Professor Severus Snape toyed absently with his goblet and ignored the first-years as they filed in. He already knew what he would see: the bobbing procession of eleven-year-old faces gawking at the ceiling and the House tables, their eyes filled with wonder and trepidation. It was the same every year.

This year, there were two faces amongst the throng of nervous children that Snape knew would claim his attention soon enough – one face was familiar; one infamous. But he brushed aside his curiosity for the moment, to study the DADA teacher at his side.

"Are you well this evening, Professor Quirrell?" Snape's tone was more mocking than solicitous.

"W-w-what? I...I'm quite w-well, thank you!" Quirrell stuttered, clearly startled by the Potion Master's inquiry.

"You seem a bit. . .anxious."

"N-no, no! Just. . .well...the s-start of a new t-term is always exhilarating, don't you think?" the man's right eye twitched spastically.

"Hrumphh," Snape's response was dubious.

Snape had always detested Quirrell. The stammering, bumbling fool was nearly as incompetent as that flakey fraud, Trelawney. Snape took perverse pleasure in intimidating the bashful man as often as possible. But something about Quirrell had changed over the summer. . .something Snape couldn't quite pin down. He only knew the man *felt* different. There was an unfamiliar aura about the DADA teacher – covert and dark, as if he were concealing secrets behind that mild, vapid smile. Once or twice, Snape had thought he glimpsed a flicker of cunning in the man's befuddled eyes.

He couldn't imagine that the ineffectual idiot presented any kind of danger, but Quirrell's altered bearing made the Potion Master's well-honed senses tingle with vague menace. Snape knew better than to ignore his faint suspicions. He had not survived his regrettable service to the Dark Lord by accident. . .he had learned to heed his instincts. Quirrell would bear watching, he decided. . .very close watching.

Quirrell's attention was now on the Sorting Ceremony just commencing, and Snape followed the DADA teacher's gaze as the first new child – an agitated girl with frizzy hair – was sorted into Gryffindor. Minerva McGonagall called out the next name.

"Malfoy, Draco."

Snape watched the boy's delicate face as the Sorting Hat loudly proclaimed "SLYTHERIN!" almost before touching Draco's head.

Well, that's no surprise, Snape thought, giving his godson a terse nod of approval as the lad jumped off the stool and sauntered to the Slytherin table. So like his father. Too pretty for his own good, and far too confident. The cock-sure tilt of the chin and that proud swagger. . .so reminiscent of Lucius.

But there was more to Draco than swagger. The boy was not just a miniature copy of his father, despite his airs. Snape had been a frequent guest at Malfoy Manor during Draco's childhood, and he had made a point of forming a close relationship with his godson. He knew there was a sharp mind behind that attractive, arrogant face and Snape was determined to draw it out. He looked forward to guiding and molding the boy. As Head of Slytherin House, he would have the opportunity to influence his godson more that ever before, and he hoped to undo at least some of the damage Lucius had done to Draco's character. Perhaps he could keep the son from making the same mistakes as the father.

Snape's thoughts were so focused on Draco he almost missed the name when Minerva called it out.

"Potter, Harry."

A ripple of curiosity and anticipation swept over the students. Even the staff at the Head table tensed, staring attentively at the huddle of children at the foot of the dais. There was a minor shuffle in the middle of the group, then a boy stepped forward amid a wave of hissing whispers.

Snape was surprised. He didn't know what he had expected, really – but certainly not this. . . this scrawny, hesitant child. Potter was shorter and skinnier than most of the other first-years. He seemed hardly big enough to clamber onto the stool. Snape got a quick impression of untidy black hair and round glasses too large for the pale oval face. . .then the boy sat, his back to the Staff table, bony shoulders slumped in apprehension. His thin arms were rigid and his small hands gripped the seat so hard his knuckles were white.

Snape leaned forward curiously to peer at the boy's profile. Potter's eyes were squeezed shut in fierce concentration, and his lips moved, as if he were silently chanting. A long, hushed pause heightened the air of suspense in the Hall.

What is taking so long? What is that bloody Hat doing? Snape found himself holding his breath.

Finally the annoying, pompous voice cried out, "GRIFFYNDOR!"

Snape told himself he was neither surprised nor disappointed. Certainly, any Head of House would have welcomed the prestige of claiming the Boy-Who-Lived. . .but this was James Potter's son, after all. Of course he'd be a bloody Gryffindor - just like his bloody father.

He watched the child scramble down from the stool and hasten over to the Gryffindor table to be greeted by his new housemates with entirely too much enthusiasm. Snape observed Minerva's tight smile of proud delight and snorted softly in disgust. So now it begins, he thought snidely. Five minutes in the school and the brat's already being treated like a celebrity. He glimpsed the boy's happy, eager face through the crowd of students and grimaced with distaste. Frightful hair. . .bad eyesight. . .ego the size of Greater London – a true Potter for certain!

For the remainder of the Sorting, Snape glowered at his empty plate, silently censuring the Potter child in his mind. Enjoy your popularity while you can, Potter. You'll find your fame will not sway me. Let the others spoil and coddle you – your arrogance won't profit you in my classes, I promise you. It will give me great pleasure to knock you down a peg or two. When I'm done with you, you won't dare shift a toe out of line. I'll eradicate that Potter smugness once and for all.

Dumbledore rambled through his annual greeting and began the feast. The first-years reacted with the usual wonderment and delight at the sudden appearance of food-laden trays. Snape helped himself to a tender filet of whitefish and some fresh greens, then glanced over at the Potter boy.

Good grief, what's the matter with the child? You'd think he'd never seen food before!

Potter was gaping wide-eyed at the heaping platters before him. His mouth was open, slack-jawed, as if he were in shock. As the other students helped themselves with the eager abandon of hungry children, Potter just stared at the food. His dark brows were wrinkled in disbelief and uncertainty.

Stupid boy! Does he think the food is poisoned? Or is the fare not good enough for the Boy-Who-Lived? Snape snarled inwardly. No doubt the brat is used to gourmet meals at home. I suppose school food is too plebian for the likes of Harry-bloody-Potter!

Glancing around at his housemates, Potter finally – hesitantly – served himself, piling his plate with samples of every food in sight. Deplorable manners, Snape noted spitefully, as the boy began hastily shoveling food into his mouth as if afraid it would disappear again.

Determined not to spoil his own dinner with further thoughts of the Boy-Who-Lived, Snape ignored the Gryffindor table until after his pudding and a much needed cup of tea. Out of misguided politeness, Quirrell made a few stuttering attempts at conversation, which Snape pointedly ignored. But when the DADA teacher asked him to pass the sugar, Snape sighed and reluctantly turned to hand the bowl to him. As he did, his glance happened to fall on the Gryffindor table once again. The Potter boy was looking his way – in fact, he appeared to be peering directly at the Potions Master. He spoke to the older Weasley boy, then stared at Snape again. It was the first clear view Snape had gotten of the boy's face.

Messy hair – glasses – stubborn set to a firm jaw – vague, crooked little smile. . .James Potter all over, Snape thought irritably. Then he looked past the glasses into vivid green eyes.

Snape frowned. The room went silent around him. . . everything faded away except the green eyes gazing back at him. The boy's brows tilted in distress and a small hand rose to rub fitfully at the scar hidden behind dark bangs, but still the eyes held his. Snape swallowed hard, bewildered by the sudden painful lump there. His heartbeat sounded thunderous in his own veins and an eerie wave of grief and regret washed over him.

NO! His internal protest echoed loudly in his head. Not fair! It's not FAIR!

Fearful that his thoughts were too clearly written on his face, Snape did the only thing he could. Habit took over and he scowled his fiercest scowl. The green eyes blinked but didn't turn away. They held. . . a question? A challenge? A hint of confusion?

To his shame, Professor Severus Snape was first to break the mutual stare and look away. He sat mute and grim, his sour expression concealing the shock that pulsed under the surface. He sat while the first-years were led away by their prefects, and while the rest of the students ambled out, chattering and laughing.

As the Hall emptied, Snape sipped his now-cold tea and fixed his eyes glumly on the table before him.

Bloody Hell! Bloody Potter – Damn the boy!. . .it wasn't fair. . .

Why did he have to have Lily's eyes?

Professor Snape's opening speech for first-years Potions Class was by far one of his best. Though the words never varied from year to year, his performance had improved with age, Snape believed, and he enjoyed the awe and fear that his stern, seductive tones always inspired in the impressionable little dunderheads. He had almost smiled at the eagerness on Draco's face, but had managed to restrain himself.

Naturally, the only student who appeared unimpressed with his oration was Harry-bloody-Potter! The little monster not only had the gall to be unappreciative, he wasn't even listening! His dark head was bent over his desk and he appeared to be scribbling something – defacing his schoolbooks with juvenile doodling, no doubt! A lesson in intimidation was clearly in order.

As he challenged the insufferable boy in his most devastating, insulting tones, Snape was surprised by Potter's unabashed stare. His negative replies to the questions Snape barked at him were blandly unapologetic, and he refused to be daunted by his teacher's sneering. He even had the nerve to counter Snape's fearsome attack with quiet, borderline insolence! Snape took points on principle, simply because the boy annoyed him, but he was secretly impressed by the child's audacity. Few students had ever challenged Snape's antagonism. The brat had courage, at least – stupid, foolhardy, Gryffindor courage!

When the Longbottom dolt managed to melt his cauldron on his first try, Snape blamed Potter unjustly, just for the pleasure of it. Let the spoiled youngster learn from the start that life was never fair. Potter's haunting green eyes had flashed briefly with resentment, and he seemed inclined to argue, but one of his chums (another Weasley, heaven forbid!) distracted him, and he visibly curbed his frustration. Snape dismissed the class with a warning scowl at Potter.

Don't challenge me, brat. I will prevail, and you will regret it.

The boy hurried out without a backward glance. Snape smiled maliciously to himself. The Wonderboy of the wizarding world had no idea of the war he had ignited with his petty little defiance. Snape resolved to dedicate all of his malevolent skills to making the boy's life miserable. He had at least five years to crush the insolence out of the pampered pest, and he would enjoy every minute of it. So what if the boy was plucky? So what if he had his mother's gentle eyes? His conceit and insolence were pure Potter - and Severus Snape would never again be bested by a Potter.

When his third-years drifted into class with the subdued despair of veteran Potions-students, Snape unleashed his most scornful tirades, happily exercising and honing his acerbic skills at their ill-fated expense.

.........

"Twenty points, Professor Snape?" Minerva surveyed the Potions Master with stiff reproach.

"Well-deserved, I assure you, Professor McGonagall," Snape replied smoothly.

"But it is only the first day of classes!" Minerva hissed. "How could anyone lose twenty points on the FIRST DAY?"

"Ask your Gryffindors, Professor," Snape retorted. "It's a shame your House has so many unruly members. No doubt they will settle down as the term progresses and they learn to pay attention and obey rules."

"No doubt," McGonagall eyed him with cool annoyance. "No doubt it will be a long, challenging term for *all* the Houses."

"As you say, Professor," Snape smirked, accepting the familiar dare with amusement. "Best look to your Lions, Minerva."

"And you look to your Snakes, Severus," the witch warned with a fond snort. "I can assure you – *I* will be watching them!"

Snape offered her a little mock bow and held out her chair for her at the Head table. Minerva took her seat with an irritable flounce and gave him her best glare. Snape claimed the seat beside her without misgivings. Their good-natured rivalry was robust at times, but never acrimonious. Snape knew when he took unjust points from Minerva's House, she would only find some way to even the score – either by (justifiably) deducting Slytherin points, or rewarding over-generous points to Gryffindor. The two teachers might manipulate points for their own sport, but neither wished to push the point system too far. They both knew that blatant abuse would render the system meaningless, and neither wished to demolish a very effective student incentive. So they kept the competition friendly and mostly fair. Snape accepted without rancor that the hapless Griffindors would earn the lost twenty points back with predictable speed in the next Transfiguration class.

"How is your godson adjusting to Hogwarts, Severus?" Minerva inquired.

"Fairly well, I think," Severus glanced over at the little Snakes lining the Slytherin table. "He's a touch spoiled, but he's very bright and seems to make friends easily – at least within his own House."

"He's very like his father," Minerva commented. Her tone implied this was not a favorable resemblance.

"Draco has lead an insular life," Severus agreed neutrally. "He has had no other role model but Lucius. I am hoping when he discovers his own individuality – his own innate character - he will cease to emulate his father so assiduously."

"I'm sure you'll be a good influence on him, Severus."

"I hope to have that opportunity," Severus shrugged. "I believe the boy has potential. I mean to help him develop it."

"Draco is very lucky to have you for a godfather, Severus," Minerva said in a rare display of genuine affection.

Snape snorted. "I don't know about that. I just don't want him to follow in his father's footsteps – not if I can help it."

"I hope you succeed. His upbringing will not be easy to overcome, I fear."

"Don't expect miracles, Minerva. . .the boy's a born Slytherin!" Snape smirked. "I think he'll be willing to change, but only if there's benefit to be gained. I shall endeavor to enlighten him on the *advantages* of decency and integrity."

"Good luck with that," Minerva eyed the Slytherin table with wry pessimism. Snape chuckled.

.............

The Potions Master was enjoying the all-too-brief respite of a half hour break between classes – a rare anomaly in his overcrowded schedule. It was uncommonly warm for the first week of September, and the sunshine and clear blue skies had called him out from the dungeons to breathe in the fresh, balmy breeze. Contrary to school myth, Professor Snape did like sunshine and fresh air. . . he just rarely got the opportunity to enjoy them. Between classes, grading papers, potion-making and his private research, he didn't have much spare time left for strolling the grounds.

He took advantage of the break to stretch his legs, roaming the covered walkways that framed the grassy quad between school wings. When he noticed Professor Hooch's first-year class gathered in the open quad, he started to turn away to seek a more secluded route, but the sound of his godson's voice made him pause. He slipped into the gloom of a shadowy portico to observe the beginners attempting their first flying lesson.

Snape wasn't a personal fan of flying – he preferred the convenience and speed of apparation or floo travel. But he did appreciate the finesse of skillful broom handling, and even enjoyed a good Quidditch match – strictly as a spectator, of course. He watched Hooch's dour coaching, smirking at the clumsy broom commands of Weasley and Granger, and admiring Draco's keen aptitude.

When Longbottom rose erratically and careened around the quad like a drunken loon, Snape snickered. He knew better than to interfere – Hooch was notoriously territorial – so he hung back in the shadows, deriving guilty pleasure from the dolt's misfortune. He wasn't surprised that Longbottom was so hopelessly inept – the boy was a useless lump as far as Snape could tell. He was only surprised the clumsy fool had merely broken his wrist instead of his neck.

As a clucking Hooch herded the child off to the hospital wing, Snape turned to resume his stroll. Belligerent voices raised in argument caught his attention and he paused, glancing back at the huddle of children left alone in the quad. Draco and Potter appeared to be having some sort of disagreement and Snape watched curiously.

The boys were too far away to hear clearly but it wasn't hard to grasp the gist of the dispute. Draco apparently had something Potter wanted – something the spoiled Brat-Who-Lived was demanding rather haughtily. Snape smiled when his godson perched confidently on his broom and swooped into the air, taunting Potter. Draco had been flying a broom since he was four – his technique was quite competent and graceful for a child his age. Potter bickered briefly with his cohorts, then clambered aboard his own broom and pursued Draco with more daring than dexterity.

Snape had to admit Potter was unexpectedly talented, despite his inexperience. Though it was obviously his first time on a broom, the boy soared straight up to Draco, several stories in the air, without the slightest hesitation. He handled the school broom with the negligent ease of a natural born flyer, and aggressively confronted his fair-haired godson. Snape snorted with disbelief when Draco hurled the contested object toward the roof of Gryffindor tower and Potter immediately spun to dive after it.

As Potter rocketed toward the stone tower at break-neck speed, it occurred to Snape to be alarmed for the reckless brat. Potter was so focused on the small hurtling object he chased, that he didn't even seem to notice the looming tower wall ahead.

If Potter kills himself, the Headmaster will not be pleased.

Snape raised his wand, wondering if he could erect a cushioning shield from this distance. Before he could cast the spell, he saw Potter reach out, wobble precariously on his broom, then execute a fantastically swift pivot, halting mere inches from a tower window. Snape gasped in spite of himself. The boy hovered, smirking at Draco and holding one arm high. Sunlight glinted off the small object in his hand.

BLOODY HELL! Snape froze, shaken and stunned. He watched with confounded wonder as the Potter boy descended to the quad and hopped off his broom, to be hailed by a circle of cheering housemates.

Once his heart had plunged from his throat back down to his chest, Snape began to seethe. That bloody fool! Stupid, irresponsible brat! He could have been killed! He SHOULD have been killed! How in HELL did he manage to turn like that? Reckless, brainless boy! I'm going to break his bloody neck! Of all the harebrained, infantile. . .

Snape found himself trembling with anger and fright. Breathing hard, he stalled a few minutes, struggling to regain his composure. He was determined to conceal his alarm before confronting the troublesome brat. He straightened his shoulders, carefully arrayed his robes to billow effectively, and prepared to swoop down on the unsuspecting boy.

Before he could move, he spotted Professor McGonagall stalking from Gryffindor tower toward the cluster of students. Her green robes swirled with a turbulent flair even Snape could appreciate. She descended upon Potter with a feral gleam in her eyes.

"Never. . .in all my time at Hogwarts. . ." McGonagall was nearly speechless with shock. "Potter! Follow me. . .now!" She whirled and marched back toward the tower, agitation radiating from her rigid form like a smoldering aura.

His triumphant glee deflated, a mortified Potter trailed after her, his thin shoulders slumped in dread.

Serves him right! Snape approved, only a tad disappointed to have missed the opportunity to castigate the horrid child. He's Minerva's problem after all – she can deal with him!

As the remaining children milled about in the quad, Snape stepped out onto the grass and caught Draco's attention with a summoning wave.

Draco ambled over with a fair imitation of the Malfoy smirk on his pert face. "Yes, Professor?"

"That was a skillful display of flying, Malfoy."

"Thank you, sir!" Draco's face lit up proudly.

"I believe Madame Hooch instructed your class to remain on the ground until she returned – did she not?"

Draco's face fell and he blushed. "Uh. . . well. . .I. . ."

Snape arched a warning brow at his stammering godson.

Draco sighed, his expression sagging into a sulk. "Yes, sir."

"You may be brighter and more accomplished than your classmates, but that doesn't give you liberty to ignore the rules, Draco."

"Yes, sir." Draco frowned, trying to work out if Snape's words were a compliment or a rebuke.

"I expect you to set an example for your housemates - particularly those who have not had the advantage of your breeding and social status."

Draco nodded glumly. "Yes, sir."

Snape laid a solicitous hand on the boy's shoulder and gave him a tiny smile to reassure him that he wasn't angry. "I expect great things from you, Draco. You have a promising future ahead of you here at Hogwarts. I desire to see you win points for Slytherin on your merits – not lose points for misconduct. Please don't disappoint me, lad."

Draco blushed again, and stared sheepishly up at him. "Yes, sir. I won't, Uncle Severus – I promise."

"Good lad," Snape smirked approvingly. "And it's *Professor Snape* here at school, Draco – don't forget."

"Yes, Professor!" Draco flashed him an impudent grin.

"I see Madame Hooch returning – go back to your lesson now, cheeky boy!" Snape scowled, only his eyes betraying his mirth.

Draco sniggered and strutted back to his class. Snape gathered his robes about himself pensively and paced back to his dungeon.

.................

"MCGONAGALL!" Snape's angry bark caused a startled hush to descend upon the staff room as every head turned to stare at him.

"Yes, Professor Snape?" Minerva answered primly.

Severus ignored the mild rebuke in her tone and dropped into the chair beside her, lowering his voice. The other teachers returned to their own conversations. "Excuse me. . .Professor McGonagall. . .please tell me that the rumor I have heard is untrue," he snapped.

"Well, that depends, Severus," Minerva smiled. "Which rumor are you referring to?"

"Tell me you did not reward Potter's foolhardy stunt today by. . .by appointing him to the Gryffindor Quidditch team!"

Minerva frowned. "Don't be ridiculous, Severus. I do not reward recklessness. I gave Potter additional homework as punishment for his irresponsibility."

Snape huffed peevishly, and Minerva grinned.

"Of course, I also assigned him to the team."

"What?"

"I take it you witnessed his performance on the quad? Have you ever seen such lightning-fast reflexes? Did you see that turn?" Minerva gushed happily. "And on his first time on a broom! That boy is a natural born Seeker!"

"He's . . .he's a first-year! First-years aren't allowed to join House teams!" Snape protested.

"Well, normally, no. . . but given Harry's extraordinary aptitude, Albus agreed to make an exception."

"He had no right to – that boy is spoiled enough as it is! Making exceptions for him just feeds his deluded notions of self-importance!"

"Nonsense, Severus. Harry is neither spoiled nor delusional. He's merely gifted at flying."

"I am going to formally protest this. . .this blatant favoritism, Minerva!"

"Oh, Severus! Don't make such a fuss. If the boy wants to play Quidditch, what harm can it do?" Minerva said sweetly. "You know perfectly well that Gryffindor hasn't fielded a decent Seeker in years. Now, we may finally give your Slytherins a run for their money!"

"That's not the point!" Snape snorted. This thought had occurred to him, but he wasn't going to admit it.

"You know, dear," she murmured slyly, "You really shouldn't contest this. People might assume you are simply envious. Obstructing my house team's opportunity for a winning season could well be construed as favoritism toward your own team."

"I am not concerned by any dubious competition, Minerva. I merely object to the preferential treatment Potter receives, simply because he happens to be the Boy-Who-Lived!"

"I'd hardly call encouraging his talents preferential treatment, Severus. Hogwarts has always recognized and honored students with exceptional abilities," Minerva chided. "We are allowing Harry to join the team based on aptitude. His unfortunate celebrity has nothing to do with his potential as a Seeker."

"Ah – it's just a coincidence, I suppose," Snape replied snidely.

"Perhaps not," Minerva conceded. A shrewd spark twinkled in her knowing eyes. "More likely, his talent is hereditary. As I recall, his father, James, was a gifted Chaser in his day. Wouldn't you agree?"

Snape stifled his furious curse with great effort. He rose stiffly, struggling to reclaim his wounded dignity. Glowering at his colleague, he hissed between clenched teeth. "James Potter was an arrogant, insufferable fool, possessed of more vanity than brains! I suggest you keep a tight rein on his son, Minerva, or the brat will end up just like him!" He emphasized his warning with a defiant sneer and swept from the room in a huff.

"Oh, Severus," Minerva sighed regretfully. That's what you fear most, isn't it? That the child will be another James? Poor boy – will you never forgive?

With a sharp pang of remorse, the elderly witch watched the Potions Master storm out. She could not blame Snape for his resentment, for she knew he'd been tormented as a student by James Potter and his cronies. Like the Headmaster, she had disregarded his mistreatment, and her guilt lay heavy on her heart.

Harry's not like James, Severus – whatever you assume. I think he's more like you than you realize. I hope in time you recognize that, and give the boy a chance.

Minerva McGonagall was rarely shocked. . . as least, she rarely allowed it to show on her prim countenance. Snape had seen her startled; angry; anxious; annoyed; pleased; amused...all expressions carefully restrained behind shrewd eyes. He had never before seen her reveal such candid, unguarded astonishment. Her mouth gaped open stupidly and her eyebrows shot up nearly into her hairline. He smirked, secretly amused that he had managed to flabbergast the unflappable witch.

"Severus!" Minerva rasped, staring down at the small mound of galleons in her hands. "This. . .this is an enormous sum of money!"

Snape sneered, schooling his face into habitual contempt. "Not really. It is sufficient."

"Sufficient for what? I still don't understand."

Snape's lip curled scornfully. "The school budget for student subsidies will only cover the purchase of a modestly serviceable broom," he explained with slow distain, as if talking to a young, dim-witted child. Minerva's eyes narrowed angrily. "This additional 'contribution' will augment that subsidy enough to allow the purchase of a quality broom."

"Quality broom?"

He sighed, implying he found the whole topic tedious beyond belief. "I am no authority on brooms, Professor. This is not in the realm of my humble expertise. However – I understand the current fad is for some over-priced model called a 'Nimbus 2000'. It should prove adequate, even for the celebrated Boy-Who-Lives."

"Why?" she demanded caustically.

"Why what?" he replied, deliberately misunderstanding her.

"Why do you wish to contribute to buy an expensive broom for Mister Potter?"

Snape shrugged, allowing a hint of mischief to light his cool stare. "Let's just call it 'leveling the playing field', shall we?"

"Severus?" McGonagall's glare was dubious.

"Personally, I think your confidence is poorly placed, my dear Gryffindor. Potter is a mediocre First-Year; a novice flyer with absolutely no experience. Why you would pin your House hopes on the numbskull is beyond me. I have no doubt my Slytherin team will make mincemeat of him," Severus gloated. "When they do, I have no intention of allowing you to blame your loss on your new Seeker's substandard equipment. Slytherin will win the match, despite Potter dangling from the best broom money can buy, and I will enjoy that win with extreme satisfaction!"

Minerva eyed him with deep skepticism. "Let me get this straight. A Nimbus 2000 will give Mister Potter a distinct advantage over your own Seeker. And you claim you want to provide that advantage, just to prove your Seeker can beat him anyway?"

"An easy win will not be nearly as satisfying. And the loss will no doubt erode Potter's insufferable arrogance, making the victory that much sweeter."

McGonagall scowled. "That is a vicious sentiment, even for you, Severus. However. . ." A calculating gleam lit her eyes. "Since Potter will benefit from your fake charity, I will happily accept. When Gryffindor wins the match, you will have the pleasure of knowing you directly aided in your own team's defeat. That alone will make it worth accepting your offer."

"Why, Minerva!" Snape feigned mock indignation. "Such cynical and devious motives!" He smirked. "How very Slytherin of you, my dear."

Minerva snorted.

"There is one condition."

Minerva's smug smile faded fast. "What condition?"

"No one but you and I must ever know of my donation," Snape warned. "I insist that the broom come from you alone – you will allow the boy to assume that you or Dumbledore gave him this gift."

Minerva nodded slowly. "You wish to remain an anonymous donor."

"Completely anonymous. I'm quite adamant about this, Minerva. I want your Wizard's Oath that Potter will never know of my involvement."

"Are you sure? I'm certain the boy would wish to express his gratitude for your 'generosity' – however insincere your purpose."

"The very last thing I desire in this world, is gratitude from Harry-bloody-Potter!" Snape growled. "Do you agree to my terms?"

"Very well. He will never know from me – I give you my Oath."

"Good." Snape turned to stalk from the staff room.

"Professor Snape."

Minerva's call halted him at the door. She smiled shrewdly at him. "You may never receive Mister Potter's gratitude. . . but you won't deny me my own. Thank you, Severus."

"Hrumphh," Snape grimaced and swept from the room in a ripple of billowing robes.

Minerva shook her head in bemusement, shoving the gold coins into a hidden pocket.

Severus Snape, my dear, generous boy. . . You are such a noble, pig-headed fraud!

.............

Snape did his best to warn Dumbledore of his suspicions about Quirrell. As usual, the Headmaster listened gravely, then appeared to dismiss the whole matter in a sweetly annoying manner. Despite having personally benefited from Dumbledore's belief in the innate goodness residing within all beings, Severus still found the wizard's naïve trust irritating.

"I may be misreading Quirrell," Snape admitted darkly, "But considering the dangerous 'Item' hidden within these walls, I shall continue to keep my eye on the shifty fool."

"Of course, my boy. I suppose it would be wise to do so." Dumbledore offered him one of his infernal lemon drops. (It had become a mock ritual between them. . . the Headmaster always urged the candy upon Snape – and Snape never failed to refuse.) "You said you had two concerns, I believe?" Dumbledore prompted, popping a candy into his mouth.

Snape scowled. "Potter," he snarled.

"Really? What concerns you about Harry, my boy?"

"He's up to something."

The Headmaster regarded him calmly.

"I don't know what mischief the brat is planning, but I'm certain he is plotting something." Snape tapped a long finger thoughtfully against his chin. "Potter is far from subtle. He has taken to watching me when he thinks I won't notice. And when I speak to him, guilt is written all over his face."

"Hmmmmm. . ." Dumbledore tried to suppress a smile. "I doubt any student at Hogwarts can meet your gaze without reflecting anxiety, Severus. You do have a tendency to treat them all as guilty until proven innocent, you know."

Snape sneered. "And they usually confirm my distrust."

"Perhaps." A mild reproof glinted behind the customary twinkle in the Headmaster's blue eyes. "Children are impressionable. I have found they tend to fulfill the expectations of the adults who influence them. If that expectation is positive, they often excel. If negative, . . .well, you get my point, I'm sure."

"The-Boy-Who-Lived doesn't need my suspicions to encourage him to get into trouble, Headmaster! He already shows a predilection for defiance, arrogance, and disrespect. His egotism and insolence make him a danger to every other student here."

"Indeed? Personally, I find him rather sweet and genuine." Dumbledore sat back, giving his Potions Master a softly reproachful look. "The child is eleven years old, Severus. It's a bit early to renounce him so irrevocably, don't you think?"

Snape felt a mild flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. "I. . . I didn't mean to suggest. . .of course I don't advocate forsaking the boy, Albus. I am merely saying the child needs discipline. He is stubborn, impertinent, and has no regard for respectable wizarding tradition and civilized conduct."

"I'm sure he needs guidance, Severus. But perhaps you misjudge him. You must remember, Harry was raised by Muggles – he is unfamiliar with Wizard society. I'm sure he will adjust. Just give him a little time, my boy."

Snape rose abruptly, concealing his aggravation and resentment behind a mask of cool distain. "Very well, Headmaster. You must believe what you will. You have charged me to inform you when I have concerns. I have shared those concerns with you, regarding both Quirrell and Potter. You may judge my suspicions as you see fit. I care not. I have fulfilled my obligation."

"I know you have, my boy, and I am grateful," Dumbledore frowned ruefully. "I do not mean to dismiss your insights, Severus. You know I value your opinion. I will give your warnings due consideration."

"Whatever you say, Headmaster." Snape gave him the barest of formal bows, and retired from the old wizard's office with his dignity draped around him like a cloak.

It was the blood scent that lured him on.

Anger; fear; blind resentment – these feelings were as familiar as stone and darkness. He thrived on them; accepted them as part of his world without thought or meaning. They alone would not have driven him forth into this foreign landscape of unnatural light, smells and sounds. No, it was the dense, crude tang of blood and meat that had called him out.

The Dark Human reeked of it. It had proffered it - coaxing him on with juicy, raw flesh of a tender calf, dripping with rich blood. He could have killed the Human. . .smashed it into a shattered pulp, and dined on its flesh. But the Dark Human did not appeal to him. It smelled Wrong. . . dangerous and tainted with something Bad. It stunk of Wrongness, like fetid meat rotted too long in the dark. So he did not kill it, but let the Bad One lead him away from his cold, lonely den and into the hostile world of Humans. And then it had deserted him, leaving him trapped in the confusing tunnels of an unfamiliar place.

He could smell them – the little half-grown Humans – their odor filled his nostrils and his senses. He swam in a fog of their overwhelming scent. They smelled young and tender – their blood pure and hot and powerful. And there were Many. . . so many he could not comprehend their number. He smelled their energy and their innocence, and he hungered.

He wandered in confusion, tracking the smells through a maze of strange, angular tunnels. He sensed the young ones high above in the stone, and he followed the taste of their blood scent higher. And then he caught it – a whiff of young blood – sweet, clean, and very Near. . . much nearer than the others. He pursued it, shoving aside a wooden barrier and entering a chamber with too much light. The chamber was damp and smelled sharply odd and unpleasant. He blinked in the hated brightness, disregarding his discomfort for the lure of the blood scent.

He could almost taste the hot blood and warm flesh on his tongue. He swung his heavy head from side to side, sniffing, seeking it. And the young one came, small and innocent, stepping into his sightline. It looked up at him and the scent of its surging fear rolled over him. The fear sharpened his hunger.

The young Human leapt away, disappearing behind a flimsy barrier. He lifted Club, smashing the barrier to bits. The young one shrieked and scurried further. The reek of its powerful fright swelled, as he knocked away every barrier it sought for shelter.

Loud noise and new young scents joined him. He ignored them at first, intent on his prey, but the two new ones distracted him, shouting and pelting him with hard rocks. He smashed a stone shelf the first one had hidden under, then felt a sudden weight on his back. He roared in fury, angered by the distraction and the small, panting thing that clung to him. A stabbing pain erupted in his nose.

He grabbed the annoying weight and yanked it off his back. When he swung Club to destroy the thing in his grasp, It missed. Frustration and rage filled him, and he swung clumsily, again and again.

Abruptly, Club left him, ripped from his fist. Dumbfounded, he looked about for it. Club had never left him before. Movement above caught his eye and he lifted his gaze. Club floated over his head.

He forgot everything else. He forgot about the blood scent and the pain in his nose and the squirming thing in his grasp as his befuddled mind tried to grasp this new event. Club was floating high above. That was Wrong. Club never floated. As this odd thought sputtered in his foggy brain, Club stopped floating. Pain flared in his head and the world went dark.

………………………

"Urgh. Troll boogers."

The bizarre words echoed in the corridor as Snape charged into the bathroom. McGonagall was two steps ahead of him – not because she was faster, but because both Snape and Quirrell had briefly hesitated before entering. (It was the Girl's loo, after all.)

Snape skidded to a halt behind Minerva's frozen form and stared at the scene before them. His startled gaze took in the troll first. This was only natural. A fully grown mountain troll was a scary sight. . . even one collapsed and unmoving on a bathroom floor.

Dead? Unconscious?

Bony ribs rose and fell beneath the creature's coarse skin. It was still breathing. Snape's stare swept the room, noting scattered remains of broken cubicles and smashed plumbing. Water gushed and sprayed everywhere.

"Explain yourselves." Minerva was first to discover her voice.

Snape turned and saw Potter and Weasley, shifting and stammering, their robes ripped and soggy. A swift visual inspection revealed no apparent injuries. Snape's pounding heart slowed a bit and he was startled by the rush of relief that swept over him.

"It was my fault."

Severus gaped at Granger, who crawled out from beneath a shattered sink to take the blame.

Blame for what? What in bloody hell went on in here?

He glowered while Granger credited Potter and Weasley with a daring, if foolish, rescue. It was a bold-faced lie. Every instinct in him told Severus the girl was lying.

But what really happened?

His own eyes couldn't deny the simple facts: there was an unconscious troll stretched out on the floor, and three unharmed First-Year students stood beside it. Potter and Weasley still clutched their wands in white-knuckled fists. Whatever the circumstances, these children had defeated a troll!

Normally, Snape would have strongly disputed Minerva's lenient deduction and assignment of points. But he was too shocked to protest, and he let the matter slide. He stared at Potter and Weasley, grudgingly impressed by the boys' achievement. The children left, followed by Minerva. Snape glared at Quirrell and stalked out. If his suspicions were correct, the bloody idiot had let that creature into Hogwarts. He could bloody well get rid of it on his own!

He limped back to his House to check on his Snakes. It took nearly an hour to settle the anxious and hyper students. He sent them off to their dormitories with dire threats of punishment for anyone caught out of bed. He waited until the room was empty and the muffled noise from the dormitories quieted, before slipping behind a tapestry and taking the hidden, narrow passage that lead to his private quarters. None of the students knew of the passage. If they needed their Head of House, they must exit the common room and knock on his public door some fifty yards down the corridor. The hidden passage gave him quick, unobserved access to the Slytherin common room – normally used only in emergencies, or when he expected mischief from his crafty little Snakes.

After relocking and re-warding the door, Snape shuffled into his tidy lounge and eased himself into the worn leather chair by the fire. He voiced a soft call, prompting Roker to pop into the room with a pot of strong tea and a plate of cheese toast. Roker was the only house elf that Snape allowed in his private quarters. He was an ancient, dignified elf, neatly draped in a faded curtain valance of dark damask. Roker was one of the oldest elves employed at Hogwarts and was unusually somber, devoid of the nervous tics and anxious chatter of most of that species.

"Does Master Snape require anything else?" Roker intoned solemnly.

"No, that will be all for this evening, Roker."

The elf popped out of sight. Once he was gone, Snape lifted his robes and examined the long painful gashes on his calf. He grimaced and summoned a healing salve from his private laboratory. The salve eased the sting, and he examined the wounds dispassionately. He knew he should probably go to Pomfrey, but he despised the woman's smothering attentions, and didn't feel like dealing with her. He was also a bit ashamed, though he would never admit it, that he'd allowed the ruddy beast to get the better of him. He decided to avoid embarrassing questions for now. If the bites showed any sign of infection later, he would seek Filch's assistance. The Squibb was a nasty old bugger, but he was discrete and he would ask no questions.

Snape covered his injured leg, and sipped his tea while staring into the flames. He replayed the evening's events in his mind, looking for angles and motives he might have missed. As soon as Quirrell had rushed into the Feast, Snape suspected a diversion. Slipping out a side door, he had rushed to intercept the DADA instructor, arriving at the third floor first, and unlocking the door to the chamber. He had intended to conceal himself in the shadows just inside the door, and catch Quirrell in the act. That had been his plan, at any rate.

And it would have worked, if that IMBECILE Hagrid hadn't UNLEASHED the stupid creature!

When the dog had attacked, Snape had barely made it out of the room with his leg attached. He suspected the noise had scared Quirrell off. As he had slammed and locked the door and leaned against it to catch his breath, he could have sworn he heard footsteps hurrying away down the dark corridor. Hagrid had appeared soon after to check on his pet, out of a ludicrous fear the invading troll would harm the thing.

Oh, honestly! Like a dim-witted troll stood a chance against the vicious Beast!

"I'm sorry, Professor! I jist felt sorry for fer old Fluffy, being chained up all the time like 'at!" the Groundskeeper had babbled. "I din't think no one would go in there, ye see."

"From now on," Snape had growled, "Keep that BLOODY MONSTER chained! If a student had stumbled in there by mistake, they would have been KILLED!"

Ignoring his injuries, Snape had left a contrite, blathering Hagrid to see to his creature and had limped back down to the lower floors. He wasn't concerned that anyone would seek out the chamber again this night. As much as he hated to admit it, Hagrid's beast ( he categorically REFUSED to call the three-headed monster 'Fluffy'!) was a very effective deterrent. Even Snape had no idea how to get safely past it to the trap door beneath it. Each select teacher who had contributed to the elaborate protections knew only the secret to their own obstacle. The Headmaster alone knew all the magical barriers and their solutions.

Snape had never approved of bringing the Stone to Hogwarts. It was far too dangerous for the students to have it on the premises. And he hadn't believed it could be vulnerable in its original vault. Goblins were known to have the best security systems in the world. But Dumbledore's secret intelligence had been correct after all – not one day after moving it, the unthinkable had occurred. The Gringott's vault had been breached. Now the Stone rested in the hidden depths of Hogwarts castle. And from the moment it had been placed there, Quirrell had shown entirely too much interest in it, in Snape's opinion. More than once, he had seen the DADA teacher loitering about the third floor. He could only hope that continued vigilance would deter Quirrell's plots.

Snape poured himself another cup of tea. His leg burned and he had a pounding headache, but he was yet too restless to sleep.

I wonder what happened to the troll? I hope Hagrid doesn't decide to make a bloody 'pet' out of it! Thoughts of the troll brought him back to the scene in the bathroom. How did a couple of First-Years stop a mountain troll? Magic is useless against it – spells only bounce off its tough hide. According to his teachers, Weasley is barely passing his classes. And Potter. . . Potter has shown no special gifts beyond a skill at flying. A talent for Quidditch is hardly useful against the Dark Arts. Potter is exactly as I expected: smug and defiant, just like his father. He sipped his tea thoughtfully. Although, he does seem stubbornly loyal to his little friends. . .probably why he went after the troll in the first place. Bloody Damned Gryffindor! As if the inbred Potter-Ego isn't enough, The-Boy-Who-Lived has a foolish hero-complex. . . fed, no doubt, by a lifetime of gratitude and adoration by his relatives and friends! Idiot! Stupid heroics will only land the brat into more trouble!

Snape dimmed the torches in the lounge and limped off to bed, assuring himself that he couldn't care less if Harry-Bloody-Potter managed to get himself killed. When he awoke worn-out and drained the next morning from a sleepless, troubled night, he blamed it on his injuries.

"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.

"Severus!" Professor McGonagall rushed over to Snape, who was sheltered in an alcove, deliberately avoiding the cheerful camaraderie of the other professors in the staff room.

"Minerva," Severus replied coolly over his teacup. "Surprised to see you here. I thought you'd be in your tower, celebrating with your infantile Gryffins. Have you come to gloat, or merely to collect your winnings?"

"Don't be a poor sport, Severus. It doesn't become you," Minerva grinned wickedly, seating herself beside him without waiting for an invitation. Her expression softened to one of gratitude. "Actually, I came to thank you."

Snape raised a brow without responding.

"For saving young Harry's life. Sweet Merlin, Severus! If the child had fallen from that height. . ." Minerva's cheeks paled at the thought. "What the bloody hell happened?" Severus almost smirked at the normally-prudish witch's soft swearing. "That broom was equipped with all the best safety charms! What would make it behave like that?"

"A curse," Severus replied coldly.

"But Hooch checked the broom immediately afterwards - there was no sign of tampering."

"It wasn't a pre-planted curse. It was active. . . a deliberate attempt to dislodge the boy by someone at the match."

"Someone? Who?"

"I don't know, although I have my suspicions. The moment it began, I could sense it. It took all of my concentration to counteract the bloody thing. I had no chance to locate the culprit. I was too busy trying to keep the boy from being flung off his broom. "

"Thank Merlin you were able to handle it!"

"I almost didn't. Someone set my robes on fire to break my concentration. Fortunately, something must have distracted Potter's attacker as well. By the time I looked up again, the stupid child was on the ground, regurgitating the snitch."

"WHAT? I didn't see. . ," Minerva looked horrified. "Wood's parents were prattling in my ear constantly. I didn't even realize Potter was in danger until . . .Someone set your robes on FIRE? Who?"

"I don't know, but if I ever get my hands on them. . .," Snape let the threat hang unspecified.

"Was it a student, do you suppose?"

"Not likely. The curse was too advanced for a student. I'll admit the power behind the curse surprised me."

"But who would want to hurt Harry? He's just a boy!" Minerva asked indignantly.

Severus grimaced. "Revenge, I suppose. Not all of the Dark Lord's followers were imprisoned, you know. There are those who may still hate the boy for defeating their leader." Severus sipped his tea thoughtfully. "It might be prudent to keep a close eye on the brat in future."

"Do you think they might try again?" Minerva asked quietly. "You haven't heard of any plots, have you Severus?"

"I am not in contact with my former associates - you know that, Minerva," Snape murmured distastefully. He gave Minerva a dark smirk. "Interesting strategy, by the way. I've never seen anyone catch a snitch in his mouth before."

Minerva snorted a wry chuckle. "It was entirely unplanned, Severus. We're fortunate the boy didn't choke to death."

"Hmmmm. . .fortunate." Severus allowed his response to sound deliberately dubious and Minerva glared at him.

"Anyway, I just wanted you to know how grateful I am for your intervention. That boy owes you his life."

Severus scowled unpleasantly. "Potter owes me nothing. It is my duty as a Professor to protect students, Minerva - even students as obnoxious as The-Brat-Who-Lived. Your gratitude is gracious but unnecessary."

"Perhaps, but it is heartfelt, regardless. I am thankful you were there to help him." Minerva rose and smirked down at him. "Well, I'd best hurry back and make sure my Gryffins aren't tearing the Tower apart in their excitement."

Severus pulled a few coins from his robes and held them out to her. His expression was grim, but a warm sparkle in his black eyes belied his outward sulk. "Your winnings, Professor."

"Keep them, Severus," Minerva grinned. "Under the circumstances, I consider our bet satisfied."

"Nonsense," Severus growled, catching her hand and pressing the coins into it. "Potter's rescue has nothing to do with a sporting bet. A gentleman always repays his debts, Minerva."

"Oh, Severus!" Minerva shook her head, but accepted the coins. "You may fool others, my boy, but not me. Your misanthropic charade is just that - a charade. You care as much about our students as the Headmaster himself." A twinkle lit her sharp eyes behind her glasses. "Your innate nobility is positively Gryffindorish, my dear Severus."

"Please!" Snape gave her his best glare, only slightly diminished by the embarrassed blush that lightly flushed his sallow cheeks. "There's no need to be insulting, Minerva! Please refrain from voicing your misplaced and wholly unnecessary approval in my presence. I do have some pride, you know!"

"Indeed!" Minerva smirked in amusement. "Don't worry," she bent over to whisper smugly. "Your secret is safe with me." She chuckled, gliding away with her usual commanding grace.

Severus returned to his tea and his subtle scrutiny of the other professors. Quirrell displayed no surface guilt, but Snape still suspected him. He wished he had some proof the stuttering fool was responsible for the attack. But he hadn't noticed the DADA professor in the stands - the man was so dull and timid he inevitably faded into the background.

Severus recalled the overwhelming alarm that had seized him when Potter's broom began to buck and jolt across the bright afternoon sky. It was lucky that he had been closely watching the boy - (in the interest of competition, or course. . . not because he actually admired the brat's natural skill.) His heart had frozen when Potter's form had dangled precariously one-handed from the violently bucking broom. He had barely breathed until the boy was safely on the ground again.

The nervous child had looked so small and vulnerable beside his older teammates when the match first began. Snape had felt an inexplicable desire to yank him from his broom and send him back to the locker room.

What was Dumbledore thinking? Allowing a first year to play. . .the boy is clearly too young and small for such a violent sport!

Then he had glimpsed the sheer joy on the boy's face when he took to the air. And the tiny Gryffindor Seeker had been a force to be reckoned with. Even Higgs, Slytherin's own talented and more experienced Seeker, had been unable to keep up with the child. After the terrifying battle with the cursed broom, Potter still didn't give up. His quick recovery and breathtaking dive had stunned the crowd. His impossible sweep mere inches from the ground, was astonishing - even though it had ultimately sent the boy flying arse-over-teacup across the soft pitch ground.

And how in Merlin's Great Garters did Potter manage to SWALLOW the bloody snitch?! I've never seen such. . .what did Minerva call it before? Oh, yes - sheer dumb luck!

Severus shook his head, scowling into his teacup. Trust Harry-Bloody-Potter to pull off such a blatantly inane, idiotic, brilliant stunt! That prat-of-a-father, James, would have loved it! Stupid bloody Gryffindors with their stupid bloody heroics!

Severus nursed his grudge, along with his cold tea, and refused to acknowledge the traitorous seed of admiration for little Harry Potter, that was beginning to take root. An unfeeling heart wasn't supposed to care.

"Potter!"

The boy jumped at the sharp bark behind him and nearly up-ended his cauldron.

I love sneaking up on the little dunderheads. Keeps them on their toes!

"Stay after."

Snape refrained from smirking and glowered down at the startled boy. "Class dismissed." He continued towering over the brat as the students cleared their workstations and gathered their belongings. Potter's expression was cautiously bland, but he noted with satisfaction that the boy's hands shook a bit as he hastily cleared his table. When he reached for a stack of loose parchment, Snape slapped a hand on them with a resounding smack that made the boy flinch. "Leave it," he snarled. "Sit."

As the students filed out, Weasley and Granger threw scowling, anxious glares back at him and lingered by the door.

"Get to your next class!" Snape growled at them without taking his eyes off of Potter. "NOW."

When the classroom was empty, he flicked his wand, slamming the door closed. Potter winced but did not move from his seat. Snape paced slowly around him until he was standing in front of him, the desk between them. He leaned over, placing both hands on the desk. Potter looked up, obviously nervous but too proud and stubborn to show it.

"Mister Potter." Snape drawled dangerously, instilling his voice with his coldest, deadliest tone of censure. He snarled each word crisply for menacing emphasis. "We. Do. Not. Tolerate. Cheating. In. This. School!"

The boy's stunned look of astonishment was genuine, and a flicker of doubt disturbed Snape's angry outrage.

"Wh. . .what?"

"Do you have a hearing problem, Mr. Potter?"

"N-n. . I. . I. . " Potter stammered.

"Cheating is grounds for expulsion from Hogwarts, Potter."

A flash of alarm suffused the boy's face and the pale color drained from his cheeks. "I. . .I haven't!"

"Furthermore, if you cannot complete your own work, you clearly do not belong here."

"I never! I- I didn't cheat!" Potter snapped, stubborn outrage replacing his shock.

"You were copying Miss Granger's work," Snape accused. "I saw you."

"I wasn't!"

"Then what is this?" He snatched up the top parchment on Potter's desk and shook it in his face.

"Our assignment for next class," the boy replied coldly.

Snape glanced at it. It did appear to be just that. "Likely story! The assignment is written on the board," Snape pointed at the evidence still at the front of the class. "If you weren't cheating, why didn't you copy from there, instead of from Miss Granger's paper?

"I did! I was just checking mine against Hermione's to make sure I got it right!"

"And why was that necessary?"

The boy shrugged sullenly. Snape hated shrugs.

"Do not wriggle your shoulders at me, boy! Speak up! Explain yourself - or we will continue this conversation with the Headmaster."

The alarm was back on the boy's pallid face and he frowned. "I. . .I don't know. Sometimes I miss things. . . little things. . .when I copy from the board."

"Perhaps if you paid attention, and focused that pitiful lump you call a brain, you wouldn't 'miss things', Mr. Potter."

The boy visibly stilled an urge to shrug again, and stared woodenly at his desk. Snape looked again at the crumpled parchment in his hand. It was truly innocent - nothing more than the homework assignment. It couldn't technically be considered cheating, but that wasn't what bothered him. A sudden suspicion dawned and Snape glanced up at the blackboard. Giving the boy an appraising stare, he flicked his wand again, replacing the assignment with a simple first year potion. Then he snatched a clean parchment from the desk and slapped it down in front of the boy.

"Copy the potion instructions from the board."

Potter looked startled, but obeyed without comment. Snape stood beside him, watching him write with awkward strokes, occasionally dribbling ink spots onto the parchment.

"Must you be so consistently untidy, Potter?" Snape snorted, glancing unconsciously at the boy's unruly hair. "Your penmanship is atrocious - barely legible. Have you no pride in your work?"

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled. A flush crept up his neck but he kept his attention on his work. His gaze darted between his parchment and the blackboard until he had finished copying. He set his quill aside without looking up. Snape lifted the sheet, careful not to smear the still wet ink.

"The instructions clearly call for three ounces of newts' eyes, Potter, not eight. And that is mugwort - not ragwort. Ragwort in this combination would not only ruin the potion, it would make it toxic!" Snape growled impatiently. "Can't you read, boy?"

Potter scowled at the board, his brows low over his green eyes - eyes that were squinting fiercely. "Sorry, sir." he muttered, faint color staining his cheeks.

Snape stared suspiciously at him. "Mr. Potter. Are you trying to imply that you cannot read those instructions I have clearly placed on the board?"

"They don't look so clear to me, sir," Potter muttered defensively. "Anyway, that's why I always check my notes against Hermione's - in case I copied something wrong."

"What do you mean, it is 'not so clear'?"

"I dunno. The writing's always so - so fuzzy," Potter stopped himself with an anxious peek at the Potions Master's scowl. "Not just yours, sir. . .I mean. . .I always have trouble reading the blackboards - in all my classes."

Snape's lip curled in disbelief. "Do you expect me to believe that the youngest Hogwarts Seeker in a century can see a tiny, soaring snitch, but he cannot read a simple blackboard?"

Potter looked up at him, confusion plain on his small round face. "Uh. . .the snitch moves, sir - and it's gold. I mean, it glitters. I can see it flicker from a distance easy enough, and once I get close enough. . . well, it's not the same as the blackboard, don't you see? The letters don't glitter or move - they just all run together, and wh-when they're t-too far away. . . . . ." Potter stuttered into an uneasy silence, not quite meeting Snape's sharp glare. He shifted in the long silence that followed.

"Gather your things and come with me, Mr. Potter." Snape said suddenly.

Potter looked startled. "But. . .but I have charms, sir. . ."

"I will write a pass for you to Professor Flitwick. Come." He barely gave the boy time to clumsily stuff his belongings into his schoolbag, before striding purposefully from the room.

Potter trotted awkwardly behind him, struggling to keep up. As they began the climb from the dungeons, the boy's soft voice stammered breathlessly in the grim silence. "Please, sir. I - I truly wasn't cheating, Professor!"

Snape made no comment.

"Please don't get me expelled, sir!" Potter's voice was suddenly filled with anguish, causing Snape to halt and stare down at the child beside him on the stairs. The boy's face was ashen. His stare behind the round glasses was pleading, devoid of any trace of arrogance. Snape almost smirked at the brat's clear distress. The boy's green eyes were suspiciously moist and his lower lip barely trembled.

"Silence, Potter. When I want to hear from you, I will tell you. Now hurry up!"

Potter's face fell and he hung his head. He reluctantly followed the tall Potions Master, his shoulders slumped in abject despair. When they reached the Hospital Wing, the boy finally looked up, obviously confused not to find himself in front of the Headmaster's office. "Sir?" he piped in bewilderment.

Snape ushered him inside and pointed to a chair. "Sit." He ignored the boy and sought out Madame Pomphrey in her office.

The mediwitch looked up from her desk in surprise. "Good afternoon, Professor Snape." Her swift glance noted the child sitting outside her office. "Trouble in Potions again?"

"Not exactly," Snape ignored the reference to the occasional potions accidents that required the medi-witch's services. "I want you to check Potter's eyes."

"His eyes?"

"His eyesight," Snape corrected. "I believe he may be having difficulty."

Madame Pomphrey nodded and followed him out to the nervous boy waiting. "Harry, I would like to perform a few diagnostics and test your eyesight," the medi-witch explained gently, attempting to reassure the anxious child staring up at them with trepidation. Scowling, Snape watched silently as Poppy performed her examination.

" Mr. Potter - Harry - how long have you had these glasses?" she asked, removing them from the boy's face to study them critically. Snape grimaced when the boy shrugged again.

"Uhmm. . .I'm not sure. About four years, I think."

"Who prescribed these? Was it a Muggle optometrist?"

"Op- tom...huh?" Potter blinked myopically up at her.

"Eye doctor," Poppy examined the glasses with obvious disgust. "Where did you get them?"

"From the Masons, m'am."

"Masons?"

"Yes, m'am. They collect old glasses and give them away free to kids who can't afford new ones."

Poppy stared at him in disbelief. "You can't mean common bricklayers prescribed your glasses?"

"No, m'am," the boy looked confused.

"I believe the Masons are a Muggle service organization, Poppy," Snape interjected quietly. "They are known, I think, for charitable works."

"Uh-huh," Potter agreed. "And they weren't per-scribed. . I picked them. The Masons have this big bin by their lodge door, filled with glasses, and Aunt Petunia let me try on different ones," he explained. "She let me pick out the ones I wanted," he added a little defensively.

"Why would she do that?" Pomphrey looked scandalized.

"Because my old ones were too small. I outgrew them," the boy admitted. "My old ones came from the Masons too. I gave them back when I got my new ones."

Pomphrey shot Snape a look of utter outrage, but tightened her lips against whatever indignant response was simmering behind her sharp eyes. "I see. Well, I think you have outgrown these as well, Harry. I'm going to adjust the prescription for now, to the best of my ability. But I'm also going to advise your Head of House that you will need a new pair. She will arrange an appointment for you with a 'proper' wizard optometrist ."

The boy looked up at her with an uneasy scowl, but did not reply.

Pomphrey tapped the ugly lenses with her wand and replaced them on Harry's nose. A soft ripple of magic adjusted the frames to fit the boy's face. Then she conjured an eye chart in the sir, several meters away. "Harry, can you read the third line down for me?" she gestured at the hovering chart.

The green eyes blinked and a flush of quiet astonishment lit the boy's face. "I. . .YES, m'am!" He sounded out the letters carefully.

"How about the fifth line?"

The boy read the line, delight growing on his face.

"And the bottom line?"

Potter rattled off the very small letters and beamed up at the medi-witch. "Wow!" he breathed happily. "These are brilliant! Thank you, Madame Pomphrey! I can really see!"

Poppy smiled at him. "I'm glad, Harry. I'm sure these will be better than they were, but new ones will be even better."

The boy's face clouded. "But - but these are fine! Honestly! I've never seen so good before! I don't really need new ones - really!"

"I still want you to see a qualified optometrist, Harry. Optometry is not my specialty, and you'll need a full examination." She shook her head sternly at any further protest Potter looked ready to offer.

"Come along, Potter," Snape interjected irritably. "You've taken up quite enough of Madame Pomphrey's time." He waited at the door while the boy gathered his bag and hurried after him.

"Thanks again, Madame Pomphrey!" the boy called cheerfully, waving at the medi-witch. She smiled and waved back.

Snape snorted in disgust. "Come on, Potter. I do have better things to do than escort the Boy-Who-Lived around corridors, you know."

Potter ignored his snide remark and practically skipped after him, staring about in open elation, his eyes blinking like a startled owl. "Wow! Everything is so - so clear! I never, ever saw so good before!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"So well before," Snape corrected snappishly. "Honestly! Don't they teach grammar in those blasted Muggle schools?"

"Sorry," Potter replied automatically, although it was evident he was too thrilled by his improved vision to pay much attention. "I'll bet I'll be able to catch the snitch even faster now, huh!" he grinned to himself.

"No doubt," Snape growled, not the least surprised that Quidditch was the brat's primary concern. "Perhaps you'll also apply your brilliant vision to improving your studies as well. . .although I sincerely doubt it." Snape glowered, halting at the stairs. He flicked his wand and handed the pleased boy a scrap of parchment. "Give that to Professor Flitwick, Potter. And hurry on to class." He dismissed the boy and stalked down the stairs towards the dungeons.

"Yes, sir," Potter piped happily. "Professor Snape?"

Snape paused at the boy's soft call and looked up into the unnerving replica of Lily's sparkling eyes. The boy leaned over the railing, smiling shyly down at him. "Thank you, sir."

"Oh, do get to class, Potter," Snape grumbled tiredly. "And two points for stalling." The boy just grinned at him and scampered off. "Stupid brat," Snape muttered. He did his best to ignore the odd warm flutter in his chest that cheeky grin had ignited. The Potions Master stomped peevishly back to the potions lab, deep in thought.

What was all that rubbish about the glasses anyway? Why in Merlin's name would Potter's aunt let the boy dig an old pair of glasses out of a bin, instead of taking him to a doctor and getting him new ones?

Snape mechanically went through the familiar motions of preparing the room for the next class. It was fifth years - Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, just after lunch. But much to his irritation, his mind kept returning to the Potter brat.

Free glasses for poor children indeed! It made the blasted boy sound like some kind of charity case! Preposterous! The boy had to be making it up! Another pathetic ploy for attention, no doubt.

A sharp pang of doubt niggled at him. There had been a stark ring of truth to the boy's explanation. Snape was an accomplished spy. Even without resorting to legimency, he was very skilled at perceiving lies, and the boy's story sounded so genuine.

Ridiculous! The brat's annual stipend more than covers such things as medical needs. . .perhaps the Muggle relatives were simply too ignorant to realize the child needed a qualified optometrist and regular check-ups. What had the child said? He's had those same optical monstrosities for four years? At his young age, his vision could change drastically in a single year. What were those idiot Muggles thinking? Such a thing was practically. . .well. . .neglect! But that was ludicrous! This is the Bloody-Boy-who-Lived, for Merlin's sake! Certainly even his Muggle relatives would never neglect him!

Snape snorted and waved his wand. The assigned potion instructions appeared on the blackboard.

The boy's stubborn arrogance proves he is undoubtedly spoiled rotten. His idiot guardians probably shower him with useless toys and treats and heaven knows what else, without having the good sense to see to more important things, like the brat's health and education. The child clearly didn't eat properly - his eyesight is atrocious - his manners even worse - don't those Muggles know anything about bringing up a child? Lily would be horrified if she knew how her precious boy was being raised!

Snape stamped into his office and slumped into his chair, glaring sullenly at a stack of first-year essays piled on his desk. He glanced at the clock over the fireplace. Only twenty minutes until lunch, and he still had to wade through the mind-numbing rubbish scribbled by those dunderheads.

Stupid Bloody Potter - wasting my time! Now I'll have to spend the rest of the day just trying to catch up!

He glared at the clock and pushed all thoughts of the Boy-Who-Lived from his mind, resolutely turning his attention to the essays before him.

Poppy tossed a Honeyduke's Finest Deluxe Chocolate Toffee into her mouth, beaming with a rare grin of mischief. "Thanks, Minnie! You're a life-saver! I've been out of these for a week, and you know how I adore them! I'd swear I'm addicted to them!" She offered a candy to Professor McGonagall, who accepted without commenting on the absurd nickname. No one dared call the Deputy Headmistress "Minnie" - except Poppy, of course. Their long-standing friendship obliged Minerva to endure the pet name, though the medi-witch had the good sense to use it only in private.

"Well, you now share that addiction with young Harry, I'm afraid. I gave him one to sample - the look of sheer bliss on his face prompted me to buy him a pound of his very own." McGonagall sighed. "You should have seen him, Poppy," she continued ruefully. "You would think the child had never received a treat before in his life! He nearly fainted from gratitude!"

Poppy leaned back on her settee, clutching the bag of cherished candies and nodding thoughtfully. "I know what you mean. It seems that child has known precious little kindness in his short life." She smiled sadly at her friend. "So, how did the appointment with the optometrist go?"

"Excellent," Minerva reported with satisfaction. "We replaced his old glasses with new ones - I let the child pick out the frames he wanted. Unfortunately, Dr. Winslow said Harry's vision could not be permanently corrected until he was an adult, but he gave him a prescription for contact lenses. I couldn't convince the boy to let me purchase them, however. He almost refused the new glasses."

"But why?" Poppy looked perturbed.

Minerva shook her head. "I'm not sure. At first it seemed to be an issue of expense - Harry apparently thought I was paying for them out of my own pocket. When I assured him that his school fund would cover the cost, he finally allowed me to purchase the glasses, but he declined the contacts quite firmly."

Minerva sipped her tea thoughtfully. "I think he believed them to be an extravagance. It was as if he felt he didn't deserve something so ‘unnecessary'. He said that the new glasses were so wonderful that he didn't need anything more." She tapped her cup with a finger, eyes narrowed pensively. "He was equally uncomfortable when I bought him the candy, Poppy. Perhaps it's just the boy's inherent modesty - I don't really know him well enough to tell for certain. But I felt like Harry sees himself as unworthy of any consideration - as if he didn't deserve even the simplest act of generosity." She shot the medi-witch a shrewd look. "I wonder why the child would feel that way?"

Poppy frowned. She lifted a hand to rub her furrowed brow. Minerva glimpsed something in her friend's eyes - a sharp glint of regret and. . . a hint of frustration. "Poppy?" she asked warily.

The medi-witch sighed, then shook her head slightly. Her strained expression faded into bland composure and she smiled blankly at her friend. The change was so rapid, Minerva almost doubted she had seen Poppy's previous distress. "Oh, I suspect the boy is merely modest. Such a pleasant child, Harry - don't you think?"

"Indeed," Minerva agreed guardedly. "Very pleasant." She studied her friend, wondering whether to pursue the doubt that tugged at her conscience. Minerva could be as cagey as a Slytherin when occasion called for it - but this was Poppy - her friend. Although Minerva hated to be pushy, she also didn't like secrecy. She decided to press the issue a little further.

"Poppy?" She spoke softly, leveling an encouraging look at her friend. "Is there something you're not sharing with me? Something about Harry I should know?"

Poppy looked up, staring at her with a sudden hard, almost desperate intensity. "I can't say that there is, Minerva," she replied succinctly.

"You can't. . ." Minerva pursed her lips. "You don't know - or you cannot say?"

"I cannot say," Poppy replied quickly, then turned away with a shiver. "Forgive me, Minnie. I seem to be developing a rather tiresome headache. If you don't mind, I think I'll take a short nap before dinner." She rose and plucked the teacup from Minerva's hand with uncharacteristic abruptness and marched to the door, blatant in her urgency to escort the Deputy Headmistress from her quarters.

Minerva rose to comply with a murmured apology. "I'm so sorry, my dear. I do hope you feel better soon." With surprising swiftness she found herself outside Poppy's chambers, staring in confused dismay at the firmly closed door. "Oh, Poppy!" she whispered worriedly. "Whatever is wrong? What are you hiding?"

She strolled back to her own quarters, deep in thought. She had known the medi-witch since they were classmates at Hogwarts. No one had a kinder, more compassionate heart than Poppy Pomphrey - despite the crisp, no-nonsense façade she displayed for her youthful patients. If Poppy knew something about Harry Potter - something that clearly distressed her - she would never conceal it. . .unless. . .unless she had no choice. Unless she were somehow compelled to conceal it! Minerva halted abruptly, so stunned by this thought that she didn't even notice the cluster of students behind her that nearly collided with her rigid form. The startled students maneuvered around her with mumbled apologies and scurried off, flinging curious glances back at their Transfiguration Professor.

Poppy had looked so frustrated - as if she wanted to say something, but couldn't. I'm certain it was more than an issue of medical confidentiality. Poppy never hesitates to inform a student's Head of House if that child suffers from a health issue that should be addressed. Poppy clearly wanted to tell me something. But what issue concerns Harry? What was Poppy concealing?

She thought back over their conversation.

We were discussing Harry's low self-esteem. . . his lack of self-worth. I wondered why he thought himself undeserving of kindness.

She remembered the question she had voiced - the one that had triggered Poppy's strange response.

"I wonder why the child would feel that way?"

Poppy had immediately tensed. When she tried to express her thoughts, she had complained of the headache. Anger flooded Minerva's heart.

A compulsion spell would produce such an effect. If one had been cast on Poppy to conceal something in Harry's personal history - something or someone in his background that had damaged his self-worth - Poppy would be unable to reveal it. Any attempt to overcome such a compulsion spell would result in physical pain. . . at the very least, a bad headache.

But who would cast such a spell on her? What would be gained by keeping secrets about Harry Potter? Who would want to?

Minerva swiftly rejected the first thought that came to mind. It was ludicrous. Staunch loyalty wouldn't permit such thoughts. But she wasn't prepared to disregard her suspicions either.

Poppy knows something. I can't ask her directly without causing her pain. But there may be other ways to discover what's behind all of this.

The Deputy Headmistress strode briskly on to her own chambers, ignited with the fire of determination and resolve.

Perhaps it's time I learned more about our young Mr. Potter. If nothing else, his reactions today indicate the poor boy could use a bit of positive attention. . .something tells me he has received very little of that. If his Head of House should take a personal interest in the boy, who's to question it?

She relaxed a bit, supremely content with her new purpose. She was a Scotswoman to the core, and like most of that heritage, she was keenly pragmatic. No problem was too difficult to solve - not if one had a plan. And Minerva McGonagall now had a plan.

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

The brat was up to something. There was no doubt in Snape's mind. Every time he saw the boy he was huddled with the two Gryffindors - Weasley and Granger - whispering and scheming. Ever since ‘the troll incident' (as Minerva so primly termed it), the three had been inseparable - and the troublesome trio fairly radiated mischief. Even now, in class, they sat side by side, as if joined at the hip.

Snape had also noted that all three of them had been spending an inordinate amount of time in the library. He had no idea what the three were so assiduously researching, but he was fairly certain it wasn't class-related.

Pity they don't put as much effort into their studies as they do into mischief.

Granger, he could understand - the girl was obsessively fanatical about her studies. She would probably sleep and eat in the library if Madam Pince allowed it. But neither Weasley or Potter were naturally diligent. Both boys were mediocre students - the kind Severus despised - who squeaked by in their classes through an absolute minimum of effort.

Snape had mixed feelings about Potter's lackluster academic efforts. On the one hand, he took perverse pleasure from the brat's mediocrity. His father had been no great scholar, but had been at least intelligent enough to maintain respectably high marks. His son barely ranked in the top half of his class - a fact that would have deeply disappointed James. Severus derived considerable private gratification from imagining James Potter's dissatisfaction, had he lived to learn that his precious son was so very ordinary. It would have been a true blow to the man's enormous ego. But as much as he enjoyed the idea of James' disillusionment, Severus was disturbed to realize that he, himself, was also disappointed in the boy.

Lily had been so bright and talented - the top of her class in school. She had possessed a keen thirst for knowledge that rivaled Granger's. . . a thirst that Snape had understood and appreciated. It had been their dual love of learning that had drawn the teenaged Snape to Lily Evans in the first place. Of course Lily had been beautiful: easily the prettiest witch in their year. But while Snape could appreciate her beauty, he was never one to be impressed by looks alone. It was Lily's intellect that had caught his attention. And later, as they became study partners, then friends - her kindness, wit and tender heart had slowly changed his feelings from friendship into love.

That love was never returned, of course. There was too much against him - too much history; too dark a heritage. It was a bitter truth he had long ago forced himself to face. But he had remained her loyal friend - by necessity, a secret friend - even after she had married that obnoxious prat, Potter.

And now her son seemed to lack Lily's keen intellect, her love of knowledge. . . and that bothered Severus. It didn't seem right that Lily's child should show so little promise. The boy wasn't stupid, he had decided. Harry was just lazy and careless. He was disorganized, too easily distracted, and possessed appallingly poor study habits. Severus dreaded reading the brat's essays. They were always messy and barely legible - with great splatterings of ink all over the pages.

He held Potter's latest sloppy offering distastefully between his fingers and glared over at the boy. Potter didn't notice his Potions Professor's scowl. His head was bent over his cauldron, his small hands awkwardly mashing ingredients with clumsy fingers. The scrawny brat had a fierce frown of concentration on his face, squinting and blinking at his task as if it was a burdensome chore.

Tossing aside the boy's homework, Snape rose and began strolling noiselessly around the room, checking the students' progress. The majority of the little dolts were making a pathetic mess of the basic potion. . .the idiots couldn't even follow simple directions. He quietly warned and criticized as he went, snapping at the Gryffindors, and trying with some success to be more patient with the Slytherins. As he silently advanced on Potter from behind, he was pleased that the boy didn't notice his approach.

"POTTER!"

The boy nearly leapt a foot off of his stool, and Severus had to suppress a vicious grin. "What part of the words "Stir counterclockwise sixteen times" do you not understand??"

The brat blinked stupidly up at him from behind his new, but still hideous glasses. His hand stopped stirring instantly.

"Have you never seen a working clock before, you idiot child?"

Potter blushed and bit his lip.

"Do you even know the difference between clockwise and counterclockwise, Potter?"

"Yes, sir," the boy muttered resentfully.

"Perhaps clocks work differently in the Muggle world. Is that it, Potter? Do Muggle clocks run backwards?" Snape sneered, his word dripping with contempt.

"No, sir." Potter shook his head, his cheek flaming with embarrassment. He ignored the Slytherins' derisive sniggers and began stirring in the proper direction, his shoulders hunched defensively and his hands trembling slightly.

Snape towered over him a minute longer, satisfied to observe how his presence intimidated the brat. Then he moved away, turning back to sneer once more. "Ten points for sheer stupidity, Potter. Stay after class."

Potter dared a nasty glare, his eyes brimming with resentment, but he returned to his work without comment.

When the class ended, Snape sat at his desk while the students scurried out. He was very aware of Potter's presence as the boy gathered his things and then sat quietly at his station. Severus ignored him for several minutes, focusing his attention on the homework essays he was grading. When the boy shifted uneasily he finally looked up. "Potter. Get over here," he ordered harshly.

The boy rose reluctantly and shuffled over to his desk, clutching his bag with white fingers. Snape retrieved the boy's essay and tossed it over to him in disgust. "What do you call this?" he growled angrily. Potter blinked in confusion and stared at the parchment. He mumbled something barely above a whisper. "What? Speak up, boy!"

Potter swallowed and spoke louder. "It's my homework essay, sir."

"Is that what you call it? And what am I supposed to do with that? I can't grade it - I can't even read it!"

"Sorry, sir," the boy ducked his head.

"How dare you turn in an assignment in that condition!"Snape lectured harshly. "If you cannot be bothered to write legibly, without dribbling ink all over your work, how do you expect me - or any other Professor here - to bother trying to read it?"

Potter studied his shoes, a red flush staining his bent neck. "Sorry, sir," he whispered.

"What do you mean by turning in a mess like this? Are you hopelessly lazy, or just stupid?" The boy flinched and mumbled something again. "I said, speak up Potter! Don't mumble! And look at me when you are speaking!"

Potter took a shaky breath and raised his face to meet Snape's glare, but his stare lacked the defiance and resentment Snape expected to see. His eyes were suspiciously moist and it was clear the child was mortified. "I'm s-sorry, Professor. I never wrote with a quill before this year. . . I can't seem to get the hang of it," he confessed miserably, his voice small and anxious.

Snape stared at him. He had no idea how to respond.

He had never given the boy's point much thought before. Muggles didn't use quill and ink - hadn't for centuries, as he recalled. They used ink-filled plastic things. . .ballpoints, was it? Severus had used one on occasion, when moving about the Muggle world. He hadn't liked them. Clumsy things, no grace or finesse.

He studied the boy with disgust. A Muggleborn or Muggle-raised child would have no experience using quills, it was true. The messiest essays usually did come from those students, now that he thought about it. Still most of them managed - eventually. Snape assumed someone taught them. . . but did they? He had never considered such a thing with his first-year snakes.

"Has no one given you instructions on the proper use and care of quills, Mr. Potter?" he asked curiously.

"No, sir," Potter whispered.

"I see. Well, that is no excuse for carelessness. You will report to my office this evening after dinner. Seven o'clock sharp, Mr. Potter. Do not be late." Snape glared at him rather huffily.

"Yes, sir," the boy muttered with a forlorn sigh.

"Get to class. I will not write another pass for you if you are late."

The boy raced out of the room almost before Snape's dismissal was past his lips. "Irritating child," he muttered, gathering his papers with a irate snort.

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.

December roared in, stormy and bitterly cold. The corridors were freezing, and even Snape's best warming charms failed to penetrate the arctic chill in the potions classroom. He strongly suspected interference from Peeves, but despite numerous rants to Albus, he had been unable to prove the poltergeist's involvement. Instead, he was forced to wear multiple layers of woolen garments to keep from shivering all day. His students huddled around their cauldrons, whining and grumbling about the cold. Snape showed no outward sympathy - but he did assign many of his more complex, time-consuming potions, so that the boiling cauldrons remained fired for most of each class time. The heat from the cauldrons did little to alleviate either Snape's chills, or his cranky disposition.

He certainly wasn't disposed to intervene in his godson's relentless heckling of Harry Potter. As he measured out powdered lionfish scales from the class stores for a clueless Gryffindor, Snape ignored most of the murmured taunts directed at Potter from the Slytherin side of the room.

"I do feel so sorry," he heard Draco drawl nastily, "For all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home."

Snape glanced curiously in Potter's direction, but the brat didn't seem the least disturbed, and went blithely on with his potion as if his adversary had never spoken. Crabbe and Goyle, the brainless gorms who shadowed his godson, snickered loudly at Draco's feeble gibe - no doubt out of dimwitted loyalty. But Draco scowled, brooding as usual, disappointed that his barbs had failed to wound his target.

Snape had his own reasons to regret Potter's lack of a Christmas homecoming. He had checked Minerva's short list of students remaining at the school over the holiday, and had groaned aloud at the ominous inclusion of two specific names - Potter and his crony, Weasley. Snape had been hoping for a quiet holiday - one free from his normal student surveillance, diligently on the lookout for any rule infractions. Christmas was usually so peaceful, with few troublesome students to cause concern. Now he would no doubt be forced to sacrifice much of his precious leisure time to keeping an eye on the undisciplined pair. He felt far less sorry for Potter than for himself.

Still. . . mocking a classmate for missing Christmas at home was a bit cold - even if it was Potter. He glanced Draco's way with a disapproving frown. It was a crude jab - rather unsporting, really. He must remember to have a little chat with his godson - to explain the finer points of effective insults. . . to teach him how to ridicule one's opponents with a bit more finesse.

When the class ended, the students scattered with their usual alacrity. Aching from the chill, Snape decided to postpone his usual tidy-up routine, in favor of a hot cup of tea and a much needed warm-up by the staffroom fire. He was climbing the stairs from the dungeons when he overheard the familiar sulky tones of a petulant Malfoy, raised in scorn. Dissatisfied with Potter's lackluster response, Draco was now apparently targeting Weasley with his somewhat unoriginal insults.

Too easy. Hardly sporting. . . like fish in a barrel. Weasley's short temper is sucker's bait.

He reached the top of the stairs in time to see the surly little redhead lunge at Draco, grasping at his robes.

"WEASLEY!" Snape's bellow startled the prat into releasing his godson.

"He was provoked, Professor Snape."

Snape stared in bewilderment at the monstrous evergreen blocking the corridor. The deep voice seemed to emanate from the tree. Before he could work out why a huge fir tree was looming in the corridor, much less defending Weasley, the hairy visage of Hagrid the Gamekeeper poked out from behind the damp branches. "Malfoy was insultin' his family," the giant explained.

Snape was not about to back down from a chance to take points from the cheeky Gryffindor, regardless of fault. "Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid. Five points from Gryffindor , Weasley - and be grateful it isn't more. Move along all of you."

Draco and his goons shoved past, littering the floor with pine needles. Snape had an inexplicable urge to wipe the smirk from his godson's face, but he contented himself with aiming an undeserved glare at Potter, and turning to find an alternate route to the staffroom - one that was free of dead evergreens.

Weasley's and Potter's muttered grousing floated after him, barely audible in the noisy hall.

"I'll get him - one of these days, I'll get him!" the Weasley brat threatened impotently.

"I hate them both - Malfoy and Snape!" Harry snarled.

--

Potter's terse invective startled Snape, though he wouldn't have admitted it. Of course his students hated him. He was proud of that fact. He'd worked hard for it. And he was especially spiteful towards Potter, in class and in public.

But the nights that he tutored the boy, in the privacy of his chambers - he had thought they had reached a kind of temporary truce - an understanding. He wasn't particularly kind to the boy, but he had discovered that Potter responded better to mild praise and encouragement, than to harsh criticism. And Potter had unquestionably blossomed under Snape's direction. Without any real forethought on Snape's part, they had moved past penmanship into academic tutoring. Severus now proofread all of the boy's homework, making him correct or rewrite as necessary. He had coaxed, and sometimes bullied the boy into using his brain for a change. As he had suspected, Potter didn't lack intelligence - he was simply mentally disorganized. Snape was slowly training him how to organize his chaotic thoughts - how to conduct proper research, and then express himself clearly and concisely, verbally and on parchment. And the boy's schoolwork was definitely improving under Snape's firm guidance. All of his other teachers had commented on the boy's remarkable progress.

Snape slunk into the staffroom, claiming the chair closest to the hearth with a ill-tempered glower that discouraged the other teachers from disturbing him. He accepted the small pot of steaming hot tea the house elf offered, and settled in for a nice long sulk. Potter's declaration of hatred annoyed him.

Has the boy no gratitude? No appreciation for the . . .well, not friendship perhaps, but at least the cessation of hostilities that I have so generously afforded him?

Severus didn't pamper the boy. He was routinely demanding and strict. He never let the boy get away with anything less than his best effort. But Potter hadn't seemed to mind his severity. He seemed to relish rising to Snape's challenges and meeting his high standards. Although their study sessions weren't actually official in any sense, Potter never complained about them, or expressed a desire to end them.

Snape wasn't sure why he had continued the sessions. He supposed it was some sort of homage to his past friendship with Lily that prompted him to give up two free evenings a week to instruct the child. But he had rather thought the boy didn't entirely loathe their time together. After their lessons, Potter often lingered over their customary tea. He even instigated casual, reasonably lucid conversation on occasion. Snape had assumed the boy at least marginally tolerated the company of his grim Potions Professor.

Oh, well. Potter's gratification was probably aimed less at his teacher, than at the nauseating peanut butter biscuits that Severus was so generous in providing.

Not that it matters. I don't care if the brat hates me - as long as he fears me. I don't need Potter's affection - just his compliance. And I daresay he will find me considerably harder to please in future!

Severus poured himself another cup of tea and nursed plans for a grueling future study session with Harry-Bloody-Potter.

I think I'll tell Roker to stop bringing those peanut butter things. The brat can eat plain shortbread, or go without!

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

Harry blinked up at his Head of House, his tense posture broadcasting his discomfort. Minerva smiled at him, and offered him another biscuit to lessen his uneasiness. The boy took it hesitantly, and clutched in his free hand. His other hand gripped his teacup desperately as if it were some kind of lifeline.

"Well, Mr. Potter - Harry," she began brightly. "I see you are to be staying here with us for the holidays. I hope you will not miss your family too terribly much."

"No, m'am," the boy assured her with a touch too much enthusiasm. "I'm. . . umm, I'm looking forward to staying. It will be . . .different. I guess."

Minerva nodded confidently. "Oh my, yes. I think you will like Christmas at Hogwarts, Harry. It's not like home, I know - but we try to enjoy ourselves. With most of the students gone, the staff tends to be a little more relaxed - a little more indulgent, I suppose. And we do try to insure that the students who stay with us feel welcome and included. We traditionally clear away the house tables and all eat meals together, students and teachers alike, at one smaller table. It's cozier, I think - more friendly. . .like one big family."

Minerva noted that the boy's nervousness seemed to ease a bit, as he listened with rapt interest.

"Truth be told, Harry," she continued with a grin of mischief, "I think some of the Professors derive more childlike pleasure from the festivities than their students. As I'm sure you've noticed, Professor Flitwick adores decorating the Great Hall! Every year, he tries his best to outdo himself. And the Headmaster! Nobody puts together a livelier, more sumptuous Christmas Feast than Albus Dumbledore, let me tell you!"

She smirked at the boy's stunned expression. "On Christmas Eve, the teachers have a small party of their own," she confided with a wink. "You haven't truly experienced Christmas, until you've heard Madam Pomphrey, Madam Pince, Hagrid and Professor Sprout, wandering the halls in the dead of night, singing carols at the top of their lungs!" She chuckled at Harry's delighted laugh, glad to have amused him.

"What's your favorite part of Christmas at Hogwarts, Professor?" the boy asked shyly.

"Me? Oh, all of it, I suppose." She smiled and bent closer to murmur conspiratorially. "Of course, it wouldn't be proper to reveal any event that might place one of your Professors in a less than dignified light. . ." she paused for effect. "...but I wouldn't be surprised, that if you were to glance out a North Wing window, (say, early Christmas night, just before dusk), you might glimpse your Head of House pelting a certain Potions Professor, in a long-standing annual duel of snowballs-at-twenty-paces!"

Harry gaped at her in clear disbelief.

"You didn't hear it from me, of course. . ," she continued primly, her eyes twinkling with humor. ". . .and I am certain Professor Snape would flatly deny it - but I have won that annual duel for nine years running!"

"You. . . you have a snowball fight? With Professor Snape?" the boy squeaked.

"It's our own little private tradition," Minerva confided, sighing. "I really don't know why the poor man persists, year after year." She drew herself up proudly. "It may interest you to know, young Harry, that I was a pretty fair Chaser in my day."

"You played Quidditch?"

"Certainly! And I still have quite the deadly aim, you know. That's why poor Severus never stands a chance." She smirked with satisfaction. "Mind you - this is strictly classified information, Harry. You mustn't ever reveal our little secret to anyone. . . . nor (Merlin Forbid!) let on to Professor Snape that you know about it. If you were to find yourself in a position to observe - strictly as a hidden spectator, of course - you must be very careful not to be discovered. If Professor Snape ever learned that our little bit of fun had an audience - particularly a student audience - he would never forgive me! I'm certain it would be the end of our snowball duels forever, and I should be very sorry for that. " She gave the dumbfounded child a expectant grin. "You won't betray me, will you Harry?"

"Course not! Never!" Harry vowed earnestly. He gave her a hopeful smile. "Uhmm, Professor? Do you suppose it would be all right if Ron Weasley happened to be looking out that window with me on Christmas night?"

Minerva mulled his request over in her mind. "I would like to say yes, Harry. . .but to be honest, I think this had best be our little secret alone. It's not that I'm not fond of Mr. Weasley - I am, I assure you. But I fear Ronald has an unreliable temper, and tends to speak before he thinks. He wouldn't mean to betray us, of course. . . but if he were to become unavoidably angry at Professor Snape, he is likely to let it slip out of spite. Do you understand what I mean?"

Harry looked a tad disappointed, but after a moment's thought, he nodded gravely. "Yes, m'am. I understand. And I suppose you're right. Ron does tend to blurt things out, particularly when he's mad." Harry sighed ruefully. "He gets mad at Professor Snape rather a lot, to be truthful. I can't imagine him turning down an opportunity to embarrass Snape, not if he knew a way to do it - not if he was really mad. I won't tell him, I promise."

"Thank you, Harry. I know I can trust you," Minerva patted his hand gently and offered him another biscuit. Harry chewed it thoughtfully.

"So, Harry. . ." Minerva felt the time was right for a careful change of subject. "How are your studies coming along?"

"Fine," the boy answered automatically - the standard child's reply to that question from any adult.

"I have been very impressed with the recent progress you have made, Harry. Your grades are improving quite dramatically - all the teachers have said so. I am very proud of you," Minerva persisted.

"Thank you, m'am," Harry replied, blushing uncomfortably. "It's not really my doing, honestly. I guess you can give Professor Snape most of the credit."

"Professor Snape?" Minerva asked in confusion.

"Yes, m'am. He makes me do my homework in our weekly detentions. He corrects my essays - even makes me rewrite them if they're too messy," Harry admitted despondently. "And he's awfully picky. I have to get all the answers right - and prove my points with references - or he'll make me do it over. I don't mind really - not that much. I am learning a lot, and he's terribly keen - he never lets go of a thing until he's sure I understand it. But he is really strict. Still - I guess I wouldn't be doing so well if he didn't push me."

Minerva gaped at him. "I'm not sure I understand, Harry. You say you have weekly detentions with Professor Snape? Every week? "

"Yes, m'am. Every Monday and Thursday nights." Harry paled at the shocked expression on Minerva's face. "I'm s-sorry, m'am," he stammered. " I - I thought you knew. I guess you're disappointed in me. I know it's a lot of detentions, Professor - but honestly - I don't even know what I did to earn them half the time! And at least Snape doesn't take house points - well, in class he does, but never in detentions. He. . . he, well - I guess he just doesn't like me, Professor."

Minerva struggled to collect her frenzied thoughts. What in the world was Severus up to?

"Wait just a minute, Harry," she said sharply, noting the boy's distressed expression. " Calm down, my boy. I'm not angry, just surprised. Sit still for moment, while I check something." She jumped up, flustered. "Here!" She shoved the tin of biscuits at him distractedly. "Have a biscuit!" she barked.

She charged to her desk in a mild tizzy. " I just need to check some files. . . .", she muttered, shuffling through the parchments on her desk in agitation. "I know I had it here, earlier. . . . .ah! Here it is!" She snatched up the file and scanned quickly through the pages. Then she scowled, and scanned them a second time. She sat back in her chair with a frown, her shrewd mind racing.

"Professor McGonagall?" Harry's soft voice quavered anxiously. "Are you all right, m'am? Have - have I done something wrong?"

Minerva stared at the bewildered boy. Harry hadn't moved; he still clutched his teacup in one hand, and the tin of biscuits in the other, gaping at her in apprehension. "Oh, Harry," Minerva sighed. She rose and crossed to him, the file still in her hand. "No, my dear boy, of course you haven't done anything wrong. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to alarm you, dear." She sat beside him and patted his arm soothingly. "Here, child - give me those," she took back the tin of biscuits and popped one into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"Harry, I just need to clarify a few things," she said carefully. "Let me see if I understand correctly. You say you have been having regular detentions with Professor Snape, twice a week. Is that right?"

"Yes, m'am."

"And how long has this been going on?"

"Umm - about five, maybe six weeks."

"Harry," Minerva replied gently, patting the file in her lap. "This file automatically records all of the detentions served by Gryffindor students. Every Head of House has one like it: they help us to stay informed on our students' development. Any disciplinary action taken by any staff member toward any Gryffindor, - detentions or points - is instantly recorded in this file. That is how I keep up with my students' punishments - how I learn if they are having problems."

Harry nodded. "That's how you know when we get into trouble, isn't it?"

"Yes, Harry."

"Am I in trouble, Professor McGonagall?" the boy asked gravely.

"No, Harry. I don't believe so." Minerva studied him earnestly. "But, Harry. . . this file show no detentions for you from Professor Snape for quite some time. The last detention recorded by him was nearly three months ago."

Harry screwed his face up in bewilderment. "But. . . but I don't understand!"

"I'm not sure I do either," Minerva admitted wryly. "Harry - did Professor Snape tell you that your meetings with him were detentions? Did he call them that?"

The boy chewed a fingernail nervously. "Ummm , no. . .well, not exactly. But he tells me when to come, and he makes me work."

"But he didn't actually say they were detentions?"

"No, m'am," Harry admitted. "But the first time, he made me stay after class - and he yelled at me for writing messy essays! And he told me to come that night to his office. . . I just assumed it was a detention."

"I see. And what punishment did he give you that night, when you went to his office? What did he make you do?"

"He didn't really punish me, exactly. I mean, he took me into his quarters and taught me how to trim quills, and how to write on parchment with them. Then he made me copy this alphabet over and over."

"He took you into his quarters? His private quarters?" Minerva squeaked in astonishment.

"Yes, m'am. That's where we always meet."

"Oh, my." Minerva bit her lip and tried not to reveal her shock. She was actually quite fond of Severus, and she didn't like where her thoughts were taking her. "And...erm..what do you do in Professor Snape's quarters, Harry?"

"Well, like I said, the first night he made me copy the alphabet."

"Copy the alphabet?"

"Yes, m'am. He said if he had to read my essays, then I had to learn to write properly. I hadn't ever used a quill before Hogwarts, and I had a lot of trouble at first. But Snape taught me how, and made me practice my penmanship every night until I got better."

"I see." Minerva was at total loss. She didn't know how to respond.

"He made me come back the next Thursday night, and practice some more. Then he said I should just plan to come every Monday and Thursday because I was so disorganized and had such terrible study habits that it would take a long time to set me straight."

"Oh. I see. I think. . . . And he makes you practice your penmanship every time, Harry?"

"Oh, no, m'am. We got past that a long time ago. Professor Snape says my writing will never be exceptional, but at least it's legible now. And I don't splatter ink so much anymore."

"But you have continued these. . . meetings?"

"Yes, m'am. . . ever since then. I had to start bringing my homework with me each time, and work on it there, where he could help me out, like I said."

"And what does Professor Snape do while you study?"

"Oh, reads, mostly. Sometimes he sits by the fire and reads journals and such. Sometimes he sits at the table with me and grades papers." Harry shrugged. "I like it better when he reads...but please don't tell him I said that," he grimaced. "When he grades papers, he mumbles and snarls a lot, and it's kinda distracting."

Minerva suppressed an urge to giggle, and wondered if her sanity was slipping away with each of the child's startling new revelations.

"And Professor Snape helps you do your homework, Harry?"

"Wellll. . ."the boy hesitated. "He doesn't actually help me do it, you understand. I have to do it myself. But he showed me how to organize my notes, and he checks my work after, to make sure it's right, and marks it if it's not. Then he makes me go look up the right answers. . . well - except for my potions homework. He looks at that, but he doesn't correct it. He says that wouldn't be fair to his other students. . .but sometime he kinda hints around if I got something really screwed up." Harry blushed with chagrin and rolled his eyes. " I don't think he means to, you know. . .give me hints? I think it just drives him mental if my potions homework has errors in it!"

Minerva suppressed a snort of amusement. That, at least, sounded like the Severus Snape she knew.

"So. You meet with Professor Snape twice a week, and he helps you study - is that about it? Do you do anything else together, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "We have tea."

"You have tea." Minerva repeated woodenly.

"Tea," Harry nodded. "About nine o'clock I stop my work, and Roker - that's a house elf - he brings tea and biscuits. We have our tea and then I go back to my dorm." His face abruptly brightened. "Roker brings these really brilliant peanut butter biscuits - they're my favorite! Professor Snape orders them specially - but he never eats them himself. I think he just does that ‘cause he knows I like them," he grinned happily.

Minerva placed a hand firmly over her mouth to hide a smile and nodded gravely. "Very well, Harry. I think I'm beginning to understand. Tell me - have you told anyone else about these detentions with Professor Snape?"

"Well - not exactly. I mean, everyone knows I have them. Ron and Hermione think Snape is really evil and unfair to assign me so many, but they never ask much about what I do. I guess everyone assumes I wash cauldrons and stuff, and I just let them think that." The boy blushed faintly and hung his head. "I didn't tell them at first because I was embarrassed - about being so hopeless with the quills, and writing so poorly, you know? I guess I didn't want anyone to know that I had to have Snape, of all people, teach me how to write properly."

"Professor Snape, Harry. And that is certainly nothing to be ashamed of, my boy. Most children from Muggle homes have problems at first," she reassured him gently.

"Well, anyway - after we started on my other lessons, I never really mentioned it to anyone. I guess I didn't want to admit that I'm so dumb that Professor Snape has to help me study."

Minerva leaned forward and grasped the boy's chin firmly. "Harry James Potter - you are not dumb! Not by any means! Quite the contrary - you are a bright and diligent boy, and I'm very proud of the extra effort you have made."

Harry shrugged diffidently. "But. . .if I'm not dumb, then why all the detentions? Why does Sn- Professor Snape have to help me so much?"

"But they aren't detentions, Harry. I thought I explained that. I believe that Professor Snape has decided to tutor you, to give you special guidance in your studies."

"But why?"

"Perhaps he thinks you deserve it. Perhaps he thinks you're worth the extra effort."

"That doesn't sound like Professor Snape," Harry grumbled dubiously.

"Hmm. Nevertheless, it is a very generous gesture on his part. Our Professors aren't required to offer private tutoring, Harry. If they do it, it's because they want to. And they only do it when a student merits it. You should feel proud and grateful that the Professor is willing to spend his free time helping you."

Harry's green eyes gazed up her, his doubts and fears so clear in their depths. "If Professor Snape wanted to tutor me, why didn't he just say so? Why didn't he tell me that's what he's doing?"

Minerva sighed. "He probably assumes you understood that, Harry. Professor Snape is a brilliant man, and a dedicated educator. . .but I'll admit he sometimes has a bit of difficulty communicating with his students in a - well - constructive manner, shall we say?" Harry snorted and rolled his eyes again. "Anyway, what you need to try to understand, is that Professor Snape is not an expressive man by nature."

"He expresses himself pretty well, if you ask me," Harry winced ruefully. "You should hear the hateful things he says to me in class!"

"Be that as it may, he does not often show personal interest in a student. And he would not give up two free evenings a week to tutor a student he did not feel some regard for. You must remember this, and treat him with the respect and appreciation he deserves, Harry."

"Yes, m'am."

"Now. My next question is, do you wish to continue these tutoring sessions?"

"You mean I have a choice?" the boy asked in surprise.

"Certainly. Students who are failing their classes, may be required to take special tutoring. Your grades do not necessitate compulsory attendance. If you want me to, I can put a stop to them."

The boy stared into the fire, his brow furrowed in thought. "Nooooo," he murmured finally. "I don't really want to stop them. I mean, Snape can be pretty mean and unfair sometimes. . . but I have learned a lot from him. And he has helped me, more than he knows, I think." He looked up and nodded to her seriously. "I'd like the lessons to continue. . .as long as he's willing, I mean."

"Very well. Then I suggest we leave things as they are, shall we? You may change your mind at any time, if you no longer feel the need for the lessons. And if you have any concerns - any problems - with either Professor Snape or anything else - I want you to understand that you can always come to me, Harry. I mean that sincerely, and I want you to believe it. I am always here for you - and not just because I'm your Head of House, dear. Anytime you need to talk, you may come see me, all right?" On impulse, Minerva leaned over and trailed a finger tenderly down the boy's round cheek , smiling at him.

"Yes, m'am,' the boy replied with a shy smile. "Thank you, Professor."

Minerva took the empty cup from his hand and rose to escort him out of her office. "Oh, and Harry. . . I think it might be best if you didn't mention our little discussion to Professor Snape. I think your original instincts were right. . .it would be better if you keep your tutoring sessions private between you and the Professor."

The boy nodded, a shrewd gleam in his eyes that was too wise for his age. "I know Snape's doing me a favor. . .but he wouldn't like anyone else to know that, would he? It doesn't really fit with his image of the Greasy Old Bat, does it?"

"I see you do understand, Mr. Potter." Minerva smiled approvingly.

"Okay, Professor. I can keep secrets." Harry gave her cheeky smile. "See you outside the North Wing - Christmas night!"

"Christmas night, Mr. Potter," she smirked.

Harry let himself out the door, paused, then popped his head back in with a wicked grin. "Thump him with a big cold wet one for me, Professor!" he chirped and disappeared.

Minerva shook her head and chuckled. "I may just do that, Mr. Potter. . . I may indeed."

Minerva didn't know what to make of Potter's revelations. The boy's disclosure of Snape's patronage was so out of character for the dour Potions Master that she might have dismissed the entire thing as a prank or daydream, if it weren't for Harry's childlike sincerity. She propped her feet up on the hearth stool, indulged in another shortbread biscuit, and pondered the problem from all available angles.

Severus had been shamelessly vocal in his apparent dislike of Harry Potter. And it wasn't like him to abandon his prejudices - that would require admitting he was wrong. She couldn't imagine what motive prompted the man to take an interest in a boy he purported to loathe, and to devote his personal time to tutor him. But Minerva wasn't sure she wished to question that motive.

Merlin knows, the child needs guidance and support. . .I suspect he gets little enough at home. I disliked those Dursleys on sight and I see no reason to change my opinion. And it is evident that Severus is having a positive influence on Harry.

She pulled off her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose, grimacing pensively. Whatever his motives, Minerva knew that Severus would not want his attention to the boy noticed or acknowledged. The man took stubborn pride in his fearsome, ruthless image. If he became aware that Minerva knew about his unexpected regard for the son of his worst school adversary, he'd be mortified. He'd not only vehemently deny it, but would probably halt the tutoring sessions out of fear that others would accuse him of growing ‘soft'. And Minerva didn't want that to happen. . . .didn't want Harry denied something from which he so clearly benefited.

No, she decided. As much as she would enjoy teasing the grim Professor about his devotion to Potter's welfare, she would sacrifice that pleasure for Harry's sake. She would remain silent, and never let on that she had any reason to believe that Severus did not despise the boy as he so bitterly proclaimed.

She rose determinedly and returned the Discipline record to the proper stack on her desk.

I should probably mention this to Albus. He would be so pleased to learn his two favorite ‘boys' were getting along so well. . . . Then again -

She frowned thoughtfully.

The Headmaster will never be able to keep his delight to himself. He won't be able to resist remarking to Severus about it, however well-meaning. . .which would be exactly the wrong thing to do in this case.

She smiled slyly to herself. I think I'll keep this little piece of news to myself. Harry's my responsibility after all. The old man doesn't need to know everything - even if he does like others to believe he's omniscient!

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

Harry stared moodily at his boiled potatoes. He tuned out the chatter of his friends around him and poked indifferently at his food, too busy brooding to eat.

What is that Git's problem, anyway? Why does he have to pick on US all the time?

Okay. Maybe he shouldn't have snarled like that - shouldn't have said he hated Snape. He knew it was rude, and mostly untrue. Mostly. He doubted Snape heard him anyway. . .he hadn't said it very loud.

He did hate Malfoy - the beastly little sod was always pestering them. But Harry didn't think he hated Snape - not really. But honestly - the snarky git was driving him barmy!

Malfoy started it! He always starts everything! Why does Snape have to take HIS side all the time?

Of course Harry knew why. Because Malfoy was a Slytherin. Because Snape always sided with his own House, and the greasy git hated Gryffindors. Harry knew this - but that didn't mean he understood it. It didn't mean he had to like it. Snape was a Professor. He shouldn't let anyone, even Malfoy, get away with hassling other students like that. He should be more fair.

Ha! Snape? Fair? What a joke! He wouldn't know from fair if it bit him on the arse!

Harry didn't care if Malfoy heckled him. He was used to hostility. When it came to mocking and badgering, Malfoy couldn't hold a candle to the Dursleys. But hurting his friends was a whole other business! The Slytherin's nasty slurs about Ron's family being poor. . . Harry knew Ron would never admit it, but it hurt him just the same. It was just the kind of cheap shot Malfoy would stoop to. . . the snarky blonde was pathetically unoriginal.

It was Snape that Harry couldn't figure out.

Why does he act so different in detention? Er - tutoring, that is.

Harry still couldn't quite get his mind around that one. . . all his detentions weren't even detentions! Snape was just helping him study, because...well, he really didn't know why. Maybe Snape just liked making him work. Maybe he liked sneering at him and making out like Harry was dim or something. Except, Snape didn't make as much fun of him as he used to. . . he wasn't even very mean and spiteful, most of the time. . . .

Except in class. . . or in the corridors. . . or the Great Hall, or on the Quidditch pitch, or anywhere else I run into him!

Harry scowled in frustration and lifted his head to sneak a look at his Potions Professor. Snape was glowering at Flitwick seated next to him at the staff table, as if offended by the smiling Charms Professor's chatter. Harry noted that Snape appeared no more interested in eating than Harry did. . . he was pushing his food about on his plate with supreme apathy. As if he felt eyes upon him, Snape turned abruptly and stared straight at Harry, black eyes glittering. His malevolent expression was seething and deadly. Harry tore his gaze away, a shiver of fright rippling down his spine.

NOW what have I done?

Snape was mad at him. Who knew why? The man was so prickly, trying to stay on his good side - if the evil git even had a good side - was bloody near impossible! Whatever he'd done this time, Harry had no clue how to put it right.

He's got no right to be mad at ME, anyway! I should be mad at HIM! He lets Malfoy get away with every bloody thing! And then he takes points from US! Greasy git!

Harry nursed his indignation and refused to look up at the staff table again, even though he had a creepy feeling that Snape was glaring at him.

At least I don't have dete - ! -TUTORING with him again until Thursday! Maybe the old Bat will be over his snit by then.

It was a reassuring thought. . . but somehow Harry doubted he would be so lucky.

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

"Sit." Severus pointed at the chair in front of his desk before seating himself. Sharp enough to sense something was amiss, the boy obeyed swiftly. The dangerous scowl on the Potion Master's face was genuine, not just habit, and the boy had brains enough to remain silent, though his stare was dark with confusion and worry.

"Your behavior is unacceptable. I will no longer stand for it," Snape barked harshly. "It is childish, irresponsible, and worst of all - foolish. It ends now, or you will face the consequences."

The boy gaped at him in astonishment, eyes filling with wounded betrayal.

"This infantile feud is pointless and annoying, and I am weary of being distracted by it," the Professor snapped. "Do you think I have nothing better to do than to constantly referee a puerile schoolboy rivalry? Do you believe my time and attention is so worthless - my talents so trivial - that I am reduced to nothing more vital than playing mediator to a pair of eleven-year-old CHILDREN?" Snape rose abruptly, leaning over the desk and pinning the boy with a furious, menacing glare. "I WILL NOT TOLERATE another scene like today! DO YOU HEAR ME?"

"But. . . . but!. . ."

"BUT NOTHING!" he silenced the boy's shocked stammer. "I don't know when this started or why - but it ends now. The infamous ‘Malfoy-Potter Feud' is over. Am I making myself clear?"

"But he's. . .!"

"I know what he is!" Severus sneered. "Do you think I do not? Have I not made my feelings exceedingly clear?"

"But S-sir!" the boy stuttered defensively. "He's. . . . . he's Potter! He's the - the Boy-Who-Lived! He killed. . ."

"Rubbish!" Severus cut Draco off, his tone dripping with scorn. "Do you really believe that poppycock? Don't tell me you honestly believe that fairy tale?" Severus eased back down into his chair, letting his anger morph into smooth cynicism.

Mustn't appear too threatening and completely alienate the boy.

"Think, child! Use your wits. You've seen him. . .taken classes with him. . .do you see anything even remotely remarkable about Harry-Bloody-Potter?"

Draco's wounded outrage faded into brooding doubt. Severus struck the point home with scathing contempt in his voice.

"Do you honestly believe the Dark Lord - the greatest wizard of his age - could be destroyed by a helpless infant?" He snorted scornfully. "Unfortunately, no one knows what really happened. But whatever you have heard - whatever truly happened that fateful night ten years ago - I can assure you one thing: Our Leader - the Dark Lord - a wizard so powerful and feared that no one dares speak his name even today - that Leader was not brought down by a one-year-old baby! And certainly not by a useless, second-rate, glaringly-ordinary Harry Potter!" he sneered.

He let the force of his argument sink in for a moment, watching the thoughts play out across his godson's unguarded face.

"Then. . .then why does everyone say he did? Why is he such a bloody great hero?" Draco whined.

"Because they're all idiots!" Severus dismissed this with cavalier contempt. "The point, Draco - is that it doesn't matter. . .it doesn't matter what other people think. This issue here, young man, is you. Your behavior - your petty pursuit of the little fool." Draco scowled sullenly.

"What is the purpose of all this, Draco?" Severus asked a bit less harshly. "What has Potter ever done to you? Why this constant hostility? I am not blind - and you are far from subtle. You bait him deliberately - harass him at every opportunity. Why do you bother? Why do you waste your time and energy on the worthless lump?"

Draco shrugged, a thunderous pout clouding his fair face. "He's - he's a prat! Everyone makes such a fuss over him! The teachers act like he's God's gift to the Wizarding World - and he's not! He's pathetic! It's. . . it's not fair!"

Severus sighed heavily. He rose from his chair, circling the desk slowly until he stood in front of Draco. He sat back on the edge of the desk and leveled a sad, sympathetic look on the petulant boy.

"I know, Draco," he said quietly. "I know it's not fair. It's not fair that Potter is so unjustly favored. It's unfair that Slytherin - our great House - is blatantly discriminated against, and our members treated with undeserved contempt by many of the staff. Even the Headmaster is guilty of favoritism - not only to Potter, but to all those idiot Gryffindors. And it is unjust." He paused, searching the child's face. "It is unjust - but it is a fact of life, Draco. History is written by the victors. Our side suffered a temporary set-back, and we momentarily find ourselves on the losing end of things. But just because we may have briefly lost visible power, does not mean we must lower ourselves to the negative image others would force upon us. It does not mean we must behave like losers."

Draco gazed up at him, brow furrowed in thought.

Now. Now I've got him. If I can just push him in the right direction. . .if I can appeal to his pride. . .

"Don't you see, Draco? Your attacks on Potter - your taunts and blustering - they do you no credit. They merely make you appear jealous. Jealous, petty, and - frankly - a tad pathetic."

A pink blush flamed in the boy's cheeks.

"You are too good for this, Draco," Severus said gently. "You have nothing to prove - not to me - not to anyone - and certainly not to Potter. This juvenile wrangling is beneath you. By pursuing it, you play right into the brat's hands. Your attention grants him importance he does not deserve. You shouldn't let him get to you," he murmured, coloring his tone with proud fondness. "My little Dragon should be above such childish squabbles."

Draco ducked his head to hide the sudden tears in his eyes.

Yes! Yes, little one! Now you're mine!

"I want you to do something for me, Draco. I want you to promise me you'll abandon this senseless feud. I want you to stop pestering Potter."

The boy sighed resignedly, his face turning sullen again. "What am I supposed to do? Make friends with the arrogant prat? Join his fan club?"

"Certainly not!" Severus smirked. "Though the time may come when cultivating the favor of the Boy-Who-Lived - when appearing to be his ally may prove useful. . .for now, all I ask is that you cease open hostilities. Ignore the dolt! Ignore Potter, and focus your energy on your own talents - your own achievements." Severus's voice dipped: soothing, silky, and beguiling. "You are a clever, gifted boy, Draco, with an exceptional mind. You have so much Potter will never possess - breeding, refinement, nobility - and a potential for greatness beyond even your father's abilities." He watched the child's face glow with pleasure at his lavish praise. " If you apply yourself, you could become a wise and powerful wizard one day, little Dragon. . . if - and I repeat, if - you can overcome petty jealousy and that infamous Malfoy temper."

Draco blushed even deeper and Severus smirked at him with open affection.

Now for the strokes - a velvet glove over an iron hand.

"Please understand me, Draco. I have only your best interests at heart. I don't want you to suffer unnecessarily from the negative attention your attacks on Potter bring you. I have, up until now, done my best to protect you. I have turned a blind eye to your antics and favored you at every turn." He eyed the boy sternly. "But I will not permit this behavior to continue. I will still publically support you - I will always defend my Snakes - but rest assured, my private response will not be favorable. If you continue to go out of your way to harass Potter, you will be punished. I may not take house points, or embarrass you in class, but you will face my wrath behind closed doors and you will regret defying me. And don't expect your father to intervene - Lucius trusts my judgment, and he will be very displeased if he learns you have been making an fool of yourself and disgracing the family name. Am I making myself perfectly clear, young man?"

Draco paled under Snape's cold, hard stare. "Yes, Uncle Severus," he replied timidly.

"Good," Severus gave him a stern nod. "Now, return to your rooms. If I'm not mistaken, you have an exam in Transfiguration to prepare for, do you not?"

"Yes, sir," Draco replied, his usual impudence noticeably subdued.

With a twinge of guilt, Severus relented, placing a hand on the boy's slim shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Cheer up, little Dragon," he said, granting the boy a small, rare smile. "Only four more days until the holidays, after all. . . surely you can stay out of mischief for that long, at least?"

Draco nodded ruefully. "I'll try, Uncle Severus," he conceded. On impulse, the boy grabbed Snape in a quick, awkward hug. "I don't want to displease you," he murmured - then pulled away and sauntered to the office door with his cheeky impertinence carefully restored. "Not at Christmas, anyway. I wouldn't want you to take back all those lovely gifts I know you've bought me!" He flashed Severus a dazzling grin and swaggered out.

Severus snorted at the boy's cheek. He was pleased with their conference. He knew how Draco longed for his approval. He would do anything for his godfather, with the proper blend of flattery and encouragement (and appropriate threats). He closed his office and returned to his quarters, making a mental note to drop into Hogsmeade that very afternoon. He still had to pick up the gifts he had ordered - the gifts his godson correctly anticipated, the cocky little brat.

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.

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.

Harry awoke late the next morning. His conversation with his Head of House the night before had been much on his mind, but his resolve to end the quarrel with Snape had eased his heart considerably.

Now all I have to do is get up the courage to apologize to the scary Bat.

He dressed quickly, noting that Ron was already gone, and hurried down to the Great Hall, hoping he hadn't missed breakfast. Percy had told him that the house elves always served Belgian waffles on Christmas Eve morning, and he prayed that there were still some left.

When he arrived in the Hall he was relieved to discover that he had not missed out on the waffles. He was doubly glad to see that Snape wasn't present. . . he wasn't quite ready to face the man just yet. He supposed the Potions Professor had already eaten and left.

Harry scrambled in next to Ron and piled his plate high, digging into the waffles with great delight. He had never actually eaten Belgian waffles before - he had made them a few times for the Dursley's for special occasions, but of course he wasn't allowed to eat such an extravagant treat himself. The waffles proved to be light and sweet, and Harry decided they were quite possibly the best thing he had ever tasted. . .perhaps even better than treacle tarts.

It was well past eight, and there were few diners left in the Hall - only Ron and a few older students, and Professors Sprout and McGonagall. Harry waved happily at McGonagall at the end of the large table and she smiled warmly at him.

"You seem to be enjoying your waffles, Mr. Potter," she called lightly, smiling at his eagerness.

"They're brilliant!" Harry gushed, after hastily gulping down a rather large mouthful.

"Indeed. They are one of the Headmaster's favorites, you know," she confided merrily. "You can be sure he will have them served tomorrow morning as well - along with many more special treats."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. Christmas dinner will be especially tasty. Every year the elves outdo themselves to provide new delicacies, as well as the standard Christmas fare."

"Wow!" Harry squeaked excitedly.

Harry stared at her as if she had just handed him the moon. She suppressed a laugh at the look of sheer awe on the child's face. As the boy turned his attention back to his plate, Sprout leaned over and murmured quietly.

"It's nice to watch how excited the children become at Christmas, isn't it? Especially the younger ones. They still possess that innocent wonder that allows them to take so much joy in little pleasures." She sighed. "It's a pity we adults forget such simple enjoyment."

"Yes it is," Minerva agreed ruefully.

"Young Potter there, for example," Sprout grinned. "He looks as if he's taken a Bliss Potion . . .all over a few waffles, mind." She chuckled. "You should have seen him the other night, Minerva. He sat down here for hours, watching Flitwick decorate the trees. Just sat on the floor staring, as if he'd never seen anything so wondrous. Then when Flitwick asked him if he'd like to help place the stars on top, I thought the lad was going to cry! When Flitwick levitated him to place the stars, Harry's face glowed brighter than the ornaments."

"Really?" Minerva smiled, wishing she had been there to see Harry so happy. She would have to thank Flitwick for his kindness to the boy.

"It's odd, really," Sprout continued offhandedly. "Potter's reactions, I mean. They're almost too excessive. . .at times he seems overwhelmed by even the most ordinary of holiday traditions. It's as if the boy had never celebrated Christmas before."

Minerva frowned. "Well, Harry was raised by Muggles. . . he's never experienced a wizarding Christmas. I suppose it's all quite new to him."

"I suppose," Sprout shrugged indifferently. "I can't imagine the holidays without magic. . . I feel sorry for the Muggles."

"Hmmm," Minerva glanced down the table at Harry. The boy had slowed his eager devouring of his breakfast and was eating at a more reasonable pace. He chatted happily with Weasley between bites, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed with pleasure. Minerva had to agree with Sprout. The boy was squirming in his seat, brimming with childish merriment. She was reminded again of how small he was. His size and his energy made him seem much younger than his years. She found herself wondering if the boy was always so keyed up at holidays, or if it was merely the enchantment of Hogwarts that excited him so.

She finished her tea thoughtfully and rose, pausing by the First Years as she left the table. "I understand that Hagrid has arranged a sleigh-ride around the lake this morning, for those of you who are interested."

"Brilliant!" Weasley chirped happily.

Harry grinned, then his face fell abruptly. "I can't go," he said quietly. He gave Minerva a meaningful glance from under his bangs. "There's something I need to take care of first."

Minerva nodded in approval. "I believe now might be a good time to attend to that, Harry." Then she smiled encouragingly. "You should have time to take care of that responsibility and still make the sleigh ride. I'll ask Hagrid to wait for you, if you like."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said shyly. He pushed his plate away and rose a bit nervously. Ron threw him a questioning look but Harry only shrugged.

Minerva escorted him out of the Great Hall and gave him a tiny push towards the stairs. "It will be fine - trust me," she murmured kindly. Harry still looked doubtful, but he squared his shoulders and started down the stairs.

He had only reached the first lower landing when he heard footsteps below him. He glanced down the next flight of stairs with some dread. As he feared, a tall, imposing figure swept up the stairs towards him. He paused uneasily and stared at his feet. He took a deep breath and before he could exhale, the dark figure was upon him.

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

Snape stared down at Harry, more than a little unnerved. He had been planning to search out the boy later and speak to him. . . but he hadn't expected to find him here, on the dungeon stairs. He cleared his throat, stalling for a moment to regain his composure.

"Mr. Potter," he said bluntly.

"Good morning, Professor," the boy replied, his voice quavering a bit. He took a visible breath and raised his head to meet Snape's impassive stare. "Sir. . .I. . .I was just on my way to see you."

"Indeed?" Snape noted the slight shaking in the child's hands.

"Yes, sir. I want to apologize. . ."

"No." Snape cut him off brusquely, then winced at the stunned sadness on the boy's face. He glanced around warily.

This is not a conversation I want overheard.

"Come with me, Potter," he ordered quietly. Leading the nervous boy down the stairs, he guided him into the first empty classroom away from his office and Slytherin territory. He closed the door and cast a silencing charm, then turned to the boy. He immediately regretted causing the apprehensive look on Harry's face, and he attempted to soften the scowl on his own.

Come on, Severus. You can do this. If you can face bowing and scraping to the bloody Dark Lord, you can apologize to one small boy! Swallow your pride for once and just do it.

"I interrupted you because you need not apologize, Potter," he began. "No!" he raised a hand to stay the boy's attempted protest. "You do not owe me an apology, Mr. Potter. I owe one to you."

Harry looked so shocked that Snape wondered if he was going to faint.

"I was unreasonably demanding and unfair to you during our last tutoring session," Severus said stiffly, struggling internally with the unfamiliar and embarrassing words. "You did not earn such severe condemnation from me, nor did you deserve my insults. I apologize for my harshness."

There now, that wasn't so hard, was it? I hope it didn't sound as awkward as it felt.

Harry gaped at him, stammering in astonishment. "But. . .uh . . I. . .uh. . . ."

"Articulate as usual, Mr. Potter," Severus smirked, but his tone was amused and lacked any scorn.

"But. . .but I yelled at you," Harry exclaimed guiltily.

"You did," Severus agreed gravely. "And I do not sanction such blatant disrespect for your teachers. However, in this case you were provoked, and as such, are not to blame."

The boy gaped some more, plainly flustered. It was clear he had no idea what to make of his Professor's apology. "I. . . I don't know what to say, sir," he admitted timidly.

"It is customary, when offered an apology, to indicate whether or not that apology is accepted." Severus suggested primly.

"Oh!" Harry blinked. "Of course, sir. I mean, I accept your apology, sir. " A sudden flash of determination lit the boy's face. "But only if you'll accept mine, Professor. I shouldn't have yelled at you or slammed the door - no matter how angry I was. I'm really sorry."

Severus nodded, hoping that the swell of pride and affection he felt at the boy's gallant confession did not show on his face. "Very well, Mr. Potter. I accept your apology." He almost smiled at the child's obvious relief.

"Does this mean you're not angry at me anymore?" the boy asked hopefully.

"No, Potter," Severus replied, an unfamiliar gentleness warming his voice. "I'm not angry."

"Then. . . could we... I mean, may I come back to study again, sometime?" Harry peered up at him shyly.

"That would be acceptable," Severus sighed an inner breath of relief. "We may resume our sessions after the holiday, on the same schedule, if you wish."

"I'd like that," the boy said with a tentative smile. "I've missed them."

Uncertain how to respond, Severus shifted uncomfortably. "Yes. . . well. . . I think you'd best run along, Mr. Potter. I believe there are some entertainments planned for the remaining students. I'm sure you'll wish to be included." He canceled the silencing charm and ushered the boy into the hallway. As Harry turned to go, Severus voiced an impulsive thought.

"Mr. Potter, if you need assistance with your homework during the holiday break, you may come see me after Christmas."

Harry turned and smiled up at him, a mischievous light in his eyes. "Thanks, Professor. Most of the teachers didn't give us any, but. . .I do have this one essay - maybe you could help me with it? My Professor in that class is very strict."

It took all of Severus' control to refrain from returning the boy's cocky smirk. Cheeky brat.

"I have no doubt, Mr. Potter, that your Professor's sternness is necessary to keep you in line," he growled without rancor.

"Oh yes, sir," Harry agreed impishly. "I'd be in constant trouble, otherwise."

"Go outside and get some fresh air, Mr. Potter," Severus sniffed haughtily. "I fear this stuffy dungeon air is making you irrational." He turned and stalked away, ignoring the boy's smothered giggle.

"Goodbye, Professor!" Harry called as he raced noisily up the stairs.

"Good day, Mr. Potter," Severus muttered distractedly, flinching at the thundering clatter of the boy's retreating feet. He went to his lab to finish the next stage of a potion he was researching. He reasoned he should have enough time after, to make a quick trip into Hogsmeade before lunch. . .the stationer's shop there should have what he wanted.

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

As it turned out, Professor McGonagall didn't need to delay the sleigh-ride. Most of the students who signed up for the ride were still hurrying to their dorms for their cloaks when Harry came running up the dungeon stairs. Minerva cast him a quizzical look, and Harry skipped over to her.

"All right, Mr. Potter?" she asked quietly.

"All right, M'am," he nodded happily. "Everything's fine now," he whispered. "We both apologized."

"Did you indeed?" Minerva wondered if she heard that correctly.

Both apologized? Severus Snape apologized? To a Student? I must have misunderstood.

"Good." She gave the boy a distracted nod and shooed him towards the stairs. "Run up to your dorm, now, and put on something warm. It's quite cold out this morning." She glanced up at an approaching student. "Mr. Newbury! Have you lost your senses, child? That cloak is much too light! Go change it at once!" The chastised student blushed and hurried away. "And put on a jumper!" Minerva bellowed after him testily. "Hurry up, Mr. Potter!" she admonished.

Ron waved at him from the doorway. "Hurry up, Harry! I'll save you a seat!"

Harry raced up to the Tower to change for the sleigh-ride, his heart overflowing with contentment. This was turning out to be the best Christmas ever! Now that Snape wasn't mad at him anymore, he could relax and just enjoy it all.

He pondered the grim Professor's unexpected apology while pulling on Dudley's old navy jumper. (It was too large, of course, and worn a little thin, but it was the warmest one he had. It should be okay with his school cloak over it, he decided.)

I certainly never thought I would ever hear Snape say he's sorry about anything. He wasn't even snarky about it, and he didn't yell once!

Mystified, Harry threw on his cloak and grabbed his Gryffindor muffler. Then he raced back down to meet the others gathering in the castle entrance.

Maybe Snape missed our sessions too. Maybe he likes me just a little.

With this unlikely but happy thought, Harry wriggled his way through the small knot of chattering children to join Ron, eagerly awaiting Hagrid's arrival at the front of the line.

A few hours after the marvelous Christmas feast, Harry knocked gently on the door to Professor Snape's quarters. For a moment, he almost lost his nerve, and thought of running for safety. But before he could flee, the door jerked open, and Snape glared down at him. His irritated expression softened almost immediately.

"Yes, Potter?"

"Good afternoon, sir. May I.. . ? That is, I was hoping I could. . . uhm," Harry wanted to smack himself for getting so tongue-tied. "Uh. . . . . . HAPPY CHRISTMAS, SIR!" he blurted loudly, practically shouting in his nervousness.

Snape winced. "I'm not deaf, Mr. Potter," he smirked with mild amusement, "And thank you," he replied. "Happy Christmas to you."

"Thanks, sir," Harry sighed in relief. At least he seems to be in a good mood.

"I'm glad you stopped by, Potter," Snape said, stepping aside.

"You are?" Harry blinked stupidly at him.

"Yes. Well, come in, boy!" he prompted, motioning Harry forward.

Harry entered the familiar room and watched the Professor cross to the hearth. He took a small package from the mantle and held it out to Harry. "I did not get a chance to speak with you this morning, but I wished to give you this."

"For me?" Harry gaped at him. "You got me a Christmas present?"

Snape's expression tensed and he answered stiffly. "Well, let's call it a small reward for your scholastic progress, shall we?" He shook the package at him a bit impatiently.

Harry took the neatly wrapped package and sat on the sofa by the fire. He opened it carefully, not tearing at the paper exuberantly as his natural impulse dictated. He somehow didn't think the staid professor would appreciate such lack of control. He opened the slender box and examined the quill and ink inside. The quill was silky and graceful - exquisitely fashioned, with a solid gold nib and Hanson's Never-Leak etched along the spine in tiny calligraphy. The small bottle of ink was a deep purple, almost black, with just a touch of silver glitter mixed in. Harry gasped and stared at them in awe, touching the quill reverently. "Oh, Professor! They're. . .they're brilliant! I've...I've never seen anything so - so special! Thank you!"

"Yes, well. . .it's just a trifle, really," Snape seemed a bit taken-aback by Harry's enthused response. "Your penmanship has sufficiently improved to handle slightly finer writing implements. Since you only possess the most rudimentary utensils, I felt it was time you were better equipped. You will note this quill is charmed not to leak," he explained firmly. "That means I expect clean parchment from you in future, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir! Thank you, Professor." Harry smiled bashfully, then fumbled in the pocket of his robes, his face flushing a pale pink. "I, um, I brought you something too, Professor," he admitted, thrusting a folded parchment at Snape a bit hastily.

Snape took it with a quizzical glance, examining it silently for several minutes.

Oh. This was really stupid! He won't like it. I'm so dumb!

Harry's insecurity rose with the heat in his cheeks, and he cringed in embarrassment. "Um- it's nothing special," he muttered glumly. "I mean, it's just a Christmas card I made. I- uh - I wanted to get better presents for everyone, but I didn't have the chance, so I just thought. . .anyway, it's nothing, really."

Snape looked up and stared at him with an odd expression. His black eyes glittered enigmatically and he cleared his throat. "It's a very nice effort, Mr. Potter," he said gravely. "Did you paint this illustration yourself?" He pointed to the watercolor on the cover, of an owl perched on a snowy branch.

"Yes, sir," Harry admitted. "It's Hedwig, sir. My owl. She posed for me so I could paint it."

"I see." Snape opened the card again. "And this greeting - you composed this?"

"Yes, sir," Harry watched him hopefully.

"A most gratifying sentiment," Snape nodded, a tight, reluctant smile pursing his lips. He gave Harry a long intent look, then spoke solemnly. "Thank you, Mr. Potter. It was considerate of you to think of me. I am most pleased."

"You're welcome, sir," Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully, Snape didn't seem to think his homemade gift was too terribly lame. . .at least he was polite enough not to say so, if he did. "Well. I guess I'd better go now. Ron and his brothers are waiting for me outside," Harry edged for the door, feeling a bit awkward. "Would it be all right if I come back tomorrow night, to work on my potions essay?"

"That will be fine," Snape nodded. "I am working on some research tomorrow, but I should be available after seven. You may come then."

"Thanks, Professor," Harry let himself out with a tentative wave. "Goodbye, sir. And thanks again for the present. It's great!" He closed the door and raced down the dungeon corridor, both relieved and a little pleased.

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

Snape studied the parchment in his hands, an unexpected glow warming his chest. It was a primitive creation, a bit sloppy and childish. . .but the watercolor was surprisingly good, considering the youth of the artist. It would seem the boy had some talent, as well as obvious affection for his subject. The snowy owl looked almost real against the too-blue sky behind it.

He opened the homemade card and reread the painstakingly neat inscription.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Professor Snape;

Thank you for all the help you have given me in my studies and for helping me learn to write better. And thank you for letting me stay for tea all those times. I really liked it.

I hope you have a very Happy Christmas.

Sincerely Yours,

Harry Potter

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Snape smiled - a genuine smile now, for there was no one to see it. He rarely received gifts from his students, except for Draco, of course. He could count on one hand how many times it had happened over the years. He wasn't flattered by most of them - the impersonal gifts were usually some failing student's ludicrous ploy to win favor. Only occasionally had a student expressed real gratitude for his teaching.

Harry's card was different. He had put personal effort into it, and Snape did not doubt his sincerity. He hated to admit it, but he was rather touched by the boy's gesture. Snape thought of all the brightly decorated cards the other Professors shared and bragged over every Christmas, and he felt oddly vindicated. He might not have a desk covered with flashy holiday accolades, like Flitwick or McGonagall - or even Albus himself. But this one card was worth far more to him than all their superficial greetings and good wishes.

He glanced around the room for a moment, wanting to keep the parchment handy, but not accessible to prying eyes. He deplored the bizarre Muggle custom of displaying sheets of children's doodles on kitchen appliances, and he especially didn't want Albus to discover it. A friendly card from Harry Potter might be a little difficult to explain. He finally carried it into his bedroom, and propped it up on his bedside table, where he could be certain no one else would ever see it. He wandered back into the lounge to treat himself to a warm brandy, in honor of the season. Then he sat before the fire and pondered Harry's reaction to his own gift.

He was genuinely pleased, I think. . . almost stunned. No doubt he never expected a gift from me. It was a very fine quill, of course. . .the best quality, and a tad expensive. . . but I didn't really expect a child to recognize that. Harry did, though. I could see it in his face. . .such an expressive face.. . . .everything the child thinks shows on it. I was afraid the gift might seem too stuffy a choice for a child his age. Well. I'm glad he was happy.

He nursed his brandy and enjoyed the fire for the rest of the afternoon. When he rose before dark and began to dress in his warmest robes, he was feeling especially mellow and contented, and he looked forward to his secret rendezvous to come.

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

Harry rushed out of the common room and hurried down the vacant stairs, praying that Peeves was occupied elsewhere this evening. It had taken him almost twenty minutes to convince Ron to play a game of chess with Percy, and another ten to slip away unnoticed. Dusk was approaching quickly and he worried he would be too late. At the second floor, he sat and yanked off his shoes, hiding them behind a suit of armor. He skittered along the empty corridor in his sock feet, ignoring the cold stone floor. This was one time he definitely didn't want to be heard!

He swiftly reached his destination - a little alcove tucked away at the furthest end of the corridor. Hidden in the shadows of the alcove was an old door that lead to a small abandoned turret. Harry had found the place earlier that day while exploring, and knew it was perfect for his purposes. A soft ‘alohamora' (Thank you, Hermione!) unlocked the door, and the oil he had swiped from Filch and applied generously to the ancient hinges, ensured his arrival in the empty structure went unnoticed. He dropped to his knees and crawled across the chilly, cramped turret to the tiny window. Listening intently, he slowly raised his head and peeked over the stone casing.

Down below, the snowy north lawn sparkled in the final glow of the dying day. It was encircled and protected by evergreens; a deserted upland tucked against the north rampart. A history of fierce winter winds ensured no other windows breached this wall of the castle, and the lawn beyond was secluded and rarely visited by either student or staff.

Tonight was an exception, however, for two staff members had claimed the isolated slope for their own, according to a private tradition that they did not share with their colleagues. . . (who most likely would not have believed them anyway). One of them - an elderly witch of surprising agility - took a stance at the western edge of the lawn, behind the cover of a gale-worn Frazier fir, its branches heavy with snow. The growing mound of frozen spheres at her feet were small but cunningly fashioned, for both speed and accuracy. She added to the mound with determined industry, all the while keeping a sharp eye peeled for her hidden opponent.

Her adversary - a tall, graceful specter of a wizard - slipped soundlessly between the deepening shadows, apparently preferring mobility over fortification. He, too, molded snowy globes in preparation, but instead of stockpiling them in a single location, he scattered his ammunition around the park-like lawn, behind numerous trees and shrubs, to facilitate his own roving style of combat.

The combatants moved silently, speaking not a word, but keeping a close watch on the shifting shadows with a growing sense of anticipation. The quiet was finally broken when the chimes of the clock in the Hogwarts Tower began to ring out over the white landscape. On the fifth chime, a brief hush settled once more, only to be shattered by a shrill, blood-curdling yell that made every hair stand on end.

Minerva McGonagall had darted from behind her cover with a rousing battle cry that would have made her Scots warrior-ancestors proud. She hurled a glistening snowball with deadly accuracy, smacking the startled Potions Master right between his eyes. Snape gasped and sputtered crossly, then whirled to take cover while letting loose a rapid barrage of snowy bullets of his own.

McGonagall ducked behind her living shelter with a shriek, avoiding all but one of Snape's missiles. Shaking the snow from her shoulder, she proceeded to launch one snowball after another with impressive speed. Snape, however, was almost too fast for her. He twisted and leapt from one cover to another like a whirling black shadow, flinging his icy weapons with an erratic rhythm that was hard to anticipate. More than once, McGonagall jumped out from her barricade taking aim in one direction, only to be showered with a snowy bombardment from another.

She finally retreated to a position of defense, and waited breathlessly for the man to come to her. Snape of course, could not resist the challenge, and he crept forward, recklessly within her range, to try and draw her out. It proved a less than successful strategy. Perched within the safety of her snow-covered fir, McGonagall snickered, patiently firing icy volleys at Snape every time he moved.

By the time the last rays of sunset were fading into dusk, Snape appeared to have suffered the worst of the skirmish. While McGonagall's dark green cape and tartan cap were mostly dry and free of snow, Snape looked like a stalking polar bear. His black cape had grown soggy, and great clumps of white clung to nearly every inch of him, from his damp hair to his black boots. Convinced of another victory, McGonagall called out to him, smugly offering him the chance to surrender honorably. Silence met her teasing offer, and she studied the nearby trees with some amusement.

"Come, come, Severus! Concede and let's be done with it! You must be freezing, you poor dear!" she taunted, chuckling wickedly. Still no answer was returned, and Minerva began to speculate on what the wily wizard was up to. Several long minutes passed.

"Severus Snape, if you have retreated and left me here to freeze in this bloody bush, I'll denounce you as a coward to the whole student body!" she yelled in exasperation.

"Now would I do such a thing?" came a low, silky voice just behind her.

Minerva whirled and tried to rise from her low crouch, but she was too badly startled and Snape was too fast. With a roguish grin, Severus offered her a mock bow, then shook the trunk of her sheltering fir with savage force. With a shriek of outrage, Minerva went down under a cold wet blanket of snow, as the tree was freed from its heavy burden.

"You! You. . .!" she sputtered, shaking her head furiously. A shower of snow scattered around her. Snape laughed. . .a rich, hearty, triumphant laugh that would have shocked his students to the core. "You cheated!" Minerva pronounced with mock indignation.

"But of course, dear lady," Severus chuckled, leaning down to help her to her feet. He brushed the snow from her cloak, laughing when she shook herself like an offended housecat.

"Tradition calls for snowballs, Severus - not an avalanche!" Minerva complained. "That wasn't fair!"

"All's fair in war and love, Minerva," Snape teased. He cast a quick drying and warming spell on them both and eyed her with a grin. "So - do you concede - or shall we continue the battle?"

Minerva snorted and gave him an evil look. Then she sighed in submission. "Oh, all right. I concede - under protest, mind you. It's too cold to argue about it. Let's retire to my fire - I've a new bottle of the Highland's best that should warm us up nicely."

"An excellent proposal," Severus agreed, gallantly taking her arm and ushering her back across the cold expanse of snow to the castle.

"I still think you're a shifty, double-crossing snake, Severus," Minerva commented curtly.

"Why thank you, Minerva! Flattery is unnecessary, however."

She smacked him playfully on the back of the head, but the tall Potion Master only chuckled.

Unobserved, a dozen feet above their heads, a small boy smothered his giggles with tightly-clenched hands, and held his breath until the stately pair had long disappeared into the castle. Then, with a little chortle and numerous poorly-controlled snickers, he snuck back to his dorm with shoes in hand and a gleeful grin on his face.

The day after Christmas, most of the teaching staff appeared to have run out of holiday spirit.  Nearly all had appeared at breakfast looking somewhat tired and lethargic.  Snape never showed, and even Professor McGonagall wore her more customary strict expression, snapping impatiently at two Hufflepuffs for giggling at the table.  Only the Headmaster seemed as cheery as ever, smiling and winking at Harry when he helped himself to a second cinnamon danish.

As Harry and Ron were leaving the table, he called Harry over with a wave, his blue eyes twinkling in that way Harry found a bit unnerving.  "That's a very handsome jumper, Harry," he complimented.

Harry grinned and ran a loving hand over his handmade jumper. "Mrs. Weasley made it -  just for me!" he exclaimed with no small amount of wonder.  He was inordinately proud of the jumper. It had been made especially for Harry, no one else - it fit fairly well, and best of all,  Dudley hadn't worn it first!

"Most attractive," Dumbledore nodded. "I trust you are having a pleasant holiday, Harry."

"Oh, yes sir!  It's the best Christmas I ever had!"

"I am glad you're enjoying yourself. Christmas is my favorite holiday as well," the Headmaster beamed. "And where are you boys off to now?"

"We're meeting Fred and George in the quad," Ron explained. "For a snowball fight!"

"Ah!  Excellent!" Dumbledore chirped.  "Do toss a few for my sake, won't you?"

Harry cut a glance at Professor McGonagall.  Her face remained stern but she gave him a quick, almost undetectable wink, and he bit his lip to keep from grinning. He followed Ron out, snickering to himself.

The three remaining days of holiday flew by for Harry.  His days were spent with Ron and his brothers by the common room fire, out playing in the snow, or flying around the Quidditch pitch in the cold crisp afternoons.  His evenings were spent in Snape's quarters, learning to use his fancy new quill and working on his potions essay. At Ron's insistent inquiries, he finally abandoned the detention excuse: even Ron wouldn't believe the snarky Potions Master was allowed to assign detentions during holiday break.  He told Ron that he had asked Snape for assistance with his potions work.  Ron was predictably incredulous. 

"Are you mental?" he'd shrieked.  "You actually volunteered to spend more time with that Greasy Git???"

"I want to pass Potions, Ron.  And at this rate I never will, without help," Harry had explained.  "And he's not so bad. . .I mean, not outside of class anyway."

"You're taking the piss, aren't you?" Ron had sneered skeptically.

  Fred and George had unexpectedly come to Harry's defense.

"Harry's right, Ron. .."

"Snape's not that dreadful. . ."

"....sometimes..."

"...relatively speaking."

"And he's right helpful when you approach him. . ."

"..the right way, that is."

"He's dead brilliant with potions, you know. . ."

"...he's helped us many times with our experiments."

Even Percy chimed in, in his own pompous way.  "I think it's admirable of Harry to ask for Professor Snape's assistance.  I'm glad to see one of you is taking his studies seriously."

Despite their reasonings, Ron made it clear he thought no need was great enough to spend extra study time with Snape, but he eventually let the subject drop.

Harry had his own uncertainties to worry about. He had been the first to suspect Snape of trying to steal whatever was hidden on the third floor - whatever that three-headed monster-dog was hiding.  It was only reasonable - after all, Snape had been injured Halloween night by something.  And Hermione had insisted that Snape had cursed Harry's broom during the Quidditch match. The fact that the curse ended when she set Snape's robes on fire was certainly persuasive.

But Harry was no longer so sure of his earlier convictions.  It just didn't make sense any more.  If Snape wanted to hurt him, he'd had endless opportunities - Harry was alone with the man twice a week.  And even if Snape avoided those chances for fear of being obvious, it didn't explain why he had been so nice to him.  McGonagall had made it clear Snape didn't have to tutor him. He didn't have to give Harry tea and biscuits.  And he surely didn't have to buy him a Christmas present.  He wouldn't do that if he wanted to hurt Harry, would he?

Harry hadn't expressed his doubts to Ron, but he worried and wondered over the matter, his confusing thoughts circling round and round in his head.  After he'd found the Mirror of Erised - and before the Headmaster told him not to look for it again - he had sat before the Mirror for hours, gazing at his Mum and Dad and wishing desperately that he could ask them for their advice.  But something told him not to seek outside guidance on the matter - not even from McGonagall or the Headmaster.  His instincts told him Snape wouldn't want him discussing his doubts.

On the last evening before the next term began, Harry sat brooding at Snape's table, staring unseeing at his potions essay.  His attention kept wandering, and he was deep in other thoughts when Snape finally commented.

"Aren't you done with that essay yet?"

Harry jumped guiltily and nodded.  He rose and brought it over to the man by the fire, then sat on the sofa without waiting for an invitation, his brow furrowed thoughtfully.  "Professor - may I ask you something?"

Snape glanced up.  "You may."

Harry blushed a little, unsure how to voice his query without angering the man. "Why do you...I mean. . .do you?. . .um. . ."

"Spit it out, Potter," Snape sneered.

"Oh. . .I just wondered....why are you so mean to me?" he blurted hesitantly. "In class, I mean?"

There was a long pause as Snape stared at him, his dark expression inscrutable. Harry felt like crawling under the sofa, and was just about to attempt a hasty retreat when Snape sighed irritably. He set the essay down and studied Harry intently. 

Harry flushed under his scrutiny. "I'm sorry, sir," he mumbled uncomfortably.  "I didn't mean to..."

"I expected this," Snape said pensively, almost as if speaking to himself.  "That doesn't make it any easier to . . . ."  he frowned.  "This may be difficult for you to comprehend, Mr. Potter, but I suppose you deserve some kind of explanation."  He folded his hands in his lap and peered sternly at him.  "The first thing you must understand, is that anything I say to you must go no further than this room.  You may not share it with your little friends, or another teacher...you must not speak of this to anyone, Potter. No one - not even the Headmaster. Is that quite clear?"  His grim expression made it plain that noncompliance on this point would have dire consequences.

"Yes, sir," Harry gulped.  "I understand."

"Will you give me your word that you will not repeat this?"

"Yes, sir.  I promise."  Harry felt both anxious and a bit proud that the aloof man would confide in him.

"There is much I would like to explain to you - much I would divulge if I could.  But I cannot.  There are some issues you are, quite frankly, still too young to understand. . .and others - well, other secrets are simply not mine to reveal." He paused to judge Harry's reaction.  Harry wanted to protest the ‘too young' remark but wisely only nodded.

"The best I can offer, is simply to tell you that there are reasons - very crucial reasons - why I must treat you differently in public than I do in private.  There are people who, if they suspected our ‘improved' relationship, could make both our lives. . .uncomfortable." He frowned. "Do you understand?"

"Not really," Harry admitted timidly, ". . .but if you say so, then I believe you."

"I'm sorry I can't be more explicit.  I can only ask you to trust me.  As unpleasant as it may be for both of us, I must continue to treat you in class as I always have. . .I must continue to be antagonistic toward you." 

Harry slumped forlornly. Snape leaned forward and fixed him with an intent stare.  "Please believe this, Mr. Potter. . . that no matter how angry or belligerent I may appear to you; no matter how insulting I may be publically, it is only a façade.  It is not my true attitude."  He sat back and glanced away as if slightly embarrassed. "My genuine estimation of you is quite different.  In truth of fact, I find you to be considerably more intelligent and amiable than I previously judged."

Harry fought not to gape at him.  "Really?"

"Yes," Snape muttered uncomfortably, giving him a small glare.  "And do not fish for compliments, Potter. It is enough to say that I consider you to be a satisfactory child, not unpleasant to be around. . . when you are not breaking rules, and causing mayhem!" he growled.

"Oh. . .t-thank you, sir," Harry stammered bashfully.

"Do not take my remarks as license to misbehave, however.  You will find yourself in a great deal of trouble if you do - is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!" Harry nodded emphatically.

"As I have stated, my revised opinion of you must remain confidential. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir,"  Harry replied gravely, hiding the fierce glow of pride he felt inside. "It's a secret - just between you and me."

"That is correct."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said softly.  "So - if you yell at me in class, I promise I won't let on that you don't really mean it."

"I do not yell, Mr. Potter," Snape glared at him.  "I reprimand," he sniffed indignantly. 

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded, unable to suppress a dubious smirk.

"And now, Mr. Potter, you may return to your task," Snape huffed sourly, holding out the essay with a stern frown.  "There are three spelling errors within the first twelve inches alone!  Kindly correct this at once.  And do be quick about it. . .it is late and I would like to have my tea sometime this evening."

"Yes, sir," Harry grabbed the parchment and hurried back to the table to revise his essay. Half an hour later, after his teacher had finally accepted his modifications, the two sat in comfortable silence enjoying their nightly snack.  Harry found it very hard to suppress the foolish grin that desperately wanted to spread across his face.  Snape had not only said he didn't want to be mean to Harry, but had almost told him he liked him, sort of.  He had told Harry a secret and clearly trusted him to keep it.   AND he told Roker to bring the peanut butter biscuits, too!  Harry couldn't have been more pleased and content.

Snape sent him off early, well before curfew, admonishing him to get a decent night's sleep for a change. "No wandering the corridors tonight, Potter," he scolded mildly. "You have had nearly a week to sleep in as you pleased.  Your holiday is over. I want to see you alert and well-rested at breakfast tomorrow."

"Yes, sir!" Harry promised, letting himself out.  "Good night, Professor!"

"Good night, Harry," Snape acknowledged distractedly.

Harry ambled slowly back to the Tower, hugging himself and smiling with secret delight.

He called me Harry!

Life for both students and staff settled into a somewhat grueling routine after the holidays.  Focus shifted to classes and study, overlaid with a renewed sense of urgency.  Fifth and Seventh Year students exhibited a kind of restrained panic, feverishly revising for their OWL and NEWT exams that were now only months away.  The other Years faced yearend exams of their own that, though not as critical, were still important to their grades and class ranking.

The cold wet weather further encouraged a scholastic emphasis, inhibiting outdoor activities and confining  most of the student body inside the castle, where they spent their free hours in the library or common areas. Exceptions to this were the House Quidditch teams, which continued their practices regardless of the weather conditions.

Personally, Snape thought such zeal was rather absurd.  He appreciated Quidditch as a healthy sport for students that encouraged house unity, and had the added advantage of helping to expend the annoying excess energy that children seemed to generate.  But he didn't approve of practice sessions in bad weather that exposed the team members to increased injury and  illness. He had better sense than to express his disapproval - such sentiments would have been considered heretical in a wizarding school. But he did pay close attention to his own team, keeping tabs on their state of health and cunningly steering them into indoor strategy sessions when the weather was especially nasty.

He also made a habit of monitoring Harry's health - subtly of course, without making his concerns obvious.  He lectured the boy several times on the merits of warm, suitable practice attire and on the importance of post-training precautions.  He made the boy vow to take hot showers and dress warmly after every practice, and furtively observed the child's eating habits - scolding him when he consumed too many sweets and not enough vegetables. On one occasion, he had even forced the boy to do lines as penalty for not wearing his gloves during a particularly wet, bitterly cold practice session.  Harry seemed bewildered by his teacher's reaction, but he accepted his punishment without complaint - and didn't forget his gloves again.

Their tutoring sessions continued;  a routine that had become somewhat comfortable for them both.  Severus was particularly pleased to note that Harry's potion skills were improving.  He was still nervous around Snape, and tended to make more mistakes if his teacher hovered near him in class.  On realizing this, Snape had made a point to keep his distance.  When he did, the boy performed much better. Harry had even begun to coach Longbottom into some semblance of tenuous  - well, not competency, really -  but at least the dunderhead blew up fewer cauldrons.

Despite their growing familiarity, Severus still sensed a hesitancy in Potter - a kind of wariness he couldn't decipher. He expected most students to fear him, but he had taken pains after their quarrel to keep his temper in check around Harry, particularly in the privacy of his quarters.  Still the child displayed anxiety around him at times, and had taken to staring at Snape often, with a chary, almost quizzical expression on his far too unguarded face.

Snape wanted to confront him - to question the boy's odd looks and uneasiness - but he had no idea how to broach the subject.  Severus had little experience in open discussion about emotions, and the thought of introducing such a topic made him extremely uncomfortable.  His epiphany at Christmas had given him the motivation, but not the skills to alter his behavior.  He finally accepted that such a major adjustment in his approach, both to Harry and to students in general, was not something he could achieve on his own.  He loathed the idea of exposing his self-doubts to anyone, but knew he would need guidance in effecting changes so radically different from his habitual behavior.

He had toyed briefly with the idea of speaking with Minerva.  He considered her a friend, if not a true confidante, and he trusted her implicitly. But his stubborn pride would not allow him to bring the matter up with the sharp-tongued woman.  Expressing a desire to change meant admitting that his former conduct was wrong, and Severus was not big on admissions of fault.

The only one who had heard such confessions - the only one Severus trusted enough to surrender his pride to, was Albus Dumbledore.   The Headmaster knew more about Severus Snape than any person alive.  He had sat silent and sympathetic, on a night ten years ago, listening to a weeping Severus spill out his worst crimes - his darkest, deepest sins and secrets in a broken litany of anguish and remorse.  He had not judged or condemned - but had forgiven Severus, and had directed him patiently on a path of atonement that Severus knew would last a lifetime. 

Severus set his grading work aside and glanced up at the clock on the wall.  It was nearly teatime on a Sunday afternoon - a good time for a leisurely chat, perhaps.  He was not scheduled for hall monitor duty until after curfew;  the students were busy at their usual weekend activities, whatever those might be, with a late snowstorm stranding them inside where they would be less likely to get into trouble.  He had checked on his Snakes after lunch. Most were gathered into their study groups as required by Snape's house rules, except for a few malingerers in the infirmary attempting an early start on the usual Sunday night illnesses designed to excuse them from Monday morning classes. Severus wasn't concerned about these slackers.  He and Poppy had a firm understanding:  only those Slytherins who were truly ill would find sympathy from the medi-witch.  The pretenders would be reported and would face Snape's discipline later. 

He decided now was as good a time as any to talk to Dumbledore about his recent new insights. He would probably receive only minor help, couched in cheerful clichés and pleas for tolerance, but it was worth a try.  As he left his office in route for the Headmaster's office, Severus contemplated his complex relationship with Albus. 

Their closeness had unfortunately dimmed somewhat over time.  In the lull of years after the Dark Lord's downfall, when most non-incarcerated Death Eaters were either quiescent or in hiding, Severus had submitted to the dull routine of teaching that Albus had required for his penance.  He had never liked teaching.  He was uncomfortable around children; he didn't understand them and didn't want to.  He would have preferred private research to the constant stress of babysitting students he considered too immature and irresponsible to bother with.   He believed he had been assigned to the job, not for his skills, but to keep him close at hand and under the Headmaster's constant scrutiny and control.  Despite his gratitude , Severus was a fiercely independent wizard, and he had begun to chaff under that continual supervision.

He had also begun to suspect that Albus, too, had changed.  He never doubted the man's intentions. He knew the old wizard cared for him and wanted what was best for everyone.  But he was even more stubborn than Severus - and just as resistant to admitting his own mistakes. 

When he was younger, the Headmaster had been noted for his objectivity and broadminded administration. He had welcomed debate and always listened to opposing views with genuine consideration. But over the last decade, he had seemed to grow less interested in the opinions of others, and less inclined to reconsider his own decisions.  He still listened patiently, but was quick to dismiss any disagreement with a kind of gentle condescension than Severus found rather infuriating.  Other staff members had also recognized the Headmaster's growing obduracy and were reluctant to challenge him. Most of them had ceased voicing any opinions at all and rarely questioned his decisions now.

Albus Dumbledore was a wise and powerful wizard, and Severus respected and trusted him more than any other living person.  But he wasn't infallible,  and he could be maddeningly obstinate.  Sometimes Severus suspected the old wizard had come to depend upon the awe and near-worshipful veneration afforded him by most of the students and staff, as if their reverence was not only warranted, but expected.  He had even wondered on occasion, if the old man was becoming slightly senile.  But Severus' loyalty and gratitude heavily out-weighed any misgivings he might have about the wizard who had redeemed him from a dangerous slide into Darkness, and he still valued the man's counsel.  He resolved to seek that advice now,  hoping the old Headmaster could offer some useful guidance on teaching - a profession he had neither liked or wanted, but now found he wished to perform with some degree of competence. 

As he muttered the latest inane password and rode the moving stairs to Albus' office, Severus was not at all surprised to find the Headmaster waiting for him, tea tray already placed on the desk between them. He wasn't sure how the old wizard did it, but he always seemed to know more than he should about Severus' movements. Severus suspected the castle portraits provided the Headmaster with his very effective surveillance, and he was paranoid enough not to allow any  portrait to be hung in his private quarters.

He declined the offered candy (once again) and sipped his tea while explaining the subject that was on his mind.  He didn't divulge the circumstances of his change in attitude.  He had no intention of revealing his altered relationship with Potter, nor the accusations he had overheard.  If Dumbledore knew Snape no longer despised his precious Golden Boy, the old man's smugness would be insufferable.   Instead, he expressed dissatisfaction with the results of the school's Potions OWLS.  He was aware that few Hogwarts students had earned more than an Acceptable in the last decade.  Most students dropped Potions after fifth year, and his NEWTS classes were  embarrassingly small.  He gravely explained that he felt he had to accept some responsibility for his students' poor showing.

"I still maintain, you understand, that most of them are empty-headed dunderheads incapable of learning the fine art of potion-making," he stated stiffly. "I fully believe that the superior grade averages of students from other magical schools is the result of lax testing and overgenerous grading practices."

"That said," he continued with a sniff, "I have enough pride and loyalty to my school and my country to be displeased with the poor ranking that our own students generate in potions overall.  It is, frankly, very disturbing to me that so few British wizards are adept at potions.  I think it would be a mistake to allow this trend to continue."

"An excellent point," Albus agreed with a solemn smile, his eyes twinkling even more annoyingly than usual.  "What do you propose, Severus?"

"Since I am accountable, in a purely professional sense,  for my students' success, I feel I must take it upon myself to better insure their understanding of the subject," Severus admitted reluctantly. "I fear it may require a change in my teaching methods."

"Indeed," Albus murmured kindly.  "What sort of change did you have in mind?"

"I have no idea," Snape confessed bluntly.  "I was hoping with your experience, you might offer some recommendations."

"Hmmm," Albus eyed him over his tea cup, his expression clearly pleased. "I might be able to make a few suggestions.  Let me ask you this, Severus: In your opinion, how do your students view you?"

"View me?"

"How do they feel about you - as a teacher?"

Snape snorted.  "You know perfectly well they are terrified of me! I work very hard to insure that they are!  What difference does it make how they feel? I'm only interested in what they learn."

"Yes, but one thing I have discovered in my long experience, is that how children feel, often influences how well they learn."

"Headmaster, if you are suggesting that I suddenly become kind and friendly toward the little brats, you have clearly forgotten everything you have ever understood about me," Snape glowered at him.

"No, Severus, that is not what I am suggesting," Albus smirked.

"I am not Flitwick or Sprout, Albus.  I am not charming, nor am I compassionate.  I am a hard man. A cold man.  I cannot change who I am."

"Perhaps not," Albus agreed, clearly attempting to placate him.  "But it is possible to be stern and demanding, without frightening them into submission."

Severus' lip curled dubiously.

"Think about it, Severus," Albus encouraged. "I know it is not in your nature to verbally encourage a student, but you might be able to reach more of them (and lessen the chance of accidents)  if the tension in your classroom was not so. . . . elevated. You have said yourself that your students fear you.  Has it not occurred to you that  many of your students may be far more concerned with not incurring your wrath, than in actually learning potions? Perhaps their fear of you may be the prime reason they do not learn."

Severus grimaced.  "I suppose it may be.  I suppose, to some extent, that I may have been too eager to promote such fear."

 "I know you value discipline.  And I understand your concern for safety.  I wouldn't expect you to endanger your students by becoming permissive. But it might be advantageous to exert your authority in a more professional, less personal way. To offer calmer correction and criticisms to your students regarding their work only, without attacking them individually or personally - without assaulting their self-esteem."

Severus snorted.  He had never concerned himself with a student's self-esteem.  It sounded suspiciously like coddling to him.

"If, as you say, you truly wish to improve your students'  understanding of your subject, you might consider at least moderating your rather acerbic responses," Albus offered gently.

"Very well," Severus conceded.  "It is something to consider.  I will reflect on your suggestions, Albus, and think about ways to  be less. . . ruthless."

"I believe you would be pleased with the results if you do, Severus. Students don't deserve or require ‘ruthlessness'. After all - they are children, not dangerous enemies."

"I'm not sure I would agree, Albus," Snape sneered.  "You have obviously not  seen Longbottom poised over a lit cauldron. I would almost rather take my chances with a dozen Death Eaters."

Dumbledore smiled ruefully. "Yes.  Well, Mr. Longbottom is a bit of a challenge, I must admit.  But I'm sure you'll sort him out.  I have complete faith in you, Severus."

Severus rose, and shook his head with a sigh. "I know you do, Albus. . . though Merlin knows why you do."

"Another truth that my long years has taught me, my dear boy,"  Albus winked. "A truth that might help you as well.  I have learned that people tend to meet the expectations of those who lead them.  If you expect them to fail - they generally do.  If you expect them to succeed - they will often surprise you, and do just that.  You might want to consider that with your students, Severus."

Severus gave him a sardonic grin as he started to leave. "I'll try - but asking me to expect competence from First Year potion students is asking a bit much, even for you."

"All you need is their self-belief, Severus. . .they'll do the rest."

"If you say so, Headmaster," Snape's reply was borderline sarcasm.

"Oh - Severus!  One thing more, if you please," Albus expression abruptly sobered. "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Yes, Headmaster?"

"The upcoming Quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor..."Albus said.  "I'd like you to referee that match."

 "Won't Hooch be there?"

"I'd prefer that you do it."

Severus scowled.  "Whatever for?  I'm no Quidditch expert."

"No - but you are a defense expert," Albus replied calmly.  "And Mr. Potter will be playing."

A flash of understanding lit Severus' face.  "You think he may be attacked again?"

Albus sighed.  "There is always the possibility. Until we know who attacked him during the last game, I'd rather not take the chance."

Snape scowled at him. "Quirrell is the DADA instructor.  Why not ask him?  Or have you finally come to your senses and begun to believe my warnings?"

"Now, Severus," Albus sighed.  "We have no proof that Professor Quirrell is guilty of anything.  Nevertheless, while Professor Quirrell may be competent enough to teach Defense to children, he hasn't exhibited  a great deal of - shall we say, ‘composure in the face of peril'?"

Severus snorted, remembering the stuttering teacher's frightened performance on Halloween night. "I'm not at all convinced that Quirrell was nearly as frightened of that troll as he pretended - I still maintain he let the creature loose himself."

"Whether he did or did not, is not the issue now, Severus," Albus replied somewhat sternly.  "My point is simple.  If Harry Potter is attacked at that match, I want the best possible defender protecting him. . .and that is clearly you."

 "But why referee?  I protected him from the stands before."

"I will be in the stands for this match myself.  I would feel better if he had protection from the air as well."

"All right, Headmaster - as you wish," Severus made a point to sigh with some disgust.  "Although I've never known you to concern yourself too terribly with the dangers that other players face in a match - far be it from me to protest special measures for The-Boy-Who-Lived!" he sneered crisply.  He was careful not to reveal the considerable relief he felt at receiving the assignment.  He had been worried about the impending game, and had already determined to watch over Potter.  Now he wouldn't need to invent a plausible excuse why he was attending a non-Slytherin match. He allowed a sly smile to tug at his lips.  "Of course, you do realize how Minerva and her Gryffindors will respond when they learn that the ‘Greasy Git' - the Head of Slytherin -  is to referee their match?"

Albus grimaced and chuckled lightly.  "I'm not concerned, Severus.  I am certain you would never use such an advantage to revenge yourself on Gryffindor."

"Of course not, Albus," Snape smiled wickedly.

He headed back to the dungeons, smirking over the Headmaster's typically optimistic faith.  The old man had done exactly what he had anticipated,  spouting off platitudes and promoting ‘warm, fuzzy feelings'. He had no intention of taking his self-reform quite that far.  But he had to admit, some of the ideas the old wizard had suggested had merit.

Children are so emotional - and those emotions interfere with their reasoning.  I've always thought provoking those emotions might harden them - toughen them up,  making them learn to think past their childish little feelings. . .  but perhaps I have been wrong. Perhaps their immature little minds are incapable of setting aside their hurt feelings. I have seen that Potter grasps concepts better when he isn't feeling defensive. I thought fear would keep them alert - perhaps it does distract them. 

He returned to his office and studied the pile of essays still waiting to be graded.

I won't lower my standards.  I won't be satisfied with less than excellence. . . .but I suppose I could point out the little dolts' mistakes without adding the insults. . . well, maybe.  If I restrain myself.

He glanced over the first paragraph of the first essay and sighed, dropping his head in his hands and massaging his temples.

This may be harder than I thought. . . .

 "Of all the idiotic, irresponsible, disobedient acts you have committed, Potter, this is the most inexcusable," Severus raged.  "And for you and your little gang of miscreants, that is saying something!"

Harry cowered in his seat, his head bowed, his small hands plucking nervously at his robes.  From the moment he had entered Snape's quarters, he had cringed under the Potion Master's angry tirade, refusing to meet his gaze.

"I hope you enjoyed your little prank, for you will pay dearly for it, I promise you."

"Please don't take points, Professor!" Harry looked up now in obvious panic.  "Please, sir!  Professor McGonagall already took fifty each from us, and. . .and everyone in Gryffindor hates us! They'll kill me if I lose more!  Please, Professor!" he pleaded desperately.

Severus scowled at him.  He knew about the points, of course - and the hostile response from the boy's housemates.  He had been pleasantly surprised that McGonagall had been so harsh - he had expected her to let the Golden Boy off lightly, as Albus no doubt would have.  But he had not been happy about Draco's penalty, and wasn't inclined to be lenient.

"I believe she also took points from Draco Malfoy," Snape retorted.  "And assigned the same detention.  He was the victim of your prank, was he not?"

"He. . .Malfoy was spying on us, sir. . . he just wanted to get us into trouble!  He's a dirty snitch!" Harry protested crossly.

"Professor McGonagall seems to think you purposely lured him out after curfew with the intention of discrediting him.  Is this true?"

"No, sir," Potter denied sullenly.  "We didn't plan that. It's his own fault! If he hadn't been trying to catch us out, he wouldn't have got himself in trouble."

Snape didn't refute this claim, as he suspected it was mostly true.  He had already dismissed Draco's whining complaints, and had refused to intercede for him. If the spoiled boy was to learn accountability, he needed to suffer the consequences of his actions.

Snape refocused his diatribe back to Potter.  "That still does not excuse your behavior.  What were you doing out of your dorm at that hour?  Why were you in the Astronomy Tower? And what was all that nonsense about a dragon?"

"Nothing. . . we weren't doing anything. . . we were just exploring," Harry muttered, not meeting Snape's eyes.

"Do not lie to me, Mr. Potter!" Snape barked, towering over him menacingly. The boy didn't reply, hanging his head again in shamefaced misery. "Very well.  If you refuse to tell the truth, then you leave me no choice but to punish you."  He drew himself up to his most intimidating height.  "I am suspending tonight's tutoring session.  You will scrub cauldrons instead.  Go to my classroom and begin work.  The door is unlocked. I will be along to evaluate your progress shortly."

The boy nodded and rose from the table with a dismal sigh.

"And do not dally, Mr. Potter.  I had better see some spotless cauldrons when I arrive, or you will regret it.  If I catch you sulking or moping instead of working, I will take points.  Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," the boy's reply was barely a murmur, and he hastened to the door.

"I am very disappointed in you, Mr. Potter," Severus scolded in afterthought.  "I expected better of you."

Harry halted at the door and glanced back at him. The boy's pale face looked stricken, and his eyes were filled with sudden tears. "I'm sorry, sir," he whispered, then fled.

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

Minerva McGonagall scowled at the note she had found waiting on her desk.  She read it again, mulling over the implications.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Professor McGonagall,

It is my understanding that you have assigned detention for the four students found out after curfew.  If you have no objections, I would like you to assign these students to Hagrid for their detention.  I wish Messers Potter, Longbottom, Malfoy, and Miss Granger to assist Hagrid with an important task I have appointed to him.

Please have these students report to Mr. Filch tomorrow evening at eleven p.m.  He will escort the students to their detention. 

Thank you for your cooperation, my dear Minerva.

Albus Dumbledore

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Minerva snorted in disdain. 

Objections? Of course I have objections!  For one thing, Hagrid is the last member of the staff to whom I would assign Potter's detention.  He's far too fond of the boy - and Granger and Longbottom,  for that matter.  The only one that big-hearted oaf is likely to discipline, would be Malfoy.

And what is this nonsense about eleven p.m.? That's much too late!  The whole point of curfew is to insure these children get the proper rest.  What's the point of punishing them for being out after hours, by keeping them up even later?  Honestly, Albus - what on earth are you thinking?

She glared at the note in her hand.

Cooperation. . . oh, certainly. As if I would bother to protest to Albus.  It's not like he will listen - not when he gets these hare-brained ideas of his.

She sighed in resignation.

Well, I suppose there's nothing for it.  Whatever the old man has up his sleeve, there's little I can do about it.

She pulled several sheets of parchment towards her and began writing three memos to be delivered at breakfast the next morning.

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

"Potter."  Severus crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently.  The boy looked up nervously from the sink.  "Rinse that cauldron, and then come here."

Harry obeyed, shuffling his feet as he reluctantly approached the grim Potions Master.

"Sit."

Harry sank onto the bench Severus pointed to.  "Have you reconsidered your position, Mr. Potter? Are you ready to tell me the truth?"

Harry hung his head even lower and mumbled, "If I do, it will get a friend in trouble. I don't want to do that."

"It is not your responsibility to conceal another's blame."

Harry just peered up at him helplessly and shook his head.

"Very well," Severus sighed.  "If you tell me the truth, I will not take action against whoever it is you are trying to protect."

Harry seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded hesitantly.  He launched into his tale with some nervousness.  Severus had to fight to keep the growing anger from his face.  When the boy finished, he turned away and paced the floor for a moment to regain control of his temper.

Idiot, idiot boy! And that pea-brained oaf Hagrid - I'll skin him alive!  Endangering those children with a juvenile dragon, for Merlin's sake!  It's lucky they are all in one piece! What in Hades possessed the bloody fool to dump his problems on a couple of eleven-year-old students?

He set his brooding aside for later and studied Harry.  The boy was watching him, waiting for his reaction with an almost fascinated dread.  He wanted to rage at the child - to reduce him to a puddle of weeping remorse. But he had learned Harry responded better to an appeal to his reason and uncompromising principles.

"I understand your wish to help your friend," Severus began sternly.  "And even why you felt a desire to protect him from the consequences of harboring an illegal animal."  He took the seat next to the guilty boy and forced his voice to remain civil and reasonable.  "But Hagrid is an adult, Harry - not one of your dorm mates.  Don't you think it should have been Hagrid's responsibility to rectify his own problem- one he created entirely on his own, I might add?"

Harry shrugged uncertainly. "I guess. . .but he is my friend - and friends should help each other, no matter their age, shouldn't they?  Besides, sometimes I feel like Hagrid is more like my age than a real grownup - don't you?"

"Hmmm," Severus was impressed by the boy's logic.  And he couldn't deny that the Gamekeeper was indeed a bit of an overgrown child.  But he wasn't willing to admit this truth.  It was more important that the boy understand his errors.

"That is not the point, Potter.  Hagrid is a member of this staff.  If he had a dilemma, he should have gone to the Headmaster for assistance.  It is not your job to shield him, or to solve his problems for him.  What's more - it was an extremely dangerous thing to do!  Dragons are volatile creatures - most unpredictable, even when confined.  It could easily have injured either you or Miss Granger."  Harry started to protest, but Severus held up a resolute hand to silence him.  "It does not matter whether you agree with me, Harry.  Even if you fail to see the peril you placed yourselves in, the fact still remains:  you elected to carry out your little nefarious scheme after curfew, in an area that is strictly off limits to students.  You knew what you were doing was wrong, and you chose to do it anyway.  If you do not like the consequences, you have no one to blame but yourself, do you?"

The boy hung his head in shame.  "No, sir."

"Now, can you tell me how you should have handled this situation?" Severus asked a little less harshly.

"I guess I should have convinced Hagrid to tell the Headmaster and let him deal with it," the boy admitted.

"Exactly." Severus approved.

Harry peeked up at him glumly.  "I'm sorry, Professor.  I guess I messed up."

"You did - but I'm more concerned that you learned your lesson from this."

The boy nodded.  "Yes, sir.  I did. I'm really sorry."

"Very well.  Kindly remember this in future, and do not take such unnecessary risks again," Severus scolded mildly.

Harry studied his shoes, one foot digging uneasily at the stone floor.  "Are you still angry with me?" he murmured dejectedly.

"I am not angry, Potter," he replied stiffly.  "I appreciate your willingness to admit to your mistakes."  He rose abruptly, feeling uncomfortable with the unspoken sentiment that hovered between them. "Your punishment is concluded. You may return to your dorm now." He motioned to the door impatiently.

"Thank you, sir.  Goodnight, Professor." Harry slipped quietly from the classroom, looking considerably relieved.

Severus felt his own relief.  He was still a stern authoritarian, although he was growing more tolerant.  He hadn't reprimanded the boy quite so harshly in several months.  He found he had enjoyed it far less than he once did. 

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

"Have you lost your mind, old man?  Are you totally MENTAL?" Severus leaned across Dumbledore's desk, practically spitting with fury.  Albus leaned back defensively, clearly astonished at the younger man's fierce audacity.  "You sent four children out there - into the Forbidden Forest - at night?  With no one but that oaf Hagrid for protection?  What in Merlin's Garters were you thinking???"

"Now, Severus," Albus tried placating him.  "No one knows that forest better than Hagrid.  I have complete faith in him."

"That imbecile you have so much faith in, sent Malfoy and Potter off alone!  They were nearly killed!" Severus nearly shrieked.

"But they're fine, Severus. Don't get so overworked, my dear boy.  You'll give yourself a heart attack," the old wizard crooned soothingly.

Severus huffed in sheer frustration and threw himself into a nearby chair.  "I do not understand you, Albus.  How could you risk the lives of students like that?  Don't you realize what you've done? Those boys might have been seriously injured! How I could possibly justify something like that to Lucius Malfoy? What if the centaur hadn't shown up when he did?  "

"Indeed, Severus.  We are fortunate to have Firenze as an ally," Albus beamed at him, ignoring his angry questions.

Severus glared at him.  "Did you hear the boy's story?  Do you understand what this means?  He's out there, Albus!  He's living off the unicorns!"

"I realize that."

"He's here for one reason, Headmaster!  He's here to steal the Stone.  It was a mistake to keep it here - it endangers the students!"

"You know this is the safest place, Severus.  And he obviously has been unable to reach it.  Our precautions are sufficient. You mustn't worry so."

Severus rose, glaring down at the old wizard with incredulous disgust.  "I hope your optimism proves justified, Headmaster.  If you are wrong, you know who will pay the ultimate price:  your Golden Boy - your own Precious Potter!  He will be the first one that fiend goes after.  And now, thanks to you and your prized oaf Hagrid, He knows Potter! He knows his face - his voice - his scent! He's seen him - spoken with him!  The boy is lucky to still be alive!"

"Oh, I doubt that luck has much to do with it, my dear Severus," Albus smiled slyly. "Our Harry is a very unusual boy. . . most uncommon."

Severus stared at him, desperately trying to conceal his shock.  "I find nothing exceptional about the boy," he replied automatically.  His face felt numb and his lips were stiff.  "On the contrary, I believe Harry Potter could not be more common.  Your faith in the little brat is inexplicable."

He sneered woodenly, while hastily strengthening his Occlumency shields as surreptitiously as he could. "Regardless of whatever heroic daydreams you may have about the invincibility of The-Brat-Who-Lives, Albus, the fact remains, we are facing a real threat, and we need to proceed with even more caution."

"I understand your concerns, Severus, and I appreciate your dedication.  I will rely on you to continue to keep a close eye on things," the old wizard smiled benevolently at him. "I trust you will alert me to any relevant suspicions or information in future."

"Of course, Headmaster," Severus replied haughtily. "You may be sure of it."  He accepted the unspoken dismissal, turned and stalked to the door. "Good night, Albus,"  he murmured, then whirled on his heel and departed with his usual sinister flare.

He waited until he was safely in the dim, undecorated hallways of the dungeon, before letting go and kicking a nearby wall with unrestrained spite.

Senile old man! Optimistic fool!  He's going to get Potter killed before the boy even reaches puberty!

Severus stalked furiously to his quarters, slammed the door shut, and slumped into his chair with a wishful glance at the bottle of Firewhiskey on the bookshelf.  Albus had given him the bottle for Christmas.

Silly old goat.  I'll be damned if I let you do it.  You may be one of the few in my life who ever cared about me . . . but I won't stand by and let you sacrifice an eleven-year-old boy to your foolish delusions. 

 "Mr. Longbottom!" Snape hissed.  The hapless boy jumped, his eyes huge with fright.  Severus grit his teeth.  "Perhaps, Mr. Longbottom, if you tried adding those acrimony pods one at a time, instead of in one soggy clump - you might have more success."

The boy blinked at him. "Y-yes, sir," he stammered and hunched over his cauldron nervously.

Weasley was staring at him mouth agape.  "Get to work, Mr. Weasley," Snape growled.  "You too, Mr. Finnegan," he added, noting the other boy gawking - along with most of the Gryffindors.  At his disapproving scowl, the students returned their attention to their cauldrons.

It had been several months since Severus had begun his new approach with the students.  He had started slowly,  focusing his attention on his Slytherins at first.  He found it much easier to overlook their faults. He was still demanding and austere, but he did try to focus his criticism on their brewing errors, refraining from mentioning their obvious personal flaws.  This had not been easy - with so many blatant defects just begging to be disparaged - but he had managed, and was smugly proud of his restraint. His Snakes had responded with surprising progress.  Their grades had improved, and some of the younger ones had even approached him for extra coaching. 

Once he had grown accustomed to editing the insults from his comments, he tried out the approach on the other houses.  The Ravenclaws and Hufflpuffs had seemed bemused by his new equanimity, but they also responded well to the less tense atmosphere in his classes.  The Gryffindors, however, were still jittery.  They did not seem to trust the change in Snape's demeanor, and they watched him warily, as if waiting for the old familiar ‘Snarky Git' to reappear and tear them to shreds. At first Severus was frustrated by their mistrust, but he had grown amused by their paranoia over time and now enjoyed their unwarranted fears nearly as much as he used to enjoy actually earning that fear.

Potter was the only Gryffindor who had not publicly benefited by Snape's subtle change in teaching methods.  Concerned that his growing regard for the boy might be noticed, Severus was a bit harsher on Potter in class than he was on the others. Although he carefully censured any remarks about the boy's father or his celebrity, he demanded a higher level of competence from him, and was relentlessly critical of Harry's mistakes. 

For his part, Harry took his teachers harangues in stride, sometimes glaring at Severus when rebuked too severely, but concealing a tiny glimmer of amusement behind his childish sulk. He never mentioned their clashes in private, and Severus felt no need to apologize. His persecution of the boy was merely an act now - one he maintained out of habit.  Harry seemed to recognize that pretense, accepting his part in it without grumbling.

Severus trained his sharp gaze on the boy sitting beside Longbottom.  He had set the students brewing individually instead of in pairs and, deprived of Potter's furtive assistance, Longbottom's work was suffering.  But Harry wasn't making headway either.  He was staring off into space,  a tiny frown of worry between his brows.  His cauldron was bubbling ominously, a crucial step ignored or forgotten. It was the third time today Severus had seen the boy woolgathering - and the fifth class in a row he had observed his increasing lack of concentration.  He was secretly concerned, but didn't like admitting it. He knew, however, that he had to do something about the boy's inattention, if only for the safety of his classmates.  He slipped silently up behind the boy, raised a hand and smacked him lightly on the back of the head.

"Potter!  Wake up!" he barked.

Harry jumped and cringed, blinking at him in bewilderment. "I - I'm sorry, sir!"

"This is a classroom, Potter - not a dormitory.  Perhaps if you spent your evenings in your bed instead of gadding about, you wouldn't find it necessary to sleep in my class!"

"I wasn't. . ." the boy  protested but Severus cut him off with a genuine glare.

"Lack of attention in this course is hazardous, Potter - hazardous and inexcusable.  Look at your brewing, idiot! What do you call that rubbish?  You are at least six steps behind your classmates! Do you even know where you left off?"

Potter's face flushed bright red, and he ducked his head. "I. . .I'm sorry, Professor."

"Apologies are no remedy for negligence, Mr. Potter.    I will not tolerate daydreaming in my class - Do you understand me?" he thundered.

Harry gulped and nodded vigorously.  He could tell his Professor's anger wasn't feigned this time, and his dismayed glance was brimming with shame. Convinced he had made his point, Severus vanished the contents from Harry's cauldron and glowered down at him.

 "Start over, Potter.  And this time, pay attention to what you are doing," he ordered curtly.  "And that goes for the rest of you, as well," he announced to the room. "You have three weeks until final examinations. If any of you even dream of passing the course, I suggest you learn to concentrate!  Anyone who does not, will find themselves repeating this class in their Second Year!  Now get back to work - all of you!"

The students busied themselves nervously. Potter stumbled to his feet and slunk around the back of the room to retrieve new ingredients, keeping a maximum distance from his irritated teacher.  Ignoring him, Snape stalked back to his desk to organize his lesson plan for his next class.  The Fifth Years were frantically preparing for their OWLS, and Severus had altered his normal lessons to abandon new material and concentrate on revising.  He didn't expect miracles.  The dunderheads had five years of mediocre brewing to overcome - but he had seen improvement under his altered methods, and hoped a few might actually excel.

When the end of class bell finally rang, most of the students had produced acceptable versions of the simple potion.  Only Longbottom's vial was hideously off-color.  Potter's second attempt was still incomplete and Severus scowled thoughtfully at him. "Potter.  I believe you have a free period at this time, do you not?"

"Umm," Harry peered at him uncertainly.  "I have Quidditch practice, Professor."

"Not today you don't, Mr. Potter.  You will remain after class and complete your potion."

He ignored the  snort of anger from Weasley as well as the glares of resentment from the other Gryffindors.  For a brief moment, Harry looked as if he might protest, but the flash of defiance faded and he turned his attention back to his cauldron with a petulant shrug.

Severus heard Draco snicker, and he spared him a warning glance. The boy at least had the sense to look subdued, but he grinned nastily in the Gryffindor's direction as he sauntered out, his little goons in tow.

Granger leaned over as she passed and murmured sympathetically to Harry. "We'll let Wood know you'll be late, Harry," she said, patting him on the shoulder.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry replied softly, not looking up at Snape.

When the room was clear,  Snape shut the door and returned to his desk, ignoring the boy still laboring over his brewing.  A short while later, Harry shuffled up to his desk with a filled vial in hand.  Severus gave him a disapproving look.

"I'm finished, sir. And I'm sorry for not paying attention," the boy murmured, setting the vial on his desk.

"Clean up your station," Severus answered sternly.

When the boy was finished, and had packed his belongings, he stood by his table, shifting fretfully from foot to foot.  Severus looked up from his grading and studied him.  "Come up here, Potter, and sit down," he pointed at the chair in front of his desk.

Harry's face clouded.  "But...but sir....my practice..."

"I said, sit down, Mr. Potter," Severus snarled.  Harry obeyed reluctantly. "I realize you are concerned about your practice, Potter.  But your performance in this class is more important.  While I have no objections to your participation, Quidditch is an extra-curricula activity.  That means, it is an entertainment, to be enjoyed in addition to your studies, not to their exclusion.  Your Head of House should have explained, if she hasn't already, that participation is contingent upon maintaining your grades. If it interferes with your studies, you will not be allowed to play. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled.

"You should be grateful I allowed you to complete your potion.  Otherwise you would have earned a zero for the day."

"Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir," Harry's response was less than enthusiastic, but Severus ignored this.  He had other concerns on his mind.

"Now.  I want to discuss your recent distraction," Severus said firmly.

"Distraction?"

"You have been increasingly inattentive in the last few weeks.  Today was not an isolated incident.  You frequently have your head in the clouds, forgetting where you are and what you are doing.  I would like an explanation."

Harry shrugged uneasily.  "I don't know, sir.  Maybe I'm just tired or something."

"Are you not sleeping well?" Severus asked.  "Are you ill?"

Harry shook his head dismissively. "I'm fine, sir."

Severus scowled.  He introduced the next question with some trepidation.   He had absolutely no experience at this, and he felt strangely self-conscious.  "Is something troubling you, Harry?" he asked hesitantly.  "Is there something you are concerned about;  that you wish to discuss?"

To his surprise, the boy looked up hopefully.  "Umm. . .well. . .I guess there is - sort of."

Oh.  Well.  That was easy.

"Please proceed," Severus nodded with what he hoped resembled benign interest.

"There is something I can't seem to stop worrying about," Harry admitted quietly.

"And that is?" Severus hoped he would not have to coax every word out of the boy.

"I. . .I think Voldemort is trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone," Harry blurted.

Severus found his mouth wouldn't work. . .it seemed to snap open and closed of  its own accord.  He stared at the boy in utter astonishment.

Severus Snape was not easily dumbfounded.  He was a cool, shrewd man, with unflappable composure, and while he could be surprised, he never revealed it.  Years as a double agent, and keen self-preservation had taught him this vital self-control.

But Potter's words had set him firmly on his arse. His mind raced, trying to formulate an intelligent response.  The boy's declaration was so unexpected - so dangerous on so many different levels, he wasn't sure where to begin.  He brandished his wand,  swiftly erecting a Privacy Bubble around them.  His panic directed his first terse reply.

"Do not say His name!" he spat furiously.

Harry blinked, his confusion genuine.

 "What do you know about the Philosopher's Stone?"  Severus hissed slightly more calmly. " Who told you about it?"  Both Hagrid and Albus immediately sprung to his mind, and he clenched his fists in fury.

"Nobody," Harry admitted sheepishly.  "We - um - we figured it out, that's all." 

"We? Who is we?"

Harry winced and looked at his hands.

"Shall I assume you are referring to Granger and Weasley?" Severus sneered.  "There's no need to deny it, you know.  I have seen the three of you prowling about together."

Harry nodded grudgingly.  "Yeah.  I mean, yes, sir.  It took us nearly the whole year to piece it all together." Severus' expression must have revealed his skepticism, for the boy continued defensively.  "I knew Hagrid brought back something important from Gringotts - I was with him when he picked it up.  And then we found  Fluffy, and we could see the trap door, so we figured it was guarding some-"

"FLUFFY?" Severus shouted.  "You found. . . what in blazes were you doing on the Third Floor?  The Headmaster made it perfectly clear that floor was off-limits!  When are you going to learn you are not exempt from the rules, Potter!"

"We didn't go looking for it!" Harry protested.  "We got lost!  The stairs moved and dumped us there, and we didn't even know it was the Third Floor at first, until Mrs. Norris came and we had to run from Filch and we unlocked the first door we could find, to hide, and there was Fluffy!" he concluded breathlessly.

Severus dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his now aching temples.  "You unlocked the door - which shouldn't have even opened for you, and . . . how in the world did you make it out alive?"

"I dunno," Harry muttered.  "We all just screamed and ran.  We barely managed to close the door on one of the heads." 

"You  - idiot child!  Of all the stupid, reckless...!" Severus railed furiously.

Harry scowled at him.  "You told me to tell you what I was worried about," he accused peevishly.  "If you're going to yell at me for every little thing, I'm never going to finish it!"

Severus glowered, but decided to concede the point. His tirades weren't actually clarifying matters, and his blood pressure was already soaring.  "Very well. You may continue.  I will interrupt you only if I have a legitimate question," he agreed.  "But - we will revisit your misdeeds at later time," he warned darkly.

Harry pouted but huffily continued. "Anyway, we saw the trapdoor and we figured it must be guarding something major - I mean - who keeps a giant three-headed dog over a trap door unless it's meant to guard something pretty important?"

Who, indeed? 

The image of the Headmaster's beaming face flitted into Severus' mind, but he didn't comment.

"So at first we didn't know what it was guarding, but I saw that article in The Prophet, about the burglary at Gringotts, and I knew it was the same vault Hagrid and I went to. . .so I figured someone was trying to steal whatever it was. And then. . .well," the boy hesitated, as if considering his words.  "Uhm, someone mentioned Nicholas Flamel."

Severus snorted.  Three guesses who that was.

" That really stumped us for a while.  We couldn't find anything about him in the library. . ." he admitted.

Something clicked in Severus' mind. . . a late night;  a broken lantern. "Not even in the Restricted Section?" he asked snidely.

Harry gave him a nasty and rather guilty look.  "You said you wouldn't yell."

 "Go on," Severus allowed.

"Anyway - we couldn't find anything cause we were looking in the wrong time. -we were looking in recent history.  Then I finally remembered where I'd seen Flamel's name before: it's on the Headmaster's chocolate frog card."

"It's what?"

"On his card!" Harry asserted.  "It is!  It says the Headmaster worked with Flamel on alchemy and that Flamel was more than six hundred  years old, and once we knew that, we found the whole story on the Stone in a book."

Severus stared at him in disbelief.  He had to give the little miscreants credit;  it was a very clever piece of detective work - especially for three preteen children.  Their reasoning was almost (dare he think it ?)  Slytherin.

Pity the boy didn't devote such industrious research to his legitimate studies.

"We were convinced all along that someone was trying to steal the Stone,  but we thought it was just for the gold - you know?  Then I saw that ...that thing in the Forest, . . . and when I realized that it was Vol-um.. You-Know-Who, and he wasn't dead after all, but only...well- whatever he is. . . .  Well, he needs the Stone for the Elixir of Life."

"What makes you certain that what you saw out there was the Dark Lord?"  Severus asked cautiously.

"The centaur told me," Harry said.  "He's the one who told me about the unicorns' blood, and how it was keeping him alive, but only barely.  A half-life, Firenze said. . . because killing a unicorn is so evil you're cursed for drinking it.  But I guess You-Know-Who wouldn't care about curses, if it kept him alive long enough to get the Stone.  Then the Elixir would give him a real life, wouldn't it?  It would bring him back?"

Severus stared at him with growing horror.  "It could.  But it won't."

Harry titled his head quizzically.

"I have no intention of letting that happen, Harry.  You can trust me on this - I would do anything I had to, to prevent that."  Severus stifled a shudder and resisted the urge to rub at the faded mark on his forearm. 

"But he's out there!  What if he gets in?"

"He won't.  He can't get past the wards."

"Yeah?  That's what they said about trolls," Harry muttered darkly.

"The only way that troll could have entered Hogwarts, was if someone let him in," Severus argued.

"But that's my point!  Someone could let Him in. . . or get the Stone for him!  Hermione says. . ." he halted, his eyes growing larger behind the large glasses.  He looked abruptly guilty.

"Yes?  Miss Granger says?" Severus prompted.

"She says someone could be working for V- Him. Someone who could figure out how to get past Fluffy."

"That drooling, multi-brainless canine is hardly the full extent of the Stone's protection, Potter," Severus sneered.  "There are numerous safeguards in place.  You needn't concern yourself."

"Well, someone could get past them, couldn't they?  It's possible. Even a teacher, maybe?" 

"Is that what you think?  You think one of your Professor's is trying to steal the Stone?" Severus couldn't restrain his slight smirk of amusement.  "And who is your candidate? Hmm?  No favorite contender ? I'm sure Miss Granger must have some opinion - she's full of opinions, isn't she?"

Harry cringed and swallowed hard.  He lowered his gaze and muttered something.

"What was that?"

"You," he mumbled, then sighed. "H-Hermione and Ron think you're trying to steal it."

Severus snorted.  Figures.  Well, I suppose I do fit the part.

Apparently, Harry agreed.  "We know you went to the third floor the night the troll attacked.  And you came back with bites on your leg.  And Hermione says ...Hermione thinks you cursed my broom that day I nearly fell off. And after the game with Hufflepuff - well,  I saw you meet Professor Quirrell," he confessed.  Severus glared at him.  "I...I followed you, into the Forest.  I heard you talking. . . you were threatening him."

"That's impressive circumstantial evidence, Potter," Snape leered.  "Why haven't you taken your suspicions to the Headmaster?  Why confront me with them?"

"Because I don't think it's you," Harry said calmly.

"Don't you?"  Severus hadn't expected this answer.  "Why not?"

"It doesn't make sense.  If - if you wanted to hurt me you would have," the boy replied bravely.  "You wouldn't tutor  me, and help me.  You wouldn't buy me a present.  You wouldn't care if I got enough sleep, or ate my vegetables, or wore my gloves during practice.   I don't think that someone trying to help You-Know-Who come back,  would do things like that."  The boy studied his nails self-consciously.  "I know everyone thinks your mean, but I don't.  I think you just want people to think that.  You really care about your Slytherins - I've heard them talking sometimes.  You make them study, just like you do with me, and you help them if they have problems.  That's why I can't believe it's you.  That's why I trust you."

Severus had sat frozen throughout most of Harry's prolonged admission.  He was frankly stunned by the boy's assessment of him.  He had never given any student - even his Snakes - reason to consider him caring. Either the child was remarkably perceptive, or Severus wasn't nearly as cunning as he hoped.

I wonder if my attachment to this unlikely boy is truly as transparent as that.

As if he had read Severus' thoughts, Harry shrugged. "I don't suppose anyone else would notice stuff like that, but I do.  I'm used to looking out for myself. I'm not so used to someone worrying about me - I can't help but notice."  He peered up at Severus intently.  "I told Ron and Hermione that I didn't think it was you - but they don't believe me. And I don't know who else it could be."

Severus stared down at the solemn child, and shook his head.  "That's not for you to worry about."  The boy started to protest, but Snape cut him off gravely.  "No, Potter.  Listen to me.  I know you have enjoyed unraveling your little mystery, but it stops now.  It is not your job to protect the Stone.  Not your job to worry about who is after it, or why.  Your job, Harry, is to go to classes, do your homework, play Quidditch, and cause minor - repeat - minor mischief with your little friends from time to time.  You are not responsible for anything else.  You are eleven-years-old, and you should behave accordingly."

"But...Vol - You know!" Harry protested earnestly.

"The Dark Lord is not your problem - whether he is truly dead, or attempting a rebirth.  Regardless of what your prior history may suggest,  He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is not the concern of Harry Potter," Severus stated sternly.

The boy stared up at him, a strange light in his bright green eyes. "You know, I don't really understand all this Boy-Who-Lived business," he confessed softly.  "It seems kinda unlikely to me.  I mean, I was one years old!  How could I have defeated a powerful dark wizard like that?"  There was a faint smirk of self-deprecation on his grave little face. "But even if it isn't true, everyone else seems to believe it.  And that's what scares me."

"Scares you?" Severus felt a twinge of dismay.

"Yeah.  Think about it.  If you were this big, bad wizard, and everyone thought you'd been beaten by a little baby - wouldn't you find that kinda embarrassing?  Wouldn't it make you really mad?" Harry snickered, then looked down at his lap.  He fidgeted with his robes as a sadness settled over him.  "If I were him, and I managed to come back alive, I think the first thing I'd want to do is settle the score.  I'd want to prove it was  all a lie by killing the boy everyone claimed I couldn't."

"Harry," Severus hissed, taken aback by the boy's bleak, but shrewd conclusions.  He drew himself up haughtily.  "I can assure you, if the Dark Lord were to return to power, his first priority would most certainly not be pursuing a defenseless schoolboy,"  he scoffed.  "You are not at the center of everything, Potter," he jeered, but his tone was too worried to be insulting.

Harry scrunched his face up and shoved his glasses up his nose. "All right.  I know.  You think I'm being all arrogant again, just try to get attention - thinking I'm so important, don't you?"

"Well, if not self-important," Severus admitted with a smirk.  "Perhaps a bit melodramatic?"

"Maybe you're right."  He shrugged dubiously. "Maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe a mad, scary wizard doesn't want to kill me.  I hope I'm wrong.  Cause if I'm right, I promise that's one kind of attention I could do without."

Severus looked down at the scrawny, untidy child expressing stoic concern about things that would send adult wizards into panic, and he felt a bizarre urge to comfort him in some way.  He couldn't imagine embracing the boy, but he sensed some kind of touch was called for.  He hesitantly laid his hand over the boy's fists clenched in his lap, and captured his gaze with his own.

"Let me reassure you, Mr. Potter. . .," he said softly. " I do not believe that is a fear you need ever face.  I am committed to the safety of the Stone, and of all the students at Hogwarts.  No one will gain access to that Stone if I have anything to say about it."

Harry stared back at him, his troubled face softening.  "Thank you, Professor."

"Now, I want you and your friends to put this all behind you.  You should be devoting yourselves to your exam studies,  not fretting over something that is not your problem," he scolded mildly. "Is this clear? No more skulking and whispering - no more clandestine wanderings.  And no more trips to the Forbidden Forest, or the Astronomy Tower.  Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry nodded solemnly.

"You had better.  If I learn you have been involved in any more questionable activities, you will be serving detention - real detention,  scrubbing cauldrons - every night until the end of the term!" he threatened.

"Yes, sir.  I won't sir!" the boy snatched up his bag and backed tentatively for the door.

"And Mr. Potter!" Severus snarled, rising to his full, imposing height.  "The next time you have such. . .worries - kindly bring them to the attention of an adult.  Your Head of House, or any teacher, would be qualified to assist you with your concerns.  It is part of our job, after all."

"Yes, sir,"  Harry nodded with a shy smile.  "I will, Professor.  Thanks for listening," he said as he hurried from the room, then he stuck his head back inside the open door. "And thanks for not yelling. . .much," he added sweetly, then vanished.

Severus huffed.  He had forgotten he had meant to chastise the boy over several of the disturbing and shocking misconducts the boy had confessed.

Unauthorized visits to the third floor? Deadly confrontations with Hagrid's three-headed monster? And what was that about following me  into the Forest?

He wouldn't  bother to call the boy back now.  There was always their next study session.  The cheeky boy would feel thoroughly chastened by the time Severus finished with him.  He would at least be more reluctant to participate in any rule-breaking in the near future!

"Look - It's about the Philosopher's Stone!"

Minerva dropped her books, gaping at the three children before her. "How did you know-?"

"Professor, someone's going to try and steal the Stone!  I've got to talk to Professor Dumbledore," Potter insisted.

"Professor Dumbledore will be back tomorrow.  I don't know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured, no one can possibly steal it, it's too well protected."

"But Snape knows how to get past all that!" Weasley protested.

"Not Snape!" Harry turned on his friend irritably.  "I told you - it can't be him!  I just know it!"

"But, Harry, it must be - remember the curse?  And his leg?" Granger argued primly.

"I don't care!"  Harry snapped in frustration.  "It isn't Snape!  But someone talked to Hagrid - and now he's going after the Stone!"

"Potter!" Minerva interrupted their little squabble impatiently.  "The Stone is safe.  I know what I'm talking about." She bent down and gathered up the fallen books. "I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine while you can." With this final rebuke, Minerva bustled off to the library to return the stack of books.  But she didn't feel nearly as confident as she had claimed in front of the children.

How in Merlin's name did those three learn about the Stone?  Is it really at risk?  I wish Albus was here.

The Headmaster's absence was most  inconvenient.  The note from the ministry had been urgent but mysteriously vague. Minerva wondered if the children might be right.  Was this more than a coincidence?  She decided to speak with Severus.

It can't hurt to be cautious.

She came across Filch as she was leaving the library.  "Oh, Argus, have you seen Professor Snape ?  Is he in his lab, do you know?"

Filch shook his greasy head.  "'E's off  ta Forest."

"What?"

"'E an' Flitwick an' Sprout - the Headmaster's sent them off to see the centaurs."

"He did?" This was the first Minerva had heard of this.

Aye," Filch snorted.  "Professor Snape asked me to take his seven o'clock detention fer ‘em  - the Avery boy, it is.  Said the Headmaster wanted him and the others to meet with the centaurs - some kinda truce meeting, I reckon.  Said they was to try and convince them to be allies - ‘at's wot Snape says, anyways," he grimaced. "I dunno why ye'd want them sort as allies.  Them beasts are a traitorous lot - don't care fer humans a bit, so's I hear."

"Did Professor Snape say when he and the other Professors would return?" Minerva asked anxiously.

"Nope.  Said the meeting place was pretty far into the Forest and ‘e might be late - ‘at's why he gave me his detention."

"All right.  Thank you, Argus." Minerva turned back to her office with a worried frown.

I wonder why Albus never mentioned this meeting to me.

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

Harry raced down the stairs two at a time.  "Harry!" Ron whined.  "Where are we going now?"

"I've got to talk to Snape," Harry replied grimly.

"WHAT?" Ron halted abruptly, causing Hermione to run into his back, nearly knocking him down the stairs.  "Are you MENTAL?"

"I've got to tell Snape about Hagrid and the stranger.  He'll know what to do."

"Sure he will," Ron griped snidely.  "He'll knock us all out and Obliviate the lot of us."

"No, he won't."

"Harry - are you sure this is such a good idea?" Hermione scolded. "I mean, if you're wrong about Professor Snape, do you really think it's smart to let on that we're on to him?"

"I'm not wrong," Harry said firmly.

"Well, I'm not talking to that Greasy Git!" Ron snarled.  "Even if he isn't trying to steal the Stone, he'll probably just take points or give us detention or something, just for knocking on his door!"

"Ron. . ."

"No, Harry.  No Way!  I'd do anything for you, mate - anything but talk to Snape!"

"Fine," Harry snapped.  "You two go on back to the Tower.  I'm going down to talk to Snape.  I'll meet you at dinner."

He left the two standing on the stairs, staring after him, and rushed along the winding dungeon  corridors.

I'll try his office first. . .then his rooms.

But Snape's office was dark and empty, and there was no answer at the door to his chambers.  Harry was about to turn and go check the staff lounge when a voice startled him.

"What are you doing down here, Potter?"

He turned to face Draco Malfoy.  The blonde boy was alone, leaning against the wall, studying Harry suspiciously.  "Don't you know it's dangerous for a Gryffin-dork to wander around here alone?  This is Slytherin territory - your sort don't belong here."

Harry ignored the implied threat in the other boy's words. "Malfoy!  Where's Snape?"

"What do you care?" Draco leered.  "Did he give you detention again?" he snickered. "Or did you just come down here hoping to kiss his arse and beg him to pass you?"

"I haven't got time for this!" Harry growled.  He startled Draco by grabbing him by the shoulders before the blonde could even reach for his wand.  "I've got to find Snape!  It's important, Draco!" he hissed, shaking the boy hard.

Draco gaped at him, too surprised to argue. "He's not here.  He and some of the other Professors went into the Forbidden Forest. . .some kind of secret mission, I think," he added sullenly.  "I tried to get Snape to tell me, but he wouldn't."

"Bloody Hell!" Harry released Draco and ran a hand through his hair.

Draco stared at him, reluctantly impressed.  He hadn't known the goody-goody Gryffindor ever swore.  "What's this all about, Potter?  Is Snape in some kind of danger?"

"No. I can't explain right now," Harry frowned, thinking frantically. "Listen - I need you to do me a favor."

Draco laughed.  "You're having me on."

"No, I'm not." Harry replied resolutely.  "When Snape he gets back, I need you to tell him something.  Tell him that Hagrid told someone how to get past Fluffy."

"Get past who?"

"Fluffy!  Just listen, will you?  Tell him Dumbledore is gone and I think He's going to try for it tonight.  Have you got all that?"

"Why should I?" Draco growled.  "What makes you think I'd do any favors for the likes of you, Potty?"

Harry grimaced.  "This is really important, Draco!"   When this statement didn't impress the Slytherin, he added hastily, "If you help me, I'll. . .I'll let you fly my Nimbus."

Draco's eyes widened.  "You will?  What's the catch?"

"No catch," Harry vowed earnestly.  "One whole hour - she's all yours."

"Make it two."

"You got it," Harry agreed immediately.  "Now, you know what to say?"

"Yeah, yeah," Draco scoffed in a bored tone. "Hagrid - Fluffy - He'll try tonight. Got it."

"Brilliant!  Thanks, Draco," Harry breathed.  "I owe you one." he turned and raced off, leaving a stunned Draco behind.

What the hell was that all about?

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

Minerva made a quick head-count at the staff table and frowned.  Albus was still gone and Snape, Flitwick and Sprout had not returned yet.  She grimly considered the remaining staff. 

Sinistra's not much of a dueler, but she can hold a wand.  Hagrid's good for brute force only.  Hooch can handle herself in a fight, and Poppy's not helpless by any means.  Oh, Please Merlin - I hope I won't need them.

She glanced out at her House table.  The Golden Trio, as Severus called them, were huddled, whispering together over their dinner. 

 If THAT's not mischief brewing, I'm a Muggle Movie-Star.

She resolved to make certain the wily three were safely back in their dorm before curfew.  Then she'd worry about the Stone.

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

Dressed totally in black, his pale hair hidden beneath his hood, Draco snuck from the Slytherin common room and made his way quietly to Snape's quarters.  When his soft knock brought no response, he decided he might as well go spy on Potter.  The Gryffindor was up to something, he was certain of it.  Though why Potter would want to warn Snape, he couldn't fathom.  Severus and Potter hated each other.  Whatever this was all about, Draco was sure Severus would want to know about it. . .and he wasn't about to be left out if some adventure was afoot. . .especially if there was a chance Harry Potter might get into trouble for it!

He lurked by the entrance to Gryffindor Tower for nearly an hour.  He had one minor scare when Professor McGonagall had come by to check on her house.  Draco had hidden behind an ancient tapestry, trying not to breath in the moldy dust, until McGonagall was well gone, her heels tapping curtly along the empty corridor toward her office.

His patience was finally rewarded, when sometime later, the portrait of the Fat Lady swung open again, and three figures slipped out of the entrance.  He barely had time to identify Potter, Weasley and Granger, before all three abruptly disappeared  right before his eyes.  Stunned, he blinked and held his breath.  Then he heard whispering and soft footsteps moving past his hiding  place.

Invisibility Cloak!  It has to be!

He swore jealously to himself.  Invisibility cloaks were rare, and bloody expensive!  Draco had begged his parents for one repeatedly, but had been turned down flat.  Apparently, neither of them had liked the threat of an invisible Draco let loose on Malfoy Manor.

It must be Potter's!  Granger would never need one - and the Weasels are too poor. Bloody Hell.  That berk Potter gets everything!

Though he couldn't see them, the three must have found sharing the cloak somewhat awkward.  They whispered and shuffled their feet so much, Draco had little trouble tracking their progress.  He followed them, staying well back in the shadows, his black cloak camouflaging him nearly as well as their own magical concealment.

When they stopped on the stairs before a glimmering Peeves, Draco nearly tripped diving for cover behind an urn on the landing.  Some sort of whispered negotiation ensued . . .Draco was too far away to overhear.  Whatever the debate, it must have unnerved Peeves.  The nasty poltergeist bobbed once and shot off, disappearing around a corner. Draco was impressed, in spite of himself.

When the door to the forbidden third floor corridor suddenly opened then closed, seemingly on its own, Draco grinned to himself.  "Gotcha, Potty!" he whispered gleefully.  He turned and snuck back down the stairs. 

Out after curfew - AND in an off-limits area!  Those Gryffin-dodos are bound to get expelled for this!

He considered rushing off immediately to Professor McGonagall's office to report the crime, but quickly abandoned that notion. The Deputy Headmistress had had the gall to punish him the last time he snitched on Potter.

I'll wait for Severus. He won't dock points or punish me.  Maybe he'll even be proud of me for warning him.

He hurried down to the first floor,  practicing a plausible-sounding explanation.

 I felt I had to come tell you, Uncle Severus!  I mean, the Headmaster said it was dangerous, and Potter and his friends might have gotten hurt!

Bypassing the entrance hall, Draco slipped out a lesser used side door into the front courtyard.  He barely made a ripple, a dark shadow in a darker night, as he flitted silently across the dew-flecked lawn. He settled on a low stone wall not far from the main entrance, where he could survey the vast lawns between the castle and the Forbidden Forest.  He had seen the Professors enter the Forest beyond Hagrid's cottage earlier.  Hopefully, they would return the same way.  When they did, Draco would be waiting.

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

Minerva paced her office floor, glancing now and then at the fireplace.  She had done all she could, short of a proven emergency to warrant locking down the whole castle.  She had placed four of the remaining professors on standby, with instructions to go defend each of the four Houses if called upon, and she had sent Quirrell to guard the third floor corridor.  She doubted the stuttering fool's competence, but he was the DADA instructor after all.  He should at least be able to keep students away from the forbidden area.

She had even sent a message by floo to the Ministry, in hopes of intercepting  the Headmaster.  She had waited over two hours for some reply, but to no avail.  Either the old wizard wasn't there, or her message had been delayed - bogged down in the bureaucracy of the Ministry's message center.

She knew she could do little else until Albus returned, but she found no comfort in her preparations.  She was tense and irritable, and more than a little put out by the position Albus had placed her in. 

Really - I don't know what that old coot was thinking!  Taking off for London and leaving us half-staffed, with that ‘thing' on site!

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

Snape paced the clearing, his face a bland mask that concealed his irritation.  Only the snap of his cloak and the swirl of his robes as he turned, betrayed his impatience.  The moonless night was so dark it cast no shadows, and the little clearing was only marginally brighter than the black gloom of the Forest.

"It's gone past ten. . ." Professor Sprout commented from the boulder where she sat.  "They should have been here by now."

Snape glared at her, but repressed an urge to voice his true opinion of Pomona Sprout - Queen of the Obvious.

"They aren't coming,"  Flitwick stated blandly.  He hopped down from the tree stump he had been standing watch from, and gave Snape a cagey look.  "Centaurs can track time across a night sky down to the minute," he said, his high voice not diminishing the little wizard's shrewdness. "They are never tardy. . .not if they mean to be somewhere."

Severus nodded.  "I think we'd better go back."

"Thank Merlin!" Pomona heaved her compact bulk off the boulder with a sigh. "Bloody waste of time, this was," she muttered.

Snape led the way back through the dense Forest.  Though all three Professors held their wands out and ready, they met no dangers on the trail.  The Forest was strangely still and silent.  Courtesy demanded that Severus shorten his long strides to accommodate the slower pace of his companions (both the short and the stout).  Even unimpeded by threats or perils, it took them nearly three hours to make their way back to Hogwarts.

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

Minerva didn't really believe the Stone could be stolen, but even an attempt could get someone hurt.

I probably shouldn't have left Quirrell up there alone.

With this nagging worry, she paced some more until she could stand it no longer.  She hurried from her office and headed for the third floor.

I can at least check up on the silly man. . .make certain he hasn't dozed off!

When she reached the third floor, her worst fears were realized.  The hallway was deserted, the torches burning dimly, and the door to Fluffy's chamber stood open.  There was no sign of Professor Quirrell.  With a silent curse, Minerva dispatched four flashes from her wand, the signals which would seek out and alert the staff on standby.  Then she rushed down the hall, breaking bravely into the first song that came to mind. A loud, somewhat shaky rendition of Robert Burn's   Flow Gently, Sweet Afton   sent Hagrid's three-headed ‘pet' into a peaceful snooze. Ignoring the abandoned harp, the elderly witch levitated gracefully through the open trap door, down into the darkness.

A hasty Lumos chased the clinging tendrils of Sprout's Devils Snare cringing away into the shadows, and Minerva strode determinedly down the damp passageway.  She wasted no time in the key room.  There was no sign of forced entry, but she knew the safeguards each professor had installed would reset themselves automatically. The winged-key room was Flitwick's contribution but she knew its weaknesses. Ignoring the hovering brooms, she cast a powerful Immobulis, freezing the flying keys in place.  She plucked the correct one from the air as it floated past.

As she entered the next room, she wasn't concerned - it was her chess game, after all and she knew how to disable it. Unfortunately, she never had the chance to stop the game in progress.  The harsh lights already illuminating the giant chess set, momentarily blinded her. As she halted, blinking, the rumble of the moving pieces made the floor shake beneath her feet. A young voice cried out, followed by a deafening clash of metal on stone as an unlucky piece met its fate. A shower of broken stone from the shattered chess piece descended on her, and as Minerva instinctively ducked, something heavy crashed into the side of her head.  She crumpled to the littered floor, tumbling headlong into darkness.  Hidden in the shadows, covered with dust and rubble, the Deputy Headmistress lay unconscious, unnoticed, and oblivious to the drama unfolding around her.

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

As they left the Forest's edge and neared the castle, Severus was the first to spot the small dark shape moving towards them. A shimmer of flaxen hair identified the figure and Severus rushed to meet him.

"Draco!  What are you doing out. . ."

"Uncle Severus!"  Draco cut in excitedly.  "Potter and his friends went to the third floor!"

"What?"

"Potter told me to give you a message!  He said to tell you that Hagrid told a stranger how to get past Fluffy. . .and that Dumbledore is gone and he - somebody - is going to try tonight."

"Bollocks!" Severus swore.

"I don't know what all that means, but. . ."

"Pomona!" Snape whirled and snapped at the two Professors puffing up hurriedly to join them.  "Find McGonagall - tell her to get Albus back here - immediately.  Tell her the third floor has been breached."  He ignored the startled gasps of the others and clutched Draco's shoulder as Sprout scurried inside.  "Draco - I want you to go to my office.  Lock yourself in - raise the wards, and wait for me there."

"But. . ."

"NOW!" his menacing bark left no room for argument. "Filius - you'd better come with me."

They hurried into the entrance hall and Draco slunk sullenly down the stairs to the dungeons, while Flitwick and Snape climbed in haste.  The two vastly dissimilar Professors made an odd pair - one tall and commanding, the other no larger than a house elf.  But though Filius was less physically imposing than his counterpart, his wand was more deadly, and Severus was glad to have the tiny wizard by his side as they made their way cautiously to the third floor.

Flitwick boosted the wall torches to maximum burn with a swish of his wand.  Bright light washed over the dusty third floor corridor, sending small unseen inhabitants skittering into the shadows away from the unwelcome glare. Severus and Flitwick rushed to the door standing ajar at the end of the hallway.  A trio of threatening growls and snarls heralded their approach.

The Charms Professor took a wary glance inside.  With an easy flourish, he set the abandoned harp upright and a lilting lullaby began to ring from its strings. By silent agreement, both wizards waited only as long as it took for the three dog-heads to nod and close their eyes, before they crept  noiselessly into the open trap at the creature's feet.  Together, they made short work of the first two defenses, then entered the Chess Room.    They passed by the unconscious McGonagall without noticing her in the dusty shadows.

In one sense, they were lucky.  When Weasley and Granger had remained where they were on the checkered floor, the chess board had not reset itself.  Flitwick agreed to tend to the injured boy, while Snape rushed on ahead in pursuit of Potter.  Severus stepped over the insensible troll, barely giving it a glance.  At his own challenge, he snatched up the smallest potion bottle, magically refilled, swallowed the contents, and charged through the black flames. He reached for the door to the final chamber, his heart racing. "Harry!"

A piercing pain lanced through his left arm - pain so intense, so excruciating, that he couldn't even summon breath to scream. He crashed to his knees, clutching his forearm and fighting the darkness that clouded his vision.  He knew that pain....he knew what it meant, and the realization horrified him beyond reasoning.

No!  Merlin help me!  Not Him - Not here!

This panicked, sickening recognition was his last conscious thought as the agony spiked, and his mind , overwhelmed, plummeted into a dark fog of torment.

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

Harry fought with all his dwindling strength, hanging onto Quirrell as tightly as he could.

Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Harry off - the pain in Harry's head was building - he couldn't see - he could only hear Quirrell's terrible shrieks and Voldemort's yells of, "KILL HIM!  KILL HIM!"  and other voices, maybe in Harry's own head, crying "Harry! Harry!"

He felt Quirrell's arm wrenched from his grasp, knew all was lost, and fell into blackness, down... down... down...  *

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

Severus rose to consciousness slowly.  He shook his aching head to clear his mind.  The first lucid thought that surfaced was,  the pain was gone.  His arm throbbed, as if the muscles were knotted and strained by tension, but the Dark Mark itself was numb.

Dragging himself to his feet, Severus opened the door and stumbled into the larger chamber ahead.  He stood, swaying dizzily for a moment, his frantic gaze taking in details.  The Mirror Of Erised sat undisturbed in the center of the room, a swath of purple fabric puddled off to the side.  Harry Potter lay sprawled, unmoving, before it.  Beside him, a strange deposit of black ash was laid out in the precise shape of a man's prone body.  Severus' heart leapt into his throat.

"Harry!"  He crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to the boy's side, away from the grisly outline. Shaking fingers pressed to the pulse point on Harry's warm neck answered the most critical question.  He was alive.  Severus watched the boy's thin chest rise and fall, his own pulse slowing to a more normal rate.  Forcing himself to take control of his spiraling thoughts, he ran a quick diagnostic spell over Harry's still body - a field version, not comprehensive but adequate for an emergency. A few minor scrapes and contusions floated up, but the only serious damage recorded was to the boy's magical core, which was severely depleted.

What did you do?  What happened here, boy?

One of Harry's grimy hands lay open, fingers lightly curled around the source of the whole night's misadventure.  Severus resisted the urge to snatch up the Philosopher's Stone and fling it across the room.  Instead, he knocked it aside and gathered the small body up, cradling the boy on his lap as if he were merely a babe.

"Harry?. . .Harry!" he called softly, desperately willing the child to awaken.  But Harry didn't stir, not even when Severus climbed awkwardly to his feet with the boy balanced in his arms.

"Severus?"

Snape looked up into Dumbledore's questioning gaze.  There was so much he wanted to say. . .so much he could say. . .but he didn't.  His furious glare drilled into Albus' hazy blue eyes with barely controlled outrage.   "There's your precious Stone," he hissed softly, nodding at the red crystal on the floor.  "It's safe now, thanks to Potter."

"And Harry?"  Albus glanced anxiously down at the boy, reaching out as if to take him from Snape's arms.

But Severus stepped back, clutching the boy to his chest protectively.  "He's alive," he reported curtly.  "I'm taking him to the Infirmary."  Without waiting for either permission or approval, Severus turned and marched resolutely from the chamber with the boy in his arms.  The Stone's defensive charms had all been deactivated, presumably by Dumbledore upon his arrival.  In the Chess Room, Severus paused near the exit where  Pomona Sprout knelt, supporting a woozy McGonagall.

"Minerva?"

"She'll be fine," Sprout reported.  She brandished her wand at the side of Minerva's bloody head, sealing an ugly gash.  "Just a nasty knock."

"The other children?"

"Filius took them to the Infirmary."

Minerva looked up with an anxious frown.  "Is Harry. . .?"

"He's all right," Severus reassured her.  "I'm taking him to Poppy now."  He continued his urgent mission, stepping over the lifeless Devil's Snare and pausing to stare up at the trap door high above their heads.  He was trying to decide the safest method for their exit, when a brilliant flash erupted beside him.  Albus' phoenix hovered in the air, eyeing him with sympathy.  He trilled a promising refrain.

"It's all right Professor.  Ye can come up - Fluffy's gone."

Severus looked up at Hagrid's broad face framed in the trap door.  With a nod, he repositioned Harry against his chest, clasping him firmly with one arm, and grasping Fawkes' golden tail feathers with the other.  In a startling flash, they burst upward into the chamber above.  Severus expected the phoenix to set him down at once, but to his surprise, Fawkes soared through the open door into the corridor and out into the vast stairwell. Severus nervously clutched boy and feather tighter as the phoenix flew his burden with breath-taking speed right to the very doors of the Infirmary.  With a soft chirp, Fawkes deposited Severus gently on his feet.

"Thank you," Severus acknowledged breathlessly.

Fawkes warbled, then disappeared in a flash.  Severus shifted Harry in his arms again, and backed into the Infirmary. 

When he laid the unconscious boy on the nearest bed, Poppy Pomphrey bustled from around a nearby screen.  "Merciful Merlin!  Another one?" 

Severus stepped back to give the medi-witch room to work. "Professor McGonagall was also injured.  They'll bring her up shortly."

"Gracious! Only three days left in the term. . .you'd think you lot could stay out of trouble that long at least!" Poppy grumbled while performing several diagnostic spells at once. "What about Professor Quirrell?  Someone said he was down there too."

With grim satisfaction, Severus recalled the charred outline in the chamber.  "Professor Quirrell is, I believe, beyond even your formidable skills, Madame.  How are the other students?"

"Mr. Weasley had a mild concussion and a sprained ankle. . .Miss Granger, a few cuts and bruises.  I'll release them both in the morning, " Poppy reported.  "Mr. Potter here, doesn't appear to be physically harmed, but his magical core is depleted.  He must have done something quite powerful to expend so much energy."  She straightened and sighed.  "He'll most likely sleep for several days.  It's what he needs, really, to give his body and his magic time to recover."

Severus sat down by Harry's bed and watched the medi-witch heal the boy's minor scrapes, then change him into soft pajamas before swathing him with warming blankets.  When the other Professors arrived, Albus and Pomona supporting an unsteady Minerva between them, Severus stood by the elderly witch's bed in silent support while Poppy treated her.  Minerva fussed irritably, exhorting her friend not to pester her, but she seemed to be her usual sharp-witted self and soon began demanding answers.

A long session of complex, sometimes conflicting, explanations ensued, joined by both Granger and Weasley, who had been awakened by the voices.  It was much later that they had finally managed to piece together the night's events.  The only details missing, to Severus' mind, was Harry's lone experience, and a few minor points in the Headmaster's rather sketchy comments that he decided to analyze at a later time.  Once Poppy had assured him that Harry was still sleeping peacefully, Severus slipped out of the Infirmary, suddenly remembering his godson.

When he lowered the wards and entered his office, he found Draco sound asleep in the large overstuffed chair in the corner. There were only a few short hours left before dawn, and he saw no need to wake the child at this point.  He conjured a blanket, covered the sleeping boy and left him a note, inviting Draco to join him in his chambers for breakfast when he awoke.

Severus returned to his quarters for a much needed nap, but true rest eluded him. He didn't want to risk undressing and laying down on his bed, in case he was needed in haste.  So he sprawled in his chair by the fire, going over the events of the night in his mind.  He was upset with Potter for doing precisely what he had warned him against:  taking responsibility for the safety of the Stone - a hazardous artifact no boy should have to protect.

But overwhelming his anger was a fierce sense of relief that Harry had survived the ordeal unharmed.  He could hardly believe the boy's luck.  The plucky child had somehow defeated both Quirrell - (obviously more dangerous than any of them had suspected) - and the man's powerful Master.

Severus didn't know how Quirrell had managed it, but there was no doubt whatsoever in his mind - the traitorous DADA instructor had somehow brought the Dark Lord here - inside the wall of Hogwarts. Severus hadn't seen him - he didn't have to.  The burning of his Dark Mark could have no other origin.

It had done more than pain him - it had terrified Severus.  For ten years he had prayed this day would never come.  He had always doubted the Dark Lord was truly dead, but he had dared to hope his old Master was so weakened that he would never return to Britain. . .at least, not in Severus' lifetime.  Now that hope was gone.  The Dark Lord's malevolent spirit, or soul (if one so evil possessed such a thing), was not only roaming the country, but had entered unnoticed, the very stronghold of his greatest enemy.  Somehow - perhaps due to his wraithlike condition- he had succeeded in circumventing the most powerful protective wards in the wizarding world.

Albus believed, like Harry had,  that Voldemort's vile spirit was seeking a way to re-incorporate - to reanimate and take corporeal form again.  If that was the Dark Lord's plan, Severus did not doubt he would succeed eventually.  There were ways through the Darkest Arts that such a resurrection could be achieved - terrible, dangerous ways that cursed the Resurrected for eternity.  But his former Master feared no such curses. . . he was utterly insane - the embodiment of evil, fouler than the foulest curse that magic could effect.  He would stop at nothing to attain his goals.

Severus didn't know what he would do if the Dark Lord did rise again.  But tonight's events had galvanized him out of the passive illusion that his years at Hogwarts had submerged him in.  Plans and preparations he had started some years before, would need to be revitalized and modified.  He vowed he would not be lulled into a false security again.

Severus finally managed to doze off and on in his chair, gaining  meager rest, until Draco awoke him some time after nine.  He sat at the table with his godson, sipping Roker's hottest, strongest coffee, and blearily answering Draco's endless questions.

He told the boy the basics of the previous night's adventures.  There was no reason not to, since rumor had already swept through the school.  The favored story, was that Quirrell had tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone - a valuable artifact that Dumbledore was storing at Hogwarts for a friend - and that Potter, Weasley and Granger had inadvertently foiled the burglary attempt.  Severus let this version of events stand. He did not mention the Dark Lord, however.  He didn't want Lucius Malfoy or any other Death Eater learning that Voldemort , in any form, had returned to Britain.  If the Dark Lord had not announced his presence to his former followers, Severus wasn't going to do it for him.  He reasoned that his former Master was merely cautious and didn't want the more powerful of his followers - possible rivals to his leadership - to know he was so weak.  And Severus had no wish to give his former associates a rallying point of hope.

As soon as Draco finished eating, Severus hustled him out with the promise that he could breakfast with him again the day before the students departed for the summer.  Then he treated himself to a hot shower and fresh robes, and made his way back to the Infirmary.

Harry, still sleeping, was Poppy's only remaining patient.  Following assurances from the mediwitch that the boy was recovering, Severus sat by his bed, watching him sleep.  The child moved little, but his hands clenched fretfully from time to time, as if he was uneasy even in his dreams.  After observing him for a while, Severus left the Infirmary, wandering down to the third floor.

A metal staircase had replaced the trap door and the treacherous drop below.  Flitwick, Filch and Hooch, along with a swarm of house elves, were busy removing and clearing away all signs of the deadly traps that had guarded the Stone, and Severus found he could stroll without impediment to the large chamber where he had found Harry.

Albus was there, overseeing two house elves who were meticulously sweeping the remains of Quinius Quirrell into a small stone box.  The Headmaster greeted him with a cheery wave.  Severus noted the old wizard's eyes were twinkling with even more revolting charm than usual.

"Severus, my dear boy!  I do hope you got some rest!" Albus chirped, then wagged a finger at one of the elves.  "Ah, ah! Just the ash, Hopi - no dead spiders or other rubbish if you please."  The elf gave him a mischievous smile.  "Ah, well,"  Albus sighed.  "I don't suppose it really matters - not to Professor Quirrell, at this point.  Never mind - just sweep it all up."  The elves cleared the dusty floor with flickering speed and closed the box.  They handed it to the Headmaster and popped out of the room.

Severus stood, coolly studying the Mirror of Erised.  "This is where you hid it?"

Albus nodded.  "Quirrell couldn't see it.  Only someone who wanted to protect the Stone could see it."

"Like Potter?"

"Yes - like Harry."

"So if Potter hadn't rushed to the rescue, Quirrell would never have found it - he couldn't steal the Stone, could he?" Severus asked evenly.

Albus sighed.  "It's very unlikely. . . .of course, Harry didn't know that."

"No," Severus agreed.  "He didn't."  He turned and stared at the Headmaster.  "So it's true, then?" he asked softly.  "Did you arrange all this?"

"Arrange?  What do you mean?"  Albus' expression was one of supreme innocence.

"All of it. . .your urgent call to the Ministry. . .the diplomatic meeting that took Filius and I both out of the picture? A meeting that mysteriously never occurred, by the way.  Was this all a trap?  Set up to draw Quirrell out?  Or was Potter your real target?"

"Harry?  Severus, I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Potter has an invisibility cloak," Severus stated flatly.  "Draco saw it.  It was Harry's father's, wasn't it?  Did you give it to him, Albus?"

"James left it in my care, with instructions to pass it on to Harry when he started Hogwarts," Albus admitted with a dismissive shrug.  "No doubt he hoped his son would use it for pranking;  to carry on the old Marauder legacy for  mischief," he chuckled.

"Harry is not James," Severus declared coldly.  "He's nothing like his father.  You, of all people, should know that."

Albus gave him an appraising look.  "I do know that.  I wasn't aware that you did."

Severus occluded his mind and drew himself up haughtily.  "The younger Mr. Potter obviously has some foolish, misguided predilection for ‘saving the day'. . . .a rash impulse that should not be allowed to persist, Headmaster.  If you wish me to continue to protect the little brat, I'll ask you not to encourage any future heroics!" 

"I'll do my best, Severus," Albus agreed, his lips twitching with amusement. "But one never know when random events will conspire to satisfy fate."

Severus gave him one of his best Greasy Git - ex-Death Eater - snarky bat from the dungeon glares. . .which Albus dismissed cheerfully.  "Well, I must be off.  I've promised Nicholas and Perenelle to lunch with them.  They were remarkably understanding about the whole business - quite ready for the Stone's destruction, I think." Albus smiled.  "I cannot say I blame them.  I can't imagine living over six hundred years. . . I've not lived a quarter so long, and it makes me weary just to think of it." The Headmaster ambled out, pausing to nod benevolently at the cleaning crew in the previous chamber.

Severus watched him until the old wizard was out of sight.  "Random events. . .satisfy fate . . . .Barmy old coot!" he muttered.  He wasn't entirely convinced the old man had actively arranged for Potter to confront Quirrell.  The idea was, admittedly, almost too devious for Albus.  But it was a dangerous risk if he had, particularly with the Dark Lord added to the mix.  Severus didn't wish to ponder the horrifying outcome if the boy had not prevailed.

Surely Albus wouldn't intentionally put Harry in danger, would he?  I'm certain he cares for the boy.

No, at worst, Albus was careless and overconfident.  He had left Hogwarts inadequately protected, and trusted in Quirrell too blindly.  The old man must truly be getting senile.

With a sigh, Severus turned to leave, and caught a glimpse of himself  reflected in the Mirror of Erised.  He paused, considering his murky image.  ‘A truly contented man will see only himself, just as he is,' Albus had said of the Mirror's properties.  Severus stared curiously.  His reflection stared coldly back - harshly accurate. . .unflattering. . .alone.

"A contented man," Severus snorted to himself.  He started to turn away when a flicker of movement in the Mirror caught his eye.  He froze.  From out of the misty darkness surrounding his reflection, another figure immerged.  It was a small boy, with untidy hair and too-large glasses.  The boy scampered up to stand beside the Mirror- Snape.  His reflection smiled gravely down at the child.  The boy reached up and took his hand, then turned to face the living man that watched them.  Large green eyes regarded him fondly; a crooked grin lit his face, and the Mirror-Harry winked at him.

Severus stumbled from the room, furious with himself.

Fool!  Idiot!  You've let the boy get too close!  You delude yourself, you pathetic man!  You're no fit role model for any boy, much less this one!

You're a bitter, cold man. . .a reformed Death Eater. . .the students' nightmare and the Terror of Hogwarts!  You don't deserve a child like Harry.  And he deserves better than you, so get such notions right out of your head.  This is The-Boy-Who-Lived!  The Savior of the Wizarding World!  Dumbledore's Golden Child!  This is James' son. . . . James' and Lily's son. . . .

The child needs a proper mentor, not a burned-out old Potions Master who can't even show that he cares.. . .

He lectured himself sternly all the way back to the Infirmary, then sat on the bed beside Potter to guard his sleep.

"Are you feeling better, Minerva?" Severus asked politely.

"Much better.  I had a devil of a headache at first, but your headache potion cured it - thanks for that," Minerva smiled at him.  "And thank you also for the lovely flowers,"  she nodded at the vase of spring flowers on her desk.

Severus shrugged, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.  "It was a trifling gesture - the least I could do for your brave defense of Hogwarts."

Minerva grimaced.  "Brave defense indeed.  I get myself knocked out cold without helping anyone!"  She rubbed delicately at her temple, where the healing scar still glowed faintly.

"A regrettable accident.  I'm only grateful you weren't seriously injured."

Minerva smirked at him over her tea cup.  "So, Severus." she said archly.  "Are you going to tell me what really happened last night?"

Severus considered her solemnly.  "Are you sure you wish me to?"

Minerva's gaze hardened.  "Absolutely.  I've my own suspicions, I'm afraid."  She glanced wistfully down into her tea.  "As much as I might want to, I cannot afford to remain blissfully ignorant.  I cannot do my job if I don't know the truth."

"Very well," Severus agreed.    "I will tell you what I know. . .and what I surmise."

And he did. 

Minerva leaned back in her chair when he finished, considering his words for several long minutes.  "I'm inclined to agree with you.  I find it impossible to believe that Albus would deliberately endanger Harry. . .unless he doesn't believe the boy is truly at risk.  That, I fear, is our greatest concern."  She sighed pensively.  "I have seen it before, of course. . . this blinding optimism that Albus can't, or won't explain.  It has worried me on more than one occasion, I can tell you.  I don't really understand what the man is thinking sometimes, but Albus does not always confide in me, you know.  Even though the boy is in my House - is ultimately my responsibility- there is too much I don't know.  Albus doesn't seem concerned that the child could be hurt. . .he seems to have such unquestioning faith in Harry. . .."

"What could be the basis of this faith?" Severus asked.  "The boy is merely a symbol to the wizarding world. . .a symbol of a lucky - what?  accident?  that rid us of the Dark Lord before?  We don't even know what happened that night.  And if Potter is a symbol, why risk that symbol in childish acts of daring?  You would think the Headmaster would wish to protect the boy from all possible harm.  It is what he claims to want."

"I don't know, Severus.  Merlin knows, the boy has sacrificed enough to this cause.  He has lost his parents;  grown up in a Muggle home;  and seems to detest the attention his celebrity brings him.  He's surely earned a chance to live a normal life by now."

"I somehow doubt that Harry Potter's life will ever be what anyone could call normal," Severus said dryly.  "He is a rather. . .unusual boy."

"Why, Severus!" Minerva flashed him a prim smirk.  "I thought you believed Harry was quite average. . . mundane even.  What did you call him?  A mediocre wizard child, I believe it was."

Severus snorted but answered gamely.  "I have come to know the boy a bit better since then, I suppose.  He now seems to me to be slightly. . . above average."

"My goodness!" Minerva teased. "That is high praise indeed, coming from you!"

"It matters not what I think," Severus retorted gruffly.  "What concerns me is what Albus thinks of him.  It's clear he has expectations of some kind.  Do you think he may be testing the boy in some way? Why would he need to?  What could he be looking for?"

"I don't know," Minerva shook her head.  "Perhaps it's only a sort of fostered paternal pride.  I think Albus felt guilty when James and Lily died. . .guilty that he couldn't save them.  Perhaps he merely delights in Harry's accomplishments.  . . he does seem fond of the child.  Perhaps, in that fondness, he wishes to acknowledge only Harry's triumphs. "

"Yes. . .I must say, when I spoke with him today, he seemed far more pleased with Harry's victory last night, than concerned over the danger the boy faced."  Severus steepled his fingers and peered over them at her.  "The question is, what do we do about it?"

"I don't know." Minerva admitted frankly.  "Protect the boy?  Watch his back? Try to keep him out of trouble?  What more can we do?"

"Nothing, I suppose," Severus grimaced.  "I am no expert on children, Minerva -  I have never claimed to be.  I am a potion-brewer - a retired spy - and an old reprobate.  But those very credentials have made me naturally vigilant. . .and something about all of this perturbs me. . .something feels wrong.  All my instincts tell me, there is more to Harry Potter than meets the eye."

"Perhaps there is," Minerva sighed regretfully.  "I wish there wasn't.  Whatever the Headmaster may or may not believe - whatever plots and schemes that old fool may be harboring - I  look at Harry Potter, and I see a child.  A quiet, self-conscious boy, who should be entitled to his childhood.  He should be educated;  nurtured and guided;  not groomed as some Junior-Hero-in-Training!"

Severus chuckled at her indignation.  "Well, at last we agree on something, my dear Gryffindor.  Harry Potter is no paragon of virtue - behold - he's just an ordinary boy!"

"You seem to have taken an unusual interest in this ordinary boy, Severus," Minerva observed slyly.  "Could it be  that you have developed a genuine concern for Harry?"

Severus glared at her, but his words surprised her.  "I will admit that the boy has grown on me. . . much to my dismay.  I am concerned about his welfare. Is that so wrong?"

"No," Minerva shook her head. "On the contrary, my dear Severus.  It is the first right thing I've heard today!  I am very grateful - and very encouraged.  Perhaps between us, we can keep young Mr. Potter well clear of further adventures."

"I shall certainly do my part," Severus agreed, rising and offering her a tiny bow. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must check on my Snakes.  This close to end of term, they tend to get a little rambunctious, and need firm supervision."

"Of course.  Thank you for joining me for tea," Minerva replied graciously.  "Oh, and Severus?" she called lightly as he neared the door.  He turned to look at her.  "Next term, you might want to find some new strategy for disguising your tutoring sessions with Harry.  Even a Hufflepuff wouldn't believe bi-weekly detentions for an entire year."

Severus gaped at her, his sallow cheeks pinking. He opened his mouth to deny - shut it again, then smirked at her.  "Thank you for your advice, Minerva," he said dryly, turning back to the door.  "Oh - by the way. . . .just so you know. . . . .Harry Potter owns an invisibility cloak."

He slipped out the door, snickering at the frustrated moan of despair that rang out from Minerva's office.

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

Despite his frequent, and often prolonged visits to Potter's bedside, Severus was disappointed to learn that he missed Harry's first return to consciousness.  Three days after Quirrell perished, Severus ambled into the Infirmary just before dinner, to hear Madame Pomphrey happily report that Harry Potter was, once again, in the land of the living.

"He sat up several hours ago - the Headmaster was here - and they had a nice long chat together," Poppy beamed.  "Then he ate a little and went back to sleep."

"I see," Severus sniffed sourly.  "Then I take it Mr. Potter is out of danger?"

"Oh, quite.  He'll be right as rain," Poppy simpered, tucking the sleeping boy's blankets in with a rather fastidious hand.  Snape tried to hide his annoyance.

"Very well, then I suppose there is no further need for me."

"Actually. . ."  a hesitant, pleading look crossed Poppy's placid features. "If you have time, there is something you might do for me. . .that is, if it's not too great an imposition?"  Severus gave her brief nod of encouragement. "I haven't been out of the Infirmary for three days - I didn't want to leave young Mr. Potter alone.  Would you mind keeping an eye on him while I run down to the Great Hall for dinner?  He should be no trouble. I've dosed him with sleeping draught, and a calming draught - for the nightmares, you know.  He probably won't even awaken."

"I would be happy to, Poppy," he agreed solemnly.  He really didn't mind, he realized.  The medi-witch at least deserved a reasonable dinner break.

"I do appreciate it, Severus," she gushed,  jumping up from her desk with obvious relief.  "He's not due for any more doses until midnight.  If you have any problems, just call for me. I promise I won't be long."

"Take your time, Poppy.  No rush.  I don't need to be back to my House for bed check until ten."

"Are you sure?" she asked worriedly.

"Certainly.  I will be fine.  Watching a child sleep is not that difficult a task. . . even if the child is the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Cause-Trouble," Severus smirked at her.  "Run along, Poppy.  I'll call if I need you."

"Thank you, Severus,"  Poppy hurried out, as if a bit worried he might change his mind.

Severus snorted and ambled over to the only occupied bed in the ward.  Potter was asleep, as Poppy had predicted, so Severus lowered himself into the chair beside the bed.  The chair was annoying hard and uncomfortable, but he corrected this swiftly with a cushioning and warming charm. 

I would not be surprised if Poppy deliberately makes the chairs uncomfortable to discourage visitors from staying too long.

Madame Pomphrey didn't like visitors in her ward.  Severus didn't know if this was for the good of her patients, or merely the protection of her domain.  Either way, the medi-witch was known to be fiercely territorial. The Potions Master was the only one she trusted alone in the Hospital Wing. . . even Albus had not merited that privilege.

The ward was dark and hushed, the only light a dim candle lantern suspended in the air above the sole patient's bed. Several tables nearby were heaped with cards and little gifts.  Severus stared at what appeared to be a beribboned toilet seat, hidden under several vases of flowers.

I don't even want to know.

Severus snorted and studied the sleeping boy in the faint light.  He was glad to see that most of the cuts on Potter's face and arms had healed, and the bruises were beginning to fade. But the child's face was still unnaturally pale, and dark circles underscored his closed eyes, like sooty smudges.

Curious,  Severus reached out and gingerly brushed strands of dark hair off the boy's forehead.  The infamous scar was a darker red than normal, and looked raw and inflamed, as if freshly acquired.  Potter's brow was furrowed in a mild scowl, and his face was strained with obvious discomfort.  Severus couldn't refrain from running a finger lightly over the painful-looking scar.  The boy didn't stir, but the scowl lightened a bit and some of the tension left his face.  Severus gently stroked the gruesome lightning bolt that had marked the child's face and his fate.  He could feel the heat from the feverish flesh, and could well imagine the pain it inflicted. 

He continued to stroke Potter's head, smugly satisfied to see the boy's tension fade and his features relax. As Potter's breathing slowed, he maintained the soothing contact. He smirked when the boy shifted his head in his sleep, nuzzling into his teacher's hand, seeking the reassuring touch. As he continued to caress the sleeping child's forehead, it never once occurred to him to question his own actions;  to worry that someone might witness the fearsome Potions Master petting an injured student.  He was secretly reveling in the unexpected comfort of touch.  He rarely touched anyone - and certainly not in a tender or nurturing way. Knowing he was unobserved, he indulged himself in the simple act.

When the boy shifted restlessly, he withdrew his hand.  Potter muttered something under his breath and sighed. His dark lashes fluttered, and he opened his eyes slowly.  The brilliant green eyes stared up dazedly at him for a moment.  Harry licked his lips and tried to speak.

"Shhh," Severus hissed softly.  Retrieving a glass of water from the bedside table, he slid an arm under the boy's shoulders, propped him up slightly, and helped him sip some water. 

The boy swallowed a few times, then lay back, blinking up at the Potions Master.  He cleared his throat and whispered, "Don't be angry."

Severus scowled at him.  "Why shouldn't I be angry?  You disobeyed me.  You did precisely what I told you not to do!" he scolded softly.

"I tried to tell a grown-up!  I did!" Harry protested weakly.  "But everyone was gone!  The Headmaster - and you - and I tried to tell Professor McGonagall, but she wouldn't believe me!"  He attempted to sit up, which prompted a nasty cough.  Severus gave him more water and made him lay back down.

"We will discuss this later, when you are stronger," he admonished.  "How are you feeling?"

"Okay." Harry groped for his glasses on the bedside table, and Severus handed them to him with a disapproving sigh.  "My head still hurts a little bit.  Madame Pomphrey gave me a potion for it - it's much better than it was."

"I understand the Headmaster visited with you this afternoon."

"Yes, sir," Harry frowned thoughtfully.  "I told him everything that happened. . .he can tell you, I guess. . . .but I didn't understand everything the Headmaster said."

"Such as?"

"He said Voldemort . . ." Harry stopped when he saw Severus grimace.  "I'm sorry.  I know you said not to say his name, but Professor Dumbledore said I should."

Severus wasn't sure how to explain this issue so he let it pass.  "Go on."

"Professor Dumbledore said he's still out there, looking for another body to share."

"To share?"

"Yeah - I mean, yes, sir.  He was sharing Professor Quirrell's body.  Quirrell took off his turban and when he turned around - this face was poking out the back of his head!" Harry's eyes were wide with horrified wonder.  "It was him.  He said things. . . things to me. . . .I don't think I want to talk about that right now," the boy suddenly looked away uneasily.

"It's all right, Harry," Severus soothed quietly.  "You don't have to talk about anything until you want to.  It must have been very frightening."  Harry nodded, his lower lip trembling just a tiny bit.  "If you do decide, later, that you want to tell me about it, I'll be more than willing to listen."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, then pulled himself together.  "Anyway, Professor Dumbledore said he pulled Professor Quirrell off of me and kept him from taking the Stone. . . but I don't remember that."

"Did he?" Severus kept his face impassive. Now why would Albus lie about this?

"All I remember is Professor Quirrell kinda - I dunno - disintegrating - like turning to dust or something," the boy shuddered. "And then I was falling. . . and I heard someone calling me. . ." he glanced up shyly.  "I thought it was you."

"You did hear me," Severus replied.  "I picked you up and brought you to the Infirmary."

"I thought so!" Harry whispered, visibly pleased.  He peeked up at Severus through his bangs.  "Did you stay here sometimes?  In the Infirmary?  While I was asleep?"

"Sometimes,"  Severus admitted grudgingly.  "How did you know?"

"I dunno.  I could tell, that's all," he shrugged.  "I'm glad you came back."

"Really?  Why?"

"I wanted to thank you - for saving me,"  the boy said tiredly.  "Quirrell told me it was you who saved me from the broom when he cursed it.  I'm glad you came back because I wanted to tell you that and because. . ."  he frowned, turning his head to avoid Severus's stare.

"Because what?"

Harry shook his head.  "You'll just make fun of me."

"Probably - but tell me anyway."

Because. . ." the boy murmured quietly, his wan cheeks pinking a bit.  "I feel safer when you're here and . . . and I missed you when I woke up and you were gone."

"You missed me? " Severus eyed him dubiously, ignoring the sudden warmth that tingled deep inside his chest.

"Yeah."

"Are you mad, Mr. Potter?  Perhaps you sustained more serious injury to your head than Madame Pomphrey realizes," Severus mocked gently.

"See - I knew you'd make fun!" the boy quipped,  glaring back at him.

"How is your vision, Mr. Potter?  Can you see me?" Severus hid his humor behind a scowl of concern.

"Yes, sir. . .  I can see fine."

"Are you sure?  Do you know who I am?"

"Of course, Professor Snape.  Why?"  Harry stared bemusedly up at him.

"I thought perhaps you had mistaken me for someone else."

"Because I trust you?  And because I'm glad you're here?" the boy had the cheek to grin wryly at him.

"Exactly."

Harry shook his head and gave him a solemn smile.  "I know who you are, Professor.  And I know you're not really the way most people think you are.  I can tell." The boy shifted uncomfortably on the bed.  His thin shoulders shivered a bit.  Without thinking about it, Severus pulled a spare blanket off the next bed and draped it over him, adding a light warming charm.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, gazing up at him thoughtfully. "Professor Dumbledore said you keep saving my life because you owe my Dad a life debt."

Severus scowled bitterly. "Occasionally, the Headmaster has some preposterous, misguided ideas that make sense only to him."

"I didn't understand it either," the boy admitted.  His eyes glazed over with weariness and pain, but he continued to ramble, almost as if he were talking to himself.   "You didn't even like my father!  You didn't like me at first, because of my Dad.  That's okay - people I don't even know hate me because of who my parents were, or because of what happened when my parents died. Doesn't  make much sense to me.  They blame me for Voldemort's defeat- but he was defeated because he tried to kill me. It's not like I set out to destroy him.  I was only a baby, after all!  It wasn't my fault - but I guess they blame me anyway.  I think that's pretty stupid. . . but I'm used to it. I'm used to people hating me. I'm used to people wishing I'd died or had never even been born."

Sudden suspicions nudged uneasily at the guarded chambers of Severus' mind, unsettling him. He decided to humor the injured boy. He'd likely not remember any of this conversation anyway." "I think perhaps Madame Pomphrey was too generous with your potions, Potter.  You are making no sense whatever."

"I never had any friends before Hogwarts. . .did you know that?" 

"I'm sure you are exaggerating, Harry."

"My very first friend was Hagrid." The boy went on as if Severus hadn't spoken.  His pale face was dreamy and his eyes not completely focused.  Severus suspected the child was, in fact, rather doped up after all. . . it was the only reasonable explanation for the uncensored mutterings that followed. 

"And now I have more friends," Harry smiled gently. "I guess maybe if I hadn't made good friends, like Hagrid and  Hermione and Ron, and Neville and the Weasleys and you . . I might have gone on just being the Boy-Everybody-Hates. . . .You're not really as bad as you think you are, you know," the glassy-eyed boy proclaimed with the somber wisdom of the intoxicated. "Sometimes you're awful strict but you saved my life.  And you look after your students - you won't let them get killed or injured or eaten by dark wizards.  You'd never hit a child - or starve them, or lock them up. . ." he hesitated, lost for a moment in some kind of dark memory, then he continued bluntly.  "You do care about your students - even me.   Even when I'm bad, and disobey, and you're angry with me."

Severus had no idea what prompted him to respond the way he did.  It must have been some strange misplaced pity for the child gazing up at him with eyes too old for his years.

"I'm not angry, Harry."

Harry stared at him, bewildered. "Okay." A ghost of a smile played across the boy's lips.

 The hesitant smile brought Severus's cold heart a surprising flush of warmth. He glared at the brat.  "You are reckless and annoying."

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed calmly.

"You are far too impulsive. You never think before you act."

"Yes, sir."

 "You take foolish risks and endanger everyone around you."

"I'm sorry, sir."

There was a long pause.  Severus's glare lost its vehemence, and his voice was almost warm.   "Kindly do not do it again."

"Yes, sir.  I won't.  I promise."  A crooked grin crept onto Harry's face.

Severus sighed wearily.  "Do not make promises you cannot possibly keep, Mr. Potter."

"Sorry, sir." The grin was almost affectionate now.

Severus glowered down at Harry, who abruptly yawned.  "Go to sleep, you irritating child.  You look dreadful."

The boy settled back, his eyes drifting closed.  "Are. . .are you leaving?" he suddenly murmured.  His dark brows tilted in uneasy concern.

"No."  Severus reached out and patted the boy's arm awkwardly.  "I'll be right here.  Now go to sleep."

Potter smiled as he dropped off, muttering softly,  "Night, Professor."

Snape's response was equally soft as he settled back in his chair.  "Good night, Harry."

A little over twenty-four hours after promising his Professor not to break school rules again, Harry Potter did precisely that.  It wasn't that he wanted to break the rules.  But Madame Pomphrey was entirely too protective, in his opinion, and Harry had a promise to keep.

Despite his protests that he was perfectly fine!  - Really! - the medi-witch had refused to allow him to leave his bed for another full day.  So Harry had convinced Ron to sneak his invisibility cloak to him when he and Hermione came for their afternoon visit to the Infirmary.

"What do you need it for?" Ron had questioned with grim suspicion while slipping him the folded cloak.

"I hope you're not planning any more dodgy stunts, Harry. You're in enough trouble already," Hermione scolded.  "You're not even supposed to be out of bed!"

Harry shoved the cloak under his pillow and sighed.  He liked Hermione.  She was very smart and brave, and was a true, loyal friend.  But he secretly thought she was too bossy and he found it quite annoying sometimes.

"I won't get into trouble. I don't want to do anything bad, I promise," he reassured them. "I'm just tired of sitting in bed.  I'm tired of this room!  I'll go mental if I don't get out of here for a little while!  When Madame Pomphrey goes to dinner, I'm just going to walk around a bit.  I won't go far - I swear!"  (It wasn't a total fib - he wasn't going that far.)

"Then we'll sneak up here and go with you," Ron suggested.

"No!" Harry shook his head vehemently.  "If you two go missing at dinner, someone will notice.  They'll suspect we're up to something.  I'll just go by myself.  I'll be fine - really - I'll be back in bed before Pomphrey finishes her pudding."

He didn't think his friends would ever stop nagging, but he'd finally convinced them.  That evening, only minutes after Pomphrey had left for the Great Hall, Harry was up and dressed, making his stealthy way to Gryffindor Tower.  A short time later, he hurried across the grounds, his invisibility cloak draped awkwardly to conceal both Harry and his bulky burden.  He reached the Quidditch pitch just as the sun began to dip below the surrounding peaks, bathing the pitch in a rosy light.  He looked around cautiously,  then lowered the cloak to his chin.

"Did you bring it?" 

A voice from the shadows of the stands made him whirl nervously. "Yeah."

Draco sauntered onto the field, eyeing him strangely.  "You look really creepy like that, Potter."

"Oh." Harry blinked. He'd forgotten that only his head was visible, drifting bodiless above the ground.  "Sorry." He shrugged off the cloak and held out his most prized possession.  "Here it is," he said. "Don't bend the twigs and don't bang into anything!" he warned, handing the Nimbus 2000 over to the other boy.

Draco gave him a disgusted look. "Don't worry, Potty - I won't."  He took the broom with almost reverent hands. "Wow.  This is brilliant," he said admiringly.

"It's really fast!  And the response is unbelievable - you barely have to think about a turn and it does it!"

"What if someone sees us?" He glanced back across the field toward the castle. "It'll be dark soon.  We're not supposed to fly after dark."

"It was your idea to do this during dinner, Malfoy," Harry rolled his eyes.  With a sigh, he picked up the invisibility cloak and offered it to Draco.  "Here - put this on.  It won't cover you completely.  It will most likely flap in the wind when you fly, but it might help some."

Draco clutched the cloak in one hand and the broom in the other, looking as if all his Christmases and birthdays had come at once. "Merlin, Potter!!" he breathed. "Do you know how bloody lucky you are?"

"Just hurry up!" Harry huffed. "Get on with it, before Hooch finishes eating and decides to come out here."

"Okay, okay!" Draco handed the broom to Harry while he draped the cloak over his shoulders and pinned it securely.  Then he clambered aboard the gleaming Nimbus, arranging the long cloak's folds to cover most of the broom.

"Aren't you going to cover your head?"

"Nah - I want to be able to see properly," Draco smirked. "We're too far away anyway. Who's going to notice a ‘head' zooming around the pitch?"

"If anyone does, they'll think they've gone mental," Harry snickered.

"Just keep a lookout, all right?"

"All right - but you can only go one hour this time.  I have to get back to the Infirmary before Madame Pomphrey comes back."

"Hey!  The deal was two hours!" Draco objected.

"I know!  You'll just have to take the other hour another time," Harry grimaced.  "I'm sorry, but Pomphrey watches me like a hawk!  It's the best I can do."

Draco scowled at him, then shrugged.  "All right. . .it's okay, I guess."

"Go on!" Harry urged with a pointed glance back at the castle, lit up in the growing dusk.  "And be careful!  It's very sensitive - don't over-steer!" he admonished, as Draco gripped the broom and shot up into the air.

It was rather odd to watch Draco's disembodied head soaring all over the pitch.  Flashes of broom and boy did flicker from time to time as the cape fluttered with Draco's dips and turns, but Harry wasn't worried.  If someone did look outside toward the pitch, they probably wouldn't notice.  It was getting too dim to see much, even close up.  Anyone looking would most likely think the small flashes of pale hair were just birds, or bats or something.  Harry laid back on the grass, still warm from the afternoon sun, and watched Draco fly.  The boy's face was lit up with a wide grin, and Harry knew exactly how Draco must be feeling.  He'd never seen the Slytherin having so much fun before.

As the lengthening shadows grew, Harry looked back at the school nervously, and finally waved the other boy down.  Draco dived at him from thirty feet up, banking sharply a few from the ground and sliding to a perfect hover right in front of Harry.  The blonde boy slid from the broom with a triumphant grin and patted the broom's handle.

"That was brilliant!" he crowed.  "Merlin!  I have GOT to have one of these!"  He handed the broom back to Harry with an exhilarated smile and unpinned the cloak. "I am so going to nag my parents this summer - I want a broom just like it!  My father has to get me one - he just has to!"

Harry grinned at the other boy's enthusiasm.  "Here - we should share the cloak going back, just in case.  You're taller than me - you hold the cloak over both of us and I'll carry the broom."

"Why carry it?" Draco grinned wickedly as they fumbled with the cloak.  Harry shot him a doubtful look. "No one can see us under here."

"Okay," Harry shrugged and positioned the broom, climbing on toward the front, leaving room for Draco to climb on behind him.  They draped the cloak to cover themselves, but there wasn't enough left to hide the disconnected front and back of the broom.

"Only a few feet up - and not too fast," Harry insisted nervously as they rose.  "And for Merlin's sake, don't fall off! A body dropping out of thin air would be a little hard to explain!"  They both snickered at the image that warning conjured, and were soon skimming along about four feet from the lawn, gliding toward the castle at a leisurely pace.

"You should try out for Quidditch next year, Draco," Harry murmured softly.  "You fly really well."  He couldn't see the other boy's startled look.

"Uh - thanks.  I was planning to."

"What position are you going out for?"

"I don't know - maybe chaser."

"You're light and fast.  If your hands and eyes are as sharp as your turns, you'd make a good Seeker."

Draco stared at the back of Harry's head in bewilderment.  "If I was Seeker, that means I'd play against you.   We'd be enemies.... . "

Harry shook his head.  "Not enemies - rivals.  Competitors."

"What's the difference?" Draco snorted as they reached the castle courtyard. 

Harry brought the broom down to a halt, and planted his feet on the ground.  He looked back over his shoulder at Draco with an almost quizzical frown. "The difference?" he echoed.  "Malfoy - you can compete against someone without being enemies.  There is such a thing as friendly rivalry, you know."

"Who says we're friends?' Draco hissed stiffly.  "Besides - every time we played against each other, one of us would have to lose."

"So?" Harry retorted with mild amusement.  "What's the big deal?  Quidditch is supposed to be fun.  It's just a game."

Draco shook his head, a slow grin of disbelief softening his haughty features.  "You're hopeless, Potter.  You do know that, don't you?  Just a game!" he sniffed.

"You're just like Ron," Harry quipped, glancing around and pulling the cloak off of them.

"Me?" Draco hopped off the broom with a disgusted snort.  "Like the Weasel?"

"He thinks Quidditch is the main reason for living too!" Harry snickered.

"Kindly do not compare me with that pathetic. . ."

"Draco!"  Harry cut him off with a soft word and a sharp scowl.  "I know you don't like my friends,  but I'd appreciate it if you didn't make fun of them in front of me," he said quietly.

He and Draco exchanged a long challenging stare.  No one said anything for a minute - then Draco looked away, shrugging dismissively. "Yeah.  Okay, Potter.  Whatever."  He sauntered away toward the front entrance, then looked back with a smirk.  "You'd better put that cloak back on and get moving." he warned lightly.  "It looks like dinner is over - people are starting to leave the Great Hall."

With a soft curse, Harry concealed himself, clutching the broom to his side.  He dashed for the entrance past a sniggering Draco. "See ya, Draco," he whispered distractedly.

"Later, Harry," Draco murmured with a grin.

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

It turned out dinner was only just ending as Harry hurried through the foyer, but he still had to dodge a few students on the stairs.  He knew there wasn't time to return his broom and cloak to his dorm, so he decided to hide them under his bed until he could sneak out of the Infirmary again. 

As soon as he reached the empty corridor outside the ward, he stopped, pulled the cloak off, and wrapped it around the broom. He guiltily hid the long bundle behind his back, even though it was invisible, and reached out for the door handle.  To his dismay, the handle escaped him as the door was flung open from the other side.

"MR. POTTER!"  Madame Pomphrey towered over him in all her outraged glory.  "WHAT is the meaning of this?  What are you doing out of bed?" she screeched. "Where have you been?"

"He was with me."

A deep silky voice sounded behind Harry, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.  He gaped back at Professor Snape.

Bloody Hell!  Where did HE come from?

The Potions Master stepped forward and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.  "The boy was annoyingly restless.  I thought a short supervised walk and some fresh air might help him sleep better," Snape explained blandly.

"Oh." The professor's statement seemed to deflate Pomphrey's ire.  "Well.  I hope he didn't overexert himself."

"Not at all," Snape replied smoothly. He slid his hand off Harry's shoulder.  Harry felt the man's grip suddenly fall on the cloak-wrapped broom behind him.  "I made certain he did not tire himself.  I was watching him every moment."

Oh, shite.

Snape's insinuation did not escape Harry.  He dared not look at the sinister man.

I am in SO much trouble.

"Well, don't just stand there, Mr. Potter.  Come along - back into bed with you," Pomphrey gestured grimly.

Harry started to move forward, then hesitated as he felt the tug on his invisible broom.  Snape had a firm grip on it behind Harry's back.  Short of engaging in a bizarre tug-of-war with the man,  there was little Harry could do except let go.  He relinquished the bundle with a distressed sigh and followed the medi-witch.

Pomphrey was so busy fussing over Harry, she didn't even notice the Potions Professor setting something unseen on the  empty bed nearest the door.  Much to Harry's embarrassment, she replaced Harry's clothes with pajamas with a preemptory wave of her wand.  Then she bustled him into bed with a disapproving frown.

"May I at least go to the Leaving Feast tomorrow night?" Harry asked plaintively.

"We will see.  You may, if you sleep well tonight and take it easy tomorrow," Pomphrey agreed reluctantly.

Snape moved closer and stood at the foot of the bed as the medi-witch got him settled.  Harry avoided the man's cool stare and tried to delay the inevitable by keeping Pomphrey at his side with desperate requests.

"May I have another warming blanket, please Madame?"

"My headache is back.  May I have a potion, please?"

"May I have another pillow, please?"

"My water jug is empty, Madame. . .may I please. . ."

"I'll get the boy his water," Snape finally interrupted. "I'm sure you have more important things to do, Madame Pomphrey."  She gave them both a skeptical glare and flounced back to her office.

Harry sank lower under his covers.  "Were you following me?" he asked sullenly.

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"Since you left the Infirmary."

"Oh." Harry didn't bother to ask how the professor could follow him when he was invisible.  There was a long pause.

"Before you yell, can I explain?"

"You may."

"I promised Draco he could ride my Nimbus.  The night. . .everything happened,  when I couldn't find you, Draco said he'd give you my message about the Stone.  I promised he could ride my broom if he did.  We had a deal.  You can't go back on deals."

Snape didn't comment, merely staring down at him impassively.

"Madame Pomphrey wouldn't let me get up, and I didn't think we'd get another chance," Harry whined softly.  "I only walked down to the pitch - and I didn't tire myself out - I swear."

Harry dared to peek up at the stern Potion Master.  The man's face was unreadable, but there was a strange gleam in his black eyes.  "I know I shouldn't have left without permission, but I didn't do anything really bad.  And I promised Draco!"  he grumbled.  Snape crossed his arms across his chest and just stared down at him.

"All right - I'm sorry I had to disobey Madame Pomphrey," Harry hissed sulkily.  "But I'm not sorry I went.  You can punish me if you want, but I had to do it.  A deal's a deal." He hunched lower in the bed and stared sullenly at his clenched fists.

When his professor finally spoke, his words were not at all what Harry expected.  "I am glad to see that the two of you were able to set your differences aside - at least temporarily."

Harry gaped at him.

"I would like to see you and Draco get along better," Snape said quietly.  "You could be good for each other.  Draco is cunning and he thinks things through - he reflects before acting.  You are loyal and solicitous - you look out for your friends."  Snape's expression softened - he looked almost benevolent.  "Draco needs friends.  He would deny it of course. . but those thugs he associates with only shadow him at their father's bidding.  I don't think he has any true friends."

Harry blinked, not certain what to say.  "I wouldn't mind being his friend.  He was pretty decent tonight.  He can be all right - when he's not being prissy and hateful."

A ghost of a smile played across Snape's lips.  "Draco can be much more pleasant when he's not trying to emulate his father."  Snape leaned over and adjusted Harry's blankets.  "Do you want a sleeping draught?"

Harry shook his head, a feeling of intense relief and contentment settling over him.  It seemed Snape wasn't angry with him.  He'd even covered for him with the over-zealous medi-witch. He decided to take advantage of the austere man's unusually benign mood.  "Can I ask you something?"

"No," Snape smirked faintly.  "But you may ask me a question."

Harry resisted rolling his eyes.  "May I ask you something?"  Snape nodded, arching a brow sardonically.  "It's about. . . about something Professor Dumbledore said."

Snape's expression turned sober and he sat in the chair beside Harry's bed with a solemn nod.  "I will try to answer if I can."

Harry chewed at a fingernail nervously.  "Professor Dumbledore said you hated my father - you never forgave him, because he saved your life.  He said you didn't like being in his debt and that's why you've looked out for me. . . why you protected me - just so you could repay the debt."

A strange bitterness flared in Snape's eyes, and he scowled.  "Is that what he said?"

Harry nodded.  "Is it true?"

It was several moments before Snape answered.  His expression remained aloof, but dark emotions flashed behind his enigmatic gaze. "It is partly true," he said at last.  "Your father and I did not get along - I have told you this.  And James did save my life - in a way.  Although he was part of the prank that nearly killed me, he prevented my death at the last moment.  But the Headmaster is wrong about my motives.  I blamed your father for participating in the prank, and I have never felt a life debt owed to him. I don't believe you owe a life debt to someone for not killing you.  And I have not protected you because of that.  I protected you, initially, for your mother's sake - not your father's."

"My mother's?" Harry stared at him.

"We were friends, of a sort - when we were students here at Hogwarts.  At first, I watched over you for the sake of that friendship," Snape replied softly.

"At first?"

Snape absently pulled Harry's fingers from his worrying teeth.  "Yes.  Later, I did it because I wished to. . .I did it for your sake, not hers."

"Oh." Harry blushed, feeling unexpectedly pleased.  "You were friends with my mother? What was she like?"  he asked shyly.  "Everyone talks about my father - Professor Dumbledore, Hagrid. . . even Hermione knows more about him than I do.  But no one ever talks about Mum."

A small smile warmed the man's harsh face in a way Harry had never seen before.  "I will tell you about her, if you like. . .but not tonight.  You need to sleep."  He removed all but one of the pillows at Harry's head, making him lie flat, and held out his hand.  "Glasses."

Harry handed them over without complaint and turned on his side as Snape placed them on the night table and stood.  "What about  .... .?" Harry glanced pointedly at the bed where his invisible broom and cloak lay.

Snape gave him a very stern look.  "I shall keep those for the time being. . . to ensure you do not make any more unapproved flights," he said. He smirked at Harry's disappointed pout.  "You should not need them for the next day or so. You may retrieve them from my quarters the morning the train leaves."  He cleared his throat and added stiffly,  "You may join me for breakfast that morning - if you can manage to drag yourself from your bed by eight-thirty."

Harry's pout vanished and he smiled.  "I'd like that - thank you ,sir."

Snape nodded briskly. He stalked to the foot of the bed and stopped, glancing back at Harry.  "I watched Draco flying on your broom this evening," he said quietly.  "He seemed very. . . jubilant.  I was pleased.  Thank you, Harry."  He turned and strode out, grabbing up Harry's invisible treasures on his way out.

Amazed, Harry watched the door swing shut as Snape left.  He sighed contentedly.  After three days in bed, the fresh air and exercise had tired him, though he would not have admitted it.  He curled up snugly under his blankets and was asleep in minutes.

"Severus."

Snape halted in the narrow antechamber behind the staff table.  He straightened his shoulders and bit back the caustic response that sprang to his lips.  The witch came up behind him, her heels clicking imperiously on the stone floor.  Rather than wait for her tiresome platitudes, he interposed, cutting off whatever she was about to say.

"Congratulations, Minerva. I'm sure you are most delighted.  Well done."

Minerva paused, searching his face anxiously.  "Severus, I. . ."

"If you'll excuse me, I must make an appearance at my House now.  My students will need me."  He turned to stalk off but her hand on his arm stopped him.

"Severus," Minerva's expression was pained.  "You know I have wished for this. . . I won't deny I have longed to display the House Cup in my office for several years now." Her voice dropped to a vibrant murmur.  "But this is not how I wanted to win it. . . .not like this."    Severus allowed his gaze to meet hers.  There was genuine regret in her sharp blue eyes.  "It was unfair, Severus.  Please believe me when I say, I had no idea Albus was planning such a thing. I would not have agreed if I'd known."

"I believe you," Severus replied coolly, to Minerva's obvious relief. "It was not completely unexpected.  Potter and his friends did earn those points. . . if for no other reason than to make up for those they lost unfairly earlier in the year."  He quirked a sardonic half-smile.  "In the end, I believe they barely broke even.  I do not begrudge you their recompense."

"That is generous of you, Severus," Minerva shook her head.  ‘It is not their points that upsets me. . . it is the place and manner of their awarding," she grimaced.  "I'm sure Albus didn't mean to be cruel. . .he was just indulging his love for spectacle, I suppose.  He does adore drama," she snorted softly.  "But it was unfair to your House to spring it on us at the Feast,  in that heartless way."

Severus nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily.  "It was hard on my little Snakes.  Before the Feast they were euphoric. . .  of course we had all seen the point counters; they knew they were in first place. They were so proud to see their banners decorating the Hall.  It was disappointing for them, to have it taken away so abruptly. . ."

"I know," Minerva agreed in sympathy.  "I saw their faces.  It was a rude shock.  Severus, I'm so sorry."

"It is not your fault, Minerva,"  he patted her hand awkwardly.  "Life is full of disappointments.  My Snakes, of all the houses, must learn this at an early age."

"They are children," Minerva said with tight-lipped unhappiness. "They should not be forced to face such disillusionment so young.  It isn't right -  this enmity and jealousy - this bias against Slytherin hurts us all."

"It cannot be helped.  That bias has been present here long before either of us," Severus sighed.

"Sometimes I'd like to wring Albus Dumbledore's blind, insensitive neck!" she hissed irritably.

"Your indignation on our behalf is appreciated, Minerva.  But please don't let it spoil your own triumph.  You should be with your little Lions."  He gave her a wan smile.  "With the celebrations that are certainly brewing, I expect you will be hard put this evening to keep your Tower intact."

"I suppose I should check on the little blighters," Minerva agreed wryly.  "I just wanted you to know how sorry I was that the Headmaster handled this so poorly."

"It won't matter - not in the long run.  Don't fret over something out of your control,"  Severus said politely.  "Now if you'll excuse me, I fear I have some soothing of hurt feelings to tend to."  He gave her a tiny bow and strode off, his posture not as proud as normal, but his robes billowing with their customary flair.

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

Professor McGonagall was not the only one to offer Severus sympathy.  Flitwick and Sprout, among others, had also noted the Slytherins'  shocked disappointment, and spoke quiet words of regret about the affair to Snape in passing the next day.  Hooch was the most outspoken, calling the Headmaster's abrupt rewarding of the House Cup to Gryffindor "underhanded" and "very poor sportsmanship." 

"You don't go changing the rules at the end of the match to ensure your team wins," she'd snapped in militant disgust.  "Not done, that - poor form."

Severus had thanked them all for their concern and sympathy, but he hadn't bothered to seek out the Headmaster.  Severus knew Albus.  It didn't matter if he protested - it didn't matter how justified his complaints. A confrontation was useless.  He knew from long experience, that by the time he left the Headmaster's office, he would only find himself agreeing with the frustrating old wizard.

The one offer of regret that did surprise him came the last morning of the term. . .from none other than Harry Potter - Dumbledore's Golden Boy himself.  Upon arriving at Severus' rooms (promptly at eight-thirty, as requested) for the promised shared breakfast, Harry had immediately stammered a guilt-ridden apology. 

"It is not necessary for you to feel in any way responsible, Mr. Potter," Severus had replied calmly.  "You earned those points fairly, for your infernal Gryffindor bravery, (even though you should not, as I have stated before, taken it upon yourself to take such a risk.)  The awarding of the House Cup is the Headmaster's prerogative.  You need not feel guilty for having excelled.  You should feel proud your House has won this honor."

"I guess," Harry agreed reluctantly.  "I was happy at first. But it was kinda mean to do it like he did - letting your House think they had won and then changing it in front of everyone like that, don't you think?  The Headmaster could have awarded our points before the Feast - then no one would have been surprised."  He sighed sadly.  "I guess Draco really hates me now."

Severus suppressed a small smile.  "Draco was understandably disappointed, but I do not believe he blames you."

Harry looked skeptical, but he let it go.  He asked a few shy questions about his mother, prompting Severus to recount a few tales of the origins of his covert friendship with Lily.  Harry listened with rapt fascination, and Severus had to remind him to eat several times.

"You should ask Professors McGonagall and Flitwick about your mother," Severus suggested. "They knew her quite well.  Lily excelled at Charms and she was one of Professor Flitwick's favorite students.  And Professor McGonagall was especially fond of her.  They remained friends after Lily graduated and married your father."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes," Severus nodded. "Professor McGonagall was a frequent visitor to their home.  I believe she occasionally looked after you as a baby, when Lily and James went out together."

Harry looked slightly appalled.  "She did?"

"Indeed."

"Brilliant," Harry grumbled self-consciously.  "Just what I wanted to hear - my Head of House used to babysit me!"

"She did," Severus couldn't resist teasing the boy.  "She fed you your bottle and changed your nappies."

"Urrrgh!" Harry growled.  He blushed bright red and covered his face with his hands.  "That's humiliating!  Did you have to tell me that?  Now I'll never be able to look her in the face again!"

Severus chuckled.  Harry peeked up at him from behind his fingers, surprised by the unfamiliar sound. "You did that on purpose," he accused. "Just to embarrass me."

Severus cocked an eyebrow wryly.  "That is not a challenge.  Little boys embarrass so easily."

"I'm not a little boy!" Harry protested crossly.  "I'll be twelve in July, you know."  He grew visibly downcast and poked listlessly at his eggs.  His change of demeanor prompted Severus to question him.

"You do not seem appropriately elated about your impending holiday, as most students do. Is there something troubling you?"

Harry didn't answer right away, but studied Severus solemnly from beneath his messy bangs.  He seemed to be weighing some decision in his mind, and when he finally spoke, it was with nervous hesitation.  "Why can't I stay here, at Hogwarts, over the summer?"

Severus blinked, surprised by the question.

"Professor Dumbledore said it wasn't allowed for students to stay during summers, but I don't understand why not!" Harry insisted petulantly.  "I wouldn't be any trouble!  I could even work to pay my way!" he urged softly, warming to his argument.  "I can cook and clean and garden. . . . I could help Hagrid with the grounds, and Professor Sprout in the greenhouses. . . I could even clean the potions labs - you know,  organize things and wash cauldrons, and such.  I could be dead useful, really I could!  And if I can't stay in the dorm, well - I'm sure Hagrid would let me sleep at his place!  Why can't I stay?" he ended on a near whine, then ducked his head as if he was embarrassed by his own outburst.

"I expect the Headmaster does not wish to set a precedent," Severus answered carefully, his racing thoughts not only on his reply, but on the motives behind the disturbing request. An ominous alarm went off in his mind - an alarm he had ignored before, he suddenly realized.  "If he allowed one student to stay, others might also request it.  The next thing you know, we would have a pack of students cluttering up the place over summer," he imparted a wry smile. "That would be most unfair to the staff.  Even Professors deserve a holiday, Harry!"  He noted the boy did not acknowledge the small joke. "Harry - why would you want to stay at Hogwarts over your summer break?  Don't you want to go home?"

And there it was - laid out between them, like an unwelcome obstacle.  There was a slight pause.  Severus expectantly watched the boy struggle for an answer.

"I just want to stay here," Harry finally muttered lamely.  "See - I never lived with magic before this year, and now. . .now I don't want to be without it."

Severus considered the child sitting before him, his head down, his eyes on his empty plate.  "Students aren't allowed to use magic during the summer break, Harry," he replied, knowing instinctively there was more to this than the flimsy excuse.  "Is there some other reason for your request?  Most students are homesick by now- anxious to return to their families. Do you not miss your home? Your family?" 

Harry shrugged dismissively.  "I guess. It's not like returning to a wizard home, or living with a magical family.  It's different living with Muggles."

"In what way?" Severus pushed gently.

"It just is." The boy fidgeted with his fork. 

"Harry?"  Severus leaned forward and eyed him speculatively.  "Are you unhappy at home?  Is that why you don't want to leave Hogwarts?"

The boy looked up at him and blinked.  Severus was dismayed to see a familiar denial flicker in the boy's green eyes.  His expression shifted and hardened, becoming neutrally bland.  "No," he stated flatly.  "I just wanted to stay in the wizarding world.  I guess it is kinda childish.  I mean I'll be back in September, after all."

Severus studied him intently.  He toyed briefly with the idea of probing the boy's mind - seeking the truth in the young, unprotected mind.  But the trust between them was fragile at best.  The boy might notice or sense the intrusion.  Severus was almost certain such an invasion would destroy that trust. He decided instead to exploit that trust. . .perhaps the boy would open up to him willingly.

"You can talk to me about anything, Harry," he said softly.  "Anything that troubles you.  You do know you can trust me, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied quickly.

"Sometimes," Severus continued dispassionately,  "If there is a problem at home, children hesitate to talk about it.  They fear reprisals, or that no one will believe them.  You don't need to fear that, Harry."  Harry frowned at him.  "If you have a problem at home. . . if there is some reason you are unhappy there, you should tell someone.  If you don't wish to discuss it with me, I'm sure Professor McGonagall would be more than sympathetic. . ."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Professor," Harry cut him off coolly.  "There's no problem. . .it's just. . .look, I just wanted to stay in the magical world, okay?  Hogwarts - this past year has been so amazing for me.  I guess I was a little afraid that when I went back home, where everything was so - so like it was before I came here - that I'd. . .I'd forget - like it all wouldn't seem real anymore. It's just dumb," he declared.  "I know I won't forget.  I was just being silly."

"It's not silly if it is how you truly feel," Severus offered.

But Harry shook his head brusquely.  "It's not important.  Look - I don't want you to think I'm just some whiny kid. Just forget I asked, okay?"  He stared up at Severus with almost desperate pleading behind his stubborn, veiled gaze.

Not ready yet, are we boy?  Well - we'll try again another time.

Severus nodded slowly.  "Very well.  But I don't want you to forget what I said.  You can talk to me, Harry. I don't think you are a ‘whiny kid'. I will listen, and I won't judge."  For a moment Harry's stony face softened and he thought the boy would speak up, but the moment passed too swiftly.  The determined mask slipped back into place.

"Thank you, Professor," the boy said politely and pushed away from the table, rising. "I suppose I'd best go.  I still have a few things left to pack."

"Harry?" Severus followed him to the door, making a quick decision.  He took a deep breath and offered a privilege he never granted any student.   "If you wish, you may write to me this summer. . .I will reply, if you chose to do so."

Harry looked up,  startled pleasure erasing the stoic detachment in his face.  "Really?"  Dismay washed over his features.  "Oh. I can't.  I won't have Hedwig.  My. . .my Uncle hates owls.  He won't want her in the house.  I decided to ask Ron to keep her for me for the summer.  She'll be happier with him."

"I can write to you first, and instruct the school owl to wait for a reply, if you wish."

Harry grinned shyly.  "That would be terrific!  I'd like that.  Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome, Harry," Severus held open the door for him.  Harry hesitated, smiling up at him.  Severus noticed an unusual moistness in the boy's bright eyes.  To his utter shock, the boy suddenly lunged at him, grabbing him in a fierce, brief hug.  Severus stiffened, too startled to react. 

"I'll miss you, Professor," Harry whispered hoarsely, then pulled away, his cheeks suffused with a pink blush. "Umm - thanks for everything," the boy muttered in confused embarrassment.

Belatedly, Severus realized a response to the child's affectionate gesture was called for. He cautiously placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and patted him lightly. "Do try to stay out of trouble, Mr. Potter," he murmured with muted warmth.  "I shall expect regular reports on your progress with your summer assignments."

"Have a nice holiday, Professor," Harry grinned and dashed off, his thumping footsteps echoing down the corridor.

Noisy child! Severus harrumphed.  Why must little boys always run everywhere?  Why can't they simply walk?

He called for Roker to clear away the breakfast remains and pulled on his teaching robes.  One last duty demanded his attention before his holiday began:  seeing off his little Snakes - insuring luggage was properly packed,  stray belongings were claimed, and  no one got left behind.  He turned to that familiar duty with somewhat less gleeful anticipation than was usual.

No one knew how it was possible.  Despite the noisy chaos - despite the bedlam of hundreds of children scurrying about in frantic turmoil, searching for lost belongings and tripping over trunks and pet cages - the pandemonium eventually subsided and somehow, every student made it aboard the carriages and to the train station in time.  Not even the staff, for whom this was an annual ordeal, knew how they managed it.  It was one of the mysteries of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Hagrid and Minerva had accompanied the carriages, as usual, and had supervised the elves in the loading of luggage aboard the Hogwarts Express.  And they had both made a point of speaking to Harry Potter before he climbed aboard.   Hagrid had proudly gifted Harry with a photo album containing wizard photos of his parents and his friends.  It was a project that the huge Groundskeeper had labored over for a full day (with assistance from Minerva and the Headmaster)  and the boy was appropriately gratified by the gesture.

Minerva had wished Harry a happy holiday, and added a quiet reassurance that if he needed anything  - anything at all - he was to contact her at once.  Harry seemed perplexed by her solicitude but thanked her politely.

Minerva and Hagrid stood on the platform, waving at the departing students until the train had disappeared down the track in a cloud of steam. Minerva didn't comment when Hagrid sniffled and blew his nose loudly on a huge red kerchief.  She knew the gentle giant would miss the children - he loved them so, and he was always sad to see them leave for the summer.  Hagrid, in turn, pretended not to notice the McGonagall's moist eyes. He ducked his head and nodded at her.

"I'll be running along now, Perfesser," he mumbled.  "I have to. . .um. . .see a fella about somethin'."

Minerva nodded, suppressing a snort of amusement.  Every year after the students' departure, Hagrid always had to "see a fella".  She knew perfectly well that ‘fella' was a tall pint at the HogsHead.

She turned and strolled off the platform, veering towards the alley between the station and the cargo storeroom.  As she passed through the alley she murmured softly, "You can come out of hiding now.  The train has left."

Snape's disillusionment charm dissolved and he shimmered into view, glowering at her. "I was not hiding," he insisted sourly.  "I was reconnoitering.  . .watching for threats.  It was merely a precaution to safeguard the train's departure."

"If you say so," Minerva agreed dryly.  She was wise enough not to press the issue, or to point out that this was the first time, to her knowledge, that the aloof Potions Master had come down to the station to see the students off.

Ignoring the empty carriages that had already begun rattling back toward the school, Severus and Minerva  strolled along the dusty lane, enjoying the warm June afternoon.  Severus glanced at his companion several times before introducing the topic he wanted to discuss.

"Minerva," Snape began, keeping his tone carefully casual.  "I was meaning to ask you...what do you know about Potter's guardians?"

Minerva snorted with mild derision. "Not much...I only saw them the once.  Why do you ask?"

"No reason, really.  Just curious.  I did not ever meet Lily's sister, and Potter never mentions them."

"That doesn't surprise me.  They didn't strike me as particularly noteworthy, even for Muggles." At an intrigued look from Severus, Minerva proceeded to tell him her vague impressions of the Dursleys that fateful day ten years earlier.

"Hmmm," Severus nodded.  "And what did Mrs. Dursley say when Albus presented her with Lily's baby?"

An odd frown creased Minerva's face. "Say?  She didn't say anything.  We didn't speak with her."

"Didn't speak?"

She quickly explained the events of that night: her conversation with Albus; Hagrid's arrival - and her last sight of Harry on the Dursley doorstep, wrapped in his blanket with the Headmaster's note on top.

Severus halted in the middle of the lane and stared at her in stunned disbelief.  "Albus left him on the doorstep?"

Minerva nodded, stopping to face him.

"He left him . . ," Severus suddenly sounded as if he was choking. "He left a baby - a defenseless infant - alone?  On a doorstep? In the middle of the night? In October???" His face began to flush and he swore under his breath, a long string of curses that were shockingly filthy.

Minerva paled as the implications of his accusation hit her.  "Oh, Dear Merlin!" she whispered in anguish.

Severus glared at her in disgust. "Why in the name of all that's magical, would the old fool do such a thing?! The child could have gotten sick!  He could have been attacked! Stolen!   Bloody Hell, Minerva - he could have been mauled by an animal - or worse!  What in the world were you people THINKING?"

Minerva's hands shook and it was clear she was shocked to the core.  "I never. . .it never occurred to me. . . Oh, Severus - I never even questioned it!" she stammered, horrified.

"I cannot believe two highly intelligent people could do such an incredibly stupid thing!" Severus snarled. He began to pace back and forth angrily.  "You just - dumped the boy there? Abandoned The-Boy-Who-Lived? Even if Albus cast protection spells over the child, you would think - at the very least - you could have informed the Dursley woman of a family death in person!  It would have been the decent thing to do, don't you think?" he hissed snidely. "What did that old fool write? ‘Your sister is dead.  Here's her kid.  He's all yours.  Regards, Albus' ?? - Honestly, Minerva! Even I would not be so callous!"

"I don't. . . I never read the note. . .it was all so sudden and everything was so confused. . I didn't think. ." Minerva stumbled unsteadily over to a large boulder and sat on it.

The elderly witch was so obviously distraught that Severus felt a bit sorry for her, and he ceased his pacing and reined in his outrage.  "I can understand your bewilderment, Minerva. It was a chaotic time.  None of us knew what was happening - whether the Dark Lord was dead, or gone, or . . .I'm not blaming you."

"I was so shocked and saddened by James' and Lily's deaths. . ." Minerva muttered helplessly. "And Albus seemed to know what he was doing. . .I hardly questioned his actions. . ." she gave him a grim look.  "Not until this very moment."

"So Albus didn't even ask the Muggles if they were willing to take Harry in?  He never insured the boy would be welcomed and cared for?  He just left him there?"

Minerva nodded sadly.

"Why would he do that?  It makes no sense." Severus muttered more to himself than to her.  There was a long pause as they both pondered that thought, then Minerva spoke up, her voice quavering slightly.

"Perhaps he thought the Dursleys might refuse if given the chance."

Severus eyed her speculatively. "Is that what you think, Minerva?  Do you have reason to believe the Muggles didn't want Harry?"

She shook her head slowly.  "No reason. . .it's just. . .I don't know - I didn't like them, Severus. . . I didn't like the feel of them. I told Albus I had reservations. He said there was no other choice."

"No choice?  I wonder. . ." Severus muttered.

 "Severus - do you think there is a definite problem with the Dursleys?  Do you think Harry has been unhappy with them?"

"I don't know," Severus admitted softly.  "I asked him and he denied it.  He claimed to have no problems at home, but I was unconvinced."  He scowled.  "Did you know Harry asked if he could stay at Hogwarts over the summer?"

"Did he?"  Minerva looked surprised.

"He practically begged me. . . even offered to work for his upkeep.  Apparently, he had already asked Albus, but the Headmaster told him students weren't allowed to stay. Harry claimed he merely wanted to remain in the magical world, and not return to the Muggle one. But I am not so certain. . .there was a desperation beneath his request that concerned me. " He shrugged. "Do you know of any other reason why Harry would want to stay here?  Why wouldn't he want to return home - to enjoy his summer vacation like any normal child?"

"I don't know.  It's not typical.  Most students can hardly wait to return home.  In fact most students - especially First Years - are thoroughly homesick by the time the year is out," she admitted.  "But Harry has never mentioned any homesickness to me."

"Not that he would," Snape commented.  "For all his youth and impulsiveness, I have found him remarkably uncomplaining. . .intrepid, even." 

"Yes, I recall when Poppy was treating his injuries, after the Quirrell business, that the boy never whined - or even flinched, for that matter."  She smiled grimly.  "That boy is a Gryffindor, all right."

Snape snorted, then scowled.  "Perhaps.  Or perhaps he's more." He reached out, giving her his hand to help her rise. He took her arm absently, and began to escort her up the lane again.

At Minerva's quizzical glance, he shook his head uneasily.  "There are other motivations besides courage that will make a child hide his pain," he said darkly. "Listen, Minerva - we've no real proof of a problem, but you obviously feel as I do - something isn't quite right.  I think the next time I'm in London,  I'll make a small side trip to Surrey. It wouldn't hurt to look in on the boy."

Minerva nodded thoughtfully. "That's an excellent idea.  I will also do a little discrete feline prowling - I should be able to slip away without raising suspicions."

"Good. I won't be able to investigate immediately. I'll be out of the country until early July - I'm attending a Potions Conference in Marseilles."

"Really?  I didn't know that," Minerva was surprised.

 "It's no great matter.   It seems the fools wish to present me with some absurd award or other - for my work on blood replenishing potions.  I have to give a lecture," he admitted woefully.

"Why, Severus!  That's marvelous!  Congratulations!"  Minerva beamed with genuine approval.

Severus shrugged dismissively.  "I wouldn't even go, but Albus has insisted.  He feels such meaningless honors are good for the school's image."

"But it's not meaningless!  The acclaim of your peers is the most flattering of praise, Severus.  I'm very proud and pleased for you!"

"Thank you."  He stopped at the Entrance doors, and glanced around, then pulled her gently aside, murmuring guardedly.  "But after the conference, I'll be traveling on the Continent a bit.  Albus has asked me to discretely contact some of our former allies from the War. . .just in case this business with the Stone is a harbinger of future events.  Which means I will have to delay my trip to Surrey."

"Don't worry about that," Minerva reassured him.  "We can discuss what to do about Harry once you return. It will keep, I'm sure.  The boy has lived with those Muggles for ten years now. . .a few more weeks shouldn't make a difference at this point."

Severus agreed grudgingly.  "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I'm right.  I'll check up on the boy. You just go to France and enjoy your conference."

Severus grimaced. "It's a foolish business - mostly self-congratulatory posturing by brewers with little right to boast. . ," his scowl softened and a glint of animation lit his black eyes. "But there are a few innovative brewers attending, whose experiments I have been following. . .  I am looking forward to their lectures."

"Of course you are," Minerva agreed proudly.  "Now - you just enjoy yourself in France. . .we will take care of Mr. Potter when you return - don't you fret now.  You mustn't spoil your vacation with needless worrying."

 "Fret?" Severus retorted frostily.  "Minerva McGonagall, I'll have you know I do not fret."

"Of course you don't."

"Just because I express a smidgen of concern for a student, does not mean I indulge in needless worrying," he huffed.

"I'm aware of that, Severus.  But I know you when you're faced with a riddle - you lay awake nights,  gnawing over it like an old dog with a bone until you have solved it. "

"I do not!  What a revolting image!"

"You'll solve this one as soon as you return.  Don't worry," she added mischievously.  "I won't betray you.  No one will learn from me, how fond you are of Harry Potter."

"I never said I was fond of him!"

"You didn't have to, you old fraud," Minerva chuckled.  "It's as plain as the nose on your face. . . and in your case, that's saying something!"

"Really, Minerva!  You needn't be insulting!" He treated her to his most offended glare, then swept away in mock indignation. 

Minerva smiled at his retreating back, then followed him inside, worriedly pondering the future health and well-being of one small boy wizard, far off in the Muggle suburbs of Surrey.

The End