Severus was in his chambers gathering and arranging the few piles of essays he had graded the night before. It was ten minutes before seven o’clock in the morning, although the vast dimness in his study made it seem much earlier.

Breakfast was served in the Great Hall at seven-thirty, and Severus knew he would have plenty of time to organize his classroom a bit before he made his way over to the morning meal.

He always arrived early, even though he loathed the chipper breakfast greetings. Flitwick’s cheerfulness was enough to make him regurgitate his kippers. Snape would have been more than content to simply take a cup of strong coffee in his study. Alone. Nevertheless, Albus insisted on Severus’ company, and he reluctantly, but dutifully, complied.

Materials in hand, Snape was no more than four paces from the exit when the distinct crackle of flames washed over his senses. Severus didn’t need to turn around to identify the intruder—or the sharp voice that followed.

“Severus Snape!” Minerva McGonagall barked from behind him. “Care to inform me where you’re headed so early this morning?” The delicacy of age had done nothing to soften the edge of the bespectacled woman’s blunt voice.

Severus cringed and closed his eyes before spinning on his heel to retort.

Merlin help us all, he thought, a bit disgustedly.

“Good morning, Minerva,” Snape offered woodenly. At least this conversation wouldn’t be one that was deterred by purposeful procrastination. “I was on my way to the classroom—as I routinely do—before breakfast.

The woman stood with her right hand perched on her hip, lips pursed and eyebrows raised over her small, square spectacles.

“Very well, Severus, but seeing as you routinely arrive at the morning meal quite a bit before the rest of the staff, I believe a few of those minutes could be spared for me. Do you disagree?” Regardless of the early hour, Snape could sense a hint of smugness in the old woman’s expression.

Snape inaudibly sighed and schooled his expression to conceal his gritted teeth.

“Of course not, Minerva.” Snape nodded. Outwardly, his irritation at her slight patronization was undetectable.

He was in the process of gesturing to one of the armless, ebony chairs that sat across from his desk; however, McGonagall, without waiting for an invitation, stiffly sat down and motioned for Severus to do the same.

Snape clenched his right fist that was hidden beneath the sleeve of his dark robes and wordlessly obeyed.

This will undoubtedly be a short conversation, Severus inwardly assured himself.

There was a brief moment of silence between the two professors, but as always, Minerva spoke first.  “I suppose you know what this is about, Severus?”

She remained seated on the edge of her chair, refusing to recline even the slightest.

“Perhaps, Minerva,” Snape stated emotionlessly, continuing the game of repeatedly stating each other’s first names to ensure that this conversation was, indeed, a serious one. If the old woman could be condescending, so could Severus. “However, I would be obliged if you would assert your endeavor…”

McGonagall narrowed her gaze, wringing her hands.

“Don’t play games with me, Severus Snape, you know exactly why I have come—to discuss Po—“

“Potter,” Snape finished with a sneer and tilt of his head, “the medium of most—if not all—congregational concerns of the wizarding world.” He sat back, waiting for her to speak.

Minerva allowed her hands to rest on her lap, the fingers laced tightly.

“I received quite a lengthy letter from the Headmaster early this morning,” McGonagall began.

“I see. And…?” Severus raised an eyebrow.

Minerva paused once more…but briefly.

“And I fail to see what you are trying to accomplish here, Severus!”

Any other person sitting across from McGonagall may have flinched from her sudden eruption.  Snape didn’t bat an eye. He simply cocked his head once more, eyebrows slightly pinched.

“Elaborate.”

The old professor took a deep breath before continuing. “You and I both know that you have had it out for Mr. Potter the minute he stepped foot in Hogwarts.” Her tone was thick with exasperation. “And now you simply want more control over the boy in order to…to…thrash the son of James Potter!”

Amusement threatened to turn the corners of Severus’s mouth, and he fought to control it.  “As you wish, Minerva…”

“This is not a joke, young man!” McGonagall barked. Her spectacles had slipped down to the very tip of her nose, and the professor corrected them impatiently.

“And that has never been implied,” Severus retorted, seriously attempting to swallow his irritation.

“Then explain.”

Minerva finally allowed herself to recline.

Severus averted his gaze for a moment, pondering over his future words.  Clearing his throat, he met McGonagall’s stern, expectant expression with his own. He spoke firmly and simply.  “Potter is in dire need of proper, consistent discipline--”

"And you mean to tell me, Severus, that he currently isn’t receiving this from his head of house?

Snape sighed. He’d had a notion that this was going to occur.

“Do allow me to continue.”

Another pause.

“Very well,” McGonagall complied with a curt nod of her head.

“As I was saying, it is obvious that the Potter boy possesses issues with authority. He is disrespectful, insolent--”

“Not to me,” Minerva stated simply, interrupting once more.

“Disobedient,” Snape continued, raising his voice, “with no concern for his safety.”

McGonagall softened her expression a bit at the latter statement, narrowing her gaze in consternation. The woman was clearly remembering the troll incident of Potter’s first year. Perhaps Severus had a point…

“Why now?” she inquired lightly, yet sternly, leaning forward.

“I beg your pardon?”

Minerva allowed a smile to crinkle only the corners of her eyes.  “I mean, Severus, why now are you suddenly giving further thought to Mr. Potter’s well-being? You would have enjoyed nothing more than seeing the boy sent back on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of term for his and Mr. Weasley’s unfortunate encounter with the Whomping Willow.”

Severus frowned. He didn’t know how to explain what he was feeling. He also didn’t care to relate yesterday’s events to the old woman any more than he did to the headmaster. Severus only knew that, unlike the previous year, he sensed an inkling of repentance in the boy. He wasn’t sure any seventh-year Hufflepuff would have possessed enough honesty to return the stolen vials as Potter had the previous night. 

Snape cleared his throat once more.  “If the boy were in my house during the times he pulled any of his recent stunts, he would have gotten much more than a detention…”

“Oh, I am quite aware of what Mr. Potter would have gotten, Severus; though I believe the boy requires more than just a trip over your knee,” Minerva replied matter-of-factly.

Snape snorted but said nothing of this particular statement.  “Whatever you are thinking, Minerva, the fact remains that your Golden Boy is out of control and requires proper discipline. Clearly, detention is an unsatisfactory deterrent for Potter, as he still cannot seem to keep himself out of trouble.”

McGonagall stared at him, searching his face for a long moment before finally speaking.  “Very well, Severus,” she replied with a sigh, rising from her chair. “You will allow me the day to take this into consideration?”

Snape rose from his seat as well.  “Of course.”

He glanced at the clock: seven-fifteen. So much for organizing his materials for the day…

McGonagall stepped over to the fireplace and threw in a handful of Floo powder. She paused, ignoring the wild flickering of the warm, emerald flames for a moment.

“You never cease to amaze me, Severus Snape,” Minerva smiled softly and shook her head.

Snape gave no reply to this; his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth.  She had given him the same, vague look that Dumbledore had last night.

The old woman stepped into the flames, and with a terse command of Gryffindor Tower! spun away to her destination

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

Someone was shaking Harry’s shoulder firmly, and it slowly stirred him out of his delusional state of sleep. It took him a while to register the fact that he wasn’t in his dormitory bed but draped over the large armchair in front of the common room fireplace.

“Harry, wake up!” Hermione’s voice sounded far away.

The boy turned his head to the right from its position on the couch and winced at the stiffness in his neck. His eyes felt gritty and his heart was pounding from lack of sleep.

Harry moaned.

“No, don’t go back to sleep,” Hermione chided. “We’ve got breakfast in ten minutes.”

“Not hungry…” Harry mumbled but kicked his feet around so that he was sitting properly in the cushioned chair.

How long had he lain awake in his bed last night before coming to the common room? Harry wasn’t sure. He also wasn’t completely certain how many hours of sleep he had gotten.  Judging from the dizziness that kept threatening to clog his head, Harry guessed two…maybe three hours?

Hermione sat down across from him on the stone ledge next to the fireplace.  “You don’t look good, Harry,” she stated, worried.  “Did you sleep out here all night?”

Harry took some deep breaths and rubbed the tips of his fingers against his eyes to try and wake himself up.  “No. Only a few hours.”

“Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey,” the girl suggested.  “You’re a bit pale.” Her brow was deeply furrowed.

When Harry looked up again, Hermione’s face was so close to his that he could barely see past her bushy hair.

He shook his head and yawned. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well, you’d best go and get ready, Harry, you don’t want to be late for Charms.”

Harry yawned once more and nodded sleepily.

“See you at breakfast, then,” Hermione said as she flounced off to the Great Hall, her heavy bookbag bouncing against her hip.

Harry stood up and walked over to the stairs leading up to his dormitory. Ron came down almost a second later.

“Hey, mate,” Ron called out brightly, and then noticing a still pajama-clad Harry, he asked, “You coming to breakfast? It’s getting late, you know…”

“No, you go on. Hermione’s already down there. I’m not hungry.”

Ron, taken aback at the mere thought of refusing a meal exclaimed, “You all right, Harry?”

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. The lack of sleep was obviously wearing down his level of patience.

“Yeah, mate, I’m fine,” Harry replied as he began climbing stairs, the stone almost achingly cold on his bare feet. “I’ll see you in class.”

Ron watched his friend climb to the top.

“Okay, then, see you.”

As Harry entered the dormitory, he plopped heavily on his bed. His head was still spinning slightly, and he rested it in his hands for a bit before reaching for his uniform.

I can’t tell them yet, Harry thought. He’d fallen asleep before he could come up with a good excuse for losing the ingredients and a proper plan of action. Maybe he’d mention it at dinner before his second—

Oh, son of a…

Now Harry remembered why he couldn’t sleep last night.

He moaned miserably for the second time that morning. Allowing himself to fall back onto the mattress, Harry wallowed in self-pity for a moment longer before sluggishly succumbing to the inevitability of dressing and sitting through a day of lessons.

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

Severus had left the Great Hall just before six o’clock; he was glad he’d pushed Potter’s detention back an hour, as it gave him sixty wonderful, student-free moments to unwind and organize his classroom—something he wasn’t able to do this morning.

Stopping briefly by his chambers to retrieve a stack of clean parchment, Severus noticed a small, rolled-up piece tied with a bit of twine resting on the edge of his desk.

Placing the larger stack on a nearby table, Severus slinked over to his desk and untied and unrolled the parchment.  He couldn’t suppress a hint of a surprised expression at its contents:

Severus,

I consent to your request. However, abuse your power and an unruly boy will be the least of your worries.

Regards,

M. McGonagall

Severus reread the letter and shook his head the second time through. That woman would be the death of him. Melodramatic…Irritating…

But surprisingly, she’d consented. Severus would deliver his expectations to the boy first thing tonight.

If this news doesn’t knock Potter off his stool, I don’t know what will, he thought.

Perhaps he’d eventually turn The-Boy-Who-Lived into The-Boy-Who-May-Still-Live-Yet. It’d sure make Severus’s job a hell of a lot easier.

Satisfied, Snape returned the parchment back to his desk and watched as it rolled tightly in on itself once more. Sighing, he strolled briskly over to the deposited stack, scooped it up, and made his way to the dungeon classroom.

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

Harry sat awkwardly on the stool in which he’d been summoned to perch himself only a minute or two after he’d entered the classroom for his detention.

Harry had timed it so he arrived about twenty seconds before seven o’clock. When the boy had knocked and entered, he’d been startled to find Snape sitting calmly at his desk grading papers. The man was still scratching away, Harry noticed, but not as furiously as last night.

As the boy sat on the stool behind one of the higher tables toward the front of the classroom with his sweaty hands tucked underneath his legs and his ankles crossed, he glanced around the classroom.  The glass bottles he had scrubbed last night were nowhere in sight. The sharp, sickening smell of the dead, preserved toads had disappeared as well.

Odd, Harry thought. What’s left for me to do?

Snape cleared his throat and put his quill down on the paper. Harry’s heart rate increased.

Great, I’m dead. Goodbye Quidditch; farewell treacle tart…so long cute Ravenclaw girl that sits in front of me in History of Magic.

As the potions master stood up from behind his desk, he didn’t look at Harry. Instead, he walked over to another table, grabbed a stool and carried it over with him, placing it across the table so that it was facing Harry.

Er…okay…

Taking a seat himself, Snape now stared intently at Harry, his expression neutral. He paused a few seconds before beginning.

“You did not steal from my storeroom, Potter,” Snape said firmly. The sudden echo of his professor’s silky, stern voice caused the boy to jerk a bit in his chair.

Harry didn’t know what to say. How was he supposed to follow up a statement like that? He must have been giving Snape a funny look, because the man only narrowed his eyes and leaned forward.

“Answer me, Mr. Potter. I do not tolerate silence from anyone when asked a question.” His voice was a bit colder than before.

That wasn’t really a question…

“No, sir, I didn’t,” Harry finally replied softly, wondering where Snape was going with this.

Snape’s arms were now resting fully on the table. He wouldn’t break eye contact with Harry, and it made his insides squirm uncomfortably.

“But someone else did, correct?”

Harry nodded and then added a whispered, “Yes, sir.”

“Yet the vials were in your possession--look at me, Potter!” Harry’s head immediately snapped up.  "You had the ingredients last, did you not?”

“Yes, sir.”  Harry was beginning to sweat. He was still a bit dizzy with fatigue, and he clenched his teeth as a shiver ran down his spine.

“You know who stole from me, don’t you?”

Harry felt like throwing up but couldn’t help noticing that Snape didn’t look especially angry—just very stern.  He nodded.

Snape nodded as well, “And the exploding cauldron…you did this to help that person steal the ingredients, yes?”

Harry nodded again, weakly.

Please don’t make me say it. Please don’t make me say it. Please…

Snape studied the boy’s face for a moment, scrunching up his eyes inquisitively.  “You aren’t going to tell me who it was, are you Potter?”

Harry’s head was spinning wildly.  “No, sir,” he whispered, barely audible.

Snape tipped his head once in a nod as if he’d already expected this.

Harry stared at his professor, breathing heavily. He already felt sick before he came to detention. Now, he felt worse.

Wordlessly, Snape stood, picked up his stool and swung it around to the side of the table so he was sitting closer to Harry. Plunking it back down, he reached out for the seat of the boy’s stool and pulled it closer so that the two were positioned as if they were going to have a staring contest.

Harry held on to the table in order to steady himself when Snape had, without warning, scraped Harry's stool closer to his own.

Resting his right hand and forearm on the table, Snape leaned in and spoke again.  "It ends here, Potter.”

Huh?

“Sir?” Harry was bewildered.

“No, don’t speak. Listen.” Snape’s voice held a steely edge that was unfamiliar to Harry.  “You have gone far too long and have overstepped too many boundaries without sufficient consequences during your career at Hogwarts.”

“But, I…”

“Potter, Do. Not. Speak,” the man growled, glaring. He continued. “In other words, Mr. Potter, there will be no more late-night wandering around the castle, no rule-breaking, no disrespect in my classroom, no stupid, dangerous stunts that harm you or your classmates--”

"I said I was sorry!"

Snape glared again, and Harry dropped his head, trying to swallow the growing thickness in his throat.

“Count yourself lucky, Potter,” Snape said very quietly, “because had you not redeemed yourself, you’d be in far worse trouble than you are right now.”

Redeemed myself?

“However," the Potions Master continued, his voice icy again, “if you ever do anything like that again—in my classroom or anywhere else—if I catch wind of one of your mindless stunts or roguish plots, regardless of your intent, you will face my consequences and will find yourself in serious trouble.”

Harry was flabbergasted, “But...I don't...I mean--"

“Allow me to put it plainly, Potter.” Snape leaned in closer. “If I find out you’ve done any of the things I’ve mentioned—eyes up!—just one, you will receive a spanking.”

Harry felt his cheeks burn intensely at Snape’s threat.  He can’t do that!  he thought.  And Harry would liked to have told him so, but the words congealed in his throat.

Snape sat back and shook the dark hair out of his face, waiting for the message to sink in.

Harry chewed on his lip and blinked his eyes several times to relieve the burning sensation that was forming at the corners and throughout his sinuses.

He can’t be serious, Harry thought. But there was no mirth playing about the professor’s face—no condescending smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth. Nothing but solemnity and sternness threaded Snape's features. 

Shit, he really IS serious.

Crossing his arms tightly against his chest, Snape spoke at last. “Well, Potter, have I made myself perfectly clear?”

No effing way.

“Yes, sir,” Harry croaked, feeling utterly chastised. And hating himself for it.

"Good."

Snape stood up, moved the stool back, and stalked over to his desk, “Now, for tonight’s punishment…”

Harry’s insides coiled but immediately released when Snape returned with only a small stack of parchment.

“Professor?

“Potter.”

“I…it’s just that…” Harry stammered, “I don’t understand. Why does it matter what I do as long as it’s not in your classroom? Professor McGonagall gives me detention all of the time. I mean…”

But Harry stopped. He didn’t really know what he was trying to say, and he felt like an absolute idiot.

Snape sighed and moved forward.  “Ah, Mr. Potter,” he replied with the tiniest of smirks. “I would imagine the hero of the wizarding world would expect nothing less than the full treatment…”

Snape slapped the pile of paper in front of the slumped boy.

“Take out your quill.”