The next morning, Harry was delighted to see Kallie the house-elf bringing him his breakfast. She was his favorite house-elf, and seemed to particularly like him as well. They'd met when Harry had first found his way down to the kitchens to avoid Snape. He'd tickled the pear as instructed, mostly expecting nothing to happen, and then slipped inside with a small smile when the door did, in fact, open. Kallie had met him at the door, and he'd smiled at her tentatively...

(Flashback)

More little men...and women, apparently. For Kallie's hand towel had been altered to resemble a nice white wrap-skirt, and embroidered around the hem with a pattern of whimsical fruit and flowers in bright and occasionally clashing colors. Now I guess I just...ask her for food. He'd been hoping to just sneak into the kitchen and steal something, but it looked like he'd have to go through the house-elf. Harry gulped a bit. Defiance would not help him here; asking for something.

“Err...hi. My name is Harry. I was wondering...could I have some food, please? I don't need much, just...maybe if you had some leftovers...or something got burned... or something?”

The elf had pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips, as if annoyed with him, and he'd hastened to fix his apparent error.

“That's okay! I don't need it. I'll just...”

“With all due respect, Master Harry sir, but is young master crazy?”

“Err...”

“Young master is not to come to house-elf and ask for leftovers and burnt food! You insults us, Master Harry, sir! You comes in here and sits down and gets some proper food!”

“Err...yes ma'am.”

“You...” The 'little woman' seemed unsure of what to say, looking at him with a highly amused but perplexed expression. “You calls a house-elf ma'am, Master Harry, sir?!”

“Err...yes ma'am?”

The house-elf smiled broadly, and Harry got the impression that she found him humorous, for some reason. Strange little person.

“Come on in, Master Harry, sir. We feeds you.”

Before Harry knew it he was seated in front of a huge plate of made-to-order chicken pasty, being fussed over by the talkative and surprisingly independent little house-elf, and generally having a grand time. He felt safe and at home, here in the kitchen. He hoped that the elves wouldn't mind him coming around more often.

When he left, his arms and pockets were full of rolls and fruit and other various treats “for later,” and an invitation to return as often as he wished. This he did, almost every day and sometimes twice, and stayed for at least an hour each time, chatting with the house-elf and helping her with her work, when she would let him. On the last day of his avoidance campaign (though he didn't know it at the time), Harry brought a gift for his new friend.

It was the product of an experiment-gone-wrong in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione had wanted to try out the shrinking solution they had made in potions class on a blouse she had. It had been a tad too big, but when she dipped it in the solution it immediately became evident that the shrinking solution was not meant for that purpose – what was it meant for? - as the garment rapidly shrank to a size more appropriate to a human toddler, or, as Harry immediately recognized, to a house-elf.

Unable to fix it, Hermione gave it readily to Harry, giving him a puzzled look as she handed it over. He explained that he wanted it for a friend, which only increased her confusion. She probably thinks I have a doll or a teddy-bear stashed away somewhere. Yeah right.

When Harry presented the blouse to the house-elf, wrapped in some parchment that Harry had decorated, she'd been thrilled beyond his understanding, clapping her hands excitedly and putting in on right away. Dude, it's just a blouse. The house-elf then looked up at him and asked the strangest question.

“Can this elf serve Master Harry, sir? She be's a good elf, sir, a very good elf for Master Harry, sir!”

Serve me? Serve me? And why do all the elves keep calling me Master?

“You – you want to serve me?” Harry asked skeptically, “why?”

“Help you, bring you food, serve you. Elf wants to, sir! Be's good elf for Master Harry, sir!”

“Oh.” She was so insistant! “Well...all right, then.”

The elf looked ecstatic. Literally jumping up and down, looking at Harry with unnervingly huge, grateful eyes.

“Thank you, sir! What will Master call his elf, sir?”

Well that was...weird. His elf? And...she wanted him to name her? Didn't she have a name before? Maybe not, Harry suddenly realized. She'd always referred to herself as “Elf.”

“You...you want me to name you?”

“Yes, sir! Master must name his elf, sir! Elf wants a name, Master, sir!”

“Why didn't you have a name?”

“Hogwarts elves must name themselves sir! Here, elf is “tall elf,” “short elf,” “long-ears elf,” sir. Only family elves have names sir!”

Harry's mouth fell open as he suddenly realized. Ohh, shit.

“And you are a family elf, then?”

“Of course, Master sir! I be Master's elf, sir! It is up to Master to name his elf, sir!”

Maybe I can convince her to not tell everybody else that? I can't believe I just stole one of the school elves. This doesn't feel like something I can just 'put back.'

“Umm...okay. Do you have anything you really want to be called?”

What does one name a house-elf? Especially one that you just accidentally stole? Not that you can steal a person, considering you can't own a person, but...

“No, Master sir! Master must name his elf, sir!”

“Okay, okay, I'm trying! Errr...how about Kallie?” He'd noticed that the few 'family' elves he'd met had all had -y or -ie names.

“Oh, Kallie is a good name, Master sir! Good, good, good!”

As Kallie accepted her name Harry suddenly felt some sort of odd magic go through him. It suddenly seemed terribly important that this was his elf. I should take care of her... He really couldn't do anything about it, then, though, and the elf seemed MORE than capable of caring for herself.

“Alright, Kallie then. Sorry, Kallie, but I've got class...”

“What does Master want Kallie to do, sir?”

Maybe I can 'put her back' – sorta. He really didn't want to break this new – connection – they had, honestly, but he didn't want more trouble than he was already dealing with. Surely she can be 'mine' and still work here?

“It's Harry, please. Just...do what you normally do, if that's okay?”

“Yes, Master, sir!”

It's HARRY. Master is...creepy. He got the feeling that he'd have to get used to it, though...

(End flashback)

And now here was Kallie, 'his' house-elf, with a big breakfast that he was sure she'd made just for him. He felt a little guilty for not explaining his sudden absence. Of course, the house-elves seemed to know everything that was going on in the castle, but he really should have sent her a note, or something. He'd told her about avoiding Snape, and though she seemed confused as to why he would want to avoid the potions master, she'd helped out a lot. She'd do just about anything for him, he had discovered. Suddenly he got a brilliant idea. She works in the kitchens... In his exhaustion the night before he'd not managed to come up with or prepare any new pranks, but now...maybe it wouldn't be such a boring day after all.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

That afternoon at lunch Severus sat down at the head table, and as usual a big glass of pumpkin juice arrived shortly thereafter. Severus started to take a sip and paused. He sniffed the juice, stirred it with a finger, looked at the color, swirled it in the glass, and put it back down in front of him. Teeth-growing potion. Perhaps the brat is hoping I will grow fangs? He repressed a smile. Though the attempt had been a failure, it was a bit of an accomplishment getting the potion to the table in the first place – the house-elves didn't let anything by them. Unless, of course, someone special happened to ask...clearly the boy had friends in high (or by some standards, low) places.

Since this time the prank hadn't messed with his privacy or embarrassed him in public, he allowed himself to be a bit impressed. When did the boy have the time to make friends with the house-elves? Unless they were friends before he decided to launch this vendetta? What sort of wizarding child makes friends with house-elves? Then a voice in his head reminded him. A child like you...and Harry. To which Snape replied, I wasn't nearly this much trouble. He's a bloody menace.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

It was Friday, so Harry had Potions in the afternoon, right after lunch. He'd been expecting to hear tales from his latest prank, but none had reached him, and the class filed in glumly and sat down before the professor arrived. Finally he did, and Harry felt his blood pressure rising as he saw the glass the potions master carried in with him. It was the worst of all possible outcomes: the prank had fizzled, and Snape knew. He'd be in trouble for nothing. At least it was a prank that he'd done on his own – the twins never needed to hear of his failure.

Harry pushed the whole fiasco into the back of his mind and tried to focus on the class, brewing his potion – a sleeping drought this time – as well as he was able. Harry had expected the man to come after him immediately, but to his surprise the man started class as usual, just giving Harry a cursory glare, and otherwise let him work his potion. However, he could also tell that Snape was watching him like a hawk, so he wouldn't be able to steal any of this one. Not that he thought that'd work for a prank, given that the man had somehow discovered the teeth-growing potion.

Towards the end of the period, when Harry was almost finished his potion, the professor finally got up, bringing the glass of pumpkin juice with him. Harry observed the potions master closely as the man approached his desk. He was trying to be intimidating, but...he wasn't angry? Harry relaxed marginally. We're also in public. Maybe I'm okay?

Finally the man was directly in front of Harry's cauldron, and spoke quietly so that only Harry and his tablemates could hear.

“Nice try, Potter, but you cannot poison a potions master.” With that, the man poured his pumpkin juice into Harry's cauldron, and Harry watched in fascination as the cauldron itself started growing human teeth. No fangs. Guess that part wouldn't've worked anyway. Then he looked at his almost-finished potion and grimaced – it was curdled, thick, and full of teeth. Well that's...gross. He looked up into the potions master's smirking face and glowered. You did that on purpose.

“Too bad, Potter. Looks like you'll have to start over.” The potions master banished Harry's 'potion' as he spoke.

What's the point – I'm never going to finish on time, now. Just give me the zero, why don't you?

“Looks like I will.” He said indifferently, and got to work.

Eventually the time came when Snape instructed the class to bottle their potions and clean up. He walked over to Harry's potion, noting that, though unfinished, it was well-made.

“Unfinished, Potter?”

“Obviously. Sir.” Though the boy's words could be construed as rude, the tone was mild, and the potions master decided not to call him on it.

“You have a free now, do you not? Finish it.”

Harry looked up in a moment of honest confusion before schooling his expression to blankness. Does he think that makes me unhappy, to lose the free period, or is he actually giving me the opportunity to get a decent grade? God, this man is annoying. Could he just make his motive CLEAR for once?

“Very well, sir.”

The professor moved back to his desk, starting to examine the vials that had been presented for his inspection, as Harry continued working. Half an hour later the boy walked up to his desk with a vial of the completed potion, and spoke in a completely neutral tone.

“I am finished, sir.”

Snape looked from him to the vial on his desk.

“Good work. You are dismissed.”

He said it exactly as if Harry had just gotten out of detention. Maybe...was that it? No detention for the failed prank? Really?

“Th-thank you, sir.”

The potions master smirked. This is even more fun than making him miserable. That's twice in two days I've had the brat utterly confused.

“Do not forget your meeting with me tonight, Potter. I expect you to be on time.”

“Yes, sir.” And then detention later. Just how I wanted to spend my Friday night. He was resigned at that point to just not having any free time. He was barely managing to keep up on his homework. The weekend would help. At least I haven't added any new detentions...though why he chose to let me off for this one is beyond me.

“You should also bring your backpack, and any tests you've had so far.”

Shit. “Yes, sir.”

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry arrived at Snape's office two minutes early, and was immediately asked for his tests. He dug in his bag and picked out his Transfiguration test, on which he'd gotten an 'O'. He handed it over without a care. Transfiguration was easy, once he'd figured out that he just had to do to the objects the same thing he did to his face, and ignore his wand. The test was a practical one, and so the paper he handed over was just a list of Professor McGonagall's notes on his results, which were flawless. Professor Snape read the sheet completely before handing it back.

“Very well done. McGonagall seems quite impressed, as well. It seems you're quite gifted in this area. This shouldn't be your only test so far, though. Do you have any others?

Harry was tempted to say no – his History of Magic grade was abysmal, and he really didn't know how the potion master would react. I don't care about his reaction.Harry reminded himself, I don't care that he was pleased with my Transfiguration grade, and I CERTAINLY don't care what he thinks of the History test Harry handed over the History test, holding himself stiff and proud. Do what you want to me. I don't care.

Again, the professor read the test over completely, as his eyebrows drew down into a frown and Harry stood tensely, waiting for his verdict.

“This is not good. What happened?”

Harry met his eyes squarely, set his jaw, and spoke bluntly. “I didn't study.”

“I see.”

And that was all the man said for a minute or two, while Harry stood, shifting from foot to foot but refusing to look away from the man's gaze. He quickly realized, though, that he couldn't hold it: the professor just kept looking at him, like he was waiting for him to speak, and Harry felt acutely uncomfortable. Just say something, damnit! Stupid potions master. What's it to you, anyway, jerkoff?

But something had to give, and the potions master wasn't budging.

“It's just History of Magic. That dumb ghost can't teach, and what's the use of knowing about the stupid Goblin Wars, anyway? What do I care?”

“Well, to start with, I told you that you were to keep up your grades.” Though the potions master did not raise his voice, he sounded genuinely angry, and Harry had to tighten his muscles to stop his trembling as his features took on the angry look that hid his fear.

Severus noticed as the boy's face tightened up, and found that his anger faded at the reminder of the boy's fear. Damn. Now what do I do? I can't just not be angry every time because it frightens him...and he has to get used to the idea that I can be angry without wanting to hurt him.

When the boy spoke, though, no trace of fear could be heard. I guess he's better at controlling his voice than his face. “Fine then. I care because you've got the bloody power and you care. Why do you care?”

“Language, Potter. You won't get any more warnings. Unlikely as you are to believe it, I want what is best for you. I want you to do well, and part of that has to do with your grades.” Though Harry's tone (and language) still irked him some, Severus' brief anger had faded completely. The boy had apparently noticed that, as his own tone got slightly less angry, and more like a normal, insolent adolescent.

“Wait, so I'm supposed to care because you care because it's good for me? Isn't that a top- tot – hmm.” He'd read the word in a book once, and looked it up, but had never tried to say it.

“Tautology? Perhaps, but you'll have to deal with it. No matter why I care, I do, and when I tell you that you are to get good grades, I expect you to do so, and not just in those classes that you like or find easy.”

Oh, you care, do you? You didn't even want this job. Now you're just being a control freak. Harry'd had enough. At this rate he was never going to be let outside, never going to get free time. What gave this man the right to tell him what to do? Why in Merlin's name should he give a fuck what he wanted? If I don't obey Uncle Vernon, why the hell should I obey you? You don't like my grades, my language? Well too damn bad! Find somebody else to 'help,' if that's even really your intention.

Suddenly Harry was speaking; yelling even. “You care?! Bullshit. You just want to control me. Well back the fuck off. I'm sick of your rules. Give me detention 'till the end of the world, you're going to anyway! Got it? I don't – fucking – CARE!”

Severus just sighed. I really wish we could have put this off, a bit, at least.

Having finished his brief tirade, Harry immediately started to regret it. I'm dead. Truly dead. I just haven't bothered to lie down, yet. Besides that, he knew he'd lied, and that disturbed him. Damnit he's getting to me. He really didn't want more detentions, or grounding. He wanted – desperately – to go outside, and to get away from Snape. He didn't want the man any closer than he had to be, and detentions were not helping that. Neither are stupid angry uncontrolled outbursts, apparently.

Harry watched as the potions master got up from his desk silently and walked around it towards him, and stiffened but held his ground. When the professor got close to Harry he reached a hand out slowly towards Harry's neck. Harry rolled his shoulders up protectively, but held still, finally relaxing a bit when the hand reached around to grip him at the back of his neck. It's okay. He's 'just holding', like before. No biggie. From the depths of Harry's memory came the voice of a cantankerous old man from a silly movie protesting loudly. 'I'm not dead yet!' He didn't smile.

Without a word the potions master steered him firmly towards another door next to the one entering on the lab. He didn't release his hold until they entered what turned out to be a medium-sized bathroom, complete with a shower and a small tub. These, however, were ignored, as the Slytherin Head of House reached underneath the sink for the bottle and spoon that he kept there. Harry watched as the man unstoppered the bottle and poured some of its contents onto a spoon.

“Open up.”

Harry just looked at him. Are you crazy? The stuff looked horrible. Greasy purplish-black and sludgy, like oil leaked from a car. No WAY is that going in my mouth.

“All right, let me put it to you this way. Either we do this, and it's over in three minutes, or you can write two hundred renditions of 'I will practice exemplary language befitting a well-educated and cultured young wizard, free of all obscenity, as crass speech and behavior is offensive to all who must interact with me.' Three minutes or three hours. Your choice.”

Oh great. I love choices...do I get an option number three? Poison, lines, or...probably expulsion. Brilliant move, Harry. While you're working out that great brain of yours, why not go all the way; get the man drunk and then trash his lab? Except the man still didn't look really angry, just....determined. He wasn't getting out of this one, it seemed. But...maybe he's not going to hit me, either. Not this time.

Abruptly Harry realized that he wasn't particularly scared. Angry, a bit, and dreading whatever that potion was going to taste like, but...not frightened.

Harry looked at the sludge, then up at Snape, and back at the sludge. Do I have to?

The potions master just held up the spoon and watched Harry's face as he considered. The boy was wearing one of the most open expressions the professor had yet seen: confused, and increasingly unhappy. Don't like your choices, child? Severus was not without sympathy – he knew well that the stuff tasted as bad as it looked – but he'd warned the kid twice.

“Now, please, Harry.” Oh... dear. Since when do I call students by their first name? Apparently being called Harry meant something to Potter, too, because the boy looked startled, and...more relaxed, maybe? At any rate, he opened his mouth, and the sludge went in.

Oh, AWEFUL. BAD. Yuckyuckyuckyuckyuck. Harry didn't have a word for what it tasted like. Horrible felt like the understatement of a life time. The flavor had something of soap, but also a lot of hot pepper, and grease, and Robitussin. It was oily and lumpy, like old oatmeal mixed with snot. He wanted to make it go away – even swallow it if he had to, but every instinct told him it was rotten, and he knew he'd throw up. As it was his eyes teared up and his nose started to run. He could feel the pepper burning all the way up into his sinuses, while the soap and grease coated his tongue and the sicky-sweet medicinal taste made him want to gag. He fought vainly to maintain a neutral expression, but it was a losing battle from the beginning. He was actually crying for goodness' sake. It's just 'cause it's spicy. Ugh yuckyuckyuckyuck this stuff...

“Two minutes left.”

He wanted it out of his mouth. NOW. One third done. Hold, hold, hold. Damn that fucking bastard. This stuff SUCKS. Hold, hold, hold, hold. You got this, just HOLD. He turned his head every which way, trying to escape the taste, then started bouncing on the balls of his feet impatiently, then shaking his head. Oh, foul. Yuckyuckyuckyuck.

“Steady on. Just one more minute.”

Realizing what he was doing, Harry tried to hold himself still, but found himself bouncing and grimacing just the same. Right, steady. No gagging. Just holding. One minute. Never going to curse again in my whole life. Fuck Snape and his fucking potions this stuff bloody SUCKS hope he can't read my mind hold, hold, hold.

“All right, you're done. Spit.”

Harry spat, and turned on the tap, and drank, and spat, and drank, and gargled, and drank some more, while Severus looked on with increasing (though well-hidden) humor. He won't take kindly to my humiliating him, but I've never seen him look so young. The display was, though Severus would never admit it, frankly amusing. Harry was getting water EVERYWHERE. Finally Harry turned towards Severus, and the man couldn't hold back a small smirk. Harry scowled, wondering what the potions master was laughing at, then glowered when the man performed a quick drying charm on the front of his soaking-wet robes. Oh. Well that's embarrassing. So much for not caring what the man does to me. His mouth still tasted bad, too. And he just had to draw attention to it with the stupid drying charm. Ahhrgh that stuff is horrible. He met the potions master's eyes and glared. The professor seemed unaffected.

“Planning on screaming and cursing at me?”

Harry continued to glare but shook his head the tiniest bit.

“Good. Back to your grades, then. In Monday's detention I will test you on the material from the History of Magic test. You will know it cold by then or you will find yourself writing a three-foot essay on the subject. Do I make myself clear?”

Yey. More work. Harry gave a tiny nod, not trusting himself to speak without getting in more trouble. The potions master softened a bit.

“On the other hand, if you do well, I will request of Professor Binns that he average the two grades.”

I thought I said I didn't care about that stupid grade? He kinda did, though. School was one of the things – the only thing, really – that he knew he was good at, that he could be proud of. It was just that Binns somehow managed to suck all the fun out of History. Harry's notes from before he'd given up on taking them were just long lists of names and dates and events. Where were the people? Where was the story? Harry knew that getting bad grades didn't work to punish a teacher, but what else could he do? Harry could've (and had) thrown spitballs through man's head with no effect. The professor didn't notice anything: he'd handed this last test over with a perfunctory 'well done!' that made Harry wonder who actually graded the tests, since the professor obviously hadn't looked at Harry's. Snape did, though, and look what that bought you. Stick with boring and uncaring.

Snape watched as the boy thought that over, then figured he'd move on. “Let's return to the actual purpose of these meetings. How are you holding up? Are you having trouble with anything?”

Again, why the fuck do you care? Never let it be said that Harry was stupid: this time, he didn't say it. He just maintained his glare and let his eyes say what he wasn't allowed to express.

You didn't seriously expect the boy to open up about his problems and ask for help on homework, did you, Severus? Be realistic. Severus sighed, and prepared to be humiliatingly sappy.

“Yes, I know. 'What do I care.' It doesn't truly matter why,, though, does it? Just that I do. I honestly want you to do well, and to be happy. And yes, I keep saying that. Maybe someday you'll even believe it.” Severus smirked and returned Harry's sceptically raised eyebrow. That almost looks like one of mine. “You do realize that there is a species of flying pig native to Great Britain?”

Was that a joke?? Really?? Harry felt a tiny, traitorous twitch lift one side of his mouth. Stop it. He's an asshole with no sense of humor. He made you eat poison. Twice. You hate his guts and want him dead. So what if he's funny.Harry was seriously confused. What is wrongwith me?

He's smiling. I made him smile. After all that, he's smiling? That's not possible. But...it was true. What is wrong with this child?...not that I mind. Small victories.