Harry arrived for his fourth night of detention with less reservations than he had in the past. Although writing in the book wasn’t pleasant, it was not as bad as many of the tasks Snape had assigned him in detentions in years past. Snape seemed to have a cruel streak when it came to Harry, and Harry knew it. Yet these last three nights, Snape had seemed subdued. He still insulted Harry’s intelligence whenever possible, but he was less vicious overall. And he’d made no reference to the attack on Harry, which must have taken considerable restraint on Snape’s part, Harry thought.

At 6pm, he knocked on Snape’s office door, book in hand, waiting for his next writing assignment. Snape, he noticed, was dressed in black trousers and a white button-down shirt. He was not wearing robes. The casual attire struck Harry as both odd and out of place.

With a flick of his wand, Snape locked and warded his office door behind Potter. Then Snape stood and addressed him directly. “You won’t be needing your book or wand tonight, Potter. You can leave them on my desk.”

Harry stiffened, a sick feeling of fear dwelling in his gut. Leave his book on Snape’s desk? With all his inner most thoughts? And his wand? Would that give Snape access to his book? “Sir?” Harry croaked.

Snape slid his own wand out and set it atop his desk. “I will be working with you in the antechamber.” He eyed Harry narrowly. “You won’t need your wand.”

Tremulously, Harry removed his wand and set it beside Snape’s on the desk. He laid his book next to it. He felt naked without them. And worse, he felt like he was walking into a trap like the one Dudley had set for him one month ago.

Snape lead a reluctant Potter into the antechamber, which, to the uninitiated, looked entirely empty, save the wall sconces. Not wanting to be overheard, he’d cast silencing charms on the rooms before Potter had even arrived. Once they were both inside, he’d thrown the bolt by hand, effectively locking them in, their wands on the other side of the door. Even if the boy went for his wand, Snape would be able to intercept him.

Potter was watching him for direction, but Snape just leaned casually against the bolted wooden door, his arms crossed over his chest. After a couple of minutes of silence, which he observed smugly made Potter quite jumpy, Snape finally spoke.

“You know, Potter, I’ve been thinking about what I saw in your mind the other day. I think I’ve been too easy on you.”

“Too easy?” Potter whispered, his face a wash of stunned disbelief.

“You don’t think so?” Snape inquired. “How hard is it, Potter, to write in a book?”

“Erm…” Harry said, shuffling his feet in discomfort as he tried to figure out what was going on.

“You know what I think,” Snape said, studying the nails of his right hand for a moment before looking back up at Potter. “I think you deserved what happened to you.” Snape’s eyes were as cold and hard as his words.

Potter gaped at him.

Snape pushed off the wall. “I think you wanted it to happen.”

He watched Harry’s face go a crimson red and his hands ball into fists.

Snape took a step closer, menace lacing his voice, “I think you’ve been fantasizing about it.”

Snape watched as a look of utter betrayal, followed by righteous anger, swelled inside of the boy. Snape leaned in and whispered, “I think you liked it.”

The first blow hit Snape square in the jaw, hard and fast.

“I’ve always thought you preferred boys,” Snape sneered.

The next punch hit Snape in the solar plexus.

"Tell me, Potter, did you beg for more?”

At that, Potter lost it. He came after Snape with a vengeance, pummeling him for all he was worth.

“You bastard!” Potter roared.

More and more punches rained down on Snape.

“I hate you!”

A blow just below his solar plexus knocked the wind out of Snape.

“You had no right!”

Snape raised his arms to block his face, inadvertently allowing Potter free access to his mid-section. The next punch was so powerful that it knocked Snape to the floor.

Hissing from lack of breath, Snape taunted, staring up at Harry, “Is that all you’ve got, Potter? No wonder you let those boys hurt you.”

Harry roared, lashing out at Snape with all his strength. The sounds Harry made were a mixture of fury and pain, anger and misery.

“I. Didn’t. Let. Them. Hurt. Me.” Each angry word was punctuated with a kick.

Snape recoiled as he felt the blows to his stomach, his legs, anywhere the boy could reach. Yet the boy kept going, venting his anger for all he was worth.

“I didn’t,” Harry repeated in a broken voice.

Snape could tell from the strength of the kicks and the keening of the boy’s breath that he was slowing down.

“I didn’t...” Harry breathed, bending over, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. His face streaked with sweat and tears. “I didn’t want them to do that to me. I didn’t like it. It wasn’t my fault.”

The words had come out in a whisper, but Snape heard them nonetheless. “Don’t forget that, Potter.” Snape said, still panting himself. “Now sit down before you fall over.”

Harry sat. He pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face.

Snape leaned against the wall behind him and watched the boy regain his composure.

Without looking up, Harry said, still breathing hard, “You set me up.”

Snape quirked an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Are you going to expel me now?” Harry said, finally looking up.

“I am sure that if I tried, Potter, the headmaster would only overrule me” Snape replied, his face a dispassionate mask.

Harry nodded once then said, “I thought Dumbledore had assigned someone to watch over me at all times while I was staying with my aunt and uncle.” Potter adjusted the laces of one of his shoes, before asking in a small voice, “Where were they? Why didn’t they stop it from... from happening?”

Snape took a deep breath before answering. “I do not know, Potter. I am guessing there was a gap in coverage. I can try and find out why, but to do so would raise questions as to why I’m so interested in that particular date and time.”

“In other words,” Harry said, “you’d have to tell Dumbledore what happened.”

“Precisely,” replied Snape.

Harry shook his head. “Don’t bother.” He got to his feet and dusted himself off. Then he reached out his hand to Snape to help him up.

The unconscious gesture made both of them freeze.

Harry made his way slowly back to the Gryffindor common room, both physically and emotionally drained. The image of himself offering his hand to his most dreaded Professor, and even more shocking, his professor eventually taking it to pull himself up, had left Harry feeling dazed and confused. The whole evening had his mind spinning.

He arrived in the common room to find Hermione sitting on the couch with Neville by the fire place. Ron was nowhere in sight. Both of them looked up to see Harry, and as if on cue, Neville departed, leaving the seat next to Hermione open.

She looked anxious and desperate to talk to him. “Harry?”

With a sign of resignation, he came to sit beside her. Leaning back on the couch, he stretched his legs and arms, before returning to a normal sitting position, his elbows resting on his knees, his head bowed.

“Harry,” Hermione inquired tentatively, “Are you okay?”

Harry turned his head and looked at her through his fringe of hair. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Ron says your sleeping better, and you seem to be eating again,” Hermione observed.

Harry watched her bite her lip nervously.

“The thing is,” she continued, “we’ve been worried about you.”

Harry wanted to say Don’t worry, I’m fine. But instead he said, “Thanks.”

“How did it go with Professor Snape?”

Harry laughed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Hermione.”

“Why?” she asked, but Harry just shook his head.

Harry stared into the fire, watching the sparks dance. Not for the first time, he wished that Sirius’s head would pop into the flames—that he could once again talk to his Godfather.

As if reading his mind, Hermione said, “Is it Sirius, Harry? I mean, I know it’s been really hard on you this summer but I was just wondering, well, if there was something else as well?” When Harry didn’t immediately answer, Hermione continued, “I mean, I know your whole life has been really hard, what with Lord Voldemort and your uncle and...”

Harry put a hand on Hermione’s knee to still her words. When he looked up at her, he was surprised to that her eyes were glassy.

“It’s just that,” she said, desperately trying to blink back the tears, “Professor Snape, he said something to me, the day he kicked you out of class…”

Harry’s attention sharpened. “What did he say?”

“He said,” Hermione wiped away an escaping tear, “He said ‘Perhaps you should be a better friend to Mr. Potter.”

Harry listened, stunned, before replying, “Hermione, you are already the best friend a person could have. I can’t imagine any better friends than you and Ron.”

“I am too old for this nonsense,” Snape grumbled as he released the protection wards and silencing charms on his office and the antechamber. With another wave of his wand, he undid the cushioning charms he’d placed on both himself and the room. By the grace of those alone, he’d suffered no more than having the wind knocked out of him a couple of times. Punches and kicks felt like displaced air, the push of a strong wind, if done correctly. It was a sign of Harry’s mental state that he hadn’t even noticed that Snape suffered no obvious damage from the assault that Snape provoked from the boy.