"You said that Bandor the Bloody invented the curse word 'gurthan'?" Severus asked incredulously. He was staring down at the parchment, as if expecting to have misunderstood what he had read.

"Well, yeah," Harry answered, looking around shiftily. "I'm sure I read it somewhere..."

"Are you sure you didn't invent it because you didn't want to spend a few minutes searching out the real answer?" Severus asked wryly.

"Er... Well, come on! There are a hundred and thirty pages on the goblin rebellions!"

"One hundred thirty-four."

"All right, then, a hundred and thirty-four. Wait," Harry said slowly. "How do you know that?"

"I was a student at Hogwarts once, too."

"Yeah, but that must have been years ago. Professor Dumbledore said you went to school with my parents. How could you remember something like that?"

"I still have my copy of A History of Magic, Harry," Severus said as he continued to look over the parchment.

Harry gaped. "You mean, you actually read that? When you don't have to?"

There was definitely amusement in Severus's black eyes as he looked up at Harry this time. "You know, Harry," he said slowly, "it has been said that those who fail to lean history are doomed to repeat it."

"And those who fail to lean history correctly are simply doomed," Harry said with a hint of resentment in his voice. "Yeah, I know; Hermione's said."

"Then she's a smart girl."

Harry stared. Had he just heard what he thought he had? Had Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin, just complimented a Gryffindor -- a Muggleborn Gryffindor? Harry tried to catch his eye, but Severus seemed engrossed in the essay.

"Urg the Unclean," Severus repeated disbelievingly, looking from the essay to Harry with a raised eyebrow.

This time Harry really looked confused. "Wha -- but Ron said that was one," he objected.

"Then he was wrong."

Harry repressed the urge to sigh. This already had the makings of a very long day. After Severus had looked over Harry's Potions essay the night before, he had insisted on reviewing all of Harry's essays -- and picking them apart as he went. It might have been incredibly annoying, if Harry weren't so used to Hermione doing the same thing.

"How long is this going to take? Sir?"

Severus fixed Harry with a stare reminiscent of the average crocodile eyeing its prey. There was a momentary silence and then he said quietly, "As long as it takes."

"Do you really not care what kind of grades you get, Harry?" Severus asked slowly. Harry looked up to see the Potions Master gazing at him over the top of the essay. Was it his imagination, or did Severus actually look concerned?

"Well, yeah," Harry admitted, "but I'm no good at History of Magic. Nobody but Hermione can stay conscious in Binns's class, it's impossible."

There was a flicker of amusement in Severus's black eyes as he asked, "And did it never occur to you to read A History of Magic?"

"I did!" Harry objected. "Well.. most of it. But that's not the point, it's almost as boring as Binns. There's just a lot of fact, it's not interesting..."

"Then make it interesting."

Harry stared. "What do you mean? How can you make that stuff interesting?"

Severus put the essay down at last and fixed his gaze fully on Harry. "If you look at it all as assigned work that you have to do and know that it's going to be boring ahead of time, then you could have the best professor in the world and not learn anything."

"So how am I supposed to find anything that Binns says interesting?"

"You do realize, Harry, that not everything is black and white? You don't have to love history, just find the interesting parts of it. If you can do that, you will be able to read through it and keep at least those details in mind. Then, before you know it, you'll learn to find something interesting in even the somewhat -- duller historical records. And if you can find something interesting in every chapter, then you will remember details of every chapter."

"That's easy for you to say," Harry grumbled. "You don't have to care about history if you don't want to."

"But I do," Severus said honestly. "A lot of the novels and even the music out there today finds its roots in history. Doesn't that tell you that other people have found the value of their history?"

Harry frowned and fell silent. He had to admit that Severus had a point -- but, of course, he wasn't going to tell the Potions Master that.

*~*~*

"You're still not finished with that -- well, whatever?" Harry asked exasperatedly at dinner three days later.

"No," Severus said simply, placing his fork down on his plate. Two weeks ago, he would have had a long and lengthy, and probably none too polite, answer ready for a question such as that, particularly if it came from Harry Potter. And yet, somehow, the tone of Harry's voice didn't make Severus angry at all. A little exasperated the the boy still hadn't learned proper respect, yes; but not angry. And, if he had been thinking about it, he would have realized what a great change that was. At the moment, however, he wasn't -- which was, if anything, an even greater proof of the progress that had come about in such a short time.

"Why is it taking so long?" Harry asked.

"If you are still trying to make me tell you what it is that I'm doing, you're wasting your breath, Harry."

"Why?" Harry asked again. "Did you tell Mr. Malfoy that you wouldn't tell me? Or do you just not want to?"

"Do you never run out of questions?" Severus asked, but there was no anger in his voice as there might have been a few days before. "It seems that you never tire of beseiging me with pointless inquiries. You know that I will not tell you, so therefore it should not matter what my motives are."

"Of course it does. I want to know why you won't tell me anything so I'll know whether it's you who don't trust me or just Mr. Malfoy."

"Harry, just because I don't tell you something doesn't mean that I don't trust you."

"Then what, exactly, is it supposed to mean? Why else would you not tell me?"

Severus's eyes looked weary as he gazed at Harry now. "You still refuse to understand," he said quietly. "There are things that are too important to tell everyone, and many of these are dangerous. You are twelve years old, Harry, you cannot expect to be told everything."

Now it was Harry's turn to look exasperated. Why did everyone insist in keeping him in the dark just because he wasn't of age? Severus was acting like whatever he was doing didn't affect Harry at all, just like Dumbledore had when he had refused to answer Harry's question in the hospital wing last year. But, there wasn't really anything he could do about either of those facts at the moment. Nothing except concede defeat... for the moment, anyway.

"All right," Harry said at last, picking up his fork and spearing a carrot. "I'll stop asking." He noticed the skeptical look in Severus's eyes and said wearily, "I promise, okay? I'll quit bothering you about it. It doesn't do any good, anyway."

And he was too busy stabbing moodily at the carrot pieces to notice that the corner of Severus's mouth twitched as he picked up his own fork to continue eating.

*~*~*

Harry should really have been used to these dreams about the Dursleys by now, but somehow they always caught him off guard. At least he could take some solace in the fact that he wasn't yelling in his sleep anymore. It had been incredibly embarrassing to have Severus come running in that time before, even if it had somehow been oddly comforting to know that there was someone out there -- even if Harry had thought that Severus hated his guts at the time -- who cared about what happened to him.

And so as Harry woke up with his hair sticking to his forehead and was quite surprised for a moment to find himself somewhere that wasn't Privet Drive, he sighed wearily and sat up, trying to sort out his thoughts. This had to stop eventually, or it would drive him crazy. He couldn't keep thinking that he was going back to the Dursleys and all but having a heart attack every night. Although he doubted that he would be going to sleep any time soon, so he might as well get something to drink since his mouth felt about as moist as the average desert just then.

Heaving a sigh, Harry sat up in bed and reached for his glasses. By now, he was finally used to finding them in Severus's house, but it took him a moment to find them nonetheless. Maybe he was thrown off because he kept expecting to see Vernon Dursley burst through the door and find that he had never really left Privet Drive to start with. He wanted to turn the light on, more to convince himself that he wasn't still in Privet Drive than anything, but decided against it. If he turned it on, he ran the risk of awaking Severus, who was apparently a light sleeper, and then that would be almost as bad as having him come in and almost knock the door down.

So Harry just felt his way along the wall, opened the door as silently as he could, and prayed that he wouldn't wind up falling down the stairs, which was still a great possibility. After all, it had taken him a month to get used to sneaking out of the bedroom in Privet Drive. Of course, part of that had been because he had to remember which step had the squeak in it, but it was the point of the thing.

He managed to reach the bottom of the stairs without tumbling down them, and from there on it was an easy matter to find the kitchen; he just had to follow the rows of bookshelves. But, as he pushed the door open, he found that he was no longer in the dark; there was a thin beam of bright, neon yellow light snaking across the kitchen. At first, his heart leapt and he thought that Severus was down here; but no, because Harry had heard the Potions Master come upstairs hours before. So, what was this light, then?

Upon closer inspection, Harry realized that the light was coming from a crack in the wall. No, it wasn't in the wall -- it was the door! The door leading downstairs, to the basement, where Severus had been doing whatever he was doing for Lucius Malfoy. Harry's curiosity got the better of him, and he pushed the door open wider. It wasn't like he had actually opened the door, after all.

But, unfortunately, he couldn't see any more looking down from the head of the stairs than he could with the door closed: just that bright yellow glow. What could it be!? The thought was driving Harry mad. He wanted to know what Severus was doing down there, and he also didn't want to make him angry.. but, at the moment, Severus was upstairs, asleep, probably more soundly than usual because he had had so little sleep lately...

After a short pause, Harry moved. Not away from the door, as his brain kept telling him to do, but down the stairs, as his curiosity was urging. He carefully tested each step before putting his weight onto it, tested the thin railing with his hand, making certain that he wouldn't fall, that he would make no sound to give away what he was doing...

And then, at the foot of the stairs, Harry could at last see where the light was coming from: a silver cauldron, hanging over a small fire. Inside the cauldron there was some sort of potion, a potion that was glowing yellow and giving off a fine silver steam that was snaking its way around the room. Somehow it looked both beautiful and menacing at the same time, though for the life of him, Harry couldn't figure out why.

Suddenly, as he was debating taking a step closer to check if he could see the bottom of the cauldron, there was a hissing noise and the potion suddenly began to bubble furiously, turning a poisonous-looking green reminiscent of acid. It looked at the same time as thick as mud and as light as air, and the steam that it was giving off turned green, as well, and Harry was sure that, if the cauldron weren't giving off so much light, it would have glowed in the dark.

This sudden change startled Harry, who suddenly began to wonder if his appearance had somehow triggered it. He turned and hurried back up the stairs as quickly as possible, and yet trying his best not to make any noise. His idea of getting a drink completely forgotten, he didn't stop until he was back in his room with the door safely closed.

What was that potion, the potion that Severus had been so desperate to hide from him? It couldn't be anything good, Harry could tell just by the look of it. And, he suddenly realized, there was one person who he could ask who wouldn't stop until the potion was identified, just because she hated not knowing something. And so he finally switched on the lamp, since this time he had no intention of opening the door, and sat down at the desk. Picking up a quill and dipping it hurriedly into an inkpot, he began to write while his memory was still fresh.