He got to the Great Hall earlier than he intended, and stopped short when he saw that the only person already seated at the long table was Ginny.

She was reading a thick book, but looked up and smiled a little.

It was too late to turn around and leave, so he forced himself to sit down at the other end of the table.

"Your name's Hadrian, right?"

He nodded, not looking at her.

"You can look at me, you know," she said, a little sharply. "A lot of people either stare or pretend they don't see me at all, and I hate both."

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, drawing his eyes over to her face reluctantly.

"Well?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and her voice ringing with challenge. "Am I the most hideous thing you've ever seen?"

"Of course not," Harry said quickly. "It's not your fault you... got hurt."

It was his fault.

He had to fight to keep from looking away again.

She raised her chin defiantly. "I got hurt doing the right thing, and fighting against evil. I'm not sorry. I'm proud I was there."

"Oh." It came out rather strangled.

"Harry is the bravest boy I know, and anything you've read in the papers is lies."

"I haven't read anything," Harry said, desperate to get out of the terrible conversation. "I've had my own problems to settle."

She looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "Yes, I imagine you did. Is it true what I've been hearing about your father?"

"Huh?"

"Him and Professor Lupin."

"Oh," Harry said uncomfortably. "Uh..."

"Forget it," Ginny said. "I don't care, except I know how upset Harry will be. He looks up to Lupin."

"So?" Harry said, feeling a twinge of anger. "He's going to be disappointed just because --"

"That is not what I meant!" Ginny tossed her head and picked up her book again. "I said forget it."

He felt stupid for getting angry with her. She was right, of course. He would have been upset.

He was upset.

"Ginny... Hadrian."

Ginny looked up from her book just long enough to give Lupin the same weak smile Harry had received, then went back to reading.

"Was your meeting with your father satisfactory?"

Harry nodded, suddenly thinking just how odd it was to be asked that question. He had the feeling that it would take some getting used to, playing the role of a boy who had a family.

"Good," Lupin said, sitting down next to him.

Harry scowled, thinking about the mind-numbing study schedule Snape had drawn up for him.

There was no chance for more conversation, because at that moment the Weasleys came in, taking their places around the table. The twins and Ron had their heads close together and seemed to be having a heated argument in whispered tones.

He looked up as Snape sat down on his other side, then looked away quickly.

Finally, he decided to just ignore everyone and stare down at the empty plate that had appeared in front of him.

When food finally appeared, he had no trouble concentrating on eating. He felt like he hadn't eaten in days.

The few times he looked up, he thought he caught hostile looks from Fred, George, and Ron aimed in his direction.

It hurt, but he knew it wasn't their fault, and he certainly hadn't done anything to make a good impression on any of them. If he were in their place, he could imagine himself throwing some unfriendly looks Hadrian's way, too.

Maybe he'd best just get used to it.

That was a depressing thought, and he carried it heavily with him back to his bedroom.

"Chameleon."

The door swung open.

He hadn't had time to look through the things Lupin had given him. He opened the box and took out four framed photographs.

The woman, Beatrice Carmichael, was dark-haired and had a pale, thin face. She was wearing plain black robes. She was very ordinary.

He didn't know anything about her except that she had worked in a greenhouse and that she had died in a fire.

Now that he gave it some thought, he found that he knew about as much about Hadrian's parents as he knew about his own. That is, not very much.

Another photograph showed her parents, a heavy-set bald man and a pinched-looking woman who looked nothing like the Dursleys and yet somehow reminded Harry of them.

There was a photograph of a much younger Snape and a much younger Beatrice sitting on a stone bench beneath a flowering tree. Neither one looked particularly happy to be there.

The last photograph showed Beatrice standing in front of a grand manor, holding a bouquet and the hand of a very small boy with slightly overgrown black hair.

Harry squinted and brought his face close, but the grainy photograph was devoid of detail. The little boy could have been anyone's child. Even Snape's.

It was still such an odd thought.

He hung one of Beatrice's photographs on the wall and placed the rest on his bedside table, where he would have had the picture of his mum and dad. He wished he could still have it, but that was a useless wish and he pushed it out of his mind quickly.

Snape's books were sitting where he had left them, on top of his trunk. He picked them up and sat down on the bed with a sigh. He would just have to give it a go. He wasn't going to give Snape the satisfaction of having something else to badger him about. Snape was probably counting on Harry being unprepared.

His mind wandered.

He supposed it was his own fault that he didn't already know the material. Had he studied at all his first year? Why didn't he know that aconite couldn't be mixed with asphodel unless you used an acidic base, or that daisy roots were twice as potent if gathered under a full moon?

It was rather hopeless. He couldn't very well learn the names and uses of all the plants used in first year Potions class, and was he supposed to go through each potion in the book to find out which were the eighteen most commonly used plants?

He didn't suppose he could ask Snape for a list.

He wished he could ask Hermione. She wouldn't even need the book.

Before he even knew it, time had run out.

He slammed the book shut in frustration. An entire afternoon of studying, and he'd got nothing done! Now he'd have to go down to dinner and straight to a session with Snape from there, and then he would look lazy and stupid.

He paused with his hand on the doorknob, frowning.

Why, exactly, did he suddenly care?

"Identify each plant, name one potion that uses it, and sort according to toxicity in raw form."

Harry stared blankly at the tray in front of him.

Eighteen plants were lined up in rows.

He recognized only six of them, could think of a potion using only four of them, and knew for sure that only one, belladonna, was toxic.

"Begin," Snape said, setting a piece of parchment on the table next to an ink pot and quill.

Harry picked up the quill with a horrible aching feeling in his gut.

Daisy roots, used in Shrinking Solution.

 

Aconite, used in Wolfsbane Potion.

Belladonna, used in Draught of Living Death.

Fluxweed, used in Polyjuice Potion.

Valerian

Ginger

He looked at his short list and at the plants remaining unidentified and felt heat start creeping up his neck.

He dared to glance at Snape, but Snape was at his desk, taking notes out of a heavy tome, and didn't look up.

Belladonna, Harry wrote under the heading of Toxicity.

He put the quill down and waited for the inevitable.

The wait wasn't very long, but it certainly felt that way.

"Finished?"

Harry swallowed and shook his head. "No, sir, but I don't know the rest of them."

Snape's mouth thinned. Setting down his book, he retrieved the parchment with a flick of his wand.

After what felt like eternity, he raised his eyes to meet Harry's.

"Explain."

Harry shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "I did study. I didn't know what the most common plants were, so I... I studied everything in the book, and --"

"Stop."

Harry fell silent.

With another flick of his wand, Snape had a copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi in his hand. Flipping it open, he held it out to Harry.

He had no choice but to walk to Snape's desk and take the book.

"Read it."

Harry looked down and saw that the book was open to the introductory chapter.

"The eighteen plant derivatives most commonly used in potions are: daisy, common; ginger, root of; hellebore, black; ragwort..." he trailed off, his face burning.

There was absolute silence. He didn't dare look up, but he could feel Snape's eyes on him, and it was a terrible feeling. A drop of sweat trailed down his back.

When Snape spoke, it was in a tightly controlled tone that was somehow worse than being yelled at or berated.

"Since you have rendered this evening's session pointless, I will leave it up to you to come up with a suitable way to make up for lost time. Dismissed."

Harry raised his head to meet Snape's eyes. "Sir?"

"Dismissed," Snape repeated, and as if to make a point, he picked up his book and notes and strode out of the room, snuffing the torches as he went.

Left in near darkness, Harry sank shakily onto a bench.

Snape was going to leave it up to him to make up the work?

How in bloody hell was he supposed to do that?

Harry sat gloomily on his bed, three books open on the bedspread in front of him. He had a stack of parchment, a quill, and an ink pot. He had everything he needed; he just needed to get started.

In a way, punishing himself was a lot harder than having his punishment set by Snape.

No matter what he did, he would probably be accused of doing the easiest thing.

But what could he do except research the plants Snape had assigned? Maybe he'd finally learn them, at least. Wasn't that what Snape wanted?

He still didn't have an answer to the needling question of when, and why, he had started to care what Snape thought. He was starting to grow a bit resentful of his own feelings. It was disconcerting to know one thing but feel another, and he knew he still disliked Snape, and being under Snape's thumb, as much as ever. It was a betrayal of sorts to find that despite his dislike, he cared whether the man was satisfied or displeased with him.

He forced himself to concentrate, and slogged through ten of the plants by eleven o'clock, when he knew he'd best turn in or risk oversleeping the next morning.

It was quite irritating to realize that this fear, too, seemed to be a fear of doing something Snape had forbidden.

He was really not right in the head, wasn't he?

Going to bed with that thought only ensured that his sleep was disturbed and unrestful, and by the time he got to breakfast he had to fight down an urge to snap at the first person to speak to him.

"Did you sleep well?" Lupin asked cautiously, and yet with a warning in his tone.

"Yes, perfectly well," Harry ground out. "Did you?"

He was immediately sorry, both because Lupin's eyes flashed with anger and because several heads of red hair swiveled in their direction, conversation ceasing.

Lupin was silent long enough for Harry to jump slightly when he did speak. "I believe you should speak with your father this morning."

Harry cringed inwardly, hating the cold tone that was directed at him. "Is he in his office?"

"No, our quarters."

'Our' stabbed into Harry with more than a little sting. As intended, no doubt.

"Do I need to see him right now?"

Lupin was silent for a few long moments, and Harry didn't need to look up to know he was being studied... by more than just one pair of eyes.

"Yes," Lupin said finally, his tone still icy. "I believe so."

He hated this. And he hated Lupin for not letting it pass.

"Yes, sir."

He took a last sip of milk, because his throat was beginning to dry out the way it always did when he was nervous or upset, then pushed back his chair and stood.

There were more than a few smug expressions among his former friends. Of course they would take pleasure in seeing someone they already disliked put in his place by someone they did like. For them, it was probably nearly as good as seeing Snape himself knocked down a peg or two.

And the worst was, Harry knew he'd have had the same gleeful expression on his face if he were still one of them.

But he wasn't one of them.

He turned and walked out of the Great Hall, not looking back and not letting his shoulders droop. He stomped down to dungeon stairs, taking out his frustration in the only way he could.

Maybe it worked. He arrived at Snape's door feeling like a dishrag after it had been wrung out.

He had never been inside Snape's quarters, and as he doubted Snape had really requested to see him, he had the feeling his visit was very unwelcome.

He knocked.

It wasn't long.

"Yes?"

Harry hated the way Snape could make him feel like worm guts just by looking down his long nose at him.

"Professor Lupin told me to see you."

He didn't know what he had expected. The minute Snape kept him waiting for a reply felt very long.

"Come in." Snape held the door open, stepping aside.

Harry swallowed as he stepped through the doorway and into a dimly lit, cavernous room.

On closer look, it wasn't that bad. It was dark because only one torch was lit; it was over a long table where several small cauldrons simmered over low fires. It was a large room, and very sparringly furnished, but what little furniture was there seemed comfortable enough.

The door shut with a thud and a lock clicked into place, making him jump slightly. He turned to face Snape, a feeling of impending doom returning as soon as his eyes alighted on Snape's thin-lipped expression.

"Pray tell what you have done this time."

Harry's first instinct was to look down at the floor, which of course was a ridiculous thing to do. He didn't need to avoid Snape's eyes unless he intended to lie, and what exactly would be his reason for lying now? Even if gluing his eyes to the stone floor didn't give away what he was doing, Snape only had to go as far as Lupin to get the real story. Besides which, there was no story, and therefore nothing to lie about. And that made keeping his eyes downcast ridiculous.

"I was rude to Professor Lupin," he said, and was unpleasantly surprised by the sullen tone of his own voice.

What was wrong with him lately, anyway?

"I see."

When minutes passed and Snape didn't say anything more, Harry began to think that standing in the middle of Snape's private quarters with his head hanging down like a guilty little miscreant was punishment in itself. It felt like it was.

"Come to the table."

He looked up, but Snape had turned away.

He glanced doubtfully at the table with the cauldrons, not sure what Snape wanted from him, until he saw that Snape was walking to the other end of the room entirely.

He followed silently.

"Sit down."

There was a small round table against the wall, and Snape had pulled out one of the chairs.

Harry sat.

There was cold leftover tea still on the table, looking like it had been there since the previous evening, and Snape cleared it away with a wave of his wand. A breakfast tray appeared instead, with all the food Harry hadn't had a chance to eat in the Great Hall before his mouth and bad mood had got the better of him.

"Eat."

He was decidedly not hungry. Having suffered through enough meals alone in Snape's company at Grimmauld Place, he had found that the surest way to calm his hunger pangs was to have Snape's eyes on him while he tried to choke down his food.

His hands filled his plate robotically, apparently not needing his brain to give them instructions.

Snape had seemed inclined to remain standing, but now he sat down opposite from Harry and filled a glass with pumpkin juice from the pitcher.

He was still waiting for some kind of punishment. Yelling, at least. Anything that made Lupin angry had to make Snape twice as.

He swallowed a piece of toast and had to gulp his juice quickly when it stuck in his dry throat.

Snape set down his glass with considerable force and glared at him. "Kindly mind your manners, if you have any."

Harry didn't feel up to speaking; he nodded. His eyes were watering.

Snape took up the glass again and looked calmer. "You will have to get used to public disagreements with Lupin. It is not your place to appear to like him."

Harry froze with a spoon of porridge half-way to his mouth.

"Keep your distance, and there will be no need for unpleasant scenes," Snape continued. "Realize that as Hadrian, you have known him for mere days, and having been uprooted and deposited into the care of your estranged father --" Snape lips curled over the word like it was something unpleasant -- "you are not likely to be eagerly accepting of every aspect of your new life. This should not be a difficult feat to accomplish, since, I presume, you have little to be ecstatic about at the moment."

The spoon clattered back into the dish, hot porridge splattering Harry's hand.

Snape, who had been speaking with an almost trance-like calmness, came back into himself with a jerk. "Clean up that mess at once. What do you mean by throwing your utensils?"

The inside of Harry's head was curiously empty. A sort of buzzing sound filled his ears.

There seemed not to be any air in Snape's room.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake..." Snape stood up, the legs of his chair scraping the floor loudly.

A few minutes later Harry was bitterly washing down a calming potion with pumpkin juice, refusing to look at Snape.

"Stop sulking," Snape said. He had remained standing, looking down at Harry with an ugly scowl. "It is unbecoming."

Harry snorted into his glass, and still refused to look at him.

Snape sat down stiffly on the edge of his chair. "There is nothing to be upset over, and you need not work yourself into a frenzy. You knew aspects of your life would necessarily be altered. It is an unfortunate truth that some changes need to be made all at once, or are made without advance notice. This is the nature of --"

"What, spying?" Harry spat out. "Maybe that's what it is to you, but I... I --" He stopped, breathing hard and lost for words.

"Are not used to it," Snape finished smoothly. "But you will become accustomed to it."

"I don't want to become accustomed to it!"

"But you must."

Harry sputtered, nothing to say to that.

Snape left him hanging, neither adding fuel to his anger nor trying to placate him -- not that Harry thought the latter was a possibility.

"So," he asked finally, glaring at Snape. "Was Lupin play acting or is he angry with me?"

"I wasn't there," Snape said, raising an eyebrow. "In your own words, you were rude. Undoubtedly you were no more rude than usual. He sent you to me to be dealt with, as is proper in his position."

Harry pushed away from the table. "I'm done. I'm leaving."

Snape made no move to stand or to stop him. "Your morning session begins in twenty minutes. I suggest you fetch your books now." He paused, his eyes raking over Harry with distaste. "And wash your face."

Even an angry exit was denied to him!

He left Snape's quarters feeling brittle, like he'd been dried out thin as paper and might break apart at any moment.

In his room, he threw himself on the bed and balled the covers in his fists until he hurt from the shoulders to the tips of his fingers as much as he hurt inside.