There were only five minutes left until Harry's first Potions lesson of the term.

Harry, however, remained positioned at the edge of the cold lake, seemingly unidisturbed by the fact. The chilly wind whipped bitterly against his exposed face. Had the water not been frozen, he might have been skipping stones. As it were, he had very little to distract him from the events of the day. His friends would probably be standing outside the dungeons, waiting impatiently for the minutes alone with Harry that he was determined to prevent.

He didn't want their apologies. It wasn't just that he was sick of hearing them. Yes, the new Ron and Hermione were insistent upon apologizing for every little disturbance, as if a stack of spilled textbooks in the hallway would send him over the edge, or a bit of cold toast would have him scrambling for the butter knife. Their overwhelming kindness was beginning to come off as mendacious as Rita Skeeter's. He missed the old Ron and Hermione, who wouldn't have been afraid to tell him if his homework was poorly written or his shirt looked stupid. He knew his friends were just worried, but he couldn't help but feel just as lonely without their sincerity.

Would an apology now, after all, be sincere? Ron should damn well feel guilty, but Harry had heard the so frequently that it now seemed meaningless. This was the first instance that he felt he truly deserved an "I'm sorry", but he dreaded the inevitable "You aren't going to do you-know-what over this, are you?" that generally accompanied it.

Now that he thought about it, he'd never really learned to skip stones. Was that not something that a father was supposed to teach his son? Or... a Godfather?

At least the sting that came now was justified. He'd spent the last two hours trying to convince himself that he wasn't stupid for being upset at his friends. His thought process drifted back to McGonagall's lesson...


"I am going to assume that the majority of you did not spend your holidays brushing up on your transfiguration skills," began Professor McGonagall, beaming slightly at the bouncing Hermione. "As such, we will begin term by practicing a few simple elemental exercises before continuing with animal transformation. You each have a metal dinner plate before you. You will be transforming this into an ordinary wine glass."

"P-Professor," interrupted a shaky voice next to Harry.

"Mr. Weasley?" responded McGonagall, her tone sharp.

"Professor McGonagall, don't you think that this lesson is a little ... erm, dangerous?"

"Dangerous, Mr. Weasley?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, glass can be... can be sharp, you know."

"Glass... can be sharp," McGonagall echoed. "Thank you for that marvelous observation, Mr. Weasley, now If I may continue..."

Several students burst into laughter. Harry, however, did not. He could feel the blood rising to his face; something that hadn't gone completely unnoticed by Malfoy, who was now looking curiously at the two of them. Harry shot Ron a warning look, but Ron wasn't paying attention. His eyes remained fixed on McGonagall.

"Please, Professor. If the glass were to break, one of us could... get hurt. Maybe we could try turning them into... I'dunno, pillows or something," said Ron nervously.

"Mr. Weasley, if you are going to continue to interrupt my lesson with your inherently stupid outbursts, I will be seeing you in detention," spat McGonagall. Ron fell silent. "Now, as I was saying..."


Perhaps Ron hadn't been completely out of line. But his carelessness wasn't something that Harry could easily overlook.

The watch on his wrist displayed ten past the hour. He cursed loudly and sprinted back toward the castle. He hadn't meant to be this late, but he was sure Snape would understand once he got the chance to explain how awkward his friends had been treating him. It was funny how he'd once feared walking into Potions fifteen minutes after class had begun. How he used to dread his Potions professor, the nasty remarks and the unfair treatment. Today, however, he walked into the dungeon with complete confidence. It was quite an unfamiliar feeling.

"You're late, Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor," came Snape's cold voice from the front of the classroom, popping Harry's confidence like a bubble.

"Sorry, Professor, I-"

"If you continue to delay my lesson with your tiresome explanations, it will be ten more. Now take your seat, Potter."

Harry joined Hermione and Ron at their usual table, careful not to catch one of their glances. He wasn't sure what he had expected. He and Snape had never really discussed Potions lessons, but he certainly hadn't been anticipating the same unfair treatment. He was staying in Snape's quarters, after all. Had they not become friends of sorts? At the very least, they had tolerated each other. He glared at Snape intently. If Snape had noticed, he didn't show it. He continued the remainder of his lecture without falter, and instructed them to work on their Memory Potion in groups.

When the noise in the classroom had reached a proper camoflauging level, Ron finally spoke.

"Harry... I'm... that was... I didn't think that through."

"He means to apologize, I think," explained Hermione, delicately placing a Jobberknoll feather in their cauldron.

"Yeah... what Hermione said. And you aren't... I mean... you aren't going to... you know... over this, are you?" asked Ron in a hushed voice.

Though he had fully been expecting it, Harry was almost surprised to hear the words out loud. Could Ron really be this predictable? The anger that had been growing for Snape quickly returned to Ron.

"No, Ron, I'm not going to transform our potions book into a wine glass, shatter it, and use the broken bits slash myself!" exclaimed Harry. The color from Ron's face drained at the mention. Harry may as well have said Lord Voldemort.

"I'm just making sure!"

"Well you can quit acting like this! You're making me regret ever telling you anything-"

"Harry, Ron's just concerned about you. I mean, we both are. Please don't be upset," said Hermione, who was crushing their beetle eyes with a look of disgust on her face.

"I'm not upset, okay? I'm fine. Look, can we just talk about something else for once? Like Quidditch? We have a match coming up against Ravenclaw soon."

"Right, Ravenclaw... I'd forgotten..."

"Do you two cretins intend to sit and talk about Quidditch all lesson?" interrupted Snape, his arms folded menicingly.

"We were just-"

"Being utterly useless while Miss Granger finishes your potion for you? And you, Miss Granger, intend to let them take credit for your work? Dear, dear... it seems you really do enjoy showing off at every opportunity."

Several Slytherins chuckled. Harry looked up at Snape, confused. He opened his mouth to speak, but Snape continued before he got the chance. "Zero marks for you today, I think, Mr. Potter. Perhaps you can try to recreate the potion without the help of Miss Granger... in detention."

And with that, Snape walked away to investigate Neville's cauldron.


------

"Go on, then. I need a word with Snape. I'll catch up with you later," urged Harry impatiently. Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks, but seemed hesitant to start another argument. They left without comment.

The Potions classroom was nearly empty. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry thought he'd seen Malfoy staring, but turned around to find him leaving the classroom with Goyle. The only remaining student was Pansy, who was discussing some mundane holiday event with Snape. Stubborn, Harry approached the front of the room and took a nearby vacant seat. Snape took no notice, and was instead listening intently to Pansy's story, which Harry thought was about as interesting as feeding a Flobberworm. It wasn't until Snape began asking her questions that realization began to sink in: Snape had to be avoiding him. Nothing had changed. He grabbed his bag angrily, and marched out of the classroom.

He had been worried about finding Ron and Hermione waiting for him, but the person that stood outside the dungeon door made Harry wish for his initial prediction.

"Hey Potter, I saved you some of my memory potion!" said Malfoy with an odd smirk on his face, dangling a small vial of liquid from his fingertips. "I figured you could use it during detention to try to remember the ingredients without that know-it-all mudblood."

"Lay off it, Malfoy," muttered Harry apathetically. His foul mood did not need any of Malfoy's taunting. He turned around and began to walk away, but a loud sound made him stop: the unmistakeable smash of a vial against the stone cold floor.

"Or maybe," continued Malfoy quietly, "You could shatter the vial and use the broken bits to slash yourself."

Harry froze.

"That's right, Potter. Perhaps you should watch your noise level during lessons."

Was it worth lying? Would it matter? He turned on the spot, quickly checking the surroundings for nearby eavesdroppers. When he was certain they were without company, he approached Malfoy and lowered his voice.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing, Potter. But I'd certainly watch my step if I were you."

And with that, Malfoy left Harry alone and speechless in the hallway.

What did it matter?

What did it matter if he did it again? Why had he even stopped? For his friends, who were handling him like a China doll? For Snape, who had just destroyed every feeling of trust Harry had grown for him? For the secrecy that didn't exist? It didn't matter much, really. He had been stupid to trust any of them. He was better off alone, without having to worry his friends or risk blackmail. What good had come of him discussing his feelings?

Nothing.

And now, here he was, unable to stand up for himself, with nobody to talk to. All of the happy feelings, the feelings of strength he'd had just days prior, they flooded out of him and gathered on the stone cold floor with the spilled memory potion.

Frustrated, he bent down and picked up a broken bit of vial. A part of him didn't want to give Malfoy the satisfaction, but it wasn't quite strong enough to combat the overwhelming feeling of emptiness that had taken the place of every positive feeling he thought he'd had. He needed it, and it was there. It simply didn't matter how, and it didn't matter where. It just mattered.

------------------

It was enough to return the rage. Harry stormed into Snape's dungeon and slammed the door angrily. He wasn't sure he'd even wanted to return in the first place, but he needed to retrieve his things. He began gathering his belongings, shoving them angrily into his messy trunk, taking great care to throw everything in as noisily as possible; he was practically begging for a confrontation. He heard Snape's footsteps approaching.

"Harry, what are you doing?" asked Snape, calmly, as if the last Potions lesson hadn't happened; as if he didn't understand what was wrong.

"Oh, it's 'Harry' now, is it?!" shouted Harry, thrusting his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook forcibly against the side of his open trunk. "Glad to know we're the best of pals again!"

"Calm down, Harry-"

"Stop calling me that! It's 'cretin' now, anyway, right?!"

"You know I had to interrupt your conversation. You were speaking far too loudly about private matters. You should have known better. Someone might have overheard-"

"Well you can stop worrying about that now, because your favorite student already knows. And he's going to tell everybody if I don't 'watch my step'."

The silence that followed this statement was unexpected. Harry looked up from his mess of a trunk, watching Snape as he silently strode to his desk, collapsed into his chair, and planted his elbows firmly on his cluttered desk. He massaged his temples gently with his fingers, and Harry saw a look of concern that he hadn't seen before. He wasn't sure how to react. Though the anger was pulsing through him, he took a seat across from Snape, keeping his fists clenched tight, and biting his lip to avoid shouting.

"What?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Snape did not answer at first, keeping his eyes pinned on the quill in front of him. When he finally did speak, his voice was as gentle as Dumbledore's:

"Draco knows?"

"Well, yeah, that's what I've said, isn't it?!" exclaimed Harry, upset that this seemed to be Snape's only concern. "And now everyone will know!"

"Your biggest concern should not be your fellow classmates," said Snape solemnly. "The Dark Lord cannot obtain knowledge of your weaknesses. The sole purpose for my continued abuse in Potions was to prevent this very circumstance, Harry, I thought you'd understand that."

Though he was still fuming, Harry felt a twinge of embarrassment at his irrationality. Of course. It made sense. Malfoy would undoubtedly be suspicious if Snape had started treating Harry respectfully during class. That would have been even more revealing than Ron's ridiculous outburst in Transfiguration. Still...

"You could have told me. You SHOULD have told me!" Harry stood up, feeling his confidence return.

"I was concerned you'd react differently. I needed you to be angry, to be flustered, to be frustrated. When I heard what happened in Transfiguration, I knew Draco would be a bit suspicious already; I was hoping to extinguish that. And if your acting skills are as poor as your Occlumancy..."

"You don't trust me."

The words had escaped Harry's mouth before he'd even had a chance to think them through. He didn't deserve anyone's trust, not really. He suddenly felt regretful. He'd been so certain that he was on the right path; that he was going to get better. And he'd acted once again without thinking, allowing his irrationality to accompany his anger, just as he had so many times before. It didn't matter that Snape had unintentionally hurt him. Even if Snape had turned on him suddenly, he should have been stronger. He should have been able to resist. The guilt he'd been trying so hard to suppress overtook him. He stared down at his sleeve, knowing full well what was beneath it, and felt a sense of defeat that had nothing to do with Malfoy's knowledge or Snape's behavior.

He glanced back up at Snape, who had obviously noticed Harry's action, and recognized the knowing look in his eyes. This time, however, it was combined with a look of guilt. He sighed heavily.

"You're absolutely right, Harry. I should have informed you."

"No, I didn't mean-"

"I think, perhaps, that I have had my priorities mixed up. Now, please bring me your arm."