Following what Albus referred to as a “little snack” and Snape considered “a sugar binge”, a happily stuffed Harry was sent back to class.

“Oh, Severus, I have been such a fool,” Albus said mournfully, his shoulders slumping. “What I have done to you and Harry...”

Snape squirmed uncomfortably. It was one thing to have Harry weep all over his robes, but he really didn’t think he could stand Albus doing the same thing. “The boy will be fine, Albus. I will see to it,” he said quickly, so desperate to head off another tearful breakdown that he didn’t realize quite how much he was giving away about his own emotional attachment.

Dumbledore wiped his eyes and twinkled at him. “That I can well believe, my boy.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Now then,” he said firmly, getting down to business, “about Madame Umbridge. Surely this episode demonstrates her complete unsuitability –“

“Now, Severus, this was not precisely her fault.”

“What!” Snape barely managed to avoid shouting at the old idiot. “She terrorized Har- Potter to the point where he was running away in a blind panic! She –“

“She had excellent reason to believe him guilty of attempted cheating,” Albus pointed out gently. “She is a new instructor, and perhaps that is why she feels she must establish herself as a stern disciplinarian. With time, I am confident that she’ll learn that such tactics are inefficient, but for now we must be sensitive to her understandable insecurities.”

“Insecurities!” Snape scoffed. “She’s too stupid to be insecure. That would require a degree of insight and self-awareness wholly absent in that cretinous toad!”

Dumbledore hid a smile. “There is a rather unfortunate resemblance,” he admitted, “but that is all the more reason we should be tolerant. I am certain that the students have also noticed the resemblance and that perhaps gives Dolores even more reason to be somewhat strict with them.”

“Albus, you are being deliberately obtuse! That witch has no business teaching children! She threatened Potter with expulsion!”

Albus raised his eyebrows. “And you have threatened students with evisceration,” he pointed out.

Snape couldn’t precisely argue with that. “She openly states her support of corporal punishment!”

Albus stroked his beard and wisely forbore from pointing out that Snape had just administered corporal punishment, choosing instead to focus on a more distant event. “Hmmmm. I seem to recall a certain Head of House voicing similar opinions after a prank last year involving showers and paint…”

“She torments Potter in class,” Snape argued, growing desperate. “She plays favorites and –“

Dumbledore merely looked at him, and Snape blushed. “Well, yes, I suppose that some other faculty have been less than fully impartial at times, but her excesses are –“

“Severus, I can hardly dismiss Dolores for doing nothing more than certain other faculty have done and, frankly, are well known outside Hogwarts for doing,” Dumbledore said firmly, giving him a pointed look. “How could I possibly explain that to the Minister?”

“Fudge is an idiot!”

“He is also the duly elected Minster of Magic and a person I see no value in antagonizing needlessly. He recommended Dolores for the post, and dismissing her without cause would be an insult to him. She may not – yet – have impressed us with her teaching style, but neither has she done any real harm.”

“And if her vicious remarks had actually driven Harry into the Forest, would you still be so convinced as to her harmless nature?”

“Now, Severus, as I said before, Dolores is just as much of a victim in this as is Harry. She was tricked as well.”

“Oh? We should be worried about that moronic cow? Was she about to run off to the Forbidden Forest?” Snape demanded. “What injury did she suffer from this ‘trick’?”

“Severus,” Dumbledore was adamant, “I am aware that Dolores is having a difficult adjustment period, but you are letting your personal opinion of her cloud your judgment. While she was perhaps more harsh with Harry than she needed to be, all she did was order him from class and tell him to meet her in my office. That is hardly grounds for dismissal. It was Harry’s own fears – fully understandable though they were – that nearly turned today’s misunderstanding into a tragedy. I cannot blame an inexperienced teacher for not anticipating that a student would react in a wholly unexpected way. Surely even you were taken unawares by Harry’s decision to bolt?”

Unwillingly, Severus nodded.

“Then I do not see how we can blame Dolores for being unaware of the potential effect of her words.” Albus’ tone, though kind, was final.

Snape glowered. “So she gets off without so much as a warning, while Harry was smacked and traumatized?”

Albus sighed. “It does seem unfair, but as you yourself pointed out, Harry was smacked for his foolish plan, not for having Dolores’ notes in his bag. It is hardly appropriate to blame her for Harry’s own recklessness.”

Snape ground his teeth, but he could see that the headmaster was going to prove intransigent on this point. He spun on his heel and stalked for the door, pausing only long enough to fling his parting shot over his shoulder: “I’m telling Minerva!”

The sound of Albus’ pained “Oh, dear” made him feel quite a bit better as he stomped down to the dungeons.

##

“Harry!” Ron and the others greeted him with open relief as he rejoined them in time for their next class.

“Are you okay? What did the Headmaster say? Did your da find you? You’re not really expelled, are you?” Questions flew thick and fast, and Harry had to grin at how worried his friends had obviously been on his behalf.

“No, I’m not expelled – they believed me when I said I didn’t do it, even as a prank,” he explained. “And my da caught me before I left,” he said to Ron, who heaved a sigh of relief. “An’ yeah, I got whacked for bein’ dumb enough to think about running away,” he added, forestalling his best mate’s next question.

“Merlin, Potter, do you think you can make it through a single term without getting walloped?” Draco said, shaking his head. “At least the rest of us don’t have to worry about getting clouted when we’re at school. It must be awful having your guardian right here at Hogwarts, watching everything you do.”

“Well, it’s not all bad,” Harry said consideringly. “There are plenty of times when it’s nice to have him around. An’ I only get smacked when I deserve it. My da’s really good about that.”

“Yeah? Then you’re lucky,” Draco said shortly. The others exchanged glances, but no one pressed the Slytherin.

“But, Harry,” Hermione – as usual – brought them back on topic. “If you didn’t take the notes, then how did they get in your bag?”

Harry looked grim. “I don’t know, but if I find out who did it, they’re gonna be sorry!”

Hermione nodded, but Ron still looked a bit dubious, as did several of the other children. Nobody openly disputed Harry’s story, but it was clear that more than a few doubted his word, and given the circumstantial evidence against him, it was hard to blame them.

##

Snape made good on his threat to Dumbledore and told McGonagall what had happened. Like him, she was furious with That Woman, but grudgingly agreed that Albus had a point. To Snape's great relief, McGonagall was polite enough to refrain from saying “I told you so” and pointing out how his own past excesses were now making it harder for them to remove the Pink Toad.

In truth, Minerva had found it difficult to keep a straight face as Severus indignantly described Umbridge’s behavior towards Harry as well as his outrage at Albus’ refusal to sack her. It was not unlike many of the conversations she herself had had with Albus, only in those Severus had been the teacher under discussion. Still, the entire event served to further heighten her determination to ensure that Umbridge was no longer in a position to harm her little lions.

What Snape didn’t tell McGonagall was his growing conviction that someone was out to get Harry. He hadn’t given much thought to the missing homework – it was all too easy to blame such things on an 11 year old boy’s natural state of disorganization – but when that occurrence was coupled with the test notes, it began to look as though someone were trying, and succeeding, to make Harry’s time at Hogwarts very uncomfortable indeed. A campaign to discredit a child sounded ridiculous, but this was no ordinary child. Harry was The Boy Who Lived and, intentionally or not, he held a very special place in Wizarding society. Snape could understand why there would be people – including very powerful people – who might want to blacken Harry’s reputation for reasons of their own.

He vowed to keep an even closer eye on the brat, and he asked Hagrid to tighten security on the grounds as well. It was clear that this person, whomever he or she was, had access to the school, but Snape was not yet convinced it was a student or staff member. It was possible someone was sneaking in for brief periods, just long enough to set some plan in motion. As he had expected, upon hearing that Harry might be in jeopardy, Hagrid immediately leapt into action and swore to step up his patrols. That was reassuring – the giant was no genius, but he was well aware of what happened at and around the school, and if anyone could prevent trespassers, he could.

Snape debated having the mutt and wolf come over to help keep an eye on Harry, but decided in the end that it was an unwarranted risk. Sirius was still a loose cannon, and Remus would likely have to spend more time keeping him out of trouble than guarding Harry. If things grew any worse though, that remained a possibility.

##

It took a few days for all the gossip about the test questions to die down. Dumbledore had clearly spoken to Umbridge, because she reluctantly allowed Harry to return to her class, but she lost no opportunity to make snide, cutting remarks which led the rest of the class to believe that the headmaster, though convinced of Harry’s guilt, nevertheless let him off because of his standing as The Boy Who Lived.

Harry managed to hold his tongue, but he could see that her deadly venom was slowly beginning to affect his classmates. No one actually came out and accused him of using his special status to get out of trouble, but he noticed that there were a lot more sidelong looks at his scar than there had been before. Even Ron, to his annoyance, seemed to think that Harry was just being modest, and he kept pestering Harry to tell him how he had managed the trick. The twins also appeared to believe it had been a prank, and their grinning at him and referring to him as “our apprentice” just convinced more of the student body that maybe Umbridge was right.

Harry sighed. He didn’t understand why the other students acted jealous. Of him? What did they have to be jealous about? He was an orphan – although he did now have a great da – and Voldesnort and his band of Death Eaters wanted him dead. Was that something to envy? And since the term began, he’d been alternately getting into trouble with his professors for things he didn’t do, like losing his homework or stealing notes, and being criticized by his peers for getting away with stuff and being given special treatment. It was all so mixed up!

At least his friends were sticking by him, though the others’ disapproving looks and whispers were beginning to grate on his nerves, and Umbridge’s constant, petty harassment didn’t help. All told, it created a great deal of strain on the boy, and when the mysterious enemy struck again, it proved too much for him.

Dinner time at Hogwarts, as at most schools, was eagerly anticipated by the ravenous students, and there was often an initial rush into the room once the doors opened for mealtime. That evening, the first students into the room (including – naturally – Ron) halted in sheer amazement at the empty space in front of them.

“Where’re all the tables an’ chairs?” yelped Ron.

The students, now joined by several equally startled faculty, stared around them as if expecting the furniture to materialize in front of them.

“Look!” Finally someone’s gaze strayed upwards, and soon a forest of hands pointing at the ceiling directed everyone else’s attention there.

Stuck to the ceiling, as if gravity had suddenly reversed itself, were the missing tables and chairs, assembled in a particular pattern.

That was the point at which Harry, fresh from a dueling lesson with Flitwick, arrived on the scene. He was startled when the Weasley twins, joined by several others, greeted his entrance with loud applause, and equally bewildered at the looks of impatience or disgust directed at him by other students.

“Here’s the little egomaniac,” one girl from Ravenclaw commented loudly to her friends. “You’d think he’d eventually get tired of drawing attention to himself.”

“I guess it’s easy to pull off pranks if you know you won’t get punished for them,” a Hufflepuff said enviously. “Must be nice to be The Boy Who Lived!”

“Merlin, Harry – are you trying to lose us points? Umbridge is right about you,” an upper year Gryffindor snapped. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Harry was bewildered by the comments, until he too happened to look up. There on the ceiling, the missing furniture spelled out “HARRY P” with the remaining tables and chairs organized around it in a frame. His mouth dropped open.

“Harry, that’s pretty funny,” Neville admitted. "But I still think some of the professors might get upset."

“Potter, Potter, Potter! Don’t you even know enough never to sign your own name to a prank?” Draco asked, bemoaning such Gryffindor foolishness. “You should have spelled ‘RON W IS KING’!”

“Oi! I heard that!” Ron said indignantly. “I think he should have put ‘DRACO IS A GIT’!”

“I didn’t do it!” Harry protested, staring wildly from one to the next. “It wasn’t me!”

The boys just laughed. “Sure, Harry! Sure!”

Hermione looked at him doubtfully, but at least she didn’t immediately dismiss his words. “Harry, if you didn’t, then who did? And why put your name up there?”

“I don’t know, ‘Mione,” Harry protested, “but it wasn’t me!”

“Little show off!” Another Ravenclaw sniffed, and several students, including some other Gryffindors, noisily agreed.

“I DIDN’T DO IT!” Harry yelled at them, finally losing his temper. “YOU BLOODY –“

“That will be quite enough, Mr Potter!” Professor McGonagall appeared at his side and took him by the collar. “I suggest you refrain from getting yourself in more trouble than you already are.”

“But –“ Harry’s protests were interrupted by the Headmaster’s arrival. “My, my. It appears that someone has chosen to redecorate,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “While the new arrangement is quite original, it does pose a few logistical problems, so I think we had best return things to their usual places.” He waved his wand, and the students watched expectantly, but nothing happened.

Dumbledore exchanged a startled look with McGonagall, then wove a more complicated pattern with his wand. There was a moment when it looked as if the furniture would remain recalcitrant, but an extra, commanding gesture from the headmaster sent the tables and chairs gently drifting earthward.

McGonagall gave Harry a piercing look, then said, “Come with me, Mr Potter.” As her hand remained on his collar, Harry really had no choice in the matter, but the smirks and jeering looks that were directed to him on his way out made his ears burn and his blood boil.

His Head of House escorted him firmly to her office, closed the door behind them, pointed to a chair in front of her desk, and said, “Now then –“ and those two little, innocent words destroyed what little self-control he still possessed.

Days of remaining silent despite Umbridge’s sly digs, of ignoring the gibes of other students, of allowing the rumor of his cheating to circulate unchallenged finally boiled over, and all his anger and frustration about the injustice of it all exploded. He was confident that he was about to be – again – scolded and punished for something he hadn’t done, just like he had been at his old school whenever Dudley set him up or blamed him for mischief he himself had done. Just like then, Harry knew he had no way of proving his innocence, but while in the past, he could do nothing but keep his mouth shut and suffer through the punishment for fear of his relatives, this time his newly unleashed temper rebelled. If he were going to be punished anyway, he might as well do something to earn it!

“IT’S NOT FAIR!” he screamed, startling McGonagall. “I ALWAYS GET BLAMED FOR SHITE THAT I HAVEN’T DONE! IT’S NOT FAIR! WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME? I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!”

“Mr Pot-“ McGonagall attempted to interrupt, but Harry was in no mood to listen.

“JUST SHUT IT! I HATE THIS! NO ONE EVER BELIEVES ME! UMBITCH KEEPS CALLING ME NAMES AND MAKING STUFF UP AND NO ONE SAYS THAT SHE’S FULL OF SHITE, BUT THE SECOND I TRY TO SAY THAT I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING, I’M JUST TOLD TO BLOODY WELL BELT UP. WELL, YOU JUST BELT UP FOR A CHANGE!”

McGonagall blinked. In all her years in education, she had never been told to “belt up”. She forced down a wholly inappropriate grin. Harry did look rather cute when he foamed and shouted like this. Sort of a cross between James at his most impossible and a ranting Severus. Oh, and look, now he was waving his arms around. Sirius used to do that all the time. McGonagall felt quite nostalgic and misty-eyed watching the latest generation of Potters scream and gesticulate.

It took another few minutes for Harry’s tantrum to finally run its course, but when it did, and he slowly sputtered to a halt, exhausted and hoarse, he abruptly realized what he had been saying and to whom. Oh, Professor McGonagall was going to kill him.

Feeling rather sheepish, he hesitantly raised his eyes to meet hers, and instantly felt even more childish. While he had ranted on, she had seated herself comfortably at her desk, summoned a teapot, and was simply sitting there, waiting for him to finish. “Are you done?” she asked calmly, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes’m,” Harry croaked. He felt about three inches tall, small and grubby and foolish.

“Here.” She held out a glass of ice water to soothe his raw throat, and her concern for his welfare only made him feel worse.

“ ‘M sorry,” he whispered as he took the glass and gratefully sipped it, feeling the coldness sliding down his abused throat.

“Am I to take it from your outburst that you have been the victim of a smear campaign on the part of That Woman?” At Harry’s look of confusion, McGonagall clarified. “Professor Umbi- Umbridge?” She hastily took a sip of tea to cover her lapse. She had nearly said “Umbitch” and that would never do.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. Now that his tantrum was spent, he wished he could just sink through the floor and forget what he’d said. What had he said anyway? He vaguely remembered screaming about it being unfair and – uh oh – he had probably called her ‘Umbitch’ and – oh, no. Merlin, please, no. He couldn’t have been that stupid! Surely he hadn’t told Professor McGonagall of all people to “belt up”! “ ‘M really sorry,” he said again, staring at his toes. “I don’t know why I said all those things. I’ve never ever done something like this before.”

A shadow passed across McGonagall’s face. “Well, Mr Potter, perhaps that is why you did,” she said, forcing her voice to remain brisk.

She had had a few chats with Severus – not to mention Molly Weasley – about what Harry had shared of his homelife at the Dursleys, and after several decades as a teacher, she was not unfamiliar with child and adolescent psychology. Harry was making an amazing recovery from all those years of neglect and harsh treatment, but it would be foolish not to expect him to have occasional outbursts. Throwing a tantrum was one way of testing his limits, his safety, and his newfound ability to express anger. It was clear that Harry had learned how to control his emotions in the face of great provocation. Now it was time for him to learn how – and when – to express them.

Harry frowned in confusion. Huh? What did Professor McGonagall mean by that? And why wasn’t she mad and yelling at him? Or taking away a zillion points and giving him detention until next Christmas?

“Now. You said something about Professor Umbridge telling lies and that the other students were beginning to believe her?”

Harry squirmed. He really didn’t want to talk about this. He would just sound like a whinging baby. But his Head of House was waiting. “Erm, well, yeah. I mean she says stuff about how I think I’m better than everyone ‘cause I’m The Boy Who Lived and I feel like rules are for other people but I don’t have to follow them, and the Headmaster can’t do anything ‘cause of me being, y’know, The Boy Who Lived, and just some other stuff like that.”

“And the other students believe her?”

“Not at first they didn’t, but now… she just keeps saying it and saying it, and after a while you just start believing what you’ve heard a thousand times.” Harry reflected sadly that he had certainly believed Uncle Vernon when he kept calling him “freak”. Maybe he shouldn’t be so hard on the other kids…

“I see.” McGonagall’s voice sounded awfully angry, and Harry winced as he caught sight of her pursed lips. Oooooh, he was in for it!

“Mr Potter, I wish you had come to me – or your guardian – with this sooner, but I am glad to finally learn the extent of the problem. In the meantime, however, we still have your atrocious behavior to address.”

Harry gulped. “Yes’m.”

She pointed sternly to a corner of the room, and Harry’s eyes widened. No! She couldn’t mean –

“Into the corner, Mr Potter. Perhaps twenty minutes contemplating your actions will encourage you to think of more appropriate ways to express your frustration than yelling at a faculty member.”

“Oh, please, Professor, can’t I just stay here an’ contemplate them?” Harry begged. Standing in a corner was how toddlers were punished. He was nearly twelve!

“Would you care to make it thirty minutes?”

Groaning in humiliation, Harry dragged himself into the indicated corner and woefully planted his nose in it. He could only be grateful that Ron and Draco and the others couldn’t see him like this! This was awful. He’d rather spend a week in detention or write a thousand lines than be treated like a baby... which, he supposed, was why McGonagall had done it. And to be fair, shrieking and jumping up and down like that wasn’t exactly the way almost-twelve year olds were supposed to behave. His lips quirked unwillingly. He must have looked a right berk. He guessed he should be grateful McGonagall hadn’t whipped out a camera and started taking snaps of him like that and then posted them in the Common Room. It would have served him right if she had.

Harry shuddered at the very thought. Okay, maybe the corner wasn’t so bad after all. It wasn’t like she had screamed at him or zapped him with a mouth soaping spell… Not yet anyway. Harry grimaced. He really didn’t want to have a mouth full of soap suds.

The idea of anything in his mouth reminded his stomach that it was dinner time. Harry fidgeted as he heard his stomach growl noisily. He hoped McGonagall hadn’t heard that. He guessed he probably wouldn’t get any dinner tonight – after his outburst, he supposed he didn’t really deserve any food anyway – but he didn’t really want everyone to know how hungry he was.

Of course, if his da found out he’d skipped a meal – oh, Merlin! What was his da going to say when he found out? His guardian was always in such control of himself, hearing how Harry had lost it would really disappoint him. Harry drooped in dejection.

Behind him, Minerva sipped her tea and watched Harry’s back. Really, the child posititvely radiated his emotions. Who would have thought that it would be so easy to follow the boy’s thoughts merely by seeing how he stood in the corner? She had seen Harry move from shame to contemplation to apprehension and most recently to unhappiness. That, coupled with the sounds of an empty belly, reminded her that when she was finished here, she needed to summon a house elf with a tray for two. From what she had heard, Harry had already gone to sleep too many times with a hungry tummy. She had no intention of allowing that to continue while she was in charge of him.

She noted that Harry had five more minutes to go in his punishment when her office door burst open and Snape stormed in, his eyes snapping with rage and his robes billowing around him. He looked positively murderous.

“Good evening, Severus,” she said calmly. She was not about to be intimidated by someone who, for his first three years at Hogwarts, used to absently chew on his quills and then walk around with ink-stained lips. She noted that Harry had, not unreasonably, spun about to see who had just come in. “Face to the wall, Mr Potter.”

“Where is – “ Snape broke off as Harry meekly pivoted to face the corner again. He blinked in surprise, realizing that his worst fears had been unwarranted.

Snape had reached the Great Hall late that evening, thanks to two idiotic Hufflepuffs who had earned an afternoon of detention by deciding to see whether they really could make their potion explode by doing exactly what the textbook said not to do. Spending four hours scrubbing first the cauldrons, then the floor, and then the walls of the classroom had convinced the miscreants that it was wiser by far not to trifle with Potions – or their professor.

By the time he had arrived for dinner, the Hall was in its usual configuration, but the students and faculty had still been buzzing with excitement over what had happened earlier. Snape had listened with dawning horror – Harry’s mysterious enemy had obviously struck again! – which only deepened as he realized that McGonagall, the stern old battle axe, had dragged Harry away… by the ear, if the students were to be believed. Certain that she was berating the boy for something he did not do, he had made for her office at speed, his temper rapidly building as he envisioned the scene: a tearful Harry pleading his innocence while an implacable McGonagall heaped punishment after punishment upon the apparently intransigent child.

Instead he was disconcerted to find Harry quietly standing in a corner – a mild enough punishment, though one he knew full well the brat despised – while McGonagall sipped a cup of tea and perused homework assignments.

“What happened?” Snape asked, a bit awkwardly. Now that much of his righteous anger had fled, he was uncomfortably aware that he had probably looked like an idiot bursting in like an avenging angel.

“I assume you know what transpired in the Great Hall?” Minerva began.

“Yes, but Harry didn’t –“

“I am well aware that Mr Potter did not stick the furniture to the ceiling,” McGonagall interrupted firmly.

“You are?” The question burst out of both Snape and Harry simultaneously. McGonagall ruthlessly suppressed her mirth at the identical looks of astonishment both wore.

“Yes. Mr Potter, as it is apparent that you are paying more attention to this conversation than to contemplating your earlier misbehavior, you might as well come and join us.” Sheepishly, Harry trotted out of the corner and took the indicated chair in front of her desk. Snape, after a moment of hesitation, took the chair next to him.

“If you are aware that Potter wasn’t responsible for the events in the Great Hall, then why was he standing in the corner?” Snape asked suspiciously.

Harry blushed crimson, and McGonagall, after a swift glance at him, replied, “The behavior in question was not something that I would normally consider serious enough to warrant parental notification. I suggest you allow me to handle minor disciplinary matters within my own House.”

Snape opened his mouth to protest, but he saw Harry’s expression of relief and decided against it. He would find out from Minerva later, when the brat was no longer present.

“How did you know that Potter was innocent?” he asked instead.

“Albus was unable to restore the furniture on his first try,” she replied simply.

Snape rocked back in his seat in surprise, but Harry stared from one professor to the other in confusion.

“Mr Potter, do you imagine that a simple Sticking hex, or indeed any magic done by a mere student, should pose a challenge to Professor Dumbledore?” McGonagall asked. Harry’s mouth formed an “o” of sudden understanding. “Exactly,” she nodded at him. “The magic used to affix the tables and chairs to the ceiling was both strong and complex. Not the sort of magic a student could do.”

“In addition, it is unlikely that a student – whether acting alone or in concert with others – would have the magical strength and skill to move all the furtniture quickly and quietly enough to avoid detection,” Snape added, not to be outdone.

“So who’s doing it?” Harry demanded.

“That, Mr Potter, is the question.” Although she was ostensibly talking to Harry, McGonagall’s eyes were on Snape’s.

“But, Professor, if you knew it wasn’t me, then why’d you take me out of the Great Hall like that?” Harry asked, a bit aggrieved.

“Mr Potter, do try to think,” McGonagall scolded him. “We have a mysterious opponent who is obviously attempting to get you into trouble. Why should I reveal that we are onto him or her, thereby forcing him deeper into the shadows and motivating him to attempt ever more outrageous stunts? Do you not think it better to mislead him or her?” Harry’s jaw hung open, and only Snape’s years of training prevented his from doing the same. Who would have thought the Head of Gryffindor was capable of such Slytherin cunning? “My intention was to bring you here so that we could discuss the matter in private. However,” she gave him a Look, “your actions prevented my explaining this to you.”

Harry flushed. He was such an idiot! Here was Professor McGonagall looking out for him, nearly as good as his da did, and first chance he got, he screamed and shouted and practically threw things at her.

“Now then,” she continued, “there are additional matters that Professor Snape and I have to discuss that do not concern you, and I believe you have several minutes of your punishment remaining.” She nodded pointedly at the corner, and with an embarrassed glance at his da, Harry slunk back into position.

Once there, he consoled himself with the idea that he could at least eavesdrop on their conversation, but to his disappointment, his wily Head of House cast a Muffliato, and so he was once again left alone with his increasingly penitent thoughts.

He was such a twit not to have trusted Professor McGonagall. Sure she looked a bit scary, but he knew better than to go by appearances. She wasn’t friendly like Professor Flitwick or huggy the way Professor Sprout was, but hadn’t she saved him from the troll? And made sure to take good care of Hermione after she was so exhausted when Quirrel/Voldesnort had attacked him over the Quidditch pitch?

Harry cursed himself for being such an idiot. Professor McGonagall was just like his da – she liked to act all grouchy and strict, but she really cared about her students and protected them fiercely. And how did he repay all her past kindnesses to him? By screaming at her and being outrageously rude. And even then, all she did was send him to the corner to think about what he’d done. Harry sniffled miserably. He was ungrateful and stupid and… A touch on his shoulder made him start, and he turned to find Professor McGonagall looking down on him with a tinge of concern in her eyes, though her features were, as usual, stern and forbidding.

“I’m sorry!” Harry blurted, flinging his arms around her waist. “I’m really sorry for all those awful things I said!”

Minerva reflexively clutched at the small, solid body that hurtled into hers, too startled to do anything else. Behind her, Snape smirked. It was nice to see that pointy forehead crashing into someone else for a change.

McGonagall managed to get her breath back and patted Harry gently on the shoulder, though her voice remained as firm as ever. “Yes, Mr Potter, yes, yes, I do understand. Now there’s no need to be so distraught. I assure you I have heard significantly worse from other upset and angry children over the years. Now do dry your eyes and sit down.”

Harry hiccupped and sniffled, newly grateful for such kindness. He returned to his chair and his da gave him a comforting pat on the head which further restored him.

Snape scowled at the brat as he sat. Minerva might have refused to tell him what Potter had actually done, but that cuff he’d just delivered should have clearly communicated his displeasure to the brat. Of course, he had been careful not to make it too rough – but it had definitely been a clout, and surely even the brat would have understood it as such.

##

Minerva cast the Muffliato as soon as Harry reached the corner. “Now then –“

“What did he do?” Snape demanded.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. “I already told you that there is no need for you to know.”

“He is my s – responsibility!” Snape snapped, catching himself at the last minute.

“And mine as well,” she pointed out reasonably. “Severus, do not hover so.”

“He has had a very difficult life,” he argued angrily. “It is imperative that his past be taken into account when considering his current behavior. Just because –“

“You are hardly the only teacher at this school who has had abused and neglected children in their House, and I believe I have several more decades of experience in such things than you – though admittedly not your first-hand knowledge,” she added, so sympathetically that Snape growled reflexively. “However, I consider myself perfectly capable of handling Mr Potter’s more… minor… misdemeanors.”

“He is a special child with unique needs - “

“He is a very nice boy, Severus, and will do fine even without your constant supervision and interference,” Minerva said firmly, fighting down giggles as she realized she was lecturing Severus Snape on the dangers of being an overprotective parent. “And Harry must become accustomed to facing the discipline of adults other than you. As his Head of House, I am the next logical candidate.”

Snape grumbled and sulked, but he couldn’t refute her logic.

“Now then, may we proceed to the question of who is targeting Harry in this manner?”

That got his attention, and he sat upright. “And why? Until today, I had hoped it might simply be some fellow students with a grudge – real or imagined – but if Albus had difficulty undoing the spells…”

“It is a very insidious plot,” Minerva mused, “to undermine Harry with faculty and students alike. To set him up to take the blame for pranks he didn’t do, thereby increasing his sense of resentment, mistrust, and alienation…It is truly wicked.”

Snape gritted his teeth. It would have been nice if Minerva had been similarly astute when the Marauders had been setting him up for all manner of mischief. He could recall far too many undeserved detentions – some with the very witch sitting across from him. But that was in the past, and there was little value in raising it now. At least it made him vividly aware of what Harry was going through.

“What is it they are after?” Minerva continued thoughtfully. “To isolate Harry? To drive a wedge between him and us? To get him into trouble? To attract negative press attention? To see him punished unjustly? To ruin his academic record? To blacken his name? To keep him so busy with detentions that he can’t keep up his grades? What possible goal could they have to make us think Harry is behind these actions? They’re making the Weasely twins seem positive underachievers by comparison!”

Snape stiffened. Something Minerva had said rang a bell… Or more precisely, it was the one penalty she hadn’t mentioned that had caught his attention. Of course she, like Snape, knew it would never happen, but what if the mysterious adversary were less knowledgeable about Albus Dumbledore and his approach to school discipline?

While Snape had been lost in thought, McGonagall had moved on. “Regardless of motivation, we still need to decide how to respond. Harry tells me that thanks to That Woman, the other students are beginning to accuse him of getting a free pass on all mischief. For the sake of his interactions with his peers, as well as to mislead our foe, Harry will need to be punished for this latest stunt. Or, to be precise, he will be punished for his actions in my office, but if the rest of the school chooses to assume it is for the furniture prank, so be it.”

Snape glowered forbiddingly. “Punished how?”

McGonagall looked thoughtful. “Hmmmm. I have an idea. Leave it to me.”

“Minerva,” Snape said warningly.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, very well. I should think that having Harry scrub the floor of the Great Hall would convince any skeptics that he was well-punished for the prank.”

Snape shook his head. “No. He is not to be treated like a house elf. It will be too reminiscent of the boy’s treatment at the hands of his bastard relatives.”

“I promise that will not happen.” McGonagall had a suspicious twinkle in her eye.

Snape frowned, but in the end, he didn’t want to jeopardize their alliance by flatly refusing. “If the boy becomes distressed –“

“Severus. You really must learn to calm down,” Minerva admonished, much to his annoyance.

The witch canceled the Muffliato and rose to fetch the boy, still standing dejectedly in the corner.

##

Harry wiped his mouth on his napkin and eyed the plate of biscuits greedily. While it was true he'd already had his pudding, the biscuits were just so tempting! When the house elves had popped in to offer a cup of after-dinner tea, both professors had accepted, and the elves had sent up biscuits as well… including all of Harry’s favorites. He tried not to drool as he did his best "puppy dog eyes" at his father. Draco had coached him on it, saying it usually worked with his parents.

McGonagall observed Harry’s hopeful looks and Snape’s stern glares with poorly concealed amusement. It really was so cute to watch the two of them together. “I believe Mr Potter should have one biscuit,” she suggested to Snape. “He will need his energy for his task this evening.”

Harry perked up and turned expectantly to his guardian. Snape looked as if he had just bitten into a lemon, but he very grudgingly nodded, and Harry’s hand snatched a biscuit as quickly as if he were grabbing the snitch in a Quidditch match.

“Manners, Mr Potter!” his da scolded, and Harry mumbled a “th’nk’y” around the cookie crumbs in his mouth.

“Erm, Professor McGonagall, what’d you mean about me needing extra energy for tonight?” Harry asked curiously, swallowing the last of his biscuit. Once he’d rejoined the adults, his Head of House had summoned dinner trays for them, and there had been no further mention of the unpleasantness in the Great Hall or its aftermath.

“I meant, Mr Potter, that you have a detention with me this evening, and I suspect you will find it… tiring.”

Harry gulped nervously, though he noticed that Professor McGonagall had a kind of twinkly look about her eyes. “Uh… what is it?”

She glanced at her clock. “Yes, the rest of the school should have left the Hall. I think we can begin. Severus, we shall bid you good evening now.”

With one last glare of warning, Snape rose to his feet, his cloak billowing behind him. “I trust you shall recall our discussion, Professor.”

The elderly witch had the temerity to roll her eyes at him. “And I trust you shall recall my suggestions to you.”

Snape growled. The nerve of some people! Just because he provided proper supervision over his ward did not mean that he “hovered”. He tilted up Harry’s chin and scowled at the brat. “You will behave yourself,” he told him sternly. “And… you may come to our rooms tonight if you need me.”

Harry’s face lit up. His da couldn’t be really mad at him if he was inviting him to come home later. Harry nearly always slept in the dorm with his mates, but every once in a while he tended to sneak down to the dungeons, especially if he’d had a bad day or had had a nightmare or something. His da never snapped at him when he did, but this was the first time his father had ever openly said he could. “Okay, Da!” he agreed happily, oblivious to Professor McGonagall’s sudden coughing fit.

Several minutes later, he was a lot less happy. He stood by Professor McGonagall’s side in the center of the Great Hall. She’d chased out the last of the students, then closed and warded the doors. Harry watched nervously as she spelled the furniture to cluster in the far corner, clearing the enormous room and making it look as it had earlier that evening.

To Harry’s dismay, several scrub brushes, rags, and buckets then magically appeared around them. “I expect this floor to be spotless when you are through, Mr Potter,” she said, handing him a toothbrush.

Harry’s shoulders slumped. The Hall would have been hard enough to clean with a regular brush, but with this… He’d be here until breakfast!

Well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t had plenty of experience in scrubbing floors. Dudley’s jeering voice was loud in his memory as he unhappily accepted the toothbrush and started to get down on his knees.

“Mr Potter!” Professor McGonagall’s scandalized voice halted him in mid-crouch.

“Yes’m?” he asked nervously. What had he done now?

“Mr Potter, that will take forever. Have you forgotten you are a wizard?”

“Erm, no.”

“Well then...” She looked at him expectantly, but Harry could only blink in confusion.

“Did I say you were forbidden to use magic to complete the task?”

“N-no,” Harry admitted, eyes wide.

“Then I expect you to use this as an opportunity to practice your transfiguration skills. Come, come, Mr Potter! Don’t dawdle. Take out your wand and get busy.”

An incredulous grin slowly crept across Harry’s face as the potential of this “detention” dawned on him.

##

Three hours later, Snape couldn’t stand it anymore. It was all well and good for that superannuated tabby cat to claim that she wouldn’t traumatize the boy, but what did she know about it anyway? He threw down his quill, ignoring the pile of homework that he’d been staring at sightlessly for the past twenty minutes, and stormed out of his office.

When he got to the Great Hall, he slowed his pace. He’d already burst in on McGonagall once this evening, and all he had gotten for his pains was a sense of his own ridiculousness. This time, he’d take a more subtle approach.

Using the stealth he had perfected as a Death Eater, he disarmed the wards, cracked one of the doors and sidled inside, only to halt in utter disbelief.

A wet and filthy Harry, clad only in his singlet and trousers, was happily skating around the room on transfigured scrub brushes, closely following an enchanted pail of soapy water. A second bucket, this time with clean water, followed him, while a busily working mop completed the parade. At another end of the hall, enchanted rags dried and polished the floor.

“You missed a spot, Mr Potter,” Minerva called from the far corner, where she was comfortably settled in an armchair with a book in her lap and a pot of tea hovering at her elbow.

“Okay, Professor!” Harry executed an impressive spin and headed back to catch the overlooked patch. “C’n I do the ceiling too, like you promised?” he begged.

“It is close to curfew, Mr Potter,” Minerva chided. “And you have forgotten to have the rags wring themselves out again.”

“Oops.” Harry flicked his wand, and the rags promptly hurried to the nearest bucket and wrung out their excess water. Snape watched, impressed. He hadn’t realized how much control the brat had developed over his magic, and even assuming Minerva was providing guidance and assistance, this was an impressive feat for a first year.

Harry skated over to the professor. “Pleeeeeeeease, Professor? I won’t be long. I’ll just do a quick once-over, okay?”

“Honestly, Mr Potter. You’d think you get enough time in the air with all the Quidditch practices,” McGonagall scolded, but then she relented and a wave of her wand had Harry floating upside down and rising towards the ceiling. “And no more belly flops!” she called after him.

“This is so cool!” Harry yelped in delight, twisting around and spraying water from his skates onto the floor below.

Snape managed to close his mouth before any water dripped in, and he turned and left the Hall as silently as he had entered. Behind him, Minerva watched from the corner of her eye as the door closed behind him, and she shook with silent laughter.