Harry looked fearfully at the bookshelves one last time before staring down at the desk in front of him. He watched the parallel grains of the wood, worn smooth, as Snape walked up to him.

"What are you doing?" Snape asked, his voice cold but silky.

"Nothing," Harry did not look up. "Nothing at all. I'm sitting right here."

"You're breathing very fast which means you've found some kind of trouble while I was gone. Out with it."

"No, I was sitting right here. And now I'm ready to continue the lesson."

"You must take me for an idiot, Potter," Snape barked at him. "Whatever did must be very bad indeed, otherwise you never would ask me to continue a lesson which you have no chance at succeeding."

So Snape was making him lose on purpose! Well, Harry had already guessed that, and he saw no reason to protest. Snape did not move, just stood there watching him.

Harry tucked his hands under his legs and stared at the desk, trying not to look at the shelves. Don't look at the shelves, don't look at the shelves. But of course, eventually he couldn't help take a quick glance at the shelves. He forced his eyes back again, but Snape had already seen him.

"Ah! Potter, Potter, such a poor, stupid child, given yourself away so easily," Snape sneered as he walked towards the shelves. But his triumph at finding where Harry had been disappeared at he neared the shelves.

Snape whirled to look at him, half-mad with rage. "You touched this shelf, you saw what was there? Did you?"

"Yes," Harry confessed, fear making his small face go white.

"And you saw it, you read -"

"Yes," Harry grabbed on to the edge of his seat, "I dropped the dragon. I didn't mean to, but I thought it could fly and it broke."

"The dragon?" Snape glanced to the shelf and saw the dragon with the broken wings. "What? Oh, I see. Yes, it's broken. But you didn't - oh never mind."

Harry looked at him confused, but Snape straightened. "How dare you start touching things? Up, out of your seat. Go the board and write ‘I will keep my hands to myself' a hundred times."

It was all so stupid, Harry thought as he began writing the words on the blackboard. Snape seemed to want something out of him, wanted him to do or say or feel something, but Harry could not figure out exactly what. Did Snape just want him to be miserable? Well, that was hard to keep up for long periods of time. Yes, Harry was miserable at the Dursleys, but in a different way, a quiet way that Harry had learned to endure. They could not lock him up for ever - eventually that had to let him out or feed him, and he learned to be patient until they felt he had been punished enough.

But Snape was not part of that life; Snape was part of the Hogwarts life, the magical side of Harry, the place where he belonged and had friends and people to care about him. Yes, Snape was trying his best to be cruel, but he kept using magic, and magic of any kind reminded Harry of Hogwarts, Dumbledore, Hagrid, and Ron and Hermione.

"Potter!" Snape snapped behind him, making Harry jump and drop the chalk. He grabbed it and straightened to find Snape glowering at him.

"You're not paying attention. You've written ‘I will keep myself' twice now. You've been disobedient, clumsy, and defiant all morning."

"No, I haven't," Harry protested.

"And talking back," Snape smirked. "Since you seem obviously eager to incite my wrath, bend over my desk immediately."

-----

Harry trudged into his bedroom, wiping his mouth that tasted of toothpaste. His eyes hurt from reading so long, and his rear end felt hot though it did not actually ache. In the afternoon, after what felt like years of lessons, Snape had hit him with a spell that caused his bottom to twinge and itch like he had been spanked an hour before. Harry spent most of the time squirming in his seat and listening to Snape lecture and snarl and goad him.

Harry was not sure what would make Snape happy, so he alternated between huddling in his desk miserably and showing small signs of defiance. Snape wasn't pleased with anything - the man was livid when Harry pretended rebellion, but he seemed frustrated when Harry collapsed on the desk and admitted he knew nothing.

Snape let him have lunch, a cold sandwich and fruit packed into a tin pail and a mug of cold milk. Harry supposed it kept with the whole schoolboy theme and he ate it hungrily, but when he asked if he could play outside for a while, Snape had refused.

Harry had pointed out that all students got a recess period, even schoolboys in the 1800's. Snape had then hit him with spell and proceeded on with the lessons.

"Stupid git," Harry muttered as he got into bed, "can't do anything right. No one's scared of him - just a big prat with a big nose."

Vampyr came into the room and settled down beside the bed. Every night the huge dog had slept beside Harry's bed, and he found that he - well, Harry didn't exactly like the dog there, but it was nice not to sleep alone.

Rolling onto his stomach, Harry reached one arm off the bed and very carefully touched the top of the dog's head with his fingers.

Vampyr perked his head up, but he did not snap at Harry's fingers. The dog nuzzled against Harry's finger insistently, pushing until Harry pulled his arm back on the bed. Vampyr stood up and put his paws on the edge of the bed, standing up to observe Harry in the bed.

Harry lay very still, and Vampyr dropped back to the floor, satisfied that his charge was in bed and down for the night. Harry expected Snape to come up - Snape always seemed to deliver a few hard words at bedtime, to ensure that Harry was not happy as he fell asleep, but Snape did not appear right away.

Harry's throat felt a little sore as he relaxed on the pillow, and he wished he had drunk more water at supper, but he supposed he could get some in the morning. His eyelids drooped shut and he melted into the pillow, and by the time Snape finally came up, Harry was fast asleep.

------

There was toast, eggs, and fried meat for breakfast the next morning. Harry had gotten used to the oatmeal, but a change was always welcomed, and he sat to eat without comment. Snape even let him have some hot tea, slamming the cup up front of Harry without word. Harry drank the tea quickly before Snape could take it away and leaned back in the chair, very satisfied. His throat did not hurt quite as much; it barely tickled now.

As Snape finished eating, Harry wondered what he would be learning today. He recalled a little of the Latin from yesterday, but maybe Snape would teach him some magic, maybe even fourth or fifth year spells. Probably not, but Harry enjoyed thinking about while everything was still calm and Snape had not gone mad for the time being.

Harry was not dressed for the school room; the clothes beside his bed had been plain black pants and a simple dark shirt with black shoes. Snape could always transform his clothes, but then again it wasn't the same if they were really pretending. If Harry really was a schoolboy, he would have dressed in school clothes and then a bell would have rang, and he would have marched downstairs for a plain breakfast and then another bell would ring for lessons to start. Trust Snape not to get it right.

"What are you scowling at?" Snape suddenly thundered.

Harry jerked in his seat and hastily shook his head. "Nothing, sorry, sir, I was thinking."

He paused, ready for Snape to make a caustic remark about how hard it must be for a Potter to think or something equally mean, but Snape only snapped,

"Straighten yourself up, or it will be no lunch for you today."

Harry did not believe him. Yes, Snape made him miserable and spanked him and yelled at him, but so far Snape had not refused him food. In fact, Snape seemed to make a point of giving him disgusting healthy food and lots of milk and water as well. After his first night in the house, Harry was sure he would get dry bread everyday, but so far he felt full - it never occurred to him to seek out of his room here and snitch food like did at the Dursleys. There in his cupboard, stealing food became a matter of survival while here at Snape's house food was a regular occurrence, almost forced on him as Snape expected him to eat everything on his plate.

Snape put down his fork, and Harry sighed, ready for another day of boring lessons.

Without being told, Harry got up and headed for the living-room-turned-classroom with Snape right behind him. Harry opened the door and came to a quick stop at what he saw, so sudden a stop Snape nearly ran into him.

"Watch where you're going, idiot boy," Snape told him, but Harry was busy taking in the new room.

Instead of a stark classroom, he stood at the doorway of a potions lab. Stone walls, stone floors, two large wooden tables, an enormous fireplace with an iron cauldron over it - the only things that did not change were the shelves of books which stayed exactly the same as in the classroom and the living room before that.

Harry felt a spell hit him, and he glanced down to find himself clothed in long black robes made of rough material. He peered up at Snape inquiringly.

"You're my apprentice now," Snape brushed past him to light the cauldron. "Let's see if you can make yourself helpful around the laboratory. Go fetch me wood."

As Harry began his chores around the lab, he wasn't sure if being an apprentice was so very different from being a work boy. Vastly different from being a schoolboy (he would give Snape that much credit), but other than the clothes, he felt like he was doing the same menial labor. Of course, Harry reflected as he began scouring a table clean with a damp cloth, he was working aside Snape rather than alone and they were making potions, so maybe . . .

As he had already proved the year before, Harry was not the best at Potions. As he helped Snape, Snape quizzed him about ingredients in certain potions, potions Harry had never heard of, much less made. Harry tried to concentrate on what he was being asked, but when Snape demanded to know the pivotal element to Draught of Living Death, Harry replied,

"All of them."

Snape stopped stirring the cauldron to look at him. "Excuse me?"

"All of them," Harry repeated, irritably as he kept sweeping the stone floor with a rough-handled broom. "If you take one thing out of a potion, it doesn't work right. That's what you say in class."

"Are you being smart with me, Potter?" Snape snarled.

Harry threw down the broom.

"No!" he insisted. "I am not being smart. If I were being smart, I would tell you that I think you're stupid and pathetic and I hate you. I would tell you to let me go and stop playing these games which aren't even good pretending."

Snape turned to face him, crossing his arms ominously.

"This isn't even a real potions lab," Harry flung out his arms. "It's a living room you transformed, and you didn't do a good job because the books are still here. I have tried to go along with you - but you're not happy with anything I do. You're an awful person, a mean man, and a horrible teacher. You don't like me, and that's fine, but why do I have to stay just so we can not like each other? And if you wanted me to be really miserable, why don't you just lock me in a dungeon for real?"

Harry stood there, breathing hard. He knew he shouldn't have yelled at Snape. Another second, and Snape would have him over the table, face down, probably swatting him with the large wooden spoon still wet with the potion. Harry knew he would have to grit his teeth and bear it, then Snape would let him down, and they would get back to work in silence. Harry briefly wondered why he kept yelling at Snape - did he want to goad the man into hurting him? That was crazy, but at the same time, he wanted Snape to talk to him, to stop sneering and scoffing and really talk.

But Snape watched him in cold distain for a second before whispering, "As you wish, Potter."

Snape gave a flick of his wand, and Harry dropped through the floor.

He didn't even have time to yell before he felt himself dropped against a hard dirt floor. Something attached to his ankle, cold and metal. Rubbing his side, Harry sat up to look around him. He was in a dark, cold, cellar-like space, lit by a single lantern.

Around his bare ankle was an iron shackle, and the shackle was bolted to a thick chain that looped around a bare wooden post.

Furious, Harry raised his face to the wooden ceiling and shouted, "This isn't even a real dungeon. It's the cellar, and you're too stupid to know the difference."

No answer came back, but the length of chain shortened, dragging his foot towards the post.

"Oh, thanks," Harry muttered, "now it's so much better. Stupid, sodding, ugly . . ."

He kept mumbling mean names for Snape, careful not to say anything too loud.

The cellar/dungeon seemed horribly cold after the warm living room, and Harry hugged his arms around his chest for warmth. His apprentice outfit had disappeared, and he was wearing a raggedy shirt and ripped trousers. Kind of like something the Count of Monte Christo would wear in prison, but then he had a bowl of soup everyday and maybe a tin of water. There was no bowl or tin in the cellar. Once again, Snape had no imagination.

As the hours dragged by, Harry found himself hunched in a tight ball, rubbing the tops of his feet to stay warm. His throat ached horribly, and even his glasses felt cold on his face. After what seemed like forever, a bucket appeared on the dirt floor, empty. Harry guessed that was for relieving himself, and he could barely keep back a sob. It was too much, too awful when he had done nothing wrong.

He opened his mouth to call to Snape and say he was wrong and apologize for what ever sin Snape thought he had committed, but then Harry shut it with a snap. He yanked off his glasses to swipe at his eyes and put them back on, determined. He had lived in a cupboard for years, he had Dudley chase him and hit him, he had been lonely, sad, and hungry all his life - one ugly Potions Master was not going to break him.

As more time passed, Harry found himself shaking with anger that soon turned into shaking from the cold. He wanted to get up and walk around, but he couldn't bear the thought of standing up and letting his limbs go free in the frigid air.

Finally, he curled up on his side on the floor, closing his eyes and pretending he was in his bed upstairs. It seemed like days ago he had slept there, tucked between the covers that seemed almost unnecessary for summer nights, snuggled against the pillow with Vampyr to watch over him. What he would give to be back in that bed, in his nightshirt, still warm from a bath?

Or outside in the sun-soaked garden, with the warm grass under his bare feet, hot from running around or chopping logs. Or in the kitchen, heating the fire to wash dishes, plunging his hands into the hot water. Or even in the classroom, a comfortable temperature while Snape lectured endlessly. If Vampyr was there, Harry could have huddled by the dog, put his icy fingers against the thick fur and been able to fight the cold.

He could picture his bedroom, the small bedroom with its neat bed and plain covers. He crawled into the bed and pulled the covers around him, trying to get warm. He would stay in the bed, never leave it, never venture out in the cold world again.

Harry opened his eyes and saw the cellar, the dark corners and single light, and he wanted to cry. He squeezed his eyes tight, praying he would fall asleep and wake to find himself in his bed.

He must have slept some because he jerked awake suddenly. Still in a ball, he was freezing, and his nose was so stuffed he could not breathe, and snot dripped out to the dirt below. His chest ached, he could not swallow, and Harry knew he had reached the end.

"Snape?" he croaked. His throat felt like knives were drawing back and forth, and tears blurred his vision. "Snape, please . . ."

A sharp pop sounded beside him, and he found Snape standing over him.

"What is it, Potter? Have you decided perhaps that - Potter, sit up!"

When Harry did not move, Snape prodded him with his shoe. "I said sit up, or I'll just leave you down here to rot."

Harry turned his head slightly to look up at Snape with hurt-filled eyes. Snape froze, and then he knelt down. He thrust out a hand and clamped it on Harry's forehead.

"Potter," Snape's voice had changed, not quite as icy, "Potter, you're burning up."

Harry shook his head the least bit. "No," he whispered, "cold."

"I should have expected something like this," Snape sneered. "Wanted to be coddled and pampered, like a little prince, our precious savior. Deliberately getting sick to make a bigger nuisance out of yourself."

However, as he spoke, Snape reached down and scooped Harry up. Harry pulled away just for a second, but Snape felt so warm that Harry tightened his numb fingers into the man's shirt and buried his face in his chest.

He did not care where Snape took him, he did not care what Snape said, did not care what Snape did with him, as long as he left the freezing dungeon with his Potions Master.