Weeks passed, and Severus hadn’t heard from or really seen Harry besides for classes, and even then, the boy didn’t so much as make eye contact for a second. Which had all been fine with Severus. Falling back into routine had been easy for him, and he was sure it was much easier on Harry. At least he thought. Not that he cared. His job was to teach insolent, obnoxious children the art of potion brewing and then call it a day. Easy enough for him.

               Yet, Severus could never get the thought of Harry’s homelife out of his head. It was like an endless nagging in the back of his head, reminding him that even the great Harry Potter deserved fair treatment at least from his family if no one else. He knew this.

               Why did no one else seem to care?

               It didn’t matter anymore. He had to get Harry out of his head. The boy was alive enough and would be fine. Harry also wore the new clothes Severus had bought for him. It was only nearing Christmas break. Severus was sure the boy would choose to stay and then there was still months of school. The boy would be safer and healthier here than at his relatives. Besides, it was just ten weeks of summer. How much damage could someone really do in that time? Severus closed his eyes as he was hit with a memory.

               “Damn it, boy!” his father’s thunderous voice echoed in the house. “Get down here now!”

               Severus had just returned home from Hogwarts for the summer, his mother had dropped him off home and left for work, and he had been setting his bag down in his room when he flinched at his father’s voice. So much for a welcome home. He couldn’t wait for fourth year to start. He walked back down the stairs, glancing over the railing.

               “Yes, father?” he asked, pausing on the stairs, afraid to move down any further.

               “Do you see the mud you tracked in?” Tobias stood at the bottom of the stairs. “What have I told you about taking your shoes off before coming into this house? What the fuck will it take to get that rule through that thick head of yours?”

               Severus looked at the doorway. One muddy shoeprint on the carpet. That was all he could see. And he had taken his shoes off, just in his room instead of right by the door. He figured it was a force of habit from school, but he wasn’t going to share that info with his father. He crept down a couple more stairs, hoping his face looked as apologetic as possible. It would be best to play submissive than get in with it over one small mud print.

               “I’m sorry, I’ll clean it up immediately. I just forgot . . .”

               “You do an awful lot of forgetting,” Tobias commented, his face suddenly expressionless. “What are they teaching you at that freak school of yours?”

               “Just stuff,” Severus said, taking a step down closer, praying he’d be allowed to grab a rag, clean the floor, and run back to his room with no problems.

               “Stuff, eh?” Tobias motioned for Severus to come all the way down the stairs. “Anything about common sense rules?”

               “Well . . .” Severus hesitated, pausing in front of his father at the bottom of the staircase. He looked up at the man, wanting this talk to be over.

Tobias was just staring at him, his face still expressionless. Severus swallowed dry air and was about to say he’d clean the mess up when a hard fist slammed into the side of his head, knocking him to the floor, his head bouncing on a stair, the crack from the fall audible across the room. Severus saw stars among a black sky for several seconds and his ears rang. Blood dripped from where his forehead had collided with the stair.  

               “Let that be a lesson on remembering,” Tobias said, walking away.

               Severus absently rubbed at his forehead, realizing that had the man struck him any harder, he could have hit the stair with much more force and potentially have suffered more than a mild concussion. And that had been the first day of his summer vacation. Who was he kidding – it did not take ten weeks to kill someone. The Dursleys’ could very easily starve the boy in a matter of a few weeks, overwork him in the hot sun in a few days, or even hit him hard enough as Severus’s own father had down. Any of those scenarios could be the boys last bit of life and it would hardly take all of summer to kill a child. And death wasn’t even the main issue. Harry’s emotional and mental health were at stake just living with the Dursleys, as was his physical health if they chose to starve the kid.

And no one cared to do a thing about it.

Severus sighed, turning his attention back to his class or first year Gryffindor and Slytherin students. Harry had his head bent over his cauldron as he worked, purposefully avoiding the professor’s gaze. If the boy kept that up, his hair would be just as greasy as Severus’s, the man thought amusedly.

               Severus walked around the room, checking on each student’s cauldron. He paused directly behind Harry, noting that the child tensed and stopped stirring.

               “Stand up straight,” Severus demanded, “you’re brewing a Forgetfulness potion not steam cleaning your hair.”

               Slytherins snickered across the room as Harry stood up straight, sending a quick glare Severus’s way. The boy’s mistake. Their eyes met for the first time in these few weeks, and Severus simply glared back. Harry gave in and turned back to his potion, making sure to keep out of the fumes. Severus smirked. No one could beat him in a stare down. He began to walk away when he remembered something and paused.

               “Stay after class, Potter,” he threw over his shoulder before continuing through the classroom.  

               Harry froze once more, and Severus could hear the quiet whispering between the Golden Trio as they tried to figure out what he might want Harry to stay behind for. Severus decided to allow the children to fret and worry. He continued through the classroom, checking on the other students’ progress.

               As class was almost over, a loud crash vibrated off the stone walls of the dungeons. Severus spun on his feet and glared at Neville Longbottom. Of course, the clumsy oaf couldn’t make it through one potions class without causing some kind of scene. Some child of well-respected Aurors. That boy would never live up to his name. Severus stalked towards Neville, glaring down at the child, taking in the dropped vials of finished but now ruined potions on the floor. What a waste of his products.

               “What is the meaning of this?” he hissed through his teeth.

               “I-I dropped it by accident – it just slipped, I swear – I’m really sorry, sir –” Neville rambled on quickly.

               Severus rolled his eyes and said, “Enough blabbering from you. Obviously vialing a potion is far too complicated for your minuscule brain, not to mention that you have wasted good material with your clumsy –”

               “It was an accident, sir,” another voice dared to interrupt him. And Severus didn’t need a second to guess who. He sent a glare Harry’s way, once more meeting the boy’s own glare.

               “Get back to your own station, Potter,” Severus growled, pointing back at the Golden Trio’s station.

               “No,” Harry said, “I mean, no, sir.”

               Cause adding that sir made his defiance all the better. Several students in the class stared wide-eyed at Harry, watching the interaction. Severus clenched his jaws and turned more towards Harry and away from Neville.

               “Do not make me take points. Go back to your station and vial your potion.”

               “Leave Neville alone, then, sir. It was an accident, he didn’t mean to break the vials.”

               Severus didn’t really like the way Harry said “sir” each time. Obviously, the boy was trying to remain respectful without actually sounding respectful. He wondered if he should comment on the triviality of doing that. Deciding now was not the time for that, Severus narrowed his eyes at the boy and decided on a different tactic.

               “And is Mr. Longbottom not a Gryffindor?”

               “What does that have to do with anything? He’s a Gryffindor.”   

               “Then surely you could have allowed him to stand up for himself without butting your nose into another’s business, but I guess minding your own business is a trait our celebrity seems to lack.”

               “I’m not a celebrity and I’m just helping a friend, a trait Slytherins seem to lack.”

               He did not, Severus thought in his head, his eyes flashing. Students oohed in the classroom, some gasping. He bit back a comment, not wanting to keep this silly “comebacks” conversation going between himself and an eleven-year-old. He pointed back to Harry’s station.

               “Vial your potion then report to my office, Potter.”

               Harry glared at him.

               “Now,” Severus growled for emphasis, “before I start taking points and handing out detentions.”

               Harry glanced at Neville then back up at Severus before slowly turning back to his table, picking up a spoon to scoop up and fill a vial to label. From the distance he was at, Severus could see that Harry’s potion was not only the wrong color, but the wrong consistency. Severus sighed, but turned back to Neville, scanning for any damage the spilt liquid may have caused. Had the boy been sleeveless, the potion would have seeped into the child’s skin and caused who knew what kind of memory loss. Honestly, potions should not be taught to any class under fifth year. Good thing robes were required in school.

               “Remove your robes,” Severus said, glaring at the trembling boy. “Do not touch the sleeves. Knowing your skill in potion brewing, you might very well have concocted some kind of skin eating poison.”   

               Neville paused in stripping out of his robes, his eyes wide and looking at the wet sleeves. Severus smirked and left the boy with that. A skin eating poison. Amusing. But highly unlikely.

               “Class is over,” Severus announced. “I expect everyone to have a correctly labeled vial filled three-fourths the way with your completed potion on my desk. And I swear, if it doesn’t have your name on the label, I will take house points for such carelessness.”

               Severus watched satisfied as everyone checked their vials multiple times to make sure everything was complete, some filling the vials a bit more with their potion. Everyone finished cleaning their stations, gathered their belongings, and set their vials on Severus’s desk as they left the dungeons. Neville was the last to leave and Severus scanned the room for any more stragglers. Severus left the vialed potions on his desk and locked the classroom door, making a beeline for his office.

               He saw Harry standing outside the door to his office.

               “It was locked,” Harry said.

               “As it should be,” Severus commented, reaching for the knob spelled to open for him and him alone. He held the door open for Harry, motioning for the boy to hurry inside, shutting the door behind him.  

               “Sit,” Severus said, pointing to a chair in front of his desk.

               Harry slumped down into the seat.

               “Sit up!”

               Harry quickly did as he was told, glaring at Severus. Severus ignored him and took a seat behind the desk.

               “I had simply wanted to talk to you about your grade, but first, we are going to discuss your behavior in class.”

               “You were bullying Neville!”

               “Mr. Longbottom has nothing to do with how you behaved in class, and he was perfectly fine.”

               “He has everything to do with it!” Harry argued, frowning in disbelief. “You had no right –”

               “As the professor,” Severus interrupted, “I have every right to handle my students as I please, and as I still have permission from the headmaster to handle you as I please, you better start watching your mouth and attitude with me, boy.”

               Harry’s glare softened, and he looked a bit warier now.

               “As for your behavior,” Severus continued calmly, “you need to learn to stay out of what isn’t your business. If I am not speaking directly to you, do not interfere with my lecturing another student.”

               “You weren’t lecturing him,” Harry mumbled, though silenced at Severus’s dark look.

               “Furthermore, if you ever cause a disturbance in my class as you did today, you will be spending your nights scrubbing every crevice and wall in the potions classroom. Do you understand me?”

               “Yes, I understand you,” Harry said, then grumbled in a quieter voice, “It’s not like you were speaking Greek or something, of course I understand you.”

               “You are pushing it, Potter,” Severus warned.

               After a few intense, silent seconds, Severus sighed and summoned his gradebook.

               “About your grade, care to explain why it’s Dreadful?”

               “My grade in potions has always been “dreadful,” I’m sure,” Harry frowned, crossing his arms defensively.

               “No, Potter,” Severus sighed, rubbing his temples. He'd have to dumb this down, wouldn't he?  “Dreadful is your grade. You have a D. And yes, your grade in potions has always been low, but before it was a P with some chance at getting an A, but now it’s a D. Why the dropping grades?”

               Harry shrugged, picking at his nails, his eyes not looking up at Severus. This was the longest interaction the two have had since Harry ran out of this same office after being drugged with Veritaserum. Severus was sure he knew why Harry’s grades were dropping, but he wanted the boy to be aware of the fact himself, so he wouldn’t have to repeat first year potions. It was his job as a professor to do so.

               “You need to start aiming for higher grades or you’ll have to repeat first year potions, Potter. And neither of us want to endure the other for longer than necessary.”

               “You can say that again,” Harry said under his breath.

               “One more smart-mouth comment out of you and I’ll have you serving detention with me tonight.”

               “Well, what about you? I can’t say anything, but you can say whatever the bloody hell you want?”

               “Language.”

               “It’s just English.”

               Severus sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples. Honestly, what did he think would happen by asking the boy to stay behind to go over his damn grades. If Harry wanted to fail so badly, why not let him? But then Harry would have to stay an extra year in his classes to make up for all his years, and this is if he doesn’t fail another potions class.

               “Do you want to fail potions, Potter?”

               Harry studied the way the tip of his shoe made a circle pattern on the floor.

               “No,” he admitted softly.

               “You need to start receiving at least E’s on your next few essays to get your grade back up to a P. And then, if you can keep your grades high, you might pass the class with an E.”

               “Why do you care anyway?” Harry gave Severus a curious look, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.  

               “It’s my job as your professor to make sure you at least pass the class.”

               “It doesn’t seem like you’ve talked to anyone else who’s failing.”

               “No one else had grades worsening but you.”

               Severus knew that was a lie. Neville Longbottom went from a P to a T in two weeks. The boy would need a miracle to pass. At least that Granger girl seemed to be helping him out now. And there were a few other students with failing grades, but at least they were maintaining a P. Their finals might help raise that P to an A. But Harry’s grade had slowly been getting worse, and Severus had wanted to put an end to it. Not anyone else’s. Just Harry’s. Why? Severus had no idea. But his answer seemed to satisfy Harry, who looked back down at his shoes.

               “Is there anyway I can do extra credit?”

               Severus frowned. Had he heard that question correctly. Harry wanted to do extra credit? For potions? Severus leaned back in his chair.

               “Why?”

               “To get my grade up.” Harry gave Severus a look.

               “No, I meant,” Severus bit back a growl of exasperation. “I meant why do you want to do extra credit? Why do you suddenly care so much about your grade and the class when moments before you were willing to let it drop to a T?”

               “I’ve always been interested in potions,” Harry admitted quietly.

               That was news for Severus. From his perspective, Harry had never shown any interest in the subject. The boy kept talking.

               “I thought it was cool how you could make something magical out of common things and maybe even cure people. I thought it would be my favorite subject.”

               All this “I thought” made Severus realize that potions weren’t Harry’s favorite subject because of the professor. Just like the saying: one bad professor can ruin an interesting topic. For a split moment, Harry reminded him of Lily, who had enjoyed potions and even excelled in it. And her son had been so eager to learn the subject, and there was Severus, ruining the beauty of the brewing art. What did he not ruin? It wasn't like he could take back these past few months nor would he want to. Harry would have to learn that he shouldn't let his feelings about certain professors effect his grades. 

               “If I give you extra credit, everyone else will want extra credit,” Severus said blatantly. Harry’s face fell. “However, if you turn in an extra essay along with the one due next week, I will boost that grade of yours back up to a P. Then, you will just have to work on pushing it up to an A.”

               “Really?”

               “Yes. But you will not turn in a sloppy homework assignment with this extra essay. If you do not receive at least an A on your homework assignment, the extra essay will count towards nothing.”

               “Yes, sir,” Harry nodded his head, “what am I writing about?”

               Severus leaned forward, steeping his hands on the desk. He would have to go about this as carefully as possible. He didn’t want the boy getting suspicious of what he was looking for from him. If he did this perfectly, and Harry followed through, he might be able to extract enough information of the boy’s homelife. If no one else wanted to help the child, Severus would have to help the boy himself. But without anyone realizing, else he gets in trouble with anyone. He tilted his head, studying Harry’s impatient face.

               “In muggle schools,” Severus said, “students are given a quote, and asked to write what they think it means, relating it to their own personal experiences. I will give you a quote and you will write an essay on what it means and how it relates to you. No less than two feet.”

               Harry frowned but nodded his head.

               Picking up a quill and ripping a piece of parchment from a longer sheet, Severus scribbled down his quote before holding it up for Harry, saying, “Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself. Rumi.”   

               “Who’s Rumi?” Harry asked.

               “A poet and theologian, but that’s beside the point,” Severus said, handing the parchment to Harry. “Remember, no less than two feet. And your homework assignment better be an Acceptable.”

               “Yes, sir.”

               “You are dismissed.”

               Harry stood and walked out of the office, staring down at the slip. Severus hoped the boy really thought it through and wrote with truth and experience. He hoped the quote wasn’t too confusing for him to figure out or that he avoided talking about his homelife period. It was a gamble, a plan he had just thought up and acted on the whim of, but if it worked, Severus could use it to his advantage.

               All he needed now was patience.