The atmosphere was different.

For Harry, it felt both awkward and surreal. But at the same time, he relished in this new feeling. The strange wall that had once risen high between him and the man now was gone. One night had brought it down. One small talk had taken down that barrier both, Harry had no doubt, thought would never come down.

Snape was still his prickly self. Harry still had to go to Potions classes. They still weren’t separated from the spell. But when they were alone, there seemed to be something more. Harry had taken a risky step that Wednesday night. But when he had heard Snape echo the same words that Luna had so beautifully said, Harry hadn’t been able to hold back.

And he found it had been relieving to divulge his feelings to Snape.

The man hadn’t made fun of him. The man hadn’t said what Harry had felt was true, yet somehow had known wasn’t. Instead, Snape had said what any adult would’ve said – or better yet, what a parent would’ve said.

No, it was not your fault.

How many times had that thought tried to take root in his soul, but his mind rejected it? How many times had he dreamed a false version of the events in the graveyard, one where Cedric accused him for his death? How many times would poisonous thoughts threaten to overpower him? But hearing the truth from Snape cleared the doubt. The blame solely lied in those who would do evilly against their fellowman.

Thus, the emotional distance between Harry and Snape had gotten that much smaller and the physical distance of how far they could be apart extended.

Thursday had been uneventful. Harry had gleefully attended the Gryffindor and Slytherin third year Potions – which just happened to be the same class period as his fifth year Defense Against the Dark Arts. Oh, well. Too bad he had to miss that.

Yeah, he could get used to this – very quickly.

Friday, however, proved to be more eventful.

Dinner had been pleasant for once. After Ron and Hermione had left, Harry had had a few moments to exchange with Luna, where he learned Nargles had stolen her last pair of shoes – thus, explaining the reason why she had been currently barefoot. It had been then Harry realized there was something more to the Nargles thing. Somehow, he never figured he could be that irritated.

He was determined to do something about it.

After dinner, though, Harry became faced with a more pressing issue .

“I have to attend a what?” asked Harry, staring at Snape with his mouth hanging open.

“A career assessment,” said Snape, setting aside his outer robes. With a flick of his wand, the fire place roared with renewed flames. Harry followed the man into the living room, before Snape turned around. “You meet with your Head of House and discuss possible career choices, along with your desires in what area you would like to major in. Usually, this is done later in the year, but—” He sneered, his lip curling. “—the newly instated High Inquisitor has made it mandatory that it be scheduled earlier in the year. She’ll be in attendance, so you would do well to mind your tongue.” With a grudging sigh, he added, “Although, I loathe to admit, I must agree with her changing its schedule. It gives students the entire year to think about what they want to do.”

A career assessment? Wonderful. Just what was he supposed to say? He had no idea what career choices there were in the Wizarding World. Just what did wizards do all day, anyway? There didn’t seem to be many choices, in Harry’s opinion. He’d been at the Ministry of Magic, but surely all those wizards and witches were doing something of use.

Though, look at the Fudge…

“But why?” asked Harry, feeling the panic growing in his chest. “Why do I have to discuss it with McGonagall?”

“Professor McGonagall,” corrected Snape, looking mildly annoyed.

“I don’t want to talk about my career choices with her or anyone,” said Harry, not realizing his voice grew higher as he spoke. “And Umbridge is going to be there? Like I’m gonna talk about anything in front of her!”

Snape, he noticed, didn’t correct him on leaving off the title of respect for Umbridge.

“Yes, and as I said, mind your tongue around her. She can make a lot of trouble for you.”

Harry made a stressed sound in the back of his throat.

Just what was he going to do? He hadn’t really thought about it too much. Ron had mentioned how cool it’d be an Auror and Tonks was pretty awesome, too. Obviously being coordinated wasn’t a requirement. But being an Auror required facing dark wizards all the time. Harry had no desire to do that. No way. Not after the crazy crap Voldemort pulled on him all the time.

No, after the graveyard, Harry was done with dark wizards.

Though, Harry was more realistic than that. He knew, in the end, it would be him to face Voldemort. The man was constantly going after him. No doubt, it would probably be down to just him and Voldemort. If, of course, Voldemort didn’t have his lackeys hanging behind him like Dudley did with his gang.

So, if Harry survived the battle between himself and Voldemort, there was no way he wanted more of those Life and Death situations.

“Have you considered what you want to do after Hogwarts?”

Harry warily looked at Snape. The man seemed genuine in his question. Should he risk it? Who knew what mood the man was in, though. With a hesitant thinning of his lips, he nodded. He regretted it instantly. That old sneer entered the man’s face, that same one which flooded his face with Snape thought about Potter. Harry braced himself.

Old habits died hard.

“Oh, yes, glorious Harry Potter wants to be an Auror,” said Snape, his voice verging on his usual biting tone. His face contorted with contempt. “Just like his father.”

Yes, that’s what everyone expected of him. Everyone would think their stupid hero would want to continue saving their lazy hides. The wizarding  world was so brilliant to put their hopes and their lives on one powerless child. Instead of taking their own fate into their own hands, they would rather let their scapegoat take the fall for their sins.

No, it didn’t matter that Harry Potter, their Boy-Who-Lived, was only a fifteen years old kid who was average in his classes and who had no outstanding skills. It didn’t matter that their supposed hero lived in a home where its occupants hated and despised him. While the wizarding world worshiped him on their fleeting whims, they had no inclination to save him when he really needed it most.

Harry, from the tender age of eleven, had been thrown into a world nearly as merciless as the one he’d come from.

Harry’s limited patience snapped.

“Shut up!” cried Harry, slicing a hand through the air. “Just shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Snape’s face tightened. “No?” he drawled, that same sneer on his face. “Are you sure you do not want the same thrilling job as your father and beloved mutt of a godfather had? Surely you would relish in the glory—”

“No!” shouted Harry, interrupting the man, having no patience to hear where that line of thought would go. “I don’t want to be an Auror!”

“Oh?” said Snape lightly, drawling yet again with that ever hateful sneer. “Then, do enlighten me – what does our precious Potter want to be when he grows up?”

The last of Harry’s control snapped.

“I want to be a Potions Master!” shouted Harry, his chest heaving. Then, he sucked in his breath immediately after, stunned he let that slip. He clamped his mouth shut, clapped a hand over it, and dropped his head, not wanting to see the reaction from Snape. The silence that followed became unbearable.

If he had looked up, he would’ve seen the normally emotionless, impassive man rooted to the spot with his mouth hanging open.

“You… What?” breathed Snape, his voice extremely soft.

Harry bit his lip, his feet shuffling slightly. He slowly lifted his head. At the pure shock written across the man’s face, Harry’s heart lifted in hope. Snape looked so surprised, maybe he wouldn’t make fun of him.

“I want to be a Potions Master,” whispered Harry, his voice quiet as he revealed a deep desire from his heart. But then, the cynicism of reality settled into his voice. “Yeah, I know it’s impossible, but it’s something I’ve wanted. I’ve always known it’s never gonna happen, so it doesn’t matter.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“When…?” whispered Snape, still stunned as ever.

“Uh… Second year,” said Harry, now wondering if the man would recover. “I had, uh… some interesting experience that year. But yeah, I know that I’m completely pants at Potions, but it’s still something I… really wanted to do.”

“Not… an Auror?”

Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah,” he drawled, not unlike Snape would. “Because I enjoy having people try to kill me. I enjoy it so much, I’d want a stinking career over it.” Harry let out an annoyed sound in the middle of his throat. “No, thank you. If I make it alive after… Well, let’s just say, I rather have a more peaceful lifestyle, thank you very much.”

It was a bit disconcerting to see the man just stand there, saying nothing to this. Thus, Harry continued on, not thinking about what he was saying, giving every excuse in the book as to why he couldn’t peruse the career he really wanted.

He really didn’t want to believe his own words, though.

Severus was shocked to his core; in fact, he had never been this surprised in his life.

The boy still rambled on about why he couldn’t be a Potions Master. Severus only half listened to him. In all his tenure, he’d never had a student who wanted to seek a full career in the subject of Potions – well, except for that one boy, but after a fantastic fail of his NEWTs, he pursued a photographer career for the Daily Prophet. Other than that, sure, there were many students who enjoyed the art. Potions was a subject needed in various careers in the wizarding world; thus, Severus had many students in his NEWT classes, but none of them had sought a mastery in it.

After all, a mastery in any subject required more than just good NEWTs. It also required four years of Apprenticeship after and, perhaps, even during school. But finding a Master who was willing to take on an Apprentice or who didn’t already have one was rare. There were only three licensed Masters in all of England. One was in retirement, the other already had an Apprentice, and the third… Well, Severus had his Potions classes to take care of and no one had asked him, either.

He didn’t exactly inspire such things.

This, however, was certainly new.

Perhaps, it’d be his fault throughout the years. He hadn’t made the subject enticing to students, he knew that, but Potions was a dangerous art. He’d been determined to not have any major injuries nor fatalities in his classroom – not while he was still breathing. Professor Slughorn had been less attentive, to say the least. What Severus prided himself on were no fatalities or excessive deformities in his classes. He hadn’t ever considered fostering the love of the art in his students, though, not like Slughorn.

But here was a student who wanted it, despite being the one person to be the least likely to even want to continue past OWLs – even more than Longbottom himself.

Now the real question remained, just how much did Potter want it?

Severus whirled around, his eyes searching through his bookshelf. The boy still didn’t stop his rambles and Severus didn’t bother to listen any more. His eyes flickered through the titles, before landing onto the three he was looking for. He pulled them off the shelf and turned back to Potter.

“Here.”

The boy blinked and held out his arms, just in time for three tomes to drop there. The immense weight of the books nearly toppled him off his feet, but Potter steadied himself, staring at the books in his arms. He looked like a house elf in wandlight.

“What?”

“You will need those,” said Severus, quickly running through the classes he took during his fifth year. His mind raced through titles and subjects needed to pass OWL year and to pursue a Potions Mastery. “Your work in my class is average, at best, so I expect you to work harder.”

Potter’s mouth was slowing opening, his eyes widening.

“I do not take anything lower than an Outstanding in my NEWT classes, but if you study those books, along with your textbook, you will do fine on the test.”

Light began to enter those emerald green eyes.

Severus whirled back around, his hand beginning to skim against the bindings of his books.

“You will need Herbology,” continued Severus, withdrawing a well used encyclopedia of plant life and setting it into the crook of his arm. “Professor Sprout takes a lower standard, but you better get an Outstanding nonetheless. You are my ward; I expect high things of you. It will also mean you know your plants and that is extremely important in potions.”

Severus withdrew two more books – both on Herbology – before piling all three on top of the pile he’d already given the boy. Potter lost his balance underneath the weight and collapsed onto the couch. But he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were beginning to wide even more, the light dancing there.

“It is a pity you haven’t taken Ancient Runes,” said Severus with a sigh. “Far better elective than most. Drop Divination,” he added, his lip curling unpleasantly. Even the teacher in his day had been an idiot. “It’s a crock. In fact, drop it now, and let’s see if you can attend a third year Ancient Runes class in place of it – well, when this spell has been removed, in any case. The use of Ancient Runes could prove very useful in searching for ingredients.”

Another two books were found and tossed onto the couch next to the boy.

“History of Magic is a joke, due to its teacher,” said Severus, sighing again. “Pity. It could’ve been very interesting, but Albus will not budge on that matter. Do not bother too much, but you still had better pass. Astronomy is a must. You will need it. Some plants only bloom during certain lunar cycles.”

Three more books landed next to the boy.

“Pro–Professor?” gasped Potter. 

Severus turned around. “Yes?”

The boy was staring at all the books in shock. Though, there was light within those eyes – light beyond anything Severus had ever seen before there.

“Does this mean… Does this mean you’ll help me? Are you…”

“No doubt, Potter, I will not be helping you.” The boy’s enter countenance fell, his body falling limp. He looked crushed, now staring at the books with despaired confusion, as if he knew he’d never be able to do it. Before Severus could stop himself, he felt the desire to say, “However, guiding you along the correct path, yes.”

Severus had to squash the rising warmth in his chest when he saw the boy’s face light up like a tree on Christmas.

“I am not doing your work for you. You have to work hard. I will help you in understanding, yes; but no charge of mine will laze about, expecting others to do his work for him. You have three years of Ancient Runes to catch up on, along with bringing all of your current studies to a higher standard. It will not be easy.”

Potter sucked in his breath softly, his eyes filled with that dancing, hopeful light.

But simply passing his OWLs wouldn’t be enough. The boy needed one more thing if he wanted a Mastery in Potions: a Master and Apprentice relationship.

Which meant only one thing.

“But… But you think I can do it, right?” asked Potter softly, gentle excitement rising in his voice. “D’you really think I could do this?”

“Potter, you’re a smart lad,” said Severus, before he could stop himself. Well, there was no holding back now. “I have no doubt that if you really wanted something, you could do it. It won’t be easy, but it will be possible.”

Blast it. Why was it so satisfying seeing that hopeful, excited look on the boy’s face?