Harry remained rather melancholy over the course of the next few days. He went about everything in a sort of glum haze, not really finding anything too interesting, and simply picked at his food at most meals. Nothing seemed particularly fun anymore, not even the first Quidditch practice of the season, and he just couldn’t work out why.

 

Ron and Hermione noticed how down Harry was, but they seemed to just assume it was a symptom of the situation with Hagrid. Harry had met back up with them in the common room after his evening in the Hospital Wing, where they’d informed him that Hagrid had been practically inconsolable in his hut, worried about the situation with Draco and his job. Harry had given them a brief outline of his time in the Hospital Wing, and had carefully deflected any further questioning about Snape. Ron had been angry and sympathetic on Harry’s behalf about the detention, while Hermione had a slightly reproachful look in her eyes that let Harry know she thought he deserved it. None of it penetrated the fog surrounding him.

 

Things only worsened on Thursday morning as he headed down into the dungeons for their first Potions lesson of the year. Harry went to take his usual seat in the back of the dungeons, only to be stopped by Snape blocking his way, eyes narrowed.

 

“Not so fast, Potter,” he said softly. “Front.”

 

Harry grimaced - he’d forgotten Snape knew he couldn’t see the blackboard now. He reluctantly shuffled to the front of the classroom. Ron, in a show of loyalty that Harry deeply appreciated, followed along with a commiserating grimace. Hermione, who usually sat there anyway, beamed at the both of them.

 

As the Potions lesson continued, Harry found he still couldn’t concentrate. Like he’d promised, Snape wasn’t being outwardly horrible to Harry whenever he could seize the opportunity as he’d done in previous years, but that wasn’t helping him focus. Harry found Potions horribly tricky, and the atmosphere of the classroom tended to unnerve him at the best of times. Furthermore, while Snape had promised to leave Harry alone, that promise clearly did not extend to his classmates. Snape maintained his usual icy persona as he circulated the classroom and glared at the Gryffindors while they dropped things into their cauldrons, frequently barking angry reprimands.

 

“Three caterpillars, Finnigan! Five points from Gryffindor for your inability to follow directions!”

 

“No whispering, Patil. Five points from Gryffindor for disrupting the class.”

 

“Orange, Longbottom,” Snape hissed, gesturing to Neville’s cauldron, which was supposed to be a bright acid green. “Orange! Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn’t you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn’t I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?”

 

Neville was staring at the floor, obviously on the verge of tears.

 

“Please, sir,” Hermione interjected quickly, “please, I could help Neville put it right -”

 

“I don’t remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger,” Snape hissed, and Hermione flushed a deep pink. “Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.”

 

Neville was shaking by the time Snape moved away. He turned to Hermione and whispered, “Please, help me!”

 

Harry glared down at his chopping board and accidentally decapitated a caterpillar. He was also shaking, but it was with anger, the first emotion to burst through the numb cloud he’d been continuing in for the past few days. After the events of the summer, where Snape had proven that he was capable of being a far more considerate and calm person, his usual callousness when it came to Neville seemed even more heartless. In fact, Harry had started to forget how horrible Snape had it in him to be. Seeing him revert to the behaviour of before had him seething. It was only a sharp elbow to the ribs and a hissed admonishment from Ron to be careful that stopped Harry from exploding right then and there, but it was a close thing.

 

Surprisingly enough, the only part of Potions that went against the status quo was Draco’s behaviour. He usually would have taken vindictive pleasure in Neville’s misery, but he didn’t pay the other boy any attention for once. He was too busy staring longingly at the other Slytherins from his desk at the far edge of the classroom, where Harry couldn’t help but note that nobody had joined him at. He was pointedly avoiding looking in Harry’s direction, though.

 

The lesson quickly drew to a close, and Snape gathered the whole class around Neville’s cauldron. He glowered at the shaking boy.

 

“Everyone, watch what happens to Longbottom’s toad,” he said, spooning up some of Neville’s potion, which was finally the correct colour. “If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don’t doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned.”

 

To Harry’s immense relief, there was a small pop, and a wiggling tadpole appeared on Snape’s palm. The Gryffindors burst into applause, but he didn’t seem particularly impressed as he returned Trevor to his correct size.

 

“Five points from Gryffindor,” Snape said in a toneless voice. He folded his arms and shot a sharp look at Hermione. “I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed.”

 

“Points off for a perfectly good potion?” Harry hissed, his anger finally boiling over. “What is wrong with you?”

 

There were noticeable gasps at Harry’s words from both the Slytherins and the Gryffindors. Harry, who had been so angry just moments before, felt rather like the bottom of his stomach had just dropped out. He remained frozen with anticipation along with the rest of the class as Snape walked up to him very slowly. He only stopped when he was inches from Harry, looming over him, eyes narrowed and jaw tense.

 

“Detention, and twenty points from Gryffindor.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper, but perfectly audible in the silent classroom. Snape’s head snapped around to glare at the rest of the students. “Did you not hear me? Dismissed!”

 

There was practically a scrimmage at the door to try and get out of the classroom as quickly as possible. Harry pressed his way out into the corridor to find Ron staring at him, mouth agape.

 

“Mate…” he said in an awed voice. “I don’t know what it was like living with him, but you’ve grown some massive balls.”

 

“Not so loud,” Harry muttered. The rest of the class were still gathered around, occasionally glancing at him and whispering behind their hands about the incident that had just unfolded. Harry really didn’t want them to overhear about his living arrangements. “Anyway, he was being unfair. I got angry. Simple as.”

 

“We all get angry at Snape, but you never explode like that!” Ron said. “You’re being so weird with him, like when you didn’t go to the Hospital Wing after he told you to the other day!”

 

“And you got into that argument with him in Professor McGonagall’s office on the first night,” Hermione chimed in, appearing from behind them while tucking something into the neck of her robes. “What’s going on with you two, Harry?”

 

“Yeah, why hasn’t he killed you yet?” Ron asked.

 

“He’s still got time to do that,” Harry said with a sigh. “He’s going to make me regret this, trust me…”

 

Hermione gave him an anxious look. “Oh, I do wish you’d be careful, Harry. You really shouldn’t make him angry.”

 

“And he shouldn’t treat people the way he does!” Harry said irritably. “He’s horrid to Neville, and I don’t like it.”

 

Hermione and Ron exchanged befuddled looks but otherwise didn’t respond as they entered the Great Hall for lunch.

 

Harry’s bad mood continued for the rest of the day, only slightly relenting during their Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Professor Lupin really was quite a brilliant teacher, and the battle against the boggart was really quite enjoyable, particularly when Neville changed Snape’s usual black robes into the lacy dress and vulture hat of his fierce grandmother. Seeing him in such an outfit was rather ridiculous.

 

Still, something about the whole situation really didn’t sit right with Harry. Even though Neville was so scared of such a large range of things, his greatest fear was Snape? That was awful! It wasn’t like Neville was just scared for no reason, either - after the incident earlier, he had every right to be deathly afraid of Snape…

 

But that didn’t make Harry feel any better about the situation. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more bitterly angry he felt. He’d really come to respect Snape, so seeing the way he treated people like Neville was a real kick in the teeth.

 

If that wasn’t all bad enough, Professor Lupin stepped in front of Harry before he could take on the boggart himself. That only worsened Harry’s foul mood. Why had he chosen to do that? Was it because of the train, and the incident with the Dementor? Did Professor Lupin think Harry was too weak to handle it or something?

 

Harry once again found himself picking at his dinner moodily as everyone laughed and chattered about the lesson. He was once again put in the uncomfortable position of feeling simultaneously outraged and miserable, which Harry hadn’t known was possible. Sometimes, Harry worried he might actually explode from all of the feelings swirling around inside of him like a whirlwind…

 

Far quicker than he would have liked, Harry found himself trudging down to the dungeons for his detention at six. Harry took a deep breath and raised his fist to knock on the door, but it swung open before his hand could land. Snape stared down at him, and gestured to the office interior. “In.”

 

Harry shuffled inside, trying very hard not to look at the jars of floating things on Snape’s shelves. A rickety desk that reminded Harry of the one in the laboratory at Spinner’s End had been set up on the side of the room. Snape pointed at it without saying a word, and Harry sat down. Parchment and a quill appeared before him.

 

“I will not disrespect or undermine the authority of my professors during lessons, and I will follow instructions and arrive promptly to appointments that are allotted to me by Hogwarts staff. Write it until I tell you to stop.”

 

Harry sighed and got started. The office was silent, save for the sound of Harry’s quill scratching alongside Snape’s. Harry assumed Snape was verbally tearing some first-year’s essay to shreds at his desk while Harry wrote his lines. Snape probably took pleasure in making little Hufflepuffs cry, Harry thought viciously. He was like a… a tear vampire. He lived by drinking the tears of crying children or something, because he was so evil. Harry ground his teeth and started writing his lines a bit more violently than necessary, almost ripping the parchment beneath the nib of the quill.

 

Unfortunately for Harry, the silent detention he’d been relieved to find himself in did not continue in that manner for much longer. He should have known better than to think he could get away with this all without a quintessential Snape lecture. About an hour in, Snape cleared his throat, but Harry didn’t look up from his desk. He was too angry to make eye contact without glaring, which would probably just get him in more trouble…

 

“Harry.”

 

That jolted him for a moment. He’d forgotten about the ‘first names in private’ rule, and it made him feel like he was back at Spinner’s End again. Still, Harry refused to meet Snape’s gaze.

 

“I am speaking to you,” Snape said in a quiet, dangerous voice. “I will keep you here until you remember your manners, so if you want to have any of your evening to yourself I’d advise you to be respectful.”

 

Harry at last dragged his head away from the lines, hoping his narrowed eyes thoroughly conveyed his anger. Snape levelly met his gaze, expression blank.

 

“I am aware that you know how to behave, Harry,” he said in a strangely placid voice. “So could you possibly explain to me why you no longer find yourself able to? What on earth has gotten into you this week? Two detentions?”

 

Harry clenched his hands into fists and didn’t reply.

 

“That number can easily increase if you maintain this sullen silence,” Snape said coolly.

 

“I don’t know how to answer because I don’t know what you want from me!” Harry said through gritted teeth. He prayed his anger would calm before it manifested into accidental magic, because Snape’s office seemed to be composed of entirely breakable objects.

 

“I am not asking a lot!” Snape said, his voice rising. “I am simply asking you to be respectful! Is that honestly so difficult?”

 

“Yes, actually!” Harry said loudly “Because I don’t think you deserve all that much respect!”

 

Snape’s eyes flashed. He got to his feet and leaned his hands on his desk. “I beg your pardon?”

 

Well, in for a penny in for a pound, Harry supposed. He folded his arms and glared up at Snape. “Yeah, actually, because you don’t seem to be able to respect anyone in Potions apart from the stupid Slytherins! You’re absolutely horrid to Neville, you know that?”

 

“Longbottom is a scatterbrained child with no capacity for the delicacy and attentiveness required in Potions,” Snape growled. “He doesn’t even bother to try!”

 

“He does!” Harry shouted. “I see him trying! He reads up on Potions all the time in the common room, did you know that? But he completely goes to pieces in your lessons because he’s terrified of you, since you spend the whole class bullying him!”

 

“I don’t know what has gotten into you lately, but questioning my teaching methods is not and has never been acceptable behaviour!” Snape shouted back. “Detention.”

 

Harry bit down on his cheek so hard he drew blood and glowered at Snape. His heart was pounding rapidly in his ears, and his chest was heaving. He heard a cracking noise, and saw Snape’s dark eyes dart to something behind his shoulder. Harry twisted his neck and saw that one of Snape’s jars had cracked, and green liquid  was seeping through the break, creating a puddle on the floor. A jet of white light hit the glass, vanishing it and the leaking liquid. Harry turned back around to find that Snape had soundlessly moved from his desk to Harry’s, and jumped. A Calming Draught was held out to him.

 

“I -”

 

“Don’t,” Snape growled, and the fury in his voice was what made Harry reluctantly swallow the potion. It washed over his irritation like sticky treacle, dampening it down to less dramatic, loud levels. It didn’t vanish entirely like it occasionally did under the influence of the potion, a testament to how righteously outraged Harry was. Still, without the blinders of fury on, Harry could fully realise how stupid that little rant had been. He cringed.

 

Snape stared at him silently for almost a full minute, the scowl on his face gradually loosening into the blankness of Occlumency.

 

“When I was at Hogwarts,” Snape said, “three people died in Potions. That was in my time there alone - the death toll overall is far higher. It was considered a side effect of the class; a risk that had to be accepted. Brewing is an extraordinarily dangerous art, after all.”

 

He took a step closer to Harry. “I have been teaching Potions for twelve years now, and I have never had a student die, because I teach my classes with the sternness and due care and attention that such a dangerous subject necessitates. If I was not strict in my lessons, students would be far more likely to misbehave and throw together horrific amalgamations of volatile ingredients that could kill an entire classroom of students in an instant. Therefore, risks to the safety of themselves and others such as Longbottom need to be browbeaten into understanding how dangerous what they’re doing is! Longbottom, and the rest of the dunderheads I teach, must be compelled to exhibit caution under threat of my ire because otherwise they could lose their lives!”

 

Snape’s nostrils were flaring. “That is why I am very angry with you, Harry. I require there to be a certain level of respect between myself and my students, and you publicly going against me and shouting at me erodes that. I understand your temper and the issues in your personal life, as we have discussed them at length, and there is a certain amount of your bad attitude that I am willing to tolerate in private in light of that. When you bring things into the public sphere, and into my classroom, that crosses the boundary into blatant disrespect, and that I will never tolerate. Do you understand me?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Harry said quietly, feeling slightly ashamed. He knew he had a right to be angry with Snape… but maybe he could have had a conversation about the Neville stuff that wasn’t in front of everyone. Maybe Snape would have listened more that way.

 

“You can leave,” he said, vanishing the parchment sitting in front of Harry. “I’ll see you tomorrow, same time, but in my classroom.”

 

Harry nodded and pulled his bag from the floor. He headed over to the door but stopped just short of the handle. He didn’t know if he was being stupidly stubborn and needed the last word or if this was something he really ought to get out in the open, but either way, the words were tumbling out before he could stop them.

 

“So you say that you have to be strict so people don’t blow a limb off,” Harry said. He paused for a moment, expecting Snape to start having a go at him, but the man remained silent. Expectant, even. “Okay, then. If you think that's the only thing that would work, fine. But we’re on the other side of it, and that’s not how it’s coming across for Neville. He’s so scared of you and of messing up in your lessons that he can’t even concentrate, and that’s causing him to make more mistakes! Shouting at him is just making it worse. He can’t learn like that.”

 

Snape’s lips thinned. “I do not appreciate you taking it upon yourself to critique my teaching methods, considering you are a thirteen year old boy with no experience managing a classroom. Just go, Harry.”

 

He began to walk out of the office, despair and frustration washing through him. Harry simply shook his head at Snape. “We had Defence Against the Dark Arts today. We did boggarts, and do you know what Neville’s was? You. And Neville’s scared of an awful lot of things, but out of all that, you're still what he's most afraid of! I get that you're a strict teacher, but personally I think that when you start being your students' worst fears, you've crossed a line somewhere, sir."

 

Harry practically spat the honorific before hurrying from the classroom. Snape was clearly making an effort to hide his emotions, but Harry was becoming annoyingly acquainted with the subtleties of the man's body language. There was a slight slump to his shoulders Harry registered that suggested Snape was somewhat abashed.

 

He didn't come after Harry to yell at him, thankfully. He realised glumly upon further reflection that Snape was probably saving it up for tomorrow.

 

---

 

One day later, a reluctant Harry dragged himself away from the usual common room festivities of a Friday evening and made his way down to Snape's classroom. Once again, in typical Snape fashion, the door swung open before Harry could touch it. Snape was sitting behind his usual desk, fingers laced together in front of him.

 

Harry entered the classroom, but couldn't spot any specific unpleasant task that had been left out for him to attend to at a workstation. Lost for where to go, he simply stood in front of the main desk. He and Snape stared at each other for several long moments, neither of them speaking. Harry broke first.

 

"What do you want me to do?"

 

Snape flicked his wrist, and a chair flew over to the front of the desk. "Sit."

 

Harry did so, not taking his eyes off Snape the entire time. He was very obviously Occluding, so Harry’s hackles automatically rose. He once again tried to wait in silence until Snape explained what he wanted, but the man continued to stare at him, gaze piercing, until Harry could bear the quiet no longer.

 

“This is a detention, so what am I doing?” Harry just wanted to get it all over with so he could go back to Gryffindor Tower and forget all this.

 

Snape began to tap a finger against his desk. “We are going to talk.”

 

“Doesn’t seem very detention-y,” Harry muttered, glaring at his shoes. He’d almost prefer to scrub cauldrons than get lectured for hours on end…

 

“Well, it’s what we’re doing.” Snape watched him, and Harry scowled. Eventually, Snape sighed. “I don’t like this.”

 

Harry pushed away the pang of hurt. “Yeah, I’m fully aware you don’t like me -”

 

“Not you!” he snapped. “I meant this new dynamic that has sprung up between us, you ridiculous boy.”

 

“Oh.” Harry coughed awkwardly.

 

“Something’s changed,” Snape announced. “You’ve been angry at me all week. Why?”

 

“Because Neville’s -”

 

“This predates the incident with Longbottom,” Snape interrupted, holding up a hand. “You’ve been upset about something since the first day back, and I know it has something to do with me.”

 

“Not everything is about you,” Harry muttered.

 

“This is. I can tell.” Snape and his infuriating ability to read Harry was really not wanted here. “Tell me what your issue is.”

 

“No.”

 

“This is your detention, so I have the authority to hold you here until you complete your punishment. In this current case, your punishment is talking to me. So talk.”

 

“Okay, fine!” Harry said roughly. “I am annoyed with you. I don’t like when you keep stuff from me, and you keep doing it!”

 

Snape’s brows knitted together. “What have I kept from you?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know, the fact that Sirius Black is after me?” Harry spat, crossing his arms and glowering at Snape. He looked absolutely nonplussed.

 

“I believe I spent a month trying to convince you that Black was after you, as a matter of fact. While you spent the entire time implying I was a paranoiac.”

 

“But you didn’t tell me all the information!” Harry said loudly. “You didn’t tell me about how he was sitting in Azkaban and muttering ‘he’s at Hogwarts’, did you?!”

 

Snape’s face grew rather weary. “The Weasleys told you.”

 

“I overheard,” Harry muttered. “And before you start having a go at me again, no, I wasn’t eavesdropping. They were arguing, it was pretty hard not to overhear.”

 

Harry made the wise choice not to mention the fact he’d remained situated at the parlour door when he’d realised they were discussing him. Snape was watching him closely again. He folded his arms. “I told you the information you required to keep yourself safe.”

 

“But it was about me!” he said crossly. “I deserved to know!”

 

“To what end?” Snape asked, exhaling loudly. “I told you Black could possibly be targeting you. I did not mention that he was specifically doing it because I thought that knowing the intimate details surrounding an escaped mass-murderer who is out for your blood could be very distressing!”

 

“I still should have been told!” Harry said indignantly. “What if I needed to protect myself? What if he wants to fight me or something?”

 

“He blew up thirteen people, Harry!” Snape roared, suddenly looking quite angry. “There is no fair fight against a man like that, which is why the adults surrounding you are the ones in charge of your defence! What would telling you have achieved? All you needed to know was to be more cautious than usual, and we would take care of the rest. I didn’t want to terrify you, for Merlin’s sake!”

 

“I’m not terrified, though,” Harry pointed out. “I’m perfectly safe at Hogwarts. Dumbledore’s here.”

 

Snape’s shoulders slumped slightly. “A pragmatic stance to take, I will give you that.”

 

“Exactly!” Harry grumbled. “I can be pragmatic. I don’t freak out about everything, I can handle myself.”

 

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Snape stressed. “I simply wished to spare you the burden of the information.”

 

“Oh.” Harry shuffled his feet against the floor, not meeting his eyes. Something strange twisted in his chest.

 

“I do have your best interests at heart, Harry,” Snape sighed. “I wish you’d believe that.”

 

Sorry, Harry thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

 

There was an elongated silence. If Harry strained his ears, he thought he could hear a cauldron bubbling in the background.

 

“So, I’m curious,” Snape said, examining Harry thoughtfully. “The points you brought up about Mr Longbottom. What would you propose I do instead?”

 

“Oh. Just don’t yell at him all the time,” Harry said, feeling like the answer was rather obvious.

 

“Sometimes yelling is the only way you can get across the danger of a situation quickly,” Snape said. “If I didn’t shout, a student might add lacewing flies instead of leeches into a cauldron and blow the whole classroom sky-high. The volume is part of the shock to stop the potentially dangerous behaviour in its tracks.”

 

“But there is a line!” Harry insisted. “Like poisoning his toad? I know you’re annoyed Hermione did it for him, but what choice did he have if he thought you were going to kill Trevor?”

 

“The toad was never in any real danger!” Snape said irritably. “It is a potions laboratory, Potter. Longbottom may be incompetent, but I certainly had the cure to whatever poison he was going to cook up stored on my shelves, you do realise?”

 

“No! I didn’t realise, actually!” Harry said indignantly. “And neither did Neville! If you think you need to yell at people to make them pay attention then fine, but when you go over into just insulting them and poisoning their pets, then people like Neville can’t keep their heads because they’re too busy being scared of you. It makes Neville go to pieces and then he screws up more. Don’t you think that could be even more dangerous? Maybe if you weren’t as mean, he’d find it easier to concentrate.”

 

Snape scowled. “Longbottom needs to learn to keep his nerve.”

 

“But he can’t,” Harry said, shaking his head. “It’s not as simple as that, and you know it. Being mean to him is only making things worse, I know it. Surely you can see that?"

 

Snape didn’t respond immediately. Harry scanned his expression for signs of anger, but instead his expression turned thoughtful.

 

“We clearly have fundamental disagreements in terms of pedagogy, but I am willing to contemplate your point,” Snape said eventually. “Perhaps I occasionally allow some of the, ah… frustrations of teaching to get the best of me.”

 

Harry looked up at him, surprised. He’d not expected any sort of acknowledgement of wrongdoing!

 

“You must understand that teaching Potions is incredibly stressful,” Snape added. “My intimate knowledge of brewing means that I can fully realise the catastrophic potential of a misplaced ingredient in every incident. Being so close to disaster at any given time does not do wonders for my temper.”

 

“Oh. Well, I guess I can understand that,” Harry said. He could imagine that being responsible for the potential deaths of a classroom full of children would be pretty trying…

 

“Good.”

 

Harry continued to stare at Snape, a frown forming on his face. “I’m confused.”

 

“About?”

 

“About why we’re even having this conversation,” Harry said slowly. “I tried to tell you all this stuff yesterday and you just yelled at me. Why are you willing to listen to me now?”

 

Snape sighed loudly. “I’m sure you have noticed that I don’t take criticism particularly well, and I was not in the best of moods during your detention due to your earlier misbehaviour.”

 

“Ah.” Harry felt his cheeks heat up. “Er - right.”

 

“I do, however, value your opinion,” Snape said quietly. “I found myself… disliking the way you were looking at me when you left yesterday, which is why I proposed this conversation. To clear the air, I suppose…”

 

Harry’s mouth fell open. “Wait, are you serious? What do you mean you value my opinion?”

 

Snape’s face abruptly twisted into a scowl. “Exactly what I just said. I do care what you think, you know.”

 

“But why?" Harry asked, baffled.

 

“Because I care about you, Harry!” he snapped. “And part of that, I have annoyingly discovered, includes caring what you think of me!”

 

The strength of emotion behind Snape's words sent Harry reeling. He stared at the man, disbelief written all over his face, mouth agape. "You - what?"

 

“For heaven’s sake, what else do I have to do to persuade you of that, Harry?” Snape demanded, waving a hand through the air. He looked intensely frustrated and slightly hurt. “I cannot possibly understand why you continue to believe that I was forced at wandpoint to become your guardian! Has it ever occurred to you that I enjoyed spending time with you over the summer? That speaking with you about Lily helped me with grief I thought I would never be able to fully reconcile? I would never have done any of this if I did not have a very large degree of regard for you as a person, so yes, I do actually care about you!”

 

Snape’s chest was heaving in the moments following his rant. In the ringing silence that followed, he seemed to realise what words had just left his mouth, and his eyes widened slightly. An almost imperceptible flush coloured his sallow face.

 

Harry took in a ragged breath, his eyes stinging, throat tight, finally understanding. “You - you really do mean it.”

 

A pained look crossed Snape’s features. “Of course I do!”

 

Harry stared at the floor and pressed a hand over his mouth, willing himself not to cry. That would be completely humiliating. He was not going to burst into tears because someone had told Harry they cared for him, even if he could count on one hand the amount of times he’d heard those words.

 

Snape had never actually said that he cared before. He’d vaguely alluded to it in that conversation with Dumbledore, sure, but he’d never come close to actually saying the words. Harry supposed that he had shown it, though, in little ways. The chess games, the new clothes, the blanket and hovering when he’d been sick with magical exhaustion… someone wouldn’t do that if they didn’t like you. Harry supposed Snape just had a hard time actually saying those sorts of things.

 

Hearing it now meant more to Harry than he could have ever imagined it would.

 

“Do you believe me now?” Snape asked quietly.

 

“I do,” Harry whispered with a tight nod.

 

“Good. You can finally start to fully contemplate the unfortunate implications of getting stuck with me as a guardian,” Snape said dryly.

 

The attempt at a joke helped Harry shake off the utter shock, and he let out a choked laugh. Snape wordlessly conjured up a glass of water and slid it across the table to Harry. He gratefully drank it down, watching the Potions professor all the while. There was an almost anxious quality to Snape as he watched Harry right back, and a sudden thought occurred to Harry.

 

Perhaps Snape was feeling just as lost as Harry was right now.

 

As soon as Harry realised it, he also realised how much sense that made. Snape had said as much to him a few weeks ago, when he was struggling to get Harry to talk about the Dursleys. He was very new to this, and he was probably very new to expressing emotions in the manner in which he just had. Harry still wouldn’t say he knew Snape particularly well, but he had gotten well enough acquainted with the man by now to know that he didn’t really do feelings. Putting them out in the open like that had to be difficult for him…

 

The self-deprecating quality of the joke he’d just made and the slight anxious crinkle to his eyes suddenly made far more sense. Harry also wasn’t an expert in talking about how he felt, but he knew deep down that a declaration like the one Snape had just made was important to properly respond to.

 

“Thanks for saying all of that,” he eventually managed.

 

Snape’s eyebrows furrowed. “You deserve to hear it.”

 

“And - I don’t know if it actually means anything to you, and it probably doesn’t, but still, just to let you know, er - I do like that you’re my guardian,” Harry said very awkwardly. “And - well, all the stuff you’ve done for me really means a lot, and I liked the time we spent together and stuff this summer too. It was fun, actually. Talking about my mum was great, too. Really great.” Harry smiled to himself, took a deep breath, and ploughed on. “And - well, I’m not, like, irreparably outraged by how you were in Potions or anything. I’ve always known you were like that in lessons. It hasn’t completely changed my opinion of you or me, er… trusting you or anything. I just - well, you said you care about my opinion, so. Just wanted to let you know.”

 

Oddly enough, Snape smiled. It was a thin, slightly strangled sort of smile, but it was there nonetheless. There was also a strange softness in his eyes that looked odd in comparison to Snape’s usual scowls, but made him look at least ten years younger. “I appreciate you saying that. I will still take your criticisms on, I’d like to add.”

 

“Oh. Er - good.” Harry scratched his neck. “Don’t worry, I’m not expecting you to turn into Professor Sprout or anything.”

 

“If I begin to resemble anything close to that level of fluffiness, report to the Headmaster and instruct him to examine me for signs of the Imperius Curse.” Snape spat the word ‘fluffiness’ like it was the rankest of slurs, and Harry snorted.

 

“I will.”

 

Snape gave him a thoughtful look. “And just to let you know, I did mean it when I said you can seek me out while at school. You don’t have to only chat to me in the context of a disciplinary meeting.”

 

“Oh, okay.” Harry scratched the back of his head, feeling slightly awkward. “You said on Monday you’re really busy with the start of term, though…”

 

“Do keep in mind I had just been forced to trek across this entire castle trying to hunt you down,” Snape drawled, arching an eyebrow. “Cardiovascular exercise does not render me particularly pleasant company.”

 

Harry winced. “Er - yeah. Sorry.”

 

“But do feel free to come to my study if you wish,” Snape said, inclining his head slightly. “I promise you won’t be disturbing me. At any rate, a chess game with you would be a welcome change of pace from dealing with homesick first-years…”

 

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Wait - you comfort homesick first-years? You?”

 

“They don’t yet know well enough to go to the Prefects with their woes,” Snape said with a wry smile. “Even a heartless old bat like me isn’t going to throw a crying eleven-year-old out into the corridors and tell them to suck it up.”

 

Harry was suddenly struck by the vivid memory of Snape staring at him like he was a bomb about to go off when he’d caught Harry crying the night he’d discovered the bruises, and had to struggle not to snort. Snape certainly did not know how to manage tears, that much was certain. He could easily picture a look of pure terror on the man’s face when met with an upset first-year.

 

“I do not particularly enjoy staring into the cavernous pit of your mouth, Harry.”

 

He shut his hanging jaw with a click. “Sorry. Just struggling to imagine you comforting a crying firstie over here. Bit of a shock to the system.”

 

“It is unfortunately in my job description. I do try, but they tend to learn quickly that I am not particularly, ah… skilled at consoling people.”

 

Well, Harry supposed Snape wasn’t entirely awful with emotional people. Harry and Draco had both had their fair share of outbursts, but Snape never yelled at them or said he’d give them something to cry about like Uncle Vernon used to do when Harry got upset as a child. He tended to seem rather uncomfortable, of course, but he tried his best.

 

Snape was by no means an expert, though - that much was certain.

 

“Before I forget - these are for you.” Snape leaned to one side and opened the drawer of his desk. He slid a small package over to Harry, wrapped in brown paper. “Your new glasses were delivered today.”

 

Harry beamed and took the package. “I completely forgot about that!”

 

Snape scoffed. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

 

“Can I open them now?”

 

“Obviously - they’re your glasses!”

 

Harry eagerly ripped through the paper, revealing a deep burgundy glasses case. He clicked it open and held up the new eyewear to examine. Snape had bought him similar frames to the ones he currently had, but the wire surrounding the round lenses was gold, not silver.

 

“There are a few enchantments on the frames,” Snape explained as Harry removed his old glasses. “An Impervius Charm to repel rainwater, general sturdiness enchantments that should make the lenses and frames a lot sturdier, and a nifty charm that helps them to stick to your face, in a manner of speaking, so they don’t fall off if you trip.”

 

“Cool! I didn’t know wizards could do that sort of stuff with glasses, too.” Marvelling at the usefulness of magic once again, Harry slid the new glasses onto his face. As the world came into focus, he couldn’t help his small gasp. “Everything’s so much clearer!”

 

With the new clarity of his updated lenses, Harry could easily make out every feature of the sad look on Snape’s face before he quickly banished it from view. “That is the general purpose of glasses, if my understanding is correct.”

 

“I really am blind,” Harry muttered, looking around and taking in every new detail of the classroom. “Thanks, sir.”

 

“There is no need to thank me,” Snape said. “If you wish, you’re now free to go. I’m sure you have a thrilling evening of studying awaiting you.”

 

It took Harry a moment to realise that Snape was being sarcastic. He nodded seriously. “Yes. Great way to spend a Friday night."

 

He got to his feet and picked up his bag, not even bothering to hide his smile.

 

“Goodbye, Harry,” Snape said. “And do start eating more? I am still paying attention to your food intake at mealtimes, even if I’m no longer sitting directly across from you to nag you. We both know your eating has been subpar.”

 

Harry winced, suddenly recalling how he’d spent the week picking at his food and feeling sorry for himself. “Right.”

 

“I doubt you want more medical intervention from Madam Pomfrey when you next see her,” Snape warned. “Heed me.”

 

“I will,” Harry promised. “Bye, sir. See you soon.”

 

Despite the slight admonishment he’d received at the end, Harry still had a slight spring to his step as he trotted out of the dungeons. For someone who was supposed to have just had a detention, he was in a remarkably good mood. Harry hadn’t realised how much the rift with Snape was bothering him until it had been resolved, and he felt a great deal lighter than he had earlier. He wasn’t even dreading the third detention all that much now that they’d cleared the air.

 

Of course, that good mood was quickly ruined when someone shoved roughly past him, sending Harry spinning into the wall. He spun around, ready to shout at the person, but all of Harry’s retorts died on his lips when he saw who it was.

 

“Potter,” Draco growled. He shot Harry a truly hateful look, then stormed off down the corridor.

 

Harry sighed, feeling very sad all of a sudden. Part of him almost wanted to go straight back into Snape’s classroom to ask him for help with his rift with Draco, but Harry stopped himself at the last minute. He knew most of this was his fault, and Snape was annoyed enough with him as it was. Besides, Harry wasn’t a grass…

 

He could deal with this alone.

 

But despite his urge to keep things between him and Draco, Harry promised himself that if the rift with Draco didn’t resolve soon, he’d just suck it up and deal with Snape’s disappointment.

 

Harry sighed. He wondered if he’d ever be able to have an easy life where he wasn’t constantly fighting with either Snape or Draco...