Come on, it was here somewhere …

Severus Snape grumbled wordlessly as he climbed another step up the ladder and began exploring the labels of the jars on his top shelf. It was about time he found a spell that could ward his property against interfering house-elves who kept trying to “tidy up”.

He had been rebuked more than once by his colleagues for his harsh words against the damn creatures, but it was all right for them—they could just Summon or levitate whatever they needed when it was put in the wrong place. He never dared perform magic on any of his ingredients—too risky. He had learned his lesson the hard way as a student when Summoning a couple of particularly volatile ingredients. There was a reason they never used Dungeon Six anymore.

His hand had just closed, triumphantly, on the jar of dragon liver, when the step he was on gave way. Severus grabbed the shelves on instinct, which turned out to be a bad move. They tipped threateningly, the first few jars sliding off and smashing on the floor, and Severus fell backwards with a yell.

He landed—backside-first—but not on the floor. There was no time to even process his position, let alone move, before the shelves came crashing down on top of him.

-

Harry felt an increasing sense of dread as he made his way towards his next Occlumency lesson. They weren’t getting any easier and Snape wasn’t getting any more helpful. Everyone kept telling Harry he had to learn, but finding the motivation to try when the lessons were no more than torture sessions, was not easy.

“Hiya Harry!”

Colin Creevey’s voice brought him out of his musings. “Oh, hi, Colin. What are you doing down here?”

“I left my camera in my Potions classroom,” Colin said brightly. “I just found it. Where are you going?”

“Remedial Potions,” Harry muttered gloomily.

“Oh, really? I didn’t know Professor Snape did that.”

“Only to people he wants to torture,” Harry muttered.

Colin looked thoughtful. “Is it true he’s very horrible to you, Harry? I’ve heard all sorts of stories …”

“I’m sure they’re not all true,” Harry said quickly—he had heard some of these stories for himself. One of them involved chopping Harry’s fingers off and using them as Potions ingredients. “But, yeah, he’s pretty vile. Why?”

Colin hesitated. “Oh … no reason. I’ll see you around, Harry.”

“See you, Colin.”

Harry arrived outside Snape’s office door with a minute to spare, gave a heavy sigh, and knocked.

There was no reply. He knocked again, a little harder. “Professor Snape?”

Still nothing. As tempted as Harry was to leave and just tell Snape later that he hadn’t been in, he knew Snape would skin him alive no matter what the reason for the lack of reply. So Harry tried the door, and found it unlocked.

Snape’s office was empty, but the door leading into his private storeroom was ajar. Harry hesitated. “Professor Snape?” he called, louder.

This wasn’t like him. Snape was always punctual. Snape should be here by now, with the Pensieve on the desk, all ready to start attacking Harry’s mind. So why wasn’t he?

“Professor?”

Snape wouldn’t leave his storeroom open, Harry realised suddenly. Not intentionally. It stood to reason that, either he was inside and for whatever reason not answering, or had had to leave in a serious hurry. Either way, something could be wrong.

He hesitated, perfectly able to hear Snape’s voice in his head, angry for poking into his business and criticising him for trying to be a hero—Harry had no doubt that, if he was mistaken, he was about to walk into detention or worse. But if he was right …

Harry couldn’t take the risk. Wand out, he pulled the door open properly.

The room looked as if a bomb had gone off in it. One of the shelving units, it seemed, had fallen down and shattered into pieces. Most of the jars seemed intact, but there was still smashed glass and soggy ingredients covering half the floor in addition to the splintered wood.

Harry’s eyes, though, were drawn to the centrepiece, and he had to fight back a laugh.

Snape didn’t seem to have seen him. This could be because he, inexplicably, had become wedged inside one of his own cauldrons.

It was the most ridiculous sight Harry had ever seen. Snape must have either been sitting on top of his cauldron and slipped in, or fallen into it from a height (more probable), because he was folded in half, rear end in the cauldron, with just his head, shoulders, and lower legs showing.

After rubbing his eyes to make sure what he was seeing was real, Harry debated his actions. Snape hadn’t noticed him yet, so Harry could just quietly sneak out of the room and wait in the office for the man to get out of the cauldron and come and teach him, never knowing Harry had witnessed this most humiliating moment.

On the other hand, Snape was pushing down on the cauldron rim with his arms, wriggling but not getting anywhere; his wand was lying on the floor out of reach. He was clearly struggling to get himself un-jammed without it.

Harry cleared his throat loudly, and Snape’s head whirled round.

“Potter!”

“Before you say it,” Harry said quickly, and trying not to show how much he was enjoying Snape’s face turning crimson, “I know I’m not supposed to be in here but you were late for Occlumency and I thought you might be in trouble.” He didn’t have to add ‘And I was right’—the scene spoke for itself.

Snape had the most peculiar expression on his face. Harry guessed it was probably a mixture of relief that someone had come, and irritation that it had been him.

“Either help me or clear off,” Snape eventually snapped.

Harry was sorely tempted to try out Waddiwasi, but didn’t think Snape would thank him for making him crash into the ceiling. Instead, he pocketed his wand and stepped his way carefully over to his stuck teacher.

The cauldron was a heavy one, weighted down. Harry grasped Snape under the arms and pulled upwards. It took a couple of minutes of tugging, squirming and grunting to get Snape free. The moment he was, he stood up, pushed Harry off him and brushed down his crumpled and potion-soiled robes, trying to regain some dignity. Harry couldn’t really blame him.

“Your lesson tonight is cancelled,” Snape muttered, retrieving his wand and wiping the yellowish liquid off of it. “I have to clean all this up.”

“What happened, sir?” Harry asked, looking at the mess properly for the first time.

“House-elves that are too concerned with rearranging my personal property than dealing with wood rot, that’s what,” Snape snapped. Harry suddenly felt very sorry for the elves. Maybe he should warn Dobby that Snape was on the warpath.

“Come back for your lesson same time tomorrow night,” Snape said, with the tone that Harry was dismissed.

“Okay, sir.” A little annoyed that he hadn’t been thanked, but still glad that he wasn’t going to be made to clean up the mess, Harry turned to leave.

“Oh, and Potter?”

Harry turned back.

“One point to Gryffindor for your—assistance.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t help it. Snape never gave points to any Gryffindor, least of all to him. He had half-hoped for a verbal thank-you, at the most. Even one point, from Snape, was like a hundred from any other teacher. At least.

It had to be a Hogwarts record. Harry felt strangely warm at the achievement.

Stunned, he mumbled a “Thanks, sir,” and turned to leave again. But Snape hadn’t finished.

“And ten points from Gryffindor for reckless behaviour.”

The warm feeling quickly disappeared.

-

Harry didn’t tell anyone what had transpired in Snape’s room. Hermione of course asked why Harry was back so early; he just replied that Snape had had to move the lesson time. He was about to go up to his dormitory to mull the whole thing over—and allow himself the giggle fit he had been stifling since he had first clapped eyes on Snape—when a familiar voice called, “Harry!”

“Yes, Colin?” Harry asked, turning round with one foot still on the first step of the staircase.

Colin looked even more excited than usual. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

“You’ll never guess what I’ve done,” Colin said eagerly as they closed Harry’s dormitory door behind them.

“Just tell me, Colin,” Harry said; he wasn’t in the mood for guessing games.

“I followed you.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“I followed you, earlier. You want Snape off your case, right? I thought I’d see if I could help.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Colin held up his camera. “I didn’t expect such great shots on my first try.”

-

True to Harry’s instructions, Colin kept his mouth shut about what he’d seen, and developed the photographs without telling anybody of their existence. Once Harry had them in his possession, he sat on them, wondering what to do.

He didn’t have to wonder long. The next Potions lesson, with Snape (who had determinedly been acting as if the whole incident had never happened) breathing fiercely down Neville’s neck, the boy had cocked up his millionth potion and earned himself a rant about his incompetence that made him shrink into his seat.

Harry watched the whole thing, mind now made up.

Once the class was finished, Harry mumbled an excuse to Ron and Hermione and hung back. Once all the class had gone, Snape took notice of him.

“Too dim-witted to find the door, Potter?”

Harry didn’t bother to dignify that with a reply, and instead dropped an envelope onto Snape’s desk.

Snape gave him a curious looked, before opening it. His eyes flashed with a mixture of fury and humiliation as he saw the contents. “You—you photographed—How dare—”

“Those are only copies,” Harry cut over him. “I have the originals.”

A vein throbbed in Snape’s temple. “What is this about, Potter?”

“Back off Neville,” Harry said. “He tries his best and he’s not going to improve as long as you terrify him.”

“You dare blackmail me?”

“Yes,” Harry said simply. “Also, start actually teaching me Occlumency instead of just yelling at me when I can’t understand the instructions that you don’t take the time to explain.” He hadn’t originally planned to make this demand, but, since everyone said it was so important, he would be a fool not to include it.

Snape’s lip curled. “Or what?”

“Or those photos will appear all over the common rooms and the staff room, and— I don’t know if I could get the Prophet to print them, it but I have an in at the Quibbler; and their readership is a lot bigger nowadays.”

“And … if I meet your … demands?”

“Then they remain safely hidden, and no-one will see them, and we need never talk about them again,” Harry said calmly.

Snape had never glared at him so furiously, but for once Harry wasn’t afraid. He knew he’d won. He resisted the urge to grin broadly as Snape growled, with the deepest reluctance, “Deal. But if those photos find their way into public, Potter; rest assured, I will make you wish the Dark Lord was torturing you.”

-

Harry hid the photos at the bottom of his trunk—he hadn’t emptied the thing completely in years, so he figured that was safe enough—and reminded Colin to keep his mouth shut. Since Colin had no desire to be charged with blackmail, he was happy to. Harry himself was relieved that Snape had given in. He had, after all, been bluffing. Knowing all too well what it was like to be humiliated in front of a crowd, Harry had no plans to actually execute his threats—even if Snape was the victim.

Still, Snape obviously hadn’t realised that. And hopefully he never would. Harry wasn’t sure he liked the idea of wishing Voldemort was torturing him.

When the next Potions lesson rolled around, Harry was oddly looking forward to it—only for the change in Snape’s attitude to Neville, obviously. But the whole class was in for a shock.

“Ten points from Slytherin, Mr Malfoy, and detention.”

The entire class froze. Mouths fell open. Snape ignored them, glare fixed on a staggered Malfoy. He had just tossed something into Harry’s cauldron, causing it to hiss and turn a violent purple, instead of the pale silver it was supposed to be.

“Did I just wake up in a parallel universe?” Ron whispered into Harry’s ear as Snape told Malfoy sternly to swap cauldrons with Harry and fix the mess he had created. Malfoy had never looked so angry and mortified. The rest of the class had never looked so flabbergasted.

Harry eyed Snape curiously as the man instructed a sweating Neville in a gentle—gentle?—voice how to get his potion to stop foaming. He then shot a glare at the rest of the class, who had been so busy staring that they had been neglecting their own potions, causing a scramble to get back to work.

During the rest of the lesson, Snape seemed … fair. For once in his life, he seemed to be treating Gryffindors and Slytherins equally. Never had such a thing been heard of. He was less harsh with the Gryffindor students that struggled, treating them the same as he treated the less capable Slytherin ones.

Harry wondered about this unexpected change. It certainly hadn’t been one of his demands. He had been tempted to try and force Snape to be nicer, but had thought that might be a demand too far. Snape, though, was apparently not going to risk getting into Harry’s bad books at all.

Well, who was Harry to stop him?