Harry woke up Sunday morning in the Hospital Wing. Nestled deep into the warm bed, he almost felt blissful. The bedside table had a vase full of freshly picked flowers, along with a card and a pile of treats. Although the items were a bit blurry without his glasses, he knew they were from his friends. They must always have something on hand, as often as I'm injured, Harry mused. Turning to his side, he curled up and wished that sleep would reclaim him. He hadn't slept so well—free of nightmares—since he was back at Grimmauld Place… with Snape.

The memories and all the associated feelings came back to him at once, hitting him hard like a bludger to the stomach. Suddenly, sleep didn't seem too welcoming. He'd wasted enough time as it was. Saturday was over and now only Sunday remained to catch up on his studies. He had to write a new proposal for Snape.

Quickly he pulled on his glasses and checked his watch. Exactly how much of Sunday was left? With a sigh, he relaxed. It was still early, just before breakfast. He got out of bed and spotted his pile of clothes. A note was placed on top of them.

"Remedial Potions, 8 p.m., Tuesdays and Fridays." It wasn't signed, but it didn't have to be. Harry knew who the note was from. Instead of impending doom, as he often felt towards his occlumency lessons, he actually felt hopeful. He remembered Snape had been there for him, when he was hurt. And now they were going to meet again—in private. Perhaps the truth would be revealed. It had all been an act. Snape had to pretend to hate me. After all, there are death eaters in training around every corner…

Harry stood barefooted on the cold stone floor, staring at his note. He reread it, scrutinizing each and every curve of the fancy scrawl for some hidden meaning. He felt stupid, after the way Snape had treated him since he had returned to school. But he knew there was something between the two of them. He had slept, clinging tightly to Snape's arm, for a whole night for Merlin's sake!

"Harry Potter!" Madame Pomfrey snapped. Startled out of his musings, Harry dropped the letter to the ground and turned to the mediwitch. "What are you doing out of bed, young man?"

"I, er…" Harry stuttered. He was caught between fleeing back to bed or standing his ground. Deciding on the latter, he said, "I'm feeling much better now. I'd like to go."

"You let me be the judge of that," she said, pointing her wand to direct him back to bed.

Begrudgingly, he climbed back onto the bed and sat, allowing his legs to dangle over the edge. Madame Pomfrey started in on her usual charms as she examined Harry's vitals. Why does everyone treat me like I'm just a child? he thought. I'm not little anymore… er, well mentally anyway.

"You hit the ground fairly hard," Pomfrey explained while she worked, "but you didn't break any bones. And even though you hit your head hard enough to pass out, you do not have a concussion. Your wounds were superficial bruises that were easily healed last night." Pomfrey finished her wand work and stooped to look Harry squarely in the eye, like a mother hen. "However, you are malnourished and exhausted. Your eleven-year-old body cannot handle the same hours as your sixteen-year-old one. From now on, you are to go to bed at a reasonable hour. Also, you need to choose a more nutritious meal, not all sweets and treats. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry replied quickly. He didn't want to bring up the nightmares that plagued his sleep, nor the sickening dream that caused him to vomit for half a day—he still felt nauseous thinking about it.

Satisfied, Madame Pomfrey continued, "You are excused. You take care of yourself and heed my words. Otherwise, you will be back in here before you know it." Pomfrey wandered off to care for some other ailing student and Harry dressed quickly.

He gathered up his gifts, minus the flowers—he could only carry so much, after all—and left the infirmary. Halfway back to his dorm, he ran into his friends.

"Hey, Harry," Ron greeted from afar. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he replied.

"You gave us such a fright," Hermione said. She still looked a little concerned. "Madame Pomfrey said you weren't hurt that bad, but you wouldn't wake up. And—"

Harry waved her off, "I was just overtired. Pomfrey said I was doing too much, staying up late—you know. I'll be fine." He already regretted what he said. Hermione got a gleam in her eye—she would make sure Harry got the rest he needed.

"Oh, and Harry, you'll never guess," Ron said as he stepped in front of Harry to stop their progress. He put his hand on Harry's shoulder and leaned down—he looked much like an older brother. "You don't remember who took you to the infirmary, do you?" Harry shook his head. "Snape! Of all people. He came out of nowhere, swooped down, picked you up, and rushed you off to the Hospital Wing."

He couldn't help himself. Harry smiled—a huge silly grin that only Harry was capable of conjuring. "What do you think he was doing at the Quidditch field?" he asked.

"I have no idea," Ron replied. "Maybe he was looking after you. Perhaps the git doesn't hate you after all." Harry's smile got a bit bigger. Ron put an arm over the boy's shoulder and they continued walking back to the dormitory.

After a while, Harry spoke again. "I got a note. He wants to start Remedial Potions. Do you think he'll explain things then?"

"I don't know, maybe," Ron replied.

"I heard something," Harry said, "last night when I started to wake up. Dumbledore was talking to Snape." At this, both Ron and Hermione's interest perked up. "He seemed mad, told Snape he had to betray him. Who do you think he's talking about? Me?"

"How would Snape betray you?" Hermione stated, more than asked. "Dumbledore must be talking about Voldemort."

"But why would Dumbledore want that?" Harry asked.

"Well, Voldemort might have asked him to do something he shouldn't," Hermione replied.

"As if Voldemort has never asked Snape to do something wrong," Harry retorted.

"Well, I don't know," Hermione said, throwing her arms up in the air. "I don't see how Dumbledore would want Snape to betray you. What is there to betray? Besides, he's always wanted the two of you to get along."

"Not this time," Harry replied. "Something is up."

"Perhaps," Hermione said, but she sounded skeptical. Ron didn’t look all that convinced either. This hurt Harry—his smile disappeared. He wanted his friends to understand. If they just knew about the summer, but he couldn't tell them.

Something had to be up with Dumbledore. Why else did Snape hate him again? Harry didn't want to think of why else…but he knew of plenty of reasons drilled into him his first eleven years of life. He was a freak, a bad boy; no one could love him. He tried to shake off the Dursley's words, but it got harder with each passing moment. What did Dumbledore mean? He decided he'd ask Snape during the occlumency lessons.

xxxxx

The Harry remained subdued, studying quietly until lunch. In the Great Hall, his mood perked up in light of Ron's excitement.

"I'm going to be with Hagrid for the rest of the day," Ron announced.

"Really?" Harry asked. "But why?"

"We're going to the Black Forest," Ron explained. "There has been a suspected Erkling attack on a village. Two girls are missing. The German Ministry of Magic asked Dumbledore for help. Did you know Dumbledore was friends with the German Minister?" Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Ron continued on talking quickly. "Well, they're putting together a team to go in and investigate. Hagrid asked Dumbledore if I could go along. We'll be working well into the night." Harry caught eyes with Hermione; honestly is Ron going to breathe? Hermione rolled her eyes and continued eating. Apparently, she'd heard all of this from Ron earlier. "I might be gone all day Monday. Excused from classes! Can you believe that Hagrid got me out of Defense and Transfiguration?" Again, Ron didn't wait for a response. Harry noticed his friend's face was getting a bit red. "Professor Sprout doesn't mind that I'm missing Herbology, though. Made Hagrid promise to bring back some rare plants. Oh, and did you know, we might be able to find some Al.. Ales—" finally Ron paused as he struggled to remember the name.

"Alesco," Hermione clarified without looking up from paper she was now reading.

"Right, Alesco," Ron carried on. "We might be able to find an Alesco plant. Hopefully, it will be well enough to transplant. Bet you'd be excited if we could."

Ron looked over at Harry expectedly, but for the life of him, Harry didn't know why he should be excited. "I don't understand. What is Alesco?" Harry asked.

"Well, only the key ingredient to your potion," Ron clarified.

Hermione set her paper aside and joined the conversation. "You aren't familiar with the Alesco Plant?"

Harry's face reddened. Thinking hard, he tried to remember if he'd read about it in the past, but he was coming up with a complete blank. In the end, he just shrugged.

"It's okay, Harry," Hermione responded. "It's a rare plant. I figured you would know about it, since it is the one thing Snape needs to get in order to finish your potion. He didn't talk to you about it?"

"No," Harry replied. With further thought, he added, "So how do you know about the plant?"

It was Hermione's turn to blush. "Well, when Snape gave us the long brewing potions assignment, I asked him if I could do your Age Accelerator. The girl looked a bit guilty, but Harry nodded her on. "He said, in not the friendliest manner, that I could not possibly complete the potion, because, apparently, the Alesco Plants seem to have all but disappeared."

"What?" Harry asked.

"I did a bit of research," Hermione replied. "I found that the plant is very rare and quite delicate. So, in short, it's hard to find, in the wild or from an apothecary."

"Don't worry mate," Ron said as he clapped a hand down on Harry's shoulder, "I'm sure we'll find it." Harry turned back to his meal and tried not to worry. He had enough things to worry about as it was. Ron quickly ate the rest of his sandwich, excused himself, and then darted out of the Great Hall.

The rest of the day, Hermione and Harry studied in the common room. Harry had wanted to work on his potions proposal, but Hermione reminded him of the test in Transfiguration on Monday. They waded through a lot of material and before he knew it, it was time for dinner. Afterwards, they spent some time reading ahead for Defense.

With that done, Harry pulled out his Potions book. Before he could open it, Hermione pulled the book away.

Confused, Harry looked up. Hermione stood, arms crossed, with a very firm look on her face. Strangely, she reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall. "It is time for you to go to bed," she ordered.

Harry coughed; glancing around the room feeling embarrassed. "Hermione, I'm not—" he protested, but the girl cut him off.

"You were released from the Hospital Wing this morning," Hermione lectured. "Madame Pomfrey said you have been staying up too late. Now it's nine-thirty, time for bed." She grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him out of the chair.

"I am not little boy," Harry whined.

"Physically, you're eleven," she continued as she dragged Harry up the stairs. He couldn't believe it—she couldn't possibly be putting him to bed. "Now, I expect you to be in your pajamas and in bed. I'll be back to check on you."

She turned and walked out the room before Harry could mutter, "Yes, mother." Harry felt angry, embarrassed, and frustrated. Nevertheless, he did as he was told. He figured he would humor the girl, in order to avert the imminent lecture and confrontation. After she "checked in," Harry could get up, spell his bed curtains, and get to studying. He hadn't realized that in his attempt to feign sleep, he might actually drift off. Tired as he was, though, sleep he did.

xxxxx

Harry didn't see Ron again until Herbology on Monday. The red head walked into class, looking a little worse for wear. He had in his hands a small plant, with bright red leaves. The roots must have been wrapped magically, because the dirt remained packed when there was nothing to hold them together.

After seeing Ron, and his precious cargo, Professor Sprout squealed in excitement. She excused the class early and disappeared into her private greenhouse.

"Is that what I think it is?" Harry asked Ron.
"Yes," Ron beamed. "I found it this morning, right outside our campsite!"

"So, I'll be back to my sixteen year old self soon!"

"Er… well, yes and no."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his face dropping.

"Well, first the plant has to be stabilized before anything can be harvested," Ron explained. Harry nodded to show that he understood, so Ron continued. "Your potion requires the taproot from a seedling. So you have to wait until it produces a seed and then the seed needs to germinate…"

"So, how long will that take?"

"The Alesco Plant only reproduces towards the end of the summer. We've already reached the end of the season for this year, so—"

"What!" Harry shouted.

Ron looked uncomfortable, as though he didn't know how to proceed.

"Don't worry," Neville piped up. Neither Ron nor Harry had realized Neville was listening to their conversation. The boy continued, "Professor Sprout can create conditions so that the plant believes it is summer again. These are greenhouses after all."

Both Harry and Ron blushed. What Neville said was obvious.

"I better go," Ron said suddenly. "I need to shower and rest. Need to be ready for Quidditch practice."

"What?" Harry asked before Ron could run off.

"Oh, I decided we need to get started on practices, since we have so many new players. So practice is after dinner. Tell the others for me, will you?" Ron sprinted away before Harry could respond.

Neville and Harry walked back to the castle together.

"I need to go to the library," Harry said. "To work on my potions proposal."

"Yours didn't get approved?" Neville asked, but he didn't sound all that surprised.

"No, did yours?"

"Yeah, I'm doing the Polyjuice Potion."

"What!" Harry shouted. Neville stepped back nervously. "Snape didn't let me do the Polyjuice, but he's allowing you?"

"He did say only one person per potion," Neville pointed out.

"Yeah, I suppose," Harry replied. He still felt a bit cheated, but he knew it wasn't Neville’s fault.

"I'll help you find another potion," Neville suggested.

"Thanks, Neville, but do you really have the time?"

"Yeah, no problem."

"Okay," Harry agreed.

They went straight to the library and got right to work. Hermione found them after a while and joined in. Finally, they found some obscure potion that Harry was sure to impress Snape. He started in on his proposal while the others worked on the defense reading.

In no time at all, dinner hour arrived, and they all made their way down to the great hall. After dinner, Ron dragged his reluctant team down to the Quidditch pitch. They ran nothing but drills, flying in tight complicated patterns. They continued to practice even when the sun set, leaving them in darkness. It wasn't until Hermione came down that Ron called it a day.

Harry was glad to have the company, as Hermione dragged he and Ron off to bed. Too tired, he didn't even bother to fake sleep.

Around midnight, Harry woke with a start when he remembered his Occlumency lesson tomorrow. It was a strange feeling—excitement combined with dread. He decided to finish his potions proposal for class, just in case it would make Snape happy—or proud—or well maybe less disappointed.

He didn't realize until around three in the morning that the potion he had chosen would be quite expensive to brew. It required a gold caldron, as well as numerous rare ingredients. No matter, he decided. He did have a vault full of gold after all.

At exactly five-fifty-three, he finished the proposal. He had just about enough time to nod off before he had to wake for breakfast.

xxxxx

The next day, he approached Snape's desk, proposal in hand, with a silly grin on his face. He was proud of himself, if not a bit cocky, that he had managed to finish the essay. Snape watched him with a glare, no doubt thinking up a bunch of insults. To Harry’s surprise, Snape remained speechless until it was time for class to begin.

Once everyone was there, Snape gave short, minimal instructions and the class got to work. Glad to be partnered up with Hermione, Harry got started on the grunt work. He had discovered during lunch just how funny things could be when one was overly tired. Mashing newt eyes, it would seem, was just as entertaining. He had to bite his lip to contain a laugh as the mashing made all sorts of disgusting sounds. Suddenly, he lost control of one of the eyes. Hitting it at a wrong angle, it shot out of the bowl and pelted the back Neville's head. The boy turned around to glare, but relaxed when he saw Harry's apologetic look.

Both boys turned back quickly to see if Snape noticed, waiting for the impending insult or lost points. Snape hadn't even looked up from his desk, which was surprising enough. But even more shocking was that he was reading Harry's proposal.

Harry's face was again filled with a silly grin, until Hermione elbowed him hard. He got back to work, occasionally rubbing a sore arm. Midway through the class, Snape got up to stalk around the classroom, issuing his customary insults.

At the end of class, Hermione was bottling a sample of the potion while Harry cleaned up. All the while, she muttered to herself, "Probably not enough newt eyes."

Harry rolled his eyes and escaped class with Neville, before Snape or Hermione could start in on him. He spent the rest of the day playing games, such as chess with Ron or Exploding Snap with Ginny and Neville. Never once that afternoon did he open a textbook. His excitement over the possibility of impressing Snape spilled over into the games and he found himself having fun--real fun that he hadn't had in a long time.

His giggly mood couldn't be subdued, even as he stood outside of Snape's office hours later. He knocked lightly at the door.

"Enter," Snape's muffled voice commanded.

Harry opened the door, stepped inside and then closed the door behind him. Snape then warded the door and Harry waited expectedly. When no explanation followed, Harry opened his mouth to ask if Snape liked his proposal.

Snape spoke first, "Have you practiced Occlumency?"

The boy was caught a bit off balance by Snape's abruptness. "I, er…" was all he managed to stammer.

"I thought as much," Snape snapped. Harry's heart sank with Snape's cold voice. "Legilimens." He felt Snape's mind riffling through his memories. "Push me out, Potter," Snape yelled, in the present and in his memories. It was too much. A moment later, Harry was on the ground, breathing heavily. "Pitiful," Snape commented. Fighting back the tears, Harry stood back up, ready for another attack. "Sit down," Snape commanded instead. Quickly, Harry obeyed and took the seat opposite Snape's desk. "I will not waste my time as I did last year," Snape began. "If you are not willing to practice clearing your mind, these lessons will mean nothing." Harry started to complain. He didn't know how to clear his mind, but Snape waved him off. "Dumbledore has found this book for you." Snape slammed an enormous book down in front of Harry. "You will read it and practice some of the techniques. Otherwise, do not bother to show up to your next lesson."

Harry nodded, determined to show Snape that he would do as he was told. He sat quietly as Snape riffled through some papers on his desk. Snape pulled out the parchment that Harry recognized as his potions proposal. Even from across the desk, Harry could make out the big red letters that spelt, "Declined."

"What were you thinking?" Snape asked.

"I, er… well," Harry didn't know how to respond.

"It is completely impractical," Snape continued. "Not only would it cost a fortune, it takes sixth months to brew. I highly doubt you'll be able to make a satisfactory sample your first try, but you would be unable to try again." Snape paused and waited for Harry to respond. By now, Harry had his face down, unable to meet Snape's glare. "I have decided your proposal can wait, as you obviously can't handle your course load. For now, focus on your Occlumency. Perhaps later, when you're back to your sixteen-year-old body, you can work on your proposal. Otherwise, I suggest you consider dropping potions."

At that, Harry looked up. Snape knew Harry needed potions for the Auror program. Didn't the man care? It was obvious from Snape's scowl that he did not.

"Now, get out," Snape commanded.

Harry got up, lugging the impossibly large book with him. He stopped before he opened the door. "What happened, sir?" Harry asked without turning around to face the man. "I thought things changed between us. We were getting on better. Why do you hate me again? Is it--"

Snape cut him off, "Isn't that what you wanted?" The man's voice was bitter, filled with such venom it was startling.

"What!" Harry asked. He turned around just in time to see Snape storming towards him. Holding tighter to the book, as if it were a shield, he braced for impact.

Snape merely opened the door for him, pushed him into the hall, and said, "Get out."

Harry stood there for a while, staring at Snape's closed door. He was confused more than upset. What is Snape talking about?

xxxxx

Friday morning, he made his way down to Defense with Hermione, Ron, and Neville. His friends knew enough to leave him alone, irritable as he was.

Last night's Quidditch practice had run too long. The whole team was frustrated because they couldn't seem to complete Ron's new set of drills. Harry said—in no uncertain terms—that he had had enough.

The next victim to his temper was none other than Hermione, who as usual, told him it was time to go to bed. This time, Harry stood up for himself and didn't back down and yelled at Hermione until she left the room crying. He tried to convince himself that the meddlesome girl deserved it, but he knew he was being a prat.

Glares from the common room had sent Harry fleeing to bed. There, he pulled out his Occlumency book and failed another attempt to clear his mind.

After a restless night, Harry rolled out of bed—red eyed and grumpy. The mood was hard to shake, even when all he had to do was "sit and watch" the others practice blocking spells in defense.

The class started off as usual. Everyone broke off into their customary teams. Quinn walked around the class, starting with Ron and Malfoy first. It was becoming obvious to Harry that the Professor favored purebloods and hardly ever bothered to help Justin and Hermione.

"Hey, Harry?" Hannah asked in a hushed voice. Harry looked up at the girl, but didn’t say anything. "Can you help us with the spell? Susan, Lavender, and I can't seem to get it right. And we don't want to get in trouble."

Harry glanced quickly over to Quinn, who was busy helping Bulstrode and Parkinson. "Sure," he whispered back. He got out of his chair and pulled out his wand. "Watch me," he instructed. Holding his wand close to his body, he started to make a circular motion. "You say the first part of the charm as you circle your wand. You should be able to feel the shield." By now, the three girls were standing around him, copying his motions. "You say the second part of the charm as you push out from your body. Here, watch me." Harry did as he described, saying the charm, "Contego Promoveo." He hadn't actually performed the spell yet, seeing as he wasn't allowed to in class. But he understood the material well enough and he wasn't surprised to be successful his first time. "Now, one of you curse me," Harry ordered. Susan obeyed and her curse was deflected easily.

Instead, it was redirected towards Ron, who started dancing foolishly as he sang like a young girl. While trying not to laugh, Harry said the counter charm.

"Thanks, mate," Ron replied.

Harry gave the boy a nod and turned back to the girls, deciding he rather enjoyed teaching defense. He was about to ask Hannah to try the spell, until he was reminded of the teacher's presence.

"Mr. Potter," Quinn snapped. "What do you think you are doing?"

"Er… I," Harry stammered.

"You were told to sit and watch," Quinn scolded. "You are lucky Miss Bones sent a reasonable curse, otherwise your uncontrolled shield may have caused more damage."

Staring back at Quinn, Harry thought up a several savvy retorts, but held his tongue.

"I have allowed you to remain in my class, regardless of your incapacity," Quinn continued. "But I will not allow you to endanger the other students. You will learn your place, young man. Now go stand in the corner."

"What!" Harry shouted, a little louder than he should have.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Quinn snapped back. "Now, do as you’re told."

Harry wavered for a moment, but then filled with resolve. There was no way he would stand in the corner. "No," he replied calmly.

"Detention, Mr. Potter. Now, do as you're told or it will be one week." By now the whole class was silent, intently watching the scene unfold. Harry didn't move, meeting Quinn's glare eye to eye. "Move boy, or it will be two." Quinn's face twisted from his scowl to frustration. His body lost its composure as he extended an arm to point towards the corner. "Three weeks," Quinn shouted, loosing control of his anger. Harry remained stock-still and calm. Suddenly, Quinn reached out to grab Harry by the arm, but the boy drew back, causing the man to stubble a bit. Thoroughly embarrassed, Quinn straightened back up and smoothed his robes. "Four weeks," he spat. "Now do as you're told, or so help me—"

"You'll what?" Harry shot back, "make it five? I don't care if I have detention until the end of term. I will not stand in the corner."

"Get out of my classroom," Quinn ordered.

"My pleasure," Harry replied sarcastically.

He left the room full of dumfounded students and one irate defense teacher. It wasn't until he was halfway to Transfiguration that he realized exactly what he had done. He sat down outside of McGonagall's classroom and waited. A while later, students arrived saying, "Way to go, Harry" and other sorts of compliments as they went into the classroom. Before Hermione and Ron could come up and say something, Harry got up and entered the classroom. He sat down between two random students, ensuring they couldn't sit next to him.

McGonagall lectured them, but Harry was hard pressed to pay attention. He was too busy ignoring the questioning looks from his friends. When it was time to get to work, Harry didn't really have the slightest clue on how to transfigure the book before him. The task seemed simple enough, make the transfiguration book appear to be another book of your choosing. But in reality, changing the cover and then each and every page into something completely different—and legible—was not a simple task at all.

"Bloody hell," Harry shouted in frustration.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," McGonagall stated. "You will watch you language in my class, Mr. Potter, otherwise you will find yourself in detention."

"Good luck in finding the time," Harry muttered to himself, not as quietly as he had hoped.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Potter, I think I can find the time. I do believe the undersides of the tables are in need of a good scrubbing. I suggest you loose your attitude, before I decide to extend your detention."

Out of frustration, Harry rolled his eyes—not the best of decisions—but McGonagall didn't say if she noticed.

After a few more failed attempts at transfiguring his textbook, class was over. He knew it was futile to avoid his friends and didn't bother trying.

On their way to the Great Hall it was Hermione who spoke first. "Harry, are you all right?"

Harry just snorted in response.

"Are you going completely mad?" Ron blurted out. "Harry, if you keep this up, you're going to get yourself expelled or something."

"Look," Harry shouted as he stopped walking. "I'll be fine. Like Dumbledore would expel his Golden Boy. And if he did, I could care less. Now leave me be!" He stormed off, with the others lagging behind.

At lunch, he mindlessly shoved food in his mouth. He was taking care to have a mouth full at all times, so that he couldn't possibly reply to any inane questioning.

It was in this mood that he stalked down to Potions. Hermione and Neville walked with him, a few paces behind. Rounding the corner at his fast pace, Harry almost ran into Malfoy.

"Why is that the miniature Potty?" Malfoy taunted. "Still having your temper tantrum."

Harry had his wand out so quickly, Malfoy didn't have a chance to react. "Petrificus Totalus," he stated calmly. Malfoy's body fell back rigidly, hitting the stone floor hard. Harry continued walking, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Entering the classroom, Harry was pleasantly surprised to see that he, Neville and Hermione were the last to arrive—save Malfoy, of course—so it would be a while before anyone noticed Malfoy's condition.

Harry was somewhat pleased with himself, until he noticed Snape stand. The man was stiff and somewhat shaky. It was subtle; likely no one noticed. But Harry did. Snape was in pain. During the lecture, Harry studied the Potion's master, seeking out any signs of an injury. All of his previous anger and frustration melted into concern.

With the instructions spelled onto the board, Snape began his usual stalk around the classroom. Completely oblivious to Hermione's prodding, Harry continued to study Snape. The man didn't favor either limb nor did he protect some injury to the ribs. His whole body was tense, as if each muscle and bone was suffering.

Without thinking, Harry reached out to Snape as the man passed by. He laid a hand down on the man's arm and quietly asked, "Are you okay, sir?"

Snape quickly recoiled from Harry's touch and fixed the boy with the deadliest of all glares. "Potter! You insolent… how dare you…" For the first time in Harry's memory, the Potions Master was at a loss for words.

Harry filled the void, as he felt his own anger return full force. "What the hell is wrong with you, Snape?" Harry shouted. "I am just worried about you. Obviously you're in pain." Snape didn't respond, although his glare did soften—a bit. Harry rolled his eyes and said, "This is the last time I ask you. What did I do?"

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," Snape shouted, finally snapping out of his silence. "Now, get back to work." Snape turned and stalked away.

Harry stood where he was, unable to move. The anger and pain swelled inside of him, until it was too much to hold inside. So he let it go. "You bastard!" he shouted. Simultaneously, as the sound of his voice filled the room, a real, tangible blast radiated out of him. Glass vials shattered, cauldrons and ingredients shifted, even several of the students stumbled.

A moment later, Harry did the first thing that came to his mind. He ran. Neglecting his bag or any of his belongings, he fled the dungeons. Never slowing his pace, he ran until he was back in his Gryffindor dormitory.

He stayed on his bed, trying to suppress all thought.

"Harry, are you okay?" Hermione asked cautiously, her voice full of concern.

Moaning, Harry rolled over to face the girl. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Professor Snape excused us right after you left," Neville reported as he too entered the room.

"I'm dead," Harry whined. "There's no way out of this."

"A little accidental magic, Harry. It's not the end of the world," Hermione supplied.

"A little accidental magic!" Harry mocked. "I practically blew up." Hermione and Neville stayed by the bedside for a while, unsure what to say.

"Look, Harry, why don't you come down to the common room," Hermione suggested. "We could play some games or something. To keep your mind off… well, you know."

"No thanks, Hermione," Harry said, his voice muffled by the pillow he had stuffed his head under. "I think I'll just rest. You know how much I need my rest."

"Okay," Hermione conceded, "but remember, we're just downstairs if you need to talk."

Exhausted as he was, Harry drifted off into a restless sleep, waking every hour or so from another dream. After his third or forth time, he got up and pulled the curtains closed around his bed. Several hours of tossing—or just lying around depressed—passed before Harry was bothered again.

"Harry," Ron's voice whispered. "Are you awake, mate?"

"Yeah," Harry replied.

Ron pulled the curtain open and poked his head in. "I brought you up some dinner."

"Thanks," Harry said, but made no move to get the food.

"Hermione told me about what happened. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"I was told to give you this note."

Harry took the note from Ron's outstretched hand, sat up and unfolded the parchment. The note read, "Come to my office, noon tomorrow," signed, "Albus Dumbledore."

"I'm gonna be expelled," Harry groaned as he rolled back over.

"Oh Harry," Ron chided. "We've done bad stuff before."

"Not like today, Ron. Now, please, can you leave me alone?" Harry pleaded.

"Sure, but come and find me, if you need to talk."

Harry didn't respond, in fact he didn't move again until nature called. Before crawling back into bed, he changed into his pajamas. For the first time since Grimmauld Place, he pulled out his plushie Hedwig. I've finally done it; I've messed up enough to get expelled. And now they're going to send me back to the Dursley's. He curled up into a ball, clutching his Hedwig tightly, trying desperately not to think.