As much as he hated to admit it, the boy had done a superb job. He hadn't seen cauldrons this clean since he began forcing students to clean them for detention. And it wasn't an easy task – some were horribly scorched and stained. Several of the larger ones were half the boy's size, but he hadn't complained once.

Perhaps the little monster has learned his lesson after all, despite that foolish prank with the ratty clothes. I knew all he needed was discipline. Well, I shall see to it personally that he gets plenty of it. Merlin knows, no one else around here will take a firm hand with the Brat-Who-Lived. Perhaps if even Harry-Bloody-Potter can overcome his pampered upbringing, there's hope for Draco as well.

With this reassuring thought, Snape locked the potions lab and swept off to check on his little Snakes before retiring for a well-earned brandy before bed.