"Severus!" Professor McGonagall rushed over to Snape, who was sheltered in an alcove, deliberately avoiding the cheerful camaraderie of the other professors in the staff room.

"Minerva," Severus replied coolly over his teacup. "Surprised to see you here. I thought you'd be in your tower, celebrating with your infantile Gryffins. Have you come to gloat, or merely to collect your winnings?"

"Don't be a poor sport, Severus. It doesn't become you," Minerva grinned wickedly, seating herself beside him without waiting for an invitation. Her expression softened to one of gratitude. "Actually, I came to thank you."

Snape raised a brow without responding.

"For saving young Harry's life. Sweet Merlin, Severus! If the child had fallen from that height. . ." Minerva's cheeks paled at the thought. "What the bloody hell happened?" Severus almost smirked at the normally-prudish witch's soft swearing. "That broom was equipped with all the best safety charms! What would make it behave like that?"

"A curse," Severus replied coldly.

"But Hooch checked the broom immediately afterwards - there was no sign of tampering."

"It wasn't a pre-planted curse. It was active. . . a deliberate attempt to dislodge the boy by someone at the match."

"Someone? Who?"

"I don't know, although I have my suspicions. The moment it began, I could sense it. It took all of my concentration to counteract the bloody thing. I had no chance to locate the culprit. I was too busy trying to keep the boy from being flung off his broom. "

"Thank Merlin you were able to handle it!"

"I almost didn't. Someone set my robes on fire to break my concentration. Fortunately, something must have distracted Potter's attacker as well. By the time I looked up again, the stupid child was on the ground, regurgitating the snitch."

"WHAT? I didn't see. . ," Minerva looked horrified. "Wood's parents were prattling in my ear constantly. I didn't even realize Potter was in danger until . . .Someone set your robes on FIRE? Who?"

"I don't know, but if I ever get my hands on them. . .," Snape let the threat hang unspecified.

"Was it a student, do you suppose?"

"Not likely. The curse was too advanced for a student. I'll admit the power behind the curse surprised me."

"But who would want to hurt Harry? He's just a boy!" Minerva asked indignantly.

Severus grimaced. "Revenge, I suppose. Not all of the Dark Lord's followers were imprisoned, you know. There are those who may still hate the boy for defeating their leader." Severus sipped his tea thoughtfully. "It might be prudent to keep a close eye on the brat in future."

"Do you think they might try again?" Minerva asked quietly. "You haven't heard of any plots, have you Severus?"

"I am not in contact with my former associates - you know that, Minerva," Snape murmured distastefully. He gave Minerva a dark smirk. "Interesting strategy, by the way. I've never seen anyone catch a snitch in his mouth before."

Minerva snorted a wry chuckle. "It was entirely unplanned, Severus. We're fortunate the boy didn't choke to death."

"Hmmmm. . .fortunate." Severus allowed his response to sound deliberately dubious and Minerva glared at him.

"Anyway, I just wanted you to know how grateful I am for your intervention. That boy owes you his life."

Severus scowled unpleasantly. "Potter owes me nothing. It is my duty as a Professor to protect students, Minerva - even students as obnoxious as The-Brat-Who-Lived. Your gratitude is gracious but unnecessary."

"Perhaps, but it is heartfelt, regardless. I am thankful you were there to help him." Minerva rose and smirked down at him. "Well, I'd best hurry back and make sure my Gryffins aren't tearing the Tower apart in their excitement."

Severus pulled a few coins from his robes and held them out to her. His expression was grim, but a warm sparkle in his black eyes belied his outward sulk. "Your winnings, Professor."

"Keep them, Severus," Minerva grinned. "Under the circumstances, I consider our bet satisfied."

"Nonsense," Severus growled, catching her hand and pressing the coins into it. "Potter's rescue has nothing to do with a sporting bet. A gentleman always repays his debts, Minerva."

"Oh, Severus!" Minerva shook her head, but accepted the coins. "You may fool others, my boy, but not me. Your misanthropic charade is just that - a charade. You care as much about our students as the Headmaster himself." A twinkle lit her sharp eyes behind her glasses. "Your innate nobility is positively Gryffindorish, my dear Severus."

"Please!" Snape gave her his best glare, only slightly diminished by the embarrassed blush that lightly flushed his sallow cheeks. "There's no need to be insulting, Minerva! Please refrain from voicing your misplaced and wholly unnecessary approval in my presence. I do have some pride, you know!"

"Indeed!" Minerva smirked in amusement. "Don't worry," she bent over to whisper smugly. "Your secret is safe with me." She chuckled, gliding away with her usual commanding grace.

Severus returned to his tea and his subtle scrutiny of the other professors. Quirrell displayed no surface guilt, but Snape still suspected him. He wished he had some proof the stuttering fool was responsible for the attack. But he hadn't noticed the DADA professor in the stands - the man was so dull and timid he inevitably faded into the background.

Severus recalled the overwhelming alarm that had seized him when Potter's broom began to buck and jolt across the bright afternoon sky. It was lucky that he had been closely watching the boy - (in the interest of competition, or course. . . not because he actually admired the brat's natural skill.) His heart had frozen when Potter's form had dangled precariously one-handed from the violently bucking broom. He had barely breathed until the boy was safely on the ground again.

The nervous child had looked so small and vulnerable beside his older teammates when the match first began. Snape had felt an inexplicable desire to yank him from his broom and send him back to the locker room.

What was Dumbledore thinking? Allowing a first year to play. . .the boy is clearly too young and small for such a violent sport!

Then he had glimpsed the sheer joy on the boy's face when he took to the air. And the tiny Gryffindor Seeker had been a force to be reckoned with. Even Higgs, Slytherin's own talented and more experienced Seeker, had been unable to keep up with the child. After the terrifying battle with the cursed broom, Potter still didn't give up. His quick recovery and breathtaking dive had stunned the crowd. His impossible sweep mere inches from the ground, was astonishing - even though it had ultimately sent the boy flying arse-over-teacup across the soft pitch ground.

And how in Merlin's Great Garters did Potter manage to SWALLOW the bloody snitch?! I've never seen such. . .what did Minerva call it before? Oh, yes - sheer dumb luck!

Severus shook his head, scowling into his teacup. Trust Harry-Bloody-Potter to pull off such a blatantly inane, idiotic, brilliant stunt! That prat-of-a-father, James, would have loved it! Stupid bloody Gryffindors with their stupid bloody heroics!

Severus nursed his grudge, along with his cold tea, and refused to acknowledge the traitorous seed of admiration for little Harry Potter, that was beginning to take root. An unfeeling heart wasn't supposed to care.

"Potter!"

The boy jumped at the sharp bark behind him and nearly up-ended his cauldron.

I love sneaking up on the little dunderheads. Keeps them on their toes!

"Stay after."

Snape refrained from smirking and glowered down at the startled boy. "Class dismissed." He continued towering over the brat as the students cleared their workstations and gathered their belongings. Potter's expression was cautiously bland, but he noted with satisfaction that the boy's hands shook a bit as he hastily cleared his table. When he reached for a stack of loose parchment, Snape slapped a hand on them with a resounding smack that made the boy flinch. "Leave it," he snarled. "Sit."

As the students filed out, Weasley and Granger threw scowling, anxious glares back at him and lingered by the door.

"Get to your next class!" Snape growled at them without taking his eyes off of Potter. "NOW."

When the classroom was empty, he flicked his wand, slamming the door closed. Potter winced but did not move from his seat. Snape paced slowly around him until he was standing in front of him, the desk between them. He leaned over, placing both hands on the desk. Potter looked up, obviously nervous but too proud and stubborn to show it.

"Mister Potter." Snape drawled dangerously, instilling his voice with his coldest, deadliest tone of censure. He snarled each word crisply for menacing emphasis. "We. Do. Not. Tolerate. Cheating. In. This. School!"

The boy's stunned look of astonishment was genuine, and a flicker of doubt disturbed Snape's angry outrage.

"Wh. . .what?"

"Do you have a hearing problem, Mr. Potter?"

"N-n. . I. . I. . " Potter stammered.

"Cheating is grounds for expulsion from Hogwarts, Potter."

A flash of alarm suffused the boy's face and the pale color drained from his cheeks. "I. . .I haven't!"

"Furthermore, if you cannot complete your own work, you clearly do not belong here."

"I never! I- I didn't cheat!" Potter snapped, stubborn outrage replacing his shock.

"You were copying Miss Granger's work," Snape accused. "I saw you."

"I wasn't!"

"Then what is this?" He snatched up the top parchment on Potter's desk and shook it in his face.

"Our assignment for next class," the boy replied coldly.

Snape glanced at it. It did appear to be just that. "Likely story! The assignment is written on the board," Snape pointed at the evidence still at the front of the class. "If you weren't cheating, why didn't you copy from there, instead of from Miss Granger's paper?

"I did! I was just checking mine against Hermione's to make sure I got it right!"

"And why was that necessary?"

The boy shrugged sullenly. Snape hated shrugs.

"Do not wriggle your shoulders at me, boy! Speak up! Explain yourself - or we will continue this conversation with the Headmaster."

The alarm was back on the boy's pallid face and he frowned. "I. . .I don't know. Sometimes I miss things. . . little things. . .when I copy from the board."

"Perhaps if you paid attention, and focused that pitiful lump you call a brain, you wouldn't 'miss things', Mr. Potter."

The boy visibly stilled an urge to shrug again, and stared woodenly at his desk. Snape looked again at the crumpled parchment in his hand. It was truly innocent - nothing more than the homework assignment. It couldn't technically be considered cheating, but that wasn't what bothered him. A sudden suspicion dawned and Snape glanced up at the blackboard. Giving the boy an appraising stare, he flicked his wand again, replacing the assignment with a simple first year potion. Then he snatched a clean parchment from the desk and slapped it down in front of the boy.

"Copy the potion instructions from the board."

Potter looked startled, but obeyed without comment. Snape stood beside him, watching him write with awkward strokes, occasionally dribbling ink spots onto the parchment.

"Must you be so consistently untidy, Potter?" Snape snorted, glancing unconsciously at the boy's unruly hair. "Your penmanship is atrocious - barely legible. Have you no pride in your work?"

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled. A flush crept up his neck but he kept his attention on his work. His gaze darted between his parchment and the blackboard until he had finished copying. He set his quill aside without looking up. Snape lifted the sheet, careful not to smear the still wet ink.

"The instructions clearly call for three ounces of newts' eyes, Potter, not eight. And that is mugwort - not ragwort. Ragwort in this combination would not only ruin the potion, it would make it toxic!" Snape growled impatiently. "Can't you read, boy?"

Potter scowled at the board, his brows low over his green eyes - eyes that were squinting fiercely. "Sorry, sir." he muttered, faint color staining his cheeks.

Snape stared suspiciously at him. "Mr. Potter. Are you trying to imply that you cannot read those instructions I have clearly placed on the board?"

"They don't look so clear to me, sir," Potter muttered defensively. "Anyway, that's why I always check my notes against Hermione's - in case I copied something wrong."

"What do you mean, it is 'not so clear'?"

"I dunno. The writing's always so - so fuzzy," Potter stopped himself with an anxious peek at the Potions Master's scowl. "Not just yours, sir. . .I mean. . .I always have trouble reading the blackboards - in all my classes."

Snape's lip curled in disbelief. "Do you expect me to believe that the youngest Hogwarts Seeker in a century can see a tiny, soaring snitch, but he cannot read a simple blackboard?"

Potter looked up at him, confusion plain on his small round face. "Uh. . .the snitch moves, sir - and it's gold. I mean, it glitters. I can see it flicker from a distance easy enough, and once I get close enough. . . well, it's not the same as the blackboard, don't you see? The letters don't glitter or move - they just all run together, and wh-when they're t-too far away. . . . . ." Potter stuttered into an uneasy silence, not quite meeting Snape's sharp glare. He shifted in the long silence that followed.

"Gather your things and come with me, Mr. Potter." Snape said suddenly.

Potter looked startled. "But. . .but I have charms, sir. . ."

"I will write a pass for you to Professor Flitwick. Come." He barely gave the boy time to clumsily stuff his belongings into his schoolbag, before striding purposefully from the room.

Potter trotted awkwardly behind him, struggling to keep up. As they began the climb from the dungeons, the boy's soft voice stammered breathlessly in the grim silence. "Please, sir. I - I truly wasn't cheating, Professor!"

Snape made no comment.

"Please don't get me expelled, sir!" Potter's voice was suddenly filled with anguish, causing Snape to halt and stare down at the child beside him on the stairs. The boy's face was ashen. His stare behind the round glasses was pleading, devoid of any trace of arrogance. Snape almost smirked at the brat's clear distress. The boy's green eyes were suspiciously moist and his lower lip barely trembled.

"Silence, Potter. When I want to hear from you, I will tell you. Now hurry up!"

Potter's face fell and he hung his head. He reluctantly followed the tall Potions Master, his shoulders slumped in abject despair. When they reached the Hospital Wing, the boy finally looked up, obviously confused not to find himself in front of the Headmaster's office. "Sir?" he piped in bewilderment.

Snape ushered him inside and pointed to a chair. "Sit." He ignored the boy and sought out Madame Pomphrey in her office.

The mediwitch looked up from her desk in surprise. "Good afternoon, Professor Snape." Her swift glance noted the child sitting outside her office. "Trouble in Potions again?"

"Not exactly," Snape ignored the reference to the occasional potions accidents that required the medi-witch's services. "I want you to check Potter's eyes."

"His eyes?"

"His eyesight," Snape corrected. "I believe he may be having difficulty."

Madame Pomphrey nodded and followed him out to the nervous boy waiting. "Harry, I would like to perform a few diagnostics and test your eyesight," the medi-witch explained gently, attempting to reassure the anxious child staring up at them with trepidation. Scowling, Snape watched silently as Poppy performed her examination.

" Mr. Potter - Harry - how long have you had these glasses?" she asked, removing them from the boy's face to study them critically. Snape grimaced when the boy shrugged again.

"Uhmm. . .I'm not sure. About four years, I think."

"Who prescribed these? Was it a Muggle optometrist?"

"Op- tom...huh?" Potter blinked myopically up at her.

"Eye doctor," Poppy examined the glasses with obvious disgust. "Where did you get them?"

"From the Masons, m'am."

"Masons?"

"Yes, m'am. They collect old glasses and give them away free to kids who can't afford new ones."

Poppy stared at him in disbelief. "You can't mean common bricklayers prescribed your glasses?"

"No, m'am," the boy looked confused.

"I believe the Masons are a Muggle service organization, Poppy," Snape interjected quietly. "They are known, I think, for charitable works."

"Uh-huh," Potter agreed. "And they weren't per-scribed. . I picked them. The Masons have this big bin by their lodge door, filled with glasses, and Aunt Petunia let me try on different ones," he explained. "She let me pick out the ones I wanted," he added a little defensively.

"Why would she do that?" Pomphrey looked scandalized.

"Because my old ones were too small. I outgrew them," the boy admitted. "My old ones came from the Masons too. I gave them back when I got my new ones."

Pomphrey shot Snape a look of utter outrage, but tightened her lips against whatever indignant response was simmering behind her sharp eyes. "I see. Well, I think you have outgrown these as well, Harry. I'm going to adjust the prescription for now, to the best of my ability. But I'm also going to advise your Head of House that you will need a new pair. She will arrange an appointment for you with a 'proper' wizard optometrist ."

The boy looked up at her with an uneasy scowl, but did not reply.

Pomphrey tapped the ugly lenses with her wand and replaced them on Harry's nose. A soft ripple of magic adjusted the frames to fit the boy's face. Then she conjured an eye chart in the sir, several meters away. "Harry, can you read the third line down for me?" she gestured at the hovering chart.

The green eyes blinked and a flush of quiet astonishment lit the boy's face. "I. . .YES, m'am!" He sounded out the letters carefully.

"How about the fifth line?"

The boy read the line, delight growing on his face.

"And the bottom line?"

Potter rattled off the very small letters and beamed up at the medi-witch. "Wow!" he breathed happily. "These are brilliant! Thank you, Madame Pomphrey! I can really see!"

Poppy smiled at him. "I'm glad, Harry. I'm sure these will be better than they were, but new ones will be even better."

The boy's face clouded. "But - but these are fine! Honestly! I've never seen so good before! I don't really need new ones - really!"

"I still want you to see a qualified optometrist, Harry. Optometry is not my specialty, and you'll need a full examination." She shook her head sternly at any further protest Potter looked ready to offer.

"Come along, Potter," Snape interjected irritably. "You've taken up quite enough of Madame Pomphrey's time." He waited at the door while the boy gathered his bag and hurried after him.

"Thanks again, Madame Pomphrey!" the boy called cheerfully, waving at the medi-witch. She smiled and waved back.

Snape snorted in disgust. "Come on, Potter. I do have better things to do than escort the Boy-Who-Lived around corridors, you know."

Potter ignored his snide remark and practically skipped after him, staring about in open elation, his eyes blinking like a startled owl. "Wow! Everything is so - so clear! I never, ever saw so good before!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"So well before," Snape corrected snappishly. "Honestly! Don't they teach grammar in those blasted Muggle schools?"

"Sorry," Potter replied automatically, although it was evident he was too thrilled by his improved vision to pay much attention. "I'll bet I'll be able to catch the snitch even faster now, huh!" he grinned to himself.

"No doubt," Snape growled, not the least surprised that Quidditch was the brat's primary concern. "Perhaps you'll also apply your brilliant vision to improving your studies as well. . .although I sincerely doubt it." Snape glowered, halting at the stairs. He flicked his wand and handed the pleased boy a scrap of parchment. "Give that to Professor Flitwick, Potter. And hurry on to class." He dismissed the boy and stalked down the stairs towards the dungeons.

"Yes, sir," Potter piped happily. "Professor Snape?"

Snape paused at the boy's soft call and looked up into the unnerving replica of Lily's sparkling eyes. The boy leaned over the railing, smiling shyly down at him. "Thank you, sir."

"Oh, do get to class, Potter," Snape grumbled tiredly. "And two points for stalling." The boy just grinned at him and scampered off. "Stupid brat," Snape muttered. He did his best to ignore the odd warm flutter in his chest that cheeky grin had ignited. The Potions Master stomped peevishly back to the potions lab, deep in thought.

What was all that rubbish about the glasses anyway? Why in Merlin's name would Potter's aunt let the boy dig an old pair of glasses out of a bin, instead of taking him to a doctor and getting him new ones?

Snape mechanically went through the familiar motions of preparing the room for the next class. It was fifth years - Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, just after lunch. But much to his irritation, his mind kept returning to the Potter brat.

Free glasses for poor children indeed! It made the blasted boy sound like some kind of charity case! Preposterous! The boy had to be making it up! Another pathetic ploy for attention, no doubt.

A sharp pang of doubt niggled at him. There had been a stark ring of truth to the boy's explanation. Snape was an accomplished spy. Even without resorting to legimency, he was very skilled at perceiving lies, and the boy's story sounded so genuine.

Ridiculous! The brat's annual stipend more than covers such things as medical needs. . .perhaps the Muggle relatives were simply too ignorant to realize the child needed a qualified optometrist and regular check-ups. What had the child said? He's had those same optical monstrosities for four years? At his young age, his vision could change drastically in a single year. What were those idiot Muggles thinking? Such a thing was practically. . .well. . .neglect! But that was ludicrous! This is the Bloody-Boy-who-Lived, for Merlin's sake! Certainly even his Muggle relatives would never neglect him!

Snape snorted and waved his wand. The assigned potion instructions appeared on the blackboard.

The boy's stubborn arrogance proves he is undoubtedly spoiled rotten. His idiot guardians probably shower him with useless toys and treats and heaven knows what else, without having the good sense to see to more important things, like the brat's health and education. The child clearly didn't eat properly - his eyesight is atrocious - his manners even worse - don't those Muggles know anything about bringing up a child? Lily would be horrified if she knew how her precious boy was being raised!

Snape stamped into his office and slumped into his chair, glaring sullenly at a stack of first-year essays piled on his desk. He glanced at the clock over the fireplace. Only twenty minutes until lunch, and he still had to wade through the mind-numbing rubbish scribbled by those dunderheads.

Stupid Bloody Potter - wasting my time! Now I'll have to spend the rest of the day just trying to catch up!

He glared at the clock and pushed all thoughts of the Boy-Who-Lived from his mind, resolutely turning his attention to the essays before him.