Harry had, at one point in his life, been under the misapprehension he had been bored in the past. He realized now how very, very wrong he had been. Being locked in the cupboard has been spidery and loud ( it was under the stairs, after all), Professor Binns managed to make dirt seem vivacious, Lockhart was…Lockhart, but this, this was…

"I dare say I wouldn't fall asleep, Potter. They might attack you."'They' were in fact a gaggle of shimmery green pixies. "Dragon mites" Snape called them. Harry was sitting on his backside on a small hummock, near a nondescript field about three miles from Snape's house. He was waving a strip of blue towel through the air, watching as more and more pixies clung to the surface and held on for the ride.

He had been a de facto carnival ride for what seemed to be a million hot, tedious hours. He wished he knew what they were doing, or in fact why Snape couldn't entertain the stupid pixies himself. Ever since the Cornish Pixie debacle in second year, Harry found the little things slightly distasteful. These were at least cute, chubby little celery colored creatures that looked the slightest bit like teddy bears.

Snape watched his ward and grinned to himself. Ahhh, the pleasures of being the adult. He himself wore a pair of heavy leather gloves and a hat rather like a bee keeper's. He was attempting to harvest a blood orchid, rare and precious, that he had found the day before while taking his morning walk. The problem was, the orchid was not cooperating; they didn't call them blood orchids for nothing. The razor sharp leaves would twist as soon as he tried to grasp the stem. Still, it was pleasant work and at least Potter was occupied.

The pixies let out a high pitched squeal and glowered as one. Harry picked up the pace where he had been nodding off, looking as though he were waving an iridescent green fan. The sun was directly overhead and he felt very thirsty. He narrowed his eyes at the wool clad back a hundred feet away and resolved to find a suitable revenge for this, if not now then when he was older.

Snape was cheerfully indifferent to all this adolescent plotting. He had given the boy a haircut over the brat's frantic protests. "Please, professor, my hair is worse when it's short. Aunt Petunia cut it short once and I looked like an escaped murderer."

"Looked like what?"

"No, it's true. It stuck up every which way, I looked right dodgy. Dudley laughed so hard he fell out of his chair."

Snape had given the boy his most marrow chilling grin. "Now that you've phrased it like that, Mr. Potter…. I must see this phenomenon myself."

Snape was loathe to admit the brat was right. He looked…peculiar to say the least. Still, the boy was a wizard. The hair was growing quickly, and as Snape pointed out "Well, at least Miss Bulstrode isn't here."         

Harry jerked with horror. "What?"Snape put on his best solicitous look.

"Why, Mr. Potter, didn't you think I'd noticed the adoring glances you throw at her every Potions class? Really, it's rather sweet, she's a lovely girl, you'll be very happy together." Knowing full well that Potter (and the idiot and the know-it-all) were actually glaring at Malfoy and his fan club.

The conversation had its intended effect. The boy shuddered and was silent for a good long while.

Snape finally succeeded in snipping the bloom and watched as a bluish, viscous sap turned red as it oozed out. He held his collecting phial up and carefully filled as high as it would go.  They rarely gave much, but the sap made a superior blood restorer, and the leaves made an effective and safe cholesterol blocker. He resolved to brew both as soon as possible, and owl them to Poppy.

He flicked his eyes to Potter. The boy had lost his battle with sleep and the dragon mites were swarming all over him, especially on his glasses. As unhappy as they were to have lost their towel, the boy himself was a satisfactory amusement. Snape grinned to himself. He could shoo them off. Could.

Instead, he pulled out the copy of Potions Weekly he kept in his trouser pocket and commenced to read about advances in baldness cures ( like Muggle remedies, mostly expensive and ineffective). Still, they were doing some interesting with fleabane and catwort…

XXXXXXXXX

  Snape had just about decided that the man who'd written the article was a fuzzy headed crackpot when he heard a noise from Potter's part of the field; he looked up in time to see Potter writhing on the ground, howling for help.           

 Snape rose slowly to his feet, folded the journal in his back pocket and ambled casually to the hummock.

"Something the matter, Mr. Potter?""YEEESSS!""Whatever could it be, I wonder?"

"SNAAAPE! MAKE THEM STOP!"

"Beg pardon? I didn't hear you say please."

"PLEEAASE!"           

 Snape sighed and flicked his wand. The Mites were dispersed, en masse, in a little cloud that blew to the other end of the meadow. The boy lay there a long moment, glaring up at his guardian. Snape's face was twitching oddly. Harry hoped fervently he'd been stung by a wasp, until he realized Snape was doing his best not to laugh.           

"It's not funny!"

"I agree. It was quite hilarious. I only hope I can do the story justice at the opening feast."           

Potter's eyes got big. "Wait, what? You can’t tell people about this!"

Snape gave his most evil blank stare. "Can’t I?" Then he turned and began to walk away.           

" You're joking! You have to be joking! "" I never joke." 

Harry racked his brain."You wouldn’t."

            Snape smiled.

Harry frantically looked for anything that he thought would dissuade Snape from his lunatic plan. He had a reputation! Not to mention that little dark haired Ravenclaw that smiled at him sometimes.

   Snape stopped and considered. “Why should I not do this? You and your little friends have embarrassed me more times that I can count. Not to mention, a corrective dose of humility might keep you from developing a swell head.”

            “ I don’t have.”

  Snape hrumphed. “ I suppose I might see my way clear to keeping this a secret if I thought you were willing to show me you’ve changed.”

  Harry eyed him as though he thought Snape meant to turn him into a toadstool.

“What do you mean? Sir?” It seemed a good idea to be respectful while his social life hung in the balance.

    “To start with, you aren’t stupid, Potter. That may be the only time I ever say that, so I hope you listened. There is no earthly reason you should make the marks you do except idleness and sheer stubborn pride. An hour of study a day, of the subjects of my choosing, under my supervision. No attitude, no pouting and no wasting your time. Understood?”

     “This is blackmail! You can’t do that, teachers don’t-- ”

  “I am acting as a concerned guardian. Obviously simply asking, or expecting you to do what you’re told, will not work. So I have simply found a more—immediate way of getting through to you. This is the only deal you’re getting, Potter. Take it or leave it.”

     Harry nodded. “Alright. Can I still fly and do other things?”

“I wouldn’t want you underfoot all the time. My ears need a small chance to recover every day.”

    They began the sunny, quiet walk home and Harry sighed. He decided he loathed all pixies everywhere, especially Dragon Mites. What kind of creature attacks by tickling it’s victim into submission?