The soft knock came almost ten minutes early. Snape had hoped to take extra points for tardiness. . . apparently his scathing condemnation after class had put the proper fear into the brat. "Come."

Potter entered quietly. He met Snape's gaze steadily, his earlier embarrassment apparently forgotten - or at least well concealed. Severus studied him critically. The boy was predictably untidy - his robes wrinkled, his cuffs dingy and ink-stained. And did the boy even own a hairbrush, he wondered? Severus stood abruptly, preferring the advantage of his considerable height.

"Come with me," he ordered curtly. He flicked his wand at the blank back wall. With a glimmer of golden light, the concealing charms and wards on the hidden door fell away. He opened the door and strode down the dim tunnel beyond, not bothering to look back. He had no doubt the brat would follow. When he opened the second door at the end of the winding tunnel, he held it open, motioning the small boy inside. Another flick of his wand restored the charms on his office entrance.

He entered his private quarters, smirking at the confused child standing in stiff discomfort, gazing about the cozy lounge with obvious surprise. The brat probably expected the chambers of his hated Potions Professor to be darkly gothic - cold, dank, and filled with jars of creepy potion ingredients, Snape reflected with mild amusement.

"Sit at the table," Snape commanded.

Potter jumped to obey. Severus collected the parchment, ink and quills he had prepared and set them in front of the boy. He sat opposite Potter, removed the small folding knife he always carried in his robes, and picked up one of the standard quills.

"Pay attention, Potter," Snape said sternly. "The thickness of your line, and the neatness of your writing begin with the quill's tip. To maintain a clean line, you must keep your quill tip sharp at all times. When it becomes dull, you must trim it," he lectured. "A proper tip should have a smooth, forty-five degree angle. You'll need a sharp knife to trim it. . .thus," he demonstrated with a deft slice. "Any angle less than forty-five degrees will allow too much ink to flow onto the surface of the parchment, making your line too thick and allowing ink to dribble from the quill. More than forty-five degrees will make the point too sharp, scratching and even puncturing the parchment. Do you understand?"

Bemused, Potter blinked at him, nodding hesitantly.

"Do you possess a suitable knife?"

"N-no, sir," the boy stammered.

"Take this one," Snape handed him the folding knife. "Go ahead. Try it."

The boy fumbled with the knife, making several crooked cuts in his quill.

"Not quite," Snape corrected with unusual patience. "Hold the quill firmly between your thumb and forefinger, like so. . .that's right. Now make your cut."

This time the boy managed to trim the quill correctly.

"That is better," Snape inspected the boy's quill. "Quite acceptable." He proceeded to instruct the boy on the proper technique for filling his quill from the ink well. Then he laid a short sheet of parchment, and a longer roll before him.

"This, Mr. Potter, is a sampler. . .an example of the correct cursive form of the letters of the alphabet. Each letter is written twice - first in its capital case, then in lower case. You will copy this alphabet onto this blank parchment, exactly as it is written. Please make an effort to form your letters to resemble those in the sampler as closely as you can. When you have finished the alphabet, let me know so I may examine your work. Is that clear?"

Potter stared at him, mouth agape.

"Well, Potter? Can you follow these simple instructions, or is this too difficult for you to comprehend?" Severus snapped impatiently.

"Yes, sir," the boy stammered. "I mean. . .I understand, sir."

"Very well, Potter. Get busy. We don't have all night!" Snape rose and retreated to his favorite chair by the fire. He picked up the journal he had been reading before dinner and forced himself to ignore the brat.

This whole business is probably a colossal waste of time and effort. I can hardly expect Harry-Bloody-Potter to appreciate any extra effort on my part. The way the Headmaster and the rest of the staff indulge the brat, he probably thinks he's entitled to special assistance!

Snape snorted softly and flipped pages to find the article he had been reading. He settled back, soothed by the warmth and peace of his chambers. For a blissful while, nothing disturbed the silence except the fluttering of the torches, the occasional crackle of the fire, and the thin scratch of Potter's quill. Severus was rather surprised that the unfamiliar scratching did not annoy him. It was almost comforting - a kind of homey evidence that he was not alone as usual.

Severus really didn't know what possessed him to invite the boy into his chambers. He liked his privacy and guarded it jealously. He might, on rare occasion, invite Albus or Minerva into his quarters, but he did not extend that hospitality to other members of the staff. And he never had students here - not even Draco enjoyed that privilege.

But on this particular evening, Severus had felt restless and drained - abruptly weary of the chilly, sterile atmosphere of his office. He couldn't bear the thought of spending several more hours cooped up there. He wanted his fire and his cozy chair. . .and he'd decided that even Harry-Bloody-Potter would not deprive him of these comforts.

Still. . .the boy's presence in his personal space wasn't nearly as disruptive as he might have expected. At least the brat didn't fidget, or chatter mindlessly.

"Professor?"

Snape glanced at the boy, a habitual scowl in place.

"I've finished, sir."

Snape rose and stalked over to the small table that separated the lounge from the tiny kitchen beyond. He leaned over the boy's shoulder and scrutinized his work. "Barely legible, Potter," he commented sourly. The boy's shoulders slumped, and he was surprised to see a flash of disappointment on the child's face. "It's to be expected. It's a learned skill - it takes practice, Potter. No need to get discouraged," he added with a touch less hostility. "Now, I want you to do it again. You will continue to copy the sampler until I am satisfied with the results."

"Yes, sir." Potter resolutely picked up his quill and began again without complaint. Snape returned to his chair and his reading, somewhat relieved the brat was proving less defiant and intractable than usual. Perhaps the discomfort of being in his teacher's private quarters had subdued the boy.

It was nearly two hours later before Severus closed his journal and glanced at the clock on the mantle. He realized he had almost forgotten Potter was there and he shifted his gaze to the quiet boy hunched over his work at the table. The boy was still writing, his eyes on the parchment, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. His hand must be tired after so long, but he didn't show any outward signs of discomfort. Snape glimpsed the pink tip of Potter's tongue poking out between terse lips - an apparent unconscious habit of focus that was actually rather endearing. . .in a childish, foolish way.

Snape rose and strode to the boy's side. Much to his dismay, he couldn't fault the brat's perseverance. Potter had dutifully filled several feet of parchment with the copied alphabet, and there was no denying that his penmanship was improving marginally with repetition. The top of the parchment bore a few small drops of spattered ink, but the later half was reasonably neat and clean.

"You are improving, Mr. Potter," he admitted resentfully. "Amazing what a little effort can accomplish. You may stop for the evening."

Potter looked up, a shy smile gracing his solemn face. "Thank you, Professor. "

Snape scowled and pointed at the nearby bathroom door. "Go and wash your hands, Potter, before you smear ink all over the place."

Potter obeyed while Snape cleared the table, leaving only the folding knife he had loaned the boy earlier. Then he called for Roker, who swiftly complied with his quiet request. When Potter returned, Snape motioned him to the table where the house elf was laying out a light tea. Potter stared at him in obvious surprise. "I don't intend to miss my evening tea, merely because I am burdened with your presence, Mr. Potter," Snape sneered, pouring out two cups of steaming tea. He pushed the plate of assorted biscuits closer to the boy. "Eat, Potter. You are disturbingly undernourished for a boy your age," he snarled with disapproval. Potter gaped at him but obediently grabbed a peanut butter biscuit, still warm from baking. When Roker popped out, they sat sipping their tea in a not wholly uncomfortable silence. Snape noticed with satisfaction that the boy finished two cups of tea and a half dozen biscuits (all peanut butter, he noted) without further urging.

"You may return to your dorm now, Potter. But I want you to continue practicing your penmanship at least one hour every night, until I am satisfied you can write clearly and legibly. You will report to me here this coming Thursday evening, promptly at seven, and I will judge your progress."

"Yes, Professor." Potter rose, appearing somewhat relieved. He gathered up his bag and looked around in confusion. "How do I. . .?"

"The door behind you is the public access to my quarters. It will let you out into the corridor, thirty paces from the potions classroom. Remember its location - you will enter and exit from that door from now on. The private access from my office is strictly that - private," Snape said sternly. "You will not use it again - nor will you reveal its existence to anyone - not even your little cohorts, Weasley and Granger. Is that clear, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, Professor," Potter turned to leave.

"Potter. Take the knife. You should keep it upon your person at all times," Severus ordered.

"But. . . that's yours, Professor," the boy stammered, looking thoroughly bewildered. "Shouldn't I . .I mean. . ."

"Keep it," Snape interrupted impatiently. "I have others."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"There is no need for gratitude, Potter. It's a small matter - a common school implement, not expensive. Now kindly leave. You have approximately fifteen minutes before curfew begins. If Filch catches you out after hours, I will not intercede for you."

"Yes, sir," Potter rushed to the door, opened it, then paused to glance back at him. "Professor Snape? Uhmm. . .thanks for helping me - with my quill and writing and all. . ."

"Do not mistake my assistance for any kind of favor, Mr. Potter. It's strictly a case of self-interest, I assure you. If I am to be forced to read your pathetic essays in future, I will at least insure that they are legible. Now, off with you!"

"Yes, sir! Good night, Professor," the boy nodded with a small smile.

"Good night, Potter!' Snape growled menacingly, satisfied when the boy stumbled out hastily, closing the door behind him.

Severus poured himself another cup of tea and sighed wearily.

Well. That went better than I expected. At least the brat wasn't quite as annoying as usual . Perhaps if he remains diligent, Potter may turn out to be an adequate student after all.

He allowed himself a smug smile, and turned his thoughts to a warm bed and some much needed sleep.