Harry was, for once, looking forward to Potions. He knew he was prepared to brew the Pain Relieving Potion, and he was equally certain that, for once, Snape wasn’t going to pull anything like a surprise quiz or switch assignments on them at the last minute. He was pretty sure that the professor was as eager to spend more time on DADA as Harry was, and now that Harry’s study skills had improved, there was no reason they had to linger on Potions material that Harry could just as easily do during free periods, particularly with Hermione as a study partner.

He hurried to his seat and took out his books, anxious to get started. To his surprise, Draco Malfoy dropped his things on a nearby table. Most of the students had arrived, though Snape had yet to make his usual dramatic appearance.

“So, Potter – did you sleep okay last night?” Draco asked, innocently enough.

Harry frowned, trying to figure out what Draco was getting at. He hadn’t been having any nightmares or weird dreams recently, so what was the blond talking about? “Yeah,” he answered warily. “Why?”

“Oh, just figured that you might have had trouble getting used to sleeping… on your stomach.”

Harry felt his heart lurch. Draco couldn’t possibly be hinting at what Snape had done to him last night. How could Draco know anything about it? Surely he must be talking about something else…

“I don’t know what you mean,” he blustered, noticing with dismay that they were beginning to attract attention.

“Oh, I think you do,” Draco purred, delighted with Harry’s reaction. “Will you be able to sit through class today?”

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Harry snarled through gritted teeth. He clenched his fists, helplessly wondering what the Slytherin would say next.

Ron and Hermione were hurrying over, noticing the tense exchange, and that was bringing Goyle and Crabbe from the other side of the room. The other students had dropped any pretense of preparing for class and were watching the confrontation, wide eyed.

“Temper, temper, Potter,” Draco chided, relishing Harry’s anguished expression. “Is that what got you into trouble? Is that why you got your –“

“Eyes up, mouths shut!” Snape swooped in from the back of the room, and the class instantly abandoned the altercation between Draco and Harry. Intriguing it might be, but with Snape in the room, no one was stupid enough to focus on anything but him.

Once Snape had finished his lecture and instructed them to get on with their brewing, however, the students began to dart covert glances to where Harry and Draco were working. Would the two of them start up again where they had left off?

For his part, Harry gritted his teeth and did his best to focus on the task at hand, blotting Malfoy out of his mind. Whatever Malfoy might know – or guess – he needed to concentrate on the potion. He really, really wanted that extra DADA lesson, but he also wanted to show Snape that he was in fact decent at Potions. It was a field that Snape loved, and Harry thought it would be nice if he could get to like it too. Sort of something they could have in common, like a real father and son might… not that he would ever say something that sappy to Snape.

Malfoy waited, choosing his moment carefully. He waited until the moment when Potter had just put in the comfrey leaves and had to stir the mixture exactly forty-six times. Just when he was at number twenty-three, Malfoy sidled over and whispered, “Do you always howl like that when you’re getting your arse whacked, Potter? I thought at first a banshee was loose in the castle.”

Harry started so violently that his stirrer went flying, and all hope of turning in an acceptable potion went out the window. Harry clenched his fists so tightly he could feel the nails cutting into his palms. “Shut up, Malfoy.” He would not let the slimy little snake provoke him, not here in the middle of Snape’s class.

Draco smirked at him triumphantly and deliberately raised his voice. “You’re awfully sensitive today, Potter. Or is it just part of you that’s sore?”

Ron started towards Draco, ready to enter the battle on Harry’s behalf, but Harry pulled him back. Doing anything would just make it worse and lose Gryffindor more points. Besides, he had been whacked – Draco’s announcing it to the class would be unbelievably embarrassing, but it wasn’t an actual lie. Harry couldn’t very well defend himself against the truth.

“I might be sore, Malfoy,” Harry said in a low voice, “but at least I’m not low enough to share your embarrassing moments with the class.”

For an instant, Draco hesitated, remembering some of the confidences the two boys had shared during their involuntary confinement in the Infirmary a few weeks back. But the opportunity to humiliate Potter was too good to pass up. And hadn’t Potter just said he wouldn’t share Draco’s secrets? Stupid Gryffindork – he deserved what he got. If he wasn’t smart enough to negotiate a truce using Draco’s own confidences against him, then that was hardly Draco’s fault.

“So, Vince,” Draco said loudly, ostensibly speaking to Crabbe on the far side of the room, but never taking his eyes off of Harry’s rigid features, “guess what I saw last night? Harry Potter, limping back to his dorm after a sound –“

“Mr Malfoy.” Snape’s voice sliced through the growing whispers like a razor. The room went absolutely still. Snape never used that tone against a Slytherin in public. The Slytherins in the class were shocked witless, knowing what that tone usually heralded when used back in their tower. The Gryffindors were similarly stunned at hearing the professor speak so harshly to one of his own, and Draco Malfoy at that!

Draco turned white. He abruptly realized he had made an enormous miscalculation, and he turned to face his godfather, terrified of what he might see. His worst fears were confirmed as he saw the professor lifting his desk chair out from behind the table and setting it in front of the class.

“Mr Malfoy. Come here.”

The Slytherins looked like wax statues, all with jaws hanging open in shock. The Gryffindors looked blankly from them to the professor and over to Draco. Obviously something was going on, but they couldn’t figure out what it was.

Draco swallowed hard, trying not to sick up on the spot. His Housemates were staring at him, wide eyed. They knew what was about to happen, while the idiot Gryffindors were blinking in bovine confusion. “P-p-please, sir,” Draco stuttered, all trace of arrogance gone. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Come here.”

Harry and Ron exchanged bewildered glances. What the bloody hell was up with Malfoy?

“No, please, Uncle Sev. I was only kidding. It was just a joke. Please!”

Snape’s implacable expression didn’t change, but he did glance over at Harry. Draco caught the motion of his eyes and turned desperately to Harry. “Please, Potter, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just joking. I swear. I’m really sorry. Please, Potter, please!”

Harry stared at the Slytherin. Draco was practically in tears and he sounded completely panicked. The other Slytherin students were gawping at him and Snape as if they had both grown an extra head, and they were staring at Harry as well. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, but both just shrugged helplessly. Whatever was making Draco beg was as mysterious to them as it was to Harry.

“Mr Potter?” Snape’s voice held a question in it. Harry glanced over at him, and the professor quirked an eyebrow but didn’t say anything more. Harry thought he could detect a tinge of appeal in the professor’s countenance, and he got the distinct impression that every Slytherin in the room was holding their breath.

“Please…” It was barely audible, but Harry heard it. At his side, Draco bit his lip and squeezed his hands together hard in an effort to hold onto the shreds of his composure.

Harry might not like Draco much at all. He might despise the Slytherin for his taunting, sneering, arrogant ways. He might be ready to hex him into next week for his willingness to share the details of Harry’s punishment with the entire student body. But for all that, he couldn’t refuse the boy’s desperate pleas.

“Um, okay…” he said, looking at Snape. “It’s, erm, all right.”

Snape didn’t say anything but Harry thought he caught a glint of approval – and maybe gratitude? – in his eye as he turned away. He returned his chair to its proper position and then spun back to the class. “What are you all standing around for? Get to work!”

The students ducked back to their cauldrons, terrified to catch the professor’s attention. Draco all but collapsed at his place, while Harry was torn between frustration at his ruined potion and bewilderment at what had just happened. In the end, he Vanished the useless potion from his cauldron and started over. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t have enough time to finish it, but he would at least make the effort.

Sure enough, he was only halfway through his second attempt when Snape called time. “Nothing to turn in, Mr Potter? Remain behind.”

Harry flinched. Snape’s tone hadn’t been as scathing as it had been during first year, but it wasn’t exactly gentle either. He waited unhappily at his place as everyone else trooped out. He noticed that Snape had intercepted Draco at the door and had a quiet conversation with the boy, at the end of which Draco appeared miserable but not panicked. Snape dismissed the Slytherin and, in the now empty classroom, turned to Harry.

“I’m sorry!” Harry blurted out before the professor could begin his rebuke. “I tried, I really did. It just – I needed more time,” he finished helplessly. Even with today’s weirdness with Draco, Harry knew better than to try to blame his lack of a finished Potion on the Slytherin. He’d learned last year that complaining about Slytherin sabotage resulted in the loss of Gryffindor points, and he wasn’t about to go down that path again. Snape would be angry enough that despite his extensive preparation, Harry had still been unable to complete a simple brewing. He hung his head and waited for the inevitable scornful comments. So much for his plans to impress Snape.

“Harry.” The sound of his first name brought his head up with a snap. Snape never used his first name when he was angry. “I’m not upset with you. I’m proud of you.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Who was this and what had they done with Snape? He tried to recall ways that you could spot the use of Polyjuice Potion.

Snape’s lips twitched. The boy’s emotions were always writ large upon his face. “Calm down, you foolish child. I’m trying to reassure you. You’re not in trouble for being unable to complete your assignment.”

“I’m not?” Harry echoed in amazement. “Why not?”

“Because I’m well aware that it was Draco’s interference that ruined your first batch.”

Harry started to ask why that would suddenly be an acceptable excuse but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“But the reason I’m proud of you –“ Harry’s gaze snapped back to his “ – is because you controlled your temper. You didn’t let Draco’s teasing provoke you.”

A warm, happy sensation started deep in Harry’s chest and spread outward until his fingers and toes were tingling with it. “It was really hard,” he admitted.

“I’m sure it was. But you did it. And you allowed me to deal with it. I’m proud of you for doing that as well.”

Harry squirmed in an agony of delight and embarrassment. He wasn’t used to praise, especially not from Snape. Oh, the Potion Master did note when Harry’s work was better than usual, but his comments tended to be more acerbic than effusive: “This latest effort is quite reasonable, Potter. Why can’t you achieve this standard in all your work?” or “I’m pleased to see that your atrocious spelling is finally beginning to improve.” Bald statements like “I’m proud of you” were quite unprecedented – although to be fair, Harry controlling his temper in the face of Draco’s provocation was unprecedented as well.

“Um, erm, uh.” He stuttered incoherently for a moment, then his floundering brain finally remembered the question he’d been wanting to ask. “What did you do? Why did Draco fall apart like that?”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Do you not remember what I told you when you interrogated me about Mr Weasley’s experiences at my hand a few weeks ago? I do not permit students to speculate or taunt each other about punishments.”

Harry’s mouth formed an “O” of surprise. Now that Snape reminded him, he did recall their conversation. Ron had done something – Harry still wasn’t sure what – and Snape had smacked him for it, in what should have been a stunning violation of school rules. Oddly enough though, Ron hadn’t uttered a single syllable of complaint, and when Harry had demanded to know why, Snape had shut down his interrogation in short order. Harry remembered that Snape had threatened to wallop him in front of the entire Potions class if he badgered Ron to answer his questions, and the threat had been more than enough to make Harry steer clear of the topic entirely.

“You mean, you were going to whack Draco? In front of everybody? Just because he had started to tell them that I had gotten whacked?”

“Yes.”

Wow. Harry’s happy, warm feeling intensified. Snape had been willing to punish Draco, his godson, his favorite student in the whole school, just because he had done something to Harry. Any lingering concerns that Snape might not like him began to fade – this went beyond simple fairness or the execution of an unwelcome duty. Snape was actually taking care of him.

“But though I was fully prepared to punish Draco publicly, I appreciate that your intervention on his behalf meant that I did not have to do so. I imagine that the message was clear enough, without my having to go to that extreme.”

“What message?” Harry asked blankly.

Snape looked at him in surprise. “That you are under my protection. That you are to be treated as a member of my House. That anyone who attacks you will be punished as if they have attacked a fellow Slytherin.” Harry’s eyes had grown to the size of dinner plates. “Malfoy would never have teased Zabini or Nott like that; he should have known better than to go after you. The mere fact that I would discipline you in that fashion should have told him that you are to be considered part of our community.”

“The Sorting Hat would be pleased,” Harry mumbled, dazed. “It wanted me in Slytherin in the first place.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed. How very… unexpected.”

“Uh, what happens next?”

Snape was eyeing him strangely, but after a moment, he seemed to come back to the present and answered the question. “You will return to the lab at seven tonight – “ Harry’s face fell. After all that, he was still getting a detention? “–  to attempt your potion again. If you can do it properly, I will accept it, both for today’s assignment and for our agreement.” Harry perked up. No mention of the term “detention” and the opportunity to try the potion again. That was more than he’d expected. “If I am not here when you arrive, you may nevertheless begin. I will be – dealing with – another student in my quarters.”

“Draco?” Harry guessed shrewdly. Apparently Snape wasn’t letting his godson get away scot-free this time. He might have escaped catching it in public, but it sounded like he would still have to face Snape’s displeasure.

“Are you inquiring about another student’s punishment?” Snape asked silkily.

“No, sir!” Harry answered hastily.

“Then run along. You are already late for your next class.”

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!” Harry called over his shoulder as he grabbed his bookbag and ran out.

Snape looked after him. Dumbledore would not be pleased by Snape’s public acknowledgement of Harry, but really, what else could he have done? How was he supposed to repair the damage that those Muggles had done to the boy’s sense of self-worth if he couldn’t extend his protection over him?

Whatever the Headmaster’s reasons were for keeping Snape’s role as Harry’s guardian a secret, they were no longer relevant. Maybe he had still nurtured hopes that Snape could resume his role as spy when and if the Dark Lord returned. If that were so, it was all the more important that he had foiled that plan. Voldemort was many things: evil, insane, sadistic, psychotic, cunning… but he wasn’t stupid. He had raised paranoia to new levels, and if Dumbledore thought that Snape could get away with taking care of Potter on the one hand while maintaining a fictional loyalty to the Dark Lord on the other, those lemon drops had bypassed his teeth and were rotting his brain. There were too many children of Death Eaters at Hogwarts for his relationship with Harry to remain secret indefinitely, and the unfair treatment of Harry that the role would demand would impair the boy’s recovery from the Dursleys’ treatment, let alone his continuing maturation and growth.

Besides, now that he had acknowledged the boy, it meant that the Boy Who Lived had ties to the House of Slytherin as well as Gryffindor. No longer could his House be identified solely by its affiliation with Voldemort nor could Gryffindor claim Harry belonged exclusively to it. That might make it easier for some of his little snakes to avoid recruitment by the Dark Lord, as well as teaching Harry – and Ron – to embrace the more Slytherin side of his nature.

Yes, Snape concluded with satisfaction, this would work out very well indeed.