After his strange detention with Snape, Harry headed back to the dorm. Remembering what Ron had said earlier about the scoreboards, Harry read them before entering. The signs on the common room doors now read:

World War III:

Points awarded for creativity, difficulty, and overall effect
of pranks on the person of Marcus Flint.

Winner announced when the previously
mentioned bullying arsehole leaves the school

Gryffindor:

15 – Fred and George Weasley
10 – Percy Weasley
10 – Oliver Wood
5 – Angelina Johnson
5 – Lee Jordan
5 – Kenneth Towler

Slytherin:

10 – Rosalind Lebeaux
10 – Gregory Stone
30 – the Quiddich team:
(5 – Miles Bletchley
5 – Terence Higgs
5 - Adrian Pucey
5 – Stanley Urquhart
5 – Richard Montague
5 – Aaron Brandeis)

Ravenclaw:

10 – Roger Davies

It was an impressive list, and they weren't exactly 'harmless pranks', either: Flint had emerged with broken bones from the Whomping Willow incident. Apparently nobody cares if we hurt FLINT...just me. Remembering what the man had said about 'people to go to' Harry realized that Snape had been right: it wasn't just the Potions Master who got seriously pissed off when somebody hurt Harry. Putting it out of his mind for the moment, Harry spoke the password and entered the common room.

Surprisingly, his four best friends were still all there, though by now three of the four were just hanging out and not studying. Hermione was, predictably, knee deep in some essay. She looked up with the others when Harry came in, though, and glared at him accusingly before returning to research. Theo and Ron didn't look any happier. Blaise frowned, but didn't look up to meet Harry's stare. His jaw was bruised and swollen; more so than Harry had expected. Screwing up his courage, he walked over to the group, searching for something to say.

“Madame Pomfrey could fix that, you know.”

“She'd also ask me how I got it.”

Why's he still trying to keep me out of trouble? “That's my problem...”

“And I'm your friend, which makes it our problem.” Blaise returned, matter-of-fact.

“By that token that bruise is 'our' problem, too.” Retorted Harry.

“Yeah, especially considering you gave it to him.” Growled Ron.

To Harry's surprise, Blaise scowled at the redhead. The scowl gave him the courage to ask. “Can I talk to you for a bit?”

But Harry wasn't entirely off the hook, apparently. “You going to hit me again?”

Harry looked down. “No.”

They went up into the dorm, and sat on adjacent to each other on their respective beds. “So?” Asked Blaise.

“I just wanted to say you don't owe me anything. You should go and get some Bruise Balm. The stuff works wonders and- it really is my problem if I get in trouble.”

“Our problem. What, you don't like looking at what you did to my face? Too bad. I don't like the infirmary any better than you do. Only I'm not in any danger so it's my choice to go or not.”

It was true that looking at Blaise's face made Harry feel horrible. “So you're not doing it to protect me?”

“I didn't say that. I don't want you in trouble. If I also don't mind that you then have to look at it all day long, that's my prerogative.”

“I am sorry. You should've let me alone, but I shouldn't've hit you.”

“My problem.”

“No, Ron's right. It's my problem, too. Would you use the Balm if I got it for you?”

“Maybe. What're you going to tell Madame Pomfrey?”

“The truth.”

“She'll be mad.”

“My problem.”

Blaise glared at him angrily. “Our problem. Your problems are my problems, my problems are yours, that's what friendship is.”

“In that case getting you that Bruise Balm is my problem.”

“Fine. And preventing you from getting injured again is mine.” He said it as a challenge, glaring at Harry.

Don't you DARE bring that up again. Harry met Blaise glare for glare, tight-lipped, before turning his back and heading downstairs and towards the portrait-hole of the dorm. Remembering at the last minute that it was after curfew, he hesitated. Do I just change my face and go, or stay? He didn't want to get in trouble, or get anyone else in trouble, but he wanted to get away from Blaise, to go on a walk or something. Ron and Hermione had apparently left while Harry was talking to Blaise, but Theo was still there, and Harry found he didn't want to talk to him, either. I'll just have to not get caught. He thought, then grinned evilly. Or just not get caught looking like anybody I want to keep out of trouble. To that end he thought hard about Draco Malfoy's voice and appearance as he walked out of the portrait hole.

Where to? He wondered, and quickly came up with an idea. I'm already breaking the rules, may as well smash them. With that he pulled the map out of his backpack and turned his steps towards the third floor corridor.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Most...painful...death. RIGHT!! That would do it. Thought Harry, leaning on the door he'd just escaped by and panting. Cerberus. They have a bloody Cerberus. In a school. Why are they keeping a bloody CERBERUS in a SCHOOL? Cerberi were guard-dogs. What in Merlin's name is it guarding? Harry vaguely remembered Hagrid telling him that Gringotts was the best place in the world to keep stuff safe- except maybe Hogwarts. This...could be why. As for what the dog was guarding – Hagrid had been strangely secretive about the package they'd picked up from the bank. Apparently whatever it was was so valuable that even Gringotts wasn't safe enough for it: after all, hadn't there been a break-in there at the beginning of the term? Interesting.

When Harry got back to the dorm, Blaise and Theo were already in bed. Harry hoped they were just asleep, and not ignoring him, but he couldn't tell.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The next day was a Friday, so Harry had Potions in the morning. He felt grumpy and unsettled in the same way he had after his conversation with Blaise about Snape supposedly 'caring' for him, and so tried to keep his nose clean and not attract attention. He concentrated on watching Snape surreptitiously and following directions as closely as he could, though he found himself distracted. Blaise said he cares, now HE says he likes having me around...and won't-can't- really hit me. Meanwhile the pranks on Flint were constant – the older boy couldn't walk down the hallway without being hexed from behind or tripped, frequently on the stairs. Just that morning he'd had a broken wrist fixed, only a day after he'd been in for various broken bones following his collision into the Whomping Willow. The food that showed up on the platters in front of him in the great hall was inedible: whether they added far too much salt or sugar, left it raw or burned it, somehow the house-elves lost all aptitude when it came to cooking any food within reach of him, and so nobody sat next to him. It was also becoming more and more obvious that the prat was running scared: he'd taken to bringing his own (closed) drinks with him to the dining hall, and was almost as itchy about people behind him as Harry was. And yet he stayed, just glaring proudly around him as if untouchable. Why is he staying? It's like the whole world's against him, just 'cause he hit me and 'cause Snape's mad. Strange. It went completely against Harry's previous experiences - an adult who didn't hit him, and took down anybody who did. Which is how you know he's not telling the truth. Part of him- the same foolish part of him that was curious about his parents- wanted to believe it, but he'd been fooled before. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. He thought, watching Snape.

He felt safer at Hogwarts than he'd felt in his life, despite all, but that didn't mean that he could just ignore everything the rest of his life had taught him. Snape's power over him was limited as long as Harry hated him: all he could do was hit him. If Harry didn't hate him...Stupid. Snape may claim to want you. He doesn't. Nobody does. And you don't want them to, anyway. Give it up. But hope rose in him anyway, and none of his mantras seemed to work against it. It terrified him, that hope, for he knew it would only hurt later. You've got friends here. That's enough. Give UP on other things. Hope leads to pain, dumbass. You KNOW this. He turned away from his contemplation of Snape and concentrated on his potion. To his immense satisfaction, it came out perfectly, and he brought it up to Snape to be graded without worrying. The professor looked at it briefly, wrote something in his book, and looked back up to Harry.

“Well done, Harry. Five points to Slytherin.” Harry made the mistake of looking at the man's face and quickly dragged his gaze away again, as the approval in the man's eyes matched that in his tone. For a moment, Harry had wanted that approval, part of him had thrilled at it. It's a lie. It's all a lie. He left class in an even worse mood than he'd come in with.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

After Potions, Harry had Astronomy and Transfiguration. He mouthed off to Sinestra until the bitch took points, which only put him in a worse mood. He was then rude enough to McGonagall that she asked him to stay after class.

“Mr. Potter what has gotten into you? You have not been that rude in my class since the beginning of the term.” Harry just watched her sullenly. You'd be grumpy, too, if you were supposed to cope with Snape and Sinestra all the time and you hit your best friend over his not minding his own bloody business and you went exploring and almost got killed by a ruddy Cerberus in the middle of the night.

“Answer me, please.”

“I'm just in a bad mood, okay? Back off.”

“No, not 'okay.' You will talk to me-politely- or you will talk to Professor Snape.” Having McGonagall haul him down to Snape's office by the ear like the last time he'd crossed her didn't sound like fun. Bugger it.

“Yes Ma'am.”

“Now answer me, please.” Her voice was sharp, and Harry cringed inwardly. More than anybody else – including Snape – he hated it when McGonagall was angry. When Sinestra disapproved of his behavior, he didn't worry since he clashed with her regardless of what he did and she was mostly impotent in her anger – turning red and throwing mild temper tantrums but not actually doing anything. Snape was worse – he certainly had a lot more power than Sinestra – but Harry was used to pissing the man off and was usually doing it on purpose. It scared him, sometimes, but didn't make him feel particularly guilty, especially when (as in most cases) he was in trouble for a prank, or for something Snape considered he did to himself. McGonagall was rarely angry with him, and made it clear that she liked him. Not differently than her Lions, but still. Her disappointment hurt.

“I really am just in a bad mood, Ma'am.”

“And you thought it appropriate to take it out on me by being rude in class?”

“No, Ma'am.”

“So you knew it was inappropriate.”

“Yes Ma'am.” Harry said, feeling like dirt.

“Then do you have something to say to me?”

“Yes, Ma'am. I'm sorry Ma'am.”

“And when are you going to speak to me that way again?”

Saying 'never' would be a lie... all Harry could think to answer was, “I'll try not to, Ma'am.”

McGonagall gave him a slight smile. “You are sometimes too honest, Harry. It's not your most Slytherin trait.” She seemed pleased, though, so Harry relaxed.

“Nah, I'm just not that bright, is all.” He answered, remembering his many run-ins with Snape.

McGonagall smiled a little more, before returning to the previous conversation. “What is wrong, really, Harry? Anything I can help you with?”

“No, thank you. I got myself in trouble, I can get myself out.” He was planning on getting the bruise balm right after class, in fact.

“Very well. You're dismissed.” She gave him a look that continued where she left off: You will behave better in the future, won't you?

“Yes Ma'am.” He said, dropping his eyes and hurrying out. Now to report for my second dressing-down of the day. To that end he headed to the infirmary to find Madame Pomfrey, dreading what she would have to say to him almost as much as he'd dreaded his run-in with Professor McGonagall. Another reason not to care about Snape. He told himself. Then I'd have to care about what he thought about this, too.

Soon enough, he was in front of the infirmary doors, and went in of his own volition for the first time. Madame Pomfrey met him at the door with some surprise.

“Harry! What brings you here?” She was looking him up and down, obviously expecting some injury, but Harry spoke quickly to reassure her.

“I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm here for my friend Blaise.”

“And why isn't Mr. Zabini coming himself?”

Harry looked at her shoulder, hoping she wouldn't notice that he wasn't meeting her eyes. “He doesn't want me to get in trouble.”

Madame Pomfrey looked at his expression and sighed. “What did you do this time?”

What do you mean 'this time'? Thought Harry peevishly, before his Hermione-voice spoke up. She means that you're always in some sort of trouble. 'Cause you are. And you know it.

“He needs some of the Bruise Balm stuff you use on me...for his face.”

“That does not answer my question, Mr. Potter.” The formality of her address made him look the rest of the way down to the floor.

“He needs it...'cause I hit him.” He peeked back up at her, anxious about her reaction, and saw her scowl.

“And why does he not want you to catch trouble for this?”

“I dunno.” But then, if he hit me I wouldn't want him in trouble, either. “We had a row. Maybe he just thinks it should stay between us two.”

“Hmm. And you agree?”

Harry tried to keep a reign on his temper. It's a perfectly appropriate question. “I don't know. I hit him; it oughta be his choice whether I get in trouble, and he doesn't want that. But then- he's got a hell of a bruise on his face and I put it there. And well...you're the one found out about it, and has to help with the bruise. Kinda makes it your choice, doesn't it?”

“Perhaps. Have you apologized to him?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you mean it?”

Harry found that more offensive than he would have predicted. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. “I'm here, aren't I?”
“Yes, you are. That's worth something. Why'd you hit him?”

“I didn't mean to! I just got mad, and, well-”

“I see.”

“Look, can you just punish me and get over it? I don't feel like talking and Blaise needs that balm.”

“That is no reason to be rude to me.”

“I'm in a bad mood.”

“I gathered that much. Why?”

“Just am.” Stressed, frustrated, confused, can't sleep. I can't get my own brain to just shut up. You got anything for too-much-on-my-mind syndrome?

“Well you should talk to somebody. Would you prefer I send a note to Professor Snape?”

Then make me talk to you? YES actually. “I didn't do anything!”

“I didn't say you did. I just said you needed to talk to somebody, and Professor Snape should know, anyway.”

“What if I don't want to talk?”

“Take it up with the professor. You have a meeting with him this evening, do you not?”

Oh yeah. Damn. He nodded.

“Good. If Blaise doesn't want you in trouble for hitting him, I'll respect that. My note mentions only your mood.”

Kind of you. Can I please go now? Madame Pomfrey sighed at his continued silence. “I'm just concerned, you know. It is not like you to hit a friend.” Harry felt a twinge of shame, at that, but didn't let on, maintaining his stony front, and Madame Pomfrey finally gave up. “All right. You may go.”

He left.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry found Blaise studying in the Slytherin common room just before he had to go meet with Snape. He walked over and handed him the little pot of balm. Blaise took it without looking up, apparently throughly absorbed in his reading.

“Just use it, okay?”

Blaise shrugged.

“Fine. Don't talk to me. For the record, though, I did say I was sorry for hitting you. I am. You forgive me or you don't but I'm not going to apologize again.”

“I'm not ignoring you because I'm angry, Harry. I'm just busy.”

“You're not angry?”

“I didn't say that, either. I'm not angry at you for hitting me, though.”

“Then why are you?”

Blaise finally looked up at him. “You can't guess?”

“No, in fact, I can't read your mind. Enlighten me.”

“I'm not angry, angry, but - I am getting tired of being lied to, Harry.”

“What do you want me to do? Stop asking questions and I'll stop lying.”

“Then you admit you're lying. Great.”

“I admit I've lied to you. You knew that before.”

“You know that's not what I'm talking about. You lied to me yesterday. I'm asking you to tell me the truth.”

“Well you ask too much. Back off.”

“Not when you'll be going home in three months.”

“I don't have to go home until Summer if I don't want to. Even if what you think were true, I'm perfectly safe until then.”

Blaise thought about that. Do I trust Snape to protect him then? Not enough. “Very well. I'll leave it for now. You should find someplace else to go, though.” You have until May. If you haven't found another place to go, I will start asking questions then. You're not going back there until I'm satisfied.

Harry breathed easier, then. “I don't need another place to go. I'm fine how I am.”

“Right. Whatever. I said I'll leave it, I'll leave it.”

“Thanks.” With any luck, he'll forget about it, too.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

“Enter.” Harry came in and stood before Snape's desk.

“Harry.” Severus greeted.

“Professor.” Harry answered tensely.

“So, Madame Pomfrey says you've been in a bad mood. Four of your professors confirm it. What is wrong?”

“Professors Sinestra, Flitwick, McGonagall and-?”

“Professor Sinestra twice, plus Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and Quirrel. Professor McGonagall has not complained, actually. Should she have?”

“I guess she figured she dealt with it herself.”

“So? What is going on?”

“I didn't realize it was unusual for me to piss off professors.” Harry said sarcastically.

“While it is perhaps not unusual for you to clash with Professor Sinestra or even Sprout, it is certainly unusual for you to have problems with Professor McGonagall. Unless you've had run-ins with her before that neither of you have mentioned?”

“No, I haven't.”

“Well, then. What's wrong?”

“What isn't?”

Severus lifted an eyebrow, waiting for Harry to continue.

Harry sat down. What the hell. “My friends are mad at me, Professor McGonagall yelled at me after class when I wasn't trying to be rude to her, Quirrel quite literally gives me the worst headache of my life every time I look at him, Flitwick complained about me and I didn't do a bloody thing and Sinestra takes it out of my hide no matter what I do. Here I'm trying really hard not to hit her and she's screaming at me for not adjusting my telescope right like I did it on bloody purpose.”

He got up and started to pace. “I'm trying to do what she says but she's after me for every little thing and so I talk back and then I'm in more trouble with you and I didn't even do anything except tell her that I wasn't the one to screw with her precious telescope it was bloody Malfoy and his stupid goons. But noooo he can't have done anything 'cause he's such a sweet child and even you know that's so not true. Just 'cause he's bloody good at not getting caught being a prat. Stupid bitch thinks he's some little angel and I'm the devil incarnate.”

“I understand your frustration, Harry, but your language leaves something to be desired. Referring to your professor as a 'bitch' is exactly the sort of rudeness you get in trouble for.”

“Well that's what she is! What would you have me call her?”

“Hmm...perhaps a 'shrew.' The word means the same thing, it's just old-fashioned and so no longer considered profanity.”

“No way. Sinestra's not nearly as cool as Katherine.”

For a second Harry felt stupid, realizing that the professor was unlikely to recognize the reference, but then the man lost his serious expression and smiled a little.

“The lady did have a way with words, didn't she? Very well, not shrew. How about harpy? Harridan? Harlot?”

HE's read the Taming of the Shrew? And – HARLOT?? Surely he doesn't mean that...Harry raised an eyebrow. “Are you actually suggesting I call my dear professor a whore?”

Severus raised an eyebrow in return. Woops. “Perhaps not.”

Harry grinned. I guess Snape doesn't like the – harlot- either. “Harpy, then.”

“I take it you like Shakespeare?”

“I've only read the one. Didn't even get to finish it.”

“Why not?”

“It got...lost.”

Why the hesitation? Snape got up slowly and perused the books on the shelves behind his desk before selecting three and handing them to Harry.

“Here. If you enjoy that one you'll probably like these two, too. Kudos if you can identify the potion the witches are making in this one.”

“Do I get a hint?”

“Nope. It gives you the full ingredients list, though, and in perfect rhyme. For the other one – I think you'll enjoy the trick they play on Malvolio. Return them as you finish them, but take your time if you want to.”

“Err...thanks.” Harry said, carefully putting the books in the outside pocket of his rucksack.

“You're welcome. Now why are you being so rude to your professors? What is going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Is that the truth?”

Duh, no. What if he just said he didn't want to talk about it? It had worked before. Harry smiled a little, feeling like needling the man a bit. “No, sir. That is what one says when the truth is personal.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “I see. I'd even respect that if I wasn't getting complaints from your Professors, and if you hadn't hit your friend. What's going on?”

“It's not enough that I've been in a bad mood?”

“You are allowed to be in a bad mood. You are not allowed to be rude to your professors over it.”

“I don't mean to be!” He felt compelled to be honest. “Well, mostly anyway.”

“I'm aware. Which is why I want to know what's going on.”

“I haven't been sleeping well,” Harry finally admitted, “I've just got too much on my mind.”

Snape frowned. “Is Mr. Zabini giving you a hard time?”

“No sir. I apologized and...convinced him to leave me alone.”

“You did apologize? Good.” The approval was back in his voice, and Harry once again found that he liked it. Stop it. You hate him. His approval or disapproval means nothing to you. Snape continued speaking.

“What is bothering you, then?”

Harry certainly couldn't tell the professor about the dog on the third floor, and he'd already told the man that the situation with Blaise was taken care of. Which is was: it just wasn't really what was bothering him. That didn't leave anything for him to talk about other than the real problem: Harry's confused feelings about Snape himself. Like I'm going to talk about that.

“Nothing, sir.”

“Forgive me but I doubt that. If you want me to drop it, then please say so.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I don't want to talk about it.” He hesitated, then added, for politeness' sake, “Please.”

“Very well, I'll drop it, as long as you don't let it dictate your behavior from now on. Despite all evidence to the contrary you do know how to behave.”

“Hmm.” Said Harry noncommittally.

Snape didn't seem to like that. “Perhaps this will provide some motivation to you: I expect you to apologize to Professors Quirrel, Flitwick and Sinestra for your behavior.”

“Apologize to that bi-...harpy? Hell no!”

“Mr. Potter you just got finished with your detentions. Is this really worth it?”

“Yes! Sinestra hates me no matter what I do. I won't apologize to that-- bad tempered cow of an Astronomy professor when she doesn't give a damn anyway.”

“You will.” Snape said simply.

That sounds bad. “Why?”

“Because you know that if you won't apologize on your own, I'll drag you up there now and you can do it in my presence. Your choice. Think of it as practice for when you've got to deal with a boss you hate.”

“I've got plenty of practice of that with you.” Harry stated angrily, glaring.

Severus refused to be hurt and instead smiled, slightly mocking. “In that case you're abysmal at it and need the additional help.”

Harry smiled a little again. “The Dursleys have been trying to 'teach me some manners' for the last ten years. Look how far they've gotten. I'm not about to turn into some perfect preacher's kid now.”

“And I wouldn't expect you to.”

You wouldn't? You're the first. “Then what do you want?”

“I want you to apologize to three people for being rude. You may say whatever you want about them in private, but you are to be polite in their presence, especially in class. If you don't, you will be asked to apologize.”

“You have a damned funny way of 'asking'.” Responded Harry heatedly.

Snape met his eyes with some annoyance. “Fine, then. If you prefer, you will be ordered to apologize.”

“Sinestra's as rude to me as I am to her!”

“And Professor Sinestra should apologize, too. Unfortunately, she's not as polite as I am asking you to be, so she won't.”

“That's not fair.” Harry said sullenly.

“No, it's not, but being polite to people you don't like is part of being mature.”

“Doesn't make it fun.”

“No, it doesn't. It is neither fun, nor fair, but it is necessary. You will apologize?”

“Fine.” He sat down in the chair again.

Severus smiled. “That'll do.”

Damn you and your bloody approval. Thought Harry, but Snape hadn't finished speaking.

“So, Professor McGonagall told me you've been getting a bit...bored, in her class.”

Harry was confused. It doesn't sound like I'm in trouble... “Yes, sir...”

“You're not in trouble. She was rather impressed by what you came up with to amuse yourself, is all. She suggested that I ask that you show me.”

“Really?” Why would she suggest that?

“She did. Will you?”

You want to see? Suddenly feeling a bit shy, Harry answered. “All right. Got a paper clip, or a button - something small?”

Severus handed him a Knut. “Will this do?”

Harry nodded before cupping a hand over it and focusing on what he wanted, paying particular attention to the tiny axle and wheels. Severus watched incredulously as the Knut twisted into the shape of a tiny blue sports car, no bigger than his thumb. Harry poked it to turn it red, and made it a convertible. He then concentrated again and moved his hand towards the car. It rolled away. He then moved his other hand block it from falling off the desk, and forced it back the other way. Soon enough he was pushing the little car back and forth with his magic like he'd been in class as Severus looked on, mouth slightly agape. Finally Harry concentrated differently, and the car snapped into his hand as he looked up at Snape and shrugged.

“That's all it is.”

Severus closed his mouth, then opened it again to speak. “All?”

Harry shrugged. What's so great about it? “I was just messing around.”

“Indeed. 'Messing around' with wandless magic. I am not the type to gasp or shout out in surprise, but if I were...” He shook his head. “Had someone told me that an eleven-year-old was capable of doing what you have just shown me I would have thought him an abject fool.”

Harry looked at him with wide eyes. “Really? Why?”

Snape took a deep breath and seemed to calm down some. “It's a rare ability, Harry, and even those who develop it don't usually learn to control it until adulthood. The fact that you can is – frankly amazing.”

“Oh.” Said Harry. Great. I'm weird...er. “So...blowing up the infirmary was - not normal?”

“Accidental magic is not unusual in children...but the power and control you exhibited that day, especially in keeping Madame Pomfrey safe, are quite unusual. She didn't have a scratch on her. If it were pure accidental magic, she would have been killed.”

Harry blanched. “I didn't mean-”

“I realize that. Even if she had been killed it would not have been your fault. You have nothing to feel bad about.”

Harry looked away. “Sure.” Great. Not only am I a freak, I'm a dangerous freak. Why couldn't I just stick to making glass disappear, or hair grow?.

“Harry, look at me.”

Harry ignored him, and the man's voice grew sharp.

“Look at me. Now.”

Harry looked up, glaring, to meet the man's black eyes. “What?”

“It is not your fault, do you understand me?”

“Of course it's not. I figured out long ago that I can't help what my magic sometimes does. It's just another part of being a freak. Now you're telling me I'm a dangerous freak. No wonder people want to hit me all the time. I'm likely to bloody kill someone.” He stopped to watch nervously as Snape walked around the desk and into the bathroom, and then came out with a bottle and a spoon. Horrified, Harry stood still as Snape came to stand in front of Harry and deliberately poured a measure of potion on the spoon.

“Two minutes. Open up.”

“I didn't mean to!”

“I know. Maybe you'll remember next time.”

“But why do you care?” He almost wailed. “What does it matter what I say? I didn't even curse!”

“Harry I will not have you tell yourself the same things your abusers tell you just as I will not allow you to treat yourself as they treat you. You are not a freak, you are a child, and my ward, and nobody has the right to treat you as they did. Not even you. Now open up.”

That word again. 'His ward.' Nobody hurts 'his ward.' I'm screwed. Harry thought.

“Please don't.”

Harry looked at Severus with pleading in his bright green eyes, but Severus just shook his head. Sorry. “Not going to work. I changed my decision last time when you asked because I wasn't as convinced it was necessary. Clearly lines weren't enough. Now I won't say it again. Open up.”

Finally Harry did, taking in the horrible mixture with a grimace.

Not this AGAIN! Ugh! Does this stuff age? It had to be worse than before. How could I forget how bad this is? He could barely hold even that thought, though; it felt like the stuff in his mouth took over his whole brain. Soon enough, he was bouncing on the balls of his feet and shaking his head like he had the last time, and trying desperately not to gag. Out out out BAD. Yuck yuck yuck yuck yuck yuck.

“1 minute.”

Harry just kept up his bouncing until Snape reached a hand out to grip his shoulder. Harry looked up briefly at the contact, and calmed. The touch was oddly comforting, and he felt strangely regretful when the man let go. What the hell? I hate being touched. He started to bounce again, trying to keep his mind away from the miserable taste, but it really didn't work. Hold hold hold. Oh, yuck. Bloody hell that's gross. Finally the hand came back, holding him still, and he calmed again. Hold hold hold. I can do this. Ugh. Yuck yuck yuck yuck gross gross yuck.

Finally Snape steered Harry to the sink in the bathroom and let him spit and drink and gargle for a couple of minutes before drying his robes and leading him back into the office. Finally the two were again seated across the desk from each other, and Snape summoned a glass of pumpkin juice and handed it to Harry before speaking.

“You don't say those things, you understand? You are not a freak, you do not have bad blood, and you certainly do not deserve the way your relatives have treated you.”

“Fine.” Harry said sullenly.

Damn. He still doesn't get it. “Say it.”

“Say what?”

“Repeat back what I just said to you.”

“Why?”

“Because you don't believe it yet. Say it.”

Harry rolled his eyes. This is stupid. “Fine. I am not a freak. I don't have bad blood. I-” He faltered, suddenly unsure.

“Say it, Harry.”

Why does he care whether I believe it or not? “I don't deserve the way my relatives have treated me.”

“Good. And you are forbidden to say that you do. I have no qualms about washing out your mouth as often as necessary to get you to stop saying these things.”

“I won't say them again!”

“You better hope not. Now. As I was saying, what you did to the infirmary was not your fault, but is a very interesting indicator of your potential. Given that, and what you are playing with now...it is likely that if you practice you will be able to blow up a room wandless that way when you are not upset, and that would make you one of the most powerful wizards of our day.” One of, Severus? That would make him stronger than Voldemort, possibly even than Dumbledore.

“Oh.” Was all Harry could think to say. But then- “And if I don't practice?”

“Then you are much more likely to do it by accident.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed. Now, I have yet to ask you for your tests. We didn't meet last week because you were in the infirmary. I trust you brought your older tests as well?”

Harry sighed. “Yes, sir.” He hauled a folder out of the main pocket of his rucksack and handed it to Snape, then watched, tense, as the man pulled the tests out of it and looked them over carefully.

“Es in Astronomy and Herbology, and an O in Defense. Very well done, on these. You also did better than before in History...but you still didn't pass. I know you can do better than that. Why aren't you?”

“I hate that class.” It came out sounding whiny, and Harry grimaced and spoke more forcefully. “It's useless, and Binns sucks.”

“And that is an excuse to do badly?”

“Not according to you, apparently.”

“No. Not according to me. I take it you disagree?”

“Duh. What's the point?”

“Even if you learn nothing useful in that class, your grade will matter later. I will not require you to do well, if you are so adverse to it, but I will not accept a grade below an 'A'.”

Harry glared at him sullenly. “I don't like you.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “I am aware. Any other logical arguments against passing History?”

Harry rolled his eyes. Jerkoff. “No, but that doesn't mean I agree.”

“You don't have to agree with it. You have a choice. You can pass the first time, or write a paper on it later. For the moment, I want you to rewrite and expand the essay you wrote in this test. Three feet, please.”

“I did well on the other ones!”

“Yes, you did. But I would have rathered you spend a little less time on them and a little more time on your History, if that is what is required for you to pass all of your classes.”

Harry clenched his teeth and growled. “I hate that class.”

“And you will pass it anyway. End of discussion.”

Finally Harry just gave up. “Fine. Whatever. May I leave?”

“Politely.”

“I said 'may I'!”

“That may be but you used the same tone as if you had just told me to shove off. Try again.”

“Grades, language, tone, is there anything you don't want to control?”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “I have very little interest in your acne problems. That's Madame Pomfrey's job.”

Severus watched with some amusement as Harry scowled.

“I don't have acne.”

“And I don't care.” Snape smirked, and despite all Harry found himself smiling back. He finally asked, almost meekly, “Can I go now?”

Severus nodded. “You may go.”