That night felt like one of the worst of Harry's life. Even Nott had abandoned him by dinner time. Anyone near him was liable to be pushed, shoved, hit, kicked, or knocked down the nearest stairwell. After the first such attack, Theodore had given him a pitying look and gone to talk to a tanned-looking boy named Blaise Zabini.

He hadn't managed to eat a bite at dinner. His stomach had shrunk to the size of a peanut, it seemed. He had cut himself again before dinner. On his ankle, this time, where no one could see, and if they did, he could pass it off as an accident. For now, anyway. When everyone finally understood the depths of his freakishness, perhaps he could do it openly? Then again, they might get angry that he was damaging himself. Like he was property.

Detention was awful. Professor Snape set him to scrubbing cauldrons for four hours. The work wasn't difficult--the scathing comments about his fame, his personality, and his life up until now were. He started to wonder if Snape was mocking him. Famous? Pampered? Harry's shoulders had slumped as he finished the last cauldron. No. He knew what that meant. Even his life with the Dursleys was not as difficult as it was supposed to be. He had been spoilt and he had been lazy. He didn't even deserve the space of the cupboard under the stairs, and he vowed to do better next summer, do more. Try to lessen the burden his own life gave on everyone around him.

When he got to bed, the blankets had been removed, leaving only the bare mattress. Someone had written "Brat Who Lived" on his pillow in green paint. The muffled snickers around him grew to a crescendo, but Harry ignored them. He simply pulled the bed curtains tight around his bed and sat perfectly still in the middle until the noises had died away.

Then he grabbed the besmirched pillow and crawled under the bed to sleep on the floor. At least it was relatively warm and cozy there. He didn't deserve the blankets anyway, it was good that someone had taken them.

With that thought on his mind, Harry drifted into yet another uneasy, broken sleep.



~*~*~*~*~*~*~



"Ah, Severus!" Dumbledore's twinkling eyes and beaming smile caught the dour Potions professor as he slouched into the Great Hall the next morning. Severus grunted at him.

"What?" he snapped as he poured himself his first cup of coffee. The only thing that made mornings with a thousand shrieking brats bearable, he decided as he took another sip.

"I would like to speak with you after breakfast about one of your first years," Albus said in a lower tone, the twinkle dimming. Severus felt a brief flash of concern. What could have the Headmaster looking so somber? Breakfast passed with unusual slowness and Severus watched his Slytherins set off. The Potter boy hadn't eaten much again, he realized with irritation. Hogwarts food might be plain fare to a spoilt child, but it was good and it was healthy. If that brat didn't start eating more at mealtime, Severus thought he might just make mealtime verboten a time or two. A few hours spent with a grumbling stomach should clear that pesky pickiness up very soon.

Albus led Severus up to his office. The password this semester was "blood lollipops," which made Severus shudder every time he heard it. The sweet sounded absolutely disgusting to anyone but a vampire and yet, he had no doubt that Albus had not only tried it, but liked it. There was something wrong with the man's sweet tooth.

"It's Harry," Albus began once the door was safely shut behind them. "I saw him yesterday before dinner...he had some spots of blood on the hem of his robes."

"So?" Severus said, rolling his eyes. "He's an eleven-year-old. All children get into scrapes, fall down...it's not a big deal."

"Perhaps not," Albus acknowledged. "However, I'm still worried."

"Why?" Severus lounged against a chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He still felt cranky--a positive sign he hadn't had enough coffee. "Unless he was standing in a pool of blood, I don't see how it matters."

"There were an unusual number of fights last night. I'm worried that Harry might be, well, harming the other children," Dumbledore said. He looked positively distressed, something that Severus had rarely seen on his mentor's face.

"Harming other children? What do you mean, Albus? Do you think the boy is...going Dark?" Now that Severus had a difficult time believing. The boy might be a spoilt brat, but Dark? His parents had been killed by a Dark wizard! He couldn't see Potter turning to the Dark side after that.

"I don't know," Dumbledore sighed. "Just...please, would you keep an eye on him, Severus? And--maybe talk to him?"

"I talk to all my first years, you know that," Severus snapped. "In fact, tomorrow I set up the appointments to talk to each of them in turn. Perhaps I can move up Potter's."

"That may be a good idea," Albus acknowledged. "I hate to suspect young Harry of anything so nefarious, but blood spots don't lie, I'm afraid."

"I understand, Headmaster. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a class of dunderheads to teach," Severus said, quickly escaping. He thought the headmaster had probably gone a bit barmy in the head. Potter? Evil?

No. Still, to assuage his feelings when he saw the boy sprawled at the bottom of a staircase, he stopped and told the boy that he wasn't to go to meals until he could learn to eat properly and not like a spoilt beast.

He would learn, Severus thought as he swept into his first class. No brat could stay that arrogant for long when the Potions Master was bound and determined to break him.