Harry was excited—on this, his fifth day at Hogwarts.

It had been a pretty good week, so far. He enjoyed most of his classes, anyway.

Professor Flitwick, who taught Charms, was very easy to listen to and like.

Professor McGonagall was on tough old tabby, but she also taught an interesting subject: Transfiguration.

Professor Sprout, who taught Herbology, was a sweet tempered and awarded points to just about everybody!

Professor Binns, the only ghost teacher, taught History of Magic—boring as Hell, he was, but at least Harry got to nap during his class.

Professor Quirrel, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, was a stuttering imbecile.

All he did was stutter and talk about off the wall subject rather than teach.

So far, that class had been the biggest let down—and he’d really been looking forward to it.

There’s still Potions this morning, he reminded himself. And Flying lessons this afternoon…

Of course, this meant he’d have to face Professor’s Snape’s intimidating stare again.

All this week, it was almost as if that dark stare never looked anywhere else but at him.

Why? Harry still had no idea.

He’d asked Ron about it, but all he said was that his brothers had told him that Snape wasn’t one to be crossed.

Harry believed it, after witnessing the tongue-lashing he’d given a fifth year Ravenclaw girl in the corridor one day.

He shuddered. That had been plain scary!

"Still worried about ole Snape?" Ron asked him, curiously, as he shoveled his breakfast into his mouth.

"Not really," Harry said, lying. "Why does he keep staring at me—I mean, I know everybody stares at me…but it’s different with him."

And everybody did stare at him—or rather, at his scar.

All week they had been doing it and he wished they’d cut it out.

He just wanted to be treated like a regular student, because that was what he was.

He didn’t remember doing anything that fateful night ten years before, except maybe crying a lot.

They should have called me The-Baby-Who-Lived, he thought with a snort. I was only one years old, for crying out loud!

Just then, the bell rang for everybody to start making their way to their first class of the day.

"C’mon, mate," Ron said, sighing. "We’d best get down to the dungeons. Fred and George said Snape tears strips off your hide if you’re late."

"We definitely don’t want that," Harry agreed, and the two of them began following everyone out of the Great Hall.

They arrived at the Potions classroom with a few minutes to spare, as it turned out, and entered the room.

"Where do you want to sit?" Harry asked Ron, curiously. "Up front, at the back, or in the middle?"

"Let’s go for the middle," Ron said. "We wouldn’t want to be confused with Granger, now would we?"

The mousy haired girl proved all week long that not only was she prepared for classes—she was overly prepared for them.

Every time a teacher asked a question, the first person to raise their hand was Hermione Granger.

"And Malfoy and his goons will probably sit in the back so they can goof off," Harry said, snorting.

The blonde haired boy had proved to be exceedingly snide and arrogant in all the classes they’d had with him.

He and his two over-stuffed body guards, Crabbe and Goyle, usually sat in the back of the class—mostly so that they could sabotage everybody else.

Everybody started to file in, then, so Harry and Ron quickly took their seats.

As predicted, Hermione sat at the very front of the class next to Neville Longbottom—who Harry thought might be a bit near-sighted since he always sat up front and yet anytime the teachers called on him became a quivering mess!

Malfoy (with Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dumb in toe) took a seat at the back on the left side of the room.

Once everyone was in and had their books, quills, and parchment out, the doors opened again and Professor Snape strolled into the room.

The man’s long black robes swished out behind him, like a pair of black wings, as he made his way to the front.

Spinning around, he eyed each and every one of them with a piercing—some would say petrifying—gaze.

"All wands are to be put away and kept out of sight throughout this class," he told them, sternly. "There will be no foolish wand waving here! Potions is a delicate art, one that requires practice and the strictest concentration—a slight miscalculation, the wrong ingredient added at the wrong time, could prove disastrous…even, fatal."

Harry swallowed, hard, as those black eyes locked onto his once again—boring into him.

It’s like he’s staring right into my soul, he thought with a shudder. I wish he’d cut it out.

A sneering smirk curled the professor’s lips.

"Ah, yes," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Mr. Potter…our newest celebrity…"

This got a laugh out of the Slytherins, glares from the Gryffindors, and made Harry blush.

He quickly averted his gaze, refusing to meet the man’s cold stare.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter," Snape said, smirking, "what would you get if you added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Almost automatically, Hermione’s hand shot into the air and began waving frantically.

Harry blinked, puzzled.

"I, uh, I don’t know," he answered, honestly. "Sir." This last was added as an after thought.

"How surprising?" Snape sneered. "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Again, Hermione’s hand waved impatiently in front of him. Harry gulped.

"I don’t know that, either," he answered, shamefully. Hadn’t he read his text book before coming?

He thought he had, but apparently he’d missed some things somewhere…

Snape’s eyes narrowed into a scowl.

"They say third time’s the charm," he said, sneeringly. "Let’s see if it’s true. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfesbane, Mr. Potter?"

By now, Harry's face was red with embarrassment and his temper had started to flare up.

He glared at the potions professor.

"I don’t know," he growled, annoyed. "Sir. Why don’t you ask Hermione. She knows."

Snape eyebrows shot to his forehead and many of the Slytherins (and even a few of his fellow Gryffindors) gasped at his cheeky answer.

Nobody talks to Professor Snape like that, he heard a few whisper in awed (or pitying) tones.

"It seems, Mr. Potter, that you did not bother to prepare for class," Professor Snape told him, coldly. "For that you shall lose five points for Gryffindor and another five for your cheek."

Harry scowled at this, wanting to protest, but an eyebrow raised to convey ‘Was there something else?’ stopped him.

He’d only take more points, Harry thought angrily. It’s not fair! He shouldn’t be picking on me like this!

Snape continued to stare at him a moment, but then his gaze swept the entire class.

"My point exactly," he told them. "You must always be prepared for this class—otherwise, not only will you botch a potion, you may also do serious injury to yourself and everybody else. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir," the entire class answered immediately, without hesitation.

Snape had proved his point. He was in control here and they either did things his way or they failed.

Harry scowled at that. So much for liking potions now…

Snape flicked his wand and a recipe appeared on the blackboard.

"This is a Cure-All Boils potion," he informed them. "It is perhaps the simplest potion you can make—which is why it is the first one you shall be attempting to brew. The finished potion should look a powder blue in color—anything else will result in a zero for today. Get started!"

As they made their potion, the professor walked around commenting on their efforts.

He was hardest on the Gryffindors, Harry noticed, and every time he looked up he found those jet black orbs upon him.

He gritted his teeth and got through the rest of the lesson. Why did the man seem so interested him?

And why did it seem he had it in for him? What had he [Harry] ever done to him?

When the bell rang signaling the end of the lesson, Harry was relieved.

As he gathered up his books, quill, and parchment, he glanced up to once again find Professor Snape staring at him.

Ron noticed it too, apparently.

"C’mon, mate, cheer up," he told his best friend. "We’ve got flying next—that should be wicked, right?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, forcing a smile on his face. "You’re right."

But as the two headed out of the classroom, he couldn’t help but glance back.

Professor Snape was no longer looking at him—instead he was staring at something in his hand.

Once again, Harry saw the same look of…pain?...on his face that he had the first night in the Great Hall.

Could he remind the professor of somebody? Somebody he had cared about? And lost…?

Sighing, Harry turned and walked out of the classroom. He’d figure it out later.

Right then, he needed to concentrate on learning to fly a broom.

But, surely, this class wouldn’t be so bad…

What could possibly go wrong, right?

HPHPHPHPHP

Well, Severus snorted to himself, you handled that real well. It seems you and the boy are off on the wrong foot already, Snape!

He hadn’t intentionally meant to ‘pick’ on the boy when he’d entered the classroom, but the moment he’d stared into those eyes of his he’d known if he didn’t do something he’d be distracted the entire class.

He couldn’t really blame Harry for his cheeky response there at the end, though he did not approve of it in any form or fashion—which is why he had taken points.

The boy could have at least attempted a guess, he thought to himself. Those questions are in the first chapter of the potions textbook, for Merlin’s sake!

At least he and the Weasley boy had managed to brew the potion correctly, which was more than could be said of their classmate Longbottom.

Alice and Frank would be appalled that their son is nothing more than quivering lump, Severus couldn’t help but think.

His grandmother has overprotected him, apparently.

Not that he could blame her, really, what with her only son and his wife lying in puddles of their own urine at St. Mungos in the psychiatric ward.

As the students began to file out, Severus took the pocket watch out of his pocket and glanced at the time.

On the inside of it, interchanging every few minutes were a picture of his mother, Eileen, and Lily.

Lily, Severus thought closing his eyes for a moment, how I wish you were here now...

Perhaps she could give him some insight as to how best to deal with her impudent brat of a son.

Sighing, Severus stood up and stretched his long legs.

He had about an hour or so before his next class of dunderheads, so he decided to take a walk around the grounds to clear his head—he might even stop off at Hagrid’s for a cup of tea.

He had not had a chance to visit the gentle giant since school had started, and he did enjoy his company (thought he’d never admit it to anyone).

After taking a few moments to get onto to Peeves the poltergeist, tongue-lash a couple of stray third years, and abort the Weasley twins’ latest prank, he headed out of the castle to get some fresh air.

As it so happened, he came upon Madame Hooch’s flying lesson.

Since half of the students were Slytherins, one of those being Draco Malfoy, and the other was Gryffindor (which meant Potter would be involved) he decided to keep to the shadows and watch for a bit.

Things were going nicely, he supposed, until Longbottom got over excited and took off prematurely.

The poor bumbling idiot bounced off the castle walls twice before landing hard on the ground.

Severus winced. And I thought he was dangerous in potions, he couldn’t help but think.

The boy managed to break his wrist and had to be carried to the hospital wing for healing.

This left more than a dozen eleven year olds alone—near brooms!

Now, I’ll definitely be keeping an eye on things, Severus thought to himself.

If Rowena Hooch actually thought they’d obey her flimsy command she had fewer bats in her bell tower than he gave her credit for.

And he was right.

The moment the flying instructor/quidditch director was out of sight, the little monsters got up to no good.

Draco Malfoy apparently found something Longbottom had dropped when he’d fallen, which he couldn’t help but commenting to his friends.

Friends, my ass, Severus thought snorting. Crabbe and Goyle are nothing but bodyguards!

Draco’s attitude since arriving at school, he noticed, reminded him strongly of that of James Potter.

And he [Severus] would put on a pink tutu and dance Swan Lake in front of the entire school before he’d let another spoiled bully have the run of the place.

Especially when said-bully was in his own House…and a member of his own family!

His taunting, of course, caused Potter—did the boy have to be the hero every time?—to issue a challenge.

A mischievous sneer crossed Draco’s face and Severus cringed. This would not end well, he was sure of it.

Unfortunately, before he could step out of the shadows and intervene before a fight broke out Draco had jumped onto his broom and taken flight.

And what was worse was that Potter—who Severus knew had never been on a broom in his life—actually followed him!

Severus felt his heart stop beating for a few seconds and he found himself frozen to the spot.

What was the little idiot thinking?

The two boys hovered above the ground, apparently swearing and name calling at each other.

Potter apparently said something that struck a nerve with Draco, Severus could tell, which caused a look of pure meanness to cross the young aristocrat’s face.

He threw Longbottom’s round Remembrall, for that was what he’d picked up, straight at the castle wall to smash it.

"Go fetch, Potty," Draco sneered at Potter and dove to land back on the ground.

Severus took a step forward, only to stop in his tracks again, as Potter—the foolish child—actually did go after the stupid toy!

He watched with his heart leaping into his throat as the boy flew straight at the castle wall, caught the small round object, and did an aerial acrobatic move that most professional broom riders couldn’t have done, and then dove to land.

He was greeted by cheers and applause.

Severus felt pure unadulterated rage feel his veins in that moment.

How dare the boy risk is life so needlessly—and for a child’s toy, no less!

He had missed smashing his brains all over the side of the castle by the skin of his teeth!

He’s about to get the skin taken off his backside when I get through with him, Severus thought fiercely.

He stepped out of the shadows and opened his mouth to shout at the boy when—

"Harry Potter!" Professor McGonagall called out from the other side, motioning for the dark haired boy to come to her.

Severus hissed. Damn the fool interfering old hag!

At least Potter will get some punishment, he thought as the Head of Gryffindor proceeded to escort the errant boy inside; scolding as she went.

Since there was nothing he could do about the Boy-Who-Lived at the moment, there was something he could do to a certain blonde haired Slytherin.

"Malfoy!" he shouted, gaining the boy’s attention. "To me!" He pointed to the ground in front of him.

Malfoy swaggered—for there was no other way to put it—to him, a smug grin on his young face.

Severus scowled at him, reaching out and latching onto his ear.

"Lose the smirk, young man," he told him, as he turned and proceeded to march him into the castle. "You are in very big trouble!"

"Ow! Professor!" Draco hollered. "That hurts! What did I do?"

"You know very well what you did, mister," Severus growled at him, as he headed for the dungeons. "Now, hush, until we get to my office!"

He marched the boy through the corridors and then down to the dungeons, where he proceeded into his office.

Slamming the door behind him, he quickly placed a silencing charm on it and then released Draco’s ear.

Rubbing his ear, Draco whined. "Uncle Sev," the boy complained, scowling. "Why’d you do that?"

"That’s Professor to you, Mr. Malfoy," Severus reminded him, sternly, "and you know damn well why I did that? You were showing off, Draco Lucius, and you deliberately disobeyed Madame Hooch—not to mention you endangered the life of a fellow student!"

Draco snorted at that, rolling his eyes.

"It was just stupid Potter," he told him, shrugging. "And I didn’t make him go after that wart Longbottom’s toy. He did that on his own!"

Severus scowled at him.

"You knew if you taunted him, he’d go," he told him, firmly, "and quit trying to weasel you’re way out of this, Draco. It’s not going to work."

"B-But.." Draco stammered. "C’mon!"

"That would have to be the most pathetic excuse I’ve ever seen and I expect better out of my little snakes, Draco," he reminded him. "Especially when the little snake in question is my own nephew!"

Yes, Draco Malfoy was his nephew—the son of his older half-brother, Lucius Malfoy.

When his mother, Eileen, had been seventeen she’d been forced into an arranged marriage to Lucius’ father, Abraxas—who was nothing more than a bully and wife beater.

She did her duty, by giving him a legitimate male heir, but then she could no longer stand his abuse any longer and fled the magical world completely.

Abraxas Malfoy then had their marriage annulled and eventually remarried a girl half his age.

At any rate, his mother eventually met his father—Tobias Snape—fell in love with him and married him.

When he [Severus] was born, Lucius was five years old.

No one knew this, of course, as the Malfoys would never allow such a scandal to be discovered—nor would the Princes, his mother’s family.

Even he, Severus, had not been aware of it until after his mother’s death when Lucius suddenly decided to play the part of the protective big brother.

He had his own reasons for this, of course—all of them not good.

However, Severus discovered it was true and whether he liked it or not was bound by blood to the smug-faced, bigoted git.

He loved Draco, however, and had vowed that the boy would not follow his father’s dark footsteps.

"Do you remember what I told you before the school year started?" Severus asked him, curiously.

Draco nodded.

"Yes, Sir," he answered. "You told me not to cause trouble, keep my head down, and do my best."

"And have you done those things, Draco?" Severus asked him, pointedly.

"Uh, well," the boy answered. "I’ve been doing my best in all my classes…"

Severus scowled.

"Yet you still can’t help prancing around as if you’re better than everybody else," he reminded him, "and this incident proves you aren’t staying out of trouble!"

Draco hung his head, not meeting his eyes. "I’m sorry," he mumbled, quietly.

Severus reached down and lifted his chin. "You shall be, dragonling," he promised him. "Take off your robe."

Draco’s eyes widened at that and he quickly shook his head.

"Y-You can’t!" he exclaimed. "We’re at school!"

"How perceptive of you," Severus snorted, "but I assure you, I can. Your mother gave me permission to use whatever means necessary in order to keep you in line, in fact."

Draco winced at that, but knew better than to try and argue further.

With a sigh, he placed robes across a chair and went to stand beside his uncle—who was also his godfather.

Severus sat down in an armless chair and then draped the eleven year old boy across his knee.

Raising his hand back, he began dishing out a well-earned smacking—making certain to cover ever inch of the small, squirming bottom.

By the tenth smack, Draco was sniffing. By the fifteenth, he was howling. By the twentieth, he was bawling.

Severus let him up off his knee and handed him a handkerchief. "Blow your nose," he instructed him, gently.

Draco did so, glancing up at him hesitantly.

"I really am sorry, Uncle Sev," he told him. "Uh, I mean, Professor." He absently reached back to rub his stinging bottom.

Severus stared down at him, but then smiled.

"I know, dragonling," he told him, gently. "Next time, you are to keep your feet firmly on the ground. Is that understood?"

Draco nodded. "I will, Sir," he told him. "I promise."

"That is a promise I will hold you to," Severus told him, firmly. "You will also be serving a detention with me tonight a seven o’clock."

Draco winced at that, but nodded. "Yes, Sir," he said, sighing.

Severus chuckled. "If you do not wish to do the time," he told him, "do not do the crime."

Draco rolled his eyes at that, as he put his robe back on. "Yeah, yeah," he said, sighing.

Severus shook his head. "Off with you now, scamp," he told him, ruffling his hair. "I have other business to attend to."

Draco nodded. "Yes, Sir," he said, and then turned to head out of the office.

Once he was gone, Severus sighed.

Between Draco and Potter, he was certain he was headed for an early grave!

And speaking of Potter…

A scowl on his face, remembering the reckless stunt the boy had pulled, he strolled from his office intent on finding McGonagall and discovering what heinous punishment she’d set the boy.

Knowing her, though, Severus scowled, she probably put him on the House Qudditch team!

SSSSSSSSSS

In the hospital room at St. Mungos, the red haired woman continued to slumber.

The nurses continued to come in and out, doing the exercises and changing the potions bags.

"And she has nobody?" one young nurse asked her mentor, as they checked on various patients.

"None except the man who visits her," her mentor replied.

"How long has she been here?" the younger woman asked, curiously.

"Ten years now," the older replied, sighing. "C’mon, we have three more to go and then we can go on break."

The other nodded and the two of the exited the room.