Harry squirmed on the hard seat, even while he crossed his arms over his chest. This was worse than not fair; he’d wanted to have a little time with Ron and Hermione, and now he couldn’t, just because Snape wouldn’t act like a bloody human being for once. On top of that, his head was pounding and he had to use the loo.

He wished there was someone, anyone, to whom he could express the maelstrom of feelings. No one had explained this sudden change to him. Had his aunt and uncle thrown him out? How had Snape convinced Dumbledore and McGonagall to let him be Harry’s guardian?

Dumbledore. His chest tightened a little. He would have thought the older wizard cared about him a least a little. His relatives had never liked him; did he simply alienate everyone somehow?

Even McGonagall hadn’t tried to stop it. She knew how much Snape hated him; knew what a cruel, uncaring git the man was. She’d always acted as though she cared about Harry. Had he done something? The same thing he’d done to Dumbledore?

The thought made his heart drop icily. He had spent so long telling himself that his relatives were liars when they told him that no one would ever want him. Had they been the only honest ones? The only ones who’d ever told him the truth?

Snape saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He set down the letter he’d been perusing and looked at his ward. The boy was stiffly siting on the stool, arms folded, jaw clenched, exactly as he had been for the last forty five minutes. Proud as a peacock, just like his insufferable father. Snape felt a sudden wave of anger at his treatment by them all those years ago, and impatiently shoved it down. As an occulumens, he had long since trained himself to suppress feelings which might prove “tells”, or strong indicators of a feeling one wouldn’t want known. Which might, he sometimes mused, explain some of his hostility towards his students and the other staff; he suppressed so much rage for so long it had to leak out eventually.

He felt a fleeting but real urge to grab the boy and shake him until his teeth rattled but he pushed that away as quickly as the one before it, and with more force. He took three deep breaths in a row, and reminded himself for the ten thousandth time in his life that he was not his father.

“Perhaps there’s something you’d like to tell me, Mr. Potter?”

Harry forced himself to sit up and ignore his misery. “No, sir, nothing.”

Snape studied the boy for a moment and felt a moment of perturbation when he saw his face screw up for a split second. He hoped with all his might that the boy was not about to cry; Snape hated emotional scenes with a fiery burning passion.

To his relief, Potter didn’t cry. Mercifully, the boy retreated into stony silence, and Snape felt a wave a relief, which he did not suppress. If he wanted to sit and sulk like a two year old, that suited Snape fine.

Harry became conscious of a new affliction- he was hungry. He became aware of a gnawing sensation that reminded him he’d been picking at his food for days. He wondered whether Snape was going to let him eat any time soon. His squirming intensified.

After a solid quarter hour of seemingly endless figeting and sighing, Snape had finally had enough. The brat was making it impossible for him to concentrate. He rose silently, intending to creep up behind the boy and scare him into obedience, when he heard a small voice say quietly “Yes.”

Harry was in an agony of self loathing and doubt. Not only did Dumbledore and McGongall hate him, now his friends would as well. It wasn’t Hermione’s fault the bone healing charm didn’t work- it was just really hard and she had at least made it a little better….

He simply couldn’t stand the stool a second longer. He was hungry and headachy, his bladder was screaming, and his backside had begun to ache slightly, then burn with a low throb that was getting more and more unpleasant as the moments passed.

“Yes, what?” Asked a voice that hovered right directly above him. Harry jumped, then calmed enough to whisper “Hermione did it.”

Snape stepped back. “Very good, Potter. Is there anything else you’d like to say?”

Potter nodded vigorously. “Yes sir? May I please be excused?”

Snape did a double take. “What?”

“Please, I need to step out for a moment.” The boy looked desperate.

“You have five minutes.” The boy streaked out of the class faster than a baby boomslang, and Snape was disgusted to find himself shaking his head in amusement.

To his further amazement, the boy made it back in a reasonable amount of time. Panting slightly, he stood in front of his teacher, disheveled but unbowed.

“Perhaps you’d like to tell me what prompted this little incident, Potter?”

The boy blanched but held his ground.

Snape felt the shaking urge come back and this time, because the real danger of it was passed, he let himself fantasize for a second before he said very quietly “If you prefer not to tell me, I can call Miss Granger down and ask her myself.”

Harry hung his head, and a very small sniffle escaped him. He pushed his sadness down and concentrated on being strong. Crying never made anything better.

The sniffle had not missed Snape’s notice. “Why are you so violently opposed to telling me about this-- misadventure, Potter?”

The answer was so soft Snape almost didn’t hear it. “Don’t want to get her into trouble.”

“ Surely you understand what she did was dangerous? Why did you not simply tell an adult?”

Harry quietly repeated what he had thought to himself earlier.

“That’s just your problem. It didn’t end badly this time through a combination of blind luck and Miss Granger’s prowess as a witch. You never think about what will happen the day your luck runs out. And it will run out.”

“But it didn’t, and--”

Snape felt a moment of real rage. Stupid child, rushing headlong into danger. Trying to get himself killed, not caring what happened to the others. No regard for personal safety, none for his friends, none for the rules.

“ Because you are lucky. Suppose she had botched the spell and it maimed you. Or bounced back and maimed her. Is that what you want, Potter, to see one of your little friends killed because of you? Or worse than killed?”

“Killed?”

Snape was pleased to see the lad’s face a cheesy white. He was getting through at last.

“Yes, killed. Magic is unstable, Potter. Why do you think the ministry regulates everything so carefully? It isn’t for their own amusement, I assure you.”

Harry felt sick. He firmly believed that the various life threatening endeavors undertaken by the Trio were the right things to have done; the fact that he might have killed Hermione when he might just as easily have gone to the infirmary hit him more strongly than the Devil’s Snare or Aragog ever could have.

“And while we’re on the subject, Mr. Potter, if you ever endeavor to hide an injury from me again, you’d best hope it’s the one that kills you. Especially a self inflicted injury; it ends here and now, is that clear?”

Harry nodded. Snape looked at his pocket watch and raised his eyebrows.

“It’s late. I suppose you’d like something to eat, before I send you to your tower? Or would you prefer to tell them that the Greasy Git both beat and starved you?”

“No, sir.” The boy looked ready and eager to be gone, Snape noted wryly, though he had evidently believed, as did all Gryffindors, that Snape was unaware of their little pet name for him. He quickly called an elf and ordered rolls and cocoa for Potter to eat, a light meal because lunch was not far in the future. The elf thoughtfully brought some porridge and juice as well, and Potter ate as though it were going out of style (being a generally abstemious sort, Snape tended to forget that others couldn’t live on bread, cheese and coffee like himself).

After the boy was finished all but eating the napkin, he looked to Snape for permission to leave. Snape savored the sensation of his waiting a long moment before he gave the child a single nod.

“ I trust you understand why no one can know of this arrangement for the nonce, don’t you, Potter?” The boy nodded a little.

“I’ll expect those lines and that essay by the feast, Potter. Fail to have them and anything that happened here will seem like a child’s birthday celebration, understood?”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at the prospect of going to the tower and seeing his friends. He managed to walk slowly until he was out of sight; Snape heard his trainers crashing up the stairs as he broke into a run.

“For Merlin’s sake” Snape thought to himself “ Did the boy just grin at me?”