*“Hmm, difficult. VERY difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh yes. And a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?” Mused the hat.*

Talent? Courage? This is me you are talking about, right? And was that a rhetorical question?

“Umm…may I ask a question?”

The hat seemed startled. “Absolutely, dear child.”

“Is it true that all the dark wizards come from Slytherin?” Harry blushed, feeling stupid. I am talking to a HAT. Harry held back a snicker. If the Dursleys could see me, now…

“Not all, no. To be honest, most do. But that’s not the house’s fault by any means. It seeks to fix the sort of problems that lead people to turn dark. Slytherin’s students tend to be…misunderstood. Why? Would you like to be in Slytherin?”

“I just want to fit in here, that’s all. And not get kicked out "Everybody seems to think I’m something special. What if…” Harry gulped, terrified to admit his failings, even to a hat. Would the hat tell Dumbledore that Harry wasn’t really a great wizard? Would Dumbledore send him home? Then he lifted his chin. Who gives what they think? He spoke the last words of the sentence proudly. “…I’m not?” What if I'm just a normal, obnoxious little bugger of an eleven-year-old boy? Is that allowed?

”And there’s what I needed to know. Better be…SLYTHERIN!”

Abruptly all conversation in the room stopped. As Harry removed the enormous hat he looked around. Dumbledore was smiling widely and saying something to his neighbor. Whatever it was made the man scowl fiercely. Everyone else was watching him with curiosity. Then the Slytherins began to clap, and the rest of the room joined in. Just as Harry got up to join his house, putting the hat back on the stool, he heard the hat make one final comment:

“Just as a note, Harry. You will do better here if you stop hiding.”

“Hiding what?” responded Harry fiercely, and heard the hat's mental sigh.

“Very well. Go join your house.”

The tension left the room as Harry walked proudly to the Slytherin table, to be greeted boisterously by his House. The dark man next to Dumbledore had stopped glaring, and even nodded to him in greeting. Harry recognized it for what it was, though: on the chilly side of neutral. Harry made a mental note to be cautious, then pushed that to the back of his mind.

He soon found himself being introduced to his new year-mates. The boy to his left was Theodore Nott, a confident but weedy-looking boy with dark hair. To his right sat Blaise Zabini, who held himself tall, proud, and alert, watching quietly and seeming to analyze everything he saw. Across from him was Draco Malfoy, whom Harry had already met and found he disliked, along with Draco’s self-appointed bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle.

What odd names. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. It’s like Natasha Fatale and Boris Badenov. Ladies and Gentlemen, please allow me to introduce, your villains! Further down the table sat Millicent Bullstrode and Pansy Parkinson, who’d obviously already made friends and mostly ignored the rowdy lot surrounding them. Their prefects also came and introduced themselves as Rosalind Lebeaux and Gregory Stone. Overwhelmed, Harry screwed up his courage to ask the question that had been bothering him since he’d watched Dumbledore talking to the strange man.

“Who is that man, next to Dumbledore?”

Prefect Stone responded, “The dark one? That’s our Head of House, Severus Snape. Don’t worry – his bark is worse than his bite. I wouldn’t cross him, though – he won’t hurt you, and he’ll help you out if you really need it, but he’s not going to let you get away with anything, either. To be honest, we’re all kinda scared of him. Just because his bark is worse than his bite doesn’t mean he doesn’t bite.”

THANKS. Was that supposed to reassure me? Didn’t you start that sentence with “Don’t worry”? Harry appreciated the attempt, though - at least Prefect Stone seemed okay.

“So what else is new?” Replied Harry bitterly, “I thought adults existed to make life difficult?” Prefect Stone looked at him curiously, and Harry gave him a cheerful grin, successfully neutralizing any suspicions the prefect may have harbored.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

“Congratulations, Severus, on your new ward!” exclaimed Dumbledore teasingly, “I’m sure Harry will be quite pleased to have a mentor such as you.”

Severus scowled darkly at the old man, before nearly panicking. There is NO way I’m prepared for this job. Mentor a child? See to his needs? Sure I can supervise a house, but…no. This is a BAD idea. I don’t even LIKE children. Especially THIS child.

“You do realize, Albus, that I hate children? That this is James Potter’s son, and that I’m a Death Eater?! You cannot really expect this to go well?”

Albus looked at him soberly. “You’re not trying to back out now, are you? After all, you agreed to this before.”

Severus glared into the old man's eyes.

“I did nothing of the kind. I agreed that Minerva should mentor the boy.”

But Severus didn't harbor much hope that the headmaster would let it go. Albus had a tendency to stick by his ideas. The more insane they seemed, the more he seemed to like them. Sure enough, the old man insisted. "You did. The fact that you thought that the boy would be in Gryffindor and Minerva would take over means nothing. Do you refuse now?” His voice held a warning, but Severus ignored it.

“To be perfectly blunt, yes. I do refuse. I will not be solely responsible for the wellbeing of that arrogant, bullying imbecile's arrogant, bullying whelp.”

Albus met his eyes, and Severus fought to keep his gaze steady against the silent reprimand. Damnit, old man I’m serious. But the disappointment in the headmasters’ eyes was clear, and Severus suddenly felt like he was fourteen again, and in trouble besides. He held the gaze for as long as he could, but, as usual, could not hold up against the headmaster's disapproval. His own gaze went from angrily defiant to almost pleading. Don’t make me do this. I can’t. You know I can’t. I hated Potter. How can I not hate the boy? How can the boy not hate me? You're not going to conquer more than twenty years of hate through sheer idealism.

Dumbledore’s gaze never wavered, however, and finally Severus couldn’t bear the eye contact any longer.

“Yes sir,” he mumbled resentfully, dropping his eyes, “I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you, Severus. That’s all I can ask.”

At that moment Severus noticed Potter’s eyes on him, and nodded a carefully neutral greeting, almost like one he would give a fellow Deatheater, or suspicious Order member: cool. He would not concede on one point, though.

“I will be strict with the boy. I cannot be expected to keep him alive if he won’t mind me.”

Dumbledore nodded agreement. “His discipline is up to you, Severus. I trust you.” He smiled at Severus, who again dropped his eyes, finding Dumbledore’s sudden approval almost as difficult to bear as his censure. I’m going to disappoint you, old man. I’m not up to this.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Meanwhile Harry was merrily chatting with his housemates, relieved to discover not only that they had readily accepted him, but also that they were truly pleasant to be around: intelligent and friendly, if mostly quieter than the members of other tables. Harry had worried that once separated from Ron, the loud redhead he’d met on the train, he’d be unable to find other friends. Ron hadn’t seemed to like the Slytherins, and Harry hoped that his sorting wouldn’t affect their relationship. Loud as he was, Ron had been amusing on the train, and there was no such thing as too many friends, as far as Harry was concerned. Harry also hoped that he’d be able to avoid the boy Draco for awhile; he’d been arrogant and unpleasant in Diagon Alley, and then actively friendly to Harry once he’d realized who he was. Finally, he’d gone and got a couple of brutish sidekicks. Harry was many things, but he wasn't dumb. Those factors, in combination with previous experience with his cousin, got his hackles up in a hurry. I will not be caught flatfooted here just because people come up and say hello.

Blaise and Theo both seemed really cool, though. Theo was loud and chatty, bragging good-naturedly about how well he’d done in his summertime lessons, and all the fun spells he’d learned, then promptly screwing one up and turning his own hair a blazing violet color. From this Harry learned that Theo was MORE than capable than laughing at himself. Blaise talked less but laughed pretty readily, and occasionally put in a serious comment or acerbic comment that make Harry think the two of them could get on quite well. Finally, though, the meal was over and everybody listened as Dumbledore made a speech about dangerous corridors and forbidden objects before dismissing them all to their dormitories. Harry was enchanted. Dangerous forbidden corridors, objects, a forbidden forest that was even called as much? And what kind of headmaster calmly threatened students with a most painful death if they disobeyed the rules? This place was wicked.  

HPSSHPSSHPSSHPSSHPSSHP

When Harry arrived in the Slytherin common rooms with the other students, he was surprised to find it a warm, sunny place with fat comfortable couches and thick carpeting, all in a nice cool green. Harry remembered the garish colors assigned to the Gryffindors with a shudder. I’d go blind. The windows confused him greatly, though. I could swear that we were underground. Then he remembered the ceiling in the great hall and shrugged. Anybody who could do a whole fake sky could manage a couple of windows. He didn’t have much more time, though, before the prefects came to call everyone to order for a house meeting.

By the time Snape strode into the room, Harry and the rest of the first years were lined up in front of the rest of their House, backs straight and hands clasped before them, nervously shifting from foot to foot or twiddling their thumbs. All except Theo, anyway, whom Harry was rapidly discovering to be absolutely irrepressible. He stood in the proper position, but didn’t look remotely nervous: instead he tugged proudly on his new violet locks, wondering out-loud if he could repeat the spell that had caused it.

Harry also refused to be nervous. Snape was an adult like any other: he’d naturally hate Harry for existing, and probably punish him for it as well. What was the point in trying to please? And so Harry stood with his peers, prepared to ignore the litany of predictable rules that was sure to follow. Snape, however, seemed determined to intimidate; sweeping into the common room as if he were the king and they his lowly servants, and Harry adjusted his attitude accordingly, standing straighter. You don't scare me, asshole, thought Harry fiercely. Bullies attacked those weaker than themselves, so he would just have to not be weaker.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus Snape entered the Slytherin common room as he always did through his office door, walking rapidly up to stand in front of the ranks of students. His eyes immediately picked out Harry, who was staring at him defiantly, chin raised and jaw clenched. Just as I suspected. The boy’s an arrogant little bugger just like his father. Think your little game will bother me, do you? You are a child, and a bratty one at that. You are beneath my notice. And so Severus ignored the brat and gave his usual speech, emphasizing house loyalty and brotherhood, and the consequences if such was broken.

“I am well aware that there will be those of you who do not get along, and within these walls I am uninterested in these little squabbles. However, if the rest of the school should become aware of them you will find me very displeased. Like a family, I expect you to present a united front. Also like a family, I expect the older students to look after the younger, and the younger in turn to, within reason, respect and obey the older. If anyone abuses this authority I expect to be informed and there WILL be consequences for the perpetrator. There will be no hazing, here.”

So Snape wanted them to be a family? That was new one. And of course, you're the loving father, thought Harry sarcastically, Sure. Whatever you say.

Finally, Severus finished his spiel and the Slytherins all started upstairs to unpack. Severus reminded them all of their weekly appointments with him (Harry saw, to his relief, that his wasn't scheduled until Friday night) before letting them go. Albus would probably want me to meet with Harry, thought Severus, but hell it's MY first day back, too. I'll deal with him at another time.

Harry, noticing his gaze, lifted his chin in a challenging gesture that was becoming annoyingly familiar. Besides, the last thing I want to do is confirm his idea that he deserves special treatment. Arrogant son of a...no. I won't call him that, at least. Lily was never anything less than perfect.

He left quickly to find his quarters and his Scotch, hoping to forget the green eyes that were Lily's...and at the same time were not. Lily would never have given a professor such attitude. She had always been polite, and no one could call her arrogant.  Anybody who could take those eyes and make them contemptuous and rude...James Potter's son indeed.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Harry relaxed visibly as his new Head of House left the room. Good enough. You leave me alone, and I'll leave you alone. He left the others to unpacking – it had to be crowded upstairs – and instead sat down on a large green easy chair in the corner. Small as he was, it was big enough for him to curl up in, and lay his head on the armrest. For the moment, though, he just sat, and curled his legs up in front of his body, and looked around him.

What an odd place this is. It's like I'm dreaming. He'd already determined that Hagrid and Dudley's pig tail were all real, though, so he had to believe in magic and Hogwarts as well. From there the sorting hat and the dorm and windows in a basement and a ceiling that looked like the sky seemed positively normal. The logs from the fire could've stood up and talked to him and he'd've greeted them politely and asked them to please sit themselves on the couch and would they like some tea and biscuits? The image made Harry smile, but he watched the logs carefully. You never knew, after all.

It wasn't the logs that acted oddly, though, for in that moment a little ...man?... appeared. He didn't walk or run in, as would be expected in any normal situation. He didn't even blow, burst or fly in but rather just appeared. No slipping, sneaking, coming, creeping, crawling, or catapulting, either. Just one moment nothing, and the next moment a soft pop and an ugly little man with a head like a triangle with huge pointy ears and a bulbous nose sitting on a skinny neck and skinnier body. The odd little man ignored him, though, so Harry just sat watching, quietly entranced while he (Harry guessed) picked up the various detritus from the students' arrival, stoked the fire, and cleaned up some spilled pumpkin juice. Then with another soft pop he disappeared as he had come: one moment there, and another gone.

You mean we don't clean up, here? Really? “Thank you.” Whispered Harry belatedly. Maybe the little man was there, but invisible, he reasoned. After all, it wouldn't look any different whether he “appeared” as in teleported from one place to another, or “appeared” as in, not seen, then seen, or even “appeared” as in not there, then there. Oh, Jesus, what if he didn't even exist before he showed up here? And great. Now I'm waxing philosophic. 11-year-old Aristotle is me. I'm sure he was just somewhere else in the castle, or invisible. It was a whole creature for goodness' sake. These things don't just magically SHOW UP without having existed before. Harry wasn't sure if he could handle it if it did.

At any rate, things seemed to be calming down upstairs, so Harry went to join his classmates. Maybe they can tell me. He thought. Then reconsidered. Oh sure. "Do the weird little people dressed in dishrags exist before you see them?" That's almost like “So if a tree falls in a forest, and no-one's around to hear it...” Harry laughed. I'm such an idiot. My relatives really should've drowned me when they got the chance. “Here lies Harry Potter, the boy-who-was-too-stupid-to-live.”I wonder if I can get that on a tee-shirt? He supposed he could ask about whether they were actually teleporting, or just invisible, though. That didn't sound quite so stupid.

When Harry got to his dormitory room, though, he found his bed and his trunk, and an empty cage, and forgot all about strange little men.

“Where's my owl?” He asked Blaise anxiously. “She was in her cage before, but...”

“Don't worry about it,” interrupted Blaise, “she's just in the owlery. They'll take care of her there so you don't have to.”

Another thing I don't have to do. So what DO I have to do, here? Harry thought. He quickly came to his senses, though. I'll start working when they tell me to. If they can't be bothered to tell me than I can't be bothered to work. I don't want to abandon Hedwig, though.

Harry thought briefly on how to ask without sounding like Hedwig was some kind of pet. Wouldn't want anybody to hurt her. Dudley had killed a snake once, when he caught Harry carrying it around.

“So what do I do if I want to send a letter, if they've taken her?” There. That way it's just a practical question. Theo answered this time, with a knowing smile.

“You can visit her in the owlery as much as you want. You can also send mail using the school owls, if Hedwig is busy.” Harry smiled.

“Thanks, Theo.”

Harry admired his (his!) new (new!) stuff before going to bed, rearranging his trunk (though it was already perfectly organized) and making his bed (though he was going to sleep in it almost immediately anyway). Finally, though, Harry went to bed, reveling in the comfort and warmth of it. He couldn't seem to sleep though, and finally he figured out what was bothering him. The room felt huge, compared to the cupboard where he was used to sleeping. It distracted and almost frightened him. Finally he noticed the curtains on either side of his bed, and released their ties. Safely enclosed, Harry went to sleep.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

The next day Harry woke up with his classmates and went down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Just like the night before, the table was spread with an enormous variety and quantity of food and drink. The main “course” for breakfast this morning appeared to be quiche, and as before Harry looked around unobtrusively at the other students eating before surreptitiously grabbing himself a slice of the quiche and a large glass of a drink called pumpkin juice which, to Harry's considerable relief, resembled a pumpkin only in its color, and actually tasted quite nice. Harry had discovered the night before that he liked the stuff quite a bit. The quiche was also quite good, though the slice was large and Harry found himself unable to finish.

Then Snape came to hand out class schedules, and Harry saw to his mixed joy and trepidation that his first class of the day, something called Herbology, would be shared with the Gryffindors. I'll see Ron! I hope he doesn't hate me...or my friends.

Harry was appreciating Theo and Blaise more and more as time wore on. They'd had once again chosen to sit by Harry that morning, and Harry again found that he greatly enjoyed their company. Blaise, like Harry himself, wasn't much of a morning person, so the two of them let Theo do the talking, while occasionally sharing amused looks with each other at his overly-enthusiastic antics. His hair, unfortunately, had returned to its usual color overnight, and so Theo spent breakfast trying to spell it blue, until Snape called him sharply to task for, as he put it, “attempted suicide.” Harry glared at the professor for the interference, though he had to admit that pointing one's wand at one's face while spouting garbled spell-words was not the brightest plan, especially after Seamus Finnegan almost blew up his goblet trying to turn water to rum.

Why do you need a spell, anyway? Thought Harry. His own hair and skin had changed on their own on more than one occasion, though not entirely on purpose. Harry briefly remembered the hat's comments about hiding, and felt briefly ashamed before cheering up immensely as he realized that that sort of magic would not be forbidden at Hogwarts. That he could, like Theo, play with it as he would. Funfunfunfunfunfunfunfun. Thought Harry, and immediately started thinking up schemes. He eventually had to go to class, though, so he abandoned his plans for the moment and followed his classmates.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Herbology, it turned out, was the study of magical plants, and was taught in the school's greenhouse and surrounding herb garden. When Harry arrived, he hesitated, before sitting quickly next to Ron, who had already sat down.

“Hey, Ron.” He greeted.

“Oh. Hey Harry.” Responded Ron, as if he'd only just noticed him, “Err...how's Slytherin, then?” The question seemed like an inconsequential one on the surface, but Harry got the impression that his response was tremendously important to the other boy. Harry remembered Ron's attitude from the train and so responded carefully,

“Surprisingly good, actually. I mean, that boy Malfoy still seems like a prat, but there're a couple of other first years that've been really fun so far.”

“Really?” Questioned Ron, sounding more skeptical than was necessarily polite. “Who?” Harry pointed out his new friends on the other side of the greenhouse.

“See them? That's Theo and Blaise. They seem pretty cool. Theo even turned his own hair purple yesterday!”

“Umm...Theo wouldn't be Theodore...Nott...would he?” Said Ron.

“Uh. Yeah. so?” Ron paled.

“His Da's a Death-Eater!”

“A what?”

“A Death-Eater! A follower of You-Know-Who!”

“Oh. Umm...that's interesting.” Harry didn't know what to think. Theo was so...normal.

“Interesting?! He might be out for your blood and all you can think is “interesting”?!

“Well, yeah. I mean, not everybody's just like their parents. I can't go around judging 11-year-olds for their parents, can I? Theo's been nice. What, do you go around saying like, “His father's a Death-Eater,” and “her mom is ugly” and “his Gramma smokes pot on weekends” and “her aunt is schizophrenic” and “his uncle gets drunk and locks him up in a cupboard and forgets to feed him, beats him up when he's bored and-?” Harry cut off abruptly, as he realized that he was getting upset and Ron was staring at him. Hopefully that last bit didn't sound too personal. Eh, Ron's pretty clueless anyhow, far as I can tell. He decided to be prudent, though, and quickly came up with a somewhat-truthful excuse to give for his outburst.

“Sorry about that. I just get tired of the whole celebrity thing. I don't want to be "Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived." I wish I could just be "Harry Potter: that kid who sits next to me in Potions." I guess I want to give Theo the same chance. Theo's just a kid, and a nice one at that.”

“All right. I'll drop it, then?”

Harry nodded, relieved. Ron still sounded skeptical, but Harry could deal with that: at least he was being friendly, still. For the rest of the class Harry and Ron worked companionably together, chatting about their respective Houses and their impressions of Hogwarts in general.

Eventually Harry looked up at the Slytherins and noticed them staring at him; some, like Theo, with open curiosity and others, like Malfoy, with pure malice. Malfoy's relationship with Harry had gone steadily downhill since they'd first met, so Harry was unsurprised at his attitude, but Harry was startled to see that Draco wasn't the only one glaring.

Harry gulped and looked back down at his plant, concentrating on trimming it exactly as he'd been told. He had plenty of experience with pruning, after all. Meanwhile, he contemplated the suddenly chilly reception he was getting with the other members of his house.

Brilliant. What'd I do? I'm already making waves. Finally Harry realized. It must not be just Ron with prejudices about other houses. Damnit. Why didn't I predict this? I'm not usually that dumb. Finally Harry decided not to worry overmuch about it. Ron seems mostly okay with my Slytherin friends, so if they decide to have a problem with it then that's their issue. I'll hang with Ron and good riddance.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

“Soo...what's with you and Weasley?”

Harry, Theo, and Blaise were in the common room that evening doing their homework. (Or most of it – Harry had quickly concluded that History of Magic was utterly uninteresting and otherwise useless and so had decided not to bother with it.)

“What do you mean?” Asked Harry, hoping to catch Theo's attitude about the situation before responding.

“I mean that he's a Weasely, as Gryffindor as they come. What're you doing hanging out with a Gryffindor?” He still sounded mostly curious, rather than hostile, so Harry answered politely.

“I met him on the train before we were sorted. He seems like a nice bloke, though he talks even more than you do.” Harry smiled teasingly at Theo as Blaise laughed.

“His brothers are nice, too, if you discount Percy.” Then Harry figured he'd skip the politiking and get to the heart of the matter. “Why, is there a problem?” Theo considered for a moment before responding slowly. “Not with me, but with others...probably. Remember that speech on presenting a united front to the other houses? A lot of people take that to mean a united front against other houses. Especially Gryffindor. You didn't notice the looks Malfoy was giving you?”

“Sure I did, but, I mean, that's Malfoy for goodness' sake. I don't think he knows how to be pleasant. Smarmy, yes, when he wants something from you, but not truly charming by any standard. I do see your point, though – he wasn't the only one glaring. That's so silly, though. We hate three quarters of the school just because a talking hat sorted us out differently?”

“Why not?” Put in Blaise, “I mean, the hat did sort us based on personality.”

“Oh, come on, Blaise. How many people do you know whose personalities can be summed up as 'smart,' 'courageous,' 'loyal,' or 'cunning'? I mean, someone could easily be all four in equal measure!” Theo laughed at this.

“I bet the sorting hat would just blow up.” Harry laughed, too.

“Hee hee. Can a hat have a mental breakdown? I mean, it doesn't look like it should have a brain in the first place, but..." Theo and Blaise looked at him strangely.

“What on earth are you going on about?”

“Nevermind. I'm just being weird.” Blaise spoke up then.

“Whatever. You do have a point. About the houses, I mean. Courage and loyalty go together, for one. A coward leaves his friends when danger comes near, where a brave man sticks around. I doubt most of the 'Puffs are really wimps. A little slow, maybe.”

Oh, thank God this isn't going to be an issue. Harry had really gotten to like Ron, but hadn't wanted to lose Blaise and Theo over him, either.

“Yeah. Same goes for intelligence and cunning. I bet a lot of people could fit into at least two houses. Think about that girl Hermione. If I'd met her on the street I'da pegged her for a Ravenclaw.”

Blaise smiled a bit sarcastically. "All right, Harry. I got it the first time. Anyway, nobody said you couldn't be friends with the Lions, if they're amenable as well. What happens if they're not, though?”

“Eh, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

Blaise and Theo just looked at him. Harry smiled sheepishly.

“Errr...weird muggle thing. It means I'll deal with that problem when it comes. So far they've been relatively friendly. I figure if there's a problem it'll come from the Slytherin front.” Harry shivered momentarily. I haven't seen the older students' response yet. 1st years I could handle, but...

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

A couple days later, Harry had another class shared with the Gryffindors: Potions, taught, to Harry's anxiety, by the Slytherin Head of House. Harry'd shown up a little early, and, seeing that there was no-one else yet in the room, sat next to Ron. They chatted as students trickled in, until Theo came and sat at their table. He held out his hand to Ron.

“Theodore Nott.” Ron hesitated, then glanced at Harry and shook Theo's hand.

“Ron Weasley.”

“And I'm Blaise Zabini.” Came a voice from behind them. Used to keeping aware of his surroundings, Harry wasn't startled, but the other two were. Blaise sat down at their table just as the doors slammed open (this time Harry did startle) and Severus Snape walked in.

Given a chance to observe his head of house closer up (Harry, Ron, Theo, and Blaise were all sitting in the front row), Harry mostly ignored the professor's welcoming speech (if you could call it that – it sounded distinctly unfriendly.) in favor of observing the man himself.

Severus Snape was build tall and relatively thin, though his robes betrayed some musculature in his chest. His hair was longish, greasy and black. Suddenly, though, Harry caught his eyes and found he couldn't look away – that he was trapped like a deer caught in the headlights or rodent before a snake. The man's black eyes narrowed slightly and Harry shivered. Ohhhhhh shit. He noticed me. Harry got the strong impression that this was a dangerous man, and no mere professor. More dangerous than Uncle Vernon by a long shot: where Vernon got mad and struck out, Harry figured this man would smile coldly to your face and hunt you down later: not a man one wanted to piss off.

*

Then the man spoke, and Harry knew that he'd been wrong: this man was not going to just leave him alone.

“Ah. Harry Potter. Our new...celebrity.” The tone was ice-cold. And another adult who hates me. Beautiful. I sure know how to pick'em, too. Harry shivered, and then, as always, raised his chin and glared. Damnit you don't scare me.

Harry was relatively adept at pissing people off without giving them an excuse to object, though, so he acted as if he'd not heard the snideness of the man's tone. Only Harry's expression betraying his true feelings.

“Here.”

As Harry had intended,(though he acknowledged later that that hadn't been his most “Slytherin” moment) Snape seemed irritated by Harry's neutral response and snapped out,

“What would I get if I added powdered root of Asphodial to an infusion of Wormwood?” And, just as I thought, he's got it in for me already. Just like everybody else. Why do adults hate me so much? Again Harry answered neutrally, as Hermione Granger waved her hand in the air at the table next to him.

“I don't know, sir.” Snape sneered.

“Apparently, fame isn't everything.” So he hates me for my ruddy fame, is that it? Then again, I suppose it doesn't matter why. Snape continued.

“Let's try again. Where would you go if I asked you to bring me a bezoar?” Again Harry answered,

“I don't know, sir,” but this time he twisted the sir to make it an insult. Again, Hermione clearly knew the answer, but Snape ignored her in favor of antagonizing Harry.

“You didn't even bother to look at your books before getting here, did you, Potter?” Of course I didn't, you bastard. You think it was worth it to me to read books on POTIONS INGREDIENTS in front of Uncle Vernon? It was PLENTY bad enough returning home after Dudley got that tail, I think. Not that he blamed Hagrid. It was clear to him that Hagrid wasn't much more an adult than Harry himself. None of this kept the other students from laughing, however.

Harry sat up straighter and answered the professor with a cold glare, determined to let nothing of his humiliation show. Snape was speaking again, however.

“One last time. What is the difference between Asphodel and Monkshood?” This time Hermione was actually standing up in her eagerness to answer and Harry gave up on keeping his anger out of his voice.

“Perhaps.” He answered icily, “you should ask Hermione. You'd probably have better luck.* Unless you want me to get the answers wrong, perhaps? If you're so determined to humiliate me in class, why not be more creative?”

Harry didn't know what made the Professor feel so dangerous, but he had a suspicion. Ron had said quite a bit about Death Eaters in their conversations that week. He'd even told him some of whose parents to avoid, like Nott's and Malfoy's. He continued.

“I'm sure I'd do a fine strip-tease under the Imperious.”

Snape tensed, thinking suddenly, Does he know?, before relaxing some. Of course not. He's just making wild accusations. And who cares? He's an 11 year old kid. Then he remembered. Who for some reason knows what a strip-tease AND the Imperious curse are.

Severus was somewhat startled by the child's perceptiveness, though. The question about Snape's intent had clearly not been a question at all. Severus ignored that, though, preferring to return to the task at hand. Most of the kids in the class seemed mildly confused by Harry's reference, being familiar with either the Imperious curse, or some with muggle strip clubs, but not both. It was Harry's blatant disrespect, rather than his lewdness, that bothered Snape, though.

“Ten points from -” Damn “-Slytherin for your disrespect, Potter.” Snape hated taking points from his own house, but he hated Harry more, and now Harry's house-mates (other than those sitting closest to him) were looking at Harry with shock and anger. Harry would learn not to mess with Severus Snape.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

That afternoon Snape got a note from the Headmaster requesting his presence that evening in his office, and so he'd reported immediately after dinner.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Asked Severus formally.

“Ah! Severus, so nice to see you!” Intoned the Headmaster. “Care for a sherbet lemon?”

Severus just looked at him with impatience.

“All right then, Severus. Have it your way.” Dumbledore smiled, his trademark annoying twinkle clearly in evidence. “How is it going with Harry?”

Abruptly Severus wished that he'd let the Headmaster have his long-winded cordial greetings and offers of tea and candies. How could he answer that the only contact he'd had with Potter was to belittle the boy in Potions class? Damn Albus and his damned "innocent" questions. I'm in trouble already.

Albus just waited patiently for his potions master to answer. Finally Severus did.

“Not well, I'm afraid. The boy is an arrogant, defiant, brat. He does nothing but glare at me and challenge my authority. He's just-”

“Like his father.” Interrupted Albus. “I'm sure, but that was not my question. How did he behave when you met with him? Did you talk about his attitude?” More “innocent” questions. My favorite.

“Well, sir, as you know I've had several classes to teach and my duties as head-of-house are especially heavy in the first week. I've not had the time to meet with him one-on-one.”

“Yes of course,” said the headmaster understandingly. “There's no reason that the safety and wellbeing of the savior of the wizarding world should come before any other duties, especially when, after all, he is James Potter's boy.” There was no sarcasm in the headmaster's tone, but Severus knew the man well enough to tell when he was getting annoyed, and enough to dread it. There was enough of an edge already in the headmaster's voice to make Severus nervous. He, too, was also getting annoyed, though. It's been a week. ONE WEEK since the boy's arrived. What does it matter how he's doing?

“Well he seems to be doing just fine.”

“Oh! So you have spoken with him, then. And how's he adjusting to his classes? Has he made any friends yet?”

Shit, shit, shit, a hundred times SHIT. This time Severus hesitated before answering, and the twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes disappeared as he asked another question, one that made Severus want to wince.

"Or does it simply not matter to you how he is doing? He's only one 11-year-old boy out of forty, after all. Why should you take special interest in his welfare?” Left unspoken was the fact that the Headmaster had asked Severus to do just that.

At Severus' continued silence Albus' voice, which until then had remained mild, gained a degree of sharpness, and his speech took on a directness that only manifested when the headmaster got truly angry.

"So, besides humiliating him in class what contact have you had with the boy?” At that point Severus decided that he'd rather be anywhere else than under the headmaster's gaze. How did he know about that? The sudden change in the Headmaster's tone made the potions master tremble. When he wanted to, Albus was very good at reprimanding someone without ever sounding like that was what he was doing. The fact that he chose to be this direct meant that the headmaster was truly angry and Severus' ego was about to take a serious blow. Maybe he could stave it off?

“I did not want-” Severus began, but again he was interrupted.

“Severus it does not matter what you wanted. I asked and you agreed.”

Severus didn't know what to say to that but decided to try.

“You can't expect-” Only to be interrupted again.

“Lily also asked you to care for the boy, I believe. Am I wrong?”

“I- no, but -”

“Severus be quiet. I'm asking, and Lily's asking. If you refuse, do so, but do NOT agree, then ignore your responsibility or abuse your authority.”

Severus objected. I would NEVER abuse a child, damnit Albus you KNOW that.

“I wouldn't-”

“Perhaps not. But you HAVE been ignoring it. I hadn't expected you of all people to skimp out of something this important. I believe you said you'd “do your best”?”

Severus swallowed hard and ducked his head so the Headmaster couldn't see how his words hurt. It had been a long time since Albus had spoken to him so harshly. He tried again to stave off the Headmaster's anger.

“Albus, I tried to refuse and you-” His words, however, had the opposite effect than intended as the Headmaster's voice took on a note of steel.

“Expressed my displeasure? And why wouldn't I? You promised Lily that you would care for her son. She pleaded with you and you acquiesced. Lily is dead, Severus. It is a little late for you to refuse now. I hadn't thought you a coward, to promise someone something and wait until they're dead before going back on it.”

Severus couldn't meet the Headmaster's eyes. The disappointment was thick in Albus' tone, and Severus cringed under his harsh words, wincing every time the old man mentioned Lily. And for Albus to call him a coward. That truly did it. Albus had never spoken so harshly to Severus, and the potions master felt himself begin to tremble even more. Only Albus could make Severus feel like this much of a schmuck; only Albus could make Severus cry, now that Lily was gone. He was getting close, and Severus knew he wasn't done.

“Albus please,” Severus pleaded. “The boy is-" The headmaster interrupted again, this time more gently.

“Arrogant and defiant with no respect for authority. So you've said. You'll have to deal with it. Severus, look at me.”

Severus winced again at the command in the man's tone and looked up apprehensively. The headmaster caught and held his gaze before demanding softly.

“Do. You. Refuse?” Severus hesitated before responding in a hoarse whisper.

“No, sir.” But the Headmaster still wasn't finished.

“Good. Will you actually do it this time, instead of just saying you will.?” Severus looked away again in hurt at the humiliating question. I said I would, didn't I? But his conscience whispered to him. You did last time, too. You deserved that question. The word coward cut again through Severus' mind as he answered again.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I expect a report in two days. You will have met with him by then, or have fabricated a damned good excuse why not. You will monitor Harry's grades and behavior, in addition to his general well-being. You will be aware of who his friends are, what he does with his free time, what his favorite classes are, how he is sleeping. In short, you will look out for him as a parent or caring mentor might. Do you understand?”

And Severus winced again as the Headmaster explained exactly what was expected of him, as if Severus would worm out of any duty left inexplicit. Yes, I get it, dammit. Severus' voice held the tiniest edge as he responded,

“Yes, sir.” The headmasters voice regained a level of sharpness as he said,

“Fine. Dismissed.” Severus got up, eager to escape, before pausing. I can't leave things like this. He's still angry with me. The wind left Severus' sails completely – I hate apologies - as he turned towards Albus uncertainly.

“Sir?” Albus' voice warmed marginally, encouraging Severus to continue.

“Yes, Severus?”

“I – I apologize. Sir. I – I'm sorry.” Finally, the Headmaster smiled, and the suddenly not-so-annoying twinkle returned.

“You're forgiven.”

And finally Severus was able to escape, profoundly relieved but dreading the upcoming confrontation – for that was what Severus was sure the talk would turn into – with Potter. Harry. I'm sure Albus intends me to call him Harry. But does it really matter? I've already more than alienated the kid.

“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.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

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...

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

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.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

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.

With Harry's back to the wall, Severus first noticed the large, fading, hand-shaped bruise on Harry's face, then similar bruises on Harry's upper arms, and finally the one they'd predicted on his chest. Then he remembered Harry's wince and looked at the shoulder he'd grabbed, and noticed a dark, raised patch that extended out of view behind Harry. Severus swallowed, and spoke softly.

“Ha-Potter. I need you to turn around.” Harry looked at him soberly, and, for the first time since Snape had known him, dropped his eyes and obeyed. The potions master swallowed a gasp. The boy's back was covered with infected weals, some simply red, some horribly puffy and angry-looking, weeping and even borderline gangrenous. Why didn't I catch this when the boy first came in? Questioned the potions master, angry with himself. These should never have been allowed to get this bad, glamours or no glamours.

Harry could hardly believe he'd obeyed his manipulative bastard of a Head-of-House. He'd not even glared: it just didn't feel worth it. He told himself that he'd just been waiting for the potions master to ask nicely, but in reality he just felt exhausted. He knew that, whether he was cooperative or not, the marks would be discovered, and harbored the tiniest hope that once they were, the bustling matron could fix them. He also hoped that maybe now that the git's curiosity had been assuaged he'd leave Harry alone. No such luck. Harry turned back around and, after a lengthy silence, the potions master spoke.

“You want to explain how, exactly, you got those marks, Harry?” Harry glared. Are you really that dumb?

“No, actually.” Harry answered innocently. The professor frowned.

“Let me rephrase. Please tell me where you got those marks, Harry.” Huh. Maybe he really is that dumb. Either that or he wants me to “talk” about my experiences. Right. that's likely. To Harry's relief, his anger returned at the professor's prying.

“Well let's see. There's a funny coincidence there, actually. The hand-shaped one on my arm is from a hand, on my arm...the foot-shaped one on my chest is from a foot, on my chest...and the belt marks on my back are from a belt, on my back. You'll also notice a hand-shaped mark on my face. Use your deductive reasoning skills. Where do you think I got it?”

Severus closed his eyes at that. The boy was clearly still trying to make him angry, but, for once, he wasn't succeeding. How could Severus feel anything other than sympathy and horror at the boy's blunt appraisal of his injuries, even if he wanted to? I never did make a good Death Eater. The potions master opened his eyes again and sighed. Life would be so much easier, sometimes, if I did.

“Very well, Potter.” He said, but for once the name held no bitterness. “We'll talk about that later. For now, you're off the hook. You WILL, however, cooperate with Poppy and obey her orders TO THE LETTER or you will have no privacy and no freedom until those weals are COMPLETELY healed.”

Finally Snape managed to muster up some vitriol at the first-year's dangerous stubbornness. “If the infection goes any further it could KILL you. Stupid boy. Why didn't you have the sense to get them fixed in the first place?” His heart wasn't in the insults, though, and he quailed at the look Poppy sent him for it. Severus LIKED Poppy, though it'd be pulling teeth to get him to admit it out loud. Seeking to redeem himself, Severus continued.

“We WILL talk about this. I cannot have you hiding injuries from me, regardless of your motivation. For now, though, let Poppy treat you, then go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning – I have a meeting with the headmaster.”

Snape sounded determined and angry, and suddenly Harry had a horrible thought. “About what, sir?”

“About trusting the supposed savior of the wizarding world to a pair of muggles already known to hate magic without so much as checking to make sure they didn't kill the kid.”

“NO!” Harry shouted, standing up rapidly. Oh, God, he can't. He just can't.

“No, what, Potter? Are you saying he didn't entrust you to those abusive bastards? Surely even you realize that your treatment there was not normal.” Harry just fumed. It was if you are, asshole.

Harry gritted his teeth to keep from yelling his frustration, but he was ready to spit fire and it showed. “No, you're not going to talk to him about it. It's none of his business, just as it was none of yours. Get your bloody ugly beak out of my business.”

Nothing I haven't heard before, brat. Try again. “Yes, I am, because yes, it is. It is always the business of adults to look out for the children in their care. Now, you need your treatment and I have no time for this. I'm going.”

Severus turned and walked to the door of the infirmary, only to have it shut in his face and lock. Startled, he wheeled around to see Potter smirking at him. “No, you're not, because I won't let you.” Snape was seriously impressed – controlled wandless magic from an 11-year-old. I don't think even the Dark Lord... but hid it. He probed with his magic and found the door held shut by Harry's own.

“Need I remind you that you haven't blocked the flue? If you continue to block my way out I will simply bring the headmaster here. It might do him good to see for himself what I'm talking about.”

Harry paled, and Snape read his lips, picking up a word he otherwise would've missed, it had been so quiet. “No.”

“No? Then open the door. Understand that I could just blast through. I only refrain because doing so would cause you pain.”

Harry just stared at him, defiant as ever. This time, though, Severus could clearly see the desperation behind the anger. There wasn't anything he could do about it at the moment though – he had to go see the headmaster! - so he continued to force the issue. Sensing that the door was still locked, he walked briskly over to the flue and picked up some powder from a box on the mantelpiece. He was just about to throw it in when he heard a louder, desperate “no!” and the click of a lock. Good. I really didn't want to have this conversation in front of the boy. Severus nodded at the boy and walked towards the now-opened door. As he crossed the threshold, though, the boy called out to him.

“Please!” The pleading in the boy's voice wrenched Severus to a stop. He'd never heard the boy's voice sound like that, and, now that the boy's defiant attitude was explained, never wanted to. He'd never imagined that the boy could be so very vulnerable and frightened, never even saw him as a child, really. “Please, sir. Please don't tell. I'll do anything, sir. Truly, anything.” Severus sighed heavily. Damnit, Albus, I knew I wasn't up to this. What do I do? I CAN'T grant the child's request, but not doing so may break any semblance of trust the boy may be developing. Severus sighed. Maybe, now that Severus had figured out what was going on, and alienated the boy further in the process, Albus would assign Harry a new guardian; someone he could trust. The thought made the potions master feel quite relieved, then terribly guilty. Lily, please forgive me. I'm trying here.

“Harry I'm sorry. I know that this is not something you want known. But if Albus is kept in the dark about this then he will send you back to that house, and I cannot allow that. I am charged with protecting you, and I will fulfill that responsibility. I am sorry that the only way I can do so, in this case, is to investigate and tell things you would rather keep hidden, but that will not stop me from doing so.” With that, the man left.

But Harry hadn't heard his speech, had barely seen him leave. Responsibility and protection and Albus Dumbledore had little to do with Harry Potter. Harry had fought hard for the control he'd had over his life: he'd kept his secrets through the strain of the glamours, the pain of his wounds and the stress of avoiding his head-of-house. He'd left life at the Dursley's behind: his life had been his own, for the first time. He'd gone to his classes and done his homework and made friends and joined a sports team, like a normal child, for the first time. Then Snape had interfered, stripping his secrets from him and, now, telling them to others. He was a freak again. Next to that, the fact that the man was sorry meant nothing. World War II had begun.

Or, well, would, once the annoyingly sympathetic and attentive Madame Pomfrey got done with him. As soon as Snape had left she'd gone and got her salves and her bandages. Now she was back, and looking at him expectantly.

“Well, Harry.” She said matter-of-factly, “Let's get you cleaned up. Would you rather I deal with your bruises first or your back? For the moment all I need to do is put on some topical salve. Later Professor Snape will come with some potions for you to take, to help deal with the infections.”

Topical salve. She means she's going to touch me. Harry shivered. The last thing he wanted, right now, was for someone to touch his injuries. He already felt far too exposed, with his shirt off and his- glamours, Snape had called them – off. He was also angry at the world in general and didn't want people anywhere near him for the time being. But, again, Madame Pomfrey had been kind, and even if her sympathy grated on Harry's nerves and he really wanted to lash out at her as he did at Snape, he knew she didn't deserve it. She was just doing her job. Maybe if he just asked.

“Can – can I put it on myself, please?”

Madame Pomfrey paused. She had worked at Hogwarts for many years, and understood the motivation behind Harry's surprisingly polite question. Poor child. How must it feel to have every secret exposed in so little time? If only they weren't on your back I'd be able to say yes. Well, I'll just do my best to make you comfortable, I guess.

“For the ones that you can reach, yes. There's no reason for me to do it and not you. For the others – no. Your back is really messed up right now. It is imperative that we don't miss a spot. If there's someone you'd prefer to do it, I can fetch them, though.”

Damn, damn, damn. Why can't ANYTHING go right today? Harry didn't have anyone else to ask, because nobody else knew. The fact that the matron had given him the option barely helped. He really didn't want anyone touching him right now. He just shook his head.

“All right then. I have to be honest with you – I'll be gentle as I can but doing your back is going to hurt. Would you rather do that first, get it over with, or would you rather I hand you the salve for your bruises?”

Harry closed his eyes and shuddered again, fighting hard to remain polite through his anxiety. This is not her fault. She's trying to help me. She's not trying to scare me. NOT her fault. Save it for Snape. “Bruises, please.”

Poppy handed him a jar, and motioned for him to go ahead and get started. Then she held up a mirror so he could do his face, showing him on the mirror when he missed a spot, and explaining that the salve would help encourage his body to reabsorb the blood that was causing them. “They'll be gone by tomorrow morning, this way.” She said.

Finally the bruises were done and it came time to do Harry's back. Pomfrey moved to walk behind Harry, but he pivoted to keep her in sight and she sighed with exasperation.

“Harry I cannot do this when you keep turning.” Harry blushed, but did not turn around, and Poppy felt a glimmer of understanding. “Would it help if you could watch me while I do it? I can set up a mirror for you.” Harry blushed even further, but nodded slightly, relieved that they could compromise. He didn't like having her behind him at all, but being able to see would help. Poppy handed him a normal-looking mirror, explaining that it would show anything Harry liked within a short distance. Harry thought of his back, and Poppy, and sure enough the mirror captured everything Poppy was doing. Okay one hurdle dealt with. Thought the mediwitch, and opened the jar of salve. Harry stiffened visibly as her hand approached his back with it, arching his back as far as he could to get away without actually moving his whole body away. Poppy sighed and paused.

“Relax, please, Harry. I know this is hard for you but I have to get this salve on you and it will be a lot easier with your cooperation.”

Harry ducked his head briefly in shame, and spoke angrily under his breath. “I'm trying.” Poppy knew she hadn't been meant to hear that, and felt the sympathy and pity well within her once more. How, then, would you react if you weren't trying? You'd probably be off hiding somewhere. Merlin this poor child.

Harry remained wholly silent as Poppy touched the salve to the first weal on his back, fighting to keep still and hold his magic inside. He desperately wanted to protect himself, to pull up his shield and his glamours and fight with his fists and his magic against this thing that was hurting him. Instead he grimly fought to hide his fear and his pain behind a blank expression, as he always did. He tried to remember that this was not Vernon, that the mediwitch did not mean to hurt him, that this would help him and he had to stay still, but his instinct believed differently and being stuck between what his reason knew and what his baser instincts told him added to his strain. If this were Vernon, he could hold everything back because he knew he had to, but he would also try to escape. Remembering that this was the mediwitch, he could hold still, but the longer the pain went on the harder it was to keep from defending himself with magic. Something had to give.

Then Poppy fumbled with the salve, almost dropping it. She moved her hand quickly to catch it and before Harry even knew what was happening the mediwitch was being thrown across the room, his shields and glamours were up, and he was under the bed he'd been sitting on, his back to the wall. When he realized what was happening Harry “caught” the poor mediwitch at the last moment, giving her the gentlest landing he could manage. It was too late for everything else, though. Something was making enormous amounts of noise and he finally realized that it was some sort of alarm. Every bit of glass in the infirmary had broken: the windows, the potions bottles, the lamps, everything - and every bed had surrounded Harry's such that nobody could get to him through them. Harry could see the mediwitch from underneath them, though, and breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that she was already standing up. Miraculously, she hadn't even gotten hit by the breaking glass. Oh thank God.

The mediwitch bent over and breathed heavily for a bit, looking around her at the mess, and Harry took the time to calm himself down, now that the threat was – err- dealt with. The Poppy stood up straight to stare at Harry, looking a bit shaken but otherwise just exasperated.

“I believe, Mr. Potter, that I asked you to cooperate?” Asked the mediwitch, looking pointedly around at the destruction Harry had wrought. Harry was considerably heartened by the quiet humor in her tone.

He thought she'd be angry. Now that she made it clear that she wasn't, he attempted to match her calm.

“Umm...oops?” Tried Harry.

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

When Severus and Albus rushed in, they could only stand in wonder at the sight before them. The infirmary was almost entirely destroyed, too covered with broken glass for them to even enter safely. Harry was in the corner underneath a hospital bed, smiling hugely, every other bed and table in the infirmary clustered around him, and Poppy Pomfrey was rolling on a spot of floor completely free of glass, laughing as if she'd never stop.

Severus alternated his stare between the apparently insane mediwitch and Albus Dumbledore's own incredulous expression, until Albus noticed his scrutiny and smiled.

“I knew there was a reason I hired that woman.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Exhausted from the eventful morning, Harry fell asleep under his table while the infirmary was getting cleaned up. The windows were fixed easily with magic, but the potions bottles and the potions in them had mixed into a thick, noxious gel studded with bits of razor sharp broken glass that had to be carefully disposed of. The amount of work to replace them would be astounding, but Severus remained silent after hearing the tale Poppy told of Harry trying, and failing, to cope. He remembered with clarity the almost-perfect circle of “safe” space around Poppy with wonder. How on earth did she survive the destruction? The mediwitch didn't have a mark on her, despite being showered with an entire room's worth of broken glass. Somehow, Harry had kept her safe. Next to that, the potions mattered little. He'd brew them again. Harry still had some detentions to make up, after all...

Poppy figured she'd just let the child sleep. He needed the rest, after all. The morning had to have been terrifying for him, and then to top it off with that unbelievable display of power- Poppy shuddered, clearly remembered flying through the air towards the stone wall. She hadn't told Albus and Severus about that part, only about the glass. The two of them could BOTH use a break. And so she helped the others clean up, watching the child out of the corner of her eye while the beds were moved as quietly as possible back to their proper places. The boy stirred while they were doing it, his face always towards whomever was closest, but didn't fully wake. Poppy finally stopped Severus and Albus when they went to move the five final beds.

“Leave them. He put the beds there for a reason and I don't want him to wake up feeling exposed. In fact I'd be very surprised if he allowed us to move them without waking.”

Severus sounded unconvinced. “Allowed us, Poppy?”

“Well, sure. He's been monitoring us this entire time, I think, and you'll notice his shield is still up. He's not going to let three adults wander about after all this destruction and with him so vulnerable, surely. We'll let him come out when he's ready. In the meantime, the beds stay.”

Snape suddenly realized something. “Poppy...you didn't manage to finish, did you?”

Poppy sighed resignedly, “no. I have about half still to go.”

“I'll help you. Clearly I should not have left you to do this alone.”

“No. You will leave. Your presence will, frankly, only frighten him worse. In fact, I'm afraid I must ask that both of you leave now, so that Harry and I can deal with this.”

“What? No! Are you crazy?”

“You want to bet your life that Harry can catch both of us, Severus?”

Severus stared at her, shocked. “What exactly do you mean by “catch,” Poppy?”

Albus smiled behind his hand, as Poppy attempted to get Severus to realize what the headmaster had already inferred. “Oh, use your blinking BRAIN, Severus! Why on earth would Harry panic with me already 9 meters away?!”

Severus blanched, looking back and forth between where Harry was and where Pomfrey had been laughing on the ground. “You don't mean to say...”

“DUH! YES, Severus. I was at Harry's bedside. Then I flew 9 meters before stopping net about four centimeters from the wall, and dropping slowly to the floor. This while the whole BLOODY ROOM was getting destroyed and the air was full of shards of broken glass. And yet here I stand, perfectly intact.” Finally her composure cracked. “I don't BLOODY want to take the BLOODY chance that he can do it again, okay? So you leave. NOW.”

“But how are you – what if!?”

“The boy trusts me. Sort of. He doesn't trust you, unfortunately. We'll be okay. What you can do for us, right now, is leave.”

Severus nodded stiffly and left. Albus paused to talk briefly with the mediwitch.

“You don't think he'll throw you again?”

“What I think is that he didn't mean to in the first place, so whether he will or not depends on the environment he wakes up in. I don't want him thinking he's in trouble.”

In the Infirmary Poppy was God. The headmaster took the hint and left.

PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

Poppy stood in front of the cluster of beds where Harry was hidden, then crouched down so she could see him eye to eye, or at least could once he woke up. To her surprise, he opened his eyes when she looked at him, and sat up. How long has he been awake? Ignoring the fact that Harry was currently hiding under a table, and had destroyed her infirmary only two hours before, Poppy called to him in a normal tone of voice.

“Harry? Come out here please, will you? I'm sorry but we've got to get the rest of your back treated.”

Harry just grimaced.

“Yeah, I know. You're already half-done, though.” She coaxed. Then she smiled teasingly. “I'll give you a lollipop!” Harry stuck out his tongue, finally smiling a bit, and came out on the opposite side from where Poppy was standing. He blushed as he stood up and looked around at the newly repaired windows.

“Umm...sorry I – err – destroyed your infirmary.” And threw you across the room. Poppy looked at him seriously.

“Do you think you can avoid it this time?” It was an honest question, not a request, and Harry considered it.

“Umm...it would help if you gave me some breaks. I just feel this – pressure- that builds when I'm hurt. I was trying not to move, so my magic came out instead.” Poppy nodded, pleasantly surprised that he'd shared as much as he had.

“We can do that. How's every five minutes? You should also tell me if you need a break before that.”

Harry just nodded and sat back on the bed. Poppy repaired the mirrors discreetly and set them up as before. “Just tell me when you need a break, all right?” Poppy reiterated. “Flying was – interesting – but I prefer a broomstick.”

Harry blushed again and nodded, and they began again.

By the time Poppy finished, the sky was darkening, and Harry felt stressed and exhausted once more. She had left soon after finishing her ministrations, realizing that Harry wanted his privacy, so Harry was finally alone. He wanted badly to sleep, and looked at the room around him in disgust. It was far too big to sleep in. Poppy had moved the beds back into a semblance of order, destroying the safe cubby hole Harry had slept in before. Someone could come at him from any direction, and there was just too much – well – space. How could somebody feel secure enough to sleep in a room like this? The beds here didn't have curtains, either. The emergency supply cabinet looked inviting, if Harry was honest with himself, but he really didn't want anyone to find him there. I just want to feel safe, again. Damn you, Snape! Why couldn't you leave well enough alone? I felt so strong, before. Now I'm all skittish.

Finally Harry got out of bed and headed for his dorm, feeling like he was sneaking out but unwilling to stay. I was mobile before, no reason they should complain now. He didn't have his map, though, and so hadn't even gotten halfway to the common room when he encountered his head-of-house in the hallway.

Can SOMETHING, PLEASE, go right today? ONE LITTLE BLOODY THING???

“So, Harry. Poppy released you?” Aaand I'm in trouble again. Not that I'm ever NOT in trouble. What does he care, anyway?

“None of your business.” Severus closed his eyes, wishing for once that he were a more patient man. Why does everything have to be an argument with this kid?

“It is my business because I am responsible for your health and well-being. From your response, I'm guessing that Poppy didn't give you permission to leave. You should be resting: your back needs time to heal.”

“But I'm going to rest. I'm tired! I'm going back to the dorm so I can sleep.”

“You can't sleep in the infirmary?”

“No.”

Helpful. No information, no explanation, just “no.” Always “no.”

“Well you cannot return to your dorm. Injuries like yours are the reason the infirmary is kept as clean as it is. A boy's dorm is not the place to nurse an infection.”

And an infirmary is not a place to sleep. Harry's glare was fierce, but he knew he wasn't going to be able to escape the potions master, so, frustrated, Harry let the man lead him back to the infirmary. Harry glared and muttered the entire way back, furious at his bullying control-freak bastard of a head-of-house, but stopped, flushing, in front of the woman waiting for them at the door, hands on hips. Severus noted this change of demeanor with interest.

“WELL?” Poppy demanded.

“Err...” Harry felt sheepish. Well she never SAID I couldn't leave...

“And DON'T tell me that you thought that leaving was okay because your own face is telling me differently as we speak.” Harry nibbled a bit at his lower lip. He didn't like Poppy's tone right now. It was something new to him: it didn't scare him, he didn't think she was going to hit him, he just didn't like it. It reminded him of when he was in second grade and his favorite teacher caught him fighting. Finally he realized what it was. He liked Poppy, even though she was an adult. He didn't want her to be mad at him. He wasn't sure quite how to fix it, though.

“Sorry?” What Harry didn't know was that Poppy was really starting to like him, too. He did, though, notice that his sincere response to her ire softened her reaction considerably.

“Hmmph. Come on, get in. Why'd you leave in the first place, hmm?”

Harry felt even more foolish as he admitted to his quest. “I just wanted to sleep in my dorm.” It sounded so stupid. Why can't I just sleep in the stupid infirmary? Everybody else does!

Poppy was still annoyed. “Sleep in your- honestly child, sleep in a boy's dorm with an infection like yours?”

Harry shrugged, wanting to look down but unwilling with Snape standing behind him.

“And why didn't you ask?”

Well I can't exactly tell her that I didn't ask because I knew she'd forbid it, can I? But I just want to SLEEP!

Unsure how to react, Harry fell back on what he was used to, and glared, effectively undoing the leeway that he had gained with Poppy from his quick apology.

“Don't you look at me that way, young man! You know perfectly well that you were in the wrong. If you didn't know, you should have asked. Now march back over to that bed and stay PUT!”

Harry obeyed with a haste that almost made Severus' jaw drop. How is it that I do or say anything to the boy and he either glares or cringes, while SHE talks to him like that and he promptly acts like a normal, chastened 11-year-old?

Suddenly Severus realized, to his great frustration and embarrassment, that he wanted Harry to relate to him the way he seemed to be starting to with Poppy; to be looked on with respect and deference, but not fear. Harry even joked with Poppy, something he'd have never thought possible from his own interactions with the boy. Where had THIS child come from? He'd seen angry teenager Harry, vulnerable, terrified child Harry, and massively powerful wizard Harry. Where did normal 11-year-old Harry come from? What had made him so comfortable with Poppy?

Then Severus felt stupid, remembering Poppy laughing on the floor in the midst of incredible destruction and comparing it to his own first encounter with the boy. Of course. I flipped out at the boy for nothing, exactly as an abuser might, while she laughed and instantly forgave him for throwing her across the room and destroying her infirmary. No wonder Albus was so angry with me. My first act as the boy's mentor was to ensure that he didn't trust me, might never trust me. Severus felt the blood rise to his cheeks with his shame. The boy hated him, and the day had not improved anything. What could? I'll just have to channel Poppy, and be patient...hmm. I don't 'do' patient. Severus shook his head, frustrated and cursing himself for a fool. Why had Albus chosen him for this? He was apparently singularly inept at it. He wasn't going to let himself off the hook this time, though. I'll just have to try harder; do better.

Severus arrived at the gargoyle below the headmaster's office and growled the password. I dearly hope you were ignorant of this, Albus, though if you were it would be a serious oversight on your part. How could you NOT know? How could you leave it be if you DID?

Turning his back on the pleading child had disturbed Severus terribly, but not as much as the thought that Albus could have prevented his pain. He couldn't bear to think that Albus had known; that he'd known and done nothing, but if he hadn't known...then perhaps their general was slipping. He'd long since known that Albus was neither omniscient nor omnipotent, but the thought that the man could age frightened Severus terribly. Beyond his own feelings, they could not afford to lose Albus Dumbledore now. I'd rather him old and senile than immoral, though.

The gargoyle leapt aside and Severus ascended the steps. The door opened before his knock, as usual, and for once Severus wasn't even irked. He had more important things to focus on. The headmaster offered him a sherbet lemon, but quickly put it aside under the force of Severus' glare.

“All right, we'll get straight to the point, then. How can I help you, Severus?”

“You can tell me how much attention you have been paying to that boy as he's been growing up. Surely you've been checking up on him?”

“Yes of course, I've had old Order members checking on him every six months or so – not talking to him, of course-”

“Of course.” Severus answered with a sneer, so angry he was almost spitting, “of course, why not? Abused children are so easy to tell from a distance. They wear signs on their foreheads and show their bruises to every passerby.”

“Severus, please, what are you talking about?” The headmaster's face had abruptly whitened at the word abused; and no trace of the twinkle that made so many underestimate him remained.

“Well surely, you know, Albus? You mean you didn't notice, checking on the boy every six months, that he was starving? That his uncle kicked him regularly hard enough to break ribs? But of course that's nothing to worry about, kids ribs are so weak, I'm sure the blow was nothing. And he's probably just a picky eater. And the welts-”

But the look on Albus' face was so injured that Severus finally got a rein on his temper. Thank Merlin, he really didn't know. Severus was still angry, that the man could have been so blind, but at least he'd not knowingly left the boy to rot.

“Please, Severus, just tell me. How bad is it? Is he going to be okay?”

“Physically?” The sarcasm in the potions master's voice was caustic. “Absolutely. The infected welts can be cleansed, the rib mended, the bruises treated. He'll be perfect in about two days.”

“Severus, please, you have – every reason to be angry with me, but it's not helpful right now. I need to know what we're dealing with, here. I don't” – the headmaster winced, and his voice turned pleading – “I need to know what he needs, what we can do to help him, now. I need to know how to fix this. Besides that-” the general reappeared- “I don't want to end up with another Dark Lord or powerful Death Eater on our hands. I know that you-

“Yes, thank you, I'm fully cognizant of that. But no, I don't think that the boy's particularly similar to me. For one thing, he's got more friends than he knows what to do with, where I – did not. For another, for the moment the only person he seems to hate is me, and that -” This time Severus winced,

“-that's my fault, not his. I believe that the problem will be his ability to trust people, adults especially. I've only observed him for a couple of weeks but he clearly expects me to hit him for anything and nothing. I doubt that that expectation is truly only in reaction to me, though I have done-” Severus grimaced again,

“-little to ameliorate the situation. If I'm right, and it is the uncle that has hurt him the worst, it is likely that his strongest reactions will be to men. Again, he's only been here for a couple weeks, so I can only conjecture based on other children that I have dealt with. Certainly the boy is a little gun-shy.”

“Excuse me, gun-shy?”

“Jumpy, skittish. I waved a hand at him and he started to flashback.”

“Oh.” The headmaster's mind whirled, trying desperately to come to terms with the new information. This child – his responsibility to protect, when his parents had done so much for the cause, this child - his duty to watch over, for the sake of the entire wizarding world – this child had been left in an abusive household due to his oversight, his distraction. Left to fear adults, left unable to tell friend from foe, “gun shy.” I've got to be able to fix this, somehow.

But how could he? An how could he have known, really? His spies had noticed nothing. And, like before, he just didn't have the time. His job was to delegate, not to do. A general could not afford to get too involved in the details, to lose the big picture. Harry, though. Harry was not a 'detail.' Harry should not have slipped through the cracks.

“Will he – can we deal with him here? Or should we find someplace for him to stay, for him to heal, before coming back to Hogwarts?”

“No. The one thing the boy needs the most, now, is stability. I will not remove him from his friends and his home. He's been doing fine so far, I think, though as you-” he coughed, “pointed out to me, I have not been watching him particularly closely.”

The headmaster raised a hand – that was old news. “Neither, clearly, have I. Now is not the time for recriminations. It is, however, imperative that you really take the boy in hand now. He needs even more help than we had originally imagined.”

Severus was a bit startled. “You still want me to do this, Albus? Yes, Lily asked me to help the boy, and yes, I will fight to keep him safe, but I am neither worthy nor capable of caring for him. If you truly will it, I will do what I can, but for the love of Merlin I am the reason that boy's parents are dead. What basis is that for a relationship? You want a Death Eater to care for Harry Potter, Albus?! The normal children fear me, and for good reason!”

The headmaster looked at him with the tiniest smile on his face, the smallest twinkle back in his eye, but when he spoke his voice was stern.

“We have been through this, Severus. You are not a Death Eater. You are a good man, and I cannot abide hearing you say otherwise. I am certain of this, Severus. You will be- best able to predict his needs. He needs to learn to trust, and you are, indeed, trustworthy, and, whether you believe it or not, perfectly capable of dealing with a troubled child. Lily would not put her child in the hands of someone she did not trust. Just take things as they come.” Again the headmaster's voice became brisk and professional.

“There are also several purely practical considerations to take into account. You are male, you are here, and you already know what you're dealing with. I'd rather keep this under wraps as much as possible: we do not need the remaining Death Eaters to know just how vulnerable little Harry is. Better that they see him for the angry young man than the fragile child.”

“You're not going to tell anyone?”

“Minerva, definitely, but she is the only other who needs to know, I think. Why, did you have anyone in mind?”

“No, it's just that Ha-Potter – also does not want anyone to know. He was angry enough to know that  I knew, and was telling you. I would rather not betray him further.”

“You are not-”

“He believes I am. He fought hard to keep his secret, and I have not only pried it from him but told you. All this when he knows that I'm at least supposed to be looking out for his best interest. As far as he's concerned, that is betrayal, and all he can expect from me as an adult.” 

The headmaster studied Severus' face, looking very sad. “We'll just have to do what we can. With any luck he will eventually come to realize that you have helped him, that you continue to help him.” Severus didn't know quite what to think of that. Being the trusted and respected mentor to an abused child went against every image he had of himself. Could he ever get there? Did he want to?

“Very well, sir. If you don't need anything?” The headmaster smiled slightly at his protégées confusion.

“No, Severus. Go do whatever you need to do.”

Severus left, closing the door on the annoying, manipulative old coot that he'd come to love and respect over so many years.

Before he'd even gotten down the staircase he heard an alarm go off in the headmaster's office, and ran back up.

“Where?” Asked Severus shortly. He knew that that particular alarm meant indicated a level of destruction that was unlikely to come from any student's prank or potions mistake.

“The infirmary,” answered the headmaster breathlessly, and both ran for the floo.

It gave Severus hope, in a way, that Harry was starting to trust Poppy; at least he was capable of trusting, and yet as Severus watched the boy quietly submit to Poppy's treatment, swallowing his potions with only a grimace in protest, he found that he did not want to be there. To see how fast the boy came to trust Poppy only threw his own failings in his face. He'd returned the boy to Poppy, his duty for the evening was done.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Meanwhile Harry looked at the mediwitch in disgust as she held up yet another potion.

“What's it do?”

“It's an antibiotic potion. It'll keep that infection from traveling to your blood, and clean it out if it's already there. Infections as bad as yours are extremely dangerous if left untreated.

“I don't want it.”

“Too bad. You need it.” Poppy pushed the potion towards Harry, who turned his head away stubbornly. He was already stuck for the night where he didn't want to be. He'd be damned if he'd let this woman feed him yet another disgusting concoction specially designed to make him hurl. The last one tasted like what compost smelled like: rotten. He'd barely managed to keep it down.

“Fine, then,” said the mediwitch, frowning, “let me put it to you this way: one way or another you are taking that potion. You can either stop making such a fuss and take it on your own or I can call Professor Snape back and he can make you take it, but you've got to have it.” She felt bad using the boy's fear of the professor in such a way, but could not figure out how to get the potion into the boy otherwise, and she really would need the professor's help if Harry continued to refuse. Merlin, please don't make us go that route. The boy's traumatized enough for one day.

Harry glowered fiercely in return but didn't say anything, and the mediwitch saw the exhaustion and lingering fear hidden behind his scowl. She sighed. The boy was clearly at the end of his rope, but he really did need the potion, and she also couldn't afford to let him get away with defying medical staff.

She pushed the potion towards him again. This time he took it from her, but made no move to remove the cork.

“Very well, Harry. If that potion's not gone in ten seconds I am calling Professor Snape.” Harry just looked at the wall as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world, pretending not to hear.

“Ten.” Harry stiffened but said nothing and didn't look up. You think COUNTING is going to scare me? Really?

“Nine.” Harry's gaze shifted from the wall to Madame Pomfrey's face, trying to tell if she was serious, before flipping quickly back to the wall. I guess she does.

“Eight...Seven.” Harry heard a bird call and looked out the window, still stiff. What is she doing?

“Six, Five.” Harry transferred his gaze to the floor at feet, stiffening further as he did so. All right, so maybe it does bother me.

“Four.” Harry pulled his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around them defensively. He was frightened. Stupid. Shoulda just taken the dang potion. Maybe...no. I'm not going to back down, now.

“Three.” Harry hid his face behind his knees, gripping the potions bottle tightly.

“Two.” Harry just held on tighter. Not gonna work. I'm not scared of you or that slimy git and I WON'T take that stupid disgusting potion.

“One.”

“Very well. I'll be back with Professor Snape in a couple of minutes.”

He crossed his arms and glared even more fiercely at the mediwitch, who just raised her eyebrows. Harry didn't move. Typical. Do what I say, or I'll hit you, or get someone else to hit you. I didn't even DO anything.

“Harry, look at me, please.” Harry shook his head furiously. Leave me alone. Go call the Executioner.

“Harold James Potter you look at me right now.” Harry snapped his head up anxiously. Nobody'd ever called him that before. What was going on?

The mediwitch looked into Harry's eyes, seeing the fear growing there. “Harry, what is going on? Why are you being so difficult about this? It is just a potion for Merlin's sake! Surely it isn't worth all of this?”

Harry turned away from her stubbornly, putting the potion on the nightstand and tucking his knees further into his chest. Poppy sighed. Damn. I really do have to go get Severus, if he won't take it willingly.

Poppy went into her office to floo call Severus, who looked at her in consternation as she made her request.

“Are you certain that it is necessary?” Asked Severus as he came through.

“It's the Cruentus Purus. I can't take the risk of letting him go without it.”

Severus closed his eyes briefly, pinching his nose. He was not looking forward to this, nor would it improve his relationship with the boy. Damn.

Without a comment Severus walked over to Harry, who lifted his chin and glowered, teeth clenched.

“Potter. This is your last chance to take that potion on your own power. If we could leave it until tomorrow we would, but we cannot, and so you will take it.” Harry just looked at the man aggressively. What're you gonna about it?

Severus sighed. “Very well. Just try to remember that I didn't want to do this.” Severus unstoppered the potion and reached his left hand out towards Harry's head, moving slowly. Harry stiffened but allowed it, just watching as Severus reached around and held the back of Harry's head in a gentle but firm grip, tilting his head back. He then held the potion up to Harry's lips, but Harry clamped them shut. Severus looked at Poppy and nodded, and Poppy sighed before reaching over and gently pinching Harry's nostrils shut. Harry started to fight against the two adults' hold on him, holding his breath for as long as he could before finally opening his mouth the tiniest bit. In a trice, the bitter potion was in his mouth and beginning to flow towards Harry's throat. Harry gagged and started to pull even harder on Severus' hold.

“Swallow, Potter.” Advised Severus, still holding Harry's head back, his hands surprisingly gentle for all he held on tightly. Harry glared wildly at him, his eyes rolling like a panicked horse's might, but held the potion in his mouth, refusing to swallow the bitter concoction. In his position, he couldn't spit it back out, but he could and did prevent it from flowing further down his throat.

Patience, patience. Thought Severus. It'll do no good to get angry, now. I'm scaring him enough as I am. And so Severus moved slowly to stroke Harry's throat and get him to swallow. His hand barely brushed the skin, though, before Harry yanked his head out of Severus' hold and fled to the nearest medicine supply cabinet. Once there, he slammed the door behind him and held it shut with magic.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

The potions master sighed. “Very well. Just try to remember that I didn't want to do this.” Harry was confused. You, what?! What on EARTH is going on? Harry gritted his teeth as the potions master forced his head back, exposing his throat in a way that made Harry very uncomfortable. It's okay. He's just holding my head. No need to panic. It doesn't hurt, he's just holding. He just wants to feed me that damn potion. He's not gonna hurt me in front of Madame Pomfrey. Probably. Then the man used his other hand to the potion up to Harry's lips, and Harry clamped them shut. You really thought I was gonna give in to you when I wouldn't to the mediwitch? Harry finally started to struggle when the mediwitch held his nose, traitor, but he kept his head enough to hold his breath and glare. Finally he HAD to breath, and the potion was in his mouth and tasted awful. The mediwitch let go, but the Slytherin Head of House did not, keeping Harry's head tilted so he couldn't spit the noxious potion back out, though Harry pulled ever harder against him.

Damn you, let me go! Leave me alone you bloody sadistic wanker! You can't force me to swallow! A look of annoyance crossed the potions master's face, and Harry felt a moment of triumph before the man's left hand started heading for his exposed throat. Wait, what're you doing? Don't touch me, you bastard! I told you to leave me alone now go away and DON'T TOUCH ME!

As fast as he'd thrown Madame Pomfrey before, Harry found himself in the medicine cabinet with the door firmly shut and blockaded, breathing as if he'd run a marathon and tucking his face down between his knees and coughing hard to expel the potion that had migrated to his lungs during his flight. It's okay now; I'm safe. He can't get me in here, it's okay. I'm safe: it's my cupboard. It's safe here. He can't fit. He can't get the door open; I'm safe; he can't hurt me, and he can't get in. Stupid bloody jerk can just sit out there until the cows come home. Harry's lungs continuously belied his thoughts, though, vying with his heartbeat for speed as the adrenalin poured into Harry's blood and throughout his body. He curled into a tighter ball, trying to control his trembling. Get ANGRY damnit! You're acting like a bloody RABBIT!

Poppy and Severus looked at each other in consternation.

“Well that...was an unmitigated disaster.” Commented Snape.

“What did you do?” Asked Poppy, sounding confused and upset, but not judgmental.

“I have – no idea.” Responded Snape, too surprised to be anything but honest. “I was going to rub his throat, to get him to swallow...I knew I was scaring him before that, but I cannot imagine why he panicked so badly when I touched his throat...”

“Well, maybe eventually he'll tell us. First we've got to get him out of hiding. He's too worked up at the moment.” Poppy pondered for a moment. He's going to need time to compose himself, I think. He seemed quite frightened, though who knows of what this time. Finally she walked over to a sink and started washing out potions bottles unnecessarily loudly. Severus raised an eyebrow before smirking imperceptibly and joining her.

“That blood replenishing potion you needed is almost complete...in a week or so it will be ready for bottling. Is there anything else you have need of?”

Fifteen minutes later Poppy figured that Harry had had enough time to calm himself down, and walked across the room to where he had hidden.

“Will you come out, please, Harry?”

“No.” The boy answered bluntly, with an almost unnatural calm. Just back off. I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to come out, just leave me alone. Thought Harry

Poppy sighed. At least he answered me.

“Why not?”

“Don't feel like it.”

“That's not an answer.”

Harry just shut up. Then you're not going to get one. Just leave me alone. I'm not going to come out when you're just going to force me into doing what you want. And I'm REALLY not going to talk to you about how I FEEL when I'm hiding in a bloody closet. The calmer Harry became, the more conscious he became of the indignity of talking to somebody through a closet door, and the more he wanted people to leave him alone. If he had to get rude and angry to get them to do so, that was just too bad.

“Harry, please don't be rude to me.”

Harry stayed silent. You're the one that got that bastard in here to force me to take that poison. You blame me for protecting myself when you bring in someone stronger to do your dirty work?Now you want me to come out with him still here and you tell me I'm being rude? Just leave me alone, and I'll be fine. I've made it damned clear by now that that's what I want, right? It is polite, I believe, to back off when people want to be alone?As he'd hoped, Harry was finally getting angry again, allowing him to uncurl and stop shaking.

Then Severus spoke up. “Harry you are in enough trouble as it is. If you would desist from this childish temper-tantrum and from causing Madame Pomfrey trouble and just come out when she asks you to we'd all be quite grateful and could call this episode past. Nobody is going to harm you.”

“Oh, really? What were you doing then?” Harry asked inquiringly.

“Attempting to get you to take a potion that is necessary to your well-being. Attempting, in other words, to help you.”

“Oh, I see now. I'm sure it's all for my own good, then.” Harry drawled. “Thanks so much for the help. Unfortunately for you, that's one I've heard before. Try again.”

“Potter, contrary to your obvious misapprehensions, no one is going to harm you, now come out here.”

“Oh, yeah. You're different. You won't harm me - as long as I do what you say, clearly. Again, I've heard it before.”

Severus was frustrated. What in Merlin's name has changed in the last fifteen minutes? He didn't like me before, but he held still, at least. Why is he so convinced I'm going to hit him now?

“If you won't come out, you will at least have the courtesy to tell me why you've determined it necessary to spend time in there in the first place.” Severus' voice had softened marginally, but for all the fancy language it was clearly not a request.

Harry figured that he was in enough trouble, showing his temper wasn't going to change anything. At least he'd get a little of his own in, first. His tone got sharper as he gave up on sounding even remotely polite.

“Wow you really are dense. Didn't I just tell you that?”

“You informed me that you were not going to come out to me to get hit. I admit to a measure of confusion, as I have told you several times already that I have no intention of harming you.” Severus sneered, and though Harry couldn't see it he could hear it in the potions master's voice. “Perhaps, then, it is you who are a little “dense,” as you say.”

Mock me, will you? Two can play that game, dumbass. “Well clearly, your definition of harm and mine are dissimilar. You seem to take an “ends justify the means” approach to the problem. By hurting me, you get me to take a potion that is beneficial to my health, and so you see no harm. All's well that ends well. I find it preferable, however, to both not be hurt and not imbibe your abominable potion. Hence the conflict. In the end your motivation matters nothing: you are of a superior size, and so you impose your preference on me. This is, however, an unsatisfactory situation for me.” Harry found it satisfying at times to speak in a way that his cousin and even his uncle could not understand. He grinned, proud to show Snape that he, too, could sound snobbish and overeducated. Finally, though, he decided to get his point across, “In short, “for my own good” or not, I'm not going to come to you to get hurt.”

Severus found himself amused by Harry's fair impression of himself, and decided that it was a serious improvement on the angry tone that the boy had previously taken. A Potter who showed anger, he had discovered, felt fear. If the boy was being eloquent, and choosing a more subtle, mocking way of baiting the 'greasy git of the dungeons,' then he was probably calming down. Maybe he could use this battle of wits to 'prove' his good intentions.

“That would make sense if it were not for the gaping hole in your logic, Potter. I had no intention of hurting you in the first place, nor do I have any intention of doing so, now. All I did was touch, not grab, not hit, just touch, and slowly at that. I honestly cannot understand what startled you so badly.”

Harry found himself flushing, though the potions master couldn't see. Maybe he wasn't going to grab me? Harry wanted to test the theory, but still worried about coming out with the man still in the room.

“If you don't desire to “take your ire out on my sorry hide”, then you will naturally not object to leaving me alone, as I have taken the required potions and you have therefore finished with me.”

“I take it you wish me to leave?”

“Yes.”

Severus smirked. A bargaining chip. “Generally when negotiating one provides motivation for the opposing party to do as you wish, rather than as they would prefer. I wish to stay until I am sure that Madame Pomfrey has no further need of me.” Severus looked over at Poppy, who shook her head. He smiled crookedly and put a finger to his lips. She nodded her understanding and stayed quiet. Meanwhile Harry processed the professor's words. Negotiating? Is that what this is? Since when do you negotiate? Harry felt a bit suspicious, but decided to take advantage of the situation nonetheless.

“Very well. You want me to come out; I want you to leave. When you leave, and stay gone, I will come out.”

Severus smirked. You're not as smart as you think you are, child. “Goodbye then, for the moment. I will return in the morning. Until then, I would advise you to cooperate with Madame Pomfrey as I will not tolerate anything else. We still have this week's numerous misbehaviors to deal with.”

Numerous? All I did was refuse to take that stupid potion...and try to escape the infirmary...and skip detention...and class...twice...and miss my meeting...and disobey Madame Hooch which started this whole thing. But that's only...well...six things! You wouldn't call six peas “numerous,” would you? Harry thought about this with some trepidation. Why does my sense of self-preservation fail so miserably whenever I am around this man?

Then he realized. He really looks like he's going to leave, though, so maybe he really doesn't intend to hit me for this? He doesn't seem particularly angry. In fact, Harry realized all of a sudden, the potions master hadn't seemed angry the entire time. From there, Harry remembered what the potions master had said before starting. “Very well. Just try to remember that I didn't want to do this.” That was – interesting. Since when did men express regret for their abuses? Aunt Petunia had, a couple of times, but Vernon made no bones about the fact that he liked hurting Harry. Don't trust him yet, fool. He didn't hurt you this time, but that was probably a fluke. You escaped before he managed to get to your throat, after all. The potions master's odd behavior was definitely something to think about, though.

Harry listened as the potions master left, relaxing as he heard the door click shut, though he felt a bit suspicious. No way I actually won a negotiation with that man. What is it that I'm missing?

Poppy left Harry alone for a couple more minutes before calling to him.

“Harry, time to come out, please.”

Harry thought about it. He still really didn't want to, though he was more relaxed than before. The matron's voice turned a trifle stern.

“Harry, you said you would come out when Professor Snape left. He is gone.”

I did say that, didn't I? Damn. It's the only place I'm gonna be able to sleep in this whole stupid infirmary.

Harry stood up, took a deep breath, opened the door and walked out of the closet, head held high. Then he slid back around to lean on the door as it closed behind him, trying to look like was just casually leaning, and not keeping his distance from the remaining adult in the room. He looked up at her blankly. Traitor.

Poppy watched what he was doing and sighed, before speaking bluntly. “Harry, if you're looking for me to apologize it is not going to happen. Professor Snape and I both gave you numerous chances to take the potion on your own speed. I warned you that I would call Professor Snape for help if you would not take it willingly, and you still refused. Neither Professor Snape nor I wanted to force you, but it would have been dangerous for you to go without it and so we had no choice.” Harry thought about this briefly. I told you before that 'for my own good' wasn't a good enough excuse...Harry thought for a minute. But then, while that was no fun, you really didn't hurt me.

Suddenly he realized that Madame Pomfrey was still speaking.

“...and if you are so intent on protecting yourself, why wouldn't you take that potion? I told you exactly why you needed it. You refused it because it tasted bad, and because you were tired of me telling you what to do. Neither is an excuse for throwing a temper tantrum like a spoiled toddler when Professor Snape and I are just trying to get you healthy again.”

Harry looked up at her, then down at the floor. She's right. He was finally calm enough to realize. I suck. He also realized that he believed her, about herself, at least. I still don't know the Professor's motivation, but she's just tried to take care of me this whole time. Now she's mad at me again. He really felt like a stupid, ungrateful child, in that moment, and wished fervently that he could just go back and take the potion and fix that whole, stupid episode.

Poppy read his reaction with some relief. He's listening. She wasn't going to entirely let it go, though. She really couldn't have Harry only obey her because of his fear of Severus, though she figured her colleague would probably also be dealing with the incident.

“You cannot just refuse to take medicine that you need because it doesn't taste good or you feel like you know better than a trained mediwitch. Now go stand in that corner – face to the wall.”

Harry looked at her for a moment, unsure. What's she doing? He didn't think that she meant to hit him, but... She just pointed with an expectant look on her face. Harry bit his lip, looking from her to the indicated corner and back again. I won't be able to see the room, that way.

“Nobody is going to hurt you, and you'll be just fine hearing anyone coming in or leaving, you don't need to see.”

When Harry continued to hesitate she finally got impatient again. “Now, Harry. Ten.”

Remembering his shame from the last time the mediwitch had started to count, Harry finally obeyed, walking over to the indicated corner, and giving a final look over his shoulder before standing still. What happens now?

“Better. Now you're there for twenty minutes so you might as well settle in.” With that, the mediwitch returned to her own business – shuffling papers, reorganizing and otherwise keeping herself busy as she was wont to do when none of her patients needed attention.

At first, Harry mostly felt nervous. He didn't like having his back to the room, and though he'd quickly ascertained that the mediwitch was mostly ignoring him, he couldn't shake the idea that this couldn't be all she intended to punish him. Surely something else was in store. But the mediwitch continued to ignore him, and after the first five minutes or so he relaxed a bit, though he continued to listen to her as she moved around the room.

As the nervousness faded Harry again had the presence of mind to feel embarrassed and ashamed. It felt like something Dudley would do, throwing a tantrum over medicine. He should be grateful for the medicine. He didn't deserve it, and hadn't asked for it, but they'd given it to him anyway. Who was he to reject that? If the mediwitch changed her mind and decided to hit him, he figured he should probably let her. She had been kind to him, and he deserved her anger.

Next, Harry started to feel restless and bored. There wasn't anything to see, and Madame Pomfrey really wasn't doing anything interesting. He shifted from foot to foot, as they started to get the tiniest bit sore, and wished fervently, once more, that he'd just let the woman do what she wanted without freaking out. Now that he was calmed down he was becoming more and more convinced that he had had no reason to get upset – that, even if the Professor hadn't probably meant well, that he still had not intended to grab Harry's throat. Again, the man hadn't acted angry, and he certainly wasn't drunk. Even Vernon only took things that far when he'd gotten drunk.

If Harry had gotten upset, he'd decided, it was because Harry was messed up, and not because the professor had done anything to scare him. 'Again, yet' Harry told himself. But Madame Pomfrey, Harry was starting to think, really wouldn't hurt Harry. Just look at her method of dealing with him now. Being stuck in the corner sucked, Harry decided, but it wasn't hurting him.

And so Harry stood, staring at the corner, feeling more and more miserable. The whole day had just gone so badly. Harry had failed to avoid the professor, failed to keep his secret, failed to face the professor without showing fear, failed to hold still when the mediwitch asked him to, failed, failed, failed. He couldn't even act right when somebody really did try to help him, and now he found, to his intense shame, that he couldn't even control the tears than ran silently down his cheeks. He tried so hard to be an adult, capable of dealing with other adults, capable of fighting, rather than running or hiding, and then something like this happened. Nothing he had done today had gone well, and now he was so tired couldn't even pretend it didn't bother him. Why did he always have to be such a Freak?

“Alright Harry, you can turn around now. Come on out.”

Harry tried to surreptitiously wipe his face, but apparently he'd been unsuccessful at hiding his distress, as the matron suddenly came over, and spoke as gently to him as she yet had.

“Hey, it's okay. We all make mistakes. As far as I am concerned, the incident is over. It's late, why don't we get you set up to go to bed?”

Harry nodded, wanting to be left alone and not trusting himself to speak without further betraying his feelings. Thankfully the matron just led him back to his bed, then dimmed the lights in the infirmary, locked up the medicine cabinets, and retired to her own room, leaving Harry alone. Figuring she would go to bed, Harry set to figuring out where he was going to sleep. He hadn't anticipated that the matron would lock up the medicines, though it made sense. Finally he carried his pillow over to one of the wing's bay windows, figuring that walls on three sides was good enough. He just hoped he'd wake up before she did the next morning, so he wouldn't look weird, choosing the hard windowsill over his much warmer, softer bed. It wasn't enough worry to keep him awake, though: he'd wanted to go to bed hours before. When he'd broken out of the infirmary it had only been six thirty in the afternoon and he'd been plenty tired enough to sleep. Now it was nearly eleven: despite being curled up on a hard windowsill with only a pillow, Harry slept.

Harry woke up slowly, not moving until he was certain there was nobody nearby. Then he sat up and looked around. Is Madame Pomfrey – there she is. Damn. The mediwitch was already bustling around as usual. She'd undoubtedly seen his odd choice of sleeping place and decided to leave him alone. Will she tell Professor Snape? Well, nothing for it. Harry got up and moved back to the bed he'd been assigned, carrying his pillow with him.

Whether or not the mediwitch decided to tell, Harry preferred for the professor not to see him acting so oddly. Bad enough that Harry had displayed his fears for the world to see (well, Snape and Pomfrey), he wouldn't give them any further information on his weirdnesses if he could help it.

Nothing. Happened. I grew up like every other spoiled child. I'm nothing but an obnoxious defiant brat who thinks he's cool because he doesn't mind pissing off adults; not the one to rush in and “rescue.” They don't want to have to bother with me, anyway. Yesterday doesn't matter, not to them, not to me.

He'd been promised he could leave the infirmary that day, mostly because it was Sunday and he wouldn't have to return to class until the next day. Finally, Harry thought, finally he'd be able to return to normal life. Nothing has to change. Harry promised himself. As long as I can get Snape and the interfering mediwitch to back off, everything will go back to how it was; how it should be.

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry spent the first part of his morning catching up on his homework, figuring that if he wanted life to get back to normal he'd better be as prepared for class as if he hadn't spent his Saturday afternoon being raked across the coals. He still felt exhausted from both the emotions and the prodigious but ultimately futile effort it took to try and hide them.

That bastard Snape. What does he care if I fall from my broom? If he'da just left me alone from the beginning I could've spent the last week attending his class and ignoring his sneers and riding my broom and doing my homework and maintaining the act that's been working just fine for eleven bloody years, but no.

Harry found himself angry again as he remembered the events of the last week. No, that's not enough for the fucking Greasy Git of the Dungeons. He's got to swoop in like a bloody bat and give me that bloody detention that started this whole stupid thing. Then to top that, he goes and pushes me on details that he doesn't really want to know and now I'm here, hanging in the infirmary, waiting for bloody permission to leave like a good little invalid. Bloody hell.

Speak of the devil. The object of his ire entered the infirmary and headed straight towards him, and Harry lifted his chin and set his jaw. Severus held back a sigh. Back to this, again. I should have predicted that, I suppose. No way he's going to suddenly be open and talkative just because I haven't hit him in the 24 hours since I caught him and figured out that he was abused. Patience. Not that the professor had particularly enjoyed the boy's rudeness, but it was at least more open than this quiet defiance.

“Mornings greetings to you as well, Potter. And isn't it a beautiful day?”

Harry's expression did not change, nor did he speak. Oh yes, because you're always cheerful and friendly first thing in the morning.

“Very well, Potter, I'll get straight to the point. Regardless of the stresses you have been under in the last two weeks, your behavior has been atrocious. I am certain that you are capable of remembering all of said transgressions, however I believe I will reiterate as I go along to be certain that you understand the acts for which you are being penalized.”

Severus looked at Harry briefly, attempting to tell if the boy was listening. Harry had adopted an entirely blank expression, but he didn't have the glazed look that many of his students got when faced with the professor's purposefully over-erudite speech, so Severus continued.

“To start with, why not discuss the original flying lesson. Not only did you disobey a professor and break a school rule, you also put yourself in danger. Disregard for your own safety will never be considered acceptable behavior. I believe I mentioned before that in the case that you put yourself in danger through willful foolishness or disobedience you can expect to be disciplined physically.”

Severus again looked at Harry, this time searching for any sign of distress at the idea, but the boy's face was still maddeningly blank. Merlin, child, you might make a decent spy. The potions master kept speaking.

“You will discover that my methods in this are quite different from those of your erstwhile guardians” The word was spoken with a growl, “...however we will get to that at a later time. Given the circumstances I have decided to forgo said method at this time in favor of a week of daily detentions and what I call “level two” grounding. Each detention is to be approximately three hours long, at my discretion, and served with me.”

The boy glanced up briefly when Severus mentioned that he was going to make an exception, but otherwise continued to just stare, no sign of curiosity or even aggression on his face. To say that it was unnerving to see in an 11-year-old was to understate the case considerably. It was even worse than the brat's habitual angry glower.

“To explain further, since you show no inclination of asking, in “level two” grounding you are confined to your dormitory except when you are in class. Food will be provided for you there as you are not permitted to leave except to go to the library, and then only with permission. Your friends from other houses may, however, join you in the dorm to study as long as you remain quiet.”

Severus had given up on looking to Harry for a reaction, though he thought that he'd likely get one by the time he was finished explaining the crushing list of punishments about to be laid down.

“Following this misbehavior I assigned you a detention, during which I would have explained the grounding as well as set you to some unpleasant menial tasks. You, however, decided to flee rather than face my understandable displeasure, and in doing so skipped that detention, two of my classes, and our required Friday meeting time. For the missed detention, and each missed class I will assign you two detentions. These, plus one detention for the missed meeting, gives you a total of seven – another set of one a day for a week”

Already at a week of grounding and forty-two hours of detention, and the boy didn't budge. It was like talking to an Inferius, or even a wall. The potions master continued doggedly on.

“Finally we come to your most serious offenses. First off, you hid injuries from Madame Pomfrey and me. That is never acceptable, under any circumstances. The infection on your back really could have killed you, and yet you persisted in hiding it from the world. Did you honestly prefer death to letting someone tend to your hurts? Regardless, this behavior will not continue. Normally you would have at least another week of grounding and/or detentions for that alone. As it is...” The potion master tightened his jaw briefly. “I will not punish you. However, this is a warning. Don't do it again.

“Lastly, your behavior in the infirmary was inexcusable. When you are injured, you go to Madame Pomfrey and you do exactly as she asks. You take potions when she tells you to take them, and you leave when she allows it and not before. Anything else is childish and foolhardy. I will not have it. That gained you another week of grounding, for a total of two weeks grounding and nightly detentions.”

Anyone other than the potions master would have missed the slight tightening of Harry's jaw at that pronouncement. Good. He's really just pretending he doesn't care.

“Understand that I consider these consequences lenient. In the future, you will put higher stock in your own health and well-being, or you will find yourself in much deeper trouble.” Good. That should leave the boy well enough confused.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

The whole time the potions master was talking, Harry steamed. He'd adopted a look he used frequently with his uncle when the man was angry. It had the advantage that it didn't betray his feelings, and wouldn't get him in trouble the way anger would. It was harder to maintain, though, as his emotions actively fought against it, rather than bolstering it.

He could keep it now, though, as he'd had plenty of time to prepare and, for the moment, he wasn't particularly frightened. He even managed to actually listen to the man's speech at the same time, so he knew what was expected of him. He couldn't get out of it this time, he knew. For one thing, the Slytherin Head of House knew how to force him out of hiding, and, for another, the student body wouldn't interpret his escapade as clever a second time.

What he heard, though, confused him. For one terrifying moment, when the professor had mentioned that he would be disciplined “physically,” Harry thought that the man would finally show his true colors and end Harry's confusion, but then he'd changed that. In his surprise, Harry's mask had slipped a little, and Harry was certain that the potions master had noticed.

The professor had then gone on to list the transgressions that, according to him, Harry had committed. Most of them Harry had anticipated – he'd known when Minerva had dragged him off to Snape that he was in for it, for example, as well as he knew that running made a punishment worse. That he'd be punished for those Harry took as a matter of course, though the manner surprised him some.

It was almost like Poppy sending him into a corner, this week of grounding and detentions. It felt oddly...familial. Grounding in particular was something he'd heard of on TV that Muggle families did when their children misbehaved in some way. The TV shows rarely showed the families where the kids got punished and couldn't stand up afterward, Harry had noticed.

It was the last two “transgressions” and requisite punishments that really angered and surprised him, though. Who ever heard of punishing someone for not asking for or accepting medical treatment? Avoiding school matrons was supposed to be how one stayed out of trouble. What did he need to go for, anyway? Harry could take care of himself. But they didn't want him to. Harry'd never been more confused in his life.

This sucked. A whole week of grounding and detention for “putting himself in danger?” a whole 'nother week of grounding because he'd gotten tired of being poked and prodded and confined to that damned huge, sterile room? And Madame Pomfrey had already punished him for not taking the potion! It was just monstrously unfair, Harry decided. Prepare yourself, Germany. You've had the time to recuperate, now's the time to retaliate. With any luck Snape'll play Poland or France, this time, rather than Russia... Harry thought about that for a bit. I really need a new metaphor.

Then the professor was finished speaking, finishing with a simple, “any questions?” Harry realized that, yes, he did have a question, and so spoke in as neutral a tone as possible.

“Quidditch, sir?” Captain Flint is going to kill me.

Snape gave him a sharp look. “What did I say, Potter?”

Harry nodded, clenching his teeth but maintaining his neutral stance as best he could. “Very well, sir.”

Finally the potions master left, telling Harry that his grounding was to start immediately upon his release from the hospital wing, and that his first detention was set for that night at 7:00. Harry settled in for the time until Pomfrey would release him, alternately doing his homework and planning his next campaign. Let's see...I'll need the Theo and Blaise's help, I think...

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

When Harry was finally released from the hospital wing that afternoon, with strict instructions to come back to the infirmary each day for his potions, he returned to the dorm as commanded. Theo and Blaise were waiting for him in the common room, and Theo even stood up when he came in.

“Harry! Where've you been this week? We haven't seen you at all since he sent you that Howler, and Snapers wouldn't tell us anything, just said that you were busy. What'd he do to you, drop you off in the middle of the Forbidden Forest?”

I WISH...But what's this about him not saying anything? Harry thought fast.

“Nahh... just stuck me in detention like the whole time. Wasn't even allowed into the Great Hall. He really wouldn't tell you?”

“Nope. Said it was between you and him. What's so secret about a detention, anyway?”

Harry just shrugged, noticing Blaise was watching him closely. Harry was good at lying, but for all he knew quieter, more observant Blaise would notice something happy-go-lucky Theo would not. He didn't worry about Ron and Hermione. Ron would notice that Harry was gone, and probably figure that Snape had done something nefarious, but wouldn't notice a lie if you told him the Giant Squid was taking flying lessons. Hermione would be too involved in her books to have noticed his absence at all. Blaise...could be a problem. He got the feeling that Blaise didn't buy his story, for some reason. Harry decided to change the subject, and immediately set on an easy one.

“Snapers?” Theo blushed a bit but responded in kind.

“What? You prefer Greasy Git? Bloody Bat? Slimy Swamp? I thought about old Snake-face but realized that fit the Dark Lord a bit better.”

Harry laughed.

“You tell him that, next time you see him. Anyway...you just can't call our Head of House “Snapers.” It sounds almost....affectionate.” Harry shuddered dramatically.

“But that's the point!! Can you imagine Snape's face if he heard us refer to him as that! Hmm...maybe we should go that angle. How about Snapey-poo?”

Blaise gagged violently, finally deciding to intervene. “This conversation is childish enough without your uncreative and...obscene...ideas. Come up with something better.”

Theo pouted sulkily before perking up and issuing his challenge. “Is that so, Mr. High-and-Mighty? Care to tell us lesser creatures what you have in mind?”

Blaise thought for a bit before displaying one of his rare smiles. “I rather like Serpentus Snake, personally.”

Theo grinned broadly. “Serpentus Snake it is. Snapers, for short.”

Blaise and Harry rolled their eyes as one and laughed, conceding defeat. Nobody talked Theo out of a harebrained idea if he was really set on it.

Finally Harry looked up at the wall clock and sighed. It was 6:45. He had to leave soon if he didn't want to be late for his detention.

“I gotta go, guys. Will you be around when I get back?”

Blaise responded. “How long are you going to be gone?”

“Detention with Snape. You tell me.”

Blaise grimaced, while Theo exclaimed, “MORE detention?”

Harry smiled wanly. “Yeah. Ever wonder why Snape's not my favorite person? Anyway I'll explain when I get back if you're still up.”

“Detention's generally around two or three hours long,” Blaise informed him. “You'll be back by ten, probably. I'll still be up.”

Theo smiled. “Me, too. We can come up with some more names, okay?”

Harry smiled grimly. I think I can do better than that. “Just names, Theo?” Harry smiled as Theo took on a look full of mischief. “I'll explain when I get back. I've gotta go.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

“Enter.”

Harry walked in, head held high, and looked around. The office itself was relatively small, but sported a well-appointed private potions laboratory off one side. That could be useful, later. Snape gestured to a small desk he’d set up in front of his own, and Harry sat down, noticing the quill and parchment already placed there, ready to use.

“Today you will be writing lines. Since this detention is being served for the flying incident, you will write, ‘Rules are put in place in order to keep me safe, and are therefore not to be ignored. My life is worth more than a Rememberall. I must learn to value it as highly, and guard it as carefully, as those around me do.’ Any questions?”

Harry kept his face carefully blank. Yes, in fact. Why are you so interested in my life? Why can’t you just concentrate on your own? He said only, “How many times, sir?”

“Two hundred.” Two Hundred?? But it’s so long! I thought you said detention would be three hours long?! Surely 3 hours is enough!

Harry just gritted his teeth and got started, though inside he still seethed. No way this is going to take less than five hours.

1. ‘Rules are put in place in order to keep me safe, and are therefore not to be ignored. My life is worth more than a Rememberall. I must learn to value it as highly, and guard it as carefully, as those around me do.’

Is that some kind of joke? ‘Value my life as highly as those around me do?’ And who on earth is guarding me? Who the hell cares if I live or die? Well, other than other kids, but I highly doubt ‘Snapers’ is referring to them. Madame Pomfrey, maybe. She patched me up after all. I doubt she’s guarding me, though…but then who is?

Perhaps the potions master was just mocking Harry. Rubbing his face in the fact that nobody was guarding him because nobody did care. That made more sense to Harry, though the man didn’t really seem like he was joking. Stop thinking. Just write his stupid paragraph. Only Snape would forget that ’lines’ usually consist of one line each.

2.‘Rules are put in place in order to keep me safe, and are therefore not to be ignored. My life is worth more than a Rememberall. I must learn to value it as highly, and guard it as carefully, as those around me do.’

Snape was moving around the room, seemingly aimlessly and Harry stopped to watch as the man walked behind him.

“I don’t hear you writing, Potter.” Harry stiffened and went back to writing, but he couldn’t write and watch what the professor was doing at the same time.

3. ‘Rules are put in place in order to keep me safe, and are therefore not to be ignored. My life is worth more than a Rememberall…’ He tried to just listen, but even that took too much attention from his writing, and he couldn‘t relax at all. If only Snape would just go back to his desk!

“Ha-Potter I am eight feet away.” Commented the potions master, sounding impatient. “I’m not going to approach without you hearing me. Now, write.”

Harry’s cheeks burned, and he ducked his head to hide it. Why does he have to be so damned observant all the time? Time for damage control. “My hand hurt, sir.”

“Oh, please.” Answered the professor sharply, “you’ve been here for twenty minutes. Now I’ll repeat, I’m not going to harm you. Your punishment is to sit and write until you’re bored silly and the message runs around in your brain in an annoying litany for the next two days. That’s it. Now write!”

‘…I must learn to value it as highly, and guard it as carefully, as those around me do.’

But who the hell was doing all this valuing and guarding?

4. ‘Rules are put in place in order to keep me safe, and are therefore not to be ignored. My life is worth more than a Rememberall. I must learn to value it as highly, and guard it as carefully, as those around me do…’

At precisely 10:00 the professor finally stopped his infernal wandering and returned to his desk.

“How many so far, Potter?”

Harry looked. Ugh. I’m barely over half done! Harry’s hand hurt abominably, but his neck, shoulders and back were worse. He’d spent most of the three hours hunched up, listening anxiously and trying to write at the same time. It didn’t leave him in a particularly charitable mood. He looked up angrily into the potions master’s eyes and spoke coolly.

“One hundred and ten, sir.”

The man gestured and Harry handed over his work. Does he want to count himself, or something? There all there. I even wrote them neatly. You have nothing to complain about. It’s your own fault if you’re stuck here all night with me.

“Good work. You’re dismissed.”

Harry barely escaped gaping at the man. Good work???? Dismissed? But I didn’t even finish! What on earth is UP with you?

The Slytherin Head of House smirked at Harry’s hesitation, but moved to explain. “You’ll finish them tomorrow. One hundred and ten is enough for one day, considering the neatness of your work. Go, Potter.”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice: he left, shaking out his aching hand and trying to relax his agonized shoulders as he went. He wondered at the potion master’s odd comments over the annoying litany that, as predicted, ran around in his head as if it would never cease.

‘Rules are put in place in order to keep me safe, and are therefore not to be ignored. My life is worth more than a Rememberall. I must learn to value it as highly, and guard it as carefully, as those around me do.’

Who in Merlin’s name was guarding him?

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Number one of fourteen, Harry remembered, seething to himself as he re-entered the dorm and headed to where Blaise and Theo were still seated.

“All right, guys. You wanna help me out?”

“Sure!” Enthused Theo, almost covering Blaise's more cautious “with what?”

“Well, I've got detention again tomorrow...and every day for the next two weeks...and I'm grounded...so long story short I'm not going to be the most mobile for a couple of weeks. Feel like helping me wage World War II?”

Both boys' eyes widened in horror at the list of punishments before looking at Harry with growing confusion. He decided to speak plainly. “Snape's set out to make my life miserable for the next two weeks. I want to return the favor.”

Theo and Blaise looked at each other. Theo smiled enthusiastically, while Blaise's face took on a thoughtful expression before exhibiting a slow grin and speaking for both of them. “We're in.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

The next day at breakfast, word went around on the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables. The rumor spread. Something's going down in 1st-year potions. Don't react. Don't let Snape know anything's going on. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Theo, and Blaise sat together in a cluster for what Harry realized was only his third Potions class of the term, and the others' fifth. Snape had humiliated him at the first, and ignored him entirely at the second. Harry suspected that today would get a reaction, and fairly buzzed with mingled anticipation and anxiety.

The other students trickled in slowly, whispering and wondering among themselves, and sat down in their usual groups. Nobody but Harry, Theo, and Blaise knew what was about to happen; all the others knew was that something was and that they shouldn’t react.

Soon enough, Snape blazed in through a different door, bringing instant quiet. I wonder where that door leads. Hmm…his office, maybe? The professor waved his wand at the board, and the potions ingredients appeared The professor then instructed the students to get the extra ingredients they needed for the potion (the students had most of them in their personal potions kits), and turn to page 120 in their textbooks.

Then the potions master got started explaining the day’s potion - a teeth-growing potion that was used to help those who had lost their teeth or worn them down. Only Harry noticed, as the lecture went on, that the potions master was acting a bit odd, alternately watching Harry closely and pretending not to notice at all.

Finally the potions master turned around to gesture to something on the blackboard, and Harry spoke his incantation. A three-centimeter wide strip of the hair on the back of the potions masters’ head turned violently purple. Success! Those students who saw hid grins and laughter behind pursed lips, or ducked quickly behind their cauldrons, while Theo gave Harry a surreptitious thumbs-up. Snape didn’t notice, for the moment.

The next time Harry saw the back of Snape’s head, two streaks of blue appeared on either side of the purple, and the class barely contained their giggles. Next came two streaks of green, then yellow, then orange. The class continued to snicker, but though the potions master looked suspicious, he couldn’t yet see the hair for himself and so couldn’t tell what was going on. Finally Harry added the final two streaks of blazing red, and the class couldn’t hold on any longer. A snicker was heard, then a choking laugh, and finally the class simply exploded in hilarity.

The potions master summoned himself a mirror and did a double-take as the children laughed harder. He looked like a dour sort of clown. Severus scowled fiercely as his eyes scanned the classroom. Who in Merlin’s name - Potter. The boy was staring right at him, a satisfied smile on his face that grew challenging when he met the potions master‘s eyes. What are you going to do about it? It seemed to say. What will I do about it? The potions master wondered. Why is he causing trouble now of all times? You‘d think he‘d be looking to avoid more detentions.

He had to teach his class, though, so he decided to ignore the problem for the moment, returning his hair to normal with a wave. This drew disappointed sighs from several of the students, which Severus also ignored.

“I believe that is enough wasted time for one day. You have half an hour. If your potion is not finished you will earn a zero for the day. Get to work.”

The students bent industriously over their cauldrons, and for the rest of the class only the occasional giggle or whisper was heard. Severus was sure that news of the incident would travel the school quickly - it wasn’t every day a student had the balls to prank the potions master - but there wasn’t anything the man could do about it so he ignored that, too, instead sending a final glare at Potter and returning to monitoring the devilspawn and their…he hesitated to call them potions…concoctions.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry was somewhat disappointed by the professor’s reaction, or rather non-reaction. He’d somewhat expected that, but it would’ve been so much more fun if the potions master had thrown a temper-tantrum or something, or if he‘d had more trouble changing it back. For one brief, shining moment the professor had had entirely rainbow hair. If only it could have stuck for a couple of days it would’ve been perfect.

That was okay. Harry was far from out of ideas. In fact…Harry got out another vial, quietly bottling a bit of the day’s potion for his own use in addition to the one he would hand into the professor. He was one of the few that had finished, despite his antics, and the professor went around evanescoing potions with a sneer. Finally as the class started packing up their books and potions kits, the potions master spoke up.

“Potter.”

Harry looked up, tensing.

“Stay after class.” Harry finished up packing and stayed put. He hasn’t hit me yet. Harry reminded himself. This was either worth the risk, or it wasn’t. You knew before that he wasn’t going to just let it pass. Harry tensed more by measure that the other students left. Theo, Blaise, Ron, and Hermione were the last to leave, Theo and Blaise explaining matters to the two Gryffindors. Finally Harry was alone with the professor.

“Did you put the spell on my hair, Potter?”

“Yes.” He answered bluntly. Lying would make his revenge pointless, and give the professor the (wrong!) impression that Harry feared his reaction.

“Detention. Tonight, my office, 7:00.”

“Am I to serve two detentions simultaneously, professor?” Asked Harry insolently.

Snape sneered. “The others will simply be pushed back. Wear casual clothing unless you prefer to ruin your robes.” Perhaps a particularly unpleasant detention would prevent further mischief. The potions professor scoffed at his own idealism. Dream on, Severus. You’re in for the long haul with this one.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

That evening the potions master set Harry to collecting seeds from large plant pods called Madder Bladders, which were filled with a snot-like substance that smelled like gasoline and dyed the skin a glorious crimson the instant it was touched. No, Harry was informed, he could not have gloves. He decided that the professor looked far too pleased with himself, especially when he informed Harry that the dye would last for three days.

That evening, Harry arrived at the dorm with crimson splotches on his face, neck, and clothing, in addition to solid crimson forearms and hands.

That evening, Harry invited the Weasley twins into the Slytherin common room for a chat.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus entered his office at promptly 5:00 the next morning, and gaped. Well this is…creative. He closed his eyes, and opened them again, but the view did not improve. The small office was entirely overrun by animals: somehow a cow, two pigs, a goat, and six chickens had taken up residence overnight. The laboratory door was mercifully closed, as the office was destroyed. Fecal matter from the three species commingled on every surface, food and feathers were scattered everywhere, any paper products within reach (in other words under six feet from the floor) had been chewed on, and the floor was strewn with the remains of his office supplies and papers. Someone had brought in a bale of hay, scattered chicken feed everywhere, and placed a cauldron of fresh water next to the desk. The air reaked of dander and offal, and the potions master couldn’t hear himself think over the din the chickens made. Finally the professor left, closing the door behind him, and took a few deep breaths of mercifully clean air.

I…am going to murder that child…and his accomplices. For clearly he had them - Severus knew that the boy was obeying his restrictions because he had a monitoring charm on him, which meant that Harry had outside help. Perhaps Theo and Blaise…or perhaps the twins.

Given the scale of this undertaking - Severus knew that Hagrid kept animals to feed his various charges, but how the animals had gotten into the castle unseen was beyond him - the potions master was betting on the twins. Or perhaps both the twins and the snakes. Hermione and Ron had seemed surprised at the rainbow hair incident, but Theo and Blaise had not. He couldn’t prove anything, though, and targeting the twins without proof was probably a bad plan. The only other thing he could think of was that Harry had somehow gotten the cooperation of a talented sixth or seventh year and transfigured the animals, but what student managed to transfigure a cow?

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry woke up quickly as someone entered the dormitory, scrabbling for his glasses in the darkness. Then his curtains were ripped aside to reveal an irate Severus Snape. Harry barely had time to flinch as the potions master latched onto the back of his neck and dragged him out of the dormitory. What time is it? He wondered.

The castle was entirely dark - nobody was awake other than himself and the professor, and Harry found himself battling panic. The man didn’t even speak, just kept dragging him deeper into the dungeon. Where are we going? What’s he going to do to me? Harry stomped viciously on that thought. I am NOT scared, damnit! If I was gonna be scared, I should’ve not pissed the man off in the first place. At that moment they arrived at the professor’s office, and Harry was shoved inside. He looked around in wonder. I’m gonna take what’s coming to me, and it’ll be worth it...

“Was this you, too?”

Harry smiled innocently. “Not directly. I do owe someone a favor, though” Harry looked around again, taking in the smell, the noise, the carnage. A BIG favor.

“Who helped you?”

“Oh, come on. You don’t really expect me to answer that, do you? That‘s no way to reward a ally.” The twins’ll be glad to know that you know it’s them and can’t do anything about it.

Severus gritted his teeth, trying hard to keep his temper. He’s testing you. Don’t screw up. And so the potions master just handed Harry a length of rope, a toothbrush, and bottle of harsh cleaning solution.

“It is currently 5:15AM. I expect the animals to be removed, and this room to be spotless, by the time you leave for class, and I expect you to get to class on time. If you fail you can expect another week of detention. Any use of magic is forbidden. Get to work.”

With that, the potions master walked into his laboratory, leaving Harry staring hopelessly at the destruction. It was still worth it, but…

Okay…first the animals, Harry thought.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

At 8:45 an utterly exhausted-looking Harry knocked on Snape’s door. At Snape’s call to enter, he opened the door and peered inside.

“I have finished, sir.”

The potions master got up from where he was bent over a steaming cauldron to look out and found himself shocked for the second time that day. The room was…spotless. Just like he’d specified. The desk and floor were clean, no trace of animal food or waste anywhere, even in the cracks between the floorboards. The animals and destroyed papers were gone. Even the walls had been scrubbed. Severus was impressed despite himself. This kid could clean! He’d not show the brat that, though. The last thing he deserved at the moment was praise.

“You are dismissed.” Harry just nodded and left, thoroughly filthy and run down, but smiling privately to himself. Wait ’till you see your classroom. For once Harry regretted not having potions that day. The twins did, though, and he was sure they‘d tell him all about it.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

That afternoon Harry got an owl directing him to report to Snape’s office immediately after class. Harry arrived at Snape’s office door at 3:30, fighting harder than ever to not show fear. Surely this time he had broken through the potions master’s farce: the man had been angry about the animals in his office; he’d have been furious to find that Harry had simply moved them to his classroom.

At least Snape’d had time to cool down, since then, which usually helped, but Harry doubted that it would be enough. He doesn’t drink, though…There was nothing for it. As usual Harry would take what was coming to him. He’s not going to kill the fucking “savior of the wizarding world“…on purpose anyway. He knocked, and managed not to stumble back as the potions master unexpectedly walked out to him.

“Come with me.”

This is different. Different was not good. Nevertheless he reacted as he always did, lifting his chin and clenching his jaw around his fear. The professor’s office was private enough, he reminded himself. The man wouldn’t need to bring him elsewhere to hurt him.

In fact, the potions master seemed to be leading him out of the dungeons, into more and more public areas. Then they were outside, and headed towards…Hagrid’s hut? Harry knew Hagrid from when the huge man had taken him to Diagon Alley and bought him Hedwig: his first-ever birthday present. He hadn’t had time to interact much with him since, but he relaxed some as they approached: Hagrid was sort of like another kid, despite his size. He wouldn’t hurt Harry.

Snape told Hagrid to send Harry back at 6:30, and Harry to shower before showing up at his office at 7:00, then left Harry with the gentle giant. He didn’t have much time to rejoice in his luck, though, as Hagrid led him to a huge, smelly barn about half a kilometer behind his hut.

“Usually this’d be my job, but Severus said that you’re to take over for a couple of hours, so here you go.” He handed Harry a pitchfork. “You’re to be cleanin’ stalls. Go ahead and take that wheelbarrow there. First ye take out the dirty hay an’ the manure and pile ’em up in that pile over there. Then ya go and refill th’ stall with straw from those bales over there. Th’ Thestrals like it nice and thick. When yer finished the one, move ye right on to the next. I’ll be sure get ’ya when it’s time to go.”

Harry started towards the first stall with a sigh, but stopped when Hagrid called again. “Eh, I almos’ forgot. Ye can’t use any magic for’t - the thestrals’re a bit touchy about such things.”

Three hours later Harry trudged his way back up towards the castle, muscles all over trembling with fatigue. His hair, clothing, and skin were soaked with sweat and streaked with grime. He was panting when he finally reached the Slytherin common room, enough so that its occupants noticed. Prefect Rosalind stopped him before he stepped through the portrait hole, pointing to his shoes. Harry promptly removed them and headed straight for the showers in his sock feet, ignoring the stares brought on by his appearance.

Fifteen minutes later he was clean, and dry, and dressed, and wanting nothing more than to climb into bed. Nevertheless he walked back out the portrait hole and headed down to Snape’s office, where Snape smirked at his weak glare, let him in, and pointed at the desk that he had once again set up in front of his own.

“It seems that along with several hours of my own work, a certain goat ate your previous lines, Potter. You’ll have to start over.”

THAT woke Harry up. God, no. The potions master’s gaze was relentless, though, and Harry didn’t dare protest…especially considering that whether the claim that they’d been eaten was true or not, he deserved the extra work for destroying Snape papers. Whatever Harry might say of Snape, the man seemed to cling to his own idea of “fair.” Like giving me a week of grounding over not taking a stupid potion “fair.” I didn’t do anything to him that time. Harry reminded himself, and revised his thought. The man was fair, when he found it convenient to be so…or maybe amusing…or profitable. Maybe someone paid him. Harry couldn’t tell.

Will Snape let me out at 10:00 like he did last time? Harry wondered. Then he once again gave up on thinking. He knew his paragraph from memory now, and so just started writing.

1. ‘Rules are put in place in order to keep me safe, and are therefore not to be ignored. My life is worth more than a Rememberall. I must learn to value it as highly, and guard it as carefully, as those around me do.’

Harry was really exhausted, this time, and before he’d gotten through three renditions he found his head nodding. He’d realize he’d stopped writing, and jerk his head up and stare at the page, willing himself to stay awake and keep writing, but two lines later he’d be dozing again.

Finally the potions master stood up and started wandering the room as he had before, and, as before, Harry found himself tensing, no longer tempted to fall asleep. Harry’s muscles had just gotten over being sore from the last time he’d attempted to write and keep track of Snape at the same time, and this time his shoulders and back were already tired from shoveling. By the twentieth line he felt himself getting sore, and by the fortieth he was cramping up. By the time he started the fiftieth he couldn’t deal with it any longer, and whipped around to growl at the infernal man.

“Would you please stop lurking?”

“Why, does it bother you?”

Harry stuck out his chin angrily. “No.”

“Well, then, no.”

51. ‘Rules are put in place in order to keep me safe, and are therefore not to be ignored. My life is worth more than a Rememberall. I must learn to value it as highly, and guard it as carefully, as those around me do.’

But Harry couldn’t concentrate, and it wasn’t long before he surrendered, turning around again to speak.

“Fine!”

“Fine, what?”

“Fine, yes! It bothers me! Would you stop?!”

“What bothers you?”

“Your…lurking!” Harry shouted, frustrated.

“Why?” Snape asked calmly.

Harry went back to writing.

52. ‘Rules are put in place in order to keep me safe, and are therefore not to be ignored. My life is worth more than a Rememberall. I must learn to value it as highly, and guard it as carefully, as those around me do.’

53. ‘Rules are put in place in order to keep me safe, and are therefore not to be ignored. My life is worth more than a Rememberall. I must learn to value it as highly, and guard it as carefully, as those around me do.’

Harry tried to force his shoulders down, to ease the ache, but Harry could practically feel the potions master’s presence behind him, and he desperately wanted to turn and watch. The skin on the back of his neck prickled and his shoulders tightened back up. Damnit I can’t DO this! He didn’t think it would work, but he turned around again and met the professor’s eyes.

“Please stop lurking behind me, sir. It bothers me.”

The professor inclined his head. “Better, but I still want to know why.”

Harry clenched his teeth, but answered through them, his words clipped. “I just don’t like having people behind me. Sir.”

“Very well.” And the man moved back to his desk.

What the hell was THAT all about? Harry was too tired to really think on it, though, so he returned to his lines.

54. ‘Rules are put in place in order to keep me safe, and are therefore not to be ignored. My life is worth more than a Rememberall. I must learn to value it as highly, and guard it as carefully, as those around me do.’

Finally able to relax a little, Harry wrote the rest of his lines with only his hand cramping, and found that by 10:00 he had managed one hundred and fifty neatly written statements. As before, the potions master looked up at precisely 10:00, and asked to see his progress.

“Well done. You’re dismissed.”

Harry turned away gratefully before being called back.

“Potter!” Snape reached into a cabinet behind his desk, bringing out a glass jar with a broad opening and a large cork. “Put this on your shoulders, and wherever else you need it.”

Harry studied the hand the potions master thrust out towards him before gingerly taking the salve from him. It was blindingly, painfully blue, but Harry knew it would work at whatever it was supposed to do. The man was too proud to give out imperfect potions or salves. Harry knew what to say, but the words sounded strange on his lips.

“Thank you.” But don’t think this is a truce, ’cause it’s not. Harry had far too many ideas now to abandon them for one stupid salve, and besides, he still had at least twelve detentions to go. If the man wanted a truce, he could give Harry his free-time back.

Finally Harry dragged his way back to his dorm, thinking of nothing more than how good his bed was going to feel. He wondered a bit at just how tired he was feeling before remembering his abrupt 5:15 wake-up call and subsequent exhausting day. He could hardly believe that the office clean-up had been just that morning - it felt like a week had gone by since then.

Finally Harry got up to his dorm. He brushed his teeth quickly before climbing into bed and pulling the curtains closed. He undressed, feeling his shoulders and neck pull as he took his shirt off. He pulled out his salve and carefully stuck a finger into it. How do I know it’s not a perfectly brewed contact poison? His shoulders really were sore, though, so he gently spread the blue stuff on and rubbed it in.

The effect was almost instantaneous. Warmth seemed to radiate from the salve, somehow dissolving the tension in his muscles, leaving them tired and limp, but not sore. Gaining confidence, he grabbed a little more salve, spreading it as thinly as he could over his shoulders and the back of his neck. By the time he was done he was almost half asleep. Carefully capping the salve, Harry pulled up his covers and slept.

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.

Great. More lines. Harry sat down in his now-usual spot in front of Snape's desk and got started.

151. ‘Rules are put in place in order to keep me safe, and are therefore not to be ignored. My life is worth more than a Rememberall. I must learn to value it as highly, and guard it as carefully, as those around me do.’

I could get really tired of that phrase. Harry'd been dismissed from his meeting with Snape, only to return an hour later for detention. He really was getting tired of this. Need more pranks. I still haven't managed to get Snape really angry. Wait...was that the goal? Did he really want to do that? What was he thinking? Okay that just proves it. I'm suicidal. I can just see the headline – 'dumb Boy-who-lived-to-piss-off-possible-Death-Eater DEAD: strangled with own intestines.' Why don't I just walk right up to the Dark Lord and tell him that black robes make him look fat?

152. Rules are put in place in order to keep me safe, and are therefore not to be ignored. My life is worth more than a Rememberall. I must learn to value it as highly, and guard it as carefully, as those around me do.’

Just 50 more. Harry reminded himself. The relief was very short-lasting, however, as Harry realized that he didn't know what detention would entail when it was over. He didn't like not knowing. More cleaning, maybe? Harry hoped so. Cleaning was something he was good at, was used to.

Finally he got done and glumly handed in his paper. I've still got 2 and a half hours here.

“Good.” Said Snape, looking at him briefly. “Follow me.” The potions master got up and walked over to the potions laboratory, and Harry followed him in. “This is my private potions lab. I won't bother to tell you not to come here alone, because you'd never get past the wards, however if you value your hands don't touch anything that I don't personally give you.”

The potions master set Harry up at a station in the corner and gave him a pile of purple seed pods that, were they not purple, Harry would have called green beans. He then handed Harry a knife, and set about showing Harry the proper way to slice the things.

“These are called Purple Beans...” Harry held back a snort, “you will be slicing them in preparation for our class on Monday, in which we will be brewing Buggers-B-Gone,” Harry didn't manage to hold back his snort this time – clearly the product had been named by a dumb American unaware of British slang- and earned himself a glare. “a magical insecticide. Cut them into even-sized pieces –thus - unless the fibers and seeds are of equal length and size you will end up with potions of unpredictable strength. Both the fibers and the seeds have important properties in your potion. Go ahead and get started – that's right.” Harry set to with a certain measure of relief. Now I know what I'm doing.

Snape then set to brewing various potions – at least 5 at once – moving among them around the room as Harry worked. The professor occasionally moved behind Harry, but didn't lurk, and Harry found it didn't bother him too much. Two hours later the potions master checked on Harry and gave him the usual praise for his neat work.

“Where did you learn to slice so precisely, Potter?”

“Cooking, sir.”

“You cook?”

“When I have to.”

“I take it you don't like it, then.”

Are you kidding? “No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't.”

“That is not an answer.”

“Then you're not going to get one.” Can't you ever just BACK OFF?

“Don't be rude.”

Harry's temper flared. “Very well. If you could please get your ugly beak out of my business I would very much appreciate the effort. Oh, and just to point out, it is equally rude to push someone on a topic they do not wish to discuss.”

Severus inclined his head. “A point. And if I cared more about being polite than figuring out what goes on in your home life, I might heed it. Instead, though, I ask again, why do you hate cooking so much?”

Harry clenched his teeth. Everytime I talk to this man I come out with a headache. What does it MATTER to him, damnit! “Fine, then I'll also ask again. Why do you care?”

Severus was frustrated. I care because Lily told me to and you're just a child and you need help and I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do when you're so bloody stubborn and so bloody damaged! I don't know, you insolent, stubborn brat so stop asking! “Because believe it or not not all adults like seeing a child in pain. Now if you know what's good for you, you will stop asking that.”

Harry just stared at him, eyes wide.

“Now, your turn. Why do you hate cooking so much?”

Harry glared but answered. “Because sometimes I mess up. You can't mess up cleaning, really. Cooking is harder.”

“And if you mess up?”

“I prefer to not mess up.” And that is all you're bloody getting out of me so BACK OFF.

Severus watched the boy's body language and decided to give it up for the moment. “Very well. You're dismissed.”

Harry returned to his dorm feeling distinctly grumpy, and headed for bed immediately after getting back from his detention, barely speaking to Theo and Blaise, though they watched him pass by. Don't talk to me right now; I don't want to bite your head off.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH

The next day Harry woke up late, looked outside, and groaned. It was a glorious day of the type that would soon be disappearing – warm and bright with only the lightest fluffy cloud to obscure the blue. Theo, who'd been changing nearby, heard his groan and walked over to look out the window beside him.

“What's wrong with a nice day?”

“Nothing. Not one bloody thing. You should go have fun – maybe go swimming, or fly your broomstick. It's the perfect day for it, and every kid loves to go outside on those last beautiful warm days of summer before it gets bloody cold!” Harry said in a falsely cheerful tone.

“What are you on about, then?” Asked Blaise, coming up behind Harry.

Harry turned towards him. It's not their fault. “Never mind me. Seriously. Go have fun. It's Saturday, and it's beautiful.” He tried hard not to sound bitter.

“I see.” Said Blaise, satisfied. “That sucks.”

“Well I sure as heck don't! What's wrong with a beautiful day?”

“Come, on, Theo. I've never met a more Hufflepuff Slytherin in my life. Why would Harry specifically be upset that it's such a beautiful day?

“OH! Well...you wanna go put something squishy in Snapers' chair or something?”

Harry's patience ran out. “No. I want to go outside.”And I'm not going...why?

Harry started heading for the door.

“Where are you going?!” Asked Theo.

“Wait.” Ordered Blaise. Harry stopped and turned to him. Blaise tended to have a good head on his shoulders. Like Hermione, he tended to coolly weigh the risks and benefits of a certain action before doing it. Unlike her, however, 'risks' depended on how likely he was to get caught, not on how likely he was to have to break a rule. Next to the twins, he'd been the greatest asset in Harry's world wars. “Is there any way you can avoid getting caught, doing this?”

Harry thought about it for a bit, and deflated. No. And it's not worth it, either. He could just imagine getting served to Snape on a silver platter by some well-meaning (idiotic) teacher. Everyone knew about Harry's problems with Snape, to the point that Marcus Flint was seriously angry about the new detention Harry had incurred for his first prank. I should be careful not to piss him off further, Harry noted. Another reason to remain safely behind bars. But wait...

“YES!” Exclaimed Harry excitedly. “Check this out!” Harry focused hard, this time on what Karrie Woodman looked and felt like, since he wasn't using a mirror. Two minutes later he stopped feeling change, and opened his eyes. “How do I look?”

Theo and Blaise just gaped at him. Blaise recovered first.

“Karrie has...green eyes...not brown.” Was all he seemed to be able to say. Harry fixed it. Theo looked ready to faint.

“How did you DO that??”

You tell me. “I kinda don't know. I just want to look like her, and then I do. It started when I was like eight years old – I really wanted to have normal-length hair, and so it grew.”

“Normal-length? What happened to it?” Inquired Blaise.

“Oh – just a bad haircut.” Answered Harry. It wasn't even a lie. Bully for me. He was abruptly really excited. “Come on!!! Let's go outside!”

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus Snape was just setting a cauldron of Pepperup to simmer when a bell sounded in his office – a queer three-toned chord that made him groan. I should have predicted this. After all, the boy had snuck past him before, he'd quickly realize that he could do it again. The brats never do realize that I can always tell when they sneak out. And now he'd have to stop him. And haven't I done a damned thorough job of making myself the bad guy. At this point he'd settle for neutral, but feared he'd never get past hate and fear. I'm so tired of this. The kid just wants to go outside. It's not like he can ask me, for goodness' sake! Getting a normal request out of the kid was like pulling teeth. Maybe he could work some more on fixing that...

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus got to the entrance to the Slytherin common room in under a minute, and stopped a minute to process. Well this is interesting. Blaise he'd expected, and Theo, but...Karrie Woodman was a third-year, and had never before shown interest in spending time with firsties. She also looked distinctly unhappy to see him. Polyjuice potion is WAY too advanced for these guys...and they'd've had to know way ahead of time that they wanted it. Maybe it's a glamour? Some glamour! Out of context, I'd totally believe that that was Karrie. He approached the trio, smirking slightly.

“Well this is odd. Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and 'Karrie Woodman' just outside of the portrait hole, when Harry Potter is forbidden to leave the dorm. Strange coincidence, is it not, gentlemen?” Aaaand....sure enough, 'Karrie Woodman' was glaring at him.

Leave me alone. I just want to go outside. PLEASE.

“Anything to say, 'Karrie'?”

Harry knew that he'd give himself away as soon as he opened his mouth, so he stayed quiet and just shook his head.

“Then reveal yourself, please.”

Damn. He already knows.Harry complied, doing his best to maintain an angry glare. He really felt ready to cry, though he refused to show Snape that. I just really, really wanted to go out...now he's gonna kill me. Detention 'till the end of the world... never gonna see the sky again...possible loss of limb. Harry stopped that thought quickly as he felt his glare fading. He REALLY didn't want to cry in front of Snape.

Severus watched Harry faze back with amazement. That's no glamour...glamours just come down, they don't...fade. Wasn't it enough that he smashed up the infirmary, now he's a metamorphmagus?! No wonder he's so good at transfiguration. He's the definition of a 'natural.' Getting a hold of himself, Severus watched as Harry/Karrie thought things over in another one of his more open moments. I can read him, now...that can only be good. The boy was clearly unhappy...and more so than just for getting in trouble. Two weeks is a long time for an 11-year-old to be stuck inside. Severus realized. I really should have expected this sooner. I'm surprised he obeyed me as long as he did.

“An explanation, if you please.”

Isn't it obvious enough? You knew keeping me inside would make me miserable, that's why you did it!

“NOW, Harry.”

What? Harry looked up in startlement. He called me Harry...again. Weird. Nobody calls me that, not even McGonagall. Whatever...if I lie, it means I care about what he does to me. If I tell the truth...he knows that being grounded bothers me. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. Damn.

“I...I just wanted to go out, sir.”

“And you didn't ask...why?”

This is ridiculous. He wants me to ASK? And what exactly would that buy me? “And you would have let me, sir?”

“If you had asked politely? Possibly.” The professor sounded annoyed, and Harry squared his shoulders, giving a stronger glare. The professor continued. “Why don't you try it?”

So you can say no? I don't think so. Harry just continued to glare without answering.

“Unless you would prefer to spend the afternoon in your dorm as usual? Either way I won't forget the fact that you tried to sneak out.”

In other words, I'm in trouble again. When does he get so mad that he hits me? DAMNIT I am so fucking NOT scared. Harry's glare deepened as he stood up straighter and jutted out his chin. Blaise watched the interaction with interest. What is going on here?

Damnit, he won't even try, not when I'm angry, at least. Suddenly the professor realized. Damnit all to hell I WANT to let him go outside. I suppose...in the interest of keeping the kid confused...

“One hour.”

It had the desired effect: Harry was looking at him like he'd spontaneously grown another head... or two. Ten points to me.

“What...you mean...huh?”

“Eloquent, Mr. Potter. I said one hour. You may go outside for one hour. I expect you back in the dorm by 12:30. Keep in mind that this will not happen again: next time you really will be required to ask.”
Unless by then I'm a total doormat. I certainly seem to be tending that way, lately.

Harry just kept staring at him, now with growing hope.

“Go, Harry, before I change my mind.” Fat chance, with the sad-puppy look you just gave me. Severus prided himself on being realistic. Okay, so 'puppy look' is an exaggeration. Still...

Harry looked over at Theo and Blaise and smiled. Theo smiled back, while Blaise just looked thoughtful and...disturbed?

“Go ahead guys,” said Blaise, “I'll catch up.” Harry shot a grateful-confused look over his shoulder at Snape as Theo pulled him away by an arm, and Blaise just looked up and met the potions master's eyes.

“What is going on here?”

Severus looked into Blaise's eyes and saw fear and determination. Apparently whatever he had to say was really important to him. “Shall we take this to my office?”

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

“Okay, so here's what I see.” Started Blaise, his voice betraying the nervousness he fought to keep off his face. “Harry comes to Hogwarts, seemingly fine. He mouths off to you during potions, humiliating and angering you. Then he gets in trouble with you during his first flying lesson, and is given detention.” Blaise looked at Snape, the nervousness in his voice giving way to growing anger as he continued, sounding far older than 11 years.

“In most such situations, the student goes to detention and it's over in a day. Instead, though, Harry avoids you like the plague for a week, going through hell and high water to avoid detention with you. Finally he gets caught, and goes to you, looking like he's facing the gallows. He's then gone for three days, you won't tell us where he is, and, when he comes back, he lies to us about where he's been, saying you've had him in detention. Now you've caught him disobeying, and the slightest anger in your voice makes him tighten up like he's trying not to cringe. What the hell is going on?”

“Language, Zabini.” Snape snapped automatically.

And just like that the eleven-year-old was back. “Sorry sir, but-”

“I do understand your concern, Mr. Zabini, however there isn't much I can do to address it. Harry's reactions to me are Harry's business, and not yours if he does not choose to share them. All I can tell you is, it is not truly me whom Harry fears.” Come on, kid. You're smart...smarter than I ever could have predicted, given your grades. Figure it out.

Blaise gave Severus a long look, then nodded stiffly. “May I be dismissed then, sir?”

“You may.”

Blaise turned to leave, relieved.

“Zabini.”

“Sir?”

“You are a good friend.”

“Thank you, sir.” Blaise left.

Interesting. Now what was I – oh. Severus got some floo powder, and fire-called the auror's office.

“Yes?”

“Might I speak with auror-trainee Tonks please?

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Harry left for his detention that evening with a certain sense of trepidation. Being outside -even for an hour – had felt amazing, but now Harry was unsure how to approach the potions master. Was the man angry that he'd snuck out? Would he punish Harry for disobeying? Why had he let Harry go? What did the man want? Damnit I don't like surprises. Well...He amended, going out was nice... Maybe, maybe, he'd be okay. If Snape was really mad, surely he wouldn't let Harry go outside when he wanted to?

Harry steeled himself as he always did, and knocked on the door. He heard the call to enter and did so, stopping by the door.

“Come here.” Severus motioned towards where Harry had previously written lines, though there was no desk there now. Harry went where he was told and stood in front of the man, with the desk between them. The potions master remained seated. I am in trouble, then. He met Snape's eyes as calmly as he could, but felt his nervousness rising as the silence dragged out.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

What could he say? He wanted to go out and didn't want to ask and didn't think it was any of Snape's business, so he went? That didn't seem like the right thing to say, somehow, with his head of house staring down at him. And he let you go out. You should have asked. This from the voice in his head that sounded surprisingly like Hermione. I don't like asking for things. And how should I know he would've let me? He didn't know how to answer the professor's question.

“Eyes up, Potter.” Ordered the potions master. Harry's focus snapped upward as he only then realized that he had let it fall to the floor. Damnit, stop acting like you're scared, or submissive. You're not. You hate Snape and he should get out of your bloody life and you don't bloody care if he yells at you or gives you more detentions or even hits you. Somehow his eyes felt really, really, heavy though. He wanted to look down, to avoid the professor's dark gaze. The man kept looking at him, just looking, and somehow that was ruddy awful.

“Nothing to say? Very well. Corner, then. Half an hour.” He pointed to the corner behind Harry, away from the door, and just ten feet from where Snape was standing.

Harry looked at Severus, then at the corner, then back at Severus, his anxiety plain.

“I will not move from this desk. Go.” Harry went, and even stood with his back to Severus for a second before turning back around. Severus looked in his eyes and saw a hint of pleading behind the attempt at a glare.

“I know you don't like it. Maybe next time you'll ask me, instead of disobeying. Turn around.” You've gotta get used to it, sometime, kid.

Harry turned around, though he felt like he was back writing lines, with Snape lurking. Snape really didn't move, so it was livable, and he didn't get as tight as he used to with Snape behind him, but the potions master was right: he didn't like it at all. Like before, he spent the first ten minutes tense, listening to what was going on behind him. Then, as the nervousness faded some, he started, despite himself, to think of how he'd gotten into this situation.

Stuck with my nose in the corner. Again. Brilliant. I'm on time-out, like a little kid. This bloody sucks. I should've known Snape'd know when I left the dorm. Probably had a bloody monitor on me or something. And why on EARTH didn't I pretend to be Ron or Hermione? They might be seen with Theo and Blaise. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Should've just asked. Harry felt his anxiety mount again at the thought alone. Okay...bad idea. Maybe not. Should've just stayed bloody cooped up...no. Maybe he was monitoring the dorm, and maybe he wasn't. Definitely should've just done a better job sneaking out. Whatever. I can definitely say this sucks.

As before, his feet were getting sore. Unlike before, so were his shoulders and back. He really didn't like having the professor behind him, and half an hour was a long time to be expected to just deal with it. He turned around and looked.

The professor was still at his desk, working on something, but when he heard Harry move he looked up, and stared at Harry expectantly. Okay, okay, I got it. Harry turned back around glumly. Maybe disobeying Snape wasn't such a good idea. But I couldn't just stay inside! I was dying! The Hermione-voice broke in again, almost mockingly. And this is so much better? Harry thought it out. No. But I just wanted to go out. Maybe he should've asked. I can't ask. Not Snape. Damnit, why does this corner thing always make me want to cry? He just wanted out of the corner so bad. The combination of boredom and anxiety and self-recrimination was just miserable.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus watched surreptitiously as Harry stood in the corner. The kid was clearly anxious, though thankfully not as tense as he'd been at previous detentions. He'd also obeyed with minimal argument when sent to the corner in the first place. I should keep in mind that this is a harsher punishment for him than for other students. That pleading look Harry had given him had not left Severus unaffected. He really hates this.

Finally Severus called Harry out of the corner, noticing as he did how despondent the boy seemed. Well, maybe this would cheer him up.

“I've asked someone from the Ministry to come see you, today. She should be here momentarily. I won't presume to say that you'll necessarily like her – I don't, particularly, but I think you'll find you have a lot in common, at least. I think you should get to know each other. Maybe she'll even teach you something, if you'll let her.”

Harry looked confused for a moment, then wary. Yey. More adults.

He didn't have time for more than that, though, as the floo flared and a young woman (girl?) came through. Harry relaxed marginally at her appearance. She seemed more girl than woman, almost, and her open, cheerful expression and casual clothing told him that she wasn't there to order him around. What is she here for, then? Snape said she was from the Ministry?

“Harry, this is Nymphadora Tonks, an auror-trainee from the Ministry and a Hogwarts graduate, among other things. Ms. Tonks, this is Harry Potter. I'll be in my laboratory if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Professor Snape. I'm sure I'll be fine.” She smiled broadly at the perpetually-frowning professor, who glared back at her impudence. That girl never will grow up. You'd think I'd have gotten used to the cheeky brat – err – young woman - by now.

Harry watched Snape leave with an odd sense of betrayal. Now he was alone with Ms. Tonks, and still with no clue as to what she was doing there.

“Wotcher, Harry! So I hear you're a metamorphmagus!”

“A...a what?” He didn't think it was an insult, but...oh! Harry watched as the woman's (girl's?) nose lengthened, then shortened again, and her soft auburn waves changed into emerald green corkscrew curls, which were then immediately replaced with soft bubblegum-pink spikes. The girl -definitely a girl. She's got pink hair, for goodness' sake! - smiled broadly when Harry exclaimed. “Oh! Hey cool you're the same's me!”

Suddenly it occurred to Harry that he could look like whatever he wanted to at any moment – it didn't have to be a full disguise, a way to hide, it could be a statement of, well, fashion. It's not fashion, it's...looks. It is perfectly masculine to want to look good. Harry concentrated, and his own unmanageable black hair fell out, replaced by a curling black mass that reached his waist.

Tonks smiled approvingly. “That looks neat! Not the most practical, though. Use this.” She handed him a hair elastic.

“Err...” He realized he had no idea how to go about fixing his hair.

“Oh! Of course, you've never had to put your hair up before, have you?” She laughed. “Do you mind if I show you?”

At his nod, Tonks gripped Harry by the shoulders and turned him around so she could see his hair. He didn't like her behind him, I think I've had enough of that for one day, but stayed put for the moment.

“Here. What you do is you thread your hair through like this, then twist it like this and pull it through the other way. You just keep doing that until it gets tight aaand...voila!” She turned him back around, and Harry relaxed, then laughed.

“Professor Snape brought you here to teach me about hair-ties?”

Tonks laughed with him, unabashed. “Among other things. Have you figured out how to change your voice yet?”

Harry shook his head. “You can do that?”

“Sure. Just think of how you want your voice to sound, like how you'd otherwise think of how you want your face to look.”

Well that didn't sound hard. “All right.” Harry thought of Tonks' own voice, light and feminine and full of laughter, and felt the accustomed itchy, stretching feeling in his throat. He kept focused until the feeling went away, and then tried it.

“Wotcher, Tonks!” Harry startled. That's so weird! “Hey, it worked! Weird!”

Tonks laughed, to hear Harry speaking with her voice. “That is weird! But fun!” Harry dared a question.

“You haven't played around with this before?”

“Oh, sure I have, just never with another metamorphmagus. You're the only other one I know of, in fact, though I'm sure there are a couple more around.”

A couple? We're that rare? Dang. And I thought that her being here meant I wasn't as freakish as I thought.

“That's why Snape brought you here, then, 'cause we're so rare?”

“Partly. I think he thought you'd like it, honestly. I know I do! Is that how you're gonna keep your hair?”

“I dunno. I really don't like it short, but I don't know if I want it this long. Or black, actually. Can we do any color?”

“Yup. Hair doesn't have to be remotely natural, for some reason, though skin's harder to do in weird shades, maybe because it's more 'alive' than hair. You don't have to have it fall out, to change it, you know – just picture what you want to look like, without thinking too hard on how it's different from your own, and it should just switch.”

“Oh, good. That aspect was kinda gross.”

“Yeah it took me a bit to figure that one out. It's also really hard to fake anyone much bigger or smaller than yourself. I can do it, but I get tired after an hour or so. When I was littler I couldn't do it at all. I really don't know how the metamorphmagusness works, honestly. You'll have to let me know anything that you discover about it – I can't even pretend to know everything!”

“Will we see each other again, then?” Harry liked Tonks, he realized. The more he talked to her the more he realized that she wasn't an adult yet, and relaxed.

“Sure. I'll find you, next time I visit Hogwarts. You can tell me what you've done with it. Don't tell the professor I said it, but it's great for pranks. In third year I walked into the great hall looking like an live version of Binns and sat in his spot. The other professors all stared, but he didn't even notice – sat right on top of me.” She shuddered. “Never get sat on by a ghost. It's creepy.” Harry grinned. Hmm...pranks. Who would he want to mimic? He'd have to learn what they acted like, he supposed...he'd think about it. I can even do the voice, now! Neat!

Two hours later, Severus returned to find a very happy Harry Potter and Nymphadora Tonks taking turns dictating styles and looks for each other to adopt. At the moment Harry had taken on the appearance of an old hag, complete with long, dirty-looking, grizzled gray hair and a huge, warty nose, while Tonks looked on. (Either that or Harry had taken on Tonks' habitual appearance while Tonks played the witch, Severus had no real way of knowing.) This is going to be interesting.

Tonks took Severus' reappearance as her signal to leave, and returned to the Ministry, promising to visit again. Harry returned to looking like Harry, without shedding this time, and gave Snape a tiny, tentative smile.

“Thank you, sir. I do like her!”

Severus almost smiled in return. “So it would appear. Did you learn anything new?”

“Yes, sir. I can do voices now, and change my hair unnatural colors.”

“Oh, great joy. Keep in mind that colorful hair is against the school's dress code. You may play with that aspect outside of class.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, you may go.”

Suddenly Harry realized. That was supposed to be my detention?! Well...being made to stand in a corner with Snape behind him definitely counted among the worst detentions he could think of, but that was only half an hour!

“Thank you, sir!”

“You're welcome. Now go. Go sleep.”

Harry went, happily for once. I should sneak out more often! Thought Harry jokingly, though he knew he wouldn't. Corner time was no fun, and Tonks coming during detention was the exception, not the rule. Still, though...all in all, it had been a good day. If only it could last...

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

The next day was Sunday, and Harry glumly set himself up doing his homework in the Slytherin common room. It was another beautiful day, and Harry was, for once, trying not to get in trouble. He'd played with his hair the night before and settled on thick wavy curls that grew down past his shoulder-blades but not as long as before. His facial features he'd left alone: he found it disturbing, for some reason, to leave them different for very long. He wondered if Tonks felt the same way, and remembered her idea about pranking. Who would I mimic, though?

Just then, Malfoy came in through the portrait-hole and headed upstairs, before noticing Harry and stopping to stare.

“Hey Potter – somebody slip a hair-growth potion into your pumpkin juice? You look like you attached a mop to your head!”

Harry smiled. Finally something interesting to do. “What happened to yours? Fall into a vat of bleach, did you? Or do you like the Babewatch look?” Harry realized that Malfoy wouldn't know what he was talking about. “You know, pretty Californian ponces running in slow motion to go rescue the bimbo? You'd fit right in.”

Harry- 1, Malfoy- 0! Malfoy looked pissed. “You'll pay for that, Potter. You'd think twice if you knew what my father-”

“Oh, your father, your father. You're a little old to be needing Daddy's protection, aren't you, Baywatch boy? Or are all purebloods that pathetic?”

Harry- 2, Malfoy- still 0! “There is nothing wrong with using money and power if you've got them, Potter. You'd know that if you had any. That's it – you're just jealous. Miss your own Mommy and Daddy, do you? Do you cry at night, at home with those muggles you pathetically call family? Do you want somebody to tuck you in at-”

Given the excuse he'd unconsciously sought, Harry lunged at the other boy, hitting him hard on the cheekbone and knocking him to the ground. The two rolled around on the floor, punching and kicking each other for all they were worth. Malfoy was bigger, but Harry had fought before, if only defensively. It was pretty evenly matched, all told, and Harry was having a grand time -finally, I can fight back!- when a large hand gripped the back of his neck and hauled him off Malfoy. Abruptly Harry found himself at arms length of a very angry Severus Snape.

“What in Merlin's name do you think you are doing?!” He roared into Harry's face. Harry's eyes got impossibly wide as he watched the man in growing terror and started to struggle. HERE it comes. Let me go-let me go-let me GO!” Severus moved a hand and Harry panicked, breaking free to stumble back and crouch in the nearest corner with his knees into his chest, babbling as Severus had heard once before and tried to forget. “Please, please, sorry, didn't mean to-do better, sorry. I'll do better, lots better. Whatever you want, okay? Please, sorry, really sorry. Be good.”

Damn, damn, damn. What was Albus thinking to put this child in my care? Every time I think things are a going a little better...This is MY fault. How could he forget how thin the boy's facade really was?

He doused Harry with a water-spell, as before, and Harry's babbling ended with a gasp and a choke. The boy looked up briefly, long enough to take in Snape and Malfoy, before closing his eyes in horror. Not again. Please not again. Let this be a nightmare.

Malfoy had seen everything.

“Malfoy- go wait for me by my office.” Snape ordered. “I will arrive shortly to talk to you.”

Malfoy was watching Harry, still curled in the corner, with growing confusion. “But-”

“Go. I'll talk to you, but right now I have other priorities.” To the potion master's relief, the boy went.

“Harry?”

The kid looked up at him, stiffened, and stood up. He stayed in the corner, watching Snape with an air that was somehow both defiant and expectant. Severus met his eyes and sighed inwardly. The boy's expression was entirely blank behind the anger. What can he be thinking? He's closed down, again. At that moment Severus realized that he had made some marginal progress in the last week – he hadn't seen the boy's expression this solidly angry since he'd talked to him after the incident in the infirmary. Not that it matters, now. I don't think I want to know what the boy thinks he's waiting for.

“We will deal with your behavior in detention tonight, not now.” Severus hoped that Harry would be at least a little reassured, but the boy's expression didn't change. Maybe I should just let him calm down on his own? But that couldn't be right. He had lost his temper. If the boy was afraid of him it was his fault: it was therefore his responsibility to ameliorate the situation. What if I can't? He thought with anguish. The boy needs SOMEBODY he can look to and trust... even if that person isn't me. Severus Snape did not like admitting to failure, but that didn't mean he couldn't. Maybe I've finally done enough damage that Albus will give up. It is ridiculous to ask a Deatheater to mentor an abused child, and even more ridiculous for the Deatheater to actually try. Severus' shoulders slumped. “Very well. Make sure you get dried off. I have to go do damage control. I will ensure that Mr. Malfoy does not carry any tales.”

Harry watched the Potions Master leave in confusion. He's just...gonna leave? He's really going to leave me alone? He was so mad! He grabbed me and shouted at me. He's...he's not gonna hit me? But the Potions Master was gone... He'd said that he'd deal with Harry in detention...maybe he'd hit him then? He's never hit me in detention before. Detention is...lines, and potions ingredients...and The Corner. Harry shivered. There was no way he was going to let the professor behind him. Not when he'd been so angry. But what'll he do if I refuse? STOP. This is weakness, and not helping me calm down. Any minute somebody could come in and find Harry standing with his back to the corner, shaking. He had to either calm down, or move. Harry packed up his books and moved up to his dorm. I am not scared. I am not weak. I'll just study on my bed with the curtains closed. Lots of kids study on their beds. I want...privacy. Just privacy.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus arrived at his office to find Draco waiting outside of it exactly as directed. At least one of the boys isn't a crisis waiting to happen. Draco caused his own share of trouble, but for the moment, at least, the boy seemed confused enough to be compliant. He better be. He's got some explaining to do.

Severus let Draco into his office silently, and went to sit behind his desk. Draco took the silence as it was meant and came to stand in front of Severus' desk, feet shoulder-width apart and hands clasped behind him. No apprehensive shuffling from the sole son and heir of the Malfoy estate, of course. It almost reminded Severus of Harry's ways of hiding his fear, though he knew that Draco's upbringing had little in common with the smaller boy's.

Draco had been been taught to take punishment and praise alike with an air of pride and dignity. He couldn't quite pull it off, yet, however, and Severus found himself grateful. He'd never understood the Malfoy family's obsession with stoicism in their children and neither did Narcissa. Perhaps her influence was the reason her son seemed to vacillate between arrogant airs and a childish desire to please his professors, and Severus especially.

Severus let the boy stew for a bit before demanding harshly, “Explain yourself.”

“He attacked me.”

“I see.” Severus' tone was skeptical, but the silence afterward invited elaboration. When it didn't come, Severus prompted,

“So, you were just walking by, minding your own business, and Harry got up and hit you. Is that what you are telling me?”

Draco shook his head imperceptibly.

“A verbal answer please.”

Finally Draco spoke, his tone clipped and cold.

“No, sir. We exchanged words.”

“A pretty euphemism for your goading, I should think.”

A sudden heat entered the boy's tone. “Well if you are going to take it that way, why bother having this conversation?” The boy turned around proudly and strode towards the door.

Merlin this boy's got airs. “Should I just skip to floo-calling home, then, Draco?”

Draco stopped and turned around briefly, arrogance fully in force. “My father won't care. Nobody saw but you, anyway. He'll only care if it is public or if you cause me trouble.” He started towards the door again.

“How fortunate that I had no intention of calling him then.”

Draco stopped in his tracks and turned all the way around, slowly. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. If you do not wish to speak with me then you will speak with her. I do not appreciate being talked down to by an eleven-year-old. You will lose the attitude if you want any chance of avoiding a conversation with your mother.”

Draco wordlessly returned to his stance in front of Severus' desk.

“Better. Now I'll try again. Did you taunt him, Draco?

If I'm not polite, I'm screwed. Draco reminded himself.

“Yes, sir- but he was insulting me, too, sir! And he hit me, first!”

“What did you say, Draco?”

Draco got the impression that his godfather would not be pleased by his words about Potter's family, especially given the Prat-Who-Unfortunately-Lived's sudden strange behavior towards the man.

“He called me a ponce!”

“Mr. Malfoy all evidence to the contrary you are not deaf. I did not ask what Harry called you I inquired into what you said to him. Now out with it.”

“I...insulted his hair.” Draco tried hard to make it sound like that was all. Severus didn't buy it.

“Draco you might be sensitive about your hair but I find it doubtful that he is. What else did you say?”

Now Draco was nervous, and it showed. Severus watched the boy shift his weight from side to side as he considered what to say.

“I'm waiting.”

“I mighthavelaughedathimabouthisdeadparents.”

Draco flushed and tried again, speaking clearly as he had been taught, though it was difficult to meet his godfather's eyes. “I made fun of him about his dead parents. Sir.”

The professor just looked at him for a moment, while Draco fought to withstand the eye contact. Then the man spoke a single word.

“Why?”

Draco looked down. “I was angry, sir.”

Severus sat back and his chair and stared at Draco expectantly.

“I...I saw he'd changed his hair. I...don't like him, so I told him it looked like a mop. He said that mine looked like something from some muggle tv show.” Draco's cheeks burned to repeat the insult. So I like looking nice? I'm not some stupid muggle! “I started to tell him to...to not mess with me...because my father was so important, but he said I was too old to have my father protect me. He called me pathetic. I'm not pathetic! I just...he was being a prat, okay? I got mad!”

Severus just kept waiting, while Draco shuffled his feet.

“I said he was just jealous that I had a father to run to...said he probably cried at night at home with the muggles with nobody to tuck him in.”

And Snape still didn't say anything. Draco wanted to melt through the floor.

“Please say something.” He said, lifting his chin to try and hide his distress.

“What do you want me to say, Draco? Do you really think I will tell you that it is acceptable to dig up the most painful thing you knew about someone and throw it in his face, just because you're angry? Do you think I am proud of you for losing control like that? Do you think even your father would approve of that? I know your mother wouldn't.”

“Are you going to tell her?” Draco couldn't keep his voice from trembling on the question.

“That remains to be seen. James and Lily died bravely, trying to protect their child. It is not something to make light of, especially to their son. He could cry himself to sleep every night over it and I would expect you to be respectful. That is why I am disappointed in you. A fight is a fight. If it were just that... he hit you, you hit him, fine. It is undignified, and against the rules, and I would punish you, but I would not be nearly as disappointed as I am now. Mocking a child for the death of his parents is not funny, Draco. It is disgraceful, and it will not happen again.”

No, no I don't think it will. Thought Draco, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest. He studied the floor, not wanting to see his godfather's expression. The man was silent again, waiting for Draco to speak. He gulped, and his words came out in a whisper.

“No sir.”

Severus figured he'd made his point. “Eyes up, Draco. We still haven't discussed your fighting.” Draco breathed a sigh of relief, and looked up. This I can handle.

“He hit me!”

“And then you hit back.” It wasn't a question.

“Of course I did!”

Snape sighed. Of course he did. I can't change his nature. “Very well, then. As long as you know that every time you do, you'll be grounded. Starting now.”

“Grounded?” No!

“Grounded. Perhaps you'll be less inclined to lose your temper and antagonize your peers if you are confined to your common room every time you do.”

“But-”

“That is not up for negotiation. Four days, Draco. You will also be apologizing to Mr. Potter for your comments.”

That he would not do. Draco drew himself up to refuse but was cut off before he even opened his mouth.

Oh, I don't think so, Draco. “I have rarely been this disappointed in you, Draco. I would hope you'd learn to think before you speak.”

Snape spoke evenly and slowly, with no trace of anger, but Draco's eyes burned and his shoulders slumped as he tried once again to hold back the tightness in his chest and throat.

“Yes sir.”

“You will do as I ask.”

“Yes sir.”

Snape stood and walked around the desk to set a pot of tea to steep. “Would you like some tea, Draco?”

Draco turned his head away, blinking, and spoke stiffly.

“No, thank you, sir.”

Snape set down the tea and came to stand in front of Draco, lifting his chin gently.

“Would you prefer to be dismissed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. You may go.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Draco turned and walked towards the door with dignity, doing his best not to flee, but the tears started falling before the door even shut behind him.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

“Severus! How nice of you to stop by. Sherbet lemon?”

“No.” Severus snapped, and belatedly reconsidered. “Thank you. This is not a social call.”

“When is it ever?” Dumbledore smiled. “Very well, then, Severus, speak.”

Severus almost gulped. “I need you to find a different mentor for Harry.”

Albus didn't get angry as Severus had expected. In fact, his eyes were twinkling and a slight smile appeared. Severus observed this for a moment before realizing. I called the boy Harry. Of course he'd assume the world is clad in sunshine and rainbows.

“Albus I'm serious. The boy needs somebody.”

“Of course he does, Severus. That is precisely why I appointed you.”

Severus winced. “I am not fit, sir.”

“On the contrary I think you are doing an admirable job.”

“With all due respect, sir, you are misinformed.”

“Oh?” The headmaster's voice invited elaboration, and abruptly Severus felt a twinge of guilt for using the same tactic against Draco. He deserved it. He reminded himself. This is about Harry.

“I have failed, sir.”

Albus sat forward, as if the two of them were discussing some interesting philosophical point, and not Severus' numerous failings. “How so?”

“It is as I predicted. The boy is terrified of me. He flinches every time I raise my voice and yet still I lose my temper. I manhandled him today, pulled him bodily off of Draco and shouted at him. I had him cowering in the corner, pleading with me. How can you possibly say that my behavior is admirable?”

“How many times?”

“Sir?”

“How many times have you lost your temper? How many times have you shouted at Harry?”

“Just today, sir.”

“Once then. As I have heard, the boy has defied you at every turn, cursed you out, changed your hair colors in class, gotten in a fight with another boy and filled your office and classroom with farm animals. You are concerned that you have lost your temper once?”

He has a point. Thought Severus, before coming to his senses.

“That is not the point, Albus. I am not capable of this. I make students cry on a regular basis. I made Draco cry today, and I admit that I care for the boy. Abused children do not need bitter, angry, sharp-tempered Deatheaters. They need gentle, kind, soft-spoken, slow tempered, 'well-adjusted' adults well out of the line of fire. I am a good spy because I am none of these things. Find someone else.”

“No.”

Severus's voice rose with his anger. “He NEEDS somebody, Albus.”

“Exactly. He needs you. You will not abandon him.”

“I had no intention-”

“No? What then did you mean by 'find someone else'? You want free of this burden I have placed on you? You would leave an unwanted child still unwanted?”

“It's not about what I want! I am not good enough, Albus!”

“It is precisely about what you want, Severus. Do you want to help Harry?”

Severus looked away. Help Harry? Who would NOT want to help him? “Yes.”

“Then why are you giving up so quickly?”

“I'm not-”

“I would not have asked this of you in the first place if you were not 'good' enough. In fact I think you are ideal for this position. Did you expect it to be easy?”

“No.”

“Then what is your problem?”

“Please, Albus. Before I do more damage-”

Finally Albus looked at him closely and spoke. “How about this, Severus. When you find somebody that you would trust to care for Harry, and who is willing to, you may pass on the responsibility.”

Severus felt a wave of mixed relief and despair. Harry needs this. He is more important. If it hurt to give the boy up, so be it. I never wanted to do this, anyway.

“Who do you suggest?”

“Someone Lily would trust, at the very least.”

“Clearly. Who did Lily trust, then?”

“You.”

Severus groaned in frustration.

“Who else?”

“James Potter, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.”

“Who else who is not dead, imprisoned, or a werewolf?”

“No-one.”

Severus groaned.

“Good thing you're available, don't you think?” Albus smiled and chose a sherbet lemon, popping it into his mouth with an air of satisfaction.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

The day passed slowly for Harry, as he hid out in his dorm trying to focus on his homework instead of the detention ahead. Time did pass, though: lunch came, and then dinner. He managed to eat some bread, and some vegetables, but little else. Finally it was 6:55, and he headed to his detention with a feeling of doom not unlike what he had felt less than two weeks before, heading from the great hall with a Howler ringing in his ears. He didn't hit me then. He reminded himself. I'd been hiding from him for almost a week, and he yelled at me, but he didn't hit me. Not that it matters. I'm not scared of him.

But Malfoy had come back to the dorm looking like his dog had died, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what had happened to him. It doesn't matter. Freaks get hit, not pretty, spoiled, Pureblood darlings like Malfoy. In that case, though, why was Draco so upset? Doesn't matter. I'm strong enough to fucking handle it. Draco's just weak. By then he'd arrived at Snape's office, though, and abandoned his thoughts, focusing instead on straightening his spine and walking in head held high, no trace of fear showing behind his defiance.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus watched Harry enter and sighed inwardly. He knew it was all just a show, but Harry's open defiance wore on his nerves. The only sign that the boy knew he was in trouble was that he came to stand in the same place Draco had vacated hours before, standing in front of the desk, his back ramrod straight. Otherwise...If looks could kill... Why am I doing this, again?

“According to Draco, you landed the first blow in that brawl. Is this true?”

“Yup.” What are you gonna do about it?

“Try again.” Here we go.

“Oh, does my normal, practical speech offend your tender sensibilities, sir? Yes, sir, I struck Malfoy's pretty face before he ever touched me, sir.” Now piss off, sir.

Snape closed his eyes. I'd forgotten that he could be this rude. Another voice spoke up, then. He does this when he's scared. You know that. It's your fault if you scared him back into this.

“Why?”

Harry shrugged. “It was fun.”

“Fun.” Yeah, sure. He's terrified.

“Yup. You know, playing Quiddich, going to the movies, feeding the giant squid, smashing Malfoy's face into the ground: fun. It's what normal people have on weekends instead of getting their daily dose of potion grease.”

He's baiting me. If he's so scared, why is he baiting me?

“You are being rude.” Severus observed.

And stupid. Don't forget stupid. Thought Harry. Remember? Strangled with your own intestines?“An astute observation, Snape. Top of the class. Where did you learn such brilliance?” And yet I still don't learn.

I'm sick of this. “Corner.”

Harry glanced at it quickly. “No.” Just hit me and get it over with, would you?

“I am not playing, Harry. Go.”

“You think I am? I said no.”

Do not shout at him. He's just...being obnoxious. Come on, Severus. You are the adult; act like it. Bad enough that you've lost your temper once today. Snape spoke slowly and clearly, trying to control his growing ire.

“Like it or not, Potter, you are going in that corner.”

But Snape was unlikely to be able to hide his anger from Harry, who only stiffened further. No way! He met Snape's eyes in blatant challenge.

“Make me.”

A definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over expecting a different result. This isn't working. He'd somehow lost all control of the situation. Abruptly Severus's anger fell, replaced by confusion as he realized. He's just acting like he did in Potions. Have things changed that much since then?

“Harry, what is going on?”

The abrupt change in tone coupled with his name and the seemingly random question caused Harry's confusion to overshadow his fear, and he answered stupidly.

“What?”

Severus almost smiled. That's a little better.

“I asked you, what is going on? Why are you acting this way?”

He's not angry. Why isn't he angry?

“Sir?”

“Why don't we try this conversation over? I asked you why you hit Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry's eyes flashed. “I do not lie, sir. I was bored, it was fun.”

“And?”

“And nothing, sir.”

“And yet you say you do not lie.” Snape just looked at Harry, who flushed but maintained his gaze.

“Does it matter, sir? I hit Malfoy.” That's all you need to know to punish me. “You've got the information you need.”

“I beg to differ. Understanding the motivations behind people's actions is essential to preventing their recurrence.” He waited for Harry to take up his end of the conversation, but Harry stayed silent. None of your business.

“Fine. Why don't I tell you? Draco told me that he made comments about your family.”

“I don't care about the stupid Dursleys.”

“That's not who I meant, as you are well aware.”

Harry's eyes flashed in true anger. “Very well then, I don't care about the Potters.”

Snape throttled down his suddenly returning temper. He's covering. Just covering. He doesn't mean it.

“'The Potters', Harry? That's cold. It matters nothing to you that they died to keep you alive?”

The conversation had taken a turn Harry found he REALLY didn't like. Why can't he just punish me for the damned fight and get over it! Snape's tone had taken on a quality Harry associated with too many 'concerned' adults: careful, and probing. For the hundredth time, back off! They died ten years ago, what do I care?” A guilty feeling grew in Harry's stomach anyway, though. I don't care. I will not be that weak.

“No. I don't give.”

Severus found himself getting frustrated again. “They are your parents, Harry. You can't just pretend as if they did not exist.”

“What does it matter if they did or not? I can't remember a blasted thing one way or another! I don't even know what they fucking looked like! My life is with the Dursleys, not with them. It does not MATTER what else could have been!”

See? Just a cover. “Do you want to know how your parents died, then? Do you want to know how these people who do not matter threw themselves in front of the Dark Lord, bodily trying to keep him away from their precious son? If nothing else, Harry, you are alive, and that makes them matter very much.” You owe me, Potter. He thought, picturing James Potter's smirking face.

Shut up shut up shut up! Leave me alone!

Harry shouted, “What the bloody hell do I care if Lord Voledi-cunt didn't manage to kill me? Everybody thinks I'm some kind of miracle, the bloody Boy Who Lived. My parents are dead because of that. Two great wizards got killed trying to keep one miserable Freak alive. I'm no miracle, I'm just the fucking Boy-Who-Should-Have-Died.”

“And yet you claim that being reminded of that does not bother you.” Severus observed calmly. Voldi-cunt. That's...different.

Damn. How do I respond to that? And God-Fucking-Damn you Snape, WHY am I CRYING? For in that moment Harry felt the burning he'd tried to hold back come to the fore, and had to turn his head away. Severus pretended he didn't notice, but inside he felt a vague satisfaction, though he was greatly disturbed by the boy's words. And here's why he needs someone. What does one SAY to that? Well...

“Regardless I find your words highly offensive.”

Harry looked back at him, tears shoved back behind walls. Anxiety started to build in his gut as he remembered what he'd said. Ohhh shit. Strongest curse in the English language and I use it to Snape. In reference to someone who is possibly his lord and master. I'm screwed...If he's a Death Eater I'm dead. If he's not a Death Eater...oh God no yuck potion. PLEASE no yuck potion.

“In particular, if I ever hear you refer to yourself as a 'miserable freak' again, or imply that you are not worth your parents' sacrifice you will find me very displeased. You are not a freak, you are a child. You are to be cherished, and valued, and protected at all cost. That – I won't even say 'family' – of yours – they are the miserable freaks if they could not understand the treasure that had been entrusted to them. Is that understood?” Enter a kinder, gentler, Snape. See, Lily? I'm trying. I just hope I don't sound as stupid as I feel.

Oh. Harry just stared at him. He doesn't mean that. He can't. What is he saying?

“A verbal answer, if you please.”

He wants me to respond to that? Well I think I got that the Dursley's suck and for some reason I'm not supposed to say I'm a freak. “I understand, Sir.” Mostly. Maybe.

“Good.” Severus looked at the utterly flummoxed child- here's to keeping Harry as confused as I am- and asked, “Now,” Third time's the charm... “why did you hit Mr. Malfoy?”

Harry groaned. “I was bored. It was fun.”

Severus just looked at him, and Harry stared back stubbornly for a moment before giving in.

“He was mocking me.” Severus decided to let that be for the moment.

“So you hit him.”

“You know I did.” You know I did, of course I did. These two are more alike than they know... Maybe I can handle this.

“Very well, then, back to this.” Severus pointed at the corner.

Harry looked at the corner briefly, then back at Severus, as images of the man grabbing him and shouting at him returned abruptly to the fore. He shook his head. I can't.

“You still refuse?” Severus could hardly believe it. Why can't anything just be easy?

Harry's anxiety went up again as he spoke firmly, lifting his chin slightly. “Yes.”

At least he's mostly polite this time. “Why?”

I hate that question. “Because I don't want to.”

“You've obeyed me before when doing so was not to your liking.” Severus pointed out. It came out harsher than Severus intended and Harry tightened his jaw and maintained his silence.

“Why, Harry?”

“I already answered that question! I just don't fu-freaking want to! Back off!”

“Politely, Harry. You are on thin ice.” Harry could hear the warning in that tone, but it only angered him further. What am I supposed to do?

“You don't think I'm aware of that? I'm not going in that fu-”

No way. “Language!” Snape almost shouted it, and Harry backed up two steps before he realized what he was doing, and shouted back.

“I'm trying, can't you see that? Please!” He tried to hold himself stiff and lock his knees and not move but he was shaking again. Would you listen to me?

OH. Once again Severus' anger faded and he could pay attention to what he was seeing. Damn. Not again. You see, Albus? Harry stood on tenterhooks, waiting for Snape to react, to move again, to shout. Severus got the feeling that the boy would run if he took even a step forward. What do I do? Wait. If he's scared-

“You may face out, at first, if you wish.”

Harry looked at him, confused. Snape was so unpredictable! He'd be angry one minute, and the next...he's offering me an out, a... compromise. I – I can do that, I think. He just really didn't want to. Really, really didn't.

“Well? Is that acceptable to you?”

Harry looked down at the floor.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then go.” Harry gave him one last half-defiant look before heading reluctantly for the nearest corner. Once there, he watched Severus warily, relaxing some as the man sat down and started grading papers, just as he had every time Harry'd been in similar situations before. Okay, so...nothing's changed? Well...Facing out was better, actually. Still don't like it. And it's not going to last.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later Severus looked up at Harry.

“Time to turn around, Harry.”

By then Harry was almost as relaxed as he'd ever gotten around Snape, and shot him a pleading look. No no no! He wailed in his mind. This is okay, why can't we leave things like this?

“None of that. You knew this was coming. Turn.”

Still Harry hesitated, staring at him. You haven't promised you'll stay put, yet.

“Harry?” It was a question and a warning.

“You – you'll stay there, right?”

Oh, child. “I will stay right here.”

Harry turned, feeling miserable. This again. How do I always find myself back here? And he still hasn't hit me...

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Draco approached Harry stiffly as he emerged into the dorm from off the stairs.

“I apologize for my comments. They were inappropriate.”

“You? Apologize?” Harry sounded skeptical.

“Yes, damnit! I'm sorry for my comments.” Draco started to turn away.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you apologizing? You and I both know you wouldn't do it on your own.”

Draco looked at him and lifted his nose haughtily. “It is befitting for a pureblood to mitigate conflicts when he can.”

“Snape made him, in other words.” Blaise guessed, entering the conversation.

“Oh, hello Blaise.” Harry said before turning to Malfoy. “And you just obeyed?” Asked Harry, “Why? How would he even know you didn't do it?”

Draco turned away at the reminder of his shame. “It doesn't matter.”

“Sure it does. It is in my best interest to know what hold he has on you.”

“I just don't want him to be mad at me, okay?”

“No, not okay. He just commands something and you do it? Asks you something and you spill?” Harry was getting angry.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why did you tell him?” Harry snarled, pushing Malfoy against the wall.

“Tell him what?” Draco pushed back but didn't engage.

“Tell him what you said to me, asshole! Why would you tell him that?”

“What's it to you? I'm the one in trouble. You'd think you'd be happy.”

“Happy?” Happy that you got me raked across the coals with Snape, that you saw-

“Easy, Harry.” Put in Blaise, looking concerned.

“Stay out of it.” Harry snapped. “I have enough people messing in my life with little bitch Malfoy.”

“You'll pay for that, Potter.”

“I'm not worried. You're too scared of Snape to do anything.”

“And you're not? Where are you coming back from then, Potter? Went to spend some quality time outside, did you?”

Harry remembered what Malfoy had seen that morning. “All right, Malfoy. I'll take the bait. Tomorrow in Potions, I'll prove to you I'm not scared of Snape or your father.”

The next day Draco arrived in Potions class to find his spot between Crabbe and Goyle already filled – by himself. The other Draco smiled at him mockingly and motioned towards the only spot left in the room – a single chair free in the cluster of Harry's friends. Draco sneered and walked stiffly over to sit between Zabini and the mudblood. Granger just glared, while Zabini looked between him and the other Draco coolly before cracking a truly vicious smile.

“Well, Malfoy, I'd always heard that imitation was the sincerest form of flattery, but I don't know if I can take two of you. Perhaps it is a case of 'too much of a good thing,' but -”

“Too much of a good thing?” Choked Hermione, “a good thing? I'm surprised at you, Blaise! I thought you had better taste!”

“Don't worry, I think he's probably still sane. It's just a case of temporary blindness brought on by overly bright hair.” Consoled Ron

“Call Saint Mungos – severe case of Hair-Glow exposure!” Continued Theo.

“If we could find a way to capture that, it could make a great ingredient for some sort of glow-in-the-dark potion.” Mused Hermione, “What do you think, Blaise? Any ideas on how one goes about collecting Hair-Glow?”

They didn't get a chance to talk further, however, for in that moment Snape entered the classroom, surveying the room at a glance to take silent role. Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, Weasley, Granger, Zabini, Nott, Malfoy...wait. Since when are they hanging out? Then he did a double-take. More pertinently, since when are there two Draco Malfoys? He looked back and forth for a minute and figured it out ...oh. Harry. Well that explains it. Except...which one's really Draco and which one's Harry? Harry was a smart kid – smart enough to sit with Malfoy's friends, but also smart enough to sit with his own friends and pretend to be uncomfortable there. He'd involved others in his pranks before...

“All right, very funny, Potter. Reveal yourself please.” The 'Draco' by Crabbe and Goyle was watching the other 'Draco' expectantly, while the 'Draco' sitting next to Zabini and Granger was still glaring at his tablemates. Neither looked up at the demand.

“Malfoy!” He called sharply. Both boys looked up, both glaring. Was that a hint of stiffness in the posture of the one by Crabbe and Goyle? Impossible to tell.

“Very well, stay after class, both of you.” Both boys' glares intensified, though the 'Draco' by Zabini and Granger had turned his glare on the other 'Draco.' The class tittered, while Weasley positively guffawed and Zabini wore a secretive smile. He knows...Doesn't matter. He needed to run his class.

Throughout class that day, whenever Severus called on Malfoy, both boys answered, until finally, to the class's great delight, he labeled the one by Crabbe and Goyle, whom Severus started to suspect was Harry, Malfoy 1, and the other Malfoy 2. Finally, class ended, and the two Dracos stayed behind as asked, coming to stand in front of him in the aisle at the center of the room.

“Alright, Potter, reveal yourself. NOW.”

This time each 'Draco' looked at the other. Severus sighed. “Very well.” Time to bring in the big guns. Severus walked around one 'Draco' to stand directly behind the 'Draco' that he suspected was Harry, and saw him stiffen. The other Draco just looked at him curiously, clearly wondering what was going on. Severus returned to the front and looked directly at Harry.

“If you won't reveal yourself I will reveal you.” Harry – definitely Harry – lifted his chin, glaring fiercely. Severus met and held his eyes.

“All right, just try to remember I didn't want to do this.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Harry mirrored Malfoy, coming to stand in front of Snape, figuring he was in trouble. I told Malfoy I'm not scared, and I'm not.

“Alright, Potter, reveal yourself. NOW.”

The man wasn't playing. That was blatantly obvious, but Harry refused to respond, instead looking at Malfoy like he expected him to change back into Harry.

“Very well.” Said Snape, and walked around Draco to stand behind Harry, who couldn't help but stiffen. Stay still. You don't mind people behind you, you don't need to look to see what they're doing. Stay still. Then the man walked back around and looked right at Harry. Damnit, he knows.

“If you won't reveal yourself I will reveal you.” No way! Harry glared challengingly, but then Snape met his eyes.

“All right, just try to remember I didn't want to do this.”

Shit! Shit shit shit shit! Last time Snape had said that, he'd touched Harry's neck. Harry held up a hand quickly, stepping back. Okay. You win. Don't touch me. Harry concentrated on how his own body felt, and within seconds he looked like himself.

“Better.”

Harry glowered. You bastard.

“Thank you, Draco, you are dismissed.” The boy moved to protest but quickly subsided under Snape's glare. Harry, too, noticed the glare. Snape was not in a good mood. No don't leave! Draco grabbed his bag and left Harry alone within touching distance of a very fed-up professor Snape. Don't touch me. Please don't touch me. It was just a threat, right? Harry gritted his teeth and held his ground.

Snape watched Harry for a moment, letting his temper cool, before nonchalantly taking two steps back. Harry looked at him for a moment, but could think of no logical reason the man would've wanted to step back. That was – strange. He'd wait to thank him until after he found out what the man was going to do. Just as long as he doesn't touch me, or send me to the Corner...

“Congratulations, Potter, you've earned yourself two more detentions. One would think you would have gotten tired of them by now.”

...Or give me detention. Damn. He definitely just signed my death warrant. The interesting thing was that, this time, Snape didn't realize what he'd just done. I almost think he would change it, if he did. I wonder how long I have until Flint finds out.

“Never, sir. Staring at your pretty face is the highlight of my day.”

The corner of Severus's mouth betrayed a tiny twitch. “I'm glad you feel that way.”

Then Snape's face sharpened again and he turned the anger he had hidden back on Harry. Harry looked up sharply at the changed tone.

“However I am getting very tired of you disrupting my classes. It will not happen again. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded, mouth dry.

“Do you understand?” Snape demanded harshly.

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

Harry nodded carefully and fled.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

That night's detention saw Harry slicing and preserving a large variety of disgusting life forms, most of them either slimy or filled with bad smelling liquids. Snape mostly left him alone, simply setting Harry up at a bench near his own and giving him exacting instructions on how to prepare the ingredients and why preparing them that way benefited one's potions, without getting behind him or otherwise bothering him. He was too busy bemoaning the smell of pickling nautilus tentacle and half-putrid seaweed that clung to his hands to appreciate this, however.

On Harry's way out of Snape's office he was inexplicably reminded of their Charms lesson from that afternoon, in which they had learned how to apply surface color to certain hard objects, including most wood. He contemplated a bit before choosing a nice pepto-bismol pink and teal combination with which to draw a large, psychedelic flower on the outside of Snape's office door. He had just finished painting 'MY fort: no students allowed' in big curly letters when he was interrupted by a shuffling of feet and a cat's characteristic yowl. Harry turned around but it was too late, for Filch had seen him and charged forward.

*“Well, well, well we are in trouble*. Caught in the corridors at night messing with a professor's property? Perhaps Snape will allow me to punish you like the old days...pity they let those punishments die; students just don't respect the staff like they used to. We'll just have to set you straight, won't we, boy?”

Shit shit shit shit. Vernon-type! Leave me ALONE! What are you doing? Within seconds, the man was upon him, backing Harry against the wall and bodily holding him there by his shoulder. Harry struggled but the man gripped him with bruising force. Let me GO! Abruptly, and inexplicably, the man did, and in a millisecond one of the couches from the corridor moved itself between Harry and the violent caretaker. Harry just sat and breathed for a second, curled knees to chest behind the sofa, but then a voice caught his attention and Harry got up on his knees to peer over the back of the couch.

“What the hell do you think you are DOING?” The professor had the caretaker held by the front of his clothing against a wall, and was clearly fuming.

Did he pull Filch off of me? Why would he do that?

“Only disciplining a student, professor. Nothing you need concern yourself with.” Said the man ingratiatingly, sounding nervous.

“Oh, but I believe I will, Argus.” Said Snape, his voice dangerous. Once again Harry was reminded of his initial impression that this man would kill, given the right motivation. Death Eater? “I have long since lost patience with your treatment of the students here. It will change. In particular, this student is off limits: you will not touch him again.” Filch didn't seem to get the message. I always thought he was slow.

“He is a delinquent! Do you see what he was doing? Destruction of school property, blatant disrespect to you, sir. Painting your door, we should hang him by-”

“I DO NOT CARE IF HE WAS SETTING FIRE TO MY POTIONS LABORATORY! You come to me. You do not touch Harry. By preference, you don't even look at him. You lay a finger on my ward again and if I keep my temper you will be out of here so fast you'll think you've learned to apparate. DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?”

I certainly don't. Thought Harry. Is he...defending me?? No way. At any rate, if this was Snape angry, then the man had never gotten truly furious with Harry, despite all. Maybe I shouldn't keep trying to piss this man off. Thought Harry. He's SCARY when he's like this.

But then...was he really that angry that Filch had grabbed Harry? Seems that way. Weird. All of a sudden Harry remembered: My life is worth more than a Rememberall. I must learn to value it as highly, and guard it as carefully, as those around me do. Maybe I just figured out who's guarding me? It seemed unlikely, but then Harry had not yet seen Snape as angry as he was now, and he'd barely glanced at his door.

“F-Fine, very well, sir. I'll leave the little bugger be.” Snape released him and the nasty old man hurried away, muttering angrily to Mrs. Norris.

Snape breathed deeply for a moment before turning around and meeting Harry's eyes over the sofa. “Come on out, Harry.” Will he do it? How do I put him at ease again?

Harry stood up. “I wasn't hiding.”

“Hiding? Of course not. It was quite obvious to me that you were playing 'Fort.'” Snape answered, motioning to the couch. “I was going to suggest you plunder seat cushions from the common room for a roof.”

Harry blushed, but responded in kind. “Mine's not as nice as yours, sir.” He smiled a little for the second time in Severus' presence and motioned to the door.

Severus's mouth twitched. “No, I suppose not. After all, who wouldn't want a 60s-muggle-chic style potions laboratory?”

Harry grinned. “I thought you'd like it.”

“I don't suppose you can put the couch back where it was?”

Harry looked at it. It looked a lot bigger and heavier, somehow, now that he wasn't so upset. He tried giving it a mental shove like he vaguely remembered doing before, but it only made a creaking sound.

“No, sir.”

Snape looked at him seriously. “Perhaps you should practice with smaller objects. It is no small thing, to be able to do magic without use of a wand.” He returned the couch back to where it had been, and restored his door, then turned back to Harry.

“It is time for you to return to your dorm. I suspect that caretaker Filch will not bother you again. If he, or anyone else does, you are to tell me. I take this very seriously, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” That you want me to tell you, anyway. 'Guarding' me or not, I'll deal with my own problems, thank you.

“Good. Take this- he handed Harry an unmarked envelope- and go, please. It is late.”

“Yes sir.” Harry went, envelope clasped in his hands.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Harry finally got to opening the envelope the next day before detention. He'd left it on top of his trunk the previous evening, just wanting to sleep after his scare and corresponding strange conversation with Snape – is he really guarding me?- but now he sat on his bed, filled with curiosity. The envelope was sealed, but unmarked, so Harry figured it must be for him. Snape, give me something? Strange. Then again, it was stranger that the man would defend him, and he'd done that...

He pulled his curtains closed and slid a finger under the wax to open the envelope. The first thing he pulled out was a note.

Harry – I suggest you go to Professor McGonagall or to Hagrid if you want to know more of your father. I don't have many pictures of him.

Pictures? Harry reached into the envelope and pulled out the first glossy sheet and stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment. It was a moving photo of a beautiful woman with green eyes cradling a tiny baby with dark hair. She barely looked away from him to smile at the camera. The next showed the same woman, younger, reading underneath a tree that Harry recognized from the Hogwarts grounds. Next to her was a skinny boy with dark hair and dark eyes who stared at the camera in challenge before turning back to the girl. A vague idea started in the back of Harry's mind, but he pushed it away, pulling out the next photo. In this one, a little girl was laughing next to the same serious, dark-haired boy. The muggle-style photo was marked 'Lily.' My mother's name is Lily. Harry remembered, then froze. No. No no no. Harry shoved the photos and the note back into the envelope and slid off his bed quickly to shove them into his trunk and close the lid. I don't want to know. Harry lay back on his bed, trying to think of other things, but the image of the woman with the baby felt burned into his brain. She was cradling him as if he were the most important thing in the world.

Fifteen minutes later the curiosity grew too much, and Harry swung off the bed, ripped his trunk open and pulled out the photos. There was his mother, holding him again. This time Harry was older, and smiled a little at the camera as Lily held his hand. The next was another of her at Hogwarts, this time alone, though she smiled cheerfully at whoever held the camera. And the next, and the next...

When Harry got through, he stared at his curtains, tears running down his cheeks. Damn you, Snape. Are you trying to make me weak?

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

A half-hour later Harry realized that he had to go to detention. He was determined not to even speak to Snape. Somehow, every time he did, the man got the upper hand, and proceeded to either scare the wits out of him, utterly befuddle him, or make him cry. I do NOT want to talk, especially about my- about the photos. He can just bugger off. He was also angry, though. He wanted to scream at Snape for his 'gift.' I don't want to care. I told you I had no interest in them! With that, he knocked, and entered Snape's office.

Severus watched Harry walk in with curiosity. The boy seemed...off...somehow. His face was blank, as if he were covering a great deal of fear, but his body language didn't express fear so much as...nervousness. The boy seemed on-edge, anxious in a way that was more normal for kids coming to detention with him then Harry's usual reactions were. Harry had stopped automatically reacting with fear in detention already, but this sort of carefully-controlled nervousness was odd. What was the boy nervous about, but not frightened of? What was on his mind? Harry's eyes were also a little red. Had he been crying?

“Right on time, Harry. Come sit.” Severus motioned towards the desk in front of his.

Lines, then. About the prank? It seemed like forever ago, though it had happened only the day before.

Harry went to sit down without a word, taking up the provided quill and waiting for instructions, fighting back his anger in favor of stoic silence.

“You will write, 'Pranks are childish and interrupt the concentration of my peers. They are not to be enacted in a classroom setting' two hundred times.”

Harry set to, writing, '1. Pranks are- before Snape cut in.

“What is going on?”

...childish and interrupt the concentration of my peers. They are not to be enacted in a classroom setting.' Just leave me alone.

“Harry, answer me please.”

Harry looked up at that but didn't speak. Once again the image of the woman and her baby ran in his head and his anger surfaced again. LEAVE ME ALONE! Severus saw the refusal in the boy's eyes and sighed.

“Harry, refusal to speak is rude.”

Harry's eyes turned challenging, and Snape was reminded of the boy's previous demand: 'make me'.

He is angry with me, for some reason. Snape intuited.

“Harry, why are you being so difficult? Are you angry with me?

You can't tell? Of course I'm angry, you asshole! Why do you always have to interfere in my life? Harry tried once again to fight back his anger and returned to writing, though he almost vibrated with the need to lash out. '2. Pranks are childish and interrupt the concentration of my peers. They are not to be enacted in a classroom setting.'

“Harry, why won't you talk to me?” The tone was blunt and without anger, but it sparked Harry's growing ire.

“I just don't want to! Let me be!”

Well now he's talking, at least. “Not until you've given me some information on what is wrong.”

“NO! I don't want to talk about it!”

“About what? Harry, I have no idea what you are even talking about.” Well, really I have too many ideas, some better than others.

“No idea? Don't you even know what-” Harry snapped his jaw shut. What you've done to me? Over and over the pictures of Harry's mother holding him ran in his head as he barely held back more tears. Damnit, it doesn't matter what might have been. They're dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. They're just stupid photographs. Nothing has changed.

Severus watched as the boy's mask slipped just a little, betraying the anguish behind his anger. The photographs. He finally realized. He looked at them. Snape felt a bit guilty, then, thinking about how he'd snuck the photos in without explanation or warning, and seeing the boy now. He might never have looked if I'd told him. He told himself, but it didn't help. Maybe it would have been best to let sleeping dogs lie. He just couldn't let the boy forget and ignore Lily, though. He just couldn't bear to see the boy so determinedly indifferent.

“I see. I could not allow you to forget your mother, Harry.”

Harry turned to him, pure fury in his eyes. “Yes. You. Could.”

Severus winced, feeling his guilt magnified tenfold. I may have destroyed something, here.

“I didn't do it to hurt you, Harry.”

The fury in Harry's eyes didn't fade, though a note of panic seemed to enter it at Severus' words.

“You didn't!”

“Then why are you so angry?”

Harry had nothing to say immediately, and so just looked away. This is why you weren't going to talk to him, idiot. He was angry and confused and wanted to cry, now. PLEASE leave me alone. I don't care what you 'didn't mean'.

“You cannot hurt me, but you cannot claim that you have never meant to.” Harry said coldly.

Severus stared at him a moment, thinking, He's right. Why should he trust that this was unintentional?

“Harry, I...I apologize. For that first potions class. I...judged too quickly, and behaved badly.”

Harry stared at him. What is he saying? This is weirder than Malfoy apologizing...this is weirder than Malfoy apologizing while dancing the hula on top of the Slytherin table dressed only in a grass skirt and a lei.

“I should equally apologize for not warning you about the photos. I truly did not intend to hurt you, but I believe I have.” Harry's anger started to fade, as confusion once again took hold.

“I didn't want those stupid photos. I told you they didn't matter. I don't care what might have been.”

“That may be what you told me, Harry, but disagree. I think you do care.” Snape answered quietly.

“Then why did you give them to me?! You knew it could hurt me!”

“She was your mother, Harry. She loved you.”

“And she's DEAD!” Harry shouted. “How could that possibly not hurt to know? Why couldn't you just leave me be, let me forget her? Why does it matter that she loved me if she's gone?” Harry's words cut Severus hard, but he continued.

“It isn't better to know that someone did, Harry?”

Harry stopped in his tracks. He hadn't thought about it that way at all. Taken completely off-balance, he answered with surprising honestly.

“I-I don't know.”

Severus watched, feeling sad, as Harry buried himself back in his lines, still trying to ignore the images in his head.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Two days later Harry was walking in a deserted corridor and saw Marcus Flint walking towards him. Flint noticed him at the same time, and Harry briefly contemplated running before cursing himself for a coward. I'll just make sure nobody sees.

“I told you not to miss anymore practices, Potter.” Said Flint menacingly as he came close to Harry.

No way I can win this one. “Nice to see you, too, Flint. And yes, it is a beautiful day.” Harry gritted out. “Look, you don't want anyone to see this. Neither do I. Let's take it someplace more private?”

“Sounds like a fine idea.” Flint grabbed Harry by the shirt and shoved him into an empty classroom and up against a wall.

“I told you before that we would have words if you missed another practice.” Growled the fifth-year. Yup. I'm screwed.

“Well alright, we've had them. Now what?”

“Now I make skipping practice not fun.” Flint gritted out around clenched teeth.

That's...pretty much what I figured. This is gonna suck.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Shiiit...That...could've gone better. Thought Harry as he dragged himself into the bathroom in the Slytherin dorm. Everybody was at lunch, so Harry had the room to himself. Spelling his clothing off, he surveyed the damage. Predictably enough, his body was littered with bruises. Most concerning, for several reasons, were a developing black eye and a large, spreading bruise on the left side of his abdomen. A glamour would do for the eye, and another couple on his lower arms, but he'd just have to hope his kidney was okay. From a twinge in his side he guessed the rib was rebroken, or perhaps another near it had cracked. He'd limped down the stairs on a twisted ankle, curse those damned staircases, but guessed that that would be alright by the next morning, if he restricted his walking a bit.

For once it's nice to be grounded. I don't need to come up with excuses to not move around or go to the Great Hall. He turned around and started to twist to see his back, but stopped quickly, cursing, as his side pulled sharply. That can't be good.

Harry went back to lie naked on his bed and breathe, exhausted after the trek from the classroom into the dorm. Snape'd probably want me to go find Madame Pomfrey. He'll be furious if I don't. But he'd survived as bad before, on his own. He could do so again. I don't need him to protect me, damnit! If I go to the infirmary now, I'll be there for the next three days...and Snape'll still be mad I didn't tell him about Flint. I'm fine on my own. He could really use some ice, though, for the ankle and his side. Then he got an idea. House-elves are supposed to keep their master's secrets, right? He pulled his covers up and called,

“Kallie!”

With a 'pop' the elf appeared in the bathroom beside him, and looked at him in horror.

“Master Harry, sir! Who had done this to you, sir?! Kallie must get Master to the infirmary!”

“No!”

“No, sir?” Asked Kallie, looking confused.

“No.” Affirmed Harry. “You can't tell anyone I'm hurt, Kallie! I'll take care of myself, but I need ice. Can you just bring me some ice?”

“But Master Harry, sir! You is hurt, sir! Please don't make Kallie keep this secret, sir! I just can't sir!”

“I'll be fine, Kallie. Just don't tell anybody. Snape would kill me if he found out I was hiding this. Just get me ice so I can take care of myself before I have to go to class.”

Kallie pursed her lips angrily and disappeared, returning moments later with several magical cold packs.

“I has your ice, Master Harry, sir. Is there anything else Master needs?”

“No, thank you, Kal-”

The elf was gone.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Harry got to class unusually late, straightening up painfully as he walked into the room. Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow at his tardiness but said nothing. In Charms Professor Flitwick asked him if he was feeling alright, while Professor Quirrel just nodded to him affably as he entered the room without even noticing his tardiness or his posture. By then he was positively dragging himself between classes, and Blaise noticed enough to comment.

“You alright, Harry?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. I just didn't get enough sleep, I think.” Said Harry. I really didn't sleep well. He reminded himself. And I'll be fine...in a couple days.

Finally class was over and Harry returned to the dorm with a sense of relief, barely setting an alarm spell for dinner and setting up his cold packs before falling asleep on his bed. Two and a half hours later he woke up and got out of bed, wincing and gasping at the sharp pull from his side and the stab in his rib as he rolled. He noticed as he did so that the bruise on his abdomen was still growing. He dragged himself to the bathroom and noticed his urine was dark pink. Damn. This might be a problem.

As usual, Kallie brought his dinner at 6 o'clock. She begged him once more to let her get help, but he refused. After that she barely spoke to him before leaving, only looking at him in concern and anger before popping away again. Harry ate, and fell back asleep halfway through, waking up again in a panic at 6:45. I'm gonna be late!

He hurried as well he could in the circumstances, applying his glamours in a hurry and arriving winded and almost crying from the pain in his side thirty minutes later. Not wanting to get any later, he knocked quickly and entered still panting.

“Harry?” Asked Severus with concern. “What's wrong? Are you all right?”

“Fine, sir.” It's not a lie. I am. I will be.

I'm not sure I believe you. Thought Snape. Harry had never lied to him before, though, so...Let it be.

“You are fifteen minutes late.”

“Sorry sir.”

Severus' instincts hummed at that. Something is definitely wrong.

“What kept you?”

“I took a nap and overslept.”

“You couldn't set an alarm?”

“I forgot, sir.” Never meant to fall asleep in the first place...

“Very well. For your tardiness you will stay for an extra half-hour in addition to making up the time you missed. I will dismiss you at 10:45.”

Harry could have cried. I just want to sleep! “Yes, sir.” He said with resignation.

That's it. “Harry, what is wrong? Are you ill?”

“No, sir, I am fine. I am just tired, sir.”

“Very well then.” Snape said dubiously. “You will write, 'Tardiness, whether through carelessness or intent, is disrespectful to others. I will endeavor to arrive on time and prepared, whatever the activity.' ”

“Yes sir.” Harry sat down and began to write. An hour later Snape woke him up with a frown.

“Why are you so tired?”

“I did not sleep well, sir.” It's true... it just doesn't answer the question.

“Next time consider coming to me for a potion. This is detention, not naptime.”

“Yes sir.” Harry returned to his writing, and managed to hold back sleep for two hours before Snape shook him awake again. This time Harry startled and jumped before whitening in pain.

“You are certain that you are not ill?” A hint of warning had entered Snape's voice, and Harry started to worry. Am I going to be able to hide this long enough to heal?

“Yes, sir.” I'm not ill.

Harry returned to writing for the last half hour, returning to his dorm with relief at eleven o'clock.

Snape watched him go, pondering, before attempting to return to his work. Finally, though, unable to think of anything but the boy's odd behavior, he gave up and went to bed, but lay awake still thinking and unusually tense. I am worried. He finally realized. He does not trust me; he would not tell me if something were wrong. Surely, though, the boy would tell Pomfrey? He'd seemed to trust her well enough before.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

The next day passed similarly for Harry: he dragged himself out of bed, feeling tireder than when he had gone to sleep, and dragged through his morning routine, trembling and using the counter-tops in the bathroom to support his weight as he went. He schlepped through his classes, noticing in the morning and again in the afternoon that the bruise was enormous and still growing and his urine was still very pink. He shivered in Charms until Blaise handed him a sweater without a word, watching him suspiciously. I...should probably go to Madame Pomfrey...

Harry dragged himself back to his dorm after class, and set up his homework in his bed with the curtains closed before falling asleep on top of it without setting an alarm.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus was working in his office before Harry's assigned detention when a soft 'pop' alerted him to the presence of a house-elf whom he did not recognize.

“M-Master Snape, sir. Kallie must talk to you, please, sir.” The elf was bouncing, ringing her hands, pulling at her ears and otherwise unable to keep still. Any time a house-elf was in that much distress over something it was a good idea to pay attention.

“Absolutely, Kallie. How may I help you?”

“It's – it's about Master Harry, sir. He- no no! Bad Kallie! Kallie mustn't tell you, sir!”

The elf grabbed for the nearest hard object but Severus was quicker, sweeping the heavy paperweight out of her hands before she could hit herself. Behavior like this could only mean - He – he has a house elf. And he has ordered her not to talk to me... That can't be good.

“I am sure Harry would not wish you to harm yourself, Kallie, no matter what you tell me.”

“Master Snape is right, sir. Master Harry is a good wizard, sir! Treats Kallie very well sir, very very well. Kallie must not betray Master Harry!” She reached out again, this time going for a poker from the small fireplace in one corner of the room, but again Snape got there faster. This isn't working. He grabbed the elf gently between his two hands, restraining her tiny arms such that she could not try anything further.

“What is going on, Kallie? What is it that you are trying to tell me? Is Harry in some sort of trouble?” He will be. Severus thought grimly. I don't know what is going on but poor Kallie is really upset about this. The elf seemed to struggle with herself, gritting out words one by one around her uncertainty and agitation.

“Bad...wizard...has...No! Bad elf! SECRET!...hurt...Master Harry...sir. Master is...sleeping...sir. Kallie...can't...no!...can't...wake him up, sir!”

Severus looked at the elf in horror. “Where is he?”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Harry woke up comfortable, warm, and refreshed as he hadn't felt since Flint took objection to him on Thursday. This is nice. I must be dreaming or something. Then he became more aware of his surroundings and realized that he was in the infirmary, and that his bruises were gone. He'd been healed. No. He realized. I'm not dreaming, I'm dead. I'm going to die.

Wait...this isn't my dorm...oh. Infirmary. DAMN. Harry took stock of his surroundings, finding himself on the windowsill, where he'd moved when he'd woken up in the middle of the night. He immediately noticed that Poppy was entering the room, and closed his eyes halfway to watch her. I'm asleep, see? No need to bother me. You can just let me sleep and pretend not to notice I'm curled up on the windowsill. It didn't work, however, as Madame Pomfrey's goal was clearly to wake him up: she walked towards him immediately upon entering the room. He opened his eyes fully when she was still twenty feet away, and sat up.

“Good morning,” she greeted briskly. “I need you to take these for me, please.” Her manner was quick and professional as she handed him the vials, and Harry almost winced. He hadn't thought she'd be angry, too.

“What are they?” He asked almost timidly.

“A blood replenisher, skeli-gro, and one that'll help your kidneys heal. You were very anemic, your left kidney was almost entirely useless, and you have two cracked ribs. But then, you probably knew all that already. The pain from the ribs and the large amounts of blood in your urine would have been hard to miss.” She turned her back and walked out as briskly as she came in, calling behind her.

“I'll send your guest in when you've finished those.”

Harry stared after her as he swallowed his potions, eyes burning.

By the time his eyes cleared, Harry knew who his guest was, and watched with some trepidation as Blaise approached his windowsill. They stared at each other for a minute, Harry's expression proud, and Blaise's chilly. It was Harry who finally looked away.

“You lied to me.”

Harry couldn't meet his eyes. “I know. I'm sorry.”

“Promise that next time you are injured you will tell someone.”

Harry stared at him. “I can't!”

“Then you are not sorry.” Blaise answered coldly, and started to walk away.

“I won't lie to you again!” Harry called frantically.

“Yes you will.” Blaise scoffed. “I am not such a miserable friend that I will knowingly watch you die. If you tell me you are injured, I will get you help. So you won't tell me. I'll have to get used to being lied to. Don't worry, the other three aren't mad at you. Hermione's not recovered from the shock of you almost dying – she just cries. Ron just clings to her like the world's ending, and Theo hasn't smiled in three days. They'll be glad to see that you're awake.”

He left.

I should never have woken up. Harry thought, tears running down his face. Everybody hates me, now.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Later that day, Poppy came by and handed him a bag with a somewhat awkwardly-written note attached.

I'm still mad, but I do want you to get better...I hope you like these...

Inside the bag was a whole mess of assorted candies; Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, some Chocoballs, and even some of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. Maybe he doesn't hate me...

Harry tried some of the gum, blowing big bubbles around the infirmary, but it didn't work to cheer him up. Poppy still didn't talk to him beyond what was required, and Blaise didn't come to visit him again. He also still had the evening's detention to look forward to, now that he was awake. Was I really asleep for three days? Whatever. He was not looking forward to that detention, especially considering that Snape had not come to find him in the infirmary as he'd expected. The last time the man had waited until detention before dealing with him had not made the detention more pleasant. If he didn't hit me for fighting, he's not gonna hit me for this...I don't think. He did have several ideas about what the man MIGHT do, though, and none of them were pleasant.

Finally Ron, Theo, and Hermione came to visit him. Apparently they'd taken some time to coordinate with Blaise, because instead of bringing Harry candy, they brought other things: Ron came bearing bottles of Butterbeer that he said he'd gotten from the house-elves, while Theo came with a 'Get Well Soon' bear that changed among six or seven equally-bright colors.

“It reminded me of you.” Commented Theo, smiling.

Hermione had somehow gotten a hold of some Muggle-style helium balloons, which she tied to the base of his bed. “I know they're silly,” she said, blushing, “but they do look cheerful.” Her eyes were red.

“They're nice.” He said, smiling. “I like silly, sometimes.” He hoped it would distract him from how desperate the three looked, and from the conspicuous absence of Blaise. There was a brief silence before Ron asked tentatively,

“Why didn't you tell us, mate? We would've helped.”

“I didn't need help, Ron. I was fine.”

“No wonder Blaise's so mad. Sorry, mate, but you're delusional.”

Conversation turned to other things, then, but he didn't have a lot of energy to spare: they only stayed for half an hour, finally leaving when he kept dozing off.

Madame Pomfrey came in as soon as they had left, to do tests and have him swallow a couple more potions. She then told him that he was free to go when he woke up, provided he returned to the infirmary to sleep. Harry fell asleep easily, relieved that he would not have to miss any class.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

When Harry woke up it was to Hedwig pecking at him gently. How'd she get in? He wondered briefly, ignoring the message she carried in favor of caressing her fluffy feathers with some relief. Hedwig, at least, didn't hate him. Neither do your friends. Stop being over dramatic. Harry couldn't get Blaise's words out of his head, though, and was grateful for the reprieve given by Hedwig's presence. The message she carried was somewhat less welcome, however.

Poppy has informed me that you will be free to leave the infirmary this afternoon. I expect to see you as usual at 7:00. S.S

Harry groaned, noting that it was already 6:00, but just kept stroking Hedwig, sending up a silent thanks to Hagrid for having gotten her for him. She didn't even know about his dishonesty to be angry at him for it. She didn't ask any uncomfortable questions, either. That's probably the only reason I haven't lied to her. He thought glumly. Some friend I am. But Blaise had said he'd 'have to get used to getting lied to'. Did that mean he was sticking around, at least? Even though he thought Harry was a schmuck? He'd given Harry candy...but he hadn't come to visit again, either. Was Kallie angry at him, too? She'd been before, when he'd ordered her not to tell on him. How did Harry get to the infirmary, if she didn't tell, though? Maybe he didn't care if she was angry.

By the time Harry had to leave he was feeling thoroughly depressed. He stood up off of the windowsill carefully, feeling slightly weak but mercifully free of pain, and headed down to the dungeons.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry struggled to maintain his usual stiff posture and eye contact as Snape looked down at him across the desk. It was hard to be proud and defiant when he felt so cruddy. Yet another person to yell at me. Wonderful.

“Why am I angry with you, Harry?”

Because for some reason what I do matters to you? I don't know! “Because you're a jerk; I don't know.”

“I highly doubt that. Take a guess.”

“I broke your stupid rules.” Harry stated, a hint of heat in his voice. You wouldn't be angry if you just let me alone in the first place. Those rules shouldn't even EXIST.

“For a start. Which ones? And be polite.”

Harry lifted his chin mulishly, but when he didn't answer right away a hint of real annoyance entered Snape's voice.

“Why don't I give you a hint? There's a large bruise on your face that was conspicuously absent when I last saw you in detention.”

Oh, shit. I was hoping he wouldn't notice that. He straightened up and spoke proudly. “I didn't complain about my injuries.”

“Just that?” The Potions Master's voice held a dangerous edge.

Harry stayed silent.

“Stop PLAYING, Harry!” The professor barked.

Harry flinched and abruptly decided he was too tired and depressed to argue. Nothing I say is going to matter. Lets just get this over with.

“Okay! I hid them from you!”

“And in the process? What did you say to me in detention when I asked you how you were?”

“I said I was fine! It was the truth!”

“Fine? You call INTERNAL BLEEDING fine? You couldn't have felt good, when you claimed that.”

Harry looked away. Lying implies you care about his reaction to the truth...Harry had held that belief for some time, but apparently it was wrong. I didn't lie because I cared about his reaction, I just didn't want to deal with the infirmary and didn't figure I needed it.

“No sir.”

“Did you know you were bleeding? Did you know what the bruise, and the blood in your urine, meant?”

“Yes, sir.”

He would. Snape realized suddenly. No wonder he thought he'd just get better on his own, he's probably done it before. But, damnit, he had told Potter to tell him if he was injured, that he could get help. The boy almost died!, and now he says he knew how bad it was? Snape's anger flared up again as quickly as it had died.

“And you said nothing? You said you were fine? Would you rather die than tell me the truth?” Is it just me? Does he hate me that much? The thought hurt, though it bothered Snape to admit it.

“No, sir.”

“Then why?” Harry did not want to answer that question. It seemed so stupid now! He just shook his head.

“Harry, lying to me almost cost you your life. You will tell me why it was so important.” How can I prevent this from happening again? Please!

“I didn't lie! I can take care of myself!”

Oh, for the love of- “I found you passed out on your bed from blood loss. The only reason you are alive is because your house-elf loves you enough that she would rather disobey than see you die. That is not 'fine'. Clearly someone is needed to take care of you. How am I supposed to protect you when you won't even tell me you are dying?!” Snape's voice cracked with stress and Harry looked at him in startlement and anger.

“Don't you get it?! You're. NOT. Supposed. To. Protect. Me. You. Are. Supposed. to. Leave. me. Alone. I can bloody well take care of myself I've been doing it for ten years!”

“Aren't you listening?! You almost died!”

“I don't care! That was my business!”

“And not mine? How about your mother's, Harry? Should she have let you die? Or your friends?” Harry flushed, feeling guilty.

“They don't care.”

Snape looked at him in disbelief. “Excuse me, 'they don't care?' Have you even talked to them recently?”

“Blaise doesn't. Maybe the others do.”

Snape softened at the bleakness in the boy's tone. “I take it Mr. Zabini is angry with you.”

Harry shrugged to show he didn't care. “Yeah.”

“Why do you say he does not care, if he is angry?”

Harry lifted his chin, trying to appear indifferent. “He didn't come to see me with the others. He just yelled at me when I woke up, and left.” And gave me candy. He reminded himself. He might come around.

“Why did he yell at you?”

I don't want to talk about it. “None of your business.”

Snape studied him for a moment, and sighed. “True. If you truly do not wish to speak of it, I won't pry.”

Really? “Thanks,” Harry whispered.

“All right, back to the matter at hand, then.” Harry grimaced. What if I don't like that conversation, either?

“You lied to me.”

This is definitely not a good conversation. “Fine! Fine, I lied to you! What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing, yet: we're not finished talking. What other rules did you break?”

What's so important about this conversation? Why do you always want to talk about things? Harry hated it. Enough talking, I think. “None. That's it. You told me not to hide injuries, I hid injuries. I lied. Punish me. It's what you're gonna do anyway.” What else did I do, anyway? What am I forgetting?

Snape ignored that. “Harry, what did I ask you to do when caretaker Filch went after you?”

Right. I do remember that.

Harry finally dropped his eyes. I'dve never gotten beat up in the first place.

“I don't want your protection, sir.”

“Too bad. You have it.”

The blunt statement took Harry by surprise, and he suddenly felt really, really, stupid. I could have avoided all of this. I really could have.

“So, Harry, what other rule did you break?”

“You know already.”

“Yes. I want you to tell me.”

“Fine, then.” Be that way. “I didn't tell you about Capt- about the guy who was after me.”

Well that was easy. I only know of four people in the school who could be called 'Captain', and only three who are male. I highly doubt Wood or Davies hit Harry.

“Captain Flint, Harry?”

Harry pursed his lips. DAMN! “No.”

Snape got seriously angry at that. “You do not want to be lying to me right now, Mr. Potter.”

Harry shivered, the first trickle of real fear running down his spine, and only then realizing that Snape only rarely still called him by his last name, and generally when he was angry.

“Fine, yes, it was fucking Marcus Flint. What does it matter? What're you gonna do, give him detention? You can't do anything, professor. You can't even get rid of him if Dumbledore doesn't sign off on it. You're not even probably allowed to tell anyone, other than the stupid headmaster, and you know he won't do anything.”

Severus smirked. Thank you, Harry, that's all I need to know. “You underestimate me, I think.” His smile had a cruel aspect to it, and Harry shivered even more, remembering the man's reaction to Filch. I may have just set a Death Eater on a fifth-year student...he really can't do anything, right?...You know what? I don't care. Not one whit. He could hang Flint up by his ankles and I'd just watch.

“In the meantime, however, I have you to deal with. We have yet to address one rather important detail. Your house-elf.”

Kallie. He suddenly remembered from earlier in the conversation. She told on me, the little-! “What about her?”

“You mistreated her.”

“I what?! I did no such thing!”

“You did. You forced her to disobey. Do you know what that does to a house-elf, to disobey?”

“I didn't force her to do anything! She told on me! I should- I don't know – fire her or something!”

“She saved your life!”

“I told her not to!”

“Exactly. You asked something of her that she could not do! How could you ask her to just let you die, Harry?! You don't know what you did to her!”

“I don't care what I did to her! It's the little snitch's own fault!”

Only one way to make him understand, I think. Severus thought regretfully. This is not going to be any fun, for either of us. Severus did not want to live through this again.

“Very well, you want to know what she did; what you did to her; how she is taking this? I saw her. Look at me, and I'll show you.”

Harry hesitated, unsure of what the man was up to.

“Harry, look at me.”

Harry looked up, met his eyes, and found himself in a corner of the room, facing out, instead of in front of the desk, watching Snape sitting at his desk correcting papers. With a slight 'pop' Kallie apparated in, and Harry watched in horror and confusion as she tried to hit herself with a paperweight and a poker before Snape restrained her, and as she spat out her message around his orders. Snape rushed out the door after she finally managed to tell the man where Harry was. Belatedly Harry realized. This must be one of Snape's memories, somehow.

Then Harry was in his dorm, looking down at himself as Snape rushed in, Kallie right behind him and ringing her hands and crying.

“Is he dead, sir? Was Kallie too late, Master Snape, sir? Kallie is sorry, sir! Master Harry ordered her not to tell, sir. Kallie is a bad house-elf, sir!”

Harry's attention was drawn to Snape as the man ran some sort of spell over his horribly bruised abdomen before cursing fluently. But Snape never curses. Harry watched unbelievingly as the man ordered the house-elf to stay with him, and not hurt herself, before lifting Harry gently in his arms like a small child.

Harry followed silently as Snape hurried to the infirmary and shouted to Madame Pomfrey. The woman turned white when she saw Harry. I really do look bad, he reflected, looking at himself limp in the Potions Master's arms. The Harry in the memory was white, white as a sheet, and his lips had a blue tinge. Harry watched as the man set him down impossibly gently on one of the clean hospital beds, and removed his shirt. The man's face was set in grim lines, but Harry could tell he wasn't angry. If he's not angry, then what? He's certainly not happy.

Harry's attention was once again drawn to Kallie, who had taken advantage of Snape's distraction to bang her head hard on the nearest wall. He couldn't help it – he called to her. “Kallie- no! No stop! Kallie I order you- please!” But she couldn't hear him. I'm not even really here. He remembered. But how could the cheerful, bossy house-elf be acting this way in the first place? Mercifully, Snape heard her and cast a strange spell- Petrificus Totalis- and caught Kallie before she hit the ground, stiff as a board and unable to move. Poor Kallie. Harry thought. She's like this, just from disobeying? From saving my life?

Time seemed to skip forward rapidly, then: Harry stayed still, but the room moved around him, like between each 'skip' one had fast-forwarded the tape, then watched for a bit. Madame Pomfrey would be on one side of his bed, then another, then in her office, as Snape paced different parts of the room or sat in a chair nearby, but never left. Finally the woman left and Snape stayed, still pacing. By then the spell on Kallie had faded, and she sat next to Harry, just crying but no longer trying to hurt herself. Snape watched her, and Harry, and paced.

Every once in a while, while Madame Pomfrey was gone, the man would come over and check Harry's pulse at the wrist, or just watch him, or brush his hair away from his face with a hand. This isn't real. It can't be. That isn't Kallie. That isn't Snape. But time wore on: the sky was lightening when Snape finally gave up and sat at Harry's bedside, right next to Kallie, stopping her every once in awhile as she forgot or ignored Snape's orders and went for another go at the wall. Occasionally she pleaded with the man, “Kallie must punish herself, sir! Kallie should have told sooner, sir! NO! Kallie should have obeyed Master Harry sir! Kallie is bad house-elf, Master Snape, sir!” It's okay, Harry reminded himself. It's not real.

Hours passed by, and Harry watched Snape fight to stay awake as the sky lightened, then darkened again. Dude how long is the man going to stay? Finally Madame Pomfrey came by and did some tests.

“He is stable, Severus. It is time for you to go sleep.”

Snape just gave her a cold glare. “I will leave, Madame, when he is more than 'stable'. Until then you have far more important matters to attend to than whether I sleep.”

Madame Pomfrey huffed at the rebuke and retorted, “Then at least take a cot here, Severus! The boy is not going to heal any faster because you worried yourself into exhaustion and gave me another patient to deal with.”

“I am not-”

“Worried? Well whatever you call staying up all night watching over a child, I won't have it! You will get some sleep if I have to force a potion down your throat same as we did to Harry!”

Snape took one of the nearby beds, put it on it's most propped-up setting, and got on. “Satisfied?”

“You know very well that's not what I meant. You are to sleep.”

“And you are to worry about your patient. You are a mediwitch. Don't you heal people? You're supposed to heal him, damnit!”

“Just like you were supposed to protect him in the first place, Severus?”

Severus looked like he'd been slapped, and Madame Pomfrey whitened.

“I'm sorry, Severus. I should never have said that. I'm just stressed, I-”

“Leave me.”

“I am truly sorry.”

Madame Pomfrey finally gave up and left, and Snape promptly got off his bed and retook the chair next to Harry's cot. Harry could hear him mutter, “Don't you die on me, Potter. Stupid boy. You are to live, do you hear me? You will live and go about doing more stupid things like painting my bloody door or filling my office with bloody farm animals. You are not to die, understand? You die and I'll kill you myself, I swear. I'll take Filch's suggestion and hang you up by your thumbs. I'll- put you in that corner you hate so much until you grow old. You can glare at me, and curse me out, and disrupt my class all you want, but you are not to die. I haven't gotten finished making your life miserable, you understand me? You are to live.”

That is not Snape. It's not. It's not real. I didn't hurt Kallie like that and Snape- Snape was not that worried. It's all a lie, all just something Snape made up 'cause he's an ugly greasy git.

Finally Harry came back to himself, in the office with Snape.

“Well, Potter, do you get it now?”

“It's a lie – you- you made it up,” Harry managed to get out, seriously unsettled. Please. It's gotta be a lie.

Snape watched the momentary distress cross Harry's face, and heard it in his voice, and felt his temper fall.

“I have not lied to you before, and I am not now.”

“You can't prove it.”

Snape sighed. “Call your house-elf, Harry.”

No! I can't see her now! What'll I even SAY to her? If he's not lying-

“Either you're right, and calling her will do you no harm, or I am, and you need to speak with her anyway, to make things right. Call her, Harry.”

He was right. Harry lowered his eyes, and called tentatively, “Kallie?”

Kallie arrived instantly, and threw herself at at Harry's feet. “Master Harry, sir! Kallie is sorry sir-”

She had a black eye. “Kallie-”

“Please don't give Kallie clothes, sir! I'll do better, sir-”

Harry was getting upset. “Kallie, please-”

“But you were dying, sir! Please, master, sir-”

“Kallie I'm SORRY!”

“Kallie will punish- ”

“NO! Please don't do that. You saved my life, Kallie. I- I should apologize to you. Please – please forgive me? I should never have told you not to tell.”

“Master is asking Kallie's forgiveness, sir?”

“Yes, Kallie. Please. You didn't do anything wrong.” He finished in a whisper. “I did.”

Kallie considered him for a moment, before standing up straighter and looking at him.

“Kallie begged you not to order that, sir.”

Harry looked away. “I know, Kallie. I'm sorry.”

“Master almost died because Kallie could not get help, and Master wouldn't, sir.”

“I didn't want anyone to know!”

Kallie looked at him for a moment, looking sad. “Kallie is not forgiving so easily, sir.”

Harry felt his eyes start to burn. Not her, too!

“Does Master have an order for Kallie, sir?”

“No, thank you, Kallie, I-”

Once again Kallie left without letting him finish.

Severus watched as tears started to flow unchecked down Harry's face for the second time in a day.

“Harry-”

“Just leave me alone,” Harry whispered, looking away, “please?”

I can't punish him now, realized Snape. He'd feel like a monster. “Very well. You may go outside, if you wish, but I want you to go think. You're dismissed.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry took Snape's suggestion and headed outside, changing his face on the way to that of a muggle boy he'd seen at school before coming to Hogwarts. Hopefully if nobody recognized him, nobody would bother him. He was supposed to think about things: the last thing he wanted to do. He headed over to plop himself down under a tree by the lake, trying to ignore the thoughts that fought to destroy his peace of mind. He managed for about five minutes before images started to pour into his mind: images of Kallie pleading at his feet, of her bruised face, of her telling him in her house-elfish language that she could not forgive him. Overwhelmed and sick, he buried his face in his hands.

He was still crying fifteen minutes later when he noticed someone walking to him across the lawn. As the figure got closer he realized it was Blaise, and turned away. Blaise just sat down next to him for a moment before lifting his hair away from the scar still evident on his face. Damn, I forgot the coverup.

“You know,” said Blaise conversationally. “This is a pretty small place. Newcomers don't go unnoticed.”

Harry turned further away from him; a blatant hint. Blaise ignored it.

“So? Talk. I...sorta didn't give you a chance before.”

No you didn't. “I don't want to anymore. Leave me alone.”

“Why are you out here, anyway? Aren't you still grounded? And in detention, besides?”

“Snape let me go out. He wants me to 'think about things'.” Harry answered grudgingly.

“That doesn't sound like any fun.”

“It's not.”

“Why are you doing it then?”

“Have you ever tried to not think about something?” Harry demanded, annoyed. Didn't I ask you to go away?

“A point. So...what's up, then?”

“Life blows, that's what's up.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“Sure it is. Well, part of it, anyway.”

Reminded of their earlier conversation, Harry grumbled. “I said I was sorry.”

Blaise looked at him soberly. “You gonna do it again?”

Harry shook his head, confused. “I don't know. I- I hate the infirmary. I just wanted to get better on my own. It's not my fault I got messed up. I didn't even start the fight! I just wanted it to go away, to just get better, maybe a little slowly, and forget it ever happened. Instead everybody's mad at me, even you.”

“You scared us. You almost died, and then even when Madame Pomfrey said you were going to be okay you looked bad. That's...that's why I got so mad... I just don't want it to happen again. How can we take care of you when you don't even tell us you are dying? When you lie about it even when we ask?”

“That's what Snape said, too. Why do you all feel like you have to take care of me? I'm not a baby, I can take care of myself! If you just gave up then you wouldn't be mad at me when I didn't let you! I don't need your help!”

“Harry-” Harry abruptly realized that Blaise looked like Harry might've hit him- hurt and angry. “you – you want us to back off? To leave you alone? Do you not want us help you when you need it?”

Why does this hurt him? “I just don't understand why you all care so much about this! I was the one injured, how was it your business? You and Snape and Pomfrey and even Kallie! Why can't you all just let me be?”

Blaise looked away, feeling awkward. “Because I- well, I guess we, we care about you! We don't like seeing you hurt! Why can't you understand that? We want you to be safe, and happy, because you are ours! You are my friend, Snape's ward, Kallie's 'master'. You are important to us. When you are happy, so are we, when you are sad, that upsets us, too. Merlin, Harry, you act like nobody's ever cared about you before!”

Harry didn't comment on that last, choosing instead to point out a flaw in Blaise's logic. “I make a bloody awful 'master'.”

Blaise grimaced. “I saw how she was. Is she okay?”

“I don't know. She's not really talking to me: either way, she hates me, now. Not that I don't deserve it.” Harry said bitterly.

Blaise clapped him gently on the shoulder. “If she knows you at all she knows you didn't mean it. She'll come around.”

Harry chose to ignore that as a vain hope, having thought of a further (gaping) flaw in Blaise's logic. “You are also claiming that Snape cares about me. You do realize who you are talking about?”

Blaise looked at him strangely. “Yes, Harry. I am talking about the man that just spent three days no further than ten feet from your bedside. I'd wager good money he's never done that for any other student.”

Harry just stared at him as he realized what Blaise was saying, and more images came flooding into his brain: Snape's memories, at first, which Kallie had proven true. Snape talking to him when he was unconscious, making desperate threats and telling him not to die. This isn't happening. Snape's frantic expression while he carried Harry to the infirmary, his exhausted struggle to stay awake, his expression when Madame Pomfrey blamed him for Harry's injuries. No, no, no. Damnit it's not true. It's a lie. Madame Pomfrey had said something in one of the memories – something about staying up watching over a child? And worrying? That's not Snape.

Then other things came to Harry. Snape's anger at Filch, his blunt statement about protection. His speech about him not being a freak, about the care due to children. Suddenly more subtle memories seemed significant: Snape allowing him to face out from the corner when he was frightened, even though the man was angry, his quiet jokes, his anger when Harry put himself in danger, his patience with Harry's numerous pranks. He called him Harry, and looked over his tests, and brought Tonks to see him even though the Potions Master didn't like her. No. He hates me. He exists to make me miserable. Snape letting Harry go outside, twice now, even though he was being punished. Snape's...concern...when Harry couldn't stay awake. Snape apologizing.

Adults never apologize. But Snape did. Maybe the photos really weren't meant to hurt?

“You – you really think he cares about me?” Harry still sounded really skeptical, but Blaise spoke with assurance.

“Yes, Harry. I really do.”

“And that's- why he's so angry?” How does that work?

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Explain that again?” I don't think that's one I'm ever going to get.

“He cares about you, so when you're hurt, he's worried- scared. Then you're okay again, and all he can think is, you wouldn't have been so hurt – wouldn't have scared him so much- if you'd gone ahead and told him the truth in the first place. So he's mad. 'Cause he was scared. And it's partly your fault. 'Cause you didn't tell him you were hurt.”

“Wait, so he's angry because he was scared?”

“Yeah.” Harry could practically hear the continuation, like I've said three times already.

“This is still Snape we're talking about, right? Scared?”

“Scared 'cause you were maybe going to die. Of course he was scared. I was scared, too.”

That still doesn't make much sense. Him being scared of me dying would require...him to not want me to die. Him to care. That's not okay. “I...sorry, I guess. I didn't know.”

“You gonna apologize to Snape, too?”

It struck Harry again. He spent three days just watching me breathe. Three DAYS. “Errr...I dunno.” He felt impelled to be honest. “Probably not.”

Blaise spoke quietly. “Maybe you should.”

Harry's response was equally quiet. “Maybe I don't have the courage.”

Blaise nodded. “Yeah, I could see that. Evil bat of the dungeons and all that.” His tone was warmer than it had been, and Harry asked tentatively,

“Are you...still mad at me?”

“A little bit.” Blaise answered seriously. “You still won't promise to tell next time. You've pretty much told me you're going to lie to me again, and lying about something like that- it's just dumb, Harry. It could get you killed.”

Harry sighed. “I know.”

Blaise looked at him, a quiet anger back in his voice. “Please- I won't make you but please consider telling somebody next time? I know you don't like Snape much, but he wasn't the only one affected by this, Harry.” He left, as Harry remembered again what he'd said earlier about Theo, Hermione, and Ron's reactions, and saw Kallie's bruised face once again in his mind. Blaise seemed to mostly forgive him, but he had to wonder if Kallie ever would. Kallie was usually so - happy. Moreover she was an assertive little creature, always bossing him around, hands on hips, insisting that he eat more because 'you is so skinny, Master sir! It is not right for Kallie's master to be all knees and elbows!' Now - she'd looked like a slave. He might as well have given her that bruise with his own fist. Miserable once more, Harry went back to his dorm to pick up his book bag and bring it to the infirmary with him. He'd not missed any classes, but he hadn't worked for the entire weekend either, so he'd have to play catch-up to get all his homework done on time.

The next day Harry managed to pay close enough attention in class to block out his new and uncomfortable thoughts, though he did it with his head down, especially in Transfigurations. McGonagall spent half the class sending him severe looks, and Harry found he couldn't bear to meet her eyes. Usually he'd just glare back, but this time, he kept thinking, did I scare her, too? And couldn't manage to react with anger as he'd like.

Finally she came up in front of him and squeezed his shoulder gently, prompting him to finally look up at her. She was smiling slightly, and he relaxed enough to smile a bit back. Thank Merlin. Harry liked Professor McGonagall: she'd allowed him to hang out (or hide out) in her common room multiple times, and didn't treat him differently than her own students. Her forgiveness now only strengthened that. If only everybody forgave that quickly.

Minerva watched her little pseudo-lion throughout her class. Having seen him in and out of the Gryffindor common room for most of the term, and heard of his...family issues...from Dumbledore, she had almost come to see Harry as one of hers. She'd worried about him as she would one of her lions, and as such made her displeasure known as she would to one of them. Harry seemed to take it differently than usual, though – instead of trying to fight her anger, he seemed to submit to it, almost trying to hide from her glare. He seemed so little, all of a sudden, and soon gained back her sympathy. Enough people are angry at him right now, I think.

His tiny, contrite smile as she signaled her forgiveness completely won her over. Poor kid. He tries so hard to show he doesn't care...if only more realized how much he actually does. His fellow students seemed to like him a lot, but some of his professors – Professor Sinistra especially- and other staff members seemed to take his defiance on face value, and made his life difficult. Nothing Minerva might say in his favor would fight the fact that he tended to be quite disrespectful, and belonged to Slytherin besides.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Eventually Harry's classes for the day ended, and everything came rushing back like a tidal wave. It was too much at once: he'd finally manage to get Snape out of his mind, and he'd immediately start thinking about Kallie. In the brief moments that he managed to escape both of them, Blaise and his other friends pressed forward, carrying their own load of guilt. Mostly, though, he thought about Snape. Blaise said the man cared for him, and...well...if it were anybody else, Harry'd agree that all evidence pointed to that very conclusion. McGonagall hadn't stayed with him for three days, after all, and he figured she liked him.

Snape was different than McGonagall, though. McGonagall liked him, maybe, but she just treated him as one of her lions. Snape treated him differently than he did the other students. One explanation was that he hated Harry and was trying to make him miserable...and the other was much more complicated. All that stuff about rules being there for my own good. Now I've broken rules, and ended up half dead. Snape should feel vindicated, not angry.

But that sort of logic only made sense if Snape hated him. Unfortunately for Harry's peace of mind, it was becoming more and more obvious that the man didn't hate him, and Harry found himself less and less able to ignore that. Damn. Damn damn damn. Did I say I wanted more complications in my life? Did I say I wanted some adult to suddenly decide to 'care'? I don't want 'care.' He reminded himself. 'Care' is for pretty happy children who can't do a thing for themselves without permission. Not for me. I've taken care of myself for this long, I don't need somebody to coddle and 'protect' me. That's not who I am, and moreover it's not who I want to be. Snape can go find somebody else to pity.

Harry really couldn't see Snape 'caring' for him out of pity, though, and the thought of the man suddenly treating him like any other student was somehow painful, now that he knew it wasn't hate. I'll get over it. He seriously needs to back off and stop trying to control me just because I'm- Harry tried to stop the thought as it came. -important...to... him. The image of his mother holding him came back to him, then, and as usual his throat grew tight. Before he could act to hold the memory back a conversation with Snape came to him - Why does it matter that she loved me if she's gone?” Harry had said. Snape's response had sent him reeling. “Isn't it better to know that someone did, Harry?” He hadn't quite figured that out yet, and now he had to react to this revelation. It was just...too much at once. How was he supposed to figure out if it was okay that somebody cared, now, if he couldn't figure out if it was okay that somebody cared, then? Was it better to know that Snape didn't bother him out of hate but out of- caring? My mo- Mrs. Potter was different. She's not here to- bother me anymore. Snape is. In fact, he had detention with the man in under three hours. Too soon. Wayyy too soon. How do I approach him, now?

Severus Snape walked furiously in the dungeon corridors, up one, down the next. Marcus Flint was no longer Quidditch Captain. He wasn't even on the team. He was on every probation the school had. He had detentions until the end of time. He was still at Hogwarts. Damnit how can a SCHOOL be corrupt?

It was no simple thing, to expel a student from Hogwarts. The expulsion had to be approved by the ministry, of all things; specifically by the Board of Governors. As such it was nearly impossible to expel a child of any influential family without the family's tacit consent. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Flint had not approved the expulsion of his son. Too bad. Thought Severus. He's leaving. The question of course, was how to convince him without filling any new cells in Azkaban.

Finally Severus wandered into a corridor where Fred and George Weasley were whispering in a corner, a large, heavy-looking bag set down next to them. That'll do. Thought Severus. Yes. Rather perfect, come to think of it. He had to keep up appearances, of course.

“Messrs Weasley. You will come with me. NOW.”

They obeyed with alacrity, and soon the two of them were sitting in surprisingly comfortable transfigured chairs in Severus' office, wondering what, exactly was going on. They ought to have been scrubbing something, by then.

“I have a...proposition for the two of you.” The twins' attitudes immediately changed. One lifted an eyebrow and sat back, looking skeptical, while the other put an ankle on one knee with an air of nonchalance and spoke for both of them, doing an admirable imitation of an unimpressed businessman.

“We're listening.”

“Please do, and carefully. I have a problem that I believe you two could perhaps help me with. You see, there is certain information that I am not free to share with certain individuals. This group includes the entire student body of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There are also certain actions that I am not free to take as an adult and as a professor of said venerable institution. The two of you are, naturally, free of said restrictions. Do you get my meaning?”

“Loud and clear.” Answered George. The twins were seriously intrigued. The professor had never spoken to them this way before: in fact, he rarely asked anything of anyone. They were quite sure, in addition, that the Potions Master hated them. Was he really asking a favor?

“Very well. Keeping in mind the restrictions placed on me, I ask you to listen carefully as I describe a certain- purely hypothetical- situation.”

Fred let out a breath. This sounded good!

“All right.”

“Good. Let's say, then, that a certain student of my house- let's say, for the sake of argument, a certain very famous first-year, ended up in the infirmary several days ago with some very serious injuries inflicted by another student...”

Fred and George held their breath. They'd been wondering where Harry was.

“Let's say, hypothetically, that a certain professor- let's describe him as an ugly git with greasy hair-”

The twins' eyes grew large.

“-knew precisely who had taken it upon himself to inflict said injuries on said first year – this is all hypothetical, you understand – and could not, as a professor, do anything to remove said detestable individual from the school, or, at least, not through any official, or approved, channels.”

The twins looked at each other and smiled grimly. They knew where this was going.

“Let's say he was also unable to openly tell any students of the incident. Would you think, hypothetically of course, that it would be acceptable for said hypothetical professor to quietly provide just compensation to those students who participated in driving said miserable maggot – let's say, for the sake of argument, a fifth year...maybe the Captain of Slytherin House's Quidditch team... from the school?”

The twins looked at Snape with new respect. “Indubitably, sir.”

Severus cracked a malicious smile. “I'm glad you think so. Never let it be said that Slytherin house doesn't take care of its own. Now, I should add the completely unrelated comment that Slytherin house is a good source for anyone looking to recruit clever, somewhat inscrutable young people eager to help out a housemate. They would, however, need information before doing so. Besides that, you are dismissed, with my thanks.”

George smiled broadly and Fred bowed. “At your service, sir.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Later that evening, Harry idled outside of Snape's office door, trying to get up the courage to knock. It was a different sort of nervousness he felt, this time: not scared of what Snape would do, so much as not knowing how he was supposed to act. It's no different from usual. I know a little more, doesn't mean I have to act any different. But how could he act the same, knowing what he did? All his previous reactions to the man had been based on the assumption that Snape had it in for him. Now...maybe, maybe, the man didn't. Three days. He reminded himself, still incredulous.

Besides that, the man had talked to him yesterday – today he would punish him, Harry was certain. The list of his supposed transgressions was long, and Harry found he had no desire to face the man's anger over it. Especially now that...well...I deserve it...if nothing else for what I did to Kallie. Snape would undoubtedly feel that he was punishing him for all sorts of other things, but they weren't important to Harry.

It's his own fault if I scared him. I didn't ask him to 'care'. In fact, he'd told the git multiple times not to; that it was Harry's business whether he put himself in danger or not. Not that the man had listened. So he can just damned well be scared. It's not my problem. Except that Snape, he was sure, would make it his problem. Because he cared.

Remind me why this is something I should want?

Finally, Harry knocked, and was let in to stand as usual in front of Snape's desk, chin up but not (yet) glaring. Snape looked back at him curiously. The boy was still unsettled, somehow.

Good. He shouldn't forget that easily.

“So. You've had some time to think things over. What do you have to say for yourself?”

And, just like that, the glare was back. He's not cursing at me. I'll take what I can get.

“So? Speak, please.”

But we did the talking YESTERDAY. I hate talking. “What is there to say? I broke your rules, you're mad. We did this yesterday.”

“Just that, Harry, just my rules? Just that I'm mad? You regret nothing?”

“No! I- Kallie.” He finally mumbled. Why do I bother to answer? Who cares if he thinks I don't care about hurting her. Who cares if he thinks anything? But he did, somehow. He couldn't let Snape think that he'd hurt Kallie on purpose.

“What about her?”

Harry got angry. “Look, I told her I was sorry. You were there. Just leave it, all right?”

“No. I want to make sure you understand how you hurt her. Do you want it to happen again?”

Something felt tight in Harry's chest. I have to say it? He refused to mince words. You deserve this. Say it. “Fine. I- ordered her-” like a slave. “not to tell I was injured. She asked – begged- me not to order that because she...because for some reason it hurts her to disobey me. I ordered it anyway. I... used... her inability to disobey to keep my secret. But she- she took care of me anyway, and- fought my” abusive “order, and saved my life. Now she's hurt, and it is my fault.” By the end Harry's voice was reduced to a trembling whisper, but then his anger returned. “That good enough for you, sir?”

Well he's not trying to squirrel out of the blame, this time. Severus was impressed, actually, and so heard the pain behind the final anger and chose not to take offense.

“Yes. In fact, that was very well said.”

His words took Harry by surprise, and he found himself blushing and looking away, embarrassed by his rudeness.

“And how about hiding injuries, Harry? What's wrong with that?”

Finally, an easy question. “I disobeyed and lied to you.”

But Snape didn't accept that, for some reason. “Again, all about me. What is wrong with it, Harry?”

What kind of question is that? I disobeyed, I lied. What more does he want?

Severus saw Harry's confusion. “Why don't I ask another way? If I had not forbidden you to hide injuries, and if you had not lied, what would still be wrong with your actions?”

That doesn't help. “Nothing.”

Severus closed his eyes in impatience. “Try, Harry. You are not stupid. A hint – you did not disobey your friends, and yet they are still angry.”

Is he...talking about the same thing Blaise talked about? “It is my business whether I want help or not.”

An edge entered Snape's voice at that. “You are not an island, Harry.”

Harry stared at him. This all makes more sense, now. He's just gone mad. THAT I can understand...

Severus sighed. “You are not nearly as independent as you seem to think. What affects you, affects other people as well. Would you be angry if someone neglected a person or object you valued? If they, say, left one of your books where it would get rained on, or allowed one of your friends to be hurt?”

Duh. “Yeah...”

“By refusing to get help you have mistreated someone who your friends” and I “value greatly.”

He can't... “And yes, Harry, I do mean you.”

No way that's fair. “You can't mistreat yourself.”

“Au contraire, Harry, you have treated yourself little better than Flint did. You would blame me for being angry?”

“Fine, then. I've mistreated myself. By that token, I've also already been punished for it. Even my relatives would approve.” Answered Harry sarcastically.

“Hilarious, Harry.” Snape growled. “Did you honestly think that I would approve of you treating anyone – including yourself – as your relatives treat you? By the way you looked when you got here your relatives would disapprove of us feeding you.”

This conversation had just taken a very dangerous turn. “You know nothing of how my relatives treat me...”

Snape sat back. “I'm all ears. Do tell me of how they treasure you and coddle you and keep you from harm.”

Harry turned his head away sharply, blinking back furious tears.

“Harry you are missing the point. You should know that I would disapprove of anything that was likely to bring you harm. I would be angry about this even if I had not previously set down the rule because you should know better than to treat yourself that way.” Severus walked around the desk to Harry and slowly reached towards his face. Harry watched out of the corner of his eye, but didn't flinch away. Snape just grabbed his chin gently, and forced Harry to meet his eyes. “Nobody. Mistreats. My. Ward. Do you understand?”

Harry just looked at him, complete terror overcoming the momentary fear he'd felt from the physical contact. This can't be happening. He can't...look at me that way, protect me that way. What do I do, now? Besides that, the intensity of Snape's gaze combined with his words meant bad, bad news for Harry. I'm done. I've got my choice between death and lifetime imprisonment in the Slytherin common room. Never going play Quidditch again, never going to explore the Forbidden Forest OR the third floor corridor, goodbye giant squid...

Harry nodded slightly, rasping, “Yes sir.”

Snape released him. “Good. Enough talk. Corner.”

But- you were supposed to ground me! Harry looked at him, pure pleading in his gaze. Without anger to temper the expression, his green eyes hit Severus full force. Please don't look at me that way. Lily had asked him to care for his son. I'm DOING what you asked. It's not my fault it's not in line with what your son wants! “Don't look at me that way.” He managed to sound almost implacable. “It won't work.”

Harry glared momentarily, then hung his head and shuffled over to the corner, his whole posture screaming reluctance and reproach at Snape.

Greasy git. He knows I hate this. I know he does. Thought Harry, feeling seriously put-upon. Another part of him answered that, though. Just as you know why he's doing it anyway. Harry found that this time, Snape being behind him didn't really frighten him. He still really didn't like it, though, and not having the distraction his fear provided didn't make him like the whole experience any better. It just meant he could think better. I don't like thinking. Thinking is bad. Pissing Snape off was a decidedly bad idea. But then I've come to that conclusion multiple times, now, and I never seem to learn.

This was somehow different, though. Usually, if Harry was in the corner, Snape told him for how long he was going to be there, and that he (Snape) would stay at his desk. He hasn't said he won't move, yet. Harry thought it might be okay, though, if he did. Just as long as he doesn't come too close. Bad enough to be stuck here again without him...lurking. But how long was Snape going to leave him in the corner? It would go against everything Harry knew of Snape for the man to be lenient this soon, but he'd never left Harry in the corner for longer than half an hour. Harry also got the impression that he'd never been in this much trouble with the man, before. I'm going to be here forever. Welcome, Harry! You will notice that your new permanent home consists of a corner in Snape's office. Enjoy! Bloody hell. Why couldn't he ground me? Is that too much to ask? Apparently it was.

And so Harry was not surprised when fifteen minutes passed, then thirty. He wasn't happy, however. As usual, too many thoughts took over his head, and he couldn't escape them. Besides that, he was tired and bored and anxious and wanted OUT. How long has it been? Surely he'll let me out soon? When forty-five minutes were over and Snape had not freed him he gave in and turned around towards the Potions master, eyes pleading once more. I'm sorry, okay? Please let me out! Snape just shook his head and motioned for Harry to turn around again. Harry did, but found himself holding back tears. I hate this. God I hate this.

Why am I in so much trouble? He would've understood it if this were about Kallie, but Snape had made it quite clear that this was about Harry. Only it couldn't be. There was just no way that Harry was more important than the house-elf.

But Snape had sounded so fierce about it, when he'd said that nobody was to mistreat Harry. Those two words – 'his ward.' Blaise had mentioned them, too. Clearly they meant something to Blaise and Snape, somehow they connected him with Snape in a way that made Snape scared and angry when Harry was hurt. Which of course led back to him stuck in the corner until the end of the world for putting himself in danger. If this is what he's doing to me, what's he going to do to Flint?

Finally an hour was up, and Severus called Harry out of the corner, trying to ignore the tear-tracks evident on the boy's cheeks. He really, really, hates that...and I'm taking advantage of it. What a wonderful person I am...No, damnit he DESERVES it, and this CAN'T happen again. Turning away from the misery in the boy's eyes, he transfigured the usual desk from a stool he used in his potions lab, and provided Harry with quill and parchment.

“You will write, 'I am important to a lot of people. Allowing myself to be hurt also hurts those who care for me. I will allow others to help me and keep me safe.'”

Harry gave him a strange look before asking neutrally, “how many times?”

“We'll start with as many as you can do in the remainder of this detention, and go from there.”

In other words, this isn't over when this detention ends. He took up the quill and wordlessly started writing. Snape, meanwhile, got up and started moving around in his office, seeming to spend more time behind Harry then not. Well that's bloody annoying. Finally Harry got tired of it.

“You know, sir, short-term-memory loss is a symptom of excessive alcohol or drug use.”

Snape looked over at him, stumped. “I don't follow.”

Harry's voice was very dry. “Well there was a time, sir, when you knew that I preferred you not lurk behind me. Since you have obviously forgotten I would advise you to go easy on the narcotics.”

“I'll take that under advisement,” Snape answered, tone just as dry, and moved back to his desk.

“Thank you, sir.” Harry didn't say for what, but his shoulders relaxed.

At 10:00 Snape looked up and told Harry he could stop.

“You're done, for today. You may return to the infirmary.”

“Yes sir.” Harry said neutrally. That was easily the worst detention EVER. Git, indeed.

“I would also point out that your two weeks of grounding are over.”

That made Harry feel a little better. At least I can go outside.

“And I would add one caveat. You are free from grounding but you will avoid Marcus Flint like the plague. He's no longer Captain and he's on every probation under the sun but he's still here and you don't go near him, understood?”

Would you stop controlling me? “I understand that you can't do anything about him, sir.” Harry said bitterly. “I did warn you.”

Snape clenched his jaw, biting back an angry response. “Not officially, no, I can't.” Too bad for Flint, really.

Harry was confused. “Officially, sir?”

Severus smiled grimly. “Nevermind. You avoid him, am I clear?”

Harry clenched his own teeth. “Crystal, sir.” Understanding is not the same as agreeing, after all...

“Good. You're dismissed.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The next day Harry skipped breakfast, instead taking advantage of his new-found freedom to visit the Owlery before class. He spent over an hour just relishing the solitude and Hedwig's soothing presence before sending her and two other owls off with various orders. Kallie likes wearing nice things, and I can't technically give her clothes...hopefully she'll like this. It was all Harry could think of, to get Kallie to maybe forgive him. He thought over what he'd bought, hoping he hadn't forgotten anything. Maybe, maybe, this'll make things better.

Blaise was still a touch cool to him, and Harry got the feeling that that night's detention with Snape would be as unpleasant as the previous one. There was nothing he could really do about them. Madame Pomfrey was slowly coming around, but she wasn't the important one. If only Harry could get Kallie to forgive him, then life could mostly go back to normal. He was used to having detentions; he was not used to the guilt associated with hurting a creature -a friend- that didn't come up to his waist. Realistically, though, he knew that things were unlikely to ever return to 'normal'. In 'normal', Snape was an evil greasy git who hated Harry and spent loads of time planning ways to make Harry miserable. The way things looked now, 'normal' had never existed. Well the greasy git part holds up, at least...damnit I hate thinking.

Eventually Harry went to class, and then to the Great Hall for lunch, where he was greeted with enthusiasm by his friends. Ron and Hermione came by the table to speak with him briefly, as did Fred and George. They were acting strange: Harry wasn't the only person they talked to at the Slytherin table, and everyone they went to glanced briefly at Harry, looking furious. When they moved back to the Gryffindor table, the same pattern was produced. What's going on?

Harry happened to be looking over at Marcus Flint when the older boy took a sip from his goblet and promptly sprouted a spiky emerald-green mane all down the back of his neck and under his robes. People started to titter at that, but apparently the show wasn't over, as following the mane Marcus grew enormous fuzzy green ass ears. The entire room exploded into uproarious laughter as Flint got up, let out a loud, braying hee-haw of distress, and ran for the infirmary.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus Snape waited until the end of his class of third-year Gryffindors and Slytherins before asking in his most menacing tone,

“Who among you had the audacity to adulterate Flint's drink this morning? I want names!”

Fred and George Weasley looked at each other, shrugged, and both threw up a hand.

“It was us, sir!” Even the Gryffindors' heads whipped around at their enthusiastic admission. Had the Weasley twins finally gone mad?

Snape's tone didn't change. “And you used what?”

“Essence of Asinus for the ears, mane, and voice, emerald dragon skin for the color, and Doxy eggs to make it last, sir.”

“Expensive ingredients,” Snape commented. “Difficult to obtain even by wealthy wizards. Might I inquire where you two got them?”

“From your stores, sir.” George answered proudly. “I can pick locks.”

“Interesting,” drawled Severus, giving George a real glare. Students from both houses held their breaths, sure that the twins were about to meet their deaths. Severus leaned over the desk menacingly, peered into Fred's cauldron and spoke, his tone dripping with cold fury. “What do you call that color, Mr. Weasley?” The twins were unaffected.

“Hmm...probably robin's egg-blue. Or perhaps aquamarine. What do you think, George?”

“Definitely aquamarine.”

Severus raised his voice. “Are you illiterate, or was the potion not supposed to be pale yellow at this stage, gentlemen?”

“It was. This is prettier, though, sir.”

Severus spoke clearly, making sure that he could be heard all over the room though he spoke only to Fred. “That is the worst batch of this particular potion that I have ever seen. You are a complete cretin and your potion is worthless.” He then looked around fiercely until he knew he had every students full attention before he continued.

“However, I quite agree- the color is lovely. 15 points to Gryffindor.” Jaws dropped in shock, then closed as comprehension started to light in the eyes of the more intelligent students. Severus stood up and took the moment to look around at the class. “Any questions?”

Several of the students, especially those in Slytherin, cracked grins– by then it was well known what had happened to Harry, and many in Slytherin AND Gryffindor had wanted to know who had perpetrated it. One of the Slytherins spoke for the class. “I think we got the message. Would you like us to share it, sir?”

Severus cracked a grin of his own, and several students shivered. “That would be much appreciated, thank you, Miss Caldwell.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

By the time Harry arrived back at his dorm just before dinner, someone had placed a very interesting sign on the outside of the door to the Slytherin common room. After reading it through, Harry felt a strong hunch, and ran to the Gryffindor tower. Sure enough, posted boldly on the door was an identical sign.

It said simply:

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

Slytherin: 0

There was even a photo of the green donkey next to the entry on Fred and George. Harry stared in disbelief. He could think of only one person who could be awarding points for this, but that was...ludicrous. Snape giving Gryffindors points? For messing with a Slytherin? He'd said he couldn't officially do anything about Flint...

When Harry finally walked into the Great Hall, he noticed Flint walking uncomfortably out, again en route to the infirmary. He was still bedecked with green ears, but now sporting a bright purple mane, and small orange polka-dots that were quickly swelling into oozing, painful zits.

He returned to the Slytherin common room an hour later and, sure enough, the sign 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

Slytherin: 10 – Rosalind Lebeaux

She's a prefect. If she feels safe doing that...Harry went to detention with a lot on his mind.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Severus watched Harry as he came in, noting the boy's mixed confusion and anxiety. I can't protect him if he won't tell me when he's hurt. He reminded himself. He met Harry's eyes before motioning with his head towards the corner. Harry didn't move, just stared at him in mute horror. Again?? No! No, no, no!

“Harry you cannot have thought you this was over yesterday. I told you before that if you hid injuries from me, it would be at least a week of detention or the equivalent. I'm not going to give you more detentions, but you will be punished for your actions. Now go.”

Harry sent him a look that was equal parts glare and plea.

“I know. I'm an evil greasy git. That does not, however, change your position. Go.”

Can we skip the detentions and go back to grounding? Pretty please? Grounding sounds positively fun right about now. Nevertheless, Harry went, still thinking about signs on common room doors. Maybe it was McGonagall? But how would she have found out that it was Marcus Flint, if Snape had not told her? She wouldn't go this route. She'd assign him miserable detentions for every little thing, she wouldn't start an inter-house competition. The thought made him grin briefly. Points for creativity. That's brilliant.

Fifteen minutes later Harry stiffened and turned all the way around. Snape looked at him soberly.

“I don't think so, Harry. I'm just getting a book. Turn around.”

But you're supposed to stay put!! Harry met his eyes stubbornly. I'll turn when you're back at your desk. But Snape didn't move, just staring at him calmly. “I'm waiting- Ten.”

No! No counting. I hate COUNTING!! “Nine.” Harry locked his knees and kept the eye contact.

“Eight.” What'll he do if I don't turn?

“Seven.” I'll just wait and see. No problem. No-

“Six.”

Snape raised his eyebrows in silent order. “Five.” OKAY!! Okay, okay, fine! Harry dropped the eye contact and turned. Coward. Scared by stupid counting. That counting was somehow scarier than Snape being behind him, and now that the battle of wills was over it took less than thirty seconds for Snape to grab his book and sit down again.

It didn't matter, though: Harry shook with tension. The corner thing made him anxious at the best of times, and being stressed and full of adrenalin from the power struggle made this anything but. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. You just had to make it worse, didn't you? Couldn't just let it be, let him get his stupid book; you've got to make an issue of it. Now you're back to imitating a hunted rabbit. He's not even moving anymore and you're all stressed out.The last time Harry'd been this freaked out he'd at least been allowed to face out for awhile. Damnit he's not going to do anything! Get over it!

Severus watched Harry shake, feeling idiotic. Too much, too soon. Should've let him watch me. He spoke slowly and quietly from his place by the desk. “Harry, I'm not moving. You're all right.”

Harry took a deep breath. See? He's not even angry. RELAX already, stupid. Eventually, the adrenalin stopped coursing through his body, and he did. And promptly returned to normal I-hate-the-corner mode: bored, and anxious, and full of self-recrimination. Great. I act stupid, and make it worse, and I finally manage to calm down and guess what? More corner. Always more corner. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But what could he have done differently, really? Does he honestly want me to report to him every time something hurts? It was unreasonable. You scared him. He remembered. Stop scaring him and maybe he'll stop making your life miserable.

Half an hour passed, then forty-five minutes, as Harry shifted from foot to foot and fiddled and tried to relax and mostly succeeded. The events of the last several days ran over and over in his mind as Harry tried, once again, to comprehend it all. Being in the corner should have helped – it sort of trapped him in his own mind – but for the moment all he got was confusing, disturbing, and hurtful images.

Harry was well aware that Blaise was still angry at him, but the other boy was at least talking to him and so Harry was able to keep him out of his head. Unfortunately, thoughts of Snape and Kallie were more than enough to keep Harry miserable without him. He'd have to go see Kallie at some point, to try again and get her to forgive him, but he felt he couldn't face her. Maybe his peace offering would help, once it came...

And Snape. Snape who had not punished him for painting his door, but had put Harry here, in his most hated spot, for hours just because he'd put himself in danger. Greasy git. But then...sometimes it was nice that he was a git. He scared off caretakers and (MAYBE it was him) recruited members of an entire school to get rid of somebody who'd hurt 'his ward.' I could have dealt with it myself. The man acts like it's the first...or last time I got beat up. It happens. He should just get off my back about it. The man had literally ordered him away from Flint! Like Harry was just going to sit around and let others deal with the wanker!

Finally, finally the hour was up and Snape called Harry back to the desk. Harry looked up at him resentfully but sat down where he was told and picked up the quill. He wrote his lines for the first hour in silence, but finally couldn't stand it anymore. He had to ask.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Did you -” He decided to just spit it out. “Are you giving points for pranking Marcus Flint?”

Snape smirked. “Of course not! I would lose my position if I were caught doing such a thing. I give points for good work in my class, nothing else. Fred and George Weasley managed to produce a beautiful potion this afternoon, and Prefect Lebeaux lit the brazier under her cauldron this morning.”

“Isn't she a sixth year?” Harry asked, amused despite his earlier resentment. The first-years learned that in their first week.

“Lao Tzu once said, “Great acts are made up of small deeds.” Responded Snape defensively.

“Of course. Clearly she's headed for greatness. My mistake.” Harry smiled a little and went back to his lines, curiosity appeased but confusion still growing. He gave Gryffindor points? And for the WEASLEY TWINS? Snape took points from Gryffindor. He did not give them. Even the Slytherins knew that he was biased. Most also knew that he and the twins were practically nemeses. Strange.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

The next morning Hedwig and two other owls swept down on Harry, each carrying a parcel. Hedwig carried a long tube, which Harry figured was probably the wrapping paper. Of the other two, one carried a medium-sized paper-wrapped parcel, and the other a large box tied with string. Harry gulped. He'd been planning on taking his gift to Kallie as soon as the packages came, but he'd expected it to take more time. After class. He told himself. I'll do it after class.

Eventually his last class ended and Harry headed down to the dungeons to put everything together and wrap the awkward package as nicely as he could. He had a lot of experience, from wrapping Dudley's gifts, and so managed relatively well. He'd managed to find some cool wrapping paper in a wizarding stationary catalog – it had a pattern of swirly flowers that slowly moved around each other in a way that could have been dizzying, but was somehow just cheerful and pretty. That looks okay...now I just have to bring it to Kallie. He wished he could just send a friend with it, or something, but, as he was there to (once again) ask for forgiveness, he'd have to do it himself. This seemed like such a good idea, yesterday...

Finally Harry got up his courage and headed over to the kitchen. It wasn't far, and soon he found himself in front of the fruit painting. Before he could lose his nerve, he tickled the pear and went inside. As usual, several house-elves met him a the door, but they didn't look happy to see him, today. Kallie wasn't among them.

“Could I talk to Kallie, please?” Harry asked tentatively.

“If she is willing.” Answered the head house-elf tersely.

“Yeah that's- that's fine. If she doesn't want to see me...she doesn't have to.” Answered Harry, a lump in his throat. He hadn't thought she might refuse to even see him.

The elf disappeared, reappearing a moment later with Kallie, and shooing off all of the other elves. Kallie looked at him expectantly, face still bruised. Harry flushed and looked at the ground.

“I-I brought you something.” He mumbled, putting his colorful burden down in front of her and kneeling beside it. “I'm really sorry.”

Kallie looked up at him wordlessly for a moment, then bent down to unwrap the package. Inside was a sewing kit that Harry had constructed, buying a pretty, fabric-lined basket, several sizes of needle and colors of thread, several yards of several different colorful fabrics, and a book of sewing patterns that could be adapted for various sizes.

“I didn't think-well I hoped- you still didn't want me to give you clothes, but I noticed that you like wearing nice things.” Kallie looked the items over slowly as Harry found the courage to speak, still barely looking at her. “Look, I'm really, really sorry. I never meant – you never have to obey me, okay? If you really want to disobey me then- then that's what you should do. You – you shouldn't hurt yourself just because I- 'cause I was stupid.” He finished lamely.

Kallie just looked at him, considering. This is stupid. How could she forgive me? I wouldn't forgive me! Harry pursed his lips to keep them from trembling, but nothing stopped the tears that started to fall. Please. I didn't mean to. I really, really didn't.

Finally Kallie's face softened. “Oh, Master Harry sir. Kallie is okay, sir. No need to be so upset.”

Harry sniffed, still wary of looking at her, and her voice took on its usual tart character. “Would Master look at Kallie please?” Harry looked up. “Kallie is forgiving Master Harry, yes? You is okay!”

Harry smiled a little bit, more convinced that Kallie didn't hate him now that she sounded like herself.

“Master is very clever, sir! Gives Kallie clothes without giving Kallie clothes! Kallie very much likes her present, sir!”

Harry's smile broadened. “Thanks, Kallie. I'm- I'm glad you like it.”

“Now,” she said briskly, carefully packing the fabric and supplies back in the basket, “Master must eat something before he leaves. Would he like a Pumpkin Pasty or some shepherd's pie?”

“Pasty, please.” He answered. His voice sounded resigned, but he was smiling hugely. Kallie was back!

He's gonna put you in the corner again. You know he is. What would happen if he just...didn't go? Walked away and back to his dorm? Just...skipped it? What could Snape do about it if he just...stopped obeying? He'd send another Howler, idiot. He'd take points from Slytherin every hour, and the other Slytherins would MAKE you go. Then you'd be in real trouble. I think we established that skipping detentions is a bad plan. But Harry was just so sick of obeying the man. Of obeying anybody.

If I don't go to detention, he'll give me another one...or two. Like that would matter... But the damned sensible Hermione-voice spoke up again. Reality check. HOWLER, idiot. Remember that? That did not improve your life. Just go in and get it over with. But he didn't want to. Corner, remember? He told the Hermione voice. Corner is bad.

The Hermione voice wouldn't shut up, though. A Howler would be worse, and then you'd just have more detentions. You can't get out of this.

Five minutes passed, and it was 7:00. He'd be late if he didn't knock now. Okay, okay. I'll go. He knocked and entered, standing as usual in front of Snape's desk as if he didn't already know where he was headed. He looked at Snape and lifted his chin challengingly. I can take anything you dish out. The posture also served to help hold back frustrated tears.

Severus watched Harry's face. The boy had given up on pleading and returned to glaring, though Severus could still read the upset behind the anger. He reminded himself of what he'd told Albus at the beginning of the term: 'I will be strict with the boy. I cannot be expected to keep him alive if he won’t mind me,' and sighed. It was just as true now as it had been then. Voldemort was not truly gone: Severus could feel it in his bones. The world would only get more dangerous for Harry Potter: schoolyard bullies would soon be the least of his problems. That didn't make this any more fun, however. Once again, he indicated the corner with a shake of his head, and saw the desperation in the boy's eyes. I'm sorry. I don't know what else to do.

“Go.”

Harry pursed his lips angrily and turned sharply, head held high. I don't care. Put me in the corner until the world ends. Whatever. I can take it.

Once he got to the corner, though, he was hard-put to keep up his charade. It was difficult to stay angry when he couldn't even look at the source of his anger, and he had plenty of time to wait for his anger to cool. The corner itself also somehow contributed to this, killing his more prideful response and settling him into an uncomfortable state of hyper-awareness brought on by not being able to see. An hour. He remembered. I'm here for a whole hour. I should've just skipped.

But he was totally boxed in: no matter what he did, he'd end up back here. The only course he had was to accept it gracefully and not incur worse. Surely this is not the most pissed off he can be at me. What is 'worse'? He still didn't know. The man had said that he would hit him for putting himself in danger, and Harry had not yet, apparently, crossed that line. The fact that he hasn't hit me for stuff means nothing. He SAID he'd hit me for actively putting myself in danger.

What would happen when he put himself in danger? If he explored the places he wanted to explore, or did what he wanted to Marcus Flint? The thought of the man's possible reaction made Harry tense up even further. I am not scared. I'll do whatever the hell I want to, and Snape can go to hell. I get beat up by somebody no matter what I do, anyway. As usual, the Hermione voice took over, then. You'd better keep going to detention, though. He still had no way of getting out of that. Unless I can convince Snape I'm not worth it. Snape had stuck around through a lot, but...this is me we're talking about. Nobody wants a freak.

Severus Snape watched Harry, deep in thought. At what point will he just stop coming, again? He wished the boy obeyed him out of liking or at least respect, but he knew better than to think that was what it was. He hadn't given the boy a choice, and now...as soon as the boy found a way out, he'd probably take it. I'll just have to not give him one. But what was he going to do, keep the boy in detention forever? That was neither fair nor a good way to get Harry to trust him. But once the kid had a choice, Severus was sure, he would disappear, coming only when required...and the detentions would be over that evening. Then again, the idea that Harry will stay out of trouble is...laughable.

That didn't make him feel any more hopeful, however. It just meant that as far as Harry was concerned, they would always be enemies. I would choose the single least approachable kid to try and get to know...why couldn't I look out for,...oh screw it Severus just admit it- CARE for...a kid who had a chance of liking me back? He shoved the thought away. It is not important that he like me...only that he trust and obey me. That is all that is needed to keep him safe...well, that and getting rid of Marcus Flint.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

For his first class the next day Severus had the fifth year Slytherins and Gryffindors, including a very nervous-looking Marcus Flint. As well he should be. Severus watched, incredulous, as Percy Weasley warned his partner of what he was doing before leaning over and slipping armadillo bile into Flint's cauldron at a crucial step. You picked the wrong kid to mess with, Flint, if even that pretentious brown-noser is after you. The two Gryffindors stepped back hurriedly as the cauldron exploded, spraying boiling hot, sticky goo all over Marcus, who let out a loud yelp and hurriedly Evanesco-ed as much off his skin as he could.

“Ten points to Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley.”

Flint stared at him disbelievingly, burns showing up bright red on his face.

“He showed good forethought, warning his partner about the effects armadillo bile would have on that particular potion.” Snape commented mildly, but then his voice sharpened. “Tell me, Flint, did the recipe call for armadillo bile, or were you simply looking to call attention to yourself?”

“I didn't-”

“I believe Argus Filch has some trophies that require polishing: so generous of you to volunteer. I will not allow foolish, dangerous, pranks in my classroom.”

Several students started to laugh as Flint turned almost purple in his fury. Severus just met Flint's eyes, and the laughs died fast at the look in the Potions Master's eyes. Flint blanched, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of a car.

“You have an objection, Mr. Flint?”

“No, sir. No objection.”

Severus continued to meet his stare. “Funny. I could have sworn that a moment ago you thought I was being unfair.”

“N-not at all, sir.”

“Good. Did you wish to go to the infirmary?”

“Yes, please, sir.”

“Go.” Get out of my class before I get myself in trouble.

Flint fled as if pursued by all the creatures of hell, and Severus returned to his utterly silent class.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH

“So...you hate Snape, right?” Asked Ron bluntly. He, Harry, and Theo were hanging in the Slytherin common room right after class, waiting for Blaise and Hermione to show up for a study session.

“Yeah...” Harry answered uncertainly. Where is this going?

“So...why's he protecting you, then?”

Oh, no. “Not you, too.”

“Me, too?”

“Yeah, Blaise's been after me to think better of the bastard.”

“Oh, I'm not. I'm just curious. I mean, Snape supposedly protects all of you Snakes, but I hear he's fierce when it comes to you – like, scary fierce.”

Well, maybe. Thought Harry, thinking of the man's reaction to Argus Filch, but how does RON know? “What do you mean? Hear from who?”

“From Percy, actually. Did you notice the scoreboard – he's on it!” Ron sounded very proud. “So's everyone on your Quiddich team – they 'accidentally' drove Marcus Flint into the Whomping Willow on his broom. He's in the infirmary, again, and his broom's trashed. Put Slytherin ahead quite a bit, for points, but then our Quiddich captain stuck a 'Hex Me' sign on his back. Things went badly for Flint fast after that, seeing as how he was surrounded by Lions. Now we're tied. Anyway everybody's saying it, about Snape. Like, 'mess with Harry and die.' Not a 'detention until the end of the term' sort of dead, either. It's common opinion that Flint's goose is cooked and it's 'cause he messed with you.”

Oh, great. Just what I needed. Everybody and their mother going after Marcus Flint 'cause Snape told them to. “Who cares? I don't need his help. I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, but why would you? This is so much more fun. Jeez, what did you do to get Snape on your side that way? Everybody knows he doesn't like kids.” That was Theo.

“Don't ask me. Any ideas how to shake him off?”

Theo's eyes got large at that. “Merlin, Harry, you're going to take him on, now? He's on the bloody warpath! Even I'm not so dumb as to piss him off right now!”

Probably right. Damn. “Sure, he's a scary fucker. What else can I do? He won't bloody let me be.”

“What's wrong with that?” Asked Theo.

Harry thought it over. Blaise would have understood this, but Ron and Theo both just liked people, generally. Maybe just being frank would work.

“Well to start with, you said yourself he's a scary son of a bitch. What happens when he decides to turn it against me?”

“Harry, he's a teacher! And he likes you!” Theo exclaimed.

Harry barely contained a snort. “Whatever. Even if he doesn't turn on me I don't want anything to do with him. If he wasn't 'on my side' then he wouldn't be trying to tell me what to do. I haven't put up with adults before this,” when I had a minimum of choice. “I won't now.”

“Woah. You mean- all adults? Your par- your family, too?” Ron sounded skeptical.

Woops. Time to change the subject. “That depends. Anyway, I guess you're not going to help me?” Harry wasn't angry about it, but he needed to now.

Theo bit his lip. “I don't understand why you want to do this in the first place. I mean, yeah, Snape's a git, but...you should've seen him, when we visited you in the infirmary. You'd...you'd've thought he was your dad or something.”

“Well he's not.” Answered Harry harshly. “I don't have a father. Moreover I don't want one; grew out of that years ago. Snape can stop bloody pretending.” I have GOT to shake this bastard.

Ron looked at him, shocked. Suddenly a light of comprehension came into his eyes. “You really don't like adults, do you?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Why?”

Harry froze. He'd already told them too much. Okay...time for an avoidance maneuver. “Why do you like them?”

Ron looked confused. “Well I don't like all of them, but I like most. No reason to dislike them if they've not done anything to me. You like McGonagall, right? You're nicer to her than to Sinestra or Quirrel.”

I am? “She's nice to me, I guess.”

“And Snape's not?”

Duh. “Come on, Ron. You're telling me you like him? I've not been out of detention since I met the man.”

“That's 'cause you keep provoking him.” Answered Theo. “He'd be nicer if you stopped disrupting his class and trashing his office.”

Harry smiled. “What if I want to disrupt his class and trash his office?”

Theo smiled back. “I can understand that! You think I never get in trouble, even at home? But, I don't blame adults for bein' mad, either. This one time I followed the Kneazle up our Christmas tree-”

“You did what?”

“Climbed up the tree to get the Kneazle down, sure. Brought down the whole tree.”

“Brilliant.” Harry said sarcastically.

“Yeah, my Dad thought so, too. I thought he'd never let me out of my room.”

Harry frowned at him. “He didn't hit you?”

“Duh, no, I was like four! Sure my dad was a Death Eater, but he's not a monster or anything. He was just mad 'cause I did something stupid and could've gotten hurt.”

Yeah. Duh. Harry thought bitterly. Shows how much you know.

Harry made a non-committal sound, and Theo continued. “Anyway you can't hate Snape just because he punishes you sometimes, that's all I'm saying.”

Watch me. “I thought you weren't going to try to convince me to like Snape? Just because your Dad was right to punish you for climbing the damned Christmas tree doesn't mean Snape's right to punish me for...well...anything.”

Kallie. Anybody who wanted to would've been right to punish me for that one. But for everything else...“It's none of his business.”

“You think finding farm animals in his office is none of his business?” Ron asked incredulously.

“Okay, so maybe that, but he hasn't just punished me for pranks – he's after me for everything. The two weeks of detention was for things like putting myself in danger and skipping his class. What does he care if I don't do well in school, or for that matter if I die? I would never have bothered him if he hadn't messed with me, first.”

Blaise and Hermione had come in together while Harry was talking, and listened in. Blaise quickly figured out the subject and joined the conversation. “Who cares why? He cares about you. He's not going to just let you put yourself in danger.”

“And skipping his class? Don't tell me he longs for my company. Remember the first Potions class?”

“Hmm...yeah he certainly didn't seem to like you, then.” Conceded Ron.

“He didn't. Dumbledore made him deal with me, and he wasn't happy about it.”

“Well something changed.” Put in Hermione.

Yeah. He found out Vernon beat me up and decided to be my bloody 'savior' or something. Like he wouldn't do the same. Harry thought over the last couple weeks and reconsidered. Well, maybe he would, and maybe he wouldn't. Either way I don't need his 'help.'

“I hate him, too, Harry, but even I can see that he doesn't hate you. When adults care, I guess...they care about everything – your health and safety, but also your grades, your happiness, really everything. He wants you to do well.” Answered Ron.

And what if I don't like his idea of doing 'well'? Thought Harry, remembering what the man had said about 'taking care of himself,' and the hours of time he'd spent in the corner because of it. His idea of well and mine don't mix. “If he cared about my happiness he would sod off. Like I said before, I'm tired of being controlled.”

“Too bad.” Blaise said bluntly. “Sometimes that's the price of having people care for you.” He was getting angry again, and Harry gathered that he was not just talking about Snape.

And don't you wear the rosy-tinted glasses. Why does everybody think this 'care' shit is a good thing? “Don't you guys get it? I don't want Snape to bloody care for me! He can hate my guts as long as he leaves me alone. You guys are my friends: you want me safe, you get angry when I'm not, fine. It's worth it to have you around: you're my friends. He's not. The son of a bitch is an adult, and a particularly nasty one at that: he is not my friend and he can kiss my ass. So, like I asked Ron, any ideas?”

Blaise stayed silent, but the other three spoke at once.

“Harry-” conciliated Ron.

“I still don't get why you want to...” started Theo.

“He's not going to just go away, Harry.” Hermione added warningly. Harry'd had enough.

“Exactly. I'll have to drive him off. Hence my asking you four for help. Thanks a lot, guys.” Harry said sarcastically, getting up. He pointedly turned his back on the four, and walked upstairs.

BZBZBZBZBZBZBZBZBZBZBZBZ

Theo turned to Blaise, thoroughly confused. “Why does he hate grown-ups so much?”

Blaise looked at him and said with grim humor. “You want to ask him, be my guest.” Just don't blame me when he bites off your face.

Theo answered him unusually thoughtfully. “I did, before you came.”

“What did he say?” Asked Blaise, suddenly curious.

“I guess...he kinda didn't answer. Just asked me why I did like them.”

“Did you ask him anything about his family?” Asked Hermione, looking briefly to Blaise to see if he was thinking the same thing.

“We didn't ask, but he mentioned that he didn't put up with adults, so I asked him if he meant his family, too.” Put in Ron.

“And?”

Finally Ron seemed to catch Blaise's probing, looking slightly disturbed. “He said it depended. Didn't say on what – just changed the subject.”

“Interesting.” Commented Blaise, remembering Snape's words from before. It is not truly me whom Harry fears. Had Snape meant to imply that Harry feared someone else? Why else would he hate adults so much? Making a sudden decision, Blaise followed Harry up the stairs, motioning the others to stay put.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

“Harry, who hits you?”

Harry whipped around to stare at Blaise.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Who hits you?”

Harry closed his eyes. I thought that's what you asked. Damnit. He'd been careless.

He tried to sound calm and matter-of-fact. “Nobody hits me. I hate adults 'cause they're jerks and they tell me what to do all the time.”

“And hit you when you don't obey.” It wasn't a question. “Harry please don't lie to me. When you said you were in detention with Snape that one weekend – I knew you were lying, I just didn't know why. You were in the infirmary, weren't you? That's why Snape wouldn't tell us where you were.”

Harry's mouth was suddenly very dry. I don't care what you think you know. Leave me alone. “I don't know what you're talking about. I was in detention.”

“Not for a solid weekend, you weren't. You were hurt...it explains why you ran, instead of going to detention. You thought Snape was gonna hit you...and you were already injured, weren't you?”

“NO! I was fine. Everything is fine. My aunt and uncle aren't my favorite people but-”

“So it is your relatives, then?”

DAMNIT! “Back the fuck off, Blaise! It is my life, okay? You're wrong and it's none of your business, anyway.”

“How is it not my business?” Blaise sounded anguished. “Harry, we can help you, you don't have to go back there.”

“And if I want to go 'back there?' If I want to see my family?”

“What kind of family would do that to you? You were in the infirmary for an entire weekend!”

“I was in detention! Now drop it!”

“No you weren't.”

Unable to reply, Harry pulled his shoulder back and punched Blaise in the jaw as hard as he could, knocking him down.

Blaise looked up at him from the floor, holding his jaw. “No, you weren't.” He got up slowly, and, without speaking further, left the dormitory. From there he barreled down the stairs and breezed past Theo, Ron, and Hermione without acknowledging them, wanting to get outside and away as quickly as possible. Drawn to the tree where he'd talked to Harry before, he sat at its base, drew his knees into his chest, and submitted to his tears. He'd hoped that Harry would have a good explanation to lay his fears. Instead...he hit me. He actually hit me.

Harry watched Blaise from a window in the dorm. I'm sorry. You should've just let me alone.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Snape heard a tentative knock on his door and looked up from the potions formula he'd been working with.

“Come in.” Strange. It's only 6:00.

The door opened, and Blaise Zabini slid in around the door, looking tense, though not as tense as the last time he had come to talk to Severus.

Bless you, child, you don't give up, do you? The boy's eyes were red. He'd definitely been crying. Zabini doesn't cry over nothing. And where'd the bruise come from? He just sat and waited for the boy to build up the confidence to speak.

“Um...hello sir.” Said Blaise nervously, before shaking his head sharply, standing up straight and meeting Severus' eyes. “I need to speak with you, sir.”

“Very well, speak.”

Blaise got right into it. “When we spoke before, you said Harry's reactions were Harry's business, but you also said something-” He stopped to regroup. “Harry- doesn't like adults much. But you – you're protecting him. I wanted to be sure that you would continue to do so.”

“Continue?”

“Yes, sir.” He caught and held Severus' eyes. No child's eyes should be that serious. “As in once the school year ends.”

Severus looked at him, startled. Well, I did want him to use his intelligence.

“I have not decided what I will do about his summer vacation, but you can be assured that I will not leave Harry...unprotected.”

Blaise breathed a sigh of relief, but realized something. “He will not welcome it, sir.”

“I am aware.”

“He's not going to make it easy for you. How can I know you won't just leave?” Blaise asked challengingly.

“You can't. I have said I will protect him. You either believe me or you don't.”

Blaise stared searchingly at Severus' face. Severus let him, just staying still and allowing the scrutiny until the boy was satisfied. Finally the boy looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “Thank you, sir.” He turned to go, but Severus stopped him.

“Where did you get that bruise, Mr. Zabini?”

Blaise looked at him, eyes slowly losing their seriousness. “Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

“If you promise that he would not get in trouble, then somebody hit me. Otherwise I closed my trunk on it.”

“On your face.”

“Can you prove differently?”

Severus nodded in acknowledgment. “No. Very well. I will not punish-” he sighed. “I'm going to guess, Harry? For hitting you. I cannot fathom why you would not want me to, however.”

Blaise looked down. “I should have expected it, sir. He's been really stressed lately...and I pushed him pretty hard. You've probably noticed that he doesn't like questions. It all had to come out somewhere.”

Severus looked at him sharply. “Perhaps that is so, Mr. Zabini, but it did not have to come out of your face. I will speak with him.”

Blaise scowled at him. “You said-”

“Just talk, Mr. Zabini. I'll hold up my end of the bargain. By the way, did he tell you anything?”

Blaise hesitated, then spoke. “No. He did assume I was talking about his family, though.”

Severus shook his head. “I figured that much. The difficulty is I cannot prove anything.”

Blaise looked at him, expression reminiscent of far too many Death Eaters for Snape's comfort. “I don't suppose you could – persuade- his family to tell you?”

You have no idea how tempting that is, child. He just shook his head. “You know that that is not a good idea, Mr. Zabini.”

Blaise smiled grimly. “Effective, though. Oh, well.”

Oh well indeed. “Not to worry, Mr. Zabini, I am fully capable of handling the situation. If I thought my - other skills- would be of use, I would use them. For now, just be a friend to Harry, please. If he's as stressed as you say, it is probably best that you not contribute to it.”

“Yes sir.” Blaise left, leaving Snape with a lot on his mind. What had made Zabini this way? He talked about Severus' Death Eater background as if it were nothing, just some – alternate lifestyle choice. By all accounts, Blaise's father had raised him to be a Death Eater, but the man had died when Blaise was seven years old. What happened to the boy after that? For some reason his mother didn't keep him after that...but Severus was quite sure that Zabini's current guardians – his father's sister and her husband – treated him well enough. They could still be training him, though, in theory... Snape felt a momentary panic overtake him. If Blaise became a Death Eater, then the likelihood that Harry followed would grow exponentially. Then he calmed down. Death Eaters killed his family. His other best friends are a Muggleborn and a blood-traitor. He's not about to join those who would kill them.

Snape took a deep breath. Merlin I hate being a teacher. None of the other Heads-of-House understood him when he said that Slytherins were harder to care for than the more obviously troublesome Gryffindors. Here's why. With any luck, Harry's influence would keep young Blaise on the side of the light, but he was not the only child in his house flirting with that edge, or already over it. What am I supposed to do? Nobody knew better than Severus how adept the Dark Lord was at turning damaged children into loyal, hate-filled Death Eaters. Sooner or later, he would return, and it would be Severus' students that rushed to join him.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH

While Blaise sat by the tree, and later stood in Snape's office, Harry went to hang out with Hedwig in the Owlery, sitting in one of the huge windows and watching the grounds below. What do I do, now? Harry's peace of mind had been shaken up enough by the thought that Snape cared for him, now Blaise thought- knew- that his relatives had injured him. And his other friends – now they think Snape 'cares', too. They also clearly thought Harry should like it. What's wrong with them?

And he'd hit Blaise. Hard. Harry remembered. He hoped Blaise would forgive him, but why couldn't the prat just back off? Harry'd made it clear enough he didn't want Blaise to get involved, so why did he? Usually Blaise was good about that sort of thing – if Harry really wanted him to leave, he left. He was so pushy, all of a sudden.

And how did he know? Harry had never been that careless. Now he didn't even have any bruises to hide and Blaise had known. Hermione was looking at me funny, too. He realized. Maybe it was just harder to hide things from friends? Previously, Harry'd just had to hide the bruises and maintain his attitude and nobody- teacher or student – had come close enough to him to notice anything odd. What was it that Blaise had seen that everyone else had missed? How was it that he'd gone through grade school with broken bones and nobody had noticed, and now he was healed and they did? Snape had noticed because Harry had assumed he was the type to hit him and so had been lax in hiding the fact that others had, but Blaise? Blaise is just too damned observant...and he was paying attention. I should never have let him get this close.

Harry liked Blaise, though. He was funny, and smart, and interesting to talk to. Too late to go back, I suppose. He already knows. The others'll find out soon enough.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPH

Harry arrived in detention as usual at 7:00, coming in and heading straight for the corner without a glance at Severus. Jerkoff. Severus let that be, for about fifteen minutes, before speaking up.

“So, you hit your friends as well as your enemies.”

Great. “Blaise told you?” Harry asked without turning. His prerogative, I guess. He couldn't help but feel a bit betrayed,though.

“I noticed the bruise and asked. He told me on the condition that I not punish you.” Oh, that's okay, I guess. He hadn't meant to get Harry in trouble. Not that that helps me much.

“So what's it to be?” Harry asked sarcastically, “Another detention or more time here?”

“Neither. I told him I would not punish you and I won't. We will talk about it though, so I suggest you work on your tone.”

“What if I don't like talking, either?” His tone remained just as insolent.

“Perhaps you have not noticed, Harry, but my decisions are based more on what you need than what you want.”

Well at least he's honest about it. “I don't need anything from you.”

“I disagree.”

Harry didn't answer, so Severus continued.

“So did it gain you anything?”

Harry remained silent, unsure of what Snape meant.

“Hitting Blaise, did it gain you anything?”

He probably expects me to say 'no.' “Yes.”

“And what's that?”

“He left.” I'd hit you if I thought it would make you go away.

“So you just hit people when you tire of their presence?”

“I hit people when they don't mind their own bloody business.”

“Language, Harry. You won't get another warning.”

Uh, oh. “Yes sir.”

Well that's better. “Blaise just wants to help you, Harry.”

“I don't want help.”

“I gathered. Fortunately for you, Blaise is a good friend. He'll help you whether you want it or not.”

“Like you?” Harry spat sarcastically. “Wonderful. I like it when the people around me don't give a damn about my own free will.”

Severus snapped back angrily. “I care for your 'free will' as long as it is not directly detrimental to your health and well-being.”

Harry turned around to look at him. “And if I consider you detrimental to my health and well-being?”

At least he's honest. Severus met Harry's eyes. “When have I ever hurt you, Harry?”

“You haven't. You will. You said it yourself.”

“I assume you refer to me telling you that I would hit you for putting yourself in danger...”

“Yeah. So you gonna tell me how getting beat up is not 'detrimental to my health and well-being?' I'll admit my survival instinct needs some work but even I can figure that one out.”

Severus stared at him as a realization came to him. He doesn't understand. At all. “I told you that I would do things differently than your relatives...”

“What's it matter to me that you've got a different method? You got your own, humanitarian way of beating a kid up? Forgive me if I don't want to try it.”

“Harry, I have said it before; I will not harm you. I have no intention of 'beating you up'.” Does he still think that of me?

“Oh? What do you call it then? 'Proper discipline?'”

Oh, Merlin. He really does still think that of me. “Harry when I said I would hit you - I might smack you a few times if I really feel it's necessary, yes. The difference is that you will not be damaged by it.” How is it that I have not explained this before?

“Yeah no problem. I'm young: I'll just 'bounce right back.' Ready to work by the next morning.” Harry answered sarcastically.

“Would you listen to me for once in your miserable existence?” Severus snapped, heart constricting at the implications of the boy's words.

Harry shut up, finding the man's words strangely painful, before muttering under his breath. “Not like you've improved it, asshole.”

Snape's head snapped around to look at Harry. “I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, and you are not going to repeat it, is that understood?”

Harry just lifted his chin stubbornly. Fine. Asshole.

Snape returned to his belated explanation. “Harry when I say no damage, I mean no damage. I know you don't believe me but you will never bruise, scar, or bleed at my hand.”

“You're right. I don't believe you.” Harry said bluntly.

“How's this, then? If I ever really hurt you- which I won't- I want you to go talk to somebody. Professor McGonagall, Madame Pomfrey, hell even Mr. Zabini if you won't talk to an adult.”

“What could Blaise do about it? I don't know if you noticed lately but this is an adult's world. He'd just have to go to somebody else. Somebody else who wouldn't care.” Harry said bitterly.

“Can you honestly tell me you think that if you went to Professor McGonagall with marks on your skin that I gave you, that she would do nothing? Do you really believe that of Madame Pomfrey?”

Harry didn't say anything. No. I can't say that about them.

“Answer me, please.”

“No.”

“No, you won't answer, or no, you don't think that?”

Harry answered quietly, anger forgotten. “No, I don't think that.”

Severus was relieved. For a moment he'd not been sure if the boy trusted anyone, even the two women.

“Good. Because I can tell you with a hundred-percent certainty that if I harmed you they would flay me alive. What's more, Minerva is a significantly more powerful witch than I will ever be, and she has told me, and in no uncertain terms, that if I harm you she will personally strip the skin from my body. You can ask her.” Though I know you won't.

Harry was blown away, but Snape wasn't finished.

“And your friend Blaise wouldn't have to go to adults, either. You believe that Percy Weasley played a prank on Marcus Flint because he thought he could get points out of it? I assure you that it would take a lot more than that to make him break the status quo. He's doing it for you, and so are many others.”

Harry just looked at him, something painful curling in his chest. Severus watched him, seeing the budding light in the boy's eyes. “You are not alone here, Harry. If you feel unsafe for any reason – even from me or another professor – there will always be someone to go to.”

Feeling vulnerable, and unable to control his expression, Harry turned back to face the corner. He preferred, for once, to have his back to Snape rather than let the man see how his words effected Harry. Those words made far too much sense to make him comfortable. It can't be that simple. You- you don't go to one adult because another hit you. You just don't. But if he could go to a kid-

And Harry couldn't deny McGonagall's protective streak. She protected her Lions, and she counted Harry among them. And Snape – he'd said that he wouldn't hit Harry, and Harry'd naturally dismissed that. But if the man couldn't...

Finally Harry decided to just ask.

“Why are you still around if you can't hit me?”

Snape looked at him strangely. “A lot of people like having children around without wanting to hurt them, Harry.”

“Not me. Nobody wants a Freak. I'll have you know that I'm 'a combination of bad blood and bad attitude.'” He quoted.

Not this again. “Harry,” Snape asked dangerously, “what did I say about calling yourself that particular word?”

Harry winced as he remembered. “Not to. Sorry.”

“Indeed. I will be washing your mouth out when we get done here.

Damnit! He can't- that stuff! How do I get out of this? Wait. Maybe- Harry licked his lips, then turned around to face Snape once more.

“Please don't.”

“No?” A request at last. “Why shouldn't I? And 'because it's none of my business' is not a good answer.”

Harry bit his lip and thought hard. “Because poisoning me counts as harm?” He tried.

And Snape actually laughed. “Nice try. Bad as that potion tastes, it's not poison. Try again.”

He's not mad? Okay... “Because 'freak' is not a curse word?”

“I never said it was. I just forbade you to call yourself that. Try again.”

Unable to think of a better reason, Harry tried one more very unlikely option. “Because I don't want you to?”

“That would work, if I didn't consider this necessary to getting my point across.”

“So if it weren't necessary?” Harry asked desperately.

“Perhaps.” Severus allowed. “You'd have to prove it.”

Prove it? What does he want? “I- I won't say it again?”

“That's a start. Why?”

“Because you don't want me to?”

“All about me.” Severus objected.

Harry sighed in frustration. What's wrong with that? You're the one with the power, here. “Because...it is not true?”

“Better. What is not true?”

“I'm – not a freak?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Telling you, sir.” Not that I understand why you want me to.

“Good. Say it, then.”

“I'm not a freak.”

“Very good.” Harry could hear his approval and felt strangely heartened by it, though he still couldn't understand it. You can't tell me I'm not obnoxious, though.

“For the record I also object to the implication that you somehow have 'bad blood.'” You REALLY owe me one, James.

“What do you know?”

Damn. I did not want to talk about this. “I knew your mother, Harry. She was-”

Harry cut him off. “I don't want to know.”

“Harry, we've been through this-”

“Fine. My parents were great people, they died to keep me alive, I'm very grateful. We done?”

Severus sighed. “Politely, Harry.”

Harry gritted his teeth. “Can. we. Please. Drop it?

“Very well. I'll drop it for now.”

“You will?”

“Yes. Next time ask politely the first time.”

Not likely.

“It is also untrue that nobody wants you.”

Harry snorted. “You don't know the Dursleys, then.” Well, Aunt Petunia, maybe...She at least fed him and warned him when Vernon was going to come home drunk.

“I was not talking about the Dursleys, Harry.”

Then who- He didn't want to know. “Whatever. You're wrong. Freak or not, bad blood or not, I'm obnoxious. People want pretty, happy children, not-”

“You?” Merlin, how do I say this without scaring him off? “I have stuck around, Harry.”

“Yeah. That's what I can't figure out.” That, and how to get rid of you.

“Like I said, there are people who like having a child around without wanting to hurt him or her.”

“Yeah. There are gentle, loving, people who want pretty, happy children. Neither of us fit that model. You can't be saying that you like having me around.”

Severus met Harry's eyes despite his own embarrassment. I really do have to say it. “When you're not screaming at me, yes. That is precisely what I am saying.”

It was true, too. The boy wasn't easy to get along with, for sure, but he was smart, and resilient, and gutsy, and even occasionally made Severus laugh. He thinks almost like I do...no wonder people don't like him. He almost smiled as he remembered what he'd once thought of the boy's spitfire attitude. It's 'spirit' or 'Gryffindor courage'... only the boy's a Slytherin...a very Gryffindor Slytherin. For once that didn't seem negative.

Harry's detentions were over after today, and the Potions Master found he didn't want him to leave. He'd gotten used to the company, while he graded papers and did other desk work, and those few times that he'd managed to get Harry to joke a little bit felt like he'd found an unexpected gem, making him think that maybe Harry didn't entirely hate him. Maybe. And now he'd admitted that he liked Harry-

Harry almost laughed. “So your logic is, you're not going to hit me because you'll be in trouble with McGonagall if you do, and you're sticking around anyway because you like me?”

“No.” Said Severus seriously. “My 'logic' is that besides fearing Professor McGonagall's wrath I have no desire to hit you, and I'm sticking around because I like you.”

“That's not logic.”

“No, it's not.” Severus agreed. “That doesn't mean it is not true.”

“Also doesn't mean it is.” It's not.

Severus sighed “I am not going to convince you in one conversation, Harry. Do think about it, please.”

Harry looked at him consideringly. Why does this man always want me to 'think about' things? Anyway...maybe.

“In the meantime, back to hitting friends when they say things you don't appreciate.”

I am bloody tired of talking. “Okay, already. I get it. Don't do it.”

“Don't do it why? And don't-”

Harry rolled his eyes. “-say 'because you said not to'?”

“I was going to say 'make it about me,' but yes, that is essentially what I meant.”

“Fine. How's 'because it's not friendly?' Blaise knows I don't play well with others. He shouldn't have messed with me.”

“That does not make it 'okay' for you to hit him. It is more than unfriendly, Harry, it is violent, and frankly immature. Why couldn't you just tell him to leave you alone?”

“Words weren't working.”

“Then why didn't you leave?”

Harry flushed and finally admitted, “I got mad.”

“You admit that you should have done differently, then?”

Fine. “Yeah.”

“Good. That is all I needed. You should consider apologizing, though.”

“What about him? He wouldn't let me alone!”

“As well he shouldn't have, given what he was thinking. He owes you no apology for being a good friend.”

“How much did he tell you?”

“Nothing that I didn't know already. He did not know how much I already knew, and came to me to make sure you were safe.”

“Then I owe him no apology.”

“Just as you thought you owed Kallie no apology, Harry?”

“It's not the same.”

“How not the same? You hurt a friend who wanted to help you, and you want to blame him.”

“I'm not dying.”

“You were when you got here last month. They almost killed you. You blame Blaise for wanting to protect you from that?”

Once again, Harry turned away from Snape and towards the wall. I wouldn't have died. Vernon wouldn't- I wouldn't have died.

“Perhaps this is another thing you have to figure out for yourself. You should take a look at your friend's face before you decide not to apologize.” Harry just ignored him.

“Harry?”

“I'm done talking.”

“You're being rude.”

“I don't 'do' polite.” And, much to Severus' frustration, Harry was silent for the rest of his hour in the corner. Finally Severus called him out of the corner to write lines, and the boy finally looked up at him in surprise at what was written on the paper. Severus smirked at him, and Harry didn't comment, choosing to just start writing the strangely short phrase:

1. I am not a freak.

3. I am not a freak.

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.”

After his meeting with Snape, Harry went to dinner. He stopped in the doorway of the Great Hall as many in the room turned toward him with amused smiles. Those who weren't looking at him were looking at Marcus Flint – either that or a statue that looked remarkably like him. Nobody's ever going to mess with me again. Harry finally realized with a grin. Ever. Someone must have caught Flint and somehow stuck him the way he was: in a classic flirtatious pin-up pose, hands perpendicular to the body and one knee up. He was dressed in the muggle-style black slacks and shirt that he normally wore on weekends, but sported bright red lipstick and a matching baret. The only thing that belied the look was the murderous expression on the older boy's face. Harry smiled mockingly at Flint, for the first time truly happy that Snape had started this game. Seeing Flint like this after what he'd done to Harry was wonderfully gratifying. I wonder which side did this? It's too clever for most of the Lions...but too open for us. Maybe Ravenclaw?? Didn't they have some points on the board earlier?

Finally Harry went to sit with Blaise. Theo was there, too, and had apparently forgiven him for hitting Blaise, as he smiled when he saw Harry. I don't think that kid's capable of holding a grudge. I hope Ron and Hermione'll be as forgiving. Dinner was apparently roast beef with potatoes, and Harry ate happily.

“Not bad, huh?” Commented Theo, gesturing towards Flint.

“Not bad at all.” Harry had to agree. He caught himself looking up at the head table for Snape a moment later. Before he could look down, though, Snape caught his eyes and gave him a nod. I wasn't looking at you. Harry thought, pretending to look at the other teachers. In the process he noticed that Dumbledore was being particularly unobservant, as were the other professors. Seemingly taking their cue from Dumbledore, none of them moved to rescue Flint from his humiliating predicament until halfway through the meal.

On his way back to the dorm that evening, he realized that it was only 7:00 - he had the entire evening – indeed the entire weekend – to himself. His detentions were finally over, and it felt wonderful. I'm free. Harry thought. Now to stay that way. He checked the scoreboard on his way into the dorm and saw that the prank that evening had gone down with rare cooperation between the Snakes and Lions – both Slytherin and Gryffindor houses were up fifteen points. Ravenclaw was up five points from before, as well. I wonder what that was. Then again- Penelope Clearwater was known for her skill with makeup, according to Hermione. Well, her exact words had been 'the only things she's good at are hair and makeup,' but still... maybe that's where the points came from. After all, the Snakes and Lions who got points for the prank were all boys – and Flint's lipstick didn't look like it had been done by a guy. Woah. THREE houses cooperating. So much for catching trouble by making friends with Gryffindors..

Once in the dorm, Harry set up in the common room with his book-bag, getting ready to write the damned essay Snape had assigned for his bad History of Magic grade. Free evening and I'm going to do Snape's stupid essay? But he couldn't think of anything else to do, and he did have a lot of work...because of Snape.He reminded himself again. It was also, just his luck, rainy and cold out. He started throwing stuff around his book-bag bad-temperedly, looking for his History text, until he finally gave up on the main pocket and opened the smaller one. Where is that fucking- oh. He slowed down and gently pulled out the three books Snape had loaned him. Better idea. Much better idea. He packed up everything other than The Taming of the Shrew and left it in his dorm. Since none of his friends were in the Slytherin dormitory, he left and went to hang out in the Gryffindor common room. Soon enough stood in front of Fat Lady as the overly dignified woman looked down at him and demanded.

“Password.” Harry just looked at her imploringly.

“Err...can I come in?”

The Fat Lady was used to him, but still wasn't allowed to let him in without the password.

“No.”

“Is Hermione or Ron there?”

The lady softened just a little. “Yes.”

“Can I knock?” Harry asked tentatively.

“Yes...” She answered with exaggerated patience.

Harry knocked gently on the door next to the portrait.

“Come on now,” the portrait commented impatiently. “You've got to knock harder than that!”

Emboldened a bit by her words, Harry knocked firmly.

“There you go. Mr. Weasley is coming.”

“Thanks.” Harry said shyly, feeling stupid.

The portrait opened before Ron reached the door, and Harry went inside.

“Oh, it's you.” Ron sounded distinctly unfriendly, and Harry suddenly remembered the other boy's anger from the day before.

“Expecting someone else?”

“Hoping.” Said Ron shortly. Harry felt a lump in his chest, but kept his face blank, walking proudly past Ron to sit by Hermione and Blaise.

“What are you doing here?” He asked Blaise conversationally, trying to sound normal.

“Hermione and I are Potions partners, remember? We're working on the project together.” Snape had given them each a potion ingredient to research and present in pairs.

“Now?” Harry asked, ignoring Ron as best he could. “It's Friday evening!” This time Hermione scowled at him.

“It wouldn't do you any harm to do some work on a Friday, either, Harry. Weren't you just complaining about how much work you have to do this weekend?”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted, “but I've got something better to do.” He waved the paperback in his hand.

“A muggle book?” Asked Hermione, sounding excited. “Which one?”

Harry showed off happily, and even Ron was curious enough to listen in to the conversation.

“You're reading Shakespeare?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Sure.” Said Harry. “Why not? I mean, the language is kinda funny...” Hermione seemed inordinately pleased about something that Harry couldn't fathom, but seemingly decided to drop it.

“Where'd you get it?” Asked Blaise. “You didn't come with it, did you?” Of course he noticed I didn't come with anything that wasn't on the damned list. He notices everything.

“No.” Harry answered, feeling a bit embarrassed, for some reason. “Snape lent it to me.”

Blaise just gave him a knowing look, but Hermione spoke up. “See? We told you he couldn't be all bad, the way he's been looking out for you.”

“Hmm. He also washed my mouth out and assigned me a three-foot essay for my bad grade in History of Magic.”

“He washed out your mouth for getting a bad grade?” Ron finally asked.

“No, he washed out my mouth for saying- for my language.” He noticed Blaise's questioning gaze and met his eyes squarely, refusing to feel any shame. It's not quite a lie, anyway.

Apparently Blaise decided to let it slide, as he quit the staring contest to say, “My father did that once.”

Harry gritted his teeth. I just wanted to read with some company. “He's not my father.”

“He is your Head of House. He's got that right just for that.” Put in Hermione. “The normal Head-of-House relationship allows for all sorts of discipline. The only reason out Heads of House don't do more is because Dumbledore won't allow it.”

And he'll allow it in my case. Great. Charming guy, this Dumbledore. Aunt Petunia hasn't even talked to him, so why does he have it in for me? I've barely even met the man. Whatever. He's an adult, of course he has it in for me. Except that...maybe not everybody did. The meeting earlier had been almost...pleasant...at times. When the Git wasn't assigning work, washing out your mouth, or demanding that you repeat stupid phrases, you mean. Why was the man so damned insistent that Harry say he wasn't a freak, didn't have bad blood, didn't deserve to get hit? The man had the most weird, random rules!

“And if I won't allow Dumbledore to rule me?” Harry demanded.

Finally Hermione couldn't contain herself. “Harry, why do you hate adults so much?” Harry whipped around to glare fiercely at Blaise, who shook his head at him. Meanwhile Hermione watched in confusion at his violent reaction to her question. Finally Harry subsided and looked back at her without answering.

“Well?”

“Better to ask them why they hate me so damned much.”

“They don't-”

Harry's temper snapped. “Don't they? Oh, wait, you're right, Hermione, Sinestra just loves me. So do Sprout, Quirrell and Flitwick!” He said sarcastically before he heard his own voice turn nasty in his anger. “Would you STOP being a bloody know-it-all for one second and look at what's in front of your nose?”

“No need to take it out of her!” Exclaimed Ron.

Hermione looked on the verge of tears, but she kept at him. “But you hated adults before they came around; you were rude to them, first-”

“Drop it, Hermione.” Demanded Blaise sharply, watching Harry, who had turned pale.

“Don't you just tell her to shut up!” Ron shouted furiously.

Blaise fought to remain calm. “Fine. Sorry. But would the two of you get off Harry's back, please?”

“Why are you defending him? He bloody hit you, now he's made Hermione cry. And here I thought you Snakes might be worth something. A bunch of Death-Eaters in training, the lot of you!”

Blaise opened his mouth to reply, but Harry didn't hear what he said as he was already on top of Ron on the floor.

“Take it back, you asshole. Take it back!” He put a fist in Ron's eye, but Ron was just as enthusiastically pounding on Harry, and had rough-housed and fought plenty with his older brothers. Soon enough, Harry's nose and lip were both bleeding. Then Ron's lip was bleeding, too, and Harry had a black eye of his own. He never quite regained the upper hand and found himself relieved when Ron inexplicably stopped hitting him.

Confused when Ron's weight left his chest entirely, Harry looked up into the eyes of a livid Professor McGonagall. She had the redhead by the ear, but released him when she met Harry's eyes. He tried hard to ignore his mounting terror as she charged towards him and reached down. Just before her hand reached his ear he gave up on being brave and scooted away from her as rapidly as he could. Harry watched as she breathed out and her face softened, and allowed her to approach, more slowly this time. Her grip on his ear was nevertheless painfully tight when she dragged the two of them through several corridors and down the stairs into her office. Harry just prayed the whole way that they wouldn't run into Professor Snape. Either God was merciful or Harry was just lucky that day, because they didn't encounter anyone on the way.

Once in her office, Ron and Harry sat side-by-side in front of the professors desk, feeling very sorry for themselves under her harsh stare.

“An explanation, if you please.”

Harry looked over at Ron and their eyes met, each imploring the other to speak.

“Mr. Weasley, speak.”

“Well, uh...Harry and I, we-” He seemed to lose courage under McGonagall's gaze, so Harry tried.

“We had a row, that's all.”

“Well I gathered that much.” She answered. “Can you give me good reason why you came to blows?”

Neither boy knew what to answer.

“I didn't think so.” She let the silence drag out for a bit as Harry avoided her gaze and Ron rubbed the side of his sneaker on his chair. Finally Ron spoke up.

“What are you going to do?”

“I am not going to do anything, Mr. Weasley. You, on the other hand, are going to fire-call your parents and tell them what happened.”

Harry watched as Ron swallowed his saliva, feeling a bit smug. Please do call the Dursleys. Their reaction to a head showing up in their fireplace should be fantastic to watch. Then McGonagall looked at Harry and her expression got even tighter.

“Don't look so pleased, Harry. As you are not a member of my house, I don't have to make the decision to call your relatives. As such, you get to tell Professor Snape.” Suddenly Harry didn't feel so well off.

Without another word, McGonagall turned to the fireplace in her office and threw down some floo powder, exclaiming, “The Burrow!”

She then knelt down to speak to somebody on the other side, and both boys could hear clearly as a feminine voice asked what was going on. Ron turned almost green as he recognized his mothers voice.

“Yes, I apologize for interrupting your evening, Molly, but I have your youngest son here.”

“Do you? And why is that?” Mrs. Weasley seemed to understand that it was not a mere social call right away.

“Why don't I have him tell you?” She turned back to the two boys. “Mr. Weasley?”

Ron knelt down beside her, looking sick. “Mum?”

“Ronald? McGonagall says you have something to say to me.”

“Errrm...yeah.”

Mrs. Weasley sounded impatient. “Well?”

“Well I...I got in a fight with Harry, Mum.”

A brief silence, then - “What sort of fight?”

Ron gulped. “Like- like with fists.” He finally whispered.

After a long, awful, silence, Mrs. Weasley turned towards McGonagall and asked courteously. “May I borrow my son for the evening, Minerva?”

“Of course. Do you wish to take him for the weekend, or should I expect him back tomorrow morning?”

“I think a weekend at home might do him a lot of good, thank you, Minerva.” She turned towards Ron. “Come, Ronald.” Her head disappeared from the flames and Ron approached closer.

Harry suddenly felt really, really, bad for Ron. Then the other boy went through the floo, and suddenly Harry was alone with McGonagall and had no more energy to worry about him. With Ron gone, McGonagall gave Harry her full attention, and suddenly her gaze shifted from angry to just very disappointed.

“Not a good few days, Mr. Potter.” She said severely.

That's got to be the understatement of the century. Thought Harry, remembering the number of teachers and friends angry with him. In fact, the person who seemed the most pleased with him at the moment had to be Snape, despite all. He'd been happy with Harry's potion, and with the little game Harry had devised with the car. It had been nice, that the man liked something Harry did; that he was pleased with him. Suddenly it seemed enormously important that he stay that way. Bad enough that McGonagall's mad.

“I'm sorry.” Harry said sadly. Why do I have to keep doing stupid shit? “Please don't tell Snape.” But McGonagall was unyielding.

“I had no intention. You will tell him.” She reminded him.

Somehow that was infinitely worse. “Please.”

“I did not go to Professor Snape when you were rude in class to me this morning, but this is the second time today that your behavior has disappointed me. This is more than a 'bad mood.' Fighting, Harry? And now you want me to do you a favor?”

Harry turned away from her as a tear trickled down his face. His subsequent thought didn't make him feel any better. Weakling. She hasn't touched you and you're crying. Crying doesn't help. He suddenly remembered Malfoy saying that he 'just didn't want Snape to be mad at him', and wondering why. Is this why? McGonagall's anger felt horrible.

He shook his head, hoping to dispel the tears before he had to look up again. This is weakness. Stupid Freak, pull yourself together. He kept more tears back by force of will and looked up at McGonagall again, clenching his teeth and lifting his chin proudly. “Fine.”

Oddly enough, McGonagall didn't get any more angry at his abrupt response. She just sighed. “Come on, then.”

Snape called “Enter,” at McGonagall's knock, and she opened the door.

“Sorry to disturb you, Severus. Are you interruptable at the moment?”

“Yes, I am. How can I help you?” Severus asked, looking down at Harry's bruised face. Somebody had hit the boy. Who dared- Then he looked at Harry, and realized that the boy was covering anxiety. HE at least thought he was in trouble. Why does he think he's in trouble? Then he almost snorted. Because he is, of course. Minerva wouldn't have brought him here if he weren't. He raised his eyebrows and, sure enough, the boy flushed a little.

Harry was bizarrely tempted to hide behind McGonagall, but instead lifted his chin and met the man's dark gaze unflinchingly.

“Harry has something to tell you.” This time, she did not stay by to be sure the proper information got passed on. She just gave Harry a sober look and left as Harry gazed after her, feeling abandoned.

“Come in.” Severus said neutrally without moving from his desk. Harry came in and stood in front of him as if he'd arrived for detention.

Severus frowned at the boy's silence. “So? Speak.”

Harry tried not to remember the man's fury after his fight with Malfoy as he fought to get enough moisture in his mouth to speak. Being asked to fess up to something that Snape didn't already know about made his insides squirm around horribly. He quelled his anxiety as best he could and spoke. “I f-fought with Ron.”

Severus stilled, and closed his eyes, trying and failing to throttle down his temper. Not AGAIN. Without opening his eyes, he pointed into the corner.

“Go!” He demanded forcefully. Give me a chance to cool down.

“But-” Usually the man talked more, first, gave him some chance to explain. Not that I really could. He realized.

“Do as I say!” Snape said harshly, raising his voice. I need. A chance. To cool. Down. Harry finally did as he was told, but found he couldn't turn his back on Snape. He raised his chin defiantly. No way am I turning my back on you now, asshole.

Severus opened his eyes again and saw Harry watching him. He spoke slowly as he felt his anger surge.

“Turn. Around.”

Harry shook his head.

“NOW!”

Harry shook his head harder, starting to tremble. Oh God, he's going to kill me. Not scared, not scared, not scared... He wanted to turn but couldn't even picture it without feeling sick. “No.”

He defies me NOW? Severus got up from his desk without warning and advanced on the boy. Not a chance. If he won't turn I'll turn him. Fed up, he failed to notice as the Harry's eyes got wide; as the boy pressed himself into the corner away from him. He didn't notice anything until he reached out rapidly to grab the boy's shoulder and the boy ducked, curled up, and covered his head with his arms. Finally, then, Severus stopped, and saw, and heard. “Please, I'm sorry. I know I'm a freak. I'll be good. I'll try. Just don't. Please, I'm sorry...” The boy paused for a minute, as if listening, then went on. “Okay, okay.”

Severus just watched for a moment in horror as Harry turned away from him and lifted his shirt to bear his back before putting his palms flat on the floor in front of him, trembling like a leaf. “No freaky stuff, see? No blocking. Hands on the floor.”

Severus stumbled back from the boy in horror, before finally remembering to douse him with water and try to wake him up. This time, though, he was too close. When the boy came to himself he turned around, saw Severus, and pressed back into the corner. Meanwhile Severus was shoved back and to the floor as the desk moved between the two of them. In a flash Harry was underneath it.

And I thought he was scared of me BEFORE. Severus thought from the floor.

Sure, Severus. Attack an abused kid. Brilliant idea. Way to be gentle and patient. Way to stay calm and use your intellect. Damnit, you know better than that. He'd let his emotions control him, and now – I've acted like a drunken fool. How am I going to fix this? Snape sat down heavily in his chair. Time. The boy needs time, so do I. A little less adrenaline will help. You're a spy. Be patient; watch.

And so Severus waited for fifteen grueling minutes before trying anything, trying to gather his thoughts and find a way to repair the damage. He had to fight down the self-recrimination in order to simply think. He's hiding under my bloody desk. From me. How in Merlin's name is he supposed to believe that I wasn't going to hit him? How am I supposed to develop a relationship with the boy when all he ever sees is me losing my temper and frightening him?

Finally the fifteen minutes were up, and Severus couldn't wait any longer.

“Harry? Harry I'm sorry. I wasn't going to hit you.” No response. Be realistic, Severus. There's no way he's getting out from under there for your sake. Abruptly Severus realized that he had no idea what to do, other than to maybe find somebody else who would. I can't fix this on my own. The boy never trusted me much in the first place, and now I've broken even that. Who does the boy trust? Minerva, maybe. Oh, Merlin she'll kill me. Severus' gut clenched. As well she should. Decision made, Severus flooed the deputy headmistress' office.

“Severus?” She seemed startled.

“Yes I – I need you over here, please.”

Apparently hearing something in Severus' tone, Minerva came through the floo quickly, and looked around the room.

“What happened to your office? Where is Harry?”

Severus closed his eyes. “He is under the desk.”

Minerva's eyes flashed before she turned her back on Severus to go to Harry.

“Harry?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Are you sure? It cannot be comfortable down there.”

“Back off.”

“All right. I'll be back in fifteen minutes.”

Minerva turned and motioned Severus out into the hallway. Once there, she turned towards him in horror and fury. “What did you do to him? I left half an hour ago and he was fine!”

“I lost my temper.”

“Clearly. Well done.”

“You think I'm proud of this? I made a mistake.”

Minerva ignored him. “He asked me not to tell you and I refused him because I trusted you to deal with him. Now what is he supposed to think?”

“That you delivered him to a monster. And he'd be right. I know, Minerva. I'll get Albus to find a different mentor for Harry, but not now.”

Minerva slapped him hard, and he gaped at her in shock as she only got angrier. “Don't you dare make those excuses to me. You are not a monster. You are a damn good man, and you will not shirk your responsibility. 'Find a different mentor': I've never heard such folly. I know you care for that boy and you will not abandon him out of some ridiculous idea that you are somehow unfit. You screwed up and you will fix this. ”

“I'll make the attempt but what would you have me do, woman, haul him out? What would that accomplish?”

“You lay a hand on that boy now and I'll hex you into next week.”

Severus shouted at her. “I had no intention! Honestly, woman, do you think me that stupid?”

“I didn't. That was before I gave a child into your care and you scared him into hiding underneath your desk!”

“I am not who is important, here! Would you stop screaming at me and do something to actually help HARRY?”

“The boy is fine where he is, for the moment. You on the other hand had better get off your damned high horse and fix this.”

Finally he gave up on all pride. “I don't know what to do! Do you think I called you over so that you could tear strips out of me? You can get to that later, but would you please help me?”

Minerva met his eyes and calmed. “I will help you. But you're not going anywhere, do you hear me? He is in your care. He needs you, and you will not abandon him now.”

Severus swallowed. Albus had said the same thing. He needs me? How can I do anything for him when I keep screwing up like this? But he understood Minerva. He could not give the boy up now. “Yes. Very well. Just help, please.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

“Harry? Harry I'm sorry. I wasn't going to hit you.”

Harry heard the Potions Master call, but decided not to answer. The fifteen minutes were plenty of time for him to go from frightened to angry. Sure you weren't. You bastard. You want me to come out now? I told you I wouldn't come to you just to get hit. The man didn't sound angry anymore, but Harry wasn't going to just walk out with open arms, either. You want me out, you'll have to haul me out. We'll see how 'sorry' you really are, then. Bloody hypocrite, angry at me for hitting Ron and you go and try to hit me. Somehow it hurt. Snape had said he wouldn't hit Harry...not that way, anyway. Harry hadn't quite believed it, but he'd wanted to. Which was stupid. You've learned that lesson before. Stop bloody trying. You can't trust what adults say, idiot.

But then Snape did something odd – he called Professor McGonagall. Didn't he say that she'd kill him if he hurt me? Why would he want her here, then? Unless he was lying when he said that, too? He hadn't sounded like he was lying-

“Harry?”

“Leave me alone.” No way I'm coming out now.

“Are you sure? It cannot be comfortable down there.”

“Back off.”

“All right. I'll be back in fifteen minutes.”

She and Severus left, and sure enough, within ten seconds of coming through the floo McGonagall was angry enough to spit, and Harry listened in fascination as she shouted at the man, and even slapped him. And Snape's responses-
It was unreal. He sounds like what I felt like after hurting Kallie. But he didn't even hurt me...

If he felt this bad about just scaring Harry then maybe – maybe he was telling the truth? He really won't hit me? Harry hadn't hit Kallie, either; just hurt her. If Snape was the same, then maybe Snape would also feel as bad if he hit Harry as Harry would feel if he hit Kallie. That doesn't mean he wouldn't do it, though. You hit Blaise, and Ron, even though you didn't want to. A voice reminded him. You've lost your temper and hit people; he could, too.

But Harry hadn't meant to hit Blaise or Ron. Maybe...maybe the man didn't mean it. Didn't mean to scare him, and wouldn't mean to hurt him, either. It would be...a mistake. Like the man had said earlier. Like when Harry had hit Ron and Blaise. That was different, somehow. Maybe he'll still hurt me, but...maybe he is trying not to?

Harry started to creep forward, out from under the desk towards the corner, then to the edge of the desk to peer around and watch the two adults through the partially opened door. Professor McGonagall had slapped Snape; almost as furious as Snape had been at Argus Filch that time, and Snape hadn't done anything about it, just took it. He'd called himself a monster. It was just like Harry had felt when he'd hurt Kallie. He'd almost wanted someone to hit him, then, and...he'd desperately wanted forgiveness. Unwilling to come all the way out just yet, Harry crept forward a bit more until Snape saw him.

“Harry.” The man breathed. Harry stood up, trembling, and met Snape's eyes cautiously. What he saw there gave him a measure of confidence, and he spoke bluntly. “You were going to hit me.”

Snape flushed. “No. I lost my temper but I swear I would never hit you like that. I was just going to turn you around. That excuses nothing - I should never have touched you in anger - but please believe me when I say that even then I would not have hit you...”

Snape and McGonagall reentered the office slowly as Snape was speaking, and Harry backed back into his corner, not quite ready to let them approach. He just watched silently as the man talked, trying to figure him out. Snape was easily the weirdest adult he'd ever met. The only thing consistent about him, so far, had been his dignity – even when apologizing- and now to see him so – embarrassed – was disconcerting in the extreme. What happens now? Then Snape met Harry's eyes again, and Harry could see his remorse. Oh. Now he apologizes again. Strange.

Severus watched the boy's body language and relaxed a little. The boy was trembling a bit, and clearly didn't want the adults too close to him, but he was neither acting overtly angry nor preparing to run. He's okay. How is he okay? He hid from me...why did he come out?

“Harry, it was not my intention to hurt or scare you-”

Harry raised his chin, and Snape smiled the tiniest bit. “That's right. You were not frightened. My mistake.” Then the man's face sobered again, and he spoke somewhat stiffly. “I apologize. Will you forgive me?” Yeah right, Severus. He thinks you were going to hit him. Why should he forgive you? Besides, he doesn't care enough about you to feel betrayed. You only did what he expected.

Harry nodded slowly, and Snape's eyes widened in surprise as he said disbelievingly, “Thank you.”

Harry smiled a little, mischievously. Ah, sweet revenge. For once I've stumped him. Now to really confuse him.

“No problem.” Not that I'm all of a sudden going to be gracious and polite all the time. He looked over at McGonagall and realized that she knew exactly what he was doing as the side of her mouth gave a tiny twitch. Snape apparently noticed, too, as his eyes narrowed at both of them and he suddenly returned to a more normal demeanor.

“Good. I suspect that Professor McGonagall has some things she wishes to say to me. You are dismissed for now.”

Harry nodded and turned to leave, skirting the wall to leave room between himself and the two adults as he did. Snape stopped him as he reached to door.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“You will go to Madame Pomfrey for those injuries. Your nose looks broken. We'll talk about that fight of yours tomorrow.”

Harry nodded. Tomorrow. Tomorrow is good.Never would be better, but he knew Snape well enough to know that that wasn't going to happen.

He left.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

As soon as the door closed behind the boy, Minerva turned back towards Severus.

“What. Happened?”

And now to face the music. “I was angry, and needed some time to calm, so I ordered him into the corner. He went, but he insisted on facing me. I should have remembered not to expect him to turn his back on me when I was angry.” He took a deep breath and calmed. “Instead I just got angrier. I told him to turn, he refused, and I tried to force him. I didn't even have to touch him and he hit the floor. He gets – when he gets really frightened, he starts pleading with someone who is not me. It's generally effective to use an aguamenti spell to break him out of that, and it worked, but then he knew it was me and he was still scared enough to move my desk and hide underneath it.” He paused, “And now he responds 'no problem' like nothing happened, even though he won't come within six feet of me.” He looked away. Monster.

“You cannot expect everything to be perfect, Severus! You should be grateful the boy is willing to forgive you.”

“He shouldn't forgive me. He's more frightened of me than of any other teacher here, because I was unpleasant to him in the first class, and now he says he can forgive me for this?”

“Of course he's more frightened of you. You could be the most gentle, soft spoken person in the world and he'd fear you most.”

“Thank you, Minerva, you've been very helpful. I was well aware that I am not God's gift to womankind, but clearly had misunderstood the true extent of my hideousness.” His voice was harsh and sarcastic, but Minerva was used to his sense of humor and ignored it.

“Severus, are you blind? You want to know who Harry fears after you?”

Severus looked at her quizzically.

“He is afraid of Albus. Then Quirinus, then Filius. Adult man, adult man, adult man. Noticed the pattern?”

“He is more obnoxious to Sinestra than to Quirrell.”

“She's been unfair to him from the beginning. He does not fear her, he just doesn't put up with her.”

“He does not fear Hagrid, or Binns.”

“Oh, please, Severus, Hagrid is a child and Binns quite literally cannot touch him. He fears you most because your closest competition consists of Albus, who the boy never even sees, and Quirrell.”

“Argus Filch.”

“And Harry fears him more than you.”

He does? “He's not rude to him.”

“Because he avoids him like the plague. I have never been able to understand why.”

“Harry tangled with him several weeks ago. Probably believed every word the old man said.”

“Oh. That would do it. Horrid old man. Why Albus keeps him around I will never know. The house-elves do just fine without him.” She shook her head briefly in disgust and got back on track. “At any rate, you understand my point.”

Severus felt a little better, then. “I do. I will endeavor to not take it personally.”

“Good. And don't leave him. It is far too late for that, Severus.”

“I am not a good mentor for him. My temper-”

“Has held out amazingly these last couple of weeks. Harry understands that you are trying, I think. Otherwise he would not have been so forgiving.”

“If I hadn't lost my temper-”

“Then he would still be waiting for you to do so. You know better than I do that this is not going to happen overnight, Severus.” Her voice hardened somewhat. “You should never have undertaken it if you would give up this easily.”

Severus shook his head. “I am not giving up. I merely maintain that Albus was insane to ask this of me in the first place. The term “Death Eater” seems to mean little to him.”

“Either that or he knows you better than you do.”

Severus scowled at her. “And here I thought you were going to continue to tear strips out of me.”

“I would, but I trust you to do that for me.” Severus realized she was right as the memory of his anger and the image of Harry so clearly hiding from him flashed through his mind, making him wince.

“I suppose I should thank you, then.”

“Make no mistake, Severus, if you ever hurt that child-”

“I am aware.”

“Good. I'll go, then.”

“Thank you for your help.”

Minerva smiled slightly. “You didn't need it.”

“I disagree. Hearing you that angry with me probably gave him a lot of that sudden confidence.”

“Or perhaps he just needed to hear your regret.”

“Perhaps both,” Conceded Severus, “but I thank you nonetheless.”

Minerva nodded. “You are very welcome. Good evening, Severus.”

“Goodnight.”

Breakfast the next morning was Belgian waffles with whipped cream and strawberries. It was Saturday morning, so the hall was only about three quarters full despite the later time for breakfast. Too bad, Harry reflected, watching one of the owls heading for the Slytherin table, apparently something's up. The owl was carrying something large...and pink...and- Oh. My. God. It was a life-sized Muggle-style blow-up doll, wide -eyed, -mouthed, and -legged. Minerva McGonagall covered her mouth as it went by, whether from horror or humor Harry couldn't tell. Dumbledore was chuckling openly, while Sinestra's eyes and mouth were wide with outrage. Snape watched neutrally as the owl flew by, before returning to his breakfast. Finally the owl reached the Slytherin table and started towards Flint. Flint apparently recognized what it was, and watched in mute horror as the owl got closer with its disturbingly life-sized burden. Harry mostly ignored Hedwig, who had come in just behind the other owl, just taking the note she carried without reading it and petting her absently while watching the spectacle. To the great delight of all the students witnessing, the owl dropped the doll directly into a large bowl of in front of Flint, sending dollops of whipped cream all over the place. Flint stared at the doll in front of him uncertainly. It was blocking him from eating anything, but he was clearly unwilling to touch it. Finally he gave up on his breakfast and awkwardly fled the hall, still covered in whipped cream. Harry finished his own meal and left, noticing as he did so a new scoreboard sheet on the outside of the door to the great hall. As he watched, Lee Jordan got ten points.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

After breakfast, Harry went straight to the infirmary, and hovered outside the door, gently rolling his sore lip between his teeth. He'd decided not to come the night before because, he'd told himself, it was after curfew. He didn't feel any more convinced about the trip in the daylight, though. His nose hurt, of course, but not enough to make it worth facing Madame Pomfrey with an injury obtained through fighting with another boy. He didn't have any sort of choice, however, because Snape would see him that evening. I could just hide it. He realized. But his nose was still bleeding occasionally, and just his luck he would touch his face in Snape's presence and have the blood come off on his hands. He'd fooled Snape before, but never for very long. And if he got caught hiding an injury that Snape had already told him to get fixed- Oh, God. He'd kill me. Feeling resigned, Harry walked slowly into the infirmary. Maybe if she's not here – fat chance. Sure enough, Madame Pomfrey bustled up to him as soon as he came through the doors.

“Mr. Potter! What happened to your face?”

For the moment she sounded sympathetic. That won't last long.

“I got in a fight with Ron.”

As predicted, she frowned at him disapprovingly. “Should I expect Mr. Weasley in as well, then?”

Harry blushed a little and shook his head. “He went home for the weekend.”

“You got caught, then.” She sounded satisfied, and Harry had to remind himself not to snap at her. She was the one that kept having to deal with it, after all.

“Yes.” Hazards of fighting in the common room, I suppose. I gotta start fighting in empty classrooms or something, if I'm gonna keep this up. The Dursleys never cared if he fought, as long as he didn't hit Dudley, so he'd never had to worry about getting caught. Not that I want to keep fighting with my friends, but Malfoy...

Fighting with kids his size was kinda fun; satisfying, not like fighting with Dudley's gang or with Flint. With Flint especially it was like the older boy didn't feel his fists. Probably didn't. He's a bloody fifth year. Only his ego is vulnerable to me.

Thankfully, Madame Pomfrey didn't comment further on Harry's fighting, instead choosing to sit him on a bed and fix his face. He'd washed his face on his own, and the swelling had gone down some overnight, so the break in his nose was clear to see. She fixed that with a simple spell, then got out her bruise balm. Harry held out a hand for it but she shook her head.

“The bruise is too close to your eye. This balm is great for your skin but really bad for your eyes.”

No good. Don't touch my face. “Can we just skip it? I can heal on my own.”

“No, we can't just skip it! Why did you even come, then, if you don't want me to heal you?”

Harry looked away a little and admitted, “Professor Snape's making me.”

“Well, then, you think he would be content with you just getting your nose fixed and leaving?”

“But last time I was here I didn't need it!”

“How would you know? You were unconscious.”

Harry blushed. “Oh. No I meant...before.”

“Those had mostly healed on their own before you got to me. You're not leaving here with your face looking that bad.”

“Can I please do it myself? I'll be careful!”

Madame Pomfrey shook her head firmly, but not unsympathetically, and met his eyes squarely.

“Can you hold still for me? It won't hurt.”

Damnit. Harry stiffened but nodded. At least she's not behind me, this time.

She opened the balm slowly while Harry took a deep breath. Harry gripped the edge of the bed and clenched his teeth as she reached out to touch his face but didn't close his eyes or flinch away. Madame Pomfrey shook her head and started gently spreading her balm on his cheeks and eye socket. After a couple of seconds she started scolding him gently. Somehow Harry found it soothing.

“You could have avoided this, you know. Even if Mr. Weasley started that fight you could have pulled away instead of hitting back. Now look at you, all beat up and coming to me for healing. And then you say you want to skip the bruise balm! As if I would allow you to run around with bruises like that on your face, even if you did get them all on your own. How did you think you weren't going to get caught with those, hmm? And don't tell me you'd planned to use those glamours of yours. Professor Snape won't tolerate that, and neither will I. You're in enough trouble as it is without hiding injuries. Come to think of it, if Mr. Weasley went to the Burrow for the weekend he's probably wishing the Professor was in charge of him, too. You think Professor Snape is strict you should try facing Mrs. Weasley in a temper.”

Finally she finished with his face and put the balm away. Then she turned back to him and her voice grew stern. “Now don't you give the Professor any trouble, you hear me? He's got every right to be angry with you. What are you thinking, hitting your friends all the time? You realize it was just yesterday you came in for the bruise balm for Mr. Zabini? And now you've hit Mr. Weasley. You keep fighting with your friends and they won't stay friends.”

It doesn't matter. She's just an adult. Nothing she thinks of me matters. He knew it was childish, but he remembered the rhyme just the same: Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me. To this he added his own interpretation. If she's not going to punish me, then she should just shut up. Harry was starting to realize, however, that his mantras didn't stand up anymore. What worked with Aunt Petunia, or even Sinestra, who would believe badly of him seemingly no matter what he did, didn't work with Madame Pomfrey or Professor McGonagall. 'Mere' words were starting to hurt, and none of his defenses seemed to work anymore. Having Madame Pomfrey scold him when McGonagall already had and Snape had been so furious was difficult to bear. He looked away from the scolding woman in shame. Weakling.

“Look at me, please.”

Harry stubbornly turned his head further away, upset.

“Harry.” Harry looked up, startled, when he heard his first name. Madame Pomfrey rarely used it when she was angry with him.

“Why do you keep doing this? Twice in two days! What could your friends possibly say to you to make you feel you have to hit them?”

Harry just shrugged, not wanting to talk about it, especially when he still had to talk to Professor Snape that evening. Evening? He never said a time. Do I assume he means the same time as detention usually is?

Finally Madame Pomfrey let him go, and Harry went to lunch. He sat down before remembering the note Hedwig had brought him that morning, and pulling it out of the pocket of his robes. It relieved his earlier uncertainty, replacing it with a different kind of anxiety.

Harry – please see me in my office at 7:00 this evening. -SS

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry arrived at Snape's office at precisely 7:00 and knocked without giving himself time to get nervous. At Snape's command to enter, Harry let himself in and stood in front of Snape's desk in a way that was becoming annoyingly familiar.

There were times, now, when being yelled at felt terrible; when he felt he'd actually done wrong, like when he'd hurt Kallie, or hit Blaise. Sometimes McGonagall could make him feel that way even when he didn't think he'd done wrong, just because he didn't like her being mad at him. This time, though, he couldn't get that upset.

Harry had thought it over the night before, and decided that this was the other kind of trouble, the one that didn't bother him as much. He didn't particularly mind getting yelled for saying he was a freak or 'putting himself in danger,' because whatever Snape said, who cared what he said or did to himself? He refused to feel bad about it. He also refused to feel bad when he'd gotten himself in trouble on purpose, like when he had played a prank, or when he didn't care about the adult who was mad at him, like with Sinestra. Why should he care? This was that kind of trouble: why should he feel bad, when Ron had been after him, first? It had only felt wrong with Blaise 'cause Blaise hadn't hit back when he should've. Ron had been just as mad as Harry, and hit just as hard.

Harry still felt jumpy, though. Snape had been furious yesterday, and then just as abruptly had seemed really upset about that reaction. As a result, Harry had no idea what to expect from the coming conversation. He stood in front of Snape's desk and waited for him to speak. Snape didn't say anything, though, and finally Harry couldn't bear the silence.

“If you're going to yell at me, would you just do it already?”

“I am not going to yell at you, Harry.” He said reproachfully. “At least not immediately.”

Really? He relaxed a little. Snape had only truly yelled at Harry twice, and Harry was beginning to think the first time was a mistake, too , but he'd still been nervous. Maybe he's all angered out? Harry wondered. If that was so the man might even listen to him, for once.

“So why did you feel you needed to hit Mr. Weasley?” Snape sounded tired.

Harry relaxed even more as he realized the man still didn't sound angry. “He called Blaise and Theo and me Death Eaters in training, said all us Snakes were.”

“I see. Do you think that is a viable excuse?” His voice held an edge.

Yes. Harry figured he'd be in trouble if he said that, though, and suddenly didn't feel so confident about explaining. Chicken.

“Just answer the question, Harry.”

Harry took a deep breath. Well, he asked for it. “Yes, I think it is.”

Interesting. I'd've expected him to say no, even if just because he thought that's what I wanted. “Why?”

You really want to know? Surprised, Harry explained as openly as he could, hoping to make Snape understand. “'Cause Ron was looking for a fight, just like Malfoy was. If I hadn't hit him, he might've hit me anyway. Far as I'm concerned that's fair. Maybe I shouldn't've hit Blaise, when he was just trying to help, but Ron was just being a prat.”

“I did not realize that you were that sensitive about being called a Death Eater.” Severus commented, honestly curious.

“I'm not, particularly.” Harry said.

“Then what caused you to be so upset that you hit your friend?”

“That was it. I was just already upset.”

“And why was that?”

“Hermione was...” being an annoying nosy know-it-all “being Hermione.”

“So you hit Mr. Weasley because you were angry at Ms. Granger?”

He sounded more intrigued then angry. Maybe he really will listen to me? “Well, sorta. I was already angry at him, really, and then Hermione made it worse. So then when he was yellin' at me I got mad quickly.”

“Why were you so angry with Ms. Granger, then?”

That one I'm not sharing. “No reason. I was just in a bad mood.”

Snape just looked at him, waiting. Harry stared back, holding his breath and trying to ignore the leaden silence. Finally Snape spoke again.

“Do not lie to me. Tell me that you don't want to answer the question, if you must, but do not lie to me.”

Harry looked down as the man continued speaking. “Now try again. Why were you so angry with Ms. Granger?”

Maybe if I just stay vague. “She kept asking questions.”

Severus decided not to call him on the eye contact. “What kind?” When Harry didn't answer he figured his assumptions had been correct.

“Questions of the sort Mr. Zabini asked before you hit him?”

Harry nodded almost imperceptibly, blushing. Severus sighed.

“Harry, people are going to ask-”

“Why?” Harry demanded. "Why can't they just mind their own business?”

“And if they did, Harry? You wouldn't be hurt if they knew, and stood by and did nothing?”

“That's all anybody else has ever done.”

“Yes, it is. And it has made you hate them.” Snape pointed out.

Harry didn't have an answer for that, and so said nothing.

“If you wish them to stop asking questions, you could consider telling them.” Once again Harry didn't answer, and Severus decided to move on.

“At any rate, hitting them is not a solution.”

“Blaise has stopped asking.”

“If you mean out loud, perhaps he has, but I highly doubt he has forgotten.” He talked to me, after all.

“As long as he doesn't say anything.”

“Even if he doesn't, I am sure Ms. Granger will. At any rate continuing to hit your friends will leave you with few of them.”

Harry looked up. “So, what? Your solution is to go up to my friends and say, “oh, by the way, you were right. I'm so bloody weak a disgustingly fat motherfucking muggle can beat me up, but please accept me for who I am”?”

Snape looked at him, and Harry realized that his language had been less than ideal. He smiled a bit. “Fine. You suggested 'harpy' for bitch. How about for- him?”

Severus thought for a moment, then smirked. “How about 'repulsively ugly muggle who may or may not enjoy sexual practices of an unmentionably deviant sort?'”

Harry's eyes grew wide. “I don't know if I can remember all that, sir, but as Ron would say it's brilliant.”

“Thank you.” Said Snape. “Now to return to our earlier discussion, I suggest, and it is only a suggestion, that you either answer their questions honestly, or tell them – calmly – that you don't want to talk about it. On a side note, I understand that this is not something you want made known, but there is no shame in it. You have lived through a lot. This does not make you weak, but rather proves your strength.”

Harry snorted. “Sure. Whatever. The point is, you want me to go and announce my secrets to the whole world just because they're curious. Not going to happen.”

“What to do about your friends' fears is your choice. I was merely providing advice given that your current solution seems to be to break one friend's nose because another was bothering you with questions.'”

“I didn't break his nose.” Harry retorted, feeling childish.

“But you did hit him. Which returns us to our current problem. You fought, you got caught. You don't seem repentant about this, and Mr. Zabini did not want you in trouble, when you hit him. Do you know why that was?” Other than because children are strange? He added mentally.

“I think he wanted us to deal with it on our own, sir.”

“And you agree?”

Why would you ask me that? “Yeah. I probably shouldn't've hit him, but Blaise understood. We would've done just fine if Ron hadn't interfered.”

“How about when you hit Mr. Malfoy?”

“Oh that's never gonna get figured out. If I hadn't hit him, he would've started it, and then it would've been a hexing fight.”

“And so you regret hitting Mr. Zabini, but not Mr. Malfoy?” Severus asked, trying to figure it out.

“Yeah. And not Ron. They both wanted a fight. I gave it to them. It's our business.”

He's got a point. Severus realized. He and Blaise Zabini figured it out on their own, and he and Draco aren't going to. What happens with Mr. Weasley is anybody's guess...perhaps Harry'll learn on his own that not everybody is as understanding as Blaise Zabini. Perhaps I should ignore it, when I can.

“Very well, I'll concede the point. If you fight among yourselves, and you all come out all right and don't get caught, it is your business. One caveat, though. When you get caught you make it my business. Fighting is undignified and against the rules, and as such it reflects badly on your house, and on me. Are you listening?”

Did he just say what I think he just said? It almost sounds like he's just going to punish me for getting caught! That's so...Slytherin. He almost smiled. Blaise would approve. “You- you're saying that I'm right? That you'll stay out of it?”

“Let's just say...if it's not shoved in my face, I won't investigate. On the other hand, I am quite serious about getting caught, and I expect you to get treatment for any injuries, minor or not. If you get seriously hurt I will consider it putting yourself in danger and you will be in real trouble. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir. I understand.” It just means I'm still in trouble.

“Good. You have your choice between three hours of lines now, or being grounded for three days.”

Some choice. Harry mused. For a moment he considered taking the grounding and trying sneaking out again, but he knew, for some reason, that he couldn't do that. He'd get caught...and he'd feel bad, somehow, even if he didn't. He thought it over briefly. Writing lines was the most boring thing in the world, but being stuck inside sucked, too. What if he lurks? After a moment Harry realized that that would be okay, too: if the man hadn't wanted to hit him even when he was angry, then presumably he wouldn't do anything when he so clearly wasn't.

“Lines, I guess.”

Severus nodded and transfigured the desk for him, and Harry sat down and read the line he was assigned.

Getting caught fighting reflects badly on Slytherin House. I will endeavor to follow rules and keep my dignity in front of others.

He smiled and wrote his first line, putting in his own subtle contribution.

1.Getting caught fighting reflects badly on Slytherin House. I will endeavor to follow rules and keep my dignity in front of others.

When Harry handed in his lines at the end of three hours, Severus noticed the boy's alteration with a tiny smile. He's still messing with me. The idea gave him a little hope. At least he could tell he hadn't completely ruined things.

“Good work.”

Harry smiled a bit, knowing that Snape had noticed his slight insolence and didn't mind.

“Before you are dismissed, have you apologized to your professors yet?”

Harry scowled. Oh yuck I really don't want to do that. “No sir.”

“By Wednesday, please.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Dismissed then.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry usually had Herbology first thing on Monday mornings, but today he had other plans. The twins gave him a thumbs up at breakfast, and he smiled back savagely, knowing the plan was on. This is going to be BRILLIANT. He snarfed his breakfast and ran back to his dorm to grab the robes Fred and George had lent him, then headed off to the nearest bathroom. In five minutes he was changed, and pictured Percy Weasley's face and build. Percy was a good bit taller than he was, which made the transformation tougher than impersonating another first year, but he estimated that he could easily hold it for the hour and a half that he needed. Thus prepared, he headed down to the Potions classroom, and sat down in Percy's spot next to Marcus Flint. Worried that Snape might notice him, as he didn't have Percy's mannerisms down as well as he'd had Malfoy's, he kept his head down as much as he could, doing his best to brew the complicated potion when he couldn't understand half of the instructions and had to watch what his neighbor was doing the whole time.

Finally, once everyone was thoroughly involved in their potions, Harry got his opportunity. At a moment when both Snape and Flint were looking away from him, he dropped his quill onto the floor and dove after it, in the process knocking several potions ingredients from his desk. As the class giggled and Flint and Snape both sneered, Harry 'clumsily' groped after his ingredients, while surreptitiously grabbing the hem of Flint's robes with one hand, and touching both his shoes with the other. It was the most complicated transfiguration he'd ever tried, but it worked: within ten seconds Flint's robes were transformed into a very short bright green leather tube dress, and in another ten, his neat dress shoes became matching strappy high-heeled sandals that laced high up his calves.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus watched quietly as Percy Weasley groped around clumsily on the floor. The boy was acting oddly – nervous and clumsy in a way that he usually wasn't. Soon enough, the Potions Master saw why, as Flint's robes were transformed into an outfit that the Weasley boy would never have thought up. Damn. I should have recognized the boy before he got into trouble. As 'Percy' slipped back into his seat, Marcus looked down at himself and squalked, turned bright red, and stood up. He promptly discovered his new sandals as well, and teetered for a moment before balancing precariously as the class laughed uproariously. Severus was hard-put not to laugh himself – the outfit really was inspired. However, he felt that the situation could not end well, and moved closer to the two boys.

Meanwhile Harry met Marcus' eyes and smiled innocently. “Nice duds, Flint. I wouldn't have thought you the type, but it suits you quite well.” In a flash Flint's eyes filled with comprehension, before darkening with rage. His fist flew out rapidly towards 'Percy's' face, and Harry knew he'd ducked too late to miss the blow.

It never landed, though, and after a moment Harry looked up and shivered. Snape had Flint's wrist in a crushing grip, and the look in his eyes was murderous. When Harry had ducked, he'd lost hold of his metamorphmagus abilities, and looked like himself again. Flint looked at him, and the color drained from his face before he looked back at his wrist and up at Snape. His expression was no longer murderous. Instead, his eyes as he looked at Snape held little but terror and pleading.

“I d-didn't know it was him. Honest.”

“Perhaps if you could not tell it would have been wise to reconsider before striking a student in front of me.”

Flint said nothing, seeming frozen to the spot.

“Get out of my classroom.”

“Yes. Yes sir.” He looked ready to wet himself, and as soon as Snape released his wrist he clutched it to him and fled without his books, still tottering on his transfigured heels.

Severus breathed for a minute before turning away from the door and most of his class to look down at Harry.

“I believe, Mr. Potter, that I had told you to stay away from him.”

Harry looked down, still a little shaken up by the turn of events. He'd been hit by Flint before, and had no desire to repeat the experience. Good thing Snape was here, I guess, even if he is mad.

“Yes sir.”

“Is it also true that you are currently cutting one of your own classes?”

“Yes sir.”

“Get to it, then. We will discuss this in detail, but for now I have to run my class.” Harry nodded mutely and fled as well, trying not to think of all the trouble he would be in later.

Finally Severus turned back to his class, who stared after Harry open-mouthed before looking back at him in confusion. You knew I was protecting him, imbeciles. This should not be a surprise. He sneered, took ten points from Gryffindor, and got back to his class.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

“You are more than forty-five minutes late, Mr. Potter.” Commented Professor Sprout as Harry came in.

“I guess so.” Commented Harry, sounding unconcerned. Leave me alone, you old squash.

“Perhaps a detention will teach you to come to class on time.”

Harry found Professor Sprout endlessly annoying, but usually if he was rude enough she'd give up on talking to him. Harry lifted his chin and spoke neutrally. “Perhaps it will. Thank you so much for spending your precious time to teach me the value of punctuality. I had no idea that coming in an hour late would piss you off.” Hermione gasped, looking outraged. You'd think she'd have gotten used to it, by now.

And, sure enough, the professor ignored him for the rest of the class. Unfortunately, Harry noticed, so did Ron.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Harry's next class after Herbology was Potions, and given a choice he'd have just as soon skipped. Still, he didn't want to catch more trouble, so he made an effort to get there on time. It didn't matter, though: he could tell that Snape was angry, though he took it out on the Gryffindors and not on him. For the most part Snape ignored him, but when their eyes met it was clear that the Potions Master was only waiting for the opportunity to get him alone.

To make matters worse, Ron studiously ignored him and Blaise for the entire class. Blaise gave Ron a cool look before focusing back on his potion, seemingly unconcerned, while Harry just bit his lip and pretended not to notice. The class went really slowly, though, and he missed Ron's antics and railings against Snape, despite his own changing opinion of the man. Finally, it was time to pack up their books for lunch.

Snape was watching him, but Harry pretended not to notice, hoping to sneak out with the rest of the class. Finally the man came in front of him and laid a large hand on his shoulder. Figuring sneaking out for a lost cause, Harry took a breath and looked up. The man was looking down at him soberly. He wants me to stay behind. Harry realized, and took a deep breath before nodding to show he understood, then shrugging his shoulder a little in his own request. Snape nodded in return and took the hand away. Harry couldn't really relax much, and sat miserably as the other students left. Blaise was last, and looked at him questioningly, waiting for Harry's nod before leaving.

Eventually everyone was gone, and Harry watched anxiously as Snape pulled a chair over to sit opposite Harry across the desk. Finally the man spoke.

“Tell me, Harry, do you have an explanation for why you cannot go two days without challenging me?”

“I can!”

“The evidence is sorely against you on that point.”

“What if I could and I don't want to?” Harry asked insolently.

“Then you like being in trouble.”

“Like it? Hell no! But it's gonna happen anyway, isn't it?”

Severus frowned. “You think I would punish you even if you did nothing?”

“I think that so many things are against the rules that you might as well.”

“I have no more rules for you than your friends parents have for them.”

“Yeah but you're not my bloody father!”

“Language, Harry. No, I am not your father, but somebody has to enforce rules with you.”

“Why? Here I thought being an orphan had one measly advantage and you're out to take it away. I don't want a father, or a mentor, or whatever you're supposed to be, okay? If you'da just let me alone, I would've left you alone. Instead you're all involved and I can't do anything without getting into trouble. Why the hell would I want that?”

“Do you think I enjoy yelling at you, or grounding you, or giving you detentions? Do you think I want that? I don't. Believe it or not I don't like seeing you unhappy, and I like making you unhappy even less. But as far as I can tell, that is what you want. You want me to be angry, you want me to yell, and you want me to punish you.”

“Don't you get it? I don't want anything from you!”

“Should I have let Flint hit you, then?”

“He wouldn't have hit me in the first place if you hadn't kept giving me detentions! I'd've been just fine if it weren't for you interfering in my life.”

“Fine? Allow me to point out that if it were up to you, you would be dead. Or had you forgotten the infection you had because you didn't get yourself treated when you got here? If you will not go to Madame Pomfrey when you have to, then I will make you. If you won't keep yourself safe for your own sake, then you will do it in obedience to me. Or would you prefer I just let you die, because you're not intelligent enough to keep yourself safe?”

“I am!” Harry was getting confused. Why was this man getting involved? Why did he care?

“Again, the evidence is against you. I count twice this year that you would have died if it weren't for my interference. I will therefore 'interfere' in your life until you can keep yourself safe on your own. In the meantime, you'll have to deal with it.”

“How is it your business if I die or not? What's it to you?” Harry asked, anger rapidly being replaced by confusion. Why does he bloody care?

“That does not matter.”

“Of course it does! It matters everything! How can I bloody trust you if you won't tell me your motivation?”

“Language, Harry. Last warning. I have told you my motivation. I want what is best for you. That is all. My business or not, I will keep you alive and healthy if it is the last thing I do, and whether or not you want me to. As for that, I repeat, should I have let Flint hit you?”

Harry looked away, the last of his anger falling. “I don't know. I just- I just don't know what you're doing, okay? You want what is best for me? What is that supposed to mean? What are you after? If you hate punishing me so much then why do you bother?”

“And if I punish you because that is what I judge best for you?” Snape asked, calming some.

“Not likely.” Harry replied.

“Perhaps, from your perspective,” Snape acknowledged, “but it is nevertheless true. If it were not true then I would, in fact, be abusing my authority over you, whether I hit you or no.”

“You mean the way you take points from the Gryffindors?” Harry asked insolently.

“Oh, I'm sure it does then some good. If nothing else it corrects for the hero-worship they receive from other teachers.”

Harry shrugged. It wasn't his issue. Snape continued speaking.

“As for what I'm doing, for the moment I am attempting to keep you alive and healthy.”

“Then why do you bother with my language? And my grades? Hell, why do you even care if I hit my friends, as long as I come out of it alive?”

“Some of that is encompassed under what I would consider healthy. For the rest I would amend what I said. I am attempting to keep you alive and healthy, and to help you to grow into a successful adult. Does that encompass everything for you?”

“No. It doesn't make any sense.”

“What doesn't make any sense?”

Harry bit his lip, uncertain. Nothing makes sense. You don't make sense. “It's just not logical. What's in it for you?”

“Seeing you grow up healthy is not enough?”

“Why should it be?”

“It would have been for your parents.”

Harry felt his throat grow tight, and his voice with it. “Well that's not logical either.”

“Perhaps you should not judge it based on logic, then.”

Finally Harry got mad again. “What else should I base it on, prior experience? I'm not even allowed to say half of what prior experience has taught me, with you.”

“Because your prior experience is false, Harry! You are not what your relatives have told you you are, and most adults are not like the ones you are used to.”

“I have no reason to believe that.”

“Other than the last couple of weeks? No, you don't. But you have as little reason to believe I want to harm you.”

“I've got a lifetime's worth of reason to believe that, as you know very well.”

“To point out the obvious, that was not me. Not all adults are bullies, Harry. You are basing your entire outlook on the actions of one family.”

“Doesn't everybody? Ron and Theo clearly think the world is all sunshine and rainbows. I don't. Blaise doesn't. I'd even go as far as to say that you don't. Why are you urging me to believe something that you know isn't true?

“I am not asking you to trust everyone you encounter, Harry, far from it. There are bad people in this world, and frankly a lot of them want you dead. I am just asking you to judge people on an individual basis.”

“And if I still don't like them?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Then we will have even more in common then I thought.” Snape said.

Harry caught the humor and relaxed a little, answering sarcastically, “Oh, joy.”

Snape almost smiled. “I thought you would like that.”

“Hmm. Maybe I'm better off deciding the world is all sunshine and rainbows.”

Severus smirked, not hurt in the least. “That bad, really?”

“Honestly, would you want to be like your old Head of House?”

Severus winced, remembering Horace Slughorn. “Point taken.”

A brief, awkward silence fell, as Severus thought of how to return to the original topic. Finally Harry got tired of waiting.

“I know you're still mad at me.”

“Do you know why?”

Harry sighed. So much for convincing the man that it wasn't his business. “Yeah. I went near Flint when you told me not to, and skipped my Herbology class.”

“And why would that make me angry?”

“I wasn't trying to put myself in danger. How could I know Flint would hit Percy, too?”

“You knew he hit you.”

“Yeah, but everybody hits me.” Harry said practically, “Doesn't mean they hit anybody else.”

Severus closed his eyes and recited to himself the reasons he was not going to go and kill the Dursleys. They're helpless Muggles. Albus would kill me if I went and harmed them. They're Harry's only family. He probably doesn't want them dead. Dementors make for unpleasant company. The boy was almost right, however: by his twisted logic, he had little reason to think himself in any danger. He still didn't avoid Flint as I asked.

“If you were not trying to put yourself in danger, you certainly weren't doing much to stay out of it.”

Harry looked down and mumbled resentfully. “It was just a prank.”

“Have I ever spoken to you for this long over one of your pranks?”

“No.” Harry admitted. Even when Harry put farm animals in his office and they trashed the place, the man had just had him clean it up, and given him detention. He hadn't talked it over with him the way he did with a lot of other things.

“So?”

“So what was I supposed to do, just let the guy pound on me and do nothing?”

“Openly? Yes, that was exactly what you should have done. You are a Slytherin, Harry, couldn't you have gotten your revenge in such a way that you stayed out of trouble?”

“But then everybody would think I just let you deal with it, like I couldn't do anything on my own!”

“You shouldn't do anything on your own, not when it's going to get you hurt.”

“I'm not going to sit around and let people beat on me without fighting back! Anyway I didn't know that I was going to get hurt.”

Severus sighed. This was going nowhere. “I thought it likely, which was why I told you not to go near Flint. You disobeyed me, and almost got hurt. You're therefore grounded for five days.”

Harry gasped. Five DAYS? He'd been grounded for two weeks before, but that was for a whole list of things. “Just for a prank?”

“No, for disobeying me and putting yourself in danger.”

Harry lifted his chin defiantly. “I'll go out anyway.”

“And you'll be grounded for an extra week.”

“I hate you.”

Severus suppressed his hurt. Should've expected that one sooner or later. “Very well. You're allowed to hate me. You are not allowed to put yourself in danger.”

“But – five days?”

“Yes.”

“Please!”

“Your pleading would be a lot more effective if you'd attempted in before defying me and telling me how much you hate me.” Severus pointed out with little sympathy.

Harry turned around and headed for the door.

“You have not been dismissed.”

“Too bad.” Answered Harry angrily. He left. Severus watched him turn away from the direction of the Great Hall and towards his dorm, apparently deciding to skip lunch. Severus sighed. Well that went well.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Early that evening, Severus stepped into the Slytherin common rooms and gestured discretely to two of his seventh-years. He'd chosen the two because they were on the road to either becoming skilled Death Eaters or somewhat unscrupulous Minestry aurors, and because Severus suspected they were more loyal to him than to either side. They came close and he spoke quietly.

“Marcus Flint is still here.”

“Understood, sir. We'll take care of it.” Said Jack Manson, the talker of the two, as his friend Charles nodded seriously.

“Good. Dismissed, then.”

“Thank you, sir.” They started to turn away as he gave his final instructions.

“Don't kill him, and above all don't get caught.”

The two seventeen year olds looked at him strangely on the first request, then nodded in unison as Jack answered.“We understand, sir.”

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Four hours later, Severus was 'invited' to Albus Dumbledore's office for a chat. For once the old man didn't offer him any tea, or a lemon drop. He just motioned seriously for Severus to sit, and stared at him gravely for a moment after he did.

“Marcus Flint has just been admitted to Saint Mungos with serious injuries to his torso as well as several more minor injuries.”

“Oh?” Severus sounded lightly inquiring, and Albus scowled and continued.

“I couldn't help but notice the similarity to young Harry's injuries a few weeks ago.”

I guess they took a personal interest. Severus mused, but kept his expression and tone neutral.

“Interesting.”

Finally Albus got to the point. “Before losing consciousness he seemed to be under the impression that you had ordered it.”

Severus looked up to meet Albus' eyes. “He has no proof.”

Albus failed to suppress a wince. “You did.” It wasn't a question, but Severus smiled grimly and answered anyway.

“And if I did?”

“Severus.” He sounded disappointed.

Severus braced himself against the disappointment and spoke bluntly. “You chose a Death Eater to protect Harry Potter. Why are you acting so surprised?”

“Severus,” Albus admonished, “how many times do I have to repeat that you are not a Death Eater?”

“The ministry's attitude is once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. It may be the only thing we agree on.”

“But you are loyal to the light, Severus.”

“Tell that to the people I've killed, Albus. Or rather to their families. I'm sure they care.”

“I care.”

“I realize. You were one of the two most grieved when I took the mark. Nevertheless a change in loyalties does not erase it,” said Severus matter-of-factly, pulling up his sleeve to show Albus his mark, “no matter how much you may wish it would.”

Albus smiled sadly. “It has faded some.”

“And yet it will light up again, good as new, as soon as the Dark Lord returns.” Severus commented sarcastically, covering the mark again with a brisk movement of his arm.
"And in all likelihood I will return to serving him."

“You are not his, Severus, and therefore you are not a Death Eater.”

“To abuse the muggle phrase, if it looks like a Death Eater, and acts like a Death Eater, it's a Death Eater. I bear the mark, I wore the robes- ”

“You do not act like a Death Eater, Severus.”

“No? Why, then, did you ask me in here, if not to chastise me for ordering the beating of a fifteen-year-old boy?”

“You could have ordered him dead.”

Severus gave a harsh smile. “Now what would be the fun in that?”

Albus frowned. “I know that is not why you left him alive.”

“Perhaps I did not want my students in Azkaban.”

“Would a Death Eater care?”

Oh, for the love of- At times he wondered if it was possible to get Albus to see things in less than black-and-white. The man could be Slytherin when he wanted to be, but for sheer idealism he was pure Gryffindor. “Theodore Nott loves his son, Albus. How different am I, really, from those who stayed? We cannot know what would happen if the Dark Lord were to threaten Nott's son, nor what would have happened had he left Lily alive. Perhaps now I am a better man, and perhaps Nott could be, but that changes little. I am marked for life, and so is he, and if I were to face him in battle I would kill him without pause or grief, and young Theo would be an orphan.”

“That is not you, Severus, that is war.”

“And I am marked by it. We will not win another war with the Dark Lord working like the aurors, fighting with spells approved by the Ministry and trying to take people alive. Respectfully, sir, we need more people who are willing to kill. I am willing. In the past I have even done it for fun. The reason I make a good spy is that the Mark is set into my nature as much as it is into my skin.”

Finally Albus gave up. “That is neither here nor there. I pretended not to notice your 'war' against Marcus Flint. Do you expect me to ignore his beating as well?”

Severus stilled. “Unless you would consign me to Azkaban, or more mundanely fire me, yes. That is your choice. However I would remind you that I acted on your orders. You cannot tell me to protect Harry, knowing that I am a Death Eater, and then criticize my methods. As you pointed out, I left the boy alive, when he almost killed Harry.”

“If Harry had gone to the infirmary-”

“He never should have had to!” Severus snapped. “That boy has been hurt enough in his life and he will be safe here!”

Albus stared at Severus briefly before smiling hugely. The twinkle in his eyes could've blinded anyone looking at him. “I'm sorry, Severus. I had not realized.” He paused and sat back. “Far be it for me to tell you not to protect him when you clearly care so much.”

Severus moved quickly to nip that thought in the bud. “Glad to hear that my methods merit your approval.”

Albus seemed impervious, however, and though his smile faded as he spoke seriously, it never disappeared completely. “I'm not particularly happy with them, but you do have a point. It is imperative that the boy be kept safe, and as long as Flint was at the school he was not. I can understand your actions, even if I cannot condone them. I am glad that I appointed you Harry's protector.”

“Hmm.” Severus said noncommittally, trying to ignore the pleasure he felt at the older man's approval.

“How is Harry doing, anyway?”

“I don't honestly know.” Started Severus hesitantly. “Sometimes he'll tell me things, and sometimes he won't. He is less fearful of me than he was, but still barely trusts me. He does not understand why I am still 'interfering,' as he puts it, and clearly wishes I wouldn't.” Severus covered a wince as he remembered the boy's words. 'I don't want a father, or a mentor, or whatever you're supposed to be, okay? If you'da just let me alone, I would've left you alone. Instead you're all involved and I can't do anything without getting into trouble. Why the hell would I want that?' Severus pushed that to the back of his mind and kept talking. “I do know that his friends have been asking him questions about his background, and it has caused problems. He is unhappy with them, and them with him. He fought with the youngest Weasley boy on Friday, and the boy has been ignoring him since then. According to his friend Blaise, he is also stressed. I believe it: I have gotten more reports from teachers in the last two weeks then the rest of the school year combined.”

“Reports of what?”

“Rudeness, mostly. He's not as bad with them as he is with me, usually, but that's not saying much.”

“He is disrespectful?”

“Frequently. He is most polite when he is most comfortable, or, conversely, most frightened.” He snorted in a parody of humor. “If you would call that politeness, anyway.” He continued. “I get the fewest complaints from Minerva, Filius, and Pomona, but even with them he has a tendency to get rude when confronted. Professor Binns doesn't complain at all, but then I doubt he would notice if the boy threw things at him. Harry is worst with Sinestra and Quirrell. Sinestra has taken an active dislike to him. Harry says Quirrell gives him a headache, but Minerva seems to think the boy fears him.”

“He fears Quirinus?”

“A lot less than he fears me, or especially Argus Filch, but yes.” Severus' frustration came out a little bit in that last, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache.

“Argus Filch?”

“Attacked Harry in the hallway. I told him if it happened again he'd lose a lot more than his job. He seemed to believe me.”

Albus looked at him seriously. “Of course he did. I believe you.”

“I don't suppose you'd consent to get rid of him?”

“No.” Albus smiled a bit mischievously. “And to clarify, you're also not allowed to kill him.”

“Alas.” Severus answered seriously, only his eyes betraying a light of humor.

“A problem?”

“How am I supposed to entertain myself with you around and the Dark Lord gone?”

“Good works.” Albus suggested. “Help elderly witches cross the street, volunteer at a bake sale-”

Severus tried to stave him off. “I don't do 'good works,' Albus.”

The old man just laughed at Severus' scowl and continued evilly. “Mentor a child...”

Severus opened his mouth to speak before closing it in outrage as Albus continued. “Truly, Severus, you are a terrible person. A Death Eater: out only for your own power and glory at the Dark Lord's side.”

Severus abruptly decided that he'd said all he needed to and it was time to leave. “If you have no further need of me-”

“Just one last thing.”

Severus had been starting to stand, but he sat back down. “Yes, Albus?”

“Don't get too frustrated, Severus. You really are doing a fantastic job.”

Severus hid his embarrassment. “Yes, sir.”

And finally he was allowed to leave.

“Master Harry Potter is in trouble again, sir?” Asked Kallie when she brought Harry his meal late Monday evening.

“Yeah.” Answered Harry, noticing that she was wearing a skirt and blouse made of the fabric he'd given her. She's probably the best-dressed house-elf in the castle. He thought proudly.

Kallie put her hands on her hips. “And what has Master Harry Potter sir done this time?”

Harry smiled. “I pulled off a wicked prank on Marcus Flint.”

Abruptly Kallie looked very worried. “You are the one that hurt Mr. Flint, sir?”

“Hurt him?” Harry asked, confused. “I didn't hurt him, I just messed with his robes. Did somebody hurt him?” He couldn't feel particularly unhappy about that, but Kallie seemed upset.

“Yes sir. Somebody hurt him real bad, sir. He's in St. Mungo's, sir.”

“Hmm.” That's interesting. I guess the contest is over, then? I wonder who won.

“So it wasn't you, sir?” Kallie said hopefully.

“No, Kallie. Snape got mad because Flint almost hit me, actually.”

“Mad at you, sir, or mad at Marcus Flint?”

“Both, actually.” Come to think of it, he seemed a lot angrier at Flint. Suddenly Harry had an awful thought. Snape wouldn't...he would. I know he would, if he had a reason. Not himself, maybe, but...Harry remembered his impression at the beginning of the term that Snape was a dangerous man. Later he had concluded that Snape was protecting him, but now he realized that that didn't make him any less dangerous. Is protecting me enough motivation to hurt Flint? Snape had protected him from Filch with threats of violence, and Harry had never doubted that the man would do it. But surely if Snape'd beaten up a student, or ordered it, or...whatever...he'd have lost his job? He didn't lose his job for starting that contest...Abruptly Harry didn't care. Flint's the bad guy. It's his own fault if somebody bigger came along to beat him up. Knowing whether Snape was responsible for Flint wasn't really important. Whether Snape had done it or not, Harry was willing to bet that he would, if he thought he had to. And if he decides the Dursleys are dangerous to me? Harry suddenly realized. They've done worse than Flint...if you count it all together they've killed me like six times. Tomorrow was Tuesday, and Harry'd had every intention of avoiding Snape entirely, but...I've got to talk to him. I dunno if it'll do any good, but...

Harry went to bed with that thought on his mind. Needless to say, he didn't sleep well.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Tuesday morning, the word was out that somebody had done to Marcus Flint what Flint had done to Harry. Students whispered in class and in the hallways about what was going on. Harry, Theo, and Blaise listened, and found that the older students' comments were the most interesting. The Gryffindors were quick to blame the Slytherins, because surely none of the Gryffindors could be so violent, but they weren't sure what to think beyond that. The Slytherins had beat up one of their own, in defense of one of their own. Harry was almost an honorary Gryffindor, however, so it almost felt like the Slytherins had beat up one of their own in defense of a Gryffindor. Besides that, the two houses had never been more united than when both were pranking Marcus Flint. The Gryffindors 'blamed' Slytherin for the beating because of their prejudices against the house, but the older students especially gave the act itself a certain grudging approval. As a result the whole thing left them largely confused. The Slytherins didn't entirely disagree that it was likely Slytherins who beat up Flint, because as far as they were concerned the Gryffindors were overall too idealistic to do what was necessary. They didn't even see it as an accusation, really, but as a compliment. Slytherin took care of its own, and refused to be ashamed of that.

Just before lunch, Harry was rather intrigued to find a large group of Gryffindors, including Percy Weasley, the twins, and Lee Jordan, in a corridor with their heads together, talking intensely. Harry was even more interested when they stopped talking as soon as he, or anybody else, got close enough to listen in. Most of the group were on the Gryfindor Quiddich team, but not all, and moreover Percy was actively contributing to the discussion. Finally the bell rang for lunch and they all walked away towards the Great Hall. Harry moved to follow before remembering that he was grounded and required to eat in the dorm. Damn you, Snape He thought as he returned to his common room. That could have been interesting.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

“Hey Harry!!” Theo bounced through the portrait hole enthusiastically, followed more sedately by Blaise. Harry grinned when he noticed the food that they'd brought with them from the Great Hall. Theo and Blaise had taken to eating with Harry in the common room instead of the Great Hall when he was grounded the last time, and apparently had decided to do so again.

“Hay is for horses, Theo.” Harry commented, earning a strange look and a shrug from both boys.

“Muggle phrase, Harry?"

"Yeah," answered Harry, blushing.

"Okay whatever. Guess what?!”

“What?”

“Okay, so, you know how we were tied with Gryffindor on the whole prank war thing?”

“Yeah...”

“Well the contest is over, 'cause Flint left, and WE WON!!”

“Wait, we won? Who got in a prank?”

“Nobody.” Put in Blaise, “Believe it or not the Gryffindors conceded.”

“They-why??”

“As they put it, 'you started the contest, and you finished it.' I think they didn't want to be too blunt and get Snape in trouble, but he started giving points in the first place, and everybody figures we took out Flint yesterday, so...”

“I can't believe they'd be that...well...fair.” Harry said. “I mean, sure Hermione figures we're all right, but other than that even Ron figures we're all backstabbing slimeballs.”

“I can believe it.” Said Blaise. “It was probably initiated by Fred and George. They made the announcement.”

“Maybe,” put in Harry, wondering. “They've been with us from the beginning. Come to think of it I saw all their pranksters talking together outside the Great Hall before lunch. They really conceded?”

“They really did. Stood up in the Great Hall and announced to the world that -and I quote- 'given that the goal of the operation was to get rid of Marcus Flint, and given that the contest was begun and the goal finally accomplished in a way that- well- can't really be awarded points- we concede victory to the Slytherins. Congratulations, your skill at underhanded doings is superior to ours'”

“He sounded just like the Minister of Magic.” Theo enthused. “'Your skill at underhanded doings is superior to ours.' It was great.”

“I don't think they meant it as a compliment, Theo.” Blaise commented, looking suddenly thoughtful.

“From the twins it is. Maybe they put it that way to appease the other lions.” Harry replied. “Did any of the Slytherins say anything?”

“No.” Answered Blaise, “But while the others were all looking at Fred and George, Fred and George were looking up at Snape, and he nodded to them.”

“To the twins?” Harry asked incredulously.

“To the twins.” Confirmed Blaise. “Never seen him look that friendly to a Gryffindor.”

“Dude it's like the sky is falling.” breathed Harry.

“Yup, and you're tearing it down.”

“Yes, Theo. I am entirely responsible for everything that goes oddly around here.” Harry responded sarcastically. He realized after a second that he sounded more annoyed that he actually was, and smiled apologetically.

“Perhaps not.” commented Blaise, ignoring the sarcasm, “but I agree with Theo. Snape's happy with the twins because they helped him help you, and it was enough to convince him to get over the grudge. I figure, he owed them. He can give credit where credit is due, if they can. Anyway, that's why we were late getting here.”

“Whatever.” Harry said, not wanting to talk about Snape or his grounding. “Do we know who beat up Flint?”

“No.” Said Theo regretfully. “Nobody does. He was just dropped off outside the hospital wing. Nobody saw anything, not even Flint.”

“Daaaaamn.” Commented Blaise, sounding impressed. “That takes some skill.”

“Flint claims Snape ordered it. That's part of why the Gryffindors are so sure it's us.” Added Theo.

Harry's eyes widened. “Why isn't Snape in trouble, then?”

“Nobody can prove anything. Lots of students saw that Snape was pissed at Flint, but then so were McGonagall and Flitwick.”

“McGonagall and Flitwick aren't Snape.” Harry put in.

Blaise looked at Harry, eyes as wide as his. “You think he did it.” He breathed. “You think Snape really ordered someone to beat up Flint.”

“I think it's possible.” Answered Harry seriously. “Don't you?”

Blaise paused thoughtfully. Theo looked confused, and finally said, “But he's a teacher, Harry.”

“Doesn't matter.” Said Blaise. He looked at Harry in a moment of perfect understanding, before a sudden realization made his eyes fill with horror. “Harry, your family- you don't think-”

“Maybe not if I don't want him to.” Harry answered. “I'm gonna talk to him.”

Blaise nodded briefly. “You'd better.” He seemed like he wanted to say something more, but Harry cut him off.

“He has no reason to go after them.”

“Of course not.” Answered Blaise sarcastically as Theo looked back and forth between the two of them in confusion. “I'm sure they're his very favorite people.”

Harry's eyes blazed. “I will talk to him, okay? Drop it.”

Blaise looked frustrated, but when Theo started talking about the day's charms lesson he went along with it without complaint.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus Snape looked up from the pile of fifth-year essays he was grading.

“Come in.”

His eyes widened slightly to see Harry come in and sit gingerly in front of his desk, but he hid it before meeting the boy's eyes. He never seeks me out, if he has another option. What is going on? Harry didn't say anything, though, and Severus quickly got impatient.

“Well?”

The boy seemed to be at a complete loss for what to say. “I heard- well, it's rumored-”

“Yes?” He encouraged, trying to hide his impatience.

“PeoplethinkmaybeyouorderedtheattackonMarcusFlint.”

Well that was...articulate. “I apologize, Mr. Potter, but I do not speak idiot. Try again.”

Harry glared at him and, just like that, got himself together. “There's a rumor that you were involved in what happened to Marcus Flint, sir.”

“I am aware. Do you have a point?” Severus kept his voice carefully neutral.

“It's just that-” Finally Harry gave up on being polite and spoke bluntly. “I don't think you like my relatives much, sir. I don't either, but I do not want them hurt.”

Perfect. He would make that connection. “You're not dumb, are you, Mr. Potter?”

Harry smiled inwardly, but spoke seriously. “My relatives, sir?”

“I am...unlikely...to physically hurt people just because I dislike them, Mr. Potter.” Snape said cautiously.

“With all due respect, sir," started Harry sarcastically, "unlikely is not good enough, and Flint wasn't hurt because of your 'dislike'.”

“Nobody can know for sure that he was hurt because of my anything, Mr. Potter.”

“I know that, sir." he said, lifting his chin. "But some might...figure it out...if my relatives are hurt as well.”

He's threatening me? Over this? Severus looked down at the boy, bewildered. “Why do you protect them?”

Harry abruptly lost his anger, and suddenly seemed as confused as Severus felt. “They're my family, sir. How could I not?”

I didn't protect mine. Reflected Severus morosely, but the boy was still speaking.

“Promise me you won't hurt them." Harry demanded, then paused before adding, "Please."

“You think my promise is worth something?” Severus asked, still confused.

“I don't know if anything you say is worth anything.” Harry said resentfully.

“Then why ask?”

“What choice do I have?" he finally asked angrily. "I can't prevent you from doing anything you might want to. So far you haven't wanted to, on a lot of those things, but that doesn't mean that you wouldn't if you did want to. You can do whatever you want.”

“I'm afraid I understood very little of that, Harry.”

“Fine. You're an adult, and a wizard besides. You want to hurt me, or my relatives, or anybody, then I'm screwed. The only measure of safety I or anybody has is that you maybe don't want to. Except I'm thinking maybe you do want to hurt my relatives, sir.”

“Perhaps.” Badly. And you're not improving the situation.

“So...please don't.”

Damn. “Very well. I promise.”

Harry's anger drained out of him. “I- Thank you. Sir.” He said, suddenly respectful.

“You're welcome. One question, though. Do you see all adults that way, or just me?”

“It's true of all adults, isn't it?”

“No, actually. Think about it, Harry. There may be adults willing to hurt you, and perhaps you can't do anything about it by yourself, but that is why you go find another adult.”

“Here maybe.” Harry admitted.

“Here?”

“At Hogwarts.”

“Not at home?”

Harry looked at him strangely. “No.” Duh.

“Why not?”

“Because it's different. Maybe here McGonagall or Pomfrey would protect me. Maybe. But nobody at home gives a damn what happens to me, as long as they don't have to deal with it.”

“Surely your teachers, or the school nurse?”

“Yeah, I tried that once.” Harry said bitterly. “Didn't work out.”

“How not?”

Harry sighed. How dumb are you? Of course it didn't work. “One of my teachers asked me where a bruise came from, and I told her the truth. My relatives told her a different story, and of course she believed them.”

“And so instead of protecting you your teacher got you in trouble with your relatives.”

“Duh. As you said, I am not dumb, sir. I learned.”

“Learned what?”

“Not to be so bloody naïve. Adults believe other adults, especially over obnoxious Fr-kids who fight with other kids and curse at their teachers.”

“And you didn't tell anybody else? Why?”

Harry lifted his chin and glared. “Why don't you guess, sir?”

“Very well.” Snape said bluntly. “I guess that your uncle beat you to within an inch of your life and you never told another soul.”

Harry's mouth dropped open. Previous to this they'd always spoken around what had happened to him. They had never talked about it so openly, and he had thought and hoped that they never would.

You don't talk about that. You don't ever talk about that.

He clenched his teeth. “It was a rhetorical question, sir.”

“But you did ask for a guess. I am tired of ignoring what has happened to you, Harry. You have to talk to me. Otherwise there's only so much I can do about it.”

Harry tightened his jaw even further and spoke coldly. “You can't do anything about it because nothing happened. Nothing, you understand? I got in trouble with my relatives for lying to my teacher about a bruise I got playing soccer in the backyard with my cousin. My aunt and uncle would never dream of hurting me.”

Severus was shocked. “You are lying.”

“You keep saying you want to protect me. In that case you damned well better believe me when I tell you nothing happened and back off. You know nothing, okay?”

“I know that somebody hurt you, Harry.”

“Yes.” Harry said furiously. “You know that somebody hurt me. Once. You don't know who, and you don't know if it happened more than once. You can't make me tell you anything, sir. You can't make me speak to you at all.”

Technically, I can. He wasn't going to tell Harry that, though. The boy feared him enough as it was. “That is true, but I don't have to. No matter what you tell me, your relatives will never hurt you again. I know you're angry and I know you don't want to talk to me, but I will protect you from them, Harry.”

Suddenly Harry remembered where the conversation had started and his anger turned to panic. “Don't hurt them!”

“I promise you, Harry. I won't hurt them if you do not want me to, but I will protect you whether you want it or not. They will not hurt you again.”

Harry just stared at him for a second, caught between anger and anxiety. “Whatever you say, sir. You got my message. I'm leaving.”

Yes, but you didn't get mine. Nevertheless Severus decided to give the boy a break. “Very well. Don't forget to apologize to your professors.”

Harry just left without saying goodbye.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Realizing that the next evening was his deadline to apologize to his professors, and that he didn't have Sprout's class before then, Harry headed straight for the greenhouse from Snape's office. He could see from the outside that Sprout was bustling around and messing with her plants, and reminded himself that this was the easiest apology of the day: he still had to talk to Quirrell and Sinestra when he was done. Steeling himself, he knocked softly on the glass. The Professor let him in and he gave her his (mostly memorized) spiel.

“I came to apologize for my behavior in your class. I have been unnecessarily rude and disrespectful. I apologize and will attempt to do better in the future.”

Sprout studied him for a moment, a slight smile on her face. “So who do I tell that you apologized?”

Harry smiled a little bit in return, relieved that she wasn't going to make a deal out of it. “Professor Snape.”

“Very well, I'll tell him. You're done.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Harry said sincerely, before turning and running back to the castle and Quirrell's office.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

“Professor Quirrell?” Harry's pulse raced as the man looked up at him.

“Ha-arry Pot-ter. What b-brings you h-here?”

He stutters so much he can't hardly cast spells. Harry reminded himself. If he comes after you you can just hex him. Harry carefully kept his gaze down to avoid the headache he got from looking at the man, and spoke. “I came to apologize for my rudeness in your class-”

“Qu-quite all r-right, M-Mister Potter. J-just do b-better in the future.”

Harry choked down his instinctive sarcasm and spoke respectfully. “Yes sir. May I be dismissed, sir?”

“G-Go ahead. I'll s-see you tom-morow.”

“Yes sir. Goodbye sir.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

“Professor Sinestra.”

“Mr. Potter.”

“I came to apologize for my behavior in your class. I have been rude and disrespectful. I apologize and I will try to do better in the future.”

“Oh, please. No you won't. You're an obnoxious little brat and you'll stay that way, won't you?.”

Harry clenched his teeth but stayed silent.

“Answer me.”

“No Professor. I will attempt to remain polite.” If only out loud.

“Don't you lie to me.”

Harry kept his tone as civil as possible and spoke slowly. “What do you want me to say, Professor?”

“I want you to be sincere.”

“Professor Snape asked me to apologize to you, Professor. I am doing what I can.”

“I am not convinced."

"Well, then, there is nothing I can do. I can either obey Snape or you, and, frankly, Snape can do a lot more to me than you can. And so I repeat. I'm sorry for being rude. I'll attempt to do better in the future. May I go now, Professor?"

"No. Ten points from Slytherin for your insolence and dishonesty.”

Harry gave up on holding his temper. “Very well, Professor. You want sincerity? I sincerely dislike you. You're as rude to me as I am to you and of the two of us I'm the more intelligent. Please do us all a favor and jump off of your tower, you unattractive, unpleasant HARPY.”

Sinestra stood and gasped like a stranded fish before grabbing Harry's arm and marching him down the stairs.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Snape answered the door promptly looked at Harry briefly before speaking neutrally.

“Good afternoon, Harry. Professor Sinestra.”

“Good afternoon, Professor Snape. You are responsible for this – rat?”

“The boy is my ward, yes.” Drawled Severus.

The words relaxed Harry marginally, as he remembered that when he was Snape's 'ward', he was probably safe. Sinestra didn't seem to pick up the implication. “Well would you deal with him, please? The boy's a complete delinquent!”

“Excuse me, Aurora, but I have a meeting with Minerva in fifteen minutes. Please release the boy's arm and tell me what he has done.”

Sinestra didn't loosen her grip. “He insulted me! To my face!”

“Release the boy's arm, Aurora.”

“Fine.” Harry relaxed as the pressure on his arm went away. Why's he being so...nice? He's not mad at me from earlier? “But he insulted me, Severus!”

“Oh? And what did he say?”

“He called me a harpy!”

Honestly, woman, you are a harpy. Severus lifted an eyebrow at Harry, and the boy shrugged. “I tried to apologize to her like you asked, but she wouldn't believe me, and took points for my supposed dishonesty. She asked me to be sincere, so I told her my opinion of her as politely as I could manage.”

Severus looked back to Sinestra. “Perhaps, Aurora, it would be wise to not ask for the truth if you do not actually want it.”

“The-what- Severus!”

Severus started getting annoyed. “What do you estimate that the boy has done wrong, Aurora? He tried to apologize, you asked him to be honest, he honored your demand. You cannot expect him to be both honest and polite when you've made the two incompatible. Perhaps if the boy's words bother you then next time you should settle for polite.”

“He told me to jump off of the Astronomy tower!”

Severus looked at Harry, and Harry shrugged again, smiling a little. “I said please.”

Finally Severus gave up and smirked. “Any other complaints, Aurora, or may I prepare for my meeting?”

“Fine.” Huffed Sinestra. “I'll leave.”

Harry and Snape watched as the woman stomped off, and Harry thought about the conversation. He listened to me. Isn't he mad at me?

“Thanks, sir.”

“You're welcome. Next time try to be more polite.”

“I did try, sir. She doesn't care if I'm polite or not, she's just out to get me.”

“All right. Are you finished apologizing to your professors?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Dismissed, then.”

“Thank you sir.”

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

“Good afternoon, Severus.”

“Good afternoon, Minerva. You wished to see me?”

“Yes, it's about Harry.”

Severus frowned. “There's a problem? I was under the impression that he was doing well in your class.”

“Oh, he is doing quite well, Severus, and with little or no effort. That is exactly the problem. I prepare an hour-long lesson on how to transfigure an animal into an inanimate object and he's finished before I've told him anything about how to actually do it. He does more advanced magic amusing himself while I teach the rest of the class than he does for the class itself. He's bored, and the other students are getting frustrated.”

“I see. What do you suggest?”

“Well, I was considering moving him up a year or two, but my second and third-year classes follow a completely different schedule than the first-years do. It would interfere with his other classes.”

“That's not acceptable, unfortunately. He has an easy time in Transfigurations and Charms, and he's acceptable in Defense, but his History of Magic grades are still abysmal, and he could do a lot better in Astronomy and Potions as well.”

“I did have another idea, but-”

“But?”

“It would require a fair amount of effort on your part, Severus.”

Severus frowned thoughtfully. “How so?”

“Harry needs training in his wandless magic as much as he needs it in transfigurations, Severus. I am willing to tutor him in transfigurations once a week, but someone needs to teach him wandless magic. And, well-”

“Yes?” Severus cut in impatiently.

“I figured you could use some time to just talk to him.”

“About his family?”

“Yes and no. About everything, Severus. So far he only sees you when he's in trouble.”

Severus stiffened. I'm doing what I can, woman. “He avoids me.”

“I realize, Severus.” Minerva conciliated. “That is why I propose you take an hour a week solely to talk to him. Just an hour a week when he can't avoid you.”

“He'll hate it.”

“Probably, Severus, but since when has that bothered you?”

Since it was him. Severus dismissed the thought quickly. “A point. So your idea is, instead of Transfigurations class three times a week, he has private tutoring in Transfigurations once a week, private tutoring in wandless magic once a week, and- what? Just talking?- once a week?”

“Exactly. It's a good plan.” Minerva said defensively.

“It is, actually.” Severus said thoughtfully, then raised an eyebrow. “I don't suppose you'd be willing to inform him for me?”

Minerva smiled. “Coward. How scary can an eleven-year-old be?”

“You, too, are a Head of House, Minerva. Have you observed nothing?”

Minerva smiled back. "Point taken. You are clearly much braver than I. Do please go and save me from the eleven-year-olds."

The corner of Severus' mouth twitched. "I take it you still won't tell him for me."

"No way."

Severus sighed. "Damn."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus waited until his normal Friday meeting with Harry to talk to him about his new schedule.

“No.” Harry stated flatly.

“No?”

“No. Tutoring in transfigurations sounds great, and I want to learn wandless magic, too, but there's no way I'm going to sit and talk to you for an hour once a week. Not happening.”

“Why not?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You may have missed it the last six times I said it, sir, but I am sick of you interfering in my life. It's bad enough that I have to talk to you at these stupid meetings, I won't do any more. No.”

Since when do you do anything for me willingly? “You may have missed it in my phrasing, Mr. Potter, but you don't have a choice. I'll remind you that the last time you tried to avoid me ended badly.” Please don't make this any more difficult than it has to be. I know you hate me.

Harry seemed caught between defeat and anger. “You're right. You can force me. You can force me to show up, you can force me to do all sorts of things. Given that you're a wizard, you probably actually can force me to speak and tell the truth.” Anger finally won out, and Harry's voice rose. “But damnit, sir, you objected on Tuesday when I said that's how I see you. You told me that you would protect me from that sort of thing.”

Severus stopped for a bit. Damn, he's right. He had known that Harry wouldn't like being made to talk to him. He hadn't thought the boy would see it as a betrayal. I can't force this. He realized. If he talks to me, it's got to be because he wants to. First things first, though-

“Language, Harry.” Harry just looked at him challengingly, and Severus decided to just continue, figuring it would be counter-productive to get angry at the boy now. “As it happens, you're right. I can force you to speak, but I am not willing. I propose a- compromise- if you will.”

Harry's look of challenge morphed slowly into one of wary confusion, and he spoke neutrally. “I'm listening.”

“I'm going to show you a room, and I'm going to require that you spend an hour there with me once a week. Beyond that, I won't require anything. In that room, for that hour, you do what you want: read, do homework, play, whatever. I would encourage you to talk to me, but if you don't want to I won't force it. If you do talk to me, you say what you want to. If you want to spend an hour throwing insults and curses at me, so be it. Nothing you say will get you in trouble.”

“Nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing. You say whatever you want, and I won't stop you.”

“I- okay.”

“Good.” Thank Merlin. With any luck, he'll even talk to me.He almost snorted. Sure, Severus. While you're at it, why not dream yourself a summer home in Tuscany?

This could be fun. Thought Harry.

“I'm done.” Harry shoved his books back in his rucksack and stretched out on the couch where he'd been working.

“You're done?!” Hermione exclaimed. “What about your Transfiguration paper?”

“Transfiguration paper?” Harry asked innocently.

“Your TRANSFIGURATION PAPER! The one due tomorrow?”

“Oh.” Harry said nonchalantly, pulling out the first toy car he'd made in class and 'pushing' it back and forth in front of him. “That paper.”

Hermione looked ready to have an apoplexy. “THAT PAPER?! You've had all weekend! Have you not even started it?”

“Nope.” At this point Blaise and Theo were listening to the conversation as well. Ron, Harry noticed, was still trying to ignore him, but seemed intrigued as Harry continued to play with his car. Hermione's eyes bugged as she realized that he wasn't pulling out any books.

“Are you not even going to try to write it?”

“Nope.”

Finally Hermione seemed to figure out that something was up. “Why?”

Harry smiled. “Relax, Hermione. I am not writing a paper for Monday because I do not have a paper due Monday. I'm not in that class anymore.”

Hermione did not relax. “You skipped ahead?! That's not supposed to be possible here. The scheduling doesn't work. It will screw up all of your classes!”

“No it won't.”

“Then how-?”

“If you would let me explain, then maybe you wouldn't be so confused.”

“Hmm,” said Hermione imperiously. “Go ahead then.”

“Thank you for your permission.” Harry retorted. “Anyway, McGonagall decided that I would waste less time if I skipped her class and got tutored instead.”

“Tutored? YOU'RE getting TUTORED? You don't even do any work!”

Finally Theo intervened. “He doesn't have to. Everybody knows he's the best at Transfigurations. Rumor has it that he managed to transfigure a whole suit of clothes.” He turned to Harry. “Is it true? You changed Flint's clothes in fifth-year Potions?”

Harry smiled. “Yup. Did his shoes, too.”

Hermione looked suspicious. “How'd you know Percy would be out that day?”

“Well I had...insider information...that Fred and George were going to...delay him... for that hour.” Harry said, trailing his eyes back and forth in mock-suspicion.

Theo looked absolutely delighted. “You got his brothers to kidnap him?!”

Ron choked out a surprised laugh. “You did what? BRILLIANT!”

Harry just looked at him for a moment, smiling a bit, while Hermione positively beamed. Ron's ears turned red as he realized that he'd spoken to Harry. “Well it was. What did you transfigure Flint's clothes into, anyway?”

“This outfit I saw in a store in muggle London once. A sort of short, bright green thing with strappy sandals. Kind of a trampy girl outfit, I guess.”

Blaise gave a slow, incredulous grin. “Are you telling us you dressed him in drag? I thought that was just a rumor!”

Harry blushed. “Nope.”

Hermione's mouth dropped open. “You transfigured all of his clothes? Where did you learn to do that?”

Harry shrugged. “Nowhere. I just...did it, I guess.”

“Which is why he's getting special Transfigurations lessons.” Theo put in. “He's brilliant at them.”

“So you're only going to have class once a week, Harry?” Blaise wanted to know.

“Twice. I also get lessons in wandless magic from Snape 'cause of all the weird stuff I was doing in Transfigurations when I was bored.”

“You mean like the car?” Asked Ron. “Is that really wandless magic?”

“Apparently,” said Harry, shrugging. “I was just fiddling, but then McGonagall looked at me like I'd grown an extra head and it turns out to be special.”

“Well sure it is,” said Theo. “I've never seen anybody else do on-purpose accidental magic!”

“Do what?” Asked Harry, amused.

“On-purpose accidental magic. It's like accidental magic, because you don't use a wand, but it's not accidental 'cause you're doing it on purpose.”

Only Theo. “Yes, Theo. I'm getting lessons from Snape in on-purpose accidental magic. Also known as wandless magic.”

“Oh.” Said Theo, sounding disappointed. “And here I thought it was something special.”

Hermione's eyes bugged. “Wandless magic is special. It's something only- well- You-Know-Who and Dumbledore can do.”

“Which is why he needs tutoring in it,” said Blaise.

“I...I guess.” Hermione admitted. “I just- darn it, Harry I would kill for special tutoring and then you do nothing and they just hand it to you!”

“Errm...sorry?” Harry tried, unsure what to say.

“Err – Harry, if only Dumbledore and the Dark Lord can do wandless magic, why is Snape tutoring you in it?” Asked Blaise.

“Good question,” responded Harry, “maybe because Dumbledore's too busy?” Thank God. If there's anyone worse than Snape it might very well be him. “He's been pushing for me to practice it before, so apparently he knows something about it.”

“Well,” said Hermione. “At least now you'll believe us that Snape's doing good things for you.”

“No, actually, Hermione,” said Harry, annoyed. “I mean, maybe the lessons are nice, but did I mention that I also have to hang out in a room and talk to him for an hour once a week?”

“Really?” Asked Ron, “Why?”

“No idea.”

Hermione huffed in exasperation. “Well it's obvious, isn't it? He wants to get to know you. He's probably tired of only seeing you when you've done something stupid.”

“Or brilliant,” defended Ron, ticking points off on his fingers. “There's the rainbow hair, Snape's office, the potions classroom, pretending to be Malfoy, and now Flint's clothes.”

“Yeah,” put in Blaise, looking directly at Harry. “And almost dying because he didn't have the sense to go to the infirmary when he was hurt.”

Harry met his eyes. “I said I was sorry.”

“But you still didn't say you'd do differently next time. My point is that maybe Snape has figured out that you need a grown-up to help you, and is providing it. It's not his fault you've got something against adults.”

“It's his fault he won't leave me alone.”

“Of course he won't, Harry.” Hermione put in. “If he cares about you, he's not going to just walk away.”

“Why not? He's got no reason to stick around, and he knows I don't want him.”

Hermione winced. “He can't just decide he suddenly doesn't care about you, Harry, just because you don't want him to.”

“Uh...Hermione? This is still Snape we're talking about, right?” Ron commented. “Even you've called him greasy git. I mean I'd maybe agree with you that he treats Harry different from the rest of us, but are we really so sure it's because he 'cares'? I know what I said after Harry was hurt, but still...so far all he does to Harry is yell at him and put him in detention.”

“Until now, when he's giving him special lessons and trying to get to know him better.”

“We don't know that's why he's doing it. Maybe he's just doing it because he's a jerk and he knows Harry'll hate it.”

“Ease off, Ron. That's our Head-of-House you're talking about.” Blaise interrupted. “You wouldn't want us slamming McGonagall.”

“Harry curses Snape all the time.”

“He's a snake,” put in Theo. “You're a lion.”

“And in the wild we'd eat each others' young,” intercepted Harry. “This does not mean we have to argue. All the Lions hate Snape. It's in their nature.”

“And in yours, apparently,” said Ron, grinning. “So we're all one big happy family.”

“Yeah, we're Slythindors. Or Gryfferins, if you prefer. Anyway, now that we've agreed to not eat babies, can we talk more about this tutoring thing?” Asked Theo. “Who cares why Snape is doing it, it's cool! Harry might be as powerful as the Dark Lord!”

“Or Dumbledore!” Yelped Ron frantically.

“Or like neither of them,” said Harry, “and I don't care. Wandless magic is great and all, but the last thing I want is more fame, or more time with Snape. I'd just as soon not be able to do it at all if it's gonna draw attention.”

“But-” Hermione started.

“And I don't want to talk about it anymore.”

“All right, Harry,” inserted Blaise, “so how's Quiddich going? Is it a problem that Flint's gone?”

“I hadn't thought of that!” Exclaimed Ron. “You don't have a captain!”

“Yeah we do. We voted Miles Bletchley into the position 'cause he was the one that thought of running Flint into the Whomping Willow. Then we just pulled in one of the secondaries to take Flint's chaser position and voilá, problem solved.”

“You chose your leadership based on who thought up a prank?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Sure,” said Blaise, “why not? Think about it, Hermione. A team captain needs to be creative and charismatic. Miles was able to think up the idea and lead the others to follow it, and so he takes leadership.”

“That sounds more like a coup than a vote.” Hermione objected.

“And what's wrong with that?” Asked Harry, “Miles had the drive needed to take the position, and Flint didn't have the strength to keep it. Let the best man win, I say.”

“But that's totally barbaric!”

“The whole team took part in the prank, Hermione.” Ron pointed out.

“Oh, great! So it's not a coup, it's a mutiny.”

“A merited one.” Blaise said, meeting her eyes coldly. “He was no captain. Or had you forgotten that he beat up one of your friends?”

“Two wrongs don't make a right!”

“But two rights make a semicircle...” started Theo

“Two wrongs keep Harry alive, Hermione!”

“...and two semicircles make a circle...”

“And if that's not what Harry wants?”

“...and two circles make a figure eight...”

“'Harry' is right here, Hermione. Why don't you ask him?”

“...and two figure eights make a butterfly!”

“All right, fine. Is it, Harry? Do you want people to- to beat people up for you?”

“No.”

“See?!” She said to Blaise.

Blaise met Harry's eyes. “I do. Now ask him if he wouldn't do it himself.”

Hermione's mouth dropped open and she turned back to Harry. “Well? Would you?”

“That would depend on who it was.”

“And you, Blaise?” Hermione's voice sounded thin, shrill. What's she so stressed about? Harry wondered, before listening to what Blaise had to say.

“Beat on someone who beat on me or my friends? Sure. I can't, but I would if I could. What do you think we mean when we say Slytherin house takes care of its own? You hurt one of us, you hurt all of us, and we'll hurt you back. Why do you think nobody messes with us?”

“So, Flint?”

“Deserved what he got. Absolutely.”

“But he's one of yours!”

“He forfeited that when he attacked Harry. The older students protect us.”

“And attack students of other houses.”

“Only Gryffindor, actually. The Ravens and Puffs don't mess with us, or us with them. We only fight with Lions 'cause you fight with us. You just don't like it because we're practical and escalate faster than you do, so we win.”

“You're brutal, you mean.”

Blaise shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “Only if attacked.”

“That's revenge, not defense.”

“Not against the previous attack, maybe, but it makes people a hell of a lot less likely to attack you the next time, doesn't it?”

“Who's going to attack you?” Asked Hermione incredulously.

Harry exchanged a look with Blaise. She's never going to get it.

Finally Ron shrugged uncomfortably. “So...can we go back to talking about Quiddich?”

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus walked back and forth three times in front of a space of blank wall distinguished only by an ugly tapestry across from it in the corridor, thinking in the most open terms possible of what he was looking for. He couldn't even put into words what he was thinking of. If he'd tried, he might have said a-room-for-dealing-with-Harry, but then he had very little idea of what 'dealing with' might entail. He'd discovered in the past that unless the item sought was very specific (a toilet, for example), it was best to present the room with a general problem and let it decide what it should look like. It would come up with things that you'd never have thought of yourself.

This time, when Severus opened the door, he wasn't terribly surprised by the result: a smallish, high-ceilinged room with two couches and a desk. The height of the ceiling was a bit odd – closer to thirty feet than to ten- and there was a strange undersized door in the wall furthest from the couches, but otherwise the room just looked like a miniaturized house common room. It even had the right shades of green and silver. Is this where the boy is most comfortable then? Severus wondered idly. Or is this for my sake? That was what was wonderful about the room of requirement: it knew what you needed before even you did. Severus had heard tales of a student that came to hide in the room after getting hurt, only to find himself delivered to the infirmary without knowing how he got there. It was almost like the room had a mind.

Severus smiled smugly at Harry, who was staring around at the room with wide eyes. Shows him. Severus thought. Harry had been openly skeptical of the walk up the stairs to the seventh floor ('dude, you've got magic enough to create a fake ceiling for the Great Hall and windows in the dungeon, and you can't make the place handicap accessible?') and of the odd pacing required to make the room appear, and so Severus was somewhat gratified by his response now.

“But there was no door.”

“No, there wasn't.” Severus answered.

“Then what'd you do?”

“Magic.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I figured that much. What did you do? You didn't wandlessly conjure the whole room, after all.” He didn't sound nearly as sure as the words might suggest.

“No, I didn't.” Severus confirmed. “I just asked it to appear. It is called the Room of Requirement, because it is there when you require it, and not when you don't.”

“Why would you want a disappearing common room?”

“Who said it's a common room?”

“Nobody. It just looks like one.”

“Come out then.”

“What?”

“Come out. I'll show you.”

Harry left the room, giving Severus a strange look on the way by. Severus then walked three times in front of the door again and motioned to Harry.

“Open it.”

Harry gave him another strange look before opening the door. This time his mouth dropped open as he stared out at a beautiful grove of trees, to all appearances outside in the moonlight. It was 3:00 in the afternoon.

“What the-?”

“It can be almost anything you ask for. Just think of it, and walk past the entrance three times, and when you open the door it'll be there.”

“Anything?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Why don't you try it?” Suggested Severus.

And so both went back out, and Harry walked three times in front of the door. Curious despite himself, Severus walked in behind him before stopping with confusion at the edge of a huge pit. Looking down, then out, his eyes widened at what he saw. The room was huge, and filled six feet deep with colorful, fist-sized, hollow plastic balls. As he looked on in incomprehension, he saw Harry climb a short set of stairs to a small diving board and leap off as if into a pool. Playpen balls flew everywhere and Severus finally understood. He's playing. I didn't even know he did that. Suddenly getting a strange idea, Severus slipped away.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

“You four. Come with me.” The four looked at each other questioningly, but got up as asked and followed him.

“Are we in trouble?” Asked Theo bluntly.

“No.”

“Okay...wait! Did something happen to Harry?”

“No. He is fine.”

“Then where are we going?”

“You'll see.”

“But-”

“Unless you wish a detention, Mr. Nott, you will desist from your questioning. You will know in a few moments.”

Finally they arrived at their destination, and Severus walked back and forth thinking of the room with the ball pit. Soon enough a door appeared, and the Potions Master opened it for the four children.

“Inside, all of you.”

They all hurried in, and before long Severus heard Theo's joyous shout.

“Harry!”

“Theo!” Harry answered happily. “How'd you get here?”

“Snape brought us.”

“Us?”

“He came to find all us 'Slythindors' in your common room.” Put in Hermione primly. She radiated satisfaction like a happy cat. Her expression and tone practically screamed 'I told you so.' Harry was happy to see her anyway, though. Ball pits got more fun by measure of the number of people in them.

Slythindors? Wondered Severus. That's a term I'd never expect to hear. Surprisingly appropriate, considering these five...

“Hi guys!”

Harry looked up as Theo jumped happily into the ball pit. Ron looked up at Severus once before shrugging and following Theo, leaving Hermione and Blaise with Severus.

“Well? Go on.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Hermione, apparently ignoring his annoyance. Surprised, Severus looked down at the bushy-haired know-it-all and allowed her to see his confusion.

“For what, Miss Granger?”

“For Harry,” she said simply. “I at least know you're trying to help. Maybe now he'll notice, too.” She jumped in without saying another word, leaving Severus gaping.

“Who knew? An intelligent Gryffindor,” commented Blaise, before turning towards the ladder and climbing down.

Left alone, Severus sat down in a lawn chair he suddenly noticed in a corner of the room, and left the children to their strange games.

Some time later, Harry looked up and realized that his 'session' with Snape was long since over, and that he was getting tired.

“I'm getting kinda bored. You guys want to return to the common room?”

“Snake or Lion?” Asked Blaise.

“Can we go upstairs this time?” Asked Ron, “I left my bag in my dorm.”

“Sure.” Said Harry. “Let's go.”

On the way out Harry looked over to Snape, confused. I thought for sure he'd get mad when I jumped in, but he went and got the other Slythindors. It reminded him of when the man had had Tonks come in to teach him about being a metamorphmagus, even though Harry was supposed to be in detention and Snape didn't like her. Why does he do that?

“Thank you, sir.”

“You're welcome, Harry.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

“So let's see what you're capable of, shall we?” McGonagall offered. “What's the most difficult thing you've transfigured?” It was Harry's first private Transfigurations lesson, and he got the dubious privilege of sitting across the desk from the Deputy Headmistress in her office.

“Um...” Harry blushed, hesitant to speak of his prank in Potions with his stern Transfigurations teacher. “I...um...I transfigured Flint's clothes.”

“Yes, I had heard something of that. And which items did you transfigure?” She asked, no trace of reproach in her voice.

Harry breathed a slight sigh of relief and answered her question with more confidence. “All of them. Well-” he blushed, “everything I could see. Even his shoes.”

“With or without a wand?”

“Without. I dunno how to transfigure stuff using my wand.”

McGonagall gaped at him. She hadn't noticed that. “You've been working without your wand all term? From the very beginning?”

“Yeah. I tried it first week with the incantations and stuff, but it just seemed to get in the way...”

“All right.” McGonagall said, recovering. “Far be it from me to tell you stop doing things the way that seems most natural to you. In fact, let's start with that. What do you find the easiest for transfiguration?”

Suddenly Harry realized that Professor Snape was the only adult in the school that knew of Harry's metamorphmagus abilities. To his relief, those students and adults that knew Harry had disguised himself as Percy had assumed that an older student had helped him in some way, or that he had somehow gotten a hold of something called a 'Polyjuice Potion'. McGonagall wouldn't know just how 'natural' transfigurations could be.

“Errrm...”

“Well, Mr. Potter?”

“Well...”

“I assure you, Mr. Potter, that you are not the first student to use his magic to break school rules. Out with it.”

“It's not that, it's just-” Could he tell McGonagall about his abilities? Snape hadn't reacted badly when he'd found out, so maybe it was okay? “It's a little...freaky.”

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”

Dude, you're worried that Petunia wouldn't approve? Like everything else here would be her favorite thing. You're a real fucktard, you know that? “I've done it for a long time, is all. It- it scares my family.” Like talking to snakes, and making glass disappear. Luckily it was just a boa, really.

“I see.” McGonagall said, suddenly softening. “It's alright. Nothing you show me will get you in trouble, all right? And none of it will leave this room if you do not wish it to.”

“You won't tell?”

“I will not.”

“Not even Dumbledore?”

“As long as it is not dangerous, not even him.”

“I- I don't think it's dangerous. Snape already knows, and he didn't seem to mind.”

“If Professor Snape already knows, then I'm sure it is nothing to worry about. Will you show me?”

“Okay.” Figuring it for the easiest, given the circumstances, Harry concentrated hard on McGonagall's appearance. He soon found his mistake, as his robes ended up much too short. Blushing, he gripped them in one hand and pictured the professor's robes as well. It was an easier transfiguration then Flint's clothes, as all he had to do were some alterations to fit and color, rather than changing the fabric itself, and soon Professor McGonagall found herself staring at...Professor McGonagall, sans glasses.

“I'm very impressed, Mr. Potter, though I do wonder why Professor Snape did not apprise me of this. Surely your Transfigurations professor could know that you are a metamorphmagus?”

“He...he brought Tonks to see me. She taught me some stuff.”

“Oh. That's even better, then. Interesting. Miss Tonks was quite good at Transfigurations as well, though I don't believe she ever tried it wandless. Perhaps she should.” McGonagall seemed lost in thought, for a moment, and Harry took the opportunity to change his appearance back to what it had been, with one small change. Now that he didn't need to hide, he changed his hair to a style he'd been playing with in the dorm the night before and decided he liked better than the previous waves: long, straight and unruly black with rainbow flecks. Unfortunately this was just the thing to regain the professor's attention.

“Mr. Potter, unnatural hair colors are against the school's dress code.”

“It's natural to me.” Harry pointed out.

“Perhaps it is. Nevertheless I think that the intent of the rule is clear. I realize that these sessions are unusual but you are in class. Choose a single color, please.”

Harry concentrated and turned his hair bright red.

“I don't think so, Mr. Potter.”

“Please?”

“No. You are in class. You may have your hair however you want it outside of class.”

Harry obligingly turned his hair Malfoy-blond and his skin green. What I wouldn't give for a mirror. I probably look like some sort of martian.

McGonagall glared at him. “Have you ever heard about following the spirit, as well as the letter, of the rules?”

“I've never been much for rules in any sense, Professor,” Harry admitted, still green.

“Very funny, Mr. Potter. Now change back before I get cross.”

Finally Harry stopped messing around and set his skin and hair normal before growing his hair down his back to his waist. “Okay?”

“Fine. I am curious, though – why so long?”

“Well, I have so much choice, why should I have it the same every time?”

“True, but then I haven't seen it short since you first changed it.”

“Like I said,” Harry answered evasively, “I have a choice now.”

Minerva decided to let it go. “Alright then. Next week in class we are going to transfigure feathers into feather dusters.” She handed Harry the feather. “Now-”

She broke off. “Do you realize how frustrating that is?” She asked, accepting the feather duster from Harry.

“Errm...sorry?”

“No, don't apologize. The week after next we'll be transfiguring...”

By the time forty-five minutes had passed, they had gotten through the curriculum for the entire term, and both McGonagall and Harry were getting tired.

“All right, Harry, since we've covered the practical side of the first term, we'll start on the theory. I want you to read the first thirty pages of your textbook and be prepared to summarize it for me orally by next week.”

Harry dipped his quill into the ink pot and began writing down the assignment, but ended up with a huge ink blot on the thick parchment. This is ridiculous, he finally realized, touching a finger to the parchment to make a pad of paper. Trying once again with the quill, however, Harry ended up with an even bigger mess than before as the large blot of ink spread out into the absorbent paper. I. Hate. Quills. In a fit of pique, Harry gripped his quill firmly and transfigured it into a flimsy ball point pen, and set it to paper. Damn it no INK. Gripping the inkwell and pen together between his hands, Harry tried again.

Minerva watched in astonishment as Harry forged three different elements- the glass inkwell, the ink, and the transfigured quill – into a strange, pre-inked glass 'quill' before jotting down his assignment on the pad of strange thin parchment with a satisfied smile.

“What did you just make, Mr. Potter?”

Harry smirked. “A pen, Professor. Welcome to the 20th century.”

“This is a muggle object?”

“Yup. It's like a self-inking quill except it has a limited amount of ink and doesn't drip.”

“That would be...quite useful. May I see it?”

“Sure. Just don't undo it. I don't really know what I did.”

“I assure you, Mr. Potter. I will not damage it.”

Harry handed it over, and McGonagall looked it over for a bit before handing it back and waving her wand at her own quill, adeptly transfiguring it into a pen of her own. “Thank you, Mr. Potter. You are dismissed.”

Harry sat across the desk in Snape's office, once again waiting anxiously to see what was going on, though this time he supposedly wasn't in trouble. He'll find a reason. He reflected morosely.

“All right, show me what you can do.”

Harry looked up at Snape. “Anything?”

“Anything. I want you to work with your magic, to stretch your boundaries. Wizards usually use wands to focus and amplify their magic. Your ability to do without indicates that you are a very strong wizard – all that is left after that is concentration and experience and you should be able to do anything wandless that you can do with your wand. Possibly more, because you don't need to know a spell to tell your magic what to do. So – play around with it, see what you can do.”

Harry thought for a bit and then pulled a hand-full of acorns out of the pocket where he'd stuck them earlier. The shape and feel of them had appealed to him at the time, now he realized they'd work to transfigure into other things. Concentrating, he first gripped one of the bigger ones and concentrated on enlarging it. It got bigger for a bit, but then split down one side as Harry realized that rather than enlarging the whole thing, he'd been thinking about blowing it up like a balloon. Damn.

Taking another acorn, Harry transfigured it into a hollow rubber ball before blowing it up the same way. When it was about the size of a large apple, he held it in his hands and turned the surface yellow before getting a- well- brilliant - idea. He held the ball in his hands and focused on making it glow. After about five minutes of concentration, he realized that the ball was quite warm and the rubber was getting sticky. Damn, damn, damn. Putting the ball aside quickly, Harry remembered the only spell he knew dealing with light, and cast the brightest lumos he could consciously manage, brightening up the room considerably. Grasping the tip of his wand, he concentrated on the act of grabbing the tip of his wand and pulling the light off of it, succeeding in transferring the narrow point of light onto his right index finger after the third try. Looking back at the now-cool ball, Harry held it in his left hand and concentrated. His light went out at the split concentration, but the ball turned clear. Sighing, Harry tried skipping a step, and casting lumos wandless. It worked, to a point, but still lit up his wand instead of his finger or the ball. Why am I not surprised? Thought Harry. Only transfigurations ever work the way they're supposed to.

Mastering his frustration, Harry once again 'pulled' the light off the tip of his wand and onto his finger. Now to just get it in the damned ball. He thought. Angry, he shoved the light into the ball. For a split second he felt a force escape his hand into the ball – too much force – and realized he had no idea how to take it back. Harry watched in horror as the ball escaped his hand and started bouncing madly all over Snape's office. Within seconds it took out a lamp and several empty potions bottles, knocked an inkwell over on the man's desk, and and started smearing ink over every surface it hit. But it's glowing, at least... Harry winced as a particularly large blotch of ink was deposited on a map of the public floo system that Snape kept on his office wall. Unable to think of what else to do, Harry threw up a hand and shouted, “come back here!” Next thing he knew, Snape was ducking as the ball whizzed past his head at an incredible speed, and hit Harry's hand hard.

“OW! Damnit! Stupid thing!” He almost threw the ball away from him in vexation before looking at it for a moment, smiling, and throwing it straight down onto the hardwood floor. As predicted, it bounced right back up into his hand, and Harry grinned up at Snape.

“I made a bouncy light-ball!”

“So you did.” Severus said weakly, looking around at the destruction in his office with a mix of horror and awe, before relaxing. It's not permanent. “Well done. Do you think you could do it again?”

Harry ignored the warmth brought on by the man's praise. “Probably. I think I- I felt what I did, with putting the light in, so hopefully I won't have to be so- err- forceful- next time.”

“One would hope.”

Harry looked around at the office and back at Snape. “Umm...maybe we should do this in the Room of Requirement, too?”

“Perhaps.” Severus conceded, repairing the lamp and cleaning up the ink with a wave of his wand. The desk would always be a bit stained, he noticed, but otherwise it was an easy fix. God forbid my desk get an ink stain on top of the potions stains. When he looked up, he noticed that Harry was watching him, clearly anxious. “Nothing a house-elf won't be able to remedy.”

“Hmm.” Was Harry's only comment, but Severus noticed his shoulders relax a little and decided to call it a win.

“All right, we have approximately twenty minutes left. I imagine you would appreciate a pause?”

Harry thought about that. Really? “I get a break?”

Severus looked at the boy strangely. The boy works magic like it's taffy for almost an hour and doesn't think he needs a break? “You've been working for forty-five minutes. Am I incorrect in assuming you need one?”

Forty-five MINUTES?? Suddenly Harry realized that he was really, really tired, and getting a headache. “Oh...yeah, I guess...I mean no, I'd like a break. I'm kinda tired.”

“Food?”

“Huh?”

“Do you want something?”

“Oh. Maybe...could I have some juice?” Worst he'll do is say no. Snape just lifted an eyebrow.

“Pumpkin? Cranberry? Orange?”

Harry relaxed. “Orange.”

“Would you like something to eat?”

“No, I'm okay.”

Severus smirked a bit. We'll see. “Kallie.”

The house-elf popped into view between the two. “Master Snape, Master Harry. You is needing something, sirs?”

“Two glasses of orange juice, a tray of biscuits, and a bowl of grapes, please.”

Snape eats biscuits? Harry wondered. He'd never pictured the man as someone with a sweet-tooth.

When Kallie came with the juice, a large tray of various biscuit varieties, and a beautifully-arranged platter of sliced fruits, Snape handed Harry a plate and motioned him towards the food.

“You should eat something. You'll need the energy after the work you just did.”

Oh. It's for me. Harry realized. “Err...”

“Master Harry, sir, you is barely eating lunch! You must eat something, sir! Would Master prefer pumpkin pastries, sir? Or cucumber sandwiches?”

“Kallie, I'm fine!” Harry protested, smiling at the elf's attitude. “I'm not hungry! I'll eat some grapes, you don't have to-”

Kallie set her little hands on her hips and leveled Harry with a firm glare. “It does not matter if Master is hungry or not, Master is still skinny. Master is eating grapes and biscuits, and drinking his juice.”

Harry sighed, defeated, then smiled teasingly at the house-elf. “Yes ma'am.” As usual, the moniker made Kallie smile.

When she left, Harry cautiously grabbed a couple of biscuits and a bunch of grapes, surreptitiously watching Snape as he did so. The man remained neutral, though, and so Harry turned his attention to his food. A moment later, Kallie popped back in, this time with a glass of milk.

“Aww Kalliiie,” Harry complained. “I hate milk!”

Severus watched as the unusually bossy house-elf got Harry to eat and drink with barely a struggle. The two compromised on the milk, and Harry finally drank half of it with a grimace and some more halfhearted complaints. She's right...he is still a bit skinny. He realized. He looks a good deal better, though...and I know he's not been eating well at meals in the great hall. House-elves liked to feed people. I should have been doing that. Harry wouldn't have let him, though.

When Kallie finally left, Severus turned towards Harry. “So, how did you end up with a house-elf?”

Unexpectedly, Harry lifted his chin a bit and answered defensively. “None of your business.”

He's nervous for some reason. “Well, no, I suppose it is not, but then it is hardly a difficult question, either. I am not about to take her away from you.”

“You're not?”

Harry's response startled the professor. What's going on? “No, why would I?”

“Why wouldn't you?”

Severus suppressed a wince. “Harry, even if I wanted to I couldn't. She is yours. There is only one way to break that bond.” Abruptly Severus remembered the simple but well-made clothing the house-elf typically wore, “but then, you seem to have sidestepped that, as well. How did you manage to give her clothing without freeing her?”

At this, Harry smiled, a hint of pride showing through his lingering anxiety. “Easy. I gave her a sewing kit.”

“Clever.” Severus opined. It really was, actually. He'd seen house-elves dressed in togas and simple wrap-skirts made out of dish-towels and the like, but had never made the connection between that and a way to give the house-elves real clothing. Perhaps I should have. He realized. As a child he had made fast friends with 'Small-Nose-Elf' in the Hogwarts kitchens, but he had never freed her, and when she had died when he was in fifth year, he had not attempted to make friends with any others. As he grew up, he had stopped noticing them. Harry had noticed enough to put thought into a way to give his own house-elf proper clothing. The simple, thoughtful, gift conveyed a world of messages of which Harry himself was seemingly completely unaware. It was charming, and telling.

Harry's relationship with his house-elf was interesting. Far from seeing Kallie as beneath him, he almost seemed to regard Kallie as a superior. It hurt Severus to see that Harry automatically assumed that everyone he met ranked him, but in this case Severus figured it was a healthy assumption. The students ought to obey them, Severus realized. Until watching Harry with Kallie, he hadn't thought of it, but, after all, the house-elves were significantly older and more capable then the Hogwarts students, or even then Argus Filch.

“So, how did you end up binding her?”

He says he won't take her...but he doesn't know she's stolen, yet. Harry shook his head. “Why do you want to know?”

“Mostly curiosity. I had a friend who was a house-elf when I was a student here. It never occurred to me to bind her, though, and I knew more about the wizarding world than you do. I am curious to know how it happened that you would end up with a house-elf within two months of getting to Hogwarts.”

HE was friends with a house-elf? “I – I didn't mean to.” Harry finally admitted. “She was a friend. I just wanted to give her a present.”

Oh. Thought Severus. Of course. That's why he's nervous, too. He probably thinks he stole her. It was a little known fact that the house-elves at Hogwarts were bound to the entire school – students, faculty, and staff alike. Originally, it had been set up that way such that they would obey whoever gave them an order, and so be useful to everyone, but it left a huge loop-hole: because they belonged to everybody, the elves could be freed by anybody. Dumbledore was aware of this, of course, but had decided that it was a good thing, and left it as a way for the elves to find new homes if they so desired. After all, if they got freed by accident and didn't like it they could always go back and be re-bound.

“You gave her clothing?”

“Yeah.” Harry said softly. “A blouse that Hermione shrank too much by accident. But then she was really really happy and asked me to name her and I didn't figure out until afterwords that I...stole her.”

“You didn't.”

“Huh?”

“You didn't steal her. The headmaster set it up such that students could free the house-elves if the elves so desired. She's rightfully yours.”

Harry frowned at that, but couldn't really think of a way to say that she didn't belong to him. He did feel how she was bound to him, after all, had seen how she had to obey him. Still, though - “she's not mine, she's just-” and there his ability to explain escaped him.

To his surprise, the Potions Master nodded thoughtfully. “I understand. She is bound to you, but she is her own person. I simply meant 'yours' in the magical sense; 'yours' as in bound to you, but it goes both ways. Perhaps you belong to her, too.”

Harry smiled a little, thinking of how the crazy little elf had adopted him. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“When did you meet her?”

Harry's smile turned mischievous. “World War One.”

“Excuse me?”

“Second week, while I was gathering allies and places of refuge in preparation for an attack from Germany.”

Severus shook his head. Infuriating child. “I still don't follow.” Severus knew what World War I was, of course, having been raised in a half-muggle household, but the metaphor Harry employed was lost on him nevertheless. What does World War I have to do with anything?

Harry sighed and spoke bluntly. “In the second week of the term, when I was avoiding yo- your detention, I took to hanging out in the kitchen instead of going to the Great Hall. The first time I went, Kallie met me at the door and gave me food.”

“How did you find the kitchens?”

“Fr-umm...some friends knew where it was.” He didn't know if Snape would be angry at the twins for helping him avoid detention, and he certainly couldn't tell the man about the Marauder's Map. Better safe than sorry.

Fred and George Weasley, probably. If anyone would know where the kitchen was it would be those two. “I see. That would be the 'gathering allies' part, I presume. Am I Germany?”

Harry lifted his chin proudly for a moment, smirking. “Yeah.” Then he relaxed a little as he realized, “...well, you were, but then I lost...so I guess you ended up being the Central Powers.”

“Then the kitchen and the Gryffindor common room would be the 'places of refuge?'”

Harry smiled, a little embarrassed. “Yeah.”

“All right. How did you get past me, anyway?”

Harry remembered the moment and smiled broadly before concentrating on Snape's voice. “Cutting it a little close, aren't you, Miss Woodman?” Harry said, mimicking Snape's usual cadence to go with the voice that he'd adopted.

Severus gaped at him. “I thought she'd already come in!” And that is so creepy...

Seeing Snape so surprised gave Harry a feeling of great satisfaction. Emboldened, he admitted, “I didn't know how to do the voice, yet, though, so I couldn't talk.”

“You still fooled me, though. Impressive.” Severus said thoughtfully. He couldn't get mad about it, not a month after the fact, and so decided to be amused. Harry continued to surprise him. Slythindor, indeed.

Harry grinned. Maybe he belonged in Slytherin after all. Nothing else he did seemed particularly bright, but he had some skill at 'underhanded doings', as the twins would put it. And he's not mad. He realized. The man seemed strangely pleased that Harry had managed to get by him. Bizarre. Well, I guess he is a Slytherin.

Finally it was almost time for Harry to go, and Severus finished the last of his orange juice before asking curiously, “Was the 'bouncy light-ball' your final goal for that project of yours, or was it a step towards something else?” Given that Harry had seemed surprised when the ball turned out to be a good toy in its own right, Severus figured that it had not been Harry's goal, but perhaps he had just been messing around.

“No, I was making something else.”

“Good. For homework, then, I want you to finish it and bring it to show me next week.”

Harry wrinkled his nose a bit- homework?- but didn't protest. If he was honest, he really wanted to finish it, anyway. I'll just make a new light-ball first. He decided. I don't want to ruin this one. He couldn't wait to show it to Theo. Come to think of it, I could probably turn his hair back colorful if he wanted it...I'd have to make him promise not to kill me if it all fell out, though...

“Okay. I can go, then?”

Severus sighed. And this is him being relatively polite. Still, though, the boy had been surprisingly cooperative for the lesson.“Yes. You may go.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

“Really?”

“Sure. I mean, if I screw up-”

“I don't care! Do it! Pleeease?!”

“You have no survival instinct, do you?”

“Nope. My Da says I would jump off a bridge just 'cause it was fun, let alone if somebody else did first. Come on! It was your idea!”

“Your father gonna come after me if I set it on fire by accident?”

“No, he'll just figure it was my idea.”

“You'll take all responsibility for this.”

“Yup. Come on! Do it!”

“Okay, okay. Here goes.”

Harry pinched a lock of Theo's hair in two fingers and concentrated. It turned the desired blue easily enough, but only the strands pinched in Harry's hands. Harry sighed in frustration, but Theo, watching in a mirror, looked up in delight.

“Hey cool!! Could you do the next bit red?”

And so it was that by the end of a half-hour, Theo's hair was as colorful as a clown's, different locks turned red, blue, green, yellow, orange, or purple depending on Theo's fancy. Theo was over the moon, but Harry bit his lip in anxiety, certain that he would catch trouble for this somehow. It's the weekend. It doesn't break any rules until Monday. He reminded himself. He had to smile at Theo's antics, though, as his excited dorm-mate ran around the Gryffindor common room showing off his new hair. It'll be worth it. He decided as he had so many times before. Especially seeing as we have Potions on Monday... Hopefully Madame Sprout wouldn't make Theo turn it back before he wore it into Snape's class. It had been too long since he'd last pulled Snape's tail. He knew he was playing with fire, but it was worth it. Snape would know perfectly well that it was Harry's doing, and yet have no basis on which to punish him. Just too bad for him that he seems to need a reason. Harry thought, smiling. Even if it's a dumb reason. He won't punish me just for pissing him off.

Startled, Harry considered the thought, and realized it was true. The man always explained what Harry had done to anger him, and he always had a reason for what he did, even if Harry didn't agree with it. It was...nice...knowing when he did and did not have to worry about being in trouble. At home, it was best to just assume he was in trouble and hide if his uncle was there. His aunt would help, sometimes, if he'd been nice to her during the day and not done any magic; sending him outside to work in the garden or paint the shed even though they both knew he'd already finished the chore. He didn't particularly like Snape, but he knew by now that he didn't have to hide from the man. He could even bait him, and he was finding it more and more fun to do so, now that he was learning just how far he could push Snape without getting anything beyond a detention or two. I should do something for Halloween. He realized. I could do the best costume EVER.

Done with Theo, Harry turned his attention back to his project, pulling out the old light-ball and a new acorn. Rubber first. He remembered, and proceeded as before, finishing in twenty minutes what had previously taken forty-five. He smiled. Now to move forward. Hmm. He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he considered, and finally decided to make his 'earth ball' before working on the two together. Decided, he created a new rubber ball, about the size of a marble, and colored it with blue and green patches to approximate the planet 'earth' that would eventually rotate around his 'sun.' Putting the new ball aside, he moved back to concentrating on the light-ball, before realizing that he'd finished the 'easy' part of the project- the transfigurations – and the rest would be as hard as putting the light in the ball had been, or worse. He groaned. I'm never gonna get this done.

Determined nevertheless, Harry first concentrated on making the light-ball float. It shot across the common room, almost hitting Prefect Stone. Harry ducked a little, apologetically, and the older boy just threw the thing back with a tolerant air. Figuring it best not to have his only-semi-controlled magic flying around the common room, Harry moved his project upstairs into the dorm. Half an hour later, he found he could shoot the ball all over the place, and even up, but couldn't control it without using his hands to 'push' it around. Since he wanted the thing to float independently, this was not an option. Damn. Damn damn damn. Stupid magic.

Finally, he put a forefinger under the ball and 'pushed' upward, finally getting the ball to balance an inch above his outstretched finger. From there, he moved his hand as if he were spinning a basketball, quickly getting the ball to spin in midair. Unfortunately, it was still 'stuck' to his finger, instead of floating free the way he wanted it to. He passed a finger underneath the ball to try and 'cut' the connection to his finger, but as soon as he did the ball fell into his hand. Whatever. I give up. Tired and frustrated, Harry shoved the whole project in his trunk and went down to lunch.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

“Blaise knows something the rest of us don't, doesn't he?”

“No.” Harry realized a second too late that his answer sounded way too aggressive to be believed.

“He does, doesn't he?” Hermione asked again quietly. “You just don't like talking about it.”

Harry ignored her in favor of pretending to read his Charms book. He never read in the Great Hall, though, so the farce was obvious. Or at least it would have been, had Hermione been paying any attention to Harry's body language. Leave me alone. You don't think I've lied to you enough?

“You punched Blaise after he talked to you, and then Ron, when I asked you about why you hated adults so much,” she continued thoughtfully.

Fucking know-it-all. What does it take for you to get the message? “Why don't you ask Blaise?”

“He'd never tell me anything you didn't want him to.”

“Oh really?” He talked to Snape. “And why would I tell you anything I didn't want Blaise to tell you?”

“Well why'd you tell Blaise, if you didn't want to talk about it?”

That rankled. “I didn't.” He figured it out all on his own.

“Oh.” That seemed to quiet her for a moment, and Harry focused his attention back on his book.

“You still haven't answered why you hate adults so much.”

“No I haven't.” Congrats, you have figured out what I don't want to talk about. One would think that would lead into leaving it alone.

“Why don't you?”

Harry was starting to wish he'd not invited the Gryffs to the Slytherin table that day. Blaise and Theo hadn't yet arrived, and Ron had chosen to sit with his brothers, so Harry was stuck with Hermione, who was taking the opportunity to harass him.

“Because I don't want to.” Duh.

“Why not, though? I can't understand why you won't tell us. If there's nothing wrong, then you have nothing to hide, so-”

“So anything I don't want you to know is public property, Hermione?”

“No, but if you were in danger, or something, it would be my responsibility to find out.”

“You think that, do you?” You and Blaise and the rest of the world, apparently. Am I really the only one that thinks privacy is worth something?

“Please, I just want to know what adults have done to you! It looks bad, Harry, it really does.”

“What does? What are you seeing that looks so 'bad', Hermione? Do I look like there's something wrong with me, or something?” Harry watched as Blaise entered the hall. If I just hold her off for a second or two-

“No, but honestly, Harry, don't you hear yourself? You hate adults, you expect Snape to turn on you when he's clearly defending you at every turn, you hid from him in the Gryffindor common room for a week when you had detention-”

“And he's asked you repeatedly to let it go,” Blaise finished, “and so now, being a good friend, you will.”

“How can you say that, Blaise! Do you know what's going on? He could be in danger, real danger, and you think I should just let it go?”

“Yes. Honestly, Granger, you think if Harry's got a problem you're going to do a better job of fixing it than Snape? Now who doesn't trust adults?”

“I do trust Snape, I'm just-”

“Curious. You're not trying to help Harry, you're just prying. Let it go.”

Hermione stared at Blaise, tight-lipped, while Blaise stared coolly back, until Hermione let out a clipped, “fine,” and bustled off.

Harry watched her go for a moment before whispering, “thank you.” When he met Blaise's eyes, though, the other boy responded only, “I will help keep your secrets, Harry, but don't think I have forgotten. If Snape weren't already involved...”

“But he is. Back off.”

Blaise seemed unperturbed. “I'm not gonna leave just because you want me to. This is more important than that. I won't let you be in danger.”

Touched, but unwilling to show it, Harry just nodded and spoke slightly more politely. “I got it. Back off.”

Blaise smiled slightly and went back to his meal, allowing Harry the silence he craved.

“Mr. Nott, that colour is not appropriate for the classroom. Please return your hair to dress-code standards.”

“Sorry, sir, but I can't do that.” Theo smiled cheerfully, seemingly completely unaware of Snape's dour mood.

“You can, and you will. Now, Mr. Nott.”

Finally, Theo ducked his head respectfully. “No, I mean – I really can't, sir. I don't know how.” Despite his words and body language, he didn't sound remotely regretful, and the students who knew Theo well had to suppress their snickers.

“Mr. Nott, we are two months into the school year. Surely by now you know how to reverse your own spells?”

“Well, that's the thing, sir,” Theo said with a certain pride. “I didn't do it. Dunno how. Wish I did, but-”

“I understand, Mr. Nott,” said Snape, meeting Harry's eyes questioningly. Harry gave him a carefully innocent look and the man's eyes narrowed. “Who did do it, then?”

Theo looked at Harry questioningly, and Harry nodded slightly, smirking. Theo jerked his head at Harry. “Harry did, sir.”

“Mr. Potter. Why am I not surprised? Reverse it, please.”

Harry nodded at Snape before leaning over to whisper to Theo. “What color do you want it to be? Just choose something mostly natural.”

Theo grinned hugely and obviously. “How about Malfoy-blond? I'd love to watch him argue that it's against the dress-code!” Harry grinned back. “Can do.”

Gripping as much of Theo's hair as he could, Harry tried picturing his magic flowing over all of Theo's hair as he pictured his nemesis' almost-white hair. With an ease that surprised him, Harry felt Theo's hair respond to his demand, turning a perfect, glowing, white-blond.

Severus watched the two boys plot, sighing to himself. Of course he couldn't just do it normally. Why in Merlin's name would I have expected that?

When he saw Theodore Nott's hair turned a borderline-unnatural shade of blond, he gave Harry a fierce glower. “Mr. Potter that is-” Catching himself just in time, he gave Draco's hair a brief glance before changing what he was going to say. “...not Nott's normal hair colour.” He almost cursed as he watched Theo and Harry exchange grins. All right, Potter, you win this round...He shook his head. Slythindors.

“You just said it had to conform to the dress-code, sir. There's no rule against overly-blond hair,” contributed Theo. “Otherwise-”

“I am aware, Mr. Nott, thank you.” Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to stave off a headache. No need to rub it in. Merlin, I've been outsmarted by a couple of eleven-year-olds. The whole class was snickering by now, and Draco was livid. “Very well. Turn your books to page 258, and start brewing. Silently.”

Hehee. Thought Harry. I win. At that moment, Ron handed a scrap of parchment back. Harry looked it over for a moment before starting to grin. It held a chart similar to the one Fred and George had used to keep score in the contest against Marcus Flint, and said:

Who can be a bigger Pain-in-the-Ass? Snape vs. Harry:

Harry:

colorful hair - 5 pts

animals in office - 15 pts

animals in classroom - 10 pts

impersonating Malfoy in class - 10 pts

changing Theo's hair to Malfoy's - 5 pts

Total: - 45 pts

Snape:

Detention x 16 - 3x 16 = 48 pts

Grounding - 10 pts

Total: - 58 pts

At the bottom, Ron had written a note: You're falling behind, mate. Get it together!

Harry smiled and wrote: You forgot my giving him the slip that first week, and painting his office door hippy colors...you might want to give him points for generally gitness, too, though.

He passed the note back, and saw Ron writing furiously. A moment later, the note came back.

Harry:

colorful hair - 5 pts

animals in office - 15 pts

animals in classroom - 10 pts

impersonating Malfoy in class - 10 pts

changing Theo's hair to Malfoy's - 5 pts

colorful office door - 5 pts

1 week successful avoidance - 15 pts

Total: - 60 pts

Snape:

Detention x 16 - 3x 16 = 48 pts

Grounding - 10 pts

General gitness - 10 pts

Total: - 68 pts

Sorry mate. You're still behind. Maybe you should hex him or something?

Harry wrote back: Not creative enough. He'd get more points for the number of detentions he'd assign then I'd get for the original prank.

Ron wrote quickly: True. Oy! You can turn into Malfoy, can you turn into Snape?

Harry sighed. That would be great. Nevertheless he wrote back: He's too big.

Ron didn't seem disappointed, though, when he wrote back. Even better! What if you did a mini version??

Harry almost laughed aloud, but shook his head, writing back, Are you trying to get me killed, or something?? Come to class as mini-Snape?! He'd murder me! It would be fun in the meantime, though...I'll think about it. What are you being for Halloween, anyway? Do wizards dress up?

Before he could pass the note again, however, he felt it yanked from his hands. Ron looked up at the same time, and both watched as Snape lifted a hand from his grading to catch the note.

CRAP!! We are so screwed!

Snape didn't comment right away, however. Harry watched anxiously as the man read the note, and wrote on it, before coming to stand in front of Harry. When Snape just stood there, Harry lifted an eyebrow in imitation of Snape's own classic look. You gonna say something, or not? To Harry's surprise, the man didn't say anything, just handed the note back and returned to the front of the room.

Curious, Harry read down the note, noting several places where Snape had altered the note. It now read:

Harry:

colorful hair - 5 pts

animals in office - 15 pts

animals in classroom - 10 pts

impersonating Malfoy in class - 10 pts

changing Theo's hair to Malfoy's - 5 pts

colorful office door - 5 pts

1 week successful avoidance - 15 pts

Total: - 60 pts

Snape:

Detention x 17 - 3x 17 = 51 pts

Grounding - 10 pts

General gitness - 10 pts

Total: - 71 pts

You're falling behind, man. Get it together!

//Murder is...vulgar. Surely as creative a mind as yours would realize that I would come up with something more interesting than that to deal with this sort of prank, Mr. Potter? I would advise you to reconsider your actions. And yes, some wizards do dress up for Halloween. If you were wondering, I am not among them. While you're passing notes, please advise Mr. Weasley that you both have detention with me this evening at 7:00. Do not be late.//

Harry sighed. 7:00 was right after his 'talking' session with the man this afternoon. All told, he'd be stuck with the man for four hours that evening. Git.

When Harry arrived at the Room of Requirement, Snape had not yet arrived. I'm early. Damn. Now what am I gonna do? Getting bored quickly, Harry thought back to his conversation with Ron.

Eleven points behind. Hmm...He'd used his metamorphmagus abilities, and some of his transfiguration. He'd used Fred and George's help to the utmost. He'd even tried potions, which failed miserably. I need new material. He decided. I just don't have enough to work with. That day in Charms they'd been learning sticking charms. I wonder if I can do it wandless? It didn't feel too complicated... Curious, Harry put his hand to the wall, and willed it to stick the way the objects they'd used in class had.

As Harry had half-expected, having learned the charm in class made it relatively easy to reproduce wandlessly, and he soon found himself stuck by one hand to the wall. Well that's useful. He thought sarcastically. Brilliant, Harry. You can reproduce the tongue-stuck-to-cold-pole effect without a wand. Fan-frickin'-tastic. Then he had another thought. Removing his hand from the wall, he stuck it up higher, and stuck the other hand a little further down from it. Quickly kicking off his overly-large sneakers, he then stuck one foot to the wall about eighteen inches up off the floor, and pushed up off the floor as if climbing a climbing wall, but with no hand-holds. Sticking his second foot higher than the other one, he released his hands one by one to stick them higher on the wall. Awesome!! I wonder how high I can get? Snape would arrive in any minute... I wonder if I can get to the ledge by the time he gets here? Leave him to wonder how I got up there!

Climbing as quickly as he could, Harry continued the hand-hand foot-foot until he was up the wall. When he got to the ledge, he looked down and realized that he'd climbed nearly thirty feet in minutes. Awesome. I'm like a gecko, or something!!

Suddenly Harry heard the door open. He's here. Wanting to see, Harry stuck his head out of his alcove to look at Snape. No sooner had he done so, however, then Snape looked up and met his eyes.

Severus heard a slight noise and looked up to meet Harry's eyes. He felt his eyes widening as he realized that the boy had somehow ended up on a ledge thirty feet in the air without any sort of ladder that he could see. Surely by now you'd have learned to expect the unexpected, Severus. It's not that strange.

Carefully giving no indication of the nervousness he felt seeing Harry sitting on a small ledge thirty feet in the air, Severus greeted stiffly. “Potter.”

Harry smiled insolently and responded in kind. “Snape.”

“Professor Snape.”

“Mister Potter.”

“Harry.”

“Severus.”

Severus sighed. I can't win. “Just – come down from there, please, Mister Potter.”

Harry looked down at the ground, thirty feet away. “Err...how?”

Severus almost smiled. Not so smart, after all, Mr. Potter? You shouldn't climb something if you cannot get down again. Idiot child.“What do you mean, how?, you succeeded in getting up there, did you not?”

“Yeah.”

“So do the opposite of what you did to get up, and get down.”

As a slow smile appeared on Harry's face, Severus felt his nervousness increase. What did I say?

Harry again looked down the wall towards the ground, and realized that he wasn't all that scared of the height. 'Do the opposite of what you did to get up,' he says. Can do.

And so Harry reached down to stick his hand as far down the wall as he could, listening with one ear as Snape started to protest. “Potter.” Ignoring this, Harry set the next hand down next to the first, and stuck it there. “Potter, what-” It took some maneuvering to get the first foot stuck over the ledge, and it took a bit for him to get up the courage to shift his weight onto his stuck hands to do so, but eventually Harry managed it. When he was done concentrating on that, he looked down at Snape again to find the man looking absolutely dead white, but no longer protesting. Sticking his other foot to the wall next to the first, Harry concentrated on climbing headfirst back down the wall. Once he got used to it, he found the sensation even more fun then climbing up had been. I can climb walls, and talk to snakes. Now I just have to learn to lick my own eyeballs and I'll be all set to join the world of the reptiles...Maybe I should be a gecko for Halloween.

When Harry got to the ground, he found Snape staring at him, and still white. He watched as the man loosened up slowly and put away his wand before sitting heavily in one of the chairs.

“Err...sir?”

“Warn me next time.” Was all the man said. He didn't seem angry, just- suddenly exhausted.

“You told me to do the opposite of what I did to get up...”

“I didn't mean it literally.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

“It worked, though, didn't it?”

“It did.”

“So what's wrong with it?”

Finally Snape looked up at him. “Do you have truly no survival instinct, child?”

Child? “What's that got to do with anything? I wasn't gonna fall. I stuck my hands and feet to the wall.”

“And it didn't scare you to crawl headfirst down the wall?”

“A little, I guess, but I had to get down, didn't I?”

Severus just shook his head. I give up. “I suppose.”

“So...can I go back up then?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Because my heart can't take it. “Because I said so. Sit down, please.”

Harry frowned at him but complied, sitting down on one of the couches and tucking his legs up in front of him. “Fine.” Abruptly Harry remembered that he'd brought two of the three Shakespeare books to return and dug them out of his backpack.

“Here.”

He put them on the low table that stood between his couch and Snape's without comment.

“Did you like them?”

“They were okay.”

“Just okay? You seemed to really like the Shrew, before.”

“I did, 'till Petruchio ruined her,” Harry retorted.

“What do you mean?”

“He made her all polite n'stuff. She was so cool before!”

“Are you certain that that is what happened?”

“Sure, I mean, she made that whole speech to that goody-two-shoes Bianca about polite behavior.”

“And if it was an act?”

An act? “Why would she do that?”

“Think about it. What did she gain by speaking to her sister in that manner?”

“Nothing. She acted like a good little princess and her bastard of a betrothed won.”

“Language, Harry.”

“You said I could say what I wanted.” Harry reminded him, suddenly realizing that he was talking to the man. If he starts acting like a git, I'll stop. He can't make me talk. He kind of wanted to, though, at the moment, if he'd get up the courage to admit it.

Snape nodded. “True. Anyway, Petruchio did not necessarily win. That's one interpretation, but there are others.”

Harry was curious despite himself. “Really?”

“Yes. For example, many have speculated that Katherina cooperated with Petruchio in order to humiliate Bianca, and that the two had in fact become allies.”

“Hmm. Didn't seem that way to me.”

“Very well. You are entitled to your opinion. What of the other one? Did you enjoy Twelfth Night?”

Harry couldn't help but smile. “I liked that one better.”

“You enjoyed the prank, I presume.”

“Yup,” Harry said, “it gave me tons of ideas.” Actually...I wonder what Trelawney would think if she started getting love letters from Snape? He'd heard hilarious tales of the loony professor from the twins. I bet they'd help me with the forgery, if I ask...hmm...'my inner eye predicts great things between us'...eww. Or maybe he should do it with Sinestra. That'd get both of them. Ugh. That's even grosser.

Snape's face was impassive. “Oh joy. I live to give my students ideas.”

“You can only blame yourself.” Harry pointed out, “You didn't have to give me the books.” I'm glad he did, though...

“Too true,” Snape acknowledged wryly, “I do appear to be slipping. Must be those narcotics.”

Harry smiled. “I did warn you against them, sir.”

“You did. Again I find I can only blame myself. Speaking of which, I notice that you haven't returned Macbeth. Are you reading it?”

“Not yet,” Harry admitted, biting his lip, “they're kinda hard to read so it's slow.”

“That's not unexpected. Even adults find Shakespeare's language difficult at times. I expect Macbeth will take you even longer, as it is not so light-hearted as the other two, and as the plot is arguably more complicated. Feel free to come to me if you get confused.”

“Just not about the potion.” Harry stated, remembering Snape's challenge to him to find out what it was.

“All the clues you need are in the text. Any help I would give you would make it too easy.”

“Okay.” Harry acknowledged. I can always just not do it, it's not like it's an assignment or something. He did enjoy a challenge, though, and this one sounded like it could be fun.

After a minute or two, Severus decided to break the silence. “So what was it that you made the room of requirement provide, last time?”

“You mean the ball pit?”

“Presumably.”

“It's a muggle thing. They have them at McDonald's and stuff, so that parents can get rid of their brats for an hour or so if they want to.”

“I take it you like them.”

“Yeah. I'd never played in one before.”

“How did you know you'd like it then?”

“I dunno. I just wanted to try it. Dudley always liked them.”

“Dudley is your cousin?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you get along?” Severus wanted to know.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“'Cause.”

And the conversation died again. Is there anything in that household that the boy is willing to talk about? Finally he decided to change the subject.

“So, what happened between you and Professor Sinestra?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked warily.

“Well, the two of you do not seem to get along...what happened?”

“I guess...sorta like what happened in the first Potions class, sir, except more...hysterical.”

Severus lifted an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

(Start flashback)

“Malfoy, Draco.”

“Here, Professor Sinestra.” Malfoy answered unctuously. Harry almost gagged.

“Nice to see you again, Draco dear. How is your father?”

“Quite well, thank you Professor. He sends you his greetings.”

Sinestra smiled. “Yes, do tell him I say hello.” She looked back at her schedule.

“Nott, Theodore.”

“Theo.” Theo corrected cheerfully. “And I'm here.”

“Death Eater family,” Sinestra commented mildly. “Your father kill anyone lately?”

Theo looked down, frowning for the first time since Harry had met him, but stayed quiet. Well if he's not going to say anything.. “And how about Mr. Malfoy, Professor, or is it okay that he's a Death Eater 'cause he's so pretty?” I am such an idiot. Why do I always have to get involved?

“Lucius Malfoy is a very respected figure, Mr...?”

“Potter, Harry.” Harry said contemptuously, hearing the whole class swivel to look around at him, and ignoring it in favor of staring back at Sinestra. “Son of a muggleborn and a pureblood, and raised by a couple of hideously ugly muggles, since you seem to care. Does it matter?” Aaand I get myself in trouble yet again. Am I really that dumb?

“Apparently,” Sinestra retorted, voice going a bit shrill, “it does. Your parents may have been brave, Mr. Potter, but you're a worthless little rat, while Draco here has clearly been raised to higher standards.”

Who're you calling rat, bitch? “I suppose it depends on where your values lie, Professor. I'm not the one that seems to enjoy kissing Malfoy ass, after all, I'm just trying to defend my friend.” And yup, I really am that dumb. Then again, Sinestra didn't seem like either a 'Vernon adult' or a 'concerned adult' – more like an 'idiot adult.' She won't do anything.

“A Death Eater.”

So my parents don't matter, 'cause I'm such a little shit, but Theo's dad makes him a Death Eater, and Malfoy's, a saint? Doesn't she realize how screwed up that is? “A Death Eater's son, just like Malfoy, and it doesn't mean shit about who he actually is. Malfoy's a pureblood, and I'm mixed, and we're both obnoxious little 'rats' as you put it.” Finally Harry decided to give up. He'd said his piece. “Whatever.” Harry said, sitting back. “I'm here.” The professor seemed to want to say something, but then just checked off his name and moved on.

Theo smiled at him, whispering, “Real friendly, there. Way to make her feel the love.”

Harry whispered back, “Well what do you want me to say, 'here I am my most lovely and attractive professor, please allow me to kiss your luscious butt-cheeks?' I thought you didn't like Malfoy.”

Theo and Blaise both choked, snickering, while Theo whispered back, “please say that? Please?? You'd be my Knight in Shining Armor! I'll even pay you!”

“Sorry to disappoint, Theo, but I don't think even I am dumb enough to take pay to piss off a professor that badly on the third day of class. I think I've gone far enough. Feel free to do it yourself, though. I'll write a nice sympathy note to your family.”

“Nah,” said Theo, “this is Sinestra. My Da said she can teach okay as long as everybody stays cooperative, but she mostly just screeches if they don't. He says her voice could peel paint.”

“Misters Potter, Nott, and...” Sinestra looked at her clipboard, “...Zabini. Would you care to share your conversation with the class?”

Blaise stared at her impassively, while Theo just smiled, completely unrepentant. It was Harry who spoke. “Not particularly.”

“That was not a request, Mr. Potter.”

Harry shrugged, tense but careful not to show it. “It sounded like one.”

Sinestra's voice started to get shrill again. “Well it wasn't. Explain, Mr. Potter.”

In for a penny, in for a pound...“Very well, actually, we were talking about you, Professor, and whether kissing ass was worth the effort. My cohorts here were explaining politely that perhaps I should be more friendly, and I, obviously, disagreed. Lovely an ass as I'm sure it is, I'm pretty sure that I'd rather get in trouble.” Theo better be right about this woman...

“Language Mr. Potter! And- how dare you! You- you foul-mouthed little shit!”

Yup, he was right. “Oh fine, call me names. While you're at it, you forgot 'Freak', 'little bastard' 'shithead', and 'punk-assed cunt'. You're not gonna bother me, trust me. And who're you calling foul-mouthed, anyway? You started it.”

(End Flashback)

“And so...yeah. We didn't get along so great after that.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “I can imagine.”

“Hey, she called me a worthless brat before I called her anything.”

“True.”

“And a lot of my language was about me, not her!”

“Also true. That does not make me any happier, however.”

Harry frowned. He's not gonna punish me is he? That was WEEKS ago! “Why?”

“I've told you before that I did not want you referring to yourself in that manner, have I not?”

Damn. “This was before that!”

“Yes, and as such you're not in trouble, but that does not mean that it doesn't bother me.”

“Hmm.” Why should it bother you if it doesn't bother me?

Severus decided to move on. “Do your relatives actually call you all of those things?” I suppose that's where he learned the language...

“Sure, among others. Well, mostly Vernon, I guess. Aunt Petunia doesn't like cursing. She just calls me Freak, or Rat like Sinestra does.”

“And this is supposed to be an improvement?”

“Sure,” Harry said, feeling inclined to defend his aunt, “Petunia's lots nicer than Vernon.”

“How so?”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again and shook his head. What could he say, really? That she fed him, sometimes? That she didn't hit as hard? That she always missed when she swung the frying pan at him, like it was just for show? That she kept him away from Vernon sometimes? I'm not that stupid, thanks.

“You won't answer?”

Harry shook his head again. Sorry, but you don't tell people things like that. You just don't. “I don't want to talk anymore.”

Harry found himself tensing up again, nervous after the turn the conversation had taken, and so when Snape just sighed, he tried almost timidly. “Can I go?”

“The hour is not yet over.”

Harry slumped in his seat, kicking his feet unhappily. “I know.”

Severus sighed again. He did talk to me. That's got to be worth something. “Ask politely.”

“Hmm?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Ask again, politely.”

Harry perked up. “May I go, sir? Please?”

“Very well. You're dismissed. Just don't forget to come back for detention.”

Harry stood outside Snape's office with Ron, even more reluctant than usual to enter. Ron's presence helped, but Harry still felt unsettled from the brief conversation with Snape only half an hour before, and he knew that Snape would be mad about him not paying attention in Potions. All in all, it was not a good setup, and Harry felt anxiety tense his shoulders even as he knew that nothing real would happen with Ron there. He knocked.

“Enter.”

Snape was standing in front of his desk, and Harry went in and walked up to stand in front of him as usual, Ron at his side. He gave Snape blank-face, and Snape looked back at him, seeming puzzled, but didn't press, instead asking, “Mr. Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of Asphodial to an infusion of Wormwood?” The question was asked with less vitriol than the previous time, and Harry looked at him in confusion. What's this about?

“I don't know, sir.”

“How about you, Weasley?”

Ron looked up, clearly startled, and stuttered, “I d-don't know either, sir.”

“That is interesting, both of you, considering we went over both ingredients in class today.”

Ron went a little green behind his freckles, but Harry just shrugged. He'd known while he was talking to Ron that he wasn't absorbing anything from the lesson, and it came as no surprise that Snape knew it as well. There was no reason to get any more nervous than he already was over it, especially with Ron there. The only thing that bothered him, and he couldn't quite figure out why, was that Snape had called him 'Mr. Potter' again. He usually didn't, in private, and Harry figured it was probably for Ron's benefit, but it still felt strange. Then he looked into Snape's eyes, and something else bothered him: the man looked...unhappy. Not angry, precisely, but...not happy with him. He found he didn't like it, and looked away.

“Well, Gentlemen?” Severus finally asked, “Anything to say?” When neither boy answered, he prompted, “Mr. Potter?”

Harry looked back up. “Harry.”

“Pardon?”

“My name is Harry. You use it in private, you can use it around Ron.”

Severus looked at Harry for a moment, surprised. He cares what I call him? That was...strange. Encouraging. Dangerous as hell. “You are correct. I apologize, Harry.” Ignoring the Weasley boy, whose eyes were like to pop out of their sockets, and Harry's own somewhat confused reaction, he continued. “Anything to say, Harry?”

“No.”

“Mr. Weasley?”

Ron shook his head, still looking shell shocked.

“Very well. Come with me then, both of you.”

He lead them back to his classroom, and pointed them towards a large pile of dirty cauldrons he had prepared, explaining that the potions prepared in them were too volatile to be cleaned off magically. “Which means, of course, that you'll have to scrub them by hand.”

Ron groaned, but Harry didn't comment. Scrubbing was something he could do.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Two and a half hours later, Severus called both exhausted boys up to his desk to talk. “What do you have to say for yourself?” When neither chose to answer, he prompted, “Harry?”

“I was writing notes in class.”

“Yes, you were. And?”

Harry spoke neutrally. “I really don't know what you want me to say, sir.”

“I'd like you to at least acknowledge that your actions were disrespectful.”

“Fine, I was disrespectful.” He didn't sound particularly repentant, and Severus closed his eyes in frustration. Patience, patience. “Harry...”

“Why do you care? It's not like we were disrupting the class, or anything.”

“I didn't say you were. I said you were disrespecting me. You will apologize, please.”

“No.”

“Or you will spend the next half hour with your nose to the wall.”

That made Harry pause. He looked at Severus, and then subtly at Ron, then back at Severus. The plea was muted, but nevertheless clear: Not in front of him, please. Severus just raised his eyebrows, - then you'd better behave. - and Harry had to admit defeat. “Yes sir.” Damn you. Snape acted as if it was completely the same to him whether Harry apologized or went to the corner, but Harry knew which he was actually looking for. Snape knew perfectly well that Harry wouldn't choose the corner, just as Harry knew that 'neither' was not an option. Clenching his teeth, Harry bit out his apology. “I apologize for my behavior, sir.”

Snape sighed, and met his eyes, that look in them even stronger than before, even though he still didn't seem particularly angry. “And you will you do differently next time?”

Harry looked away, suddenly tired of arguing. “I'll try, sir.”

“Better.”

Harry straightened up as Snape transferred his attention onto Ron. “And you, Mr. Weasley?”

“Sorry sir,” Ron hastily said, eying Harry incredulously, “Won't happen again.”

“See that it doesn't.”

“Blimey, he's like nice to you,” Ron commented once the two of them were out of detention and back in the Slytherin common room with the other Slythindors.

Not this AGAIN. Harry groaned. “That was nice??”

“Are you kidding? Compared to how he'd treat me if I talked to him that way? I'd have another detention, at least! I can't believe that you're still alive!” Ron exclaimed.

“Ron, I survived turning his hair rainbow and filling his office with farm animals, it's not that surprising that I survived detention.”

“Okay, maybe not, but that's not really my point. I mean, sure, you get away with a lot, but he's also nice to you. Didn't you notice?” The others looked up at that, curiously.

“Umm...he made me scrub cauldrons and apologize to him for talking in class?”

“He apologized to you! He didn't insult you once! He didn't even insult me while you were there! And you – you made him call you Harry! He calls everybody by their last name. All the professors do!”

Harry frowned thoughtfully. “Yeah I- don't really know why I did that, honestly, but he usually calls me Harry.”

“And it bothers you when he doesn't,” Blaise pointed out, suddenly thoughtful.

Harry grimaced. “Don't worry: if I start to like him you have my permission to give me a quick and painless death.”

Blaise emitted a noise that was halfway between a snort and a cough, but didn't answer. Harry turned back to Ron.

“Come on, Ron, you're a Gryffindor, and you hate Snape. Surely you can conceive of putting honor and reputation before common sense and killing me if go insane?”

“Hey!! Just 'cause I'm a Gryffindor doesn't mean I'm an idiot! Snape would kill me!”

Harry snorted. “You're no help. Anybody else?”

“Harry,” Hermione finally put in huffily, “that is not funny. Why on earth would you want someone to kill you for liking Snape?”

“Hermione! You're a logical sort. Given all current factors, we can safely assume if I decide to like Snape that someone has messed with my head or I've gone criminally insane. Kill me before I decide to hop off and join the Dark Lord, would you?”

“Don't call him that,” protested Ron and the same time as Hermione exclaimed, “That's not funny, Harry!”

“I thought it was funny,” contributed Theo, “and besides, everybody calls him the Dark Lord. It sounds dumb to call him 'You-Know-Who'.”

A tense silence fell, finally broken by Ron's tentative, “uh, Theo? Not everybody calls him that. It's- uh- it's sort of a Death Eater thing.”

The silence fell again, until Blaise asked curiously, “I've been wondering about that, actually. How's your Da about you being friends with a blood traitor, a mu-muggle-born, and Harry Potter?”

“It's a little weird, but he's kinda happy about it, actually. He says it'll be good for me later. He's actually less happy with me associating with you, though I've never figured out why.”

“Seems logical, to me,” put in Hermione thoughtfully. “I mean, if he wants you to be a Death Eater, then maybe he'd want you to make good Death Eater friends, but what if he doesn't?”

Theo frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well think about it. Politically, if your father's a Death Eater, and you don't want to be, then you'd better be careful, right? With the ministry and stuff? But if you're friends with Harry Potter, it makes it pretty clear you're not a Death Eater. No offense, Blaise, but that's lots less clear with you.”

Blaise shrugged. “It's no secret I'm supposed to be a Death Eater, is it? I'm surprised Ron's family lets him hang with me, actually, or with Theo.”

“They don't know,” Ron put in shortly. “I'm not stupid. I had to beg Percy not to tell, though.”

The Slytherins looked at Ron in surprise.

“Wow, Ron, thanks!” Theo exclaimed enthusiastically.

Ron's ears turned red and he shrugged. “No problem. I had to make friends with somebody, didn't I? And they're happy with me hanging with Harry, and he's lots scarier than Theo, isn't he?” They all laughed.

“Thanks, guys,” Harry said sarcastically, “love you, too.”

“Truth hurts, doesn't it?” Blaise said mock-sympathetically, “We feel your pain. Us scary people've got to stick together.”

“Yep. We should form a club of scary people and lord it over all the non-scary people. And everybody with blond hair. 'Cause we're superior.” Put in Theo.

“Death Eaters: next Gen.” Put in Hermione, giggling.

“Hey! No giggling. We're scary people, remember? We're important.”

“Can we have a no-actual-Death-Eaters allowed policy on our new scary-supremacy club?” Asked Harry, “Otherwise we'd have to invite Snape, and then we'd be back to me committing hara-kiri. I'm really not prepared for that, honestly.”

“Can do,” declared Theo, “no current or former Death Eaters allowed. This is our scary-supremacy club.”

“Snape's not a Death Eater,” Hermione said, sounding less sure than her words would indicate, “Dumbledore wouldn't hire-”

She cut off when the three Slytherins looked at her in disbelief. “You wanna bet on that, Hermione?” Asked Blaise.

“Surely-” Hermione started again, “surely-”

“He used to be, and he's real friendly with my Da,” said Theo.

“And my guardians,” said Blaise, “and Malfoy's parents.”

Harry frowned thoughtfully. That Snape had been a Death Eater came as no surprise to him, but it made things complicated now. Eh, if he wanted to kill me, he'd've done it already. “But he has a thing about my parents, especially my mo- Mrs. Potter. He insists that I be grateful to them. He even gave me photos.”

Blaise gave him a strange look at his reference to his mother, then frowned. “Huh. That does seem a bit suspicious, doesn't it?”

“And he's Harry Potter,” Hermione added, “surely he wouldn't be so nice to him if he were a Death Eater?”

“He might want to make friends with him, to betray him later when the Dark Lord can see,” argued Blaise, but he didn't sound convinced.

“He's hardly sucking up to me,” put in Harry, “I could hardly see him giving me detention all the time if he just wanted to manipulate me.” He frowned deeper at that. And I just defended Severus Snape. Shoot me now, someone.

“And so the verdict is...?” Ron insisted.

“Independently evil, but not a Death Eater.” Harry answered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blaise's frown deepen, but turned away when Ron spoke up.

“Hey, Harry? You said Snape gave you photos. Could we see?”

Harry's first impulse was to snap at him, but he throttled it down. “Why?”

Suddenly Theo looked really excited. “They're famous, too! And they're your parents! And we can make fun of you as a chubby baby! I wanna see!”

Harry swallowed. “I – all I have are pictures of Mrs. Potter. I don't have any of James.”

Surprisingly, it was Hermione that picked up on his reluctance. “It's all right, Harry. You don't have to show us. We're just- curious.” She smiled briefly at Blaise, apparently forgiving him for the week before. “We'll get over it.”

That calmed Harry somewhat. Maybe she'll leave me alone about the other stuff if I show her this? Theo's face shone with hope. “It's – it's okay,” he said reluctantly. “I'll show you.”

Two minutes later he stood in front of his trunk with the envelope in his hands. What did I just sign up for? I don't even want to see these again, let alone show them to someone else! What am I thinking?!

Slowly, reluctantly, Harry sat on his bed with the envelope, and opened it. On top was the picture of his mother holding him in her arms, too distracted by him to pay attention to the whoever was behind the camera. Harry's throat closed and he put the picture aside. That one's mine. He flipped through the others quickly to avoid letting his emotions take over, taking out two more as he went – one of his mother bathing him in the sink, covered in water and laughing as he splashed, and another that was clearly taken just after he was born – he didn't want his friends to see that much of his mother's skin, whether he'd known her or not. The others he put carefully back in the envelope and, throttling back his emotions, brought downstairs.

“Here,” he said, handing the envelope to Hermione stiffly. Blaise looked up at him and Harry could read the question on his face. He lifted his chin challengingly, and Blaise smiled, apparently reassured.

The first photo to come out was one of the ones of his mother at Hogwarts, with the scowling dark-haired boy.

“Ooooo she's pretty,” said Theo, at the same time Ron asked, “Who's the other bloke?”

“I dunno,” answered Harry. “One of her friends I guess. I'm supposed to look like my- like James, though, so it's not him.”

“We could look it up,” commented Hermione, “if we looked for a record of people at Hogwarts at the same time as your parents, maybe we could find an all-school photo. They took them, sometimes, back then. It would probably even be labeled-” She had that look in her eyes that she got when she had a project, and Harry moved quickly to stave her off. He wanted to get this over with.

“Later, maybe.”

The next photo showed him fighting his mother for the spoon she'd been using to feed him. He had it gripped in his teeth, apparently refusing to give it back.

“Pain in the arse even then.” Blaise commented, smiling slightly. Harry blushed. This isn't so bad, I guess...

The next photo showed Lily holding Harry on her hip while she worked at the stove. He was smiling broadly, his hands wrapped in her hair, and Harry noticed something that he hadn't before.

“Look at her hair!”

The others looked, and Theo let out a surprised laugh. The length of hair wrapped in the baby's tiny fist was bright, bubblegum pink.

Hermione laughed. “You couldn't just drool in it, like a normal baby, Harry?”

“Of course not!” Defended Ron indignantly, “He's a wizard! He could never do something that undignified!”

“Umm, Ron?” Started Blaise gently, “You might want to look at the next one before you claim that.”

Harry and Ron looked down at the same time, and Harry blushed again. Someone had apparently made the mistake of giving him a bowl full of banana slices. In the picture he was busy mashing them up on the counter-top with his fists, sending banana mush all over the kitchen. And there was his mother, hands on her hips and attempting to glare, when it was blatantly obvious that she couldn't really manage it. As the picture moved, a bit of banana flew to land directly on her forehead, and Harry laughed.

“Umm...yeah, okay. I lose.” Admitted Ron.

“I'm very dignified!” Harry defended. “Warfare is a messy business!”

That was too much for Theo and Hermione, who burst into helpless giggles.

“Wait 'till I see your baby pictures,” said Harry, mock-scowling. “I'm sure you all ate your duck foie gras on toast with the utmost seriousness and dignity.”

“Not really,” admitted Theo, still laughing, “I actually remember using a spoon to shoot peas at my Da's head at a fancy dinner party.”

Severus stood outside of Dumbledore's office and glared at the gargoyle, who promptly sprung aside. He walked impatiently up the magical escalator and into Dumbledore's office, barely waiting for the door to open for him. Before the Headmaster had the chance to offer the usual tea, biscuits, and lemon drops, he spoke.

“Tell me, Headmaster, is it your intention to have me killed?”

Albus looked up at Severus calmly. “My boy, I haven't the foggiest idea of what you are going on about.”

“The boy, Albus. You said you intended for me to mentor him. You apparently did not consider the fact that doing so could mean my life.”

Albus frowned. “I see no reason why it should put you in more danger than you were already courting in the days of your spying.”

“Then you are blind, old man. The boy demands that I treat him in public the same as in private. Of course he does! How could he ever trust me, otherwise? Do you realize just how fast it is going to come out, soon, that I am protecting the Boy-Who-Lived? And you expect me to keep spying for the Order?!”

“No, I don't.” Albus answered, still calm.

“And- you- you don't.”

“Of course not. Contrary to popular belief, I am not an idiot, Severus. I knew that if this relationship with Harry worked, you would have to someday giving up spying. I admit that I had not expected it this soon...”

“You- you knew. If you knew this would interfere with my spying, then why did you demand it?! I am a spy, Albus. That is who I am, that is all I am worth to you. How can the Order possibly use me, if not as a spy?”

“I was under the impression that you hated spying, Severus.”

“Of course I did! Even if my tastes did run to pain, I will never be crazy enough to enjoy my place in the Death Eater ranks. This is the price I pay, Albus. I took the mark; I killed Lily. The least I can do is-”

“Care for her son. I judged it more important.”

I could clear my name. All of the suspicion, the angry glances. I could openly council my students away from the Dark Lord. “I will die, Albus. Others may not care, but the Malfoys and the Lestranges, at least, will not take it kindly that I have turned traitor to their Lord.”

“I thought you said Narcissa's loyalties were primarily to Draco?”

“They are, but Lucius, at least, would kill me on site if he could get away with it, and I do not want to face Narcissa if she thinks my choice has endangered her son. And certainly Bellatrix could do the job all on her own.”

“I think you sell yourself short.”

“I don't. I am a skilled duelist, Albus, but I cannot compete with a being of fanatic devotion and berserker rage. The woman knows no fear, and no thought that does not coincide with the Dark Lords wishes.”

“You make her sound like some sort of creature.”

“That's not entirely inaccurate, Albus. I have never seen such madness, even in the Black family. But no matter, it is too late to worry for my mortality. At least the other Order members will finally know for sure that I have renounced the Dark Lord.” I'll be free. Finally, finally, I can be free of the Dark Lord. Finally I can show those bastards than I am more than dirt under their feet. He felt a slight twinge of guilt at that, for the few in the Order who, like Minerva, had trusted him. However much he fought with the older woman, he had always been grateful to her for that. Despite her, though, the idea of throwing his true loyalties in the Order's face gave him a feeling of fierce satisfaction.

Albus looked sad. “No, Severus.”

“No?”

“No, we cannot announce your innocence to the world. It would mark you as a target as quiet realizations would not. I know that having you openly protect Harry Potter has put you in danger, Severus, but I would minimize it, if I can, for Harry's sake, and mine, if you do not care.”

Severus felt his face still. “You would have all of the more intelligent Death Eaters know that I was a spy, and those on our side remain in ignorance. You would have me hated by both sides.”

“Not hated, Severus. There are members of the Order who do not trust you, Severus, but-”

“Spare me your platitudes, old man. There are many more Death Eaters that trust me than Order members. That was how you intended it, what made me a good spy. Merlin, Albus I have friends in the Death Eater ranks. And you would have them know of my betrayal, and no-one else. You would destroy my purpose, reveal my betrayal to those who cared about me, and allow others to continue to revile me for crimes that I have committed in your name, under your orders, and not the Dark Lord's. You are my general, Albus, and I will obey your wishes, but do not expect me to be happy about it.”

“Severus-”

“No. There are times, Headmaster, when I think less on why I once hated you and more on whether I don't still. You cannot fix this. Do not try.” Severus turned on his heel and left without another word.

“Excuse me, Severus.”

“I am occupied, Minerva.” Snape said, unable to keep the edge from his voice.

“It is urgent.”

“Tell the Headmaster I do not wish to speak with him.” He said coldly.

“What about urgent do you not understand, Severus?”

“Not tonight, Minerva!”

Minerva seemed to finally pick up on his mood. “Please, Severus. I need to know if you are missing any of your students.”

“Missing? I assure you, Minerva, that I keep very good track of my students. If I were missing any, the prefects would have alerted me, this being after curfew. If you are missing any of your students I can assure you it has little to do with me. I renounced eating them years ago.”

“This is not funny, Severus! I am missing two of my students!”

“And I reiterate that this has little to do with me.” Leave me alone, woman. I have no patience for your hysteria.

“It does if they are in your common room! I'll have you know that the students in question are a certain Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. If you are not missing your three, then the likelihood is that my lions are with them in your common room! And if you are, the likelihood is that they are all off wandering the castle somewhere! Now get off your rump and let me in to your common room, dammit!”

“Fine, cursed woman! I'm coming.”

“Who's he?” Theo wanted to know, looking at a picture of Harry and his mother next to an unhealthy-looking man in beat-up robes.

“How should I know? Some friend of my- my mother's- I guess.” Harry said. Blaise gave him a slight smile.

Just then, the portrait hole opened and the five looked up, surprised to see an absolutely irate Professor McGonagall enter the Slytherin common room, followed closely by a neutral-looking Professor Snape. Harry bit his lip. That's not neutral. He's pissed about something.

“Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, would you care to explain what you are doing in the Slytherin common room an hour after curfew? I have been looking for you all over the castle!”

Hermione looked horrified. “Professor McGonagall! Oh my goodness, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, I just forgot where we were and lost track of time!”

“Forgot where you were?” The Professor sounded very skeptical.

“Well, we were in a common room, Professor. I guess we...kinda forgot that it wasn't ours?” Ron tried helpfully.

“Be that as it may, Mr. Weasley, you are required to keep track of the time and be in your common room at half past ten. Both of you have detention with me tomorrow night, and five points each from Gryffindor. Now come along, both of you.”

Ron and Hermione followed the Professor out, Hermione looking mortified and Ron resigned, leaving the other three with Snape.

Harry looked up anxiously. Are we in trouble, too? With him this pissed off?

When Snape looked at him and scowled, however, Blaise got up abruptly and approached the Potions Master. Someone has a death wish, Harry reflected. Of all times to approach the man...

“Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. How are you doing?”

Harry shrugged. “I'm okay.”

“Just okay?”

“What's wrong with okay?”

Professor McGonagall smiled. “Alright then. Did you get the reading done?”

“Yeah.”

The Professor gave him a look.

“Errm...yes, Professor.”

“Good. Was there anything you didn't understand?”

“Not really. I've only ever tried 'basic' transfiguration, but it makes sense that it would be the most stable.”

“Makes sense how, Mr. Potter? Have you studied this before?”

“No, I just mean, dead things are meant to remain dead, not be turned into living things. It surprises me more that one can turn a living thing into something inanimate, and vice-versa, then that it's difficult or doesn't last long.”

“All right. That does not mean that all 'basic' transfigurations are the same difficulty, however. What makes different basic transfigurations more or less difficult?”

“Complexity and size.” Harry answered quickly, then added, uncertainly, “and – never mind.”

“Go on.”

“I was gonna say, 'and what it's made of,' but the book doesn't mention it.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, it's easier for me to turn a coin into a toy car then to use an acorn, 'cause they're both metal.”

“Ah. Good observation, Mr. Potter. Five points to Slytherin. I believe that falls under the 'complexity' category in the book, but you're right that it doesn't seem to fit there. Now, why is it that some wizards are better at more complex transfigurations, while other wizards are better at simpler, but larger ones?”

“Size is about power, while complexity is about – intelligence, maybe? You have to be able to understand what you're transfiguring.”

“Very good. What is a 'complex' transfiguration, then?”

“Like...like a watch, maybe. Something that's supposed to work somehow. Like when I first made the car, the wheels didn't turn 'cause I forgot about the axle.”

“Precisely.” McGonagall shook her head. “Now, was there anything in the reading that you didn't already know intuitively?”

“Intu-whatsits?”

“Intuitively. Was there anything in the reading that you didn't get just from having done it?”

“Errm...maybe the bit about liquids and solids and stuff?”

“Ah. Yes. That is important. You cannot transfigure substances across chemical phases.”

“Yeah, that helps,” Harry said sarcastically.

“Mr. Potter,” warned the Professor.

“Sorry. That really didn't help, though.”

“If you would wait for me to explain...” she said impatiently.

Harry stayed quiet.

“Hmm. Now. You studied chemistry in school, I imagine?”

“A little.”

“Good. Then you know the difference between a solid, a liquid, and a gas?

“Like ice, and water, and vapor?”

“Exactly. You can only transfigure a solid into a solid, a liquid into a liquid, and a gas into another gas.”

“You can transfigure a gas?”

“It is difficult, and rarely useful, but yes, you can.”

“How not useful? I mean, if you were to transfigure all the oxygen in a room into something else, then wouldn't everybody die?”

McGonagall regarded him soberly for a moment. “Yes, I suppose they would. And here I thought chemical warfare was a horror the wizarding world would never know. I do hope you never have to try that, Mr. Potter.”

Harry flushed. “It's not my fault everybody's gonna be out to kill me when I'm bigger.”

“No, I suppose it's not, Mr. Potter. I apologize. I just wish you didn't know that, just yet.”

“What'd be the use of that? I'd just die that much easier when it happened.” Harry said practically. Why wouldn't I want to know something that'd keep me alive?

McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment. “That, too, is probably true, Mr. Potter. But, to return to the lesson, if you wanted to transfigure a liquid into a solid, what could you do?”

“Freeze it.”

“Very good.”

After his lesson with McGonagall, Harry remembered the assignment for Snape that he'd shoved into his trunk, and headed to his dorm room to fetch it out. He'd appreciated having the two glow-balls in his trunk – they made it easy to find his pajamas at night – but now he looked at them in trepidation. He was supposed to get one of them to float, and the last time he'd tried had been a complete failure. Now he only had two days left to figure it out. I've tried all sorts of things. Harry grumped, sitting down on his bed with the ball in his hand. I know there are things at Hogwarts that float on their own. It's got to be possible. What am I doing wrong?

Frustrated before he even started, Harry bounced the glow-ball on the ground, then caught it in his hand. As he bounced it the second time he got a thought. After catching it once again, he threw the ball high, focused on it as it came down, and 'caught' it one more time – this time, three feet above his clasped right hand. Looking up at the ball floating in space, he smiled. Finally, some progress. When he took his hand down, however, the ball followed, remaining three feet above his hand like a balloon on a string. Damn. Keeping his hand down, he focused on the ball. Go back up...go!...please?... He lifted a finger, and the ball twitched higher – but only as high as his finger had gone. He lowered the finger, and the ball went down. Great. Well now it's attached to less of me...how do I get it off?

As before, he ran a hand over the other one and 'cut' the line from him to the ball, and once again the ball fell. GRRR! Stupid thing! Go up, damnit! Following his mental command, the ball flew upward and stayed. It worked!! Maybe I just have to get angry? He started to walk towards the ball, but it moved away, still apparently attached to him somehow. Hmm. Damn. Getting a thought, he turned his body, moving the ball over on top of one of the bunk beds, and 'cut' the line again. As he'd predicted, the ball fell onto the bed. Now if I could just pick it up again... Gripping his pillow to keep his hands still, he focused on the ball and pictured himself picking it up. It wiggled. Focusing harder, he imagined himself gripping the ball – how it would feel, how heavy it was – and lifting it up. The ball lifted four inches off the bed. More confidently, Harry lifted the ball higher and brought it back to himself, finally reaching a hand out to pluck it from the air. COOL!! I'm telekinetic! Abruptly he got an image of Hermione, hands on her hips, lecturing him. “Telekinesis isn't real. You're not telekinetic, you're a wizard! Honestly, Harry, don't you know the difference?” He snorted, and responded to the Hermione in his head. And if wizard's magic sparked the ideas about telekinesis? Finally, he just grinned. Before, he'd just been able to throw things with his magic, or, at best, move them directly towards him or away. Now he could move things as he wanted.

Well, little things anyway. He realized, remembering the couch he'd tried to move the first time Snape had told him to practice his wandless magic. Big things are too heavy. Still, it was damned useful, especially because nobody other than Snape and maybe McGonagall would figure out that it was him doing it. Wands are annoying. He thought. All you can do are spells, and everybody can see what you're doing when you do it. Wandless, you just do it. Why did people insist on using wands? Snape said something about focusing power? He couldn't remember what is was, though. Damn. There's gotta be some reason. Even Voldemort and Dumbledore use wands, and they're supposed to be able to do wandless magic, too.

Experimentally, Harry looked across the room to Theo's bed, knowing that the other boy usually kept a teddy bear hidden behind the curtains. As usual, the curtains were closed. Harry got up from his own bed to see the other better, and focused in on the curtains, trying to push them as he had the ball. They waved a little bit, but didn't move. Remembering how he'd focused before on the feel of the ball, Harry gripped his own curtains, focused on their velvety texture, and their weight, and pushed again. The heavy curtains cracked open. Harry frowned, unsure whether to be glad of his success or disappointed at the mere half-inch he'd obtained. He was already getting the headache that he was starting to associate with his wandless magic. Maybe if I try it up close, first?

Focusing on the bed across from him, he gripped his curtains in a hand, and shoved on the other ones, moving them a whole four inches. MOVE damnit! Another four inches. SHOVE. Three inches. SHOVE. Two and a half inches, and his headache spiked. Okay, OW. No more of that, I guess. He tried to stand up, to go back to the common room, but quickly decided it wasn't worth it. I guess I'd better just sleep. He thought as he closed his curtains securely and curled up on his bed. Just the lack of light and being prone helped immensely. Definitely.

Three hours later, Harry woke up hungry, but no longer in as much pain. Then he looked at his watch and cursed. Dinner had ended half an hour ago. But I'm hungry... Then he smiled. “Kallie?” When she popped into the room, Harry smiled broadly. “Hi Kallie!!”

But the little elf frowned at him, hands on hips. “Master Harry, sir! Master is missing dinner! Master must not miss meals! Master is eating something!” She ordered.

Harry sighed. I called you, didn't I? Jeez. “Yes, Kallie.”

Apparently not expecting Harry to give in so quickly, Kallie was quiet for a moment, before finally saying, “Good. Kallie makes you some shepherds pie is good Master sir?”

“Umm...it's okay, Kallie. I mean, I like shepherd's pie, but wasn't today's dinner supposed to be some sort of fish thing?”

Kallie's hands went back on her hips. “Master does not like fish, sir.”

How did she know that? For that matter, how did she know he'd missed dinner? She's monitoring me... Somehow, he didn't mind, from her. “Umm...well, no, I don't, but it's okay, you already made dinner for everybody. You shouldn't make another one just for me. I'll eat the fish, don't worry.”

Kallie seemed to ignore that. “Shepherd's pie is okay? Or would Master prefer something else?”

Harry sighed. He would never convince Kallie that she didn't have to treat him so carefully. The idea of 'not liking' food still seemed strange to him. The idea that Kallie would cook something else because of it was just ridiculous. Still, he was starting to get used to it. Kallie was weird about stuff like that.

“Yeah, shepherd's pie would be great.”

Kallie beamed at him, and disappeared.

The next day Harry once again threw his brain at the problem of how to get the glow-ball to float. This time, though, he made no progress. He could get the ball to float in the air, and even to spin in the air, but he could not for the life of him get it to float without his attention on it constantly to keep it afloat. Even once he figured out how to get it to stay in one place while he moved, it fell as soon as his attention wandered. He even asked his friends, and a couple of the older years, if they had any ideas, but they had no idea how wandless magic even worked, and so couldn't help him. Maybe Snape or Dumbledore would know, but they were the only ones. Oh yeah. That's a great idea, Harry. Ask the Greasy Git! No. Fucking. Way. If he couldn't do it, he couldn't do it. Ignoring the fear that came at the thought of not finishing it, Harry threw the whole project back in his trunk and went to go find his friends. It wasn't the first time an adult gave him an impossible task to do, then punished him for it. Snape would either be fair, or he wouldn't, and Harry refused to care. Not my problem.

The next day, Harry was much less optimistic about not having his work done. It's not my fault it was too hard. I did try, he reminded himself as he stood in front of Snape's office door. A litany of tasks left unfinished in his life, and the consequences of not having finished them, ran through his mind before he shoved them ruthlessly away. That was different. Snape's an asshole, but he's not...like that. And if he is, well then it's nothing I haven't expected. I'll go and tell Blaise and Hermione that I told them so. No problem. He took a shaky breath. Damnit, Harry, you will not be this weak. Lifting his chin, Harry knocked hard on the door.

“Harry,” Snape greeted, opening the door for him. “Come in.”

See? No problem. Harry hunched his shoulders a little as he passed, unusually unhappy with Snape behind him. Oh get over yourself! He doesn't even know you didn't finish, yet! Harry thought, squaring his shoulders forcefully. You know he doesn't hit you. What is your problem?

But he wasn't mad, yet, and in it's absence he didn't know how to defend himself. Defend yourself against what, idiot? Snape? He's not even doing anything!

When Snape asked for his project, Harry lifted his chin in challenge as he had so many times before. “I didn't finish it.”

Snape frowned. “No? And why not?”

Though the response was calm, Snape sounded unhappy, and Harry was already worked up enough that his breathing started to pick up, and he found he had trouble answering. For once, he wished Snape would scream at him: as it was, he was having trouble mustering the anger he needed. Fighting down panic, he started to back up, glaring as angrily as he could at the Potions Master. “I just didn't.”

Severus watched the boy backed away from him, face a mask of anger and unusually obvious fear. What did I do wrong this time? I didn't even raise my voice. Hell, I'm not even angry. Usually he can read me better than this. “Harry.”

The boy look down, trembling badly. His breathing was still picking up. Damn. “Harry, look at me. Do I look angry, to you?”

The boy look down, and Severus tried again. Even the anger is failing. Damn. “Look at me, Harry, answer me. Do I look angry to you?”

Harry looked up again, and some of the anger had disappeared, revealing more of the fear. Finally Severus heard a pleading whisper. “I'm sorry. I tried, I just don't know how.”

Come on Harry, how can I help you? Maybe he should just keep talking. “Okay, Harry. What was difficult? Where did you get stuck?”

It didn't seem to help. “I tried, I really did. It just didn't work. I'm sorry!”

“That's fine, that's all I can ask of you. Why didn't you ask me for help, if you got stuck?”

Harry just shook his head. “Please don't be mad. I tried. I'm sorry. Please.”

“Come on, Harry. I am not angry. Explain to me what was difficult.”

Harry just stood there and shook, and Severus decided to try a new tactic.

“Harry, who am I?”

Harry just looked at him, frowning, but some of him seemed to return at the strange question. “What kind of a question is that?”

Snape smiled a little. “Humor me.”

Finally, Harry really looked at him, and more of him returned. “Snape. You're Professor Snape.”

“Yes, I am. And what do I do when I'm unhappy with you?”

“Detention.”

“Good. And what happens in detention?”

“Lines 'n stuff.”

“'Stuff'? That's articulate.”

Severus relaxed internally when Harry scowled at him. “You make me write dumb lines and scrub cauldrons and sometimes stand in the stupid corner.”

“Correct. Am I unhappy with you right now?”

Harry studied him, and his whole body posture relaxed. “No.”

“Good. How has your week gone?”

“Sir?”

“How has your week gone?”

Harry took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Just okay?”

Harry relaxed a little more. “McGonagall asked that, too. What's wrong with okay?”

“I believe it is similar to 'nothing' in that it is a lie one says when the truth is personal.”

Finally, Harry smiled a little bit. “Well, right now it's just the truth. I'm okay.”

Severus smiled back. “Good to hear. Will you tell me what brought that on? What's going on?”

Harry's smile faded a bit, but then he said impertinently, “nothing.”

Severus sighed. It can wait. “Very well. I'll leave it for now. What happened with your project, then? Why didn't you finish it?”

Harry tensed a little, then loosened up again. “I can't get it to float like I want it to.”

“Alright. Did you bring it?” At Harry's nod, Severus continued. “Very well, show me what you have been trying.”

Harry slowly relaxed as the lesson went on – as it turned out, making objects float on a more permanent basis was usually done with repeated use of a 'lightening' charm to reduce an object's density until it matched that of the air around it- and by the end of the class, Harry was able to reproduce the charm wandlessly, and even really smile at his success. The approval in Snape's voice made him want to blush, scowl, and run, all at the same time, and when it was time to leave Harry was grateful to escape. Now if we could just pretend that that never happened...

Luckily, Snape didn't say anything more about it, saying only, “For homework, please finish this, then come up with a plan for another project. If you have trouble, I expect you to come ask me for help, understood?”

Harry would agree to anything if it would mean he could leave. “Yes sir. Can I go?”

“Go.”

“Harry.”

Harry looked up from where he'd been studying in the Slytherin common room with Blaise, and fixed his Head-of-House with a hostile gaze. “What?” What is it this time? The last thing he wanted to do was talk to Snape right then. It hadn't been long enough since the talk the day before.

“What, sir.”

“That's a new one.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“People've called me all sorts of things, but nobody's ever called me 'sir' before,” said Harry. Somehow picking at the man helped the nervous bubble in his stomach to calm down.

“Harry.”

The one word held a warning, and Harry decided to give in before it went too far. He'd had enough fights and stress the day before. “Yes, sir?” He asked innocently, as if he'd never been rude in the first place. Snape's eyes narrowed, but he apparently decided to let it go. “I need to speak to you.”

The nervousness came back. “About what, sir?” Harry asked with a hint of challenge. 'Cause if it's the same as yesterday, you can save it.

Snape looked quickly at Blaise, curled up on the opposite end of the couch from Harry, and spoke. “Nothing related to your home life, and you're not in trouble.”

“And if I say no?”

“This is not optional.”

“Figures.”

“Come, please. It should only take fifteen minutes or so.”

Harry left his books behind and followed the man back to his office.

“So?” Harry demanded when Snape sat behind his desk.

“I need to speak to you regarding the memory you threw at me yesterday.”

Harry went on his guard immediately. “You said this wasn't about that,” he said through clenched teeth.

“It's not, not in the sense you mean at any rate. I want to talk to you about the magic you used.”

Harry relaxed. Just a lesson, then. “What about it?”

“It is called Legilimancy, and it is extremely dangerous. I must ask you to use it with caution, or, better, to not use it at all.”

“I don't even know what I did.”

“You attacked my mind with yours, essentially forcing your thoughts into my brain.”

“And that's dangerous?”

“The way you did it, extremely.”

Harry felt a strange, unpleasant sensation in his stomach. “I hurt you?”

Snape smiled grimly. “Do you care?”

Harry lifted his chin. “No.”

Severus waited a bit, and Harry spoke up again. “So...did I?”

“You gave me a headache, but that is all. My mind is protected. The danger is, not everyone's is. That sort of magic should not be messed with without training. The human mind is a fragile thing.”

“So if you had not protected yourself?”

“You'd've probably not done any lasting damage, but you would certainly have knocked me out.”

“Oh.” Sorry. He added mentally.

“Yes. So, how could you use it, now that you know?”

“I thought you said you didn't want me using it.”

“Not if you can avoid it, no. Most uses of Legilimancy are unethical in most circumstances.”