Not unreasonably, Harry slept late the next morning. When Ron rolled out of bed and presented himself, yawning, to the living room, Snape gave him a cool greeting, still annoyed that he had been saddled with the care of a Weasley.

Insensible to the man’s frosty tone, Ron gave his usual cheerful greeting. “G’morning, Professor!”

Merlin – another one! Snape gritted his teeth and wondered if being an annoying morning person was a prerequisite for admission to Gryffindor House. “Good morning, Mr Weasley. I assume you would prefer to eat breakfast with your peers in the Great Hall?”

Ron stretched lazily. “Yeah, okay. Erm – I mean, yes, sir,” he amended, catching sight of Snape’s narrowing eyes.

“Then I would appreciate your notifying Mr Wood that he will need to employ his backup Seeker in today’s match, as well as alerting your Head of House that you and I will be making a brief visit to Ollivander’s this morning.”

Ron’s face, which had briefly fallen at the mention of Harry’s grounding, lit up anew. “Yes, sir!”

“You will then return back here so that I need not waste time looking for you when it is time for us to go. While you wait, you may begin on your punishment essay.”

“Yes, sir,” Ron said obediently, too excited at the wand shopping trip to object to anything that Professor Snape might say. He hurried out, eager to share his big news with his siblings.

By the time he returned, having eaten his fill, made his brothers intensely envious, and delivered the professor’s messages, Harry was awake and eating breakfast in the professor’s small kitchen.

“Hey, Ron!” he exclaimed happily around a mouthful of omelet.

“Hey, Harry!” Ron slid into the seat next to him. “Hi, Professor!” he added politely, turning to the man who was sipping his coffee and glancing over a potions journal.

“Hello again, Mr Weasley,” Snape said, gloomily anticipating all too many of these breakfast scenes in coming years.

“Blimey, was everyone excited to hear about the troll!” Ron said to Harry. “I had to tell the story like twelve times! Hermione’s still in the infirmary an’ with you down here, no one had heard much of what had happened.”

“Is she okay?” Harry asked anxiously.

“Yeah, I talked to Professor McGonagall, and she’s going to fetch her after breakfast. She just figured we all could use a bit of a lie-in this morning.” Ron grinned. “You should have seen Percy!”

“Why?” Harry asked, mopping up the last of his eggs with a bit of toast.

“Well, when he saw me, he was all set to haul off and whack me, but then I reminded him that Professor Snape had punished me an’ pointed out that if he were to punish me too, it would be like saying he didn’t think that Professor Snape had done a good job.”

The quietly eavesdropping Snape was impressed despite himself. Who would have thought that the mind of such a devious tactician lurked behind that freckled exterior?

Harry chortled. “I bet that made him stop!”

“Yeah, but –“ Ron sneaked a look at the apparently-oblivious Snape and lowered his voice, “- then he was all worried that Snape had really been awful to us. I had to spend like ten minutes calming him down! Sheesh – he’s as big of a worry wart as Mum. Who’d’ve thought it?”

“Perhaps that’s why he is so mindful of the rules, Mr Weasley,” Snape rumbled, startling them. “Because he fears the kind of outcomes that could so easily have happened last night.”

Ron considered that. “Yeah, maybe… But I think he also just likes bein’ a prat!”

Harry snickered as Snape rolled his eyes.

“Mr Potter, if you are finished, you may hand over your broom to me, then return to your common room while I take Mr Weasley to get a new wand.”

Harry wiped his mouth on his napkin. “I’ll have to give you the broom this afternoon, Pr’fessor,” he said cheerfully. “We’ve got a Quidditch match today, ‘member?”

Ron’s jaw dropped and his eyes darted from Snape to Harry and back again. He hunkered down in his seat, anticipating an impressive display of fireworks.

Snape laid down his journal very deliberately and turned his full attention to the still-smiling Harry. No wonder the brat was so chipper this morning. “No, Mr Potter. You will relinquish your broom to me now. You wi-“

Harry interrupted, his voice beginning to betray agitation. “But, Pr’fessor, I need my broom for the match. Those old school brooms just aren’t anywhere near as good as the one you got for me.”

Even as a small part of him registered Harry’s comments with a pleased glow, Snape kept his expression and voice calm but firm. “No, Mr Potter. You will not be playing in the match. Your punishment was no flying for a week. That includes today’s Quidditch match.”

“What!” Now Harry was standing up, beside the table, and both the pitch and volume of his voice were rising rapidly. “You can’t do that! I have to play in the match! Everyone’s counting on me!”

Harry stared at his professor in horrified disbelief. Yes, he’d been bad. Yes, he deserved to be punished. But Snape couldn’t possibly mean to ban him from the match! Not after he’d worked so hard! Not after he was the youngest Seeker in a century! Not when he was planning to make the man so proud!

Harry was pants at so many things in this new world, but flying was something everyone admitted he did brilliantly. Now he had the perfect chance to go out and show his professor that he didn’t have to be ashamed of his ward, that there actually were some things that Harry did well, even if he was a needy, weepy, stupid little mess a lot of the time. Yes, he was going to show Snape that he could be proud of him, and nothing was going to stand in the way of that, not even Snape himself.

“You can’t!” he repeated, his voice cracking. “I’ve got to play. You can take away my broom for two weeks, starting tomorrow!”

Somehow he had to make the man understand. Oliver and the others were counting on Harry to win the game. The older boy had practically said as much during their practices, and now if Harry weren’t there, they’d lose and it would be all his fault. He would let the entire House down. And – even more importantly – he wanted to show his professor how much he loved his new broom. When he caught the snitch on his Nimbus, it would show everyone at Hogwarts how great his guardian was to him. He just had to play – he HAD to.

“No, Mr Potter,” Snape repeated again, his voice beginning to harden. “You will not be playing in today’s match.”

“Harry, you don’t want to be grounded for two weeks, or you’ll just miss a different match,” Ron chimed in, trying hard to stop his best mate from self-destructing. He knew from his own parents that trying to renegotiate a punishment rarely worked – and often led to additional penalties.

Harry ignored both of them. “I don’t care what you say,” he shouted at Snape defiantly. “I am going to play today! You can’t stop me!”

“Mr Potter,” Snape leaned forward and lowered his voice dangerously, “if you are laboring under the misapprehension that I would hesitate to halt the game, remove you from your broom, and smack you for disobedience before the entire stadium, let me correct you here and now. You are being punished for an insane act of folly and all the screaming in the world will not change that.”

A very small part of Harry’s brain was jumping up and down and begging for him to shut up, but the rest of it had apparently been taken over by Dudley Dursley. All of the frustration and anger within the boy exploded in a completely unprecedented tantrum. “I HATE YOU!” he screamed at Snape, ignoring Ron’s slack jawed presence. “YOU’RE AWFUL AND MEAN AND I HATE YOU! I WISH YOU WERE DEAD! I DON’T WANT YOU AS MY GUARDIAN ANY MORE! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!”

He fled from the table and his guardian’s cold, frozen expression, hurtling back to the sanctuary of his room. A loud slamming of the door echoed through the quarters.

Interesting. He didn’t try to leave and seek refuge among his fellow Gryffindors, Snape mused. Perhaps we ARE making progress. All of the books had mentioned that emotional outbursts were part of the “healing process”, and to be honest, Snape found rage a much more comfortable emotion to deal with than misery. A furious Harry was much less disturbing to him than a tearful one, perhaps because Snape himself could empathize more easily with anger. He had long ago abandoned shed his last tears, but – as any of his students could attest – he regularly had irate outbursts of his own.

Ron gulped. He’d been too scared to say much during Harry’s eruption, and he was still rather amazed that Snape hadn’t interrupted it with a sound slap. His own folks probably wouldn’t have been half so tolerant if he’d pitched a similar fit at the Burrow’s breakfast table. “Erm, c’n I – I mean, may I go and see if he’s okay?” he eventually squeaked.

“Hm?” It took Snape a moment to focus on him. “Yes. Go ahead,” he nodded in an abstracted fashion, obviously deep in thought.

Ron didn’t wait to be told twice. He eeled out of his chair and hurried down the hallway. As he’d expected, Harry was sprawled, face down, on his bed, sobbing himself sick.

Ron bit his lip, trying to remember what Charlie or even Percy used to do to comfort him when he was the one bawling his eyes out after a tantrum. He settled gingerly on the side of the bed and patted Harry’s shoulder cautiously, rather as if dealing with a potentially dangerous crup. “C’mon, mate,” he urged. “ ‘S’not that bad. Don’t take on so.”

Harry just sobbed louder. “I hate him! He’s ruined everything!” he shouted, his voice half-muffled by the pillow.

“Yeah, well, he is pretty strict,” Ron agreed soothingly, “but y’know, Harry, it’s not like he’s being that unreasonable. I mean, we screwed up pretty bad last night, an’ I think you scared him something awful.”

“I don’t care. I still hate him.”

Ron sighed and kept patting his shoulder. Had he ever been this obstinate? “Well, I don’t think you’d really like it if he ignored it, like he didn’t care if you lived or died,” he pointed out. Harry hiccupped and shuddered, but didn’t actually disagreed with that statement, and heartened, Ron pressed on. “And c’mon, Harry – you’re kinda being a little selfish, mate,” he said teasingly. “You’re already getting to play Quidditch a whole year ahead of the rest of us. Missing a single game isn’t going to kill you.”

‘It’s not that!” Harry argued, propping himself up on his elbow. “But Oliver said they were counting on me!” His face was flushed and blotchy with tears and snot, and his breath came in shuddery gasps. “I’m not trying to be a prat, Ron, honest! But I hate letting people down.”

Ron frowned, beginning to understand his friend’s agitation. “Harry, do you think you’re the first player to miss a game?” At Harry’s suddenly uncertain expression, Ron couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Blimey, mate, this is a school! Players are always getting detention and having to miss a game. In Charlie’s sixth year, he missed two games because he got caught trying to smuggle his Care of Magical Creatures term project into the dorms. He was lucky McGonagall didn’t yank him from the team. And another year, the captain of the Slytherin team was grounded for half the season though I dunno what exactly she did. And with injuries an’ all, the captains are always expecting to have to make some substitutions. It’s not that big a deal, Harry. I promise. Oliver wasn’t even that surprised when I told him this morning. He just said to tell you your spot’s waiting for you when you can fly again.”

Harry hiccupped and sniffled. “R-really?”

Ron grinned in relief. “Yeah, you prat. Sheesh – thinking you’re the most important person on the whole team before you’ve even played a single match! Somebody got a bit of an ego trip going or what?” he teased.

Harry squirmed and wiped at his face. “ ‘S’not like that. I just haven’t ever been on a team before or had friends I do like here. I didn’t want people to stop liking me ‘cause I don’t keep my promises.”

His friend snorted. “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen. Harry, it was a TROLL last night. We’re lucky not to be grounded ‘til graduation! Everyone understands that.”

Harry managed a watery smile. “Yeah, I guess we did get off pretty lightly…” His voice trailed off as a look of utter horror crossed his face, and Ron spun around so fast he nearly fell off the bed.

There was nothing behind him to account for Harry’s expression, and he turned back inquiringly. “Mate, what is it?”

“Oh, no,” Harry breathed, his face chalky white. “Oh, no.”

“What? What is it? Harry!” Ron was getting more and more worried as his friend stared off into space, getting increasingly agitated. “HARRY!”

“Ron, I ruined everything,” Harry breathed, his expression one of utter devastation. “I can’t believe I said all those things.”

“What? You mean before? To Snape?” Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, mate, you threw a pretty major tanty there. You’re lucky he didn’t haul off and wallop you; it’s not like my folks would’ve let me get away with something like that,” he said with poorly concealed envy.

Harry drew his knees up to his chest and started to rock. “I just ruined it all. He’ll never want to keep me now. He’ll send me back – I know he will.”

“What? Snape? Send you back?” Ron scoffed. “Don’t be daft. He’s not going to take it seriously. I mean, he’ll probably punish you for screaming at him like that, but it’s not like he’ll stop being your guardian.”

“Oh, yes it does,” Harry said with dreadful certainty. “He became my guardian ‘cause I asked him to, an’ now I told him I don’t want him any more, so he’ll stop.” He started banging his forehead against his knees. “Oh, Harry, you are so stupid, stupid, STUPID.”

Now getting thoroughly alarmed at how distraught his friend was growing, Ron hurried back out to the kitchen to find Snape.

Dear Wizarding Youth Services, Snape mentally penned, precisely how illegal is it to administer an aging potion – assuming one could develop one, of course – to a child, thereby avoiding adolescence in its entirety? Even if it is illegal, is it less illegal than casting a Silencio on said child for six years? Of course, he mused, he didn’t need to cast a Silencio on the brat, he could always simply put a bubblehead charm on himself and go about his day in a blissful state of silence.

On the one hand, it had been gratifying to see how upset Potter had been at the confiscation of his broom – Snape’s master plan had certainly worked out brilliantly in that respect – but on the other, he hadn’t expected it to hurt when the brat repudiated him. Why should he care if the wretch screamed at him that he was a detestable, horrible person? He was, after all, and proud of it. He had reveled in his status as the most hated and feared professor at Hogwarts for years now, so why should it make his chest ache when he saw the fury and loathing in the Potter brat’s eyes? Isn’t that what he wanted?

“Erm, sir…?” He became aware of the Weasley brat, fidgeting by his elbow.

“What is it, Weasley?” he said, surprised to note how weary his voice sounded. Surely it should have come out more sharply than that.

“It’s - it’s Harry, sir. He’s pretty upset.”

Snape looked away. “His punishment stands, Mr Weasley. Potter will simply have to come to terms with the fact that all the spoiled shrieking in the world won’t change that.”

“No, sir, it’s not that. It’s about you, sir.”

Snape stood, suddenly desperate to get away before his features revealed any of the turmoil he felt. “I am well aware of his feelings towards me, Mr Weasley. He made them abundantly plain.” Just because the books said it was normal and even encouraging for Harry to spew vitriol didn’t mean he had to stand around and listen to it.

The brat actually grabbed him by the robe again, halting his exit. “No, sir! He thinks you’re going to get rid of him. He’s really making himself sick about it, sir. He says he’s ruined everything. He – he doesn’t understand that kids are allowed to say stuff like that and grownups know we don’t really mean it,” he faltered, looking up at Snape beseechingly.

They don’t really mean it? For the first time in his life, Snape wished he could talk to Molly Weasley. Merlin knew, he had meant it when he had hissed his hatred of his father. Didn’t most children?

“Did you ever say… such things… to your parents?” he asked the Weasley urchin, his tone overly casual.

“Sure!” The boy looked surprised.  “Lots of times.”

“But your parents are widely regarded as excellent parents,” Snape argued, frowning.

Ron squirmed, embarrassed. “Well, they are. But you know, sometimes you get mad and then you say stuff to make them mad. And I almost kinda mean that stuff when I say it… but not really. Not once the tantrum’s over.” Now he was staring at his shoes, his face flaming. “I made my mum cry once,” he half-whispered. “I told her I didn’t love her ‘cause she was too busy with Ginny an’ the twins and didn’t even care about me. I told her I wanted to go live with my Auntie Ann ‘cause she’d actually notice me.”

Snape’s eyes widened. “And your mother cried?”

Ron nodded, shamefaced. “I didn’t really mean it – I mean, Auntie Ann is nice to visit, but she loves cabbage an’ her whole house smells of it. An’ she gives those wet kisses and has this annoying toad that she lets eat at the dinner table and… well, I wouldn’t really want to leave the Burrow, but I was angry at my mum and wanted to make her sad, so I said something I knew would make her really upset.”

“That –“ Snape blinked. Who knew that such dreadful things occurred even in normal families like the Weasleys? “- that was quite a horrid thing to do, Mr Weasley.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said miserably. “My mum forgave me an’ hugged me and all, but I still feel really bad about it. And it was when I was really little – like six or something, but I still remember it.” He looked up at Snape. “An’ I think that’s how Harry’s feeling now. That kind of sick horrible feeling, like you broke something you can’t fix. And after last night and knowing that we lost your trust too…” he trailed off. “I think he’s really upset.”

Snape sighed. Merlin save him from emotionally fragile children. Couldn’t they just pick an emotion and stick with it for a few hours? “Very well. I will go speak with him. You may get started on your essay and… thank you, Mr Weasley. Your concern for Mr Potter is much appreciated.”

Ron grinned. “He’s my best mate, Professor. That’s what best mates do, right?”

As if I would know? Happily, the boy didn’t wait for a response, and Snape headed down the hall to Harry’s room. As Weasley had foretold, the boy was curled up in the same defensive ball that he had assumed in the infirmary that first week.

Snape sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose before sitting down next to the brat. “Mr Potter –“

“I’ll leave, sir.” Harry whispered, though he didn’t look up. “I won’t take anything with me so you can return it all.”

“Potter –“

“I’m really sorry I bothered you. I’ll tell all the Slytherins not to treat me like one of them any more.”

“POTTER!”

But even his classroom bellow didn’t seem to break through the boy’s emotionless monotone. “If you want, I can see if the Headmaster will let me drop Potions, so you don’t have to see me in class.”

“Harry,” Snape sighed, surrendering to the inevitable. Wide green eyes, impossibly startled, flew to meet his.

“You are an impossible, unruly, and impudent child,” Snape said, fixing those green eyes with a compelling stare. “This morning’s outburst demonstrated just how much you need to develop emotional control. That tantrum was worthy of a child half your age. Furthermore, while you are learning that you need no longer accept unjust punishments, I do expect you to show a great deal more grace in submitting to well-deserved discipline. Do not imagine that your little outburst will dissuade me from punishing you when you have earned chastisement; such behavior in future will only result in your close acquaintance with the Aguamenti spell.”

Harry stared at him. “ ‘In future’? But you’re not going to be my guardian any more.”

Snape scowled. “Do you imagine that I pay any attention to the nonsense you spout when you are clearly beside yourself?” He rapped Harry on the head with his knuckles. “Use your brain, Mr Potter. Do you imagine you are the first child to rage at their parent or guardian in such a fashion? Did your whale of a cousin never shriek at his parents?”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched. “Practically every time they said ‘no’ to him. Not that they said it very often.” At least he hadn’t thrown anything or bitten anyone the way Dudley used to do. He peeked up at Snape through his fringe. He couldn’t believe his professor was being so calm and matter of fact about the whole thing. Harry had been sure that channeling Dudley in full-on, screaming tantrum mode would have been enough to make anyone – even his professor – have second thoughts.

“And did your aunt and uncle cart him off to an orphanage when he did so?”

Wonderingly, Harry shook his head. “But they l-love him.”

Snape scowled even more fiercely and wished he had warded the door. It would be just like Albus to burst in right now with a camera. “Yes? And your point, Mr Potter?”

“You mean, you…?”

Snape swore he would be crucio’d before he’d say anything so sentimental, but the boy was staring up at him with such hope in those green eyes… “Well, what do you think?” he grumbled impatiently. “Do you imagine I would go to all this trouble for no reason? Foolish child! Didn’t I tell you to use your brain?”

And then that pointy forehead impacted his breastbone again, and Harry was clutching his robes and crying hysterically and saying how sorry he was over and over and over.

“Yes, yes, all right, Mr Potter.” He put an arm around those thin, shaking shoulders, and tried to pat them reassuringly. What does ‘reassuring’ feel like? He recalled how that Gryffindor girl had been cuddling Harry after the fight and he tried to emulate her posture. Marvelous, now I’m imitating Gryffindors. What’s next? Asking Hufflepuffs for advice? he wondered sourly

It must have worked though, because Harry’s sobs began to lessen, and his frantic grasp relaxed into more of a tired leaning or – oh, Merlin – a snuggle. After what felt like an eternity – of emotional agony for Snape and incredible bliss for Harry – Harry finally roused himself enough to ask, not without a feeling of trepidation, “Wh-what are you going to do to me?”

Snape noticed he hadn’t felt confident enough to emerge from where he was currently burrowed into Snape’s robes, with the man’s arm spread over his hunched back. “I am going to keep you as my ward, you foolish brat. Didn’t I say so?”

“No, I mean, what else are you going to do?” Harry persisted.

“Beyond endeavoring to drive some concepts of civilized behavior and erudition into your skull?”

Harry actually giggled a bit. “Yeah. B’sides that. I mean for punishment.” There. He’d come out and said it.

“Mr Potter, though I realize your inhuman relatives did not grant you the right of free speech, I am not such an ogre as to prohibit you from expressing your opinions. You may, in the privacy of our quarters, say what you wish to me, though you will find that screaming will do little to convince me of the merits of your argument.”

Harry sat up straight and stared at him. “You mean you’re not going to punish me? But I said really horrible things to you!”

Snape looked bored. “After teaching at Hogwarts for all these years, do you really imagine I have not been subjected to numerous childish outbursts of rage? You did not swear at me, Mr Potter, nor did you make rude remarks about my parentage or leisure activities. You said nothing anatomically impossible nor particularly rude. You expressed your own emotions and used several adjectives that, while descriptive, are nevertheless easily located in an abridged dictionary. I see no reason to punish you for your statements, though neither am I going to rescind or delay the punishment which caused your explosion in the first place.”

“Yeah, well, I figured that,” Harry admitted ruefully.

“Are you now sufficiently composed that you can wash and dress and return to the Gryffindor tower? I must take Mr Weasley to obtain a new wand, and you will recall that you are to be in your dormitory or common room when you are not supervised by a professor.”

Harry blushed. “Y’sir. I’m okay now. Sorry for – for all that.”

Snape rose. “Such emotional lability is not unexpected for someone in your situation, Mr Potter. You are recovering from an extended period of mistreatment and acclimating to appropriate discipline and care will be… challenging at times.”

He paused, recalling what he had promised Minerva. Oh fine, now the brat will think I’m doing this to be -  he shuddered – nice. “Potter, while you are not to participate in this afternoon’s match, you will attend it.”

Harry blinked incredulously. “I will?”

“Yes. You are to escort Miss Granger – she or Professor McGonagall will explain further – but when the match is over, you are to return immediately to your Tower. Do you understand?”

And just as he had predicted, the little monster was smiling mistily at him. “Y’sir. Thank you, sir!”

Snape huffed. “Enough of that. Get washed and dressed!”

And that annoying little body shot out and wrapped itself around him. “I love you too, sir,” Harry whispered into the folds of his professor’s robes, then fled to the bathroom before the man could react.

Oh, no. No no no. This was not supposed to happen. The brat was NOT supposed to get attached like this. All of these emotions were supposed to be lavished on the Weasleys, not him. What was he supposed to do or say after a revelation like that?  He was a spy, a Death Eater, a Potions Master, an Evil Bat, a greasy git! Not someone to love.

But wait! What had the Weasley boy said? That children often said things they didn’t really mean. That must be it. Yes, of course. That was all. The boy was so emotionally confused that he didn’t know if he were coming or going. It was impossible to take anything he said seriously, and he probably didn’t even remember it. Yes. He was hysterical and everyone knew that hysterical people babbled. That was it. Yes. Just some hysterical babbling. Nothing to take seriously. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to respond to. Nothing at all.