Severus continued staring at the recently returned vials, even after he had set them back in their respective places on the storeroom shelf. The glass, Snape imagined, was still warm from his intense hold.

He backed away slowly, pushing the heavy door closed with both palms flat against the wood. Severus kept his hands on the sealed door for a moment in thought. However, it didn’t take very long for the man to come to a practical decision.

With a brisk sweep of his dark robes, Severus marched hastily over to the classroom exit, threw open the door, and strode down the corridor to Dumbledore’s office, his lips pursed the entire way.

As Severus rounded the corner and stood in front of the stone gargoyles that guarded the entrance, he stopped.

Dear Merlin, what am I doing? he thought, closing his eyes and sighing so deeply that the rise and fall of his chest was visible.

For a moment, Severus continued to stand idly, unconsciously tracing the contours of his lips with a fingertip.  But try as he might, he couldn’t rid his mind of the distinct image of Potter’s face, the slight, controlled tremble of the boy’s fingers as he carefully placed the vials on the edge of the desk.

Snape knew that Potter had been involved somehow in the ingredients’ disappearance.  He was disgusted by the incident, yet minutely relieved, as his wrath towards the boy was rekindled. Pure antipathy was the only emotion that had radiated in thick waves between professor and student over the past year and a half, and suddenly finding his storeroom lacking was enough to plunge Severus into familiarity. He'd basked in it.

But only briefly.

Never in a century would Severus have expected Potter to come clean. After all, he had no proof of the boy’s involvement, except for the mysterious coincidence of items stolen only seconds after a cauldron exploded. It had, without a doubt, been one of Potter’s little side-kick nuisances who had done it. But for reasons unknown, Potter had taken responsibility.

A twelve-year-old...boy, Severus thought scathingly, placing emphasis on the latter as if it were a vile curse.

The son of James Potter. He grimaced.

Lingering over the last epithet, Severus sighed weakly. It was this final thought that pressed him into spouting the words “chocolate frog” with a roll of his eyes. The final consideration that deterred the man from slinking back to his dungeons in apathy...

Severus listened to the grumbling movement of the stone door and stepped inside.

***************

Albus Dumbledore was perched behind his desk like a careless toddler playing in his spilled, smashed bananas.  His silver head was bowed over a length of parchment that lay unfurled before him.

He glanced up at the terse knock and smiled softly, knowingly.

“Come in, Severus,” the headmaster called gently, his eyes adopting a twinkle as he followed the Potion Master’s rigid strides.

“Good evening, Headmaster,” Severus greeted tightly with a single, curt nod of his head when he stood only a few paces away from Dumbledore’s large, gleaming desk.

The smile lines etched around the headmaster’s eyes deepened as he surveyed Severus’ poised stance.

“A pleasure to see you, my boy,” Albus spoke up once more. “Judging by the late hour, I assume this is not simply a social call?”

Severus inwardly snorted. When did he ever simply make social calls?

“Indeed, Albus,” Snape began but hesitated, as he wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed.

However, it was clear that Dumbledore could subconsciously sense this as Severus rarely delayed a conversation unless something was troubling him.

“Have a seat, my dear boy,” Albus commanded easily, motioning to one of the chairs that sat across from his desk. “Lemon drop?”

Severus shook his head.  “Thank you,” he added. He had almost declined the offer to sit as well, but at the last minute, he decided against it. There was no need for Severus to give Albus the need to think something was bothering him.

The headmaster said nothing but raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Sensing that he would inevitably be the one to speak first, Severus sighed, shifted, and began.  “In regard to Potter--” Severus paused.

“Ah, yes…Harry,” Dumbledore tipped his head and popped a small lemon drop into his own mouth. “Go on, Severus, what is your concern with the boy?”

Severus hesitated, unsure of how to continue.

“He…the boy is beyond control, Headmaster!” Snape exclaimed more loudly and quickly than he intended.

He hadn’t actually meant to relate it exactly as such either; recoiling, he opened his mouth to speak again before Dumbledore could retort.

But he wasn’t quick enough.

Damn.

“I see,” Dumbledore said softly, his blue eyes briefly trailing over the parchment that still lay in front of him. “What has he done?”

Snape considered this for a moment. He thought about revealing the day’s events to the headmaster but felt inwardly barricaded by an indistinguishable force.

He tried again.  “What I meant to say, Albus, is that the Potter boy knows no limits. He is immune from consequences.”

Feeling more able, more confident, Severus cleared his throat and continued.

“I cannot keep the boy…out of harm’s way…” Snape stumbled over those few words,” if he is unwilling to keep himself accountable. Potter needs boundaries.  He needs consequences for acting like an idiotic, little-”

“I believe Harry found himself in detention several times during his first year, as well as this year has he not?” Dumbledore rhetorically inquired.

“And yet he still managed to crash a flying car into the Whomping Willow,” Severus sneered.

Dumbledore reclined slightly in his chair, staring intently at Severus with a look of mingled confusion and curiosity. “He did,” the elderly man agreed with a nod. “And he was punished. Minerva saw to that.”

Severus huffed, leaning forward.  “On the contrary, Albus, the boy was rescued from punishment.” Snape felt his patience waning, and quickly. “If it had been any other student besides your precious Potter, he would have been suspended without mercy!”

“Now, Severus…” the headmaster began gently.

Snape stood up, brushing his robes behind him.

“It is the truth, headmaster!” Severus was pacing now.  “Potter could not have cared less about the measly detention he was assigned! The boy has no regard for his safety and others’”

“Oh, I believe quite the opposite, Severus,” Albus replied. “True, he may not adequately look after his own safety, but I believe he cares very much about his friends.”

Snape paused, maintaining his rigid stance but attempting to remove the scowl that had creased his features. He gazed intently at the headmaster.

“I cannot,” Severus said quietly, fiercely, “look after a boy who flippantly disobeys every rule without sufficient consequences. The bloody Boy-Who-Lived may not give much thought to his own life.  But I imagine there are many that do, including you, Albus.”

Snape hesitated another moment before returning to his chair, sitting down roughly, a hand cascading exhaustedly over his face.

“Ah, I see…” Dumbledore offered again mildly. He steepled his fingers in thought and gazed faraway over the tips.

“Enlighten me, Headmaster, what do you see?” Severus retorted tiredly, without removing the hand from his eyes.

Dumbledore ignored the question.

“What are you suggesting, Severus?” the headmaster inquired, shifting his eyes to meet the professor’s.

Snape allowed his hand to drop heavily on the arm rest. He looked up at Albus.

“If I am expected to keep Potter…safe,” Severus barely restrained from choking on the word.  “If I must do precisely that, than give me the authority to ensure that safety by having more control over his discipline."

Dumbledore paused a long moment without unlocking his own eyes from the muddy black.   “Discipline, Severus?...”

Snape nodded.

“The boy needs proper consequences, as well as someone who can consistently follow through with them. After last year’s…events….it is beyond clear that Potter is far too impetuous.”

Dumbledore nodded, still gazing at the Potions Master in deep thought.

“He is quite a remarkable individual, Severus. The boy certainly has a knack for trouble, just like his father,” Dumbledore smiled again, failing to draw attention to the adjacent snort of disgust. “But I firmly believe that his inclination for compassion…for honesty…is what makes him so much more…like his mother.”

The two men held each other’s stare for a moment longer before Severus turned his head away, swallowing thickly.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued.  “Tell me, my boy, how would you plan to employ this...discipline?”

Wrenched back to the present, Snape took a deep breath. “The same way I deal with my Slytherins: high expectations and a firm hand. It is precisely what the boy needs.”

“Perhaps,” nodded Dumbledore. “However…”

Severus grumbled inaudibly. This was a waste of time.

“…a firm hand requires a soft disposition.”

Snape felt the blood rise to his cheeks again; his impatience was edging towards exasperation.

“If you expect me to provide Potter with a bedtime cuddle, you are sadly mistaken, Old Man…”

Dumbledore chuckled, his cobalt eyes twinkling in amusement.

“I’ll consider your request, Severus.”

Snape froze, startled by Albus’s sudden compliance.  But quickly regaining his neutral expression, he jerked his head into a nod.  With a sweep of his robes, he stood up and made his way toward the exit.

“Oh, but Severus…” Dumbledore called to the man, who had just made his way through the doorway and was about to turn the corner.

Snape stopped, turning expectantly.

"A word of warning: I believe Minerva might require a bit more convincing than I."  With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore slowly closed the door on Severus’s aghast expression.

A flash of the headmaster’s mischievous smile was the last thing Snape glimpsed as the heavy door swung closed with a snap, concealing Dumbledore’s office from view.

********************

Harry couldn’t sleep.

His stomach was twisted into knots and his feet were cold and clammy as he lay restlessly in his dormitory bed. Even though Harry was hot underneath the heavy blankets, every time he threw them off, he’d start to feel shivery again and ended up cocooning himself in the smothering heat of his covers.

His head swirled. Harry’s mind felt disconnected from the rest of his body. His eyes were heavy and remained closed, but sleep refused to engulf him. Likewise, his body was exhausted. The muscles in Harry’s arms ached from scrubbing so many vials, and the muscles in his legs twitched tiredly, endlessly, begging for the release of slumber.

But it was useless.

Today had been one of the most confusing, most intense days of his life, and Harry felt that he’d made a thousand mistakes, each one worse than the last. He couldn’t believe he’d given himself up—given his friends up. Ruined the entire plan. Now they’d never be able to sneak into the Slytherin common room undetected.

But another part of Harry felt relieved. Cleansed. And Snape hadn’t even said anything! Harry had braced himself for an explosion as he had attempted to exit the classroom but received nothing. Snape had only given him the time for his next detention the following day—7:00 instead of 6:30.

He’s probably cooking up something really vile for tomorrow night, Harry thought miserably.  That is if I make it through ‘til then.

But Snape wasn’t the kind of person that made anybody wait for anything, and Harry knew it. He was the most swift, reactive adult that Harry had come in contact with. Ever.

Snape never hesitated a second to deduct points from Gryffindor and had somehow seen Harry chuck the firework into Goyle’s cauldron, even though Harry had been so careful to do it when Snape had his back turned.

No, Harry’d been spared again, he decided. He just wasn’t exactly sure why.

Giving up all hope of falling asleep, the boy sluggishly, but quietly, dragged himself out of his bed and down the steps to the common room. A meager fire was still blazing, and Harry plopped himself heavily onto his favorite arm chair.  He draped his legs over one of the arms and relaxed back into the corner of the plush chair.

Suddenly, miraculously, it occurred to him:

It was simple, really. Of course, he would have to locate the Slytherin common room first, and then he’d have to think of a plan once he got in it. How could he get Malfoy to talk about the Heir of Slytherin?

Harry decided he could think about that later; he could ask Ron and Hermione. They could all concoct a plan…together.

Forgetting for the moment all of the worry over Snape and his strange behavior...the stolen and returned boomslang skin…the next day’s detention, the flickering flames in the fireplace began to blur and swivel as relief washed over him.

Sure, Harry would have to worry about everything else tomorrow, but right now he could only smile over his sudden spark of brilliancy and surround himself with the warm thoughts of his friends. Maybe he hadn’t ruined everything after all.

Instantly, Harry's eyes drooped as he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.