Harry reached as far as he could on the ladder. The red-bound leather book was just beyond his fingertips. He tried to scoot the ladder a little farther, but it was already to the edge. Harry strained a little more.

The red book was at the very edge of the highest shelf of library; the floor seemed miles below, but after years playing Quidditch on broomstick, Harry had a good head for heights.

Where was his broom for that matter? Had Snape left it at the Dursleys? And what about his cape and his wand? Snape must have hidden them.

Snape the kleptomaniac. Harry sniggered. He could just see Snape sitting in a circle discussion group at some rehab – "Hello, I’m Severus Snape, and I steal my students’ things and hide them just to annoy them."

Snickering at the image of Snape being force to share him feelings, Harry stretched his arm out as far as it would go. He had been all over the library looking for books on timeturners. Most books he found opened easily for him. Three had not, but their covers looked dark and dangerous, and one book had tried to bite at his hand.

Holding on the top rung of the ladder, Harry reached out a little father and suddenly felt his footing slip from the ladder. He scrambled to catch a foothold or grip on the ladder, but he was falling backwards, falling . . .

An invisible force caught him mid-air and pushed back up to stand on the balcony. As stood as he felt solid floor beneath his feet, he whirled around and look over the balcony.

"This is a library, Mr. Potter," Snape said, arms crossed with his wand tucked in one hand, "not a Quidditch field. And you can not fly in here without a broom."

"I was reaching for a book," Harry said, trying not to scowl.

"What did I tell you about the books on the highest shelves?" Snape’s voice grew stern.

"You said most of the book I should read are on the highest shelves," Harry replied. "You didn’t say only books I shouldn’t read are only on the highest shelves. Besides, I didn’t try to open anything that wouldn’t open right away."

His tone was not the most respectful, but Snape only frowned at him and motioned for him to come down. "Lunch is ready, so come along." He stopped when he saw the jumble of books on the table that Harry had been searching through. "Mr. Potter, what is this?"

"I was researching," Harry tripped lightly down the circular stairs, hoping Snape wouldn’t catch him in a lie. "A transfiguration essay – for school – this fall."

"Obviously," Snape retorted. "I expect you to put this books back by the end of the day. The house elves are not here to clean up after you. And if you so much as crease one page . . ."

"You’ll what?" Harry challenged, feeling foolishly brave. "Torture me with hot coals?"

"Oh, Potter, I would never use something so mundane and ordinary, not while I have a whole dungeon full of instruments that could have you screaming for weeks," Snape swept out of the library. Harry blinked, not sure if the man was serious of not. Blast that blank expression.

"Move, Potter!" Snape flung over his shoulder as he strode down the hall, and Harry hurried to keep up.

He had not found much useful information about the Necklace of Timord or any other powerful timeturners. Many of the books made references to timeturners in general, but nothing about where those timeturners were except the few that belonged to the Ministry of Magic. Harry was sure that the red book, Bringing Back the Past: The History of Timetravel, might have had something to help him. He would try to get at the book later.

They sat at the same places as they had at breakfast. The two elves came out with separate plates as before. Snape got a huge salad filled with all kinds of good bits – chicken, bacon, dressing, cheese, and cut vegetables along with side crackers and tomato soup. Harry looked at his own plate. He had a big bowl of white soup and white roll on the side.

He tasted the soup: potato with barely any flavor, hot but very bland. And there was no butter on the roll.

"What is this?" Harry demanded.

Snape looked at him slowly. "I’m sorry, Potter, are you complaining about your lunch?"

"Why can’t we have the same thing?" Harry motioned to both of their plates.

"Did you not just say this morning that food was food, all that same after a while?" Snape took a bite of his salad.

"Yes, but –"

"Then I don’t want to hear any complaining." Snape returned to eating as if Harry had not spoken.

Harry ran his spoon through the soup suspiciously. "What did you put in the soup?"

Snape let out his breath with a huff, but turned to one house elf that was waiting by the table anxiously. "Minnonty, please take away my tomato soup and bring me the exact same potato soup that Mr. Potter is having."

"Yes, sir," the house elf squeaked as she took Snape’s bowl and disappeared. A moment later, she reappeared with a bowl full of the white soup that she placed by Snape’s salad.

"Satisfied?" he asked Harry.

"No, I meant . . ." Harry trailed off. Something was not right here. He started eating his soup, watching Snape closely. But the man let nothing show in his emotionless face as he started eating the soup.

Harry started eating the soup. But halfway through he found himself pushing it back. He should be hungry, especially after such a plain breakfast, but he only stirred the soup around with his spoon, slowly going around and around. He felt Snape’s eyes on him, but the man said nothing.

The clock stuck one o’clock as they left the dining. Harry waited, hoping Snape might be a bit more willing to share information with him.

"Follow me, Potter," Snape started upstairs.

Harry followed, glancing at the portraits which looked down at him. One elderly woman shook her head as Harry passed. "I don’t like the look of him, Severus," she called out. "You can clean him up all you like, but he’s going to be trouble."

"Please tell me something I don’t know," Snape snapped at the picture.

Harry glared at the portrait, then stuck his tongue at her. The old woman drew herself up in shock and shook an admonishing finger at him.

Snape led Harry back to the bedroom that Harry had slept in. "Sit on the bed, Potter," Snape reached for his black bag.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I’m not sick – I feel fine."

"Now, Potter!" Snape ordered, his face set.

Harry sulkily pulled himself up on the high bed. "I feel all right. At school, you never cared if I was sick or not. And Madame Pomfrey worried too much. So I ended up in the hospital wing soon or later – everyone does at some time. Dumbledore said that Hogwarts can be a danger –"

Snape shoved the thermometer in Harry’s mouth, shutting off his complaints. Then the man pulled out the pocket watch and took Harry’s pulse. Harry rolled his eyes. This was completely unnecessary. Snape just like to make his uncomfortable. He was deliberately doing these things to make Harry angry and upset.

"See?" Harry said as soon as Snape removed the thermometer, "I’m fine."

"99.9," Snape put the thermometer back in its little case.

"Oh. Well, I just had soup for lunch. That makes my mouth warmer than usual. Madame Pomfrey always took our temperature before we ate, not after. In a hour or two, I’ll be fine."

Snape hesitated for a second and then reached out and placed his hand on Harry’s forehead. Harry resisted the urge to jerk away. He most certainly did not want Snape touching him now or ever after what he had done to Sirius.

"You feel warm," Snape commented.

Harry pulled away. "That’s because your hands are cold from sitting the dark dungeons so long," he snapped.

He expected Snape to reprimand him for his words, but an odd look passed over Snape’s face. For a moment, Harry thought he saw something near concern in the man’s eyes. But the expression passed quickly, and Snape said shortly,

"Would you stop talking, Potter? It’s enough to drive anyone mad. Shut up, and drink this." He thrust out a vial, bigger than the one Harry had taken that morning.

"But I don’t feel bad," Harry objected, grimacing at the dark potion inside. "My scar isn’t even hurting. And the stuff you gave me this morning didn’t make me feel any different."

"Potter!" Snape warned.

With a growl, Harry swallowed the foul potion, shuddering at the nasty taste. It made him want to scour him mouth out to get rid of the lingering aftertaste.

"Now, lay down and rest for a little bit," Snape took back the empty vial.

That was the last straw. "You must be joking," Harry glared at Snape. "I am not some little kid. You can feed me bland food, and keep me in the library, and use washing spells on me, but I am not taking a nap!"

Harry moved to get off the bed, but suddenly Snape hit him with a body-binding hex. Harry felt all his limbs go rigid as if his muscles no longer worked. His upper body fell back on the bed, and Harry found himself staring up at the ceiling. He could blink and move his eyes, but no other muscle followed his command to move.

"Finally, a moment of peace from you," Snape put his wand back in his robes and moved towards the bed. "Just like your father, always making demands and strutting around like you own the place and everyone in it."

Harry could only glare at him as Snape came into view. In desperation, he tried to remember if there were any counter curses for body binds. He couldn’t think of any off hand, and didn’t you need a wand, and he wasn’t very good at nonverbal spells, but he would have to be because he couldn’t move his mouth and . . .

"Calm down," Snape cut through Harry’s tumble of thoughts. "You are probably the only person who can work himself into a panic while in a body bind."

Harry saw Snape’s hand reach out, then he felt Snape’s hands on his shoulder, slowly rolling Harry onto his side. Snape placed a pillow under Harry’s head and then lifted Harry’s feet up onto the bed and began unlacing his shoes.

Harry concentrated on breathing. He really had no control over that either as his body continued to take and let out breaths without his control. But he had to focus on something other than Snape so close and dangerous. Harry felt his shoes being slipped off, and then a soft coverlet was draped over him to the waist.

Snape bent Harry’s arms at the elbows and then tucked them under his chin in the way he had seen the boy sleeping last night. Harry tried to speak with his eyes, to scream silently at Snape to let him go or he would be sorry later. But the potions master only pulled the coverlet up around his shoulders and stepped back from the bed.

"I’m warning you, Potter, I will not put up with your defiance, not in my house. I am more than capable of dealing with spoiled brats so you better learn to behave or you will not find your stay here comfortable. Now, try to get some sleep, and this afternoon I will let you walk around the grounds before supper. You can stare at the wall as long as you like to satisfy your sulky determination, or you can make yourself relax and have a pleasant nap. Either way, you’re going to rest here for the next few hours." Snape pulled out his wand and gave his wrist a flick towards the windows. The drapes closed over the windows, cutting out the light and turning the room dim and sober with the only light coming from the hallway.

With the usual billowing of robes, Snape swept out of the bedroom, and Harry heard the door shut softly. If he had slammed the door and had made the room shake, Harry would have felt better. But the gentle closing made him madder than ever, and all he wanted to do was grab the black bag and knock Snape over the head with it. And then pull out the thermometer and shove it down his throat, the evil ugly git of a bat!

Harry felt tears well up in his eyes, and he blinked furiously. He did not want Snape to come back and see that the famous Boy-Who-Lived had been crying. The comments Snape would undoubtedly make, sighing over the fact that the wizarding world was destined to be saved by a crybaby – Harry wouldn’t be able to control himself. He hated Snape with every single bit of feeling that he had in him, hated him for calling names and being such a mean, evil man that liked to watch other people suffer.

A small voice at the back of Harry’s mind whispered that this was not entirely true. Snape had not called him names last night when Harry’s cried from the punishment. And Snape didn’t like to watch all people suffer all the time because he had stopped Harry from falling in library. And Snape was letting him stay here and not at the Dursleys.

Yeah, Harry would have pouted if he could move his face. Staying here was loads of fun – being bossed around and ordered here and there.

He closed his eyes, not to sleep but because it was dark enough in the room that it didn’t matter if his eyes were open or shut. He would just lay like this and wait for the binding spell to wear off. And later this afternoon when Snape let him go outside, he would find a way to escape.

And he was not sick – no matter, what Snape said. Harry had had a fever as a little child, and he could remember that chilled, restless trembling of his limbs as he curled up and tried to sleep it off. He did not feel like that now. And he wasn’t the least bit tired. He would tell Snape when the man let him up, before conking Snape over the head with the black bag.

Harry felt his closed eyes growing heavy, and his angry thoughts began to numb. What did it all matter right now? He would get Snape back at sometime, but for now just lying here in the warm and quiet bedroom without any concerns . . . felt so . . . nice . . .

------

Snape opened the door quietly and stepped in. He half-expected to see the brat staring right back at him, his eyes fixed and angry. Instead, Snape saw the boy sound asleep on his back, the coverlet wrapped around him like a cocoon. The binding spell was one that loosed only after the person was in a deep sleep.

From the looks of Potter’s loose limbs, he was fast asleep.

Snape pressed his lips together tightly. He had only been gone ten minutes. If everything had been right, if nothing was wrong, than Potter should be still awake and in the body-bind, ready to protest that he didn’t need a nap. And his fever was worsening.

Snape strode out the room and shut the door a bit loudly. He listened carefully, hoping Potter might wake and start fussing. No sound was made.

This was bad. Snape’s walk was even quicker as he made his way downstairs and to his laboratory.

-------

Harry rolled over and yawned. He felt pleasantly drowsy and very comfortable. It seemed like he should be upset over something, but he couldn’t remember what at the moment. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to think about what he should do. Then, he remembered.

Harry sat up and flung the thin coverlet to the side. How dare Snape? What kind of mind games was the dirty git playing at anyway?

Harry pulled his shoes back on, tied them, and headed for the door. He glanced at the clock on the mantle as he left. 3:35, it read. Harry paused for a moment. He had been asleep for two and a half hours? That couldn’t be right, he hadn’t even felt tired. The clocks were probably playing tricks on him, just like everything else in this blasted house.

He met Snape at the bottom of the stairs.