The next morning, Snape was surprised to find Harry wholly unembarrassed by the previous night’s emotional meltdown. He himself had spent much of the night castigating himself for being such a sentimental fool. Honestly! Even Sprout – chief Hufflepuff though she was – would have blushed to utter the syrupy endearments that had somehow emerged from his mouth.

And yet… and yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret the admission he’d made – embarrassing though it might appear in the clear light of day. And looking at Harry’s shining face this morning further convinced him he had done the right thing, whatever the cost to his pride or evil reputation.

“Remember,” he cautioned the boy sternly as they made ready to leave their quarters, “you are in complete disgrace. You spent last night sobbing into your pillow after my harsh treatment of you.”

Harry grinned. He loved his guardian’s sense of humor. Even more, his chest swelled with pride as he thought of how much his guardian trusted him to play his role. So often grownups wouldn’t rely on a kid to do anything. They just patted you on the head and told you to run along. But not Professor Snape. He was willing to involve Harry in something important.

Harry vowed to make his guardian proud of him. “I’ll r’member,” he promised.

“Do you have Quidditch practice today?”

Harry blinked at the apparent non sequitur. “No.”

“Then immediately after your last class you will return here,” Snape instructed.

Harry’s brow creased. He hadn’t expected that. “Am I on restriction?” he asked in dismay.

Snape rolled his eyes. “What do you think?”

Harry sighed. “I guess I’d have t’be,” he agreed mournfully, after a moment of consideration. “An’ write an essay?”

“And lines,” Snape said in a tone that brooked no argument. “You will make a start on those during your study period. Five hundred lines of ‘I will not chase snitches on my broom in the castle.’”

Harry opened his mouth to protest the length of the sentence, but thought better of it. It had not escaped his notice that his professor had chosen a line that referred specifically to his own embellishment of the authorized prank, and Harry rather suspected that while the restriction and essay might be for show, the lines were a genuine punishment. “Y’sir,”he mumbled. “I am sorry, Da,” he added, wanting the man to know he genuinely regretted upsetting him.

Snape fought against the warm gooey feeling in his chest that the brat’s words had caused – not to mention his sorrowful puppy dog eyes. “And you will doubtless be even more repentant after the three hundred lines,” he retorted firmly.

Harry’s eyes widened. Three? But hadn’t he just said five? He caught the hint of embarrassment in his guardian’s eyes and the pink tinge to his ears and beamed. Yup, his professor was doing his ‘nonymous benefactor’ thing again. “Y’sir. Three hundred lines, sir,” he echoed quickly. “I’ll start them this afternoon.” His eyes lit up at the thought of how the other students would gawk. “We’re going to fool everyone,” he added excitedly.

“That is the general idea,” Snape agreed, taking the irrepressible boy firmly by the shoulder and pushing him out the door.

Their arrival in the Great Hall caused quite a stir. Students stared, some going so far as to rise from their seats to see for themselves that Harry had all his limbs. Harry gave Snape a sulky glare before heading off to join his friends, while Snape stepped over to the staff table. There he pretended to ignore the looks of relief on Hagrid and Flitwick’s faces, as well as the poorly hidden amusement on Minerva’s. “Good morning, Severus,” the elderly witch said demurely.

“Hmf,” he grunted, reaching for his morning coffee. He was startled when a house elf popped up in front of him, glared at him reproachfully, then snatched the coffeepot out of reach. “What the – “ he looked after the disappearing elf with astonishment.

Minerva managed to force down her snickers. “Well, Severus, it would seem the house elves are not very pleased with your treatment of their favorite student. Apparently you have lost your coffee privileges.”

He stared at her in outrage. “What! How dare they –“

“You know how protective the little creatures are,” she cut in calmly. “And they obviously feel you deserve it.” She nodded to Harry’s table.

Snape’s gaze followed hers and he was gobsmacked to see Harry – that overdramatic little fiend! – slowly lowering himself onto the bench with a painful grimace. The surrounding students looked on with expressions of mingled sympathy and awe while Harry gingerly shifted position, as if he found it acutely uncomfortable to sit.

Why that duplicitous, conniving little schemer! Snape snarled to himself. No wonder the house elves were furious with him. To all appearances he had thrashed The Boy Who Lived to within an inch of his life. Snape was now receiving looks of dread and terror from most of the students in the Hall, and more than one of the faculty. Even Dumbledore was gazing at him in sorrowful disappointment.

Beside him, Minerva hid her twitching lips behind her teacup. “This is perhaps the first time I’ve seen so much of James in Harry,” she commented to Snape, so quietly that even Sprout, on her other side, couldn’t hear.

Snape removed his glare from the boy long enough to demand, “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you recall, Severus? James – and Sirius – were always happiest with an audience. Until now, I had felt sure Harry had inherited Lily’s more private nature, but this morning is quite a change, don’t you think?”

Snape blinked as McGonagall’s words penetrated. Of course. The brat wasn’t doing this merely to make him look like an ogre. Harry was playing his role – and doing a much better job at it than Snape had ever imagined.

He knew – better than most – just how much Harry hated the spotlight. He kept his famous scar covered by his fringe and had turned purple with embarrassment when he’d been recognized and fussed over on that trip to Diagon Alley.

In addition, Snape recalled, Harry had gone to extraordinary lengths to successfully conceal how sore he’d been after that whipping from his uncle. The only reason he’d now pretend to a discomfort Snape knew perfectly well was feigned, and thereby attract everyone’s attention to himself, was to do as Snape had instructed and convince the rest of the school of the fiction that Harry had been soundly disciplined by his furious guardian.

Such effective misdirection was… quintessentially Slytherin. Snape felt himself swell with pride at his ward’s talent and, like Minerva, he found it necessary to hide his expression behind a teacup. He would miss his morning coffee – tea never provided the jolt he needed in the morning – but the house elves’ disapproval was a small price to pay if Pettigrew were lulled into a false sense of security.

Harry found himself surrounded by a rapt audience of avid faces as soon as he stepped into the Hall. Here we go, he told himself, forcing his features into an angry pout, as if he’d just received another ticking off from his guardian. He stormed away from his professor as angrily as he dared, heading for the table where Hermione, Draco, and the others already sat. He could feel practically every eye upon him, and he squirmed internally, hating that sense of being gawked at. But he reminded himself it was all part of the plan, and his professor was counting on him to make everyone believe that he was in deep, deep trouble.

He started to sit down, then had a brilliant idea and jerked to a halt, as if in pain. He saw his friends’ eyes widen in shock as he slowly and stiffly lowered his bum onto the bench, grimacing as if he’d been smacked raw.

“Blimey – are you still sore?” Ron burst out, so stunned that the toast in his right hand was momentarily forgotten. Vince took advantage of the redhead's distraction to successfully steal the remaining sausage on his plate.

“I’m fine,” Harry replied quickly, and he barely suppressed a giggle as he saw the disbelief on every face.

“You really caught it this time, Potter,” Draco observed, but his lazy drawl contained a note of genuine admiration. “No one’s ever seen Professor Snape as furious as he was last night.”

Harry snorted. “You didn’t see anything,” he retorted, shooting a dark look at the staff table where his guardian appeared to be in an argument with a house elf.

“Merlin, Harry,” Katie Bell put in. “What were you thinking to go after the snitch like that?”

“Yeah, Potter,” Flint chimed in. “D’you have a death wish or what? How did you manage some of those turns?”

“It wasn’t that hard,” Draco argued. “I bet I could have done it!”

There was a moment of silence, then Flint leaned forward. “You really want to make that bet, Malfoy?” he purred.

Draco gulped, glancing from Flint to the staff table and then to Harry. “Erm, no. I guess not,” he admitted, coloring.

“I thought you were done for when you lost half your bristles along the wall,” Katie continued. “How’d you pull out of that one?”

Harry animatedly began reliving the flight, and soon even Draco had gotten over his sulk and was asking questions.

“Hey, what if we were to set up an obstacle course – outside, I mean!” Katie added hastily. “That might be a great training aid for the team.”

Flint’s eyes lit up. “That’s not a bad idea, Bell.”

“How come all the cool stuff is only for the Quidditch teams?” Ron whined. “It’s not fair that we can’t do any flying first year – except for those dumb classes with Madame Hooch.”

“Yeah – those are useless,” Draco agreed petulantly, too caught up in his grievance to realize he was publicly agreeing with Ron. “It’s not fair!”

“Well, why not build an obstacle course that anyone can use?” Hermione asked sensibly. “We could have competitions to see who can get through it quickest.”

“You could have some routes that were easier than others, so that first and second years wouldn’t be competing against sixth and seventh,” Neville offered.

“That’s a good idea!” Ron said excitedly. “Otherwise it’d just be the Quidditch players who’d win each time.”

“You wouldn’t even need to have teams,” Hermione said. “Just let everyone compete as an individual without all the silly House rivalries.”

Her words, heretical in Hogwarts’ hallowed halls, caused a moment of stunned silence.

“Well,” Ron finally spoke up, a bit tentatively, “if we’re thinkin’ of doing stuff outside the Houses, then why don’t we have some Quidditch games for people like Draco an’ me who aren’t on the teams? Yet!” he added hastily.

“You mean like a Quidditch club?” Harry asked around a mouthful of porridge. “I always wondered why Hogwarts doesn’t have stuff like that the way they do in Muggle schools. I mean, there must be plenty of people who like to play but who didn’t make their House team.”

“That’s not a bad idea, Weasel,” Draco’s shining eyes belied his casual tone. “I wouldn’t mind forming a team with you. We could ask Zabini too – he plays pretty well.”

“An’ so do Thomas and Macmillan,” Ron added eagerly.

“Since it’s our idea, we’ll be the first to form a team and we’ll be able to get the best players from every House. We’ll be sure to win all the games,” Draco said smugly.

Flint and Katie exchanged a humorous look at the First Years’ plotting. “Maybe then Madame Hooch can use class time to help the people who need tutoring, rather than having to chase after people who already fly very well,” Hermione added tartly. She and Neville had, on more than one occasion, shared their frustration with a flying class that was little more than informal Quidditch matches.

“Don’t worry, ‘Mione. If we put a club together, I’m sure there’d be people who’d be willing to give lessons,” Harry offered comfortingly.

She brightened. “Maybe that should be part of the club’s activities! We could have a charter and…”

“Harry.” As the others got caught up in their plans for a Quidditch club, Neville lowered his voice and leaned close to Harry. “Are you really okay? I mean, Professor Snape didn’t… Well, he didn’t leave bruises, did he?”

Harry looked at Neville’s broad, worried face and felt incredibly lucky to have such good friends. “Nah,” he reassured the blond boy. “I mean, he whacked me an’ all, but it’s not that bad. He was really mad though, an’ I don’t know when he’ll let me back in the dorm. I’m on r’striction again and I’ve got lines an’ essays too.”

“Well,” Neville struggled to find something positive to say, “at least we’ll see you when we’re helping prepare potion ingredients, right? Once you’re off restriction, I mean.”

Harry sighed. He hadn’t thought of that, but being on restriction meant that he wouldn’t be allowed to participate in the cozy ingredient preparation sessions that took place in his guardian’s classroom several times a week.

His room in Snape’s quarters was brilliant, so leaving the dorm wasn’t so bad. And Harry had yet to explore all of his shelves’ contents, let alone read all the books, so he didn’t really mind not being allowed to hang out in the Common Rooms, but he was going to miss getting together in the dungeons with the others and squishing and peeling and mincing and hearing stories about famous Potion Masters and listening to Snape talk about the different ingredients… “Yeah,” he sighed. “I just hope it won’t be too long.”

Neville patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. He’s kind of like my gran. She can get real angry an’ scary too, but she doesn’t usually stay that way for very long.”

--##--

The day passed with surprising ease. Snape was both surprised and amused to see how well-behaved his classes were; obviously his fearsome reputation had been fully restored by the past 24 hours. If it hadn’t been for the house elves’ cold shoulder, he would have been quite pleased with the state of affairs. Still, by lunchtime, Minerva had thought to pass a cup of coffee to him, and that circumvented the elves’ plot quite nicely. As annoyed as they were with him, they weren’t about to risk irritating the Deputy Headmistress.

When his last class of the day finished, Snape went to see the Headmaster. “Severus, my boy, it is very good to see you. How are you?” Albus asked, sending a dish of lemon drops floating over to meet him.

Snape dropped into a chair, batting the candies out of his way. “Headmaster, I have decided to have a prize-giving for my NEWTS and OWLS students at the end of this term. Such an event will hopefully motivate the little dunderheads to keep up with their studies over the winter holidays, so that we do not lose valuable class time revising upon their return.”

Dumbledore blinked in surprise. Snape had never before embraced positive reinforcement as a teaching method. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Severus. It sounds to be an excellent idea.”

“I have also decided that it is time for the school and the Ministry to acknowledge the importance of Potions in the curriculum. It is, after all, a prerequisite for a number of careers, including Healers and Aurors.”

“Yes, that is so,” Albus agreed cautiously, unsure where his Potion Master was going with this.

“Yet despite the integral importance of Potions in their fields, these professions have never once during my time here acknowledged the debt they owe to Hogwarts and to me in transforming ignorant children into accomplished brewers!” Snape leaned forward angrily. “This complete lack of respect must cease! I will expect both professions to send representatives to the prize giving, as a show of appreciation of my efforts and encouragement to the students.”

Dumbledore blinked. Where was this coming from? Severus had never before seemed so annoyed about toiling in relative obscurity. Then he caught the man’s gaze on his copy of the Daily Prophet’s latest edition. Of course! The front page had a large picture of Sirius Black in yet another press conference.

“Sirius does seem to be quite popular,” Albus commented gently, nudging the paper towards Severus.

Snape flushed and looked away. “It is of no interest to me if the wizarding world sees fit to fawn upon that degenerate while ignoring others’ long years of important service,” he declared unconvincingly. “This has nothing to do with Black. Skeeter and her ilk may have seen fit to elevate him to celebrity status but that has everything to do with his wealth and outrageous behavior and nothing to do with his actual value to society.”

“Of course not,” Dumbledore said soothingly. “Your work here with the children – to say nothing of your courageous service during the war – demonstrates how valuable you are to Hogwarts and the Ministry alike.”

“Precisely!” Snape snapped, straightening up. “And that is why I expect you to get St Mungo’s and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to send their leaders to Hogwarts for the prize giving in my classes.”

“Now, Severus, you know it will be difficult for such people to find the time to come, especially on such short notice…”

“Fine. Then we will hold two prize givings – one at the end of this term and the other at the end of the year. The Aurors can come to one and the Healers to the other,” Snape declared. “That will make it hard for them to decline outright.”

Dumbledore sighed. Once Severus got an idea, he was like a crup with a bone. “I will do my best, but –“

“Since Madame Bones kindly pointed out that the return of Voldemort is ‘nothing to worry about,’” Snape sneered, “I am sure her Aurors are in need of things to do. They can come to this term’s prize giving, while the healers at St Mungo’s will receive notice as to their expected attendance next term.”

Hmmm. That might be best, Albus mused. The head of pediatric injuries at St Mungo’s was still rather disgruntled from his tussle with Snape after the Quirrell incident. Allowing additional time before bringing the two into contact again did make sense, Albus decided. And with his old Order connections, the chances were good that he could get at least one or two Aurors to the school, even on short notice. “Very well, Severus, I will contact Madame Bones and issue the invitation, and I will use all of my charm to try to entice her to come,” he said, twinkling. “I quite agree that you deserve some recognition for your dedicated service. Shall we have Ms Skeeter back as well?” Perhaps some publicity would soothe the man’s injured ego.

Snape nodded stiffly. “Thank you. Please inform both that I plan to hold the ceremony this Friday, on the last day of classes before the holiday.” He rose to his feet, nodded once, and left in a swirl of robes.

Albus looked sadly down at the paper on his desk. Black Slams Britain! the headline screamed. Vows Never to Return to Land that Wrongly Imprisoned Him. Poor Sirius. It appeared he was very bitter – and who could blame him? But Albus worried what having a godfather with such a grudge would do to Harry. It certainly sounded likely that Sirius would do his best to remove Harry from Hogwarts, if only to make it easier for him to visit the boy, and what would that mean for the prophecy? Or the child? Or the Potion Master?

Albus sighed again. He suspected that great pain lay ahead for his poor boys, and there was – for all his power – very little he could do to protect them. Well, at least he would do what he could to bring some pleasure to Severus in the short term. He picked up a quill and began to write.

Snape stalked down the halls, hard pressed not to rub his hands in glee. That had gone even better than he had hoped! He hadn’t dared to suggest inviting the press, but Skeeter’s presence would ensure that the Ministry would have no hope of hushing matters up.

Back at his quarters, he found Harry happily ensconced in his room, reading one of the books Albus had selected for him. “Hi, Da!” the boy called out, spotting the man in the doorway. “Have you read this one? It’s really good.”

Snape frowned at the brat. He knew better than to read for pleasure before finishing his assigned work. “Have you completed your lines?” he asked forbiddingly.

Harry grinned. “Yeah!” he answered cheekily, pulling the scroll out of his bookbag and handing it to the man. “And I’ve got the sore fingers to prove it!” he added, shaking out his writing hand.

“You should have thought of that before earning the punishment with your foolish behavior,” Snape huffed, but he wasted no time in taking the boy’s hand and gently examining it for any signs of inflammation.

“Da! I was just kidding. I’m okay,” Harry protested, trying – and failing – to hide his delight at his guardian’s solicitude.

Snape paid no attention. He was well aware of Harry’s tendency to minimize any physical discomfort. He accio’d a jar of salve and rubbed it into the boy’s hand. “There was no need to complete all three hundred lines in one sitting,” he scolded. “Naturally your fingers are stiff.”

“Well, I may have sorta hinted to everyone that you said you’d wallop me again if I didn’t get them done,” Harry admitted.

Snape mentally bade farewell to the thought of his morning coffee. “Do not overdo it,” he warned.

“Me?” Harry asked in surprise. “After the way you looked yesterday, everyone was surprised that I didn’t end up as a pile of potion ingredients!” He paused, a grin stealing over his face.

“What?” Snape asked, apprehensive at what was making the brat smirk like that.

“Professors Flitwick an’ Sprout even gave me an extension on all my essays,” Harry told him smugly. “They said they figured I ‘might not be able to concentrate’ right now.”

Snape rolled his eyes. It was a good thing the little monster hadn’t genuinely pulled a prank. He could see that if he ever had geniune cause to punish the wretch, he would be thwarted at every turn by his fellow faculty.

Harry was still snickering at how gullible some of the teachers were. Imagine! Thinking his professor would really hurt him – how silly was that? “See? So it was you, not me, who got everyone so worried.”

Snape pressed his lips together. “Hmmmmmmm. Well, I suspect Pettigrew is more than willing to believe the worst of me, so it would seem our plan has been successful thus far. Your godfather appears to have done his part as well – he held a press conference either last night or this morning, promising never to return.”

“Cool!” Harry chirped. “Did he get his picture in the paper? He really likes that.”

“Of course he would, the exhibitionist,” Snape said sourly. “Very well, Mr Potter – enough chatter. To bed with you.”

Harry’s jaw dropped in amazement. “What!” he yelped. “It’s practic’lly the middle of the afternoon!”

“And you are taking a nap,” Snape retorted, inexorably pushing the boy towards his bed.

“Naps are for babies!” Harry whined, sounding rather like a four year old. “Why do I need to take a nap? What did I do?”

“It is not punishment, Potter,” Snape said in exasperation, pushing him onto the bed and reaching down to pull off the brat’s shoes.

“But then why?” Harry said, almost tearful at the indignity of a nap.

Snape regarded the boy in vexation. He would never understand children. He would kill for the chance to take a nap, but no, he had to correct papers and supervise his snakes’ study time. All the little brat had to do was enjoy some blissful rest, and yet he was more upset at the mere prospect of a nap than he had been after being spanked in front of the entire school. “Potter, have you forgotten that we are engaged in a campaign to capture the rat?” he demanded. “You and I will be busy with a covert operation late tonight, and it is therefore important that you rest now so as not to be exhausted later, when it will be vital that you have your wits about you.”

Harry’s eyes grew huge. “Really?” he breathed. “A secret mission?”

“Yes. In the Forbidden Forest. And if you think I will take along a cranky, sleepy child, who will attract every acromantula in the forest with his noisy yawns –“ But Harry had already turned and dived under the covers.

“I’m restin’! I’m restin’!” Harry yelled, screwing his eyes shut. “Just don’t go without me!”

Snape rolled his eyes. Changeable little sod. “I will wake you in a few hours for dinner,” he informed the brat.