As Severus took a book of his own from one of the pockets of his voluminous robes, and settled back in his chair, he mused that there might be hope for him and the son of James Potter getting along after all.

Harry Potter absolutely loathed the Infirmary. He had disliked it before, but after his most recent stay, when Madam Pomfrey clucked over him like a mother hen and made him sleep and eat and take foul potions, when there was nothing really wrong with him, once his broken arm was fixed . . . he decided he never wanted to go in there again. He was not accustomed to having people hover over him, or feel his forehead every few minutes, or ask him how he was doing every half hour, and it was suffocating.

It might have been nice if he was five years old . . . in fact, when he had been five, he would have appreciated the attention, since he had never gotten any from his aunt and uncle, no matter how ill or injured he was. But at more than eleven years, he was not a baby to be coddled, and he did not like it at all. It made him feel young, and stupid, and he always had a running voice in his head telling him he wasn't worth anyone's attention anyway.

Thus, it was a great relief when he was finally released from Madam Pomfrey's care after two full days of bed rest. His arm was healed, though she told him to take it easy, not to do any heavy lifting, and that he wasn't to play Quidditch or even fly, until he was given her permission. Patches of black, blue, yellow and green skin littered his arm, and he was vaguely impressed by the job he'd done on it, though he'd never say so. His ribs were still a bit tender, but at least it didn't hurt to breathe anymore.

When Madam Pomfrey told him he could go at last, he thanked her quickly, shoved the few gifts he'd been given - including another unsigned box of Chocolate Frogs - into his bag, and lit out of her domain without looking back.

The next few days were crammed with classes, restless nights, and frequent lectures from Flint about Quidditch safety and the necessity of using a bat when engaging the Bludger. Each evening he had a tutoring session with Professor Snape directly after dinner. The sessions did not last as long as the detentions had previously, only two hours or so, instead of four to five. And afterwards, Harry had time to hang out with his friends, and was even able to spend time with his own study group so he could keep up with current material.

Though it felt odd to have all this extra time, oddest of all was during the sessions, when Snape had been . . . not evil. Not even mean. Or, not very mean anyway. He actually explained things that Harry didn't understand in his readings, and went over problems he was having in his essays with a patience Harry never would have thought the man possessed.

He could not, for the life of him, figure the professor out. But he was very glad things had settled down a bit.

On the Monday after his release from the Infirmary, Harry and Teddy were in the Library. On the table in front of them was the new box of chocolates. They were testing the anonymous gift with some of the same spells as they'd used on the first one, to see if this one had been tampered with - no sense in taking chances - when Teddy said, "I saw Professor Snape watching you at lunch today. He wasn't snarling."

Harry snickered. "Weird, huh? I figure he must have been hit with Confundus or something."

"No doubt." Teddy cast one of the easier Revealing charms, to no effect, then looked at Harry askance. "Draco said he even came to see you in the Infirmary."

"Draco's got a big mouth."

Teddy grinned. "Yeah. But he knows stuff, too."

"What kind of stuff?"

With a shrug, Teddy pointed at the next spell in the book, and Harry spent a few moments trying out the wand motions, before he cast the charm at the box of Frogs. Nothing.

"What kind of stuff?" Harry asked again.

"About the professor. And your father."

Harry gaped at him. "What about my father?" He recalled what the Bloody Baron had told, about how Snape had not got along with James Potter, and that this was one of the reasons he might have had for treating Harry so shabbily. But the Baron had not been willing to elaborate. In fact, Harry had not seen very much of the Baron the last few days, although he always seemed to be there when Harry was alone . . . like he was guarding him or something.

It was sort of disconcerting.

But even more so was that Draco - and apparently Teddy - knew things about James Potter that Harry didn't. Of course, almost everyone did, really. All Harry knew was that his father had played Quidditch.

"They, um, didn't get along at school," Teddy said.

"I know that." The Bloody Baron had told him as much.

"Yeah." Teddy cast another spell, which made the box glow red for a brief second, but that was the intended effect, so there was still nothing wrong with the sweets. "But I mean they really didn't get on. Your father was in a gang of sorts, with a couple other blokes. They called themselves The Marauders."

"The Marauders?" Such a nickname sounded like something Dudley's crew would have come up with, and the comparison gave Harry a very uneasy feeling.

Teddy nodded, and pointed out the next spell, which Harry took his turn to cast. Nothing. Then Teddy said, "Apparently The Marauders didn't like Slytherins very much; they were all in Gryffindor."

Harry nodded. He'd known his father was, at least, as he'd played Quidditch for the Gryffindor team. "Who were the others?"

"I don't know all their names, but Sirius Black was one of them."

"Sirius Black?" The name sounded almost familiar, and then he remembered a conversation with Draco a few days ago about family trees and all that rot, which were apparently very important for purebloods like the Malfoys. "Isn't Black-"

"He was a cousin to Draco's Mum, yeah. The only Black to be in Gryffindor in like a hundred years or something."

Harry grimaced. "Like I'm the only Potter in Slytherin in pretty much ever."

Teddy gave him a sideways look and cast the next spell. Nothing. "Yeah, like that."

"So, they didn't like Slytherins," Harry prompted, not wanting to think any more about how much a freak he was, simply for the way he'd been sorted. He liked his House. Most of the time.

Teddy spoke slowly, as if unsure how what he said would be taken. "Well, see, they liked Snape least of all. I guess they were awful to him. Went after him all the time, four against one."

Stunned, Harry could only stare again. He thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, but ganging up on someone like that was about the furthest thing from brave as he could imagine. The sinking feeling in his gut intensified. Had his father really been just a bully, like Dudley? It was possible, he supposed. Hadn't Uncle Vernon said over and over what a horrible person he'd been? Maybe he was speaking from experience. Maybe . . . maybe that's why they treated Harry so badly. He let out a low whistle. "No wonder Snape hates me."

"I don't think he does, though. Not anymore."

"I think he's just better at hiding it."

Teddy shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe he's finally taking Rule One to heart."

Harry considered that possibility while he cast the last of their attempts to check the sweets box for curses. It was clean. "Yeah. Maybe."

"Looks like you got yourself another normal box of chocolates, Harry." Teddy almost sounded disappointed, like it would have been more interesting if there had been a curse on the box.

Harry had to agree that it would have, but such a result would not have been as tasty. "Looks like. Want some?"

With a snicker, Teddy said, "Why, ‘cause Draco's not here?"

Harry laughed. "No, I'll try one, too. See?" He opened the box as if expecting it to explode, and when it didn't, he flipped out two Frogs, one for himself, and one for Teddy. "Here goes nothing!" and he ripped open the package and bit the head off the Frog in quick succession.

Teddy laughed again and opened his own Frog. "You're mad."

"As a hatter," Harry agreed around a mouthful of chocolate.

"We should try and figure out who's been leaving these for you. You may have a secret admirer. Some Hufflepuff girl, probably."

"Oh, thanks," Harry replied with a laugh and punched Teddy in the shoulder.

"No, seriously. Who wouldn't want to curry favor with the Boy Who Lived?"

Harry scowled. He hated that nickname, since all it meant was that his parents had died instead of him. "Cut it out, Teddy. I mean it."

Teddy held up his hands. "I'm just saying. It's probably from a girl. Like I told you, no self-respecting boy is going to give you candy."

"Okay, fine. How do we tell which girl, then?"

Giving Harry another sly look, Teddy drawled, "We could make an announcement in the Great Hall . . ."

"Teddy!"

"Kidding! But there are ways to figure out who last handled something. You know, before you picked it up."

"What, like fingerprints?"

"Finger what?"

Harry lifted both eyebrows in surprise. "Fingerprints . . . Erm. Probably just a Muggle thing."

"Oh, right. I forget sometimes."

Harry grimaced again. "I seem so normal, right?"

Teddy's expression turned rueful. "Yeah, kind of. Sorry, Harry, but I've never really met any Muggles before. I've been doing some reading, and often times, a person with limited or no exposure to a different . . . culture can get stuck in all sorts of preconceived notions, which may or may not be accurate. And they can awfully difficult to overcome, too."

Harry rolled his eyes. Teddy was like no one he had ever met. "Whatever. So, how would you figure out who held the box last?"

"Magical signature." At Harry's blank look, he continued, "Everyone's magic is a little bit different, which is why everyone's wands are a bit different, too. With the right spell, you can figure out the signature of the one who held the box last because there'll be a remnant of their magic on the box."

"Will the . . . remnant give you their name?"

Teddy shook his head. "No, but you'll be able to compare it to the signature of people who it might be, to see if it matches."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "So . . . I'd need to go ‘round to all the girls in school and see if any of them has the same magical signature as what's on the box?"

"Well, yeah."

"It might be faster to make that announcement. Less likely to get me hexed, too."

Snorting a laugh, Teddy admitted it was a long shot. "There are other things we can try, though. It would take a bit of research . . ."

"Aw, admit it, Teddy, you just like spending time in the library."

"Okay, fine! But it does have far more books than my father's, and on so many different topics. It's amazing, really. And the section on counter-curses is just-"

"Amazing. I know."

"Prat."

"Bookworm."

"Quidditch Bat."

Harry laughed. "At least I'm not a snitch."

Grinning, Teddy said, "True enough." He cast a quick Tempus and sighed then started picking up the table. "We have Herbology in twenty minutes."

"Don't you like playing with plants?" Harry asked as he collected several books and reshelved them.

"I'd rather play with Potions."

"Yeah, me, too." When Teddy turned to him, looking surprised, Harry added, "Well, it's an interesting class when Snape isn't calling me names and stuff. And I finally understand about adjusting the acidity of the base, depending on what the first ingredient you add next is, so I might do well in the next practical. He explained it to me last night."

"Good deal," Teddy said.

"Yeah. He's really been, I don't know, different with me. Since . . . you know."

"Since you almost killed yourself on the pitch."

"I didn't!"

"You almost did."

"I wasn't trying to!"

"I know." They finished putting the books away before Teddy steered them quickly out of the library. Harry was getting louder and having a harder time holding his temper, and Madam Pince was glaring at them from her desk. "But all the same, you could've died."

Silently fuming, Harry shrugged up one shoulder. He hadn't really thought of it that way. But he supposed Teddy was right. He never wanted to lose himself like that again, and if maybe Snape wouldn't assign him a gagillion detentions for no reason, he probably wouldn't. It had been . . . frightening, that red haze of rage, the feel of the Bludger crushing his arm, the rawness of his screams . . .

Teddy was giving him another odd look, and Harry pushed memories of his near-breakdown away. "Wonder what we'll plant today," he said to change the subject.

"Probably something with thorns," Teddy griped.

"Or mucus."

"Or teeth."

Harry laughed and they went out to the greenhouses together.

----

It was two more days before Harry got the go ahead from Madam Pomfrey to fly again, and he could not wait to get out on the pitch. She told him her ban was lifted during his morning check-in, which was just after breakfast on the day of his next Quidditch practice. He was so excited, he could barely sit through morning classes. At lunch, he was bouncing in his seat.

"Ants in your pants, Harry?" Millicent teased.

He shook his head and swallowed his bite of sandwich. "Going flying today."

"But you'll stay out of the hospital wing, yeah?" asked Draco, smirking.

"Certainly hope so," Harry said, grinning back. "But you never know. Rogue Bludgers. They're everywhere."

His friends laughed, and the bunch of them carried on in like vein for a few more minutes before Draco looked up, surprised. "Owl alert," he called, and everyone covered their dishes. One of the second year Slytherins had an owl with . . . incontinence issues, and they never knew when the bloody thing was going to visit. "Safe," Draco told them a minute later. "No Icarus. But there is a package coming. . . ."

Harry peered up, along with everyone else at their end of the table, in time to see six large screech owls dipping down towards him, carrying a long, thin package between them.

"Heads up, Harry!" Millicent called, and Harry jumped from his seat and stretched up, just as the owls let go of their delivery. The package dropped like a stone, and Harry snatched it out of the air. A final owl zoomed past his head, dropping an envelope with the words, "OPEN THIS FIRST" scrawled on the front in a very recognizable script.

"Owl post at lunch," Teddy said. "Wonder who it's from."

"My secret admirer, maybe," Harry muttered, and Teddy laughed.

"They're getting bold, then."

But it wasn't from a secret admirer. In fact, when Harry opened the envelope and took out a card, he had to read it through three times before he could believe the words.

"What's it say?" Teddy asked. "Is it a clue?"

"It's from Professor Snape," Harry whispered. He yanked a bit of the butcher paper off the top of the package, exposing just the end of a broomstick.

"Let me see," Millie said, and grabbed at the card, so she could read it aloud, in a stage whisper. "‘DO NOT OPEN parcel at the table, or everyone will want one, and I am not running a charitable organization here. However, Slytherin's Seeker does need a decent broom.' And it's signed ‘Professor S. Snape.' Merlin's drawers!" Millie gaped at Harry. "The professor sent you-"

"A Nimbus 2000." Harry's voice was low and reverent as he smoothed a hand over the handle of the new broom, all he allowed himself to open of the parcel until he could be alone. "I can't believe it."

Teddy smirked, and kept his voice down, too. "Well, he wants us to win, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, but . . ." Harry glanced up at the Head Table, just in time to see the professor turn his head away. A tinge of red infused the normally sallow cheeks. If Harry didn't know better, he would think Snape was embarrassed. For that matter, Harry was embarrassed, and he could feel his ears getting red. He had never received a gift for no reason before. And the only ones he'd gotten for cause was Hedwig, for his birthday, and some candy, for getting laid up in the Infirmary.

But what a gift this was!

Why would Snape give him a new broom? he wondered. Was it really just ‘cause he wanted Slytherin to win the Quidditch Cup? Or was this another way of making up for being such a git before, to Harry? Whatever the reason, Harry was even more excited to fly again.

He wanted to try out his new broom right now.

Alas . . . Teddy gave him a commiserating look, and said, "We've got Charms, Harry. In ten minutes."

Harry sighed. "Just enough time to run this back to the dungeons, I guess."

"Don't worry. You have practice tonight, right?"

"Yeah!" Harry perked right up. "Flint'll prob'ly wet himself, he'll be so happy!" He glanced at the Head table again, and this time caught the Professor's gaze. "Thanks," he mouthed, and smiled.

The Professor gave a curt nod, then rose from the table, gathered his dark robes around him, and billowed out of the room without looking back.

Harry watched him, bemused, but didn't think any more about the professor's motives then, not even that evening at practice, when he swooped and dove and flew like he was on fire. The broom was smooth, and fast, and perfect, and Harry had never felt better in his life.