Harry was in the corridor a couple days later, moving to Herbology. The corridor was packed with students. He fell into step with Fred and George.

“Hey, Harry.” Fred put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “We’re making some really wicked spells with the money you gave us.”

“Oh, brilliant!” Harry said. “I saw you testing some stuff out. Did you ever figure out how to get rid of the boils?”

“Er, still working on it. But hey,” Fred nodded to where Ginny was standing near an alcove, chatting with friends, unaware of the twins and Harry passing by, “look at this other one we got. Watch.”

Fred pointed his wand at Ginny, “tinctura capillus!” Immediately her hair morphed into an eye watering shade of neon green. Fred and George howled with laughter. Ginny touched her hair and brought a handful of it before her face. Her eyes widened at the sight and she looked up, ready to kill someone. Fred and George, and now Harry, laughed even harder.

“You!” She waded into the crowd and aimed her wand at Fred.

Fred sobered immediately. “Oh shit.” He ducked and her bat-bogey hex hit a passing second year full in the face. The second year’s older sister took offense and flung a hex at George that made his feet swell to four times their normal size. Fred shouted and shot a jinx that arced out of his wand in a rainbow and ended in a pot filled not with gold, but with rotted eggs that launched themselves into the air.

After that, things got hazy. Harry was aware of ducking a petrification jinx and shooting a stinging hex off over his shoulder. Someone shouted out in pain and out of nowhere a deluge of ice water drenched his head and shoulders. Some students were laughing, some—mostly the younger years who didn’t yet have the full grasp of magic—were crying. Jinxes and hexes and cursed charms were flying around everywhere. Magic burst in the air in showers of crimson and cobalt. A window broke. A statue of a gargoyle leaped off its pedestal. Suits of armor started marching. A portrait exploded in a ball of fire, it’s owners—a group of women dancing in a circle—leaping into the portrait of a startled unicorn beside them. Peeves showed up, delighted at the chaos, and started shooting stink pellets at random out of a blow gun.

“This is more like it!” George crowed, shouting, “unguem!” at a Slytherin fourth year. The boy’s fingernails grew out fast, curling around his hands.

The voices of shouting teachers soon waded into the fray. McGonagall’s shrill shout of, “Owens get off that gargoyle!” echoed along with Flitwick’s higher voice shouting the incantation to lower a group of shrieking first years who were pinned to the ceiling. Harry and the twins ducked behind a huge marble vase and cackled among themselves. They all had tears on their faces from the laughter and Fred and George gave each other a high-five.

“There y’go, Harry.” George wheezed, “since you’ve been moping so much lately.”

A Hufflepuff girl zinged a hex towards them. They ducked. The hex hit the vase’s handle and it popped off and crashed to the floor. The corridor was emptying out as the teachers restored order and people continued on to class. Harry shot up from his hiding place, determined not to let their Hufflepuff attacker go free.

“Creo cornibus!” He shouted, aiming his wand at the girl. She dove behind the nearest cover.

Unfortunately that cover was Professor Snape, distracted by a screaming first year who was getting converged upon by translucent nibblers.

The jinx hit Snape full in the back and he staggered forward. Color drained from Harry’s face as a pair of fuzzy pink antlers sprouted from the man’s head. He whirled around to search for his attacker. Behind the remains of the vase, Fred and George were laughing hard, doubled over, their faces red.

“POTTER!” Snape shouted. None of the remaining students laughed at Snape’s predicament. They all fled. Harry took a step back, horrified at his mistake. The Nox rubrum wasted no time, sending stinging, sparkling pain up his arms and legs. “Owww…” he hissed.

Peeves chortled in mid-air, rolling over and over, “I’m dying up here! Get it?Dying!”

Without looking, Snape aimed his wand over his shoulder and blasted a hex at Peeves. He screeched and vanished. Snape drew nearer to Harry, his black robes billowing and the antlers—already starting to shrink and vanish—making him look like some kind of mythological spirit out for vengeance. It would have been funny if Harry wasn’t so scared. Rather than wait for Snape and accept the inevitable, Harry turned on his heel and tore down the corridor with the remaining students.

“Mr. Potter!” McGonagall called. She was coaxing the gargoyle back up onto its pedestal. “Slow down before you fall!” He ignored her and ran like his life depended on it. Sure, Snape had apologized a few days ago, but the fear and pain of the last spanking was in the front of his mind. He didn’t trust the apology to be truly genuine. Not yet, anyway. He had never heard Snape apologize for a thing, especially not to him, and they were now treading in uncharted waters. Harry didn’t want a repeat of that awful evening and Snape had looked mighty upset by the antlers. On some level he realized how childish he was being, running away from Snape like an errant toddler in a shop. Had he paused to think he would also realize that the Nox rubrum was only going to attack him harder until he sought Snape out. He didn’t pause to think though. He ran out the door and to his Herbology class, which he was only about ten minutes late for.

Harry slipped into Greenhouse 3 and found the class all standing at work benches, harvesting pods. It smelled damp and fresh and the humid air clung to his skin.

“Sorry, Professor Sprout.” He said, going to stand beside Ron and Hermione. “There was an incident in the corridor.”

“I see.” She said. “Well, join the others. They’ll get you up to speed. And Harry? Don’t make being late to my class a habit.” She held a pair of gloves out for him.

“Yes, Professor, sorry.”

He slipped the gloves on and joined Ron and Hermione. Neville was behind them, working with Seamus. Everyone’s gloves were covered in goo.

“Where’ve you been?” Ron asked as Harry came up to their work bench.

Harry explained quickly about the hexes in the corridor.

“You were there for that?” Ron sounded jealous. “Ginny told me about it on the way here. She was right pissed off at first but admitted the hair color spell was pretty good. She managed to get it mostly back to normal but it’s still a bit green. I told her she’s ready for Halloween and she kicked me.”

Harry told them how he hexed a pair of antlers onto Snape and everyone in hearing range laughed.

“And yet you live?” Hermione smiled.

“Are you nuts? I ran for it.”

“Less talking, more shelling!” Sprout announced. Harry grabbed a pod and started popping out the syrupy brown seeds.

There was nothing for it. His whole body was aching by the end of class. In fact, the pain of it seemed to be worse. Last term the attacks didn’t hurt this bad. Last term it had been stinging and tingling but now he was aching, his limbs feeling heavy and sore. McGonagall had told him after Transfiguration that his potion was evolving and he would start to get worse attacks so long as he irritated Snape. And if he ignored it forever, it would attack his heart and kill him. The last person Harry wanted to face was Snape but he had no choice. The potion was cruel and didn’t understand nor care about Harry’s feelings towards the person doing the smacking. Harry had to wait until Snape’s schedule had an opening, enduring the pain of the potion for another hour before he set off for the office.

He headed off to the dungeons, trying not to feel miserable and wishing he could take a healing potion, when he heard a sweet, girlish voice a few paces behind him the drafty corridor.

“Mr. Potter!”

He froze. Umbridge. Fuuuuuuck. Why?

“Mr. Potter. Where are you headed off to?”

“Uh, I have to see Snape—Professor Snape.”

“For what?”

“Um, remedial potions?”

“Goodness. Professor Snape must not be a very good teacher if students need this much help outside of class.”

“No, er, no, he’s good. I’m just really bad at brewing potions!” He smiled and shrugged, trying to play this off as his own idiocy. The Nox rubrum bit into his body and he laughed to hide the groan. She stared at him, suspicious.

“I think you’re lying, Mr. Potter. I don’t think you’ve been seeing Professor Snape for remedial lessons at all.”

“No. I’m not lying. Professor Snape is expecting me.” He shrugged. It wasn’t a lie. Not completely. Snape really was expecting him in his office at some point. Of course it wasn’t for a potions lesson…

“Hm.” She still looked suspicious. “Well, I’m concerned about your education at this institute, Mr. Potter. I’d like to sit in on this remedial lesson.”

Harry’s bones turned to sand. He was sure he was going to pass out.

“Oh! No, that’s not necessary!” Harry said. “No, you’ll be really bored.”

“On the contrary,” she grinned. “I’ve yet to see Professor Snape one-on-one with a student. I think it would be most enlightening.”

Harry really wished a Death Eater would pop out of the suit of armor over there and kill him right now.

“Uh…”

“Lead the way.” She smiled primly and clasped her hands, waiting for him to start walking. He gulped.

“Sure.” His voice cracked softly and he headed for the dungeons. His mind spun. How was he going to get out of this? He couldn’t tell her to bugger off. He couldn’t tell her anything without drawing even more suspicion. Butterflies, no, thestrals flipped around in his stomach. Snape was going to spank him and Umbridge would bloody watch. This was going to be worse than the Occlumency lesson.

The Potions classroom was empty and Harry opened the door. He really hoped Snape was here or his whole plan, such as it was, would go to pot. Snape must be expecting him. Surely he knew after all this time how this potion went. He knew Harry would be seeking him out eventually.

Harry knocked on the office door.

“Enter!”

Harry closed his eyes briefly, steeled himself, and pushed open the door. “I’m here for my remedial lesson!” He said loudly before Snape could say anything.

Snape had a large book open on his desk. He was standing, leaned over it and reading. The antlers were gone. He looked up at Harry, his expression inscrutable, before his gaze flicked behind him.

“Professor Umbridge.” He said in a silky, dangerous voice. “What a, ah, pleasant surprise.” He glanced back at Harry. If Harry didn’t know him as well as he did, he wouldn’t have noticed anything. However, after spending all this time together this year he was able to detect an expression that promised Harry was going to be explaining all of this later.

“Hello, Professor Snape. I’m here to observe your lesson with young Harry, here. Since he has been receiving so very many remedial potions lessons, I can’t help but wonder if your teaching methods may be remiss.”

Harry closed his eyes and wished for death. She was insulting Snape’s teaching abilities. He was never going to sit again.

Snape stared at Harry and closed his book. If it was possible to close a book dangerously, Snape had just done it. He gave Umbridge a barely-there smile. “Of course you may observe. Anything for the ministry. Potter,” he said in a tight voice, “set up your usual cauldron. I’ll be with you shortly.”

Harry charged into the classroom. Umbridge followed serenely. Harry hoped Snape was retrieving his wand so he could Avada Kedavra him into oblivion. Umbridge sat down at Snape’s desk at the front of the room and took a little notebook out of her pocket. Harry picked up a cauldron. It slipped out of his clammy hands and crashed to the ground with a massive clang. He crouched behind the table under the pretense of picking it up again and grimaced at the attack currently slamming through his body. He rubbed his aching, burning arm even though rubbing never really helped.

Why hadn’t he just said he had to go to the hospital wing? He could have said he was feeling and ill—which was true. He could make up some story for Madame Pomfrey about a stomach ache and take a nap in the beds down there. He could have made up some story about how he needed to see Snape and then she could have summoned him and everything would be fine. Stupid!

Snape came out of his office with a few jars of ingredients. He set them on the table. When he saw Umbridge at his desk, his jaw clenched and the muscles there twitched. “As before, Potter, I think we’ll do something easy again.” Snape said in a cool tone. “Given that you botched it last time.”

Harry stared at him. Snape knew damn well there hadn’t been a ‘last time!’ Was he actually playing along with this lie? Snape was lying? To another professor?!

“Sorry, sir,” Harry stared him in the eye. “I’ll do my best to improve on my previous lesson.”

“I want you to make a simple healing potion.” Snape picked something he knew the boy would know. Healing potion was one of the first things students learned. He stood beside Harry. Umbridge watched with interest, making notes. Snape folded his arms, his cloak making him look like a huge bat, and stared down at Harry in full Imposing Potions Master mode. “Let’s see if my teaching abilities really are remiss.” His voice was icy.

Harry frowned. So he was upset about Umbridge’s comment. He was probably pissed off about the antler thing too. This was going to be the most important potion Harry ever brewed. Fortunately, he could brew a healing potion in his sleep.

“Isn’t a healing potion a bit easy, Professor?” Umbridge asked. “He’s in his fifth year.”

“And I’m just awful at potions!” Harry said to her with a hysterical little shrug before Snape could answer. “Which is why I’ve been having so very many of these remedial lessons.” He glanced at Snape. “You usually shout at me a whole lot and that’s why I leave your office crying sometimes.”

Snape watched Harry speak to Umbridge and tried not to laugh at Harry’s pathetic attempt at a lie. The boy was terrible at lying. He rolled his eyes instead. “Yeah. Something like that.”

He shifted around to the front of the table, blocking Umbridge’s line of sight to Harry. He dropped a note beside the cauldron. Harry reached out, subtle, and pulled the paper closer.

If you can push through the attacks, do so. Nod if you need me to get rid of her.

Harry, still nervous and hysterical, bit back a giggle. Who the hell was this? The Snape he knew would beat him in front of Umbridge just because he could but this Snape, this Snape was really lying for him. Honestly, it was kinda fun. The man was such a grouch and a stickler for the rules. To hear him so brazenly and comfortably lie—and to be lying to Umbridge—was hilarious. Another attack wrenched Harry’s body, making him squeak and drop the bottle of dittany on the table top.

“Careful, boy.” Snape leaned over to pick up the bottle. Umbridge couldn’t see him and Harry scrunched his face up and clenched his fists, riding out the stifling agony.

“Yes, sir.” He managed. He nodded furiously and picked up a spoon to measure out the dittany.

“Keep going. I forgot something in my office.” Snape swept the note up and disappeared into his office.

“Mr. Potter, what other potions have you made?”

“Uh, the Draught of Peace.”

“Did you find that difficult?”

Not really but Snape was a git and vanished it before I could find out if it was correct. Although it was pretty much ruined by then…

“It was tedious and took me a long time to brew.” That was the truth.

Snape returned after a moment. A fresh ink stain was on his finger. Snape and Umbridge both watched Harry bring the water in the cauldron to a simmer and carefully begin adding ingredients. Harry realized he was doing too well to be believable that he was hopeless at making potions and he asked Snape, “do I stir counter-clockwise after the dittany?”

“No. Clockwise. As I’ve told you in every one of these remedial lessons...of which there have been many.”

Snape said it completely straight-faced and Harry had to fight back a laugh. The nerves were making him punchy.

He brewed the rest of the potion, stirring it slowly and bringing it down to a simmer.

“Do you remember how long it has to simmer?” Snape asked.

“Er, ten minutes. No, twenty? No, wait. I sure am a dolt…”

Dobby popped into the room. He bowed and presented a note to Dolores Umbridge.

“Dumbledore? What does that old coot want now?” She mumbled, reading it. “I thought he was still away.” She folded the note and hummed, addressing Dobby. “Tell Professor Dumbledore that I shall be there at once.”

The elf bowed again and vanished.

Harry stared at the bubbling cauldron.

“Did I do it right, sir?” He asked. They both knew the healing potion was up to even St. Mungo’s standards.

“Probably not. I shall check once it’s cooled. I hope you didn’t botch this one like you did the others in all the remedial potions lessons we’ve had in the past.”

Harry couldn’t help it. He let out a loud laugh before quickly covering it with a fake coughing fit.

Dolores Umbridge cast a glare at both of them, her eyes narrowing to suspicious little slits, before she took her leave and left the classroom. The moment the door shut Harry sagged to his knees and groaned.

“Snape…” He muttered. He was immobilized by the roar of the attack before it vanished as quickly as it arrived.

“Come on.” Snape hauled him up. His hand was a vice around Harry’s bicep as he darkened the fire under the cauldron and pointed the boy into his office.

“I’m sorry.” Harry said as he entered the room. “I didn’t mean to hex you before. I really wasn’t aiming at you. I was aiming at that Hufflepuff girl…”

He fell silent and looked at Snape. The man had sat in the armless chair and was simply watching him.

Harry stood in front of his teacher, worrying at his fingertips with his other hand. “Are you angry with me?” He ventured.

“I’m certainly not happy with you, hence the attacks you’re currently experiencing. You did attack me. Not to mention you ran away. Hexing a teacher is grounds for expulsion.”

Harry’s eyes went wide and Snape bit back a smirk.

“Well…I mean, I cast the hex. I didn’t mean for it to hit you! And I only ran because I didn’t want to get smacked…”

“I know. You’re not getting expelled. But you were still involved. You still broke several rules. You know there’s no dueling allowed in corridors.”

Harry couldn’t argue with that.

“Are you ready?” Snape asked.

The thestrals flapped in Harry’s stomach and he inhaled sharply. His heart was starting to pound.

Snape rolled his right sleeve up. Harry watched him with a slightly sick expression. He didn’t want to be spanked. What if Snape’s apology had been rubbish and he was about to go mental again? Although, he didn’t look like he was going to go mental. Last time there had been shouting and raging but now Snape looked really calm, actually.

“Harry.” He said, forcing himself to be patient. What would his father have done when faced with a nervous teenage boy he was about to hit? Snape would just do the opposite.

Harry steeled himself. He pulled his robes off, trying not to quake. He draped the robe over the chair and approached Snape on slow feet. He took Harry’s arm and pulled him between his knees. Harry couldn’t help tensing up. Thoughts of the last horrible spanking flew through his head. Harry remembered crying and shouting, Snape calling him names, comparing him to his father, pulling his clothes down. He shivered.

“Hey, look at me.” Snape’s voice was softer than Harry had ever heard it. Harry did.

“Do you trust me?”

“No, but I want to.”

That was a fair answer. Snape guided him down and Harry went over his left leg. He was so tense he could barely get into position and he held himself stiffly, more bent over than actually laying.

“Harry.” Snape’s voice was stern but not angry. A big warm hand rested on his back. “Go on.”

Harry dropped onto his leg, tilting forward to touch the cold floor with his fingertips. Snape left his hand on Harry’s back, smoothing his palm over his shirt. The hand moved up and firm fingers pressed into the knots in the base of his neck. That felt rather nice. Harry hung his head further and felt his shoulders open a bit. He could smell the fireplace and the smoky potion-spice scent of Snape’s clothes.

“Calm down, Harry.” Snape purposely lowered his voice into a soothing pitch. Harry hadn’t been aware Snape was capable of speaking like this. “This won’t be like last time...for which I am truly sorry. I’m going to spank you, yes it will hurt but it will be over quickly and your attacks will stop.”

“Yessir.” Harry said. His body relaxed slowly.

“Ah, good, uh, good lad.” He said, trying at being encouraging. “Are you all healed?”

“Um, I have some bruises kinda low. That stuff you gave me in the jar helped though.”

“Here?” Snape touched the spot where backside met thigh. He’d paddled him there, wanting to make it hurt.

“Yeah.” Harry said.

“Then that area will be avoided.”

The hand moved off his neck and wrapped around his waist. Harry grit his teeth as Snape raised his arm and he winced when several spanks landed briskly over his bottom. It hurt. It always hurt. Every time he forgot how much it hurt and then once it started again he regretted upsetting the man and landing himself in this position. The hexing had been brilliant though. A quick smile at the memory of Ginny flinging a bat-bogey hex and then Snape landed a particularly hard smack, scattering it. Harry clenched his eyes shut and tried to stay as still as he could. The smacks landed in a stinging, throbbing, aching rhythm. Harry growled, hoping it would be over soon.

Pain shot up his arms and legs and he gasped. Tears popped into his eyes.

“What?” Snape lifted both hands.

“Ow…it’s still happening….”

Snape made an exasperated sound. “Harry,” he put his hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to use the paddle again. I think the potion is evolving.”

“Yeah, McGongall said something about that.” He sounded completely dejected.

“Yes, good. So stopping the attacks may require harsher methods. Two of the ingredients in the Nox rubrum, the agrippa and the anjelica, when combined they can increase in potency over time.” It was actually far more complicated than that but for Harry’s purposes this would do.

“Oh my god.” Harry muttered. Anger heated his face. “I don’t want to get a hand chopped off because of this fucking potion!”

“It won’t come to that.” Snape told him, ignoring the language. “If anything you’ll just lose a toe or two.”

“Oh, ha ha.” Harry grumbled.

“Accio paddle.”

It zoomed into his hand. Harry groaned.

“Steel yourself with good news: there is in fact an antidote.”

“Really?!” Harry looked up over his shoulder. “Ow!” The potion was getting angrier and Harry lost feeling in his legs for a few seconds.

“Brace yourself.” Snape warned.

Harry did. He shouted out when the paddle crashed into his backside. Snape wasted no time. The paddle rose and fell five more times fast before he stopped.

Harry was crying quietly. His shoulders shook and shuddered and Snape felt terrible.

“Hush.” Snape patted his back. “Hush…” He looked at the clock as usual, timing how long it would take until another attack was due. “Accio handkerchief,” he muttered. He could feel the boy’s shudders as he cried, his deep gasping inhales. Harry took the handkerchief gratefully and wiped his face.

“Anything?” Snape asked.

“No.”

Harry hung there for a few more moments, composing himself. Snape rested his hand on Harry’s back, idly rubbing his shoulders and attempting to offer comfort. More tension bled out of him and Harry shifted to get his feet under him.

A hand slide under his chest and then Snape was hoisting him up to his feet. All the blood rushed from Harry’s head and he tilted dangerously. He didn’t fall though as Snape was holding him solidly steady. Harry blinked a few times and stepped away. He didn’t even feel ashamed about rubbing his backside. He slipped his robes back on and watched Snape go to his desk and put the paddle—a dark red wooden thing, rectangular and drilled with holes—in a drawer.

“How did you manage to get Dolores Umbridge involved in today’s unpleasantness?”

“Oh, um, I’ve run into her a couple times after…after we’ve met up, and she would ask me why I was so near the dungeons. I was still crying after that, that night—after last time.”

When I lost control like my father and beat you way too hard? Snape thought bitterly.

“I had to think of something so I told her I was coming from a remedial potions lesson.” Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. His backside was throbbing. “I think she suspects something. She keeps running into me like she’s trying to find me.” Harry looked up at him. “She might suspect you too now.”

Snape scoffed. “Like I care. Did you tell her I was being unbearably cruel to you?”

“Actually she added that part herself.” Harry cleaned his glasses on his sleeve.

Snape sighed.

“Thank you, though, for getting her out of here. I thought you’d want to smack me in front of her.”

“Why did you think that?” Snape asked. He sounded genuinely curious. “I told you that public humiliation never taught anyone a thing.”

“I don’t know—today is like one of the only times you’ve been decent to me! You apologized and you were, like, not an arse today. I don’t know what to think anymore. I thought you’d take any chance you could to make this even more horrible.”

Snape let out an exasperated sigh. “Harry, I don’t like this situation any more than you do. I wouldn’t spank you in front of another student or professor and if someone else wanted to observe they would need a damn good reason.”

Harry rubbed the kerchief across his nose and remembered Snape’s bad memory. It made sense why he’d feel that way about public humiliation.

“Okay, that’s fair.” Harry said. “What did you do to get her out of here?”

“Sent a note to Minerva asking her to tell Umbridge that Albus wants to meet with her on the opposite side of the lake.” He opened his desk drawer as Harry howled with laughter. “He’s not even at Hogwarts this week. Take this.” He held out a piece of candy wrapped in pink foil.

Harry composed himself and took it, frowning. “What the hell is this?” Harry asked, looking at it like it was dung.

“Manners, boy.” Snape growled. “Do you want to go over my knee again?”

It was an empty threat and they both knew it but Harry closed his mouth and turned the crinkly ball over. “Relaxing Rum Raspberry?” Harry frowned.

“It will…calm you down. Ease the discomfort.”

Harry stared at him. Snape was giving him candy? Were the planets flying out of alignment? “Are you under the Imperius curse? Is this poisoned or something?”

Snape slammed the drawer closed. “I’m not bloody cursed and it’s not poisoned, foolish child! Just eat it!” He paused and schooled his voice. “It’s infused with a relaxation potion. I also want you to take that healing potion you made. I should have offered you a healing potion a long time ago.”

Harry unwrapped the candy and popped it into his mouth, half expecting to spit blood or to have his teeth dissolve or something. He hummed, pleasantly surprised. Within moments a soothing warmth eased his limbs. The worst of the ache in his arse faded edged off into a steady throb. The candy itself was berry-flavored and a touch effervescent.

“This’s good, Professor.” He said, trying not to slobber.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Happy it meets your standards. Take this too.” Snape handed him a little wooden pot. Harry opened it, revealing a pale blue cream.

“Chilling cream.” Snape said by way of explanation. “You can apply it to any sore areas. It will cool the skin and offer comfort.”

Harry’s eyes widened. What on earth was happening? Was the galaxy rending in twain? Snape was being accommodating. What the hell? “Thanks, Professor!”

“It has a very short shelf life. That batch will go bad in forty-eight hours so don’t lose it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry slid the pot into his pocket. Wow, Snape really was sorry for losing it on him.

“Here.” Snape handed him a list. “The antidote.”

“Oh!” Harry read through the list quickly, barely taking in the words, and glanced around the office. “Well where is it?”

“What?”

“The antidote!”

Snape stared at him. “It’s not made yet, imbecile!”

“What are you waiting for?” Harry said, hoping he didn’t sounds as whiny as he thought he did.

“Read the ingredients!” Snape told him.

Harry did. “Asphodel, figures. That’s in all the parts of this…Petrified Unicorn Scales? An eyeball? Milk from a three headed goat drawn by the light of a crescent moon?!” Harry threw the page down. “You made this up!” He shouted. “That last one’s not even real!”

“I did no such thing, Harry, and I assure you it is indeed very real. DO NOT shout at me.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Once all the ingredients are collected it has to brew for several days. It requires precise stirring, a delicate environment, and round the clock attending. You see how complicated this is? This won’t happen in a hurry.”

“Damn. I was hoping it would be easy.”

“Nothing about this has been easy.”

“Yeah, why start now?” Harry muttered. They were both quiet for a moment. “Thanks for…well, the candy and the cream, and…everything, I suppose sir.” Harry said. “I’ll grab my healing potion on the way out.” Harry left before Snape could say anything. The corner of Snape’s mouth went up as Potter ran off.

Harry felt elated as he went out to the classroom and ladled the warm potion into a few vials. He smiled, despite everything. That experience hadn’t been completely terrible! Snape had given him sweets and cream! He’d been a decent human being and patted his back! He’d done that thing with his thumbs and made his neck feel better! He hadn’t beaten him in front of that complete hag Umbridge! And, there was an antidote! Harry grinned as he gulped the fresh potion. It raced through his limbs, soothing and melting away the aches. He felt better than he had in a long time. Snape wasn’t as much of a prat anymore and Harry felt like the man was actually on his side for once. Maybe he would survive the Draught of Asphodel after all.