“Potter. My office. Now” He can't force me to LIKE the brat. He'd decided that calling Potter Harry was just too much to ask. It was bad enough that he was supposed to monitor the whelp, he'd not coddle him on top of it.

Harry looked up, and immediately adopted his most challenging gaze. If nothing else, Harry was a superb actor when he had to be. Aaand here it comes. I almost deserve it after the fun in Potions yesterday. That was not my brightest moment. He had trouble really regretting it, though, even considering the fix he found himself in now. The tale of Harry's striptease comment had traveled the school, and had gained Harry a lot of allies in all four houses, especially among the older students, who for the most part understood what he'd actually said, and loved anything that pissed Snape off. Even the Slytherins found the episode amusing – most of them didn't dare needle their head of house often.

Needless to say, none of this had endeared him to Severus. He'd been hanging out with his friends in the Slytherin common room when the potions master entered with his demand. Theo looked at Harry with open sympathy, while Blaise just frowned. Harry just followed Snape out the front door and down the hall to the potions master's office. Snape opened the door for Harry, and pushed him through in front of him, closing the door. Better and better. Now I'm alone, in a closed room, with an adult that hates me almost as much as Uncle Vernon. This is not my week. At least he hasn't locked the door. It was that small detail that allowed Harry to maintain his defiant mask and avoid panic. Harry liked feeling enclosed, but locked in was an entirely different story.

And already he is rude. Sighed Snape. Why me? Minerva would probably love the little spitfire. She'd see it as “spirit” or “Gryffindor courage” or some such crap. Why, then, did I have to get stuck being the man-who-must-keep-the-Boy-who-Lived-living? I'll just have to make things really clear to the little snot.

“All right, Harry, here's how it is. The headmaster has – requested- since your guardians have done little to inform you of the wizarding world, and since this world is likely to be dangerous for you if you don't know what to look out for, that I perform the role of mentor to you for your time at Hogwarts, to make sure that you keep out of trouble and that you adjust well to life at the school and in the wizarding world as a whole.”

Oh thanks, Dumbledore. Thought Harry. Really appreciate that. The wizarding world is dangerous so you'll hand me over to Snape. Sure. Great. Thanks a lot. Harry just kept glaring, while Snape continued.

“As such, your professors have been informed that, if they have trouble with you in any way, they can report it to me. You will also bring your tests to me, that I might keep track of your...” Snape sneered. “...progress.”

Harry started to get angry. Fantastic. So now not only has Dumbledore handed me over to you, but you clearly don't want the position. This is just great.

“If you have trouble with anything,” Snape continued reluctantly. If I don't do a thorough job on this, now, Albus really will kill me. “You may come to my office hours, and I will help you. I assure you that I can help you in any subject, with the possible exception of Divination, though that won't matter if you're still my ward then as you won't be taking it. You may also come to me for troubles unrelated to your studies.”

Is he serious? Harry could just see it: 'Oh, Snape, there's this girl...' This lead quickly to thoughts of Snape attempting to give Harry the infamous “talk” and Harry shuddered and quickly turned back to what Snape was currently saying.

“I will attempt,” Snape said, gritting his teeth. “To be patient. This arrangement makes you my responsibility. Your performance will reflect on me much as it reflects on your house and as such I expect said performance; both in your classes and in your behavior, to be exemplary. If it is not, the headmaster has given me the power to punish you as I see fit. For minor infractions you will be dealt with much as the other Slytherins: you can expect detentions, groundings, and the like. For greater infractions I am not above taking out my ire on your sorry hide. Am I understood?”

Harry at this point wore a sneer almost worthy of Snape himself. “Perfectly, sir.” What? You thought you'd surprise me? I'm not some delicate little thing to be shocked at the idea of a punishment, jackass. You can't expect ME to blanch at the idea of a couple of bruises. His anger could only take him so far, though. Though I hope you're not the type to break bones. The rib's bad enough. I'm not sure how I'd hide anything more serious.

Snape paused. Jeez the brat didn't even blink. Guess he thinks I'm kidding. Arrogant little snot. He'll learn. Snape grimaced before continuing his speech.

“As I am charged particularly with your protection, these measures will always be taken if you misbehave in such a way as to put yourself in danger. I will not have you traipsing about in dangerous forbidden parts of the castle or chasing werewolves in the forbidden forest while I chase after you trying to keep you safe. If I am to be responsible for your safety, then so shall you be.”

This part startled Harry. Wait. You're going to punish me for endangering myself?? You hate me! Don't you want me dead? Another part of Harry reasoned, Maybe not, if the precious Headmaster told him to keep me alive. Doesn't really matter, though. He just admitted openly that he was going to hit me and that the Headmaster doesn't care. And so Harry kept up his quiet glare. “Very well, sir.”

“I will also not tolerate you being disrespectful of your professors in any way. If I feel that your speech is anything less than respectful and polite you will find the consequences uniquely unpleasant. You will note that the members of Slytherin house, for the most part, practice exemplary language. Go ahead and ask one of the older students why, if you don't believe me capable of dealing with your disrespect. My mouthwash mixture is well known around here. You will receive similar treatment if you lie to me, though depending on the circumstances that could also carry other consequences. Again, are we clear?”

Harry's language was a lot more polite than his thoughts. This had served him well at Privet Drive, and so he just maintained the skills he had learned there. He was beginning to wonder if had been worth letting them slip during that Potions class. Can student allies be worth this teacher's ire? He didn't need this mans enmity, and he clearly had it. Therefore, though his tone was a bit clipped, his words were polite as he answered, “very, sir.” As predicted, Snape frowned at the tone, but could not find a concrete reason to object. Not that he really needs one, I suppose. Never mattered particularly to Vernon. Harry laughed internally. Funny how every time this man talks to me I think of Vernon. I doubt the git would appreciate the comparison, the way he stands on his dignity so. This, in turn, lead to an image of Snape's face on Vernon's meaty body and Harry nearly choked on his mixed hilarity and disgust. Okay BAD thought. Bad, bad thought.

“Very well.” Continued Snape, “That is all. Don't forget our meeting on Friday.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

It wasn't that Harry didn't believe Snape – he did – but it was hard to remember things like rules at a place like Hogwarts. Harry managed to keep himself out of trouble for just three days. It was the day of Harry's first flying lesson, and Neville had, predictably in Harry's opinion, screwed up and gotten himself hurt. What's he doing in Gryffindor when he lets his nervousness control him the way he does?

Harry liked Neville, though. When he wasn't intimidated (in other words, when he wasn't in class) he had revealed himself to be a pretty easy-going and playful companion. He was also an ace at Herbology, and had proved himself useful when Harry had trouble. He was therefore unusually angered when Malfoy decided to draw attention to himself by flying off with a trinket of Neville's, and followed him up unthinkingly. He'd already gotten well into the air before remembering Hooch's demand that they all stay on the ground, and by then Malfoy was taunting him. Like that old bat's really going to do anything, anyway. She looks like somebody's grandmother. I can take her even easier than I could take this ignoramus MalfoyHarry flew menacingly towards Malfoy, who dodged out of the way before taunting him again and launching the remembrall towards the castle wall. Harry pursued it, finally catching it literally inches before they both smashed through one of the castle windows. He then descended with it to the ground, immersing himself in the general acclimation of his peers. People actually seem to LIKE me here. I could get used to this. Thought Harry with humor. Though I could definitely do without the stares.

Suddenly the crowd around Harry dispersed to reveal an irate Professor McGonagall. Well, the old bat wouldn't do anything, but THIS could be trouble. The professor grabbed Harry by an ear and towed him inside, all the while muttering feverishly, something about 'reckless stunts' and 'breaking his neck.' At first Harry responded to the professor's relatively gentle grasp on his ear by relaxing a little: McGonagall seemed like the “concerned adult” type, like one of Harry's teachers in third grade – dangerous only if she found out about Harry's treatment at home – rather than the “Vernon” type, like Snape – but then realized, as the corridors got marginally darker, where they were headed. Professor Snape's words: “your professors have been informed that, if they have trouble with you in any way, they can report it to me,” rang in Harry's ears as he was dragged down to the dungeons. I am well and truly in for it.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Luckily for Harry, Severus Snape was in the middle of preparing several delicate potions when McGonagall arrived in his office with Harry in tow. As soon as Harry entered the room he stood up straighter and eyed Severus aggressively, who just lifted an eyebrow before turning to the other professor.

“As you can see, I am rather busy here Minerva. What has Potter done now?” Harry was glad for the professor's hostility – it allowed his own anger to override his nervousness and sharpened his glare. I haven't done ANYTHING before this.

“His first flying lesson and as soon as Madame Hooch leaves to take care of Neville he's immediately off the ground chasing that boy Malfoy around the pitch and a hundred feet in the air. He nearly smashed through my office window!”

“I see. I'll deal with it.”

“See that you do. Now I've got my Lions to attend to so I'll leave your Snakes to you. I should reiterate that Malfoy was off the ground as well, though I think Madame Hooch is dealing with him. She returned just as I was coming in with Harry here.”

“Thank you, Minerva. I'll deal with it.” Repeated Snape. McGonagall huffed, but left. And now I'm alone, in a closed room, with an adult who hates me and has a good excuse to hit me. Better and better.

“I would wipe that glare off your face if I were you, Mr. Potter. It will not help your situation.”

Harry answered without blinking, “Will anything, sir?” Snape smirked.

“An astute observation, Mr. Potter. No. It won't.” Well there you go then. Did you want me to smile, maybe dance around and thank you for the time you took to beat me? That'd be more than a little hypocritical, don't you think? Snape continued, “however, I have no time to deal with you today. Come to detention tomorrow at eight o'clock in my classroom. Dismissed.”Harry left, feeling smug. Idiot. If you really think I'm coming to you, you've got another thing coming. Catch me if you can. I'll enjoy the chase.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

The next morning Harry was chatting with his friends as usual when he was approached by Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Quiddich captain. To Harry's delight, the captain had picked him out at Minerva McGonagall's recommendation for a spot on Slytherin's Quiddich team – as the primary Seeker, no less! From Ron's chatter, Harry knew vaguely that this was an important position, but not exactly what he'd be doing. He had LOVED flying the previous day, though, even though it made his ribs hurt when he had to turn, and was thrilled to be picked for the team. Marcus (“Captain Flint”) told him that he had practice three times a week starting the following Monday, and said in no uncertain terms that he was not to miss even ONE if he knew what was good for him. Harry didn't care – he was already riding his broomstick on a sunny day over a cheering crowd.

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The next evening Severus Snape waited in his classroom for his errant ward. Potter was already five minutes late, and the potions master was getting impatient. Where is the brat? Just like his father; too arrogant to be on time even when he's already in trouble.

By the time Harry was fifteen minutes late, Snape had decided to assign another detention. By half an hour, he knew Harry was not coming and was LIVID. That arrogant, self-serving, defiant brat will regret his disrespect. How DARE he just shamelessly SKIP his detention? When I catch you, whelp...

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The next morning at breakfast Harry kept one eye on the head table while snarfing his food. He knew that this was Snape's best opportunity for the day to get hold of him, since he didn't have Potions, but also knew that if he saw Snape move, he'd be fast enough to get out of the room without raising a fuss. Potions would be a problem. Maybe he could just leave with the rest of the class when dismissed? He knew that, once out of the classroom, he'd be faster than Snape, but he also didn't want his classmates to think he was running away from his Head of House. Tricking and avoiding was just fine: the Slytherin students especially would respect his cleverness, but running away like a scared little Hufflepuff simply wouldn't do. Plus, what if Snape grabbed him while Harry was still in class? I'll just skip the class, then. No biggie.

Eventually, he knew, he'd be caught, but he figured he'd manage to lead Snape on a merry chase by then, and give his previous hurts a chance to heal. His upper back and left arm were particularly sore. Maybe I could get Fred and George's help. They could probably let me hang in their common room so I can avoid mine. Harry knew that that was one of the first places Snape would look, once he figured out that Harry was avoiding him. They might even know where the kitchens are, so I can pinch some food instead of coming to the Great Hall.

Harry knew that every time he came to the great hall was a risk. He'd have to come sometimes, or the Headmaster'd get worried and the last thing Harry needed was for him to help Snape, but if he could reduce it to once every couple of days it would help his campaign greatly. At this thought Harry snorted. It's like I'm planning a war. Campaigns, allies, exit strategies, next thing you know I'll be digging trenches in the Quiddich pitch. It's World War I. It was too dangerous in elementary school for Harry to go outside for recess, so he'd spent a lot of time in his school library, reading books about history. Later, when Dudley'd quit bothering him, he'd still maintained the habit, finding the antics of his peers a trifle childish, and his books restful. Now he welcomed the frivolity of his friends, and used his knowledge to make his deadly serious campaign into a game.

Seeing that Snape had almost finished his food, Harry got up casually and left the great hall, then broke into a run back to his common room, where he grabbed his books hastily and ran to the library to study. He had a free period, but Harry wanted to have his homework done so that his prefects couldn't confine him to the Slytherin common room to study that evening before curfew. If that happened he'd have to escape them, too, if he wanted to avoid Snape, and he didn't want to. He liked Prefect Lebeaux especially: she'd helped him multiple times already with Charms, when the wand movements proved difficult to master or the incantations to pronounce. She seemed to like him, too, so he didn't want to cause any trouble for her. Snape was a different story. Luckily for Harry, he found Fred in the library covering for George, who was apparently investigating the Restricted section.

“What's umm...Fred?...doing in the Restricted section?”

“Nah, that's George, and I assure you he has every right to be there.

“Uh huh,” agreed Harry easily, “that's why you're out here covering for him.” Fred put on a grim expression, though the light of humor didn't leave his eyes.

“Who you planning on telling?” Harry grinned widely as he got a mischievous glint in his eye to match Fred's.

“No one. That is, if you'll help me out, at least.” Insinuated Harry slyly. At this, Fred adopted a shocked expression, covering his wide-open mouth dramatically.

“Oh! Write to the Prophet! A Slytherin Strikes! Blackmailed by the Boy-who-Lived!” He exclaimed. George had returned by then, and Harry noticed him slipping what appeared to be a small, dirty grimoire under his jacket. George had apparently heard the previous conversation, for he cut in with a carefree grin.

“Actually, technically that's extortion: he's not asking for money.” They hadn't noticed Hermione, hiding as she'd been behind a huge pile of books.

“No, Fred's right. Harry's using information that you don't want made public to extort money or services from you. If it were extortion he'd be threatening to beat you up or something else inherently illegal.”

Fred, George, and Harry looked at her with their mouths hanging open. Finally George spoke up.

“Soooo...we don't have a lot of money but are there any...services that we can provide to prevent you from – err...making this public, so to speak?” Hermione giggled.

“Errmm...no. I guess not. As long as...maybe you don't tell if I take books to study at night?” No longer showing off her knowledge of legal terminology, and in the middle of admitting snitching books from the library, Hermione was suddenly shy of the two older boys.

“It's a deal.” Said George, “How about you, Harry?” Harry laughed.

“My offer still stands.”

“So what do you need then?” Asked Fred, leaning in conspiratorially.

“Well...see...I've had a bit of a run-in with the Greasy Git of the Dungeons...”

“Uh oh,” said Fred.

“You're screwed,” said George matter-of-factly.

“Thanks guys. So anyway, I'm hoping to keep my organs as long as possible. Could I maybe use your common room to study, and could you maybe tell me where the kitchens are, so I can avoid the great hall?”

“Woah, you runnin'?” Asked George.

“Well good luck with that,” said Fred. Harry blushed.

“I'm not exactly running, I'm just...looking for ways to avoid the man for a little while. Plus it should be amusing leading Snape on a wild goose chase. Will you help me?”

“Help a fellow conspirator to escape the Great Greasy Git?”

“Aid an up-and-coming prankster evade the wrath of the Overgrown Bat of the Dungeons?”

“Of course!” They chorused. Then they looked at each other and seemed to come to an agreement as they adopted their most playful manner.

“We've even got...”

“...the perfect item...”

“...to help you in your valiant quest,”

“...provided that...”

“...you render it back...”

“...to its original owners...”

“...when next it is needed.”

George reached into his jacket (opposite from where he was hiding the book) and pulled out what appeared to be a blank piece of parchment, presenting it to Harry with a flourish.

“Umm...thanks, guys, but...what's this for?”

“We present to you...”

“...without further ado...”

“...for your pranking and other rule-breaking enjoyment...”

“...our personal key to success...”

“...THE MARAUDER'S MAP!” This part was again spoken in chorus.

Fred unfolded the parchment in Harry's hands and tapped it with his wand, intoning, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!” At this ink appeared all over the previously bare parchment, forming lines and letters until it revealed itself to be an extensive map of the Hogwarts grounds. Harry watched the labeled dots as they moved around, finally finding himself, the twins, Hermione, and Madame Pince in the library and realizing what a treasure he held in his hands. His eyes went wide as he alternately stared at the map and the twins.

“You...this...well...how?...wonderful!”

“Yes, we rather thought so. Now, just so's you don't get it confiscated, when you're all done or when a professor approaches, you just say...”

“Mischief managed!” Fred tapped on the map with the tip of his wand, and it all disappeared.

“For now though,” Said George, again saying the pass-phrase, “a salient point. This map not only shows where everybody is, it also lists secret passages and how to get into them. Notice this one here, for example. That's the answer to your second question: the kitchen.”

Harry just beamed at the two, so grateful he couldn't speak. The amount of trouble he could get into with this! And the easy access to the kitchen was another inestimable resource. No-one could ever starve him, now! Not to mention he'd hold out against Snape a good bit longer.

“Now,” said Fred, “the bad news. We're not the best or most reliable people to let you into the common room. We'll both have Quiddich practice three times a week, so during those times neither of us can let you in if you don't know the password. We'll need to find a fourth conspirator, another Gryffindor...”

Suddenly both twins turned towards Hermione simultaneously. “So, Hermione...”

Hermione twisted her hands together anxiously, “umm, err, I want to help, but - I'm...not sure I should-”

“Aha!” Said George

“Not to worry, little lady,” intoned Fred, smiling when Hermione scowled at the nickname. “It's not against the rules to let him in...”

“...only to tell him the password.”

“So since we'll be taking care of that, when we know it...”

“...you'll just have to let him in when we don't...”

“or if the Fat Lady objects.”

Hermione smiled gratefully. “No problem, then! I'd love to help. I ummm...don't like Snape much, either.”

“Fantastic! All settled then.” Cheered George. “All right there Harry?”

Harry smiled. “Perfect.”

And so began Harry's Campaign against the Greasy Git, (HCGG) as the Weasely twins dubbed it, though Harry still thought of it as World War I. The Gryffindors, noticing their ally in the war against Snape hanging out in their dorm, quickly caught on and joined the cause, letting him into the common room, telling him the passwords as they changed, and otherwise aiding and abetting Harry however they could. Hermione even lent him her notes from Potions class, such that Harry could keep up and thereby avoid extra trouble upon his inevitable capture. The potions master quickly caught on, however, making the Gryffindors' lives and Harry's campaign much more difficult, despite the Marauder's Map. On the third day in, he had a very close call that lead to a very interesting discovery for Harry.

Having spent a pleasurable afternoon hanging out and studying in the Gryffindor common room, Harry was wandering leisurely back to his dorm when he realized that it was already 8:45, and that Professor Snape was, according to the map, waiting for him directly behind the portrait that lead into the common room. Harry would've liked to just wait him out, but after 9:00, the first-years' curfew, any professor or prefect catching him in the corridor would bring him directly to Snape, thereby bringing Harry's brief campaign to an end. Oh, SHIT what do I do?

There was no way Harry could get into his common room without Snape seeing him, but if he stayed in the corridor he was just as sure to be caught. Finally Harry remembered a tactic that he'd used with Dudley and his cohorts. They'd been chasing him and Harry'd run into a shed. Dudley had blocked one exit, and Dudley's friends the other. When Harry'd come out, he'd hidden his face behind his new long, blond, hair and pretended to be a girl. That wouldn't work for Snape, who even Harry had to admit was significantly smarter than Dudley, but maybe if he went just a little further... A mirror. I need a MIRROR.

Harry hurried into the closest bathroom – which just his luck was clearly marked “LADIES” - and rushed over to the mirror, staring at his reflexion. I hope this works! Snape knows EVERYBODY in the dorm. I've only ever done my hair, before, and I have to look EXACTLY right or Snape'll figure out that it's me. He had thirteen minutes. Umm, umm...well, let's start with what I know.

Harry stared fixedly at his reflexion, picturing himself with his own unruly black hair grown out long. Slowly at first, but then faster as Harry grew more confident, his hair lengthened and flowed wildly down to his waist. Damn, I wish I knew how to braid. The girl Harry was picturing – a second-year named Carrie something-or-other - always wore her hair neatly braided and tied, while Harry's new hair was a tangled mess. It looked nice, though, and if he just had a brush he could probably make it manageable. I wish I could keep it this way, thought Harry, but he knew he'd have to get rid of it as soon as he got a chance – if anybody knew Harry could change his appearance, his cover'd be blown. He'd figured out over the week that this was not something the other students did naturally. I really am a Freak. Even here. That didn't stop Harry from using it, though.

Next Harry focused on his eyebrows, figuring that they were just hair, too. Luckily the Slytherin Harry tried to emulate had bushier eyebrows than Harry's own: Harry wasn't sure if he could make the hair go away again without cutting or plucking it.

Harry studied the mirror again, and frowned. He looked like a bushy-eyebrowed, long-haired version of himself, and not like anybody else yet, and he only had ten more minutes before he had to be IN his dorm. And here we go. Harry didn't know whether he could even change the rest of his face, but it was his only chance. He pictured the girl as strongly as he could with his eyes closed, focusing on each tiny detail of her face, and hoping he'd gotten everything right. He remembered Carrie's eyes weren't blue, but not what color they were. Harry focused as hard as he could until he felt a vague stretching sensation in his skin. This startled him enough to break his focus, and he had to start over. Six minutes.

Harry focused hard, trying to make his picture as clear as he could, down to remembering that Carrie's ears were pierced, though he couldn't reproduce her earrings this way. Harry focused until the stretching, pulling and itching faded completely, and then opened his eyes slowly, wary of what he'd see. He needn't have worried, however: there, standing in the mirror before him, was Carrie. Harry let out a woop but sobered quickly: he still sounded exactly like himself, and he noticed quickly that his marks were showing. Feeling exhausted, Harry forced them away, but he knew he couldn't hold it for long, tired as he was. He also couldn't talk to anybody until he changed back. Well, no plan can be perfect, I suppose, and this is bloody BRILLIANT anyway. It would be great for pranks later. In the meantime, though...Harry looked at his watch, and ran.

He got into the common room with thirty seconds to spare. Snape looked at him and lifted an eyebrow. “Cutting it a little close, aren't you, Miss Woodman?” Oh thank God, he believes it. Harry nodded apologetically, though he had to clench his teeth in order to do so to Snape, and went directly up the stairs to his dorm. Shaking with anxiety, Harry closed his curtains around his bed (though there was no-one in the room to see) and focused on himself, forgetting momentarily about his hair. It fell out all at once as Harry's own hair grew back in, and Harry brushed tiny hairs off his face, realizing that his eyebrows had also taken care of themselves. Harry grinned triumphantly, threw the hair away, then curled up and fell asleep in his clothes and on top of his covers, too tired to even brush his teeth.

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Severus Snape was annoyed. More than annoyed – furious. The brat had managed to avoid him for five whole days, meanwhile skipping his potions class and his normal scheduled weekly meeting with the Head of House. Two days before, Severus had set up the perfect trap, waiting for Harry at curfew when he knew the boy'd get caught be either him or Filch or someone else, and the boy had somehow magically shown up in the common room without ever seeming to pass through the portrait hole! Meanwhile Severus knew very well that the bloody Gryffindors were helping the snot, but couldn't prove it and nobody'd believe him without proof because the little whelp was one of his!

Dumbledore seemed to find the whole situation VASTLY amusing, Quirrel and Filius were as clueless as usual and Minerva McGonagall, whom Severus could usually count on for help with wayward students, was quietly harboring the little fugitive in her own Common room! It was unbelievable! It was as if Severus was the bad guy in all of this, and what'd he done? Rebuked the defiant brat in Potions. Once! And the whole school was against him! Everybody'd seen the brat, but nobody knew where he was. Severus had gone so far as to complain about the brat's attitude to a couple of the other teachers and his dear colleagues had dared assure him that it was just a phase and that the brat was “really quite sweet” to his classmates. This only served to anger Severus further. Arrogant, cocky, and popular with his peers. He's James Potter reincarnate. Returned to life to torment me when I'd infinitely prefer the Dark Lord. Severus felt a twinge of guilt at that thought, but dismissed it. Bloody conscience. It was just a joke. Why do I have to be responsible for the child of James-bloody-Potter?! LILY's child, sure, but the boy's no cross between James and Lily. More like James squared: even more defiant, and even MORE popular. Then he thought over the last week and scowled further. A bloody Slytherin James squared. Whatever. The child was out of control, and Snape had just the way to pull him back. He was Slytherin too, after all, and a Hufflepuff could've figured out this tactic.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Harry Potter returned to his dorm after his first Quiddich practice sweaty and exhausted, but smiling broadly. Quiddich was AMAZING! Of course, Marcus was a bit of a jerk- domineering in a belligerent way that put Harry on edge a bit, and Harry's back and rib hurt fiercely when he moved too quickly, but once Harry was in the air none of that mattered. Flying was brilliant all by itself, but with the addition of chasing the Snitch Harry figured that life just couldn't get better than it was on a broomstick. Now, though, he was once again tired and sore, and ready to take a shower and settle down on a couch somewhere to do his homework before he fell asleep.

Harry had brought the map, so once he was able to ascertain that his Head of House was nowhere nearby and Harry could spend the rest of the afternoon in his own common room with Blaise and Theo, both of whom had taken an active but cautious interest in Harry's evasion project. The whole thing was proving even more fun (though nerve wracking) than Harry had predicted. He had allies, and not only that but his allies were making friends with each other across House lines. Theo and Blaise had even gotten together with Fred and George and come up with more amusing strategies for Harry to use. They'd also come up with many pranks, but Harry'd asked them to hold off – he knew the bastard would blame him and figured pissing Snape off would not be the most brilliant of plans, no matter how much fun seeing Snape with pink hair might have been.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

The next morning when the mail came at breakfast a school owl arrived with a letter in a pretty red envelope that made Theo and Blaise blanch.

“What's wrong?” Asked Harry.

“Open it. Quickly. If you don't it'll explode and get MUCH worse.”

“Worse than what?? What's going on?”

“Harry it's a Howler; don't ask questions just OPEN IT before it EXPLODES!!”

More reluctant than ever, Harry carefully opened the envelope before jumping back in startlement as angry words filled the entire great hall, causing many students to cover their ears.

“HARRY POTTER: IF YOU ARE NOT IN MY OFFICE IN FIFTEEN MINUTES YOU WILL HAVE WEEK OF GROUNDING AND QUIDDICH BAN AND TWENTY POINTS OFF FROM SLYTHERIN HOUSE FOR EVERY HOUR THAT YOU DELAY. THEREFORE IT IS MY ADVICE TO YOU TO GET MOVING. SINCERELY, SEVERUS SNAPE.”

“Oh.” Said Harry. That was all he could think of to say at the moment with the entire school staring at him. Sounds like I'm Germany, and that was my Treaty of Versailles. Snape in particular was watching him closely, so Harry met his eyes for a moment, unblinking and proud. I don't care. I'm not embarrassed, and I'm not afraid.

“You think...maybe you'd better go, Harry?” Asked Theo cautiously.

“Yeah, I think we can safely say the professor won this round,” added Blaise.

“He cheated.” Harry growled, indignantly. He got up, though, hiding his shaking by clasping his hands. As he stood to leave, he noticed that the Weasely twins were standing up, imaginary hats held over their hearts as if watching a funeral parade. It gave him the strength to smile as he went to his doom, walking quickly so that his composure didn't slip before he escaped the hall. Though his bruising had faded until is was very colorful but not painful, and his rib had faded to a dull ache, Harry had been unable to reach some of the worst marks to clean them. They'd festered instead of healed over the two weeks he'd been at Hogwarts and Harry had taken to sitting forward in chairs so his back didn't touch, and to fight to keep his back out of the water when he showered. Whatever Snape had planned for him was sure to be painful.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus Snape smiled in satisfaction before heading for the shortcut to his office. He wanted to get there ahead of the brat. Finally I get to put Potter in his place. Even Snape wasn't sure which Potter he was thinking of.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Harry arrived in front of the office door and knocked firmly, standing up tall. The potions master opened the door, grabbed Harry's shoulder, and pulled him into the room. Harry pulled quickly away from the professor's grip, wincing almost imperceptibly. Fortunately or unfortunately for him, Snape had been the best spy in Great Britain; the only to infiltrate the Dark Lord's ranks: he noticed. Noticed, and tucked the datum away for future examination, figuring he'd simply grabbed too hard. The brat had little extra padding between skin and bone, after all. This, too, the spy noticed, and tucked away.

He was given no other clues, though: the boy's skin was completely unblemished, from what he could see, and certainly Harry wasn't cowed, so Snape wrote off his observations as irrelevant before even noticing that he'd noticed, and assumed that Harry was exactly as the boy portrayed himself: arrogant, proud, and defiant. Snape had probably just gripped harder than he'd meant to. His moment of relatively unbiased observation helped him to cool down, though, and Snape attempted to remain calm and reasonable, and to treat the boy fairly. He had promised Lily, after all, though he'd thought naught would come of it. Plus he was honestly curious. He'd never had a student so openly ignore a detention or avoid him the way Potter did.

“What-possessed- your limited brain to convince you that skipping my class, our appointment, and your detention when you were already in trouble was a good idea? Surely it can't just be the principle of the thing – I know you've obeyed professors in the past.”

Not trusting his temper, Harry remained silent and simply glared, wishing he'd let Snape catch him before his marks had gotten infected. He really hadn't thought they'd get worse, rather than better.

“Was it honestly worth it to you, to avoid me to the point of eating in the kitchens and hanging with the Gryffindors and sneaking about everywhere? Did you honestly think that I'd never catch you? That you'd avoid me for the entire year? That you could skip an entire year of Potions class and not fail or get expelled? Are you that eager to leave here?”

Harry blanched. He could get expelled??

“Or are you just so stupid that you thought that I of all people would let you get away with such a thing? Didn't you even talk to your fellow Slytherins? Do they get away with anything? Surely you realize that you've made your situation worse with your disobedience?”

Harry still figured that silence was his best bet. Snape was yelling, and soon either Harry's anger or his fear would assert itself. If he talked, it'd happen all the sooner. Plus, Vernon never actually wanted a response from Harry. He just wanted to see Harry cringe. So Harry just stood proudly as if the professor's ire didn't concern him in the least, while preparing his stance carefully so he could move quickly. Just get on with it, please. Finally Severus got impatient.

“Damnit, Potter, answer me!” And Harry's anger boiled over.

“Well I wasn't about to come to you, was I? And you say avoiding you was stupid? Are the Slytherins so crazy then, that they come to you begging to get hit? Or do they just hit themselves, since you clearly can't be bothered to shift yourself?”

That declaration brought Snape up short, and caused him to pay attention and remember his earlier, barely-noted observations. He decided to cautiously probe for a little more information.

“What -exactly- did you expect from me at your detention, Mr. Potter?”

His question, in turn, startled Harry and made his response equally cautious. Damn. Since when do “Vernon” adults randomly turn into “concerned” adults? Unless Snape wasn't a “Vernon” adult in the first place?Why would he fake it, though? Snape was clearly pushing, though, so Harry attempted to divert his attention.

“Well you did say you were going to hit me, sir.” He said contemptuously. Maybe if I piss him off again he'll stop sniffing around.

But Snape was not to be dissuaded, now that he was on a scent. A lot of Potter's hostility could be explained by more than genetics, and now that Snape had realized that he could only figure that that was likely.

“Yes, I did,” insisted the professor, “but what exactly did you expect from that?”

Damn, damn, damn. Okay MILD. Like, SUPER mild.

“I just figured you'd belt me a couple times, sir.” Said Harry, shrugging nonchalantly.

Aaand he calmly tells me THAT, as if it doesn't scare him at all. And considering he's probably still trying to hide this from me, that probably IS nothing at all to him, and he actually expected a lot more from me. No wonder I've not seen him. Okay, time to get Poppy to confirm.

“I think, Mr. Potter, that you will serve your detention with Madame Pomfrey, today.”

Harry, still on his guard, demanded rudely. “Who?”

Snape sighed. Regardless of what I find, I have GOT to teach this kid some manners. He was glad Harry had asked, though: the boy's response to a trip to the hospital wing would be telling. He set about to explain, for the first time trying to keep his irritation from showing. “Madame Pomfrey is our school matron. She'll just check you for any injuries or the like. We scan most students when they first come in but since you don't know who she is I'm thinking that somehow, we missed you. Come along, then.

Harry was panicking. Okay, think fast. I can't object or he'll ask why, so I'll just have to make sure my protection's extra thick. I don't like the sound of this “scan,” though, and GOD I hope she doesn't touch my back. She'd be bound to feel something, and besides that it would HURT.

Harry met Snape's eyes. “Very well, sir. Doesn't sound like much of a detention, though.”

Interesting. Potter's either really good at this, he's plotting something, or he honestly has nothing to hide. What'll it mean if he has reactions and expectations like he has yet displays no other signs of abuse? Snape pursed his lips grimly. I'll just have to run some of my more – brutal – tests.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Damn Greasy Git. Harry'd considered bolting on the way to the hospital wing, but he could tell that his Head of House was watching him like a hawk. Harry went back to plan “A,” and reinforced and expanded his protections to extend across his entire back instead of just on his arms and face. He wasn't quite sure what he did to hide the marks, but he'd gotten quite good at it. Too bad he could only hide them, not make them go away. He also couldn't hide his curse scar, for some reason, though he'd've liked to. Even when he'd changed his face to hide from Snape, the scar had remained: he'd hidden it behind his hair.

When they got to the hospital wing, Poppy Pomfrey was busily cleaning out the emergency medical supplies, but turned towards Snape as they came in. The two of them had a conversation in undertones while Harry looked on, then “Poppy” turned towards him and spoke briskly.

“All right, Harry, just come and sit on the cot, here.”

Harry complied, hoping that being overtly cooperative would convince both of them that he had nothing to hide. He removed his shirt when asked, though it hurt to do so, and as he did he noted a thoughtful expression on the professor's face. Then the Matron ran her wand up and down Harry's body, particularly around the rib Harry knew to be cracked, and looked increasingly confused. Finally she returned to talking quietly with the potions master, who turned to Harry.

“Alright, Potter. You've been cooperative so far. Now remove the glamours.”

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus watched as Harry entered the infirmary. Again, the boy is either totally relaxed or REALLY good at faking it. But which IS it? Poppy was looking at him expectantly, so he moved to explain, talking quietly so Potter couldn't hear. Poppy knew him better than many, so he spoke bluntly.

“Hello, Poppy. What do you know about Potter's home life?”

The Matron looked taken aback at his frowardness.

“Not much. Minerva said that they didn't seem like the nicest people, and Hagrid said the adult – err- Vernon? - pulled a gun on him, but, I mean, that was Hagrid...” Finally Poppy realized she was babbling and blushed. “Why? What's going on?”

“Just a suspicion...you remember when Longbottom came in with the broken wrist, yes?”

“Of course.” Poppy seemed mildly offended by the question.

“Well Potter here took it upon himself to fly around before Madame Hooch came back, and got himself in trouble. I gave him a detention for it, to be served the following day. He never showed, preferring to avoid me, my class, and his common room for almost a week. I finally caught up to him, and got him to come to my office. I pressed him about why he'd felt it more intelligent to do that rather than come to a single detention, and he replied that he “wasn't about to come to me to get hit.” Now I had said that for more serious issues I'd – err - “take out my ire on his sorry hide -”

Poppy raised an eyebrow accusingly, and Severus felt moved to explain.

“He's done nothing but disrespect and defy me since he got here! You'd forgive me for exaggerating a bit! Anyway, that's not the point. I was a bit alarmed that he sounded so casual about getting hit. He'd also winced when I grabbed his shoulder coming into my office, and he seems a bit thin. I started to wonder, so I asked him what he'd expected when he came into detention. He answered – as if it were the most natural thing in the world – that he figured I'd “just belt him a couple times.” So now we're here. Funny thing is, he didn't object to coming. He's either a superb actor or he thinks he's got nothing to hide.”

“I agree. That all does seem quite odd. I'll check him over then.” She turned towards Harry, returning to the brisk manner she maintained with her patients.

“All right, Harry, just come and sit on the cot, here.”

The boy cooperated beautifully, even when Poppy asked him to remove his shirt. Sure enough, there was nothing to see: Harry's skin was perfectly smooth. Then Poppy did a deep scan with her wand, and frowned. Harry was a bit malnourished, and, even more disturbing, had clearly broken a fair number of bones at various points in the past. He even had a relatively new broken rib that Poppy knew he'd never reported to her. Clearly something was up, but the boy's skin was completely unblemished! What was going on?

Poppy walked back over to Severus.

“I don't understand it. The boy's skin is clean – not a bruise, cut, or scar anywhere that I can see- other than the forehead, of course- but here's the thing. He's had multiple broken bones, at least on of which should've been set and wasn't. He's also got a recently broken rib that's GOT to still hurt him. How'd he get the broken rib without bruising it at all? And surely with all those broken bones he'd have some scars? He's also a bit malnourished. I really don't know, Severus. His scan gives us a good indication of neglect, but not enough to prove abuse. All I can say is that he should still have some bruising from when he cracked that rib, but doesn't. Are you missing any healing potions from your stores?”

“No...and if he'd taken one his shoulder shouldn't be sore...” said Severus thoughtfully, “but I do think I have an idea about what's going on.”

“You do? Can you prove it? You know Albus won't consent to removing him without proof.”

“We don't need Albus' consent, though it would be helpful.” And I'd rather not have him angry with me. “It doesn't matter, though. I think I can prove it. We'll have to see. I just need you to not interfere. This might not be...strictly pleasant.”

Poppy looked at him worriedly but nodded her acceptance.

“I trust you.”

I really wish people would stop saying that. Severus turned back to Harry.

“Alright, Potter, you've been cooperative so far. Now remove the glamours.”

What's a glamour? Oh God, I hope he doesn't mean -

“Umm...my whats, sir?” Severus gritted his teeth in impatience. Merlin save me from dumb, inarticulate 11-year-olds. “My whats?”

“Your glamours, Potter. Whatever you are doing to hide your injuries, I want it removed.”

You can't always get what you want. Thought Harry, before a more reasonable response kicked in. Oh FUCK! Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck that bloody fucking FUCKER. How'd he know? Nobody had gotten this close to Harry's secret since 3rd grade, and that had not turned out well. Maybe he doesn't know. Maybe he's bluffing. I just have to act casual. No biggie. I don't know what he's talking about.

Harry met the potions master's eyes. “My injuries, sir?” He asked innocently. The professor suddenly seemed to get angry, and approached Harry too quickly for comfort, eyes snapping. Harry was considering backing but then the man was upon him and threw a hand up fast near Harry's face. And Harry panicked.

Faster than Severus would've believed possible, Potter scrambled back to the wall and pulled an arm up blocking his face while simultaneously raising a powerful magical shield, protecting himself from all sides. Then, while Severus was still gaping at this prodigious use of wandless magic, the shield came down and the boy was babbling.

“Sorry, sorry, won't happen again, didn't mean to, took it down, sorry, I'll be good, see? I'm being good, took it down, knees on the floor, sorry...”

Meanwhile Harry had knelt on the floor with his back to Severus, his shirt still off and his back and shoulders exposed. Severus finally regained his wits and conjured water from the sink to pour over Harry's head, trying to interrupt the flashback if he could. It worked. Harry turned back around quickly, coughing and sputtering, then looked up at Severus in horror, clearly remembering the last thirty seconds. He didn't hit me. It was a trick. FUCK! He met Severus's eyes furiously, daring him to speak, to taunt, anything. fucking CHEATER. Couldn't he tell I just wanted to be left ALONE? Harry continued to glare, though his anger at the professor's duplicity was beginning to be tempered with despair. He'd shown fear. Showing his injuries was nothing compared to that. The proffesor wasn't dumb, either. Nothing to hide now, I suppose. Finally, he dropped his glamours as he had his shield.