Poppy tossed a Honeyduke's Finest Deluxe Chocolate Toffee into her mouth, beaming with a rare grin of mischief. "Thanks, Minnie! You're a life-saver! I've been out of these for a week, and you know how I adore them! I'd swear I'm addicted to them!" She offered a candy to Professor McGonagall, who accepted without commenting on the absurd nickname. No one dared call the Deputy Headmistress "Minnie" - except Poppy, of course. Their long-standing friendship obliged Minerva to endure the pet name, though the medi-witch had the good sense to use it only in private.

"Well, you now share that addiction with young Harry, I'm afraid. I gave him one to sample - the look of sheer bliss on his face prompted me to buy him a pound of his very own." McGonagall sighed. "You should have seen him, Poppy," she continued ruefully. "You would think the child had never received a treat before in his life! He nearly fainted from gratitude!"

Poppy leaned back on her settee, clutching the bag of cherished candies and nodding thoughtfully. "I know what you mean. It seems that child has known precious little kindness in his short life." She smiled sadly at her friend. "So, how did the appointment with the optometrist go?"

"Excellent," Minerva reported with satisfaction. "We replaced his old glasses with new ones - I let the child pick out the frames he wanted. Unfortunately, Dr. Winslow said Harry's vision could not be permanently corrected until he was an adult, but he gave him a prescription for contact lenses. I couldn't convince the boy to let me purchase them, however. He almost refused the new glasses."

"But why?" Poppy looked perturbed.

Minerva shook her head. "I'm not sure. At first it seemed to be an issue of expense - Harry apparently thought I was paying for them out of my own pocket. When I assured him that his school fund would cover the cost, he finally allowed me to purchase the glasses, but he declined the contacts quite firmly."

Minerva sipped her tea thoughtfully. "I think he believed them to be an extravagance. It was as if he felt he didn't deserve something so ‘unnecessary'. He said that the new glasses were so wonderful that he didn't need anything more." She tapped her cup with a finger, eyes narrowed pensively. "He was equally uncomfortable when I bought him the candy, Poppy. Perhaps it's just the boy's inherent modesty - I don't really know him well enough to tell for certain. But I felt like Harry sees himself as unworthy of any consideration - as if he didn't deserve even the simplest act of generosity." She shot the medi-witch a shrewd look. "I wonder why the child would feel that way?"

Poppy frowned. She lifted a hand to rub her furrowed brow. Minerva glimpsed something in her friend's eyes - a sharp glint of regret and. . . a hint of frustration. "Poppy?" she asked warily.

The medi-witch sighed, then shook her head slightly. Her strained expression faded into bland composure and she smiled blankly at her friend. The change was so rapid, Minerva almost doubted she had seen Poppy's previous distress. "Oh, I suspect the boy is merely modest. Such a pleasant child, Harry - don't you think?"

"Indeed," Minerva agreed guardedly. "Very pleasant." She studied her friend, wondering whether to pursue the doubt that tugged at her conscience. Minerva could be as cagey as a Slytherin when occasion called for it - but this was Poppy - her friend. Although Minerva hated to be pushy, she also didn't like secrecy. She decided to press the issue a little further.

"Poppy?" She spoke softly, leveling an encouraging look at her friend. "Is there something you're not sharing with me? Something about Harry I should know?"

Poppy looked up, staring at her with a sudden hard, almost desperate intensity. "I can't say that there is, Minerva," she replied succinctly.

"You can't. . ." Minerva pursed her lips. "You don't know - or you cannot say?"

"I cannot say," Poppy replied quickly, then turned away with a shiver. "Forgive me, Minnie. I seem to be developing a rather tiresome headache. If you don't mind, I think I'll take a short nap before dinner." She rose and plucked the teacup from Minerva's hand with uncharacteristic abruptness and marched to the door, blatant in her urgency to escort the Deputy Headmistress from her quarters.

Minerva rose to comply with a murmured apology. "I'm so sorry, my dear. I do hope you feel better soon." With surprising swiftness she found herself outside Poppy's chambers, staring in confused dismay at the firmly closed door. "Oh, Poppy!" she whispered worriedly. "Whatever is wrong? What are you hiding?"

She strolled back to her own quarters, deep in thought. She had known the medi-witch since they were classmates at Hogwarts. No one had a kinder, more compassionate heart than Poppy Pomphrey - despite the crisp, no-nonsense façade she displayed for her youthful patients. If Poppy knew something about Harry Potter - something that clearly distressed her - she would never conceal it. . .unless. . .unless she had no choice. Unless she were somehow compelled to conceal it! Minerva halted abruptly, so stunned by this thought that she didn't even notice the cluster of students behind her that nearly collided with her rigid form. The startled students maneuvered around her with mumbled apologies and scurried off, flinging curious glances back at their Transfiguration Professor.

Poppy had looked so frustrated - as if she wanted to say something, but couldn't. I'm certain it was more than an issue of medical confidentiality. Poppy never hesitates to inform a student's Head of House if that child suffers from a health issue that should be addressed. Poppy clearly wanted to tell me something. But what issue concerns Harry? What was Poppy concealing?

She thought back over their conversation.

We were discussing Harry's low self-esteem. . . his lack of self-worth. I wondered why he thought himself undeserving of kindness.

She remembered the question she had voiced - the one that had triggered Poppy's strange response.

"I wonder why the child would feel that way?"

Poppy had immediately tensed. When she tried to express her thoughts, she had complained of the headache. Anger flooded Minerva's heart.

A compulsion spell would produce such an effect. If one had been cast on Poppy to conceal something in Harry's personal history - something or someone in his background that had damaged his self-worth - Poppy would be unable to reveal it. Any attempt to overcome such a compulsion spell would result in physical pain. . . at the very least, a bad headache.

But who would cast such a spell on her? What would be gained by keeping secrets about Harry Potter? Who would want to?

Minerva swiftly rejected the first thought that came to mind. It was ludicrous. Staunch loyalty wouldn't permit such thoughts. But she wasn't prepared to disregard her suspicions either.

Poppy knows something. I can't ask her directly without causing her pain. But there may be other ways to discover what's behind all of this.

The Deputy Headmistress strode briskly on to her own chambers, ignited with the fire of determination and resolve.

Perhaps it's time I learned more about our young Mr. Potter. If nothing else, his reactions today indicate the poor boy could use a bit of positive attention. . .something tells me he has received very little of that. If his Head of House should take a personal interest in the boy, who's to question it?

She relaxed a bit, supremely content with her new purpose. She was a Scotswoman to the core, and like most of that heritage, she was keenly pragmatic. No problem was too difficult to solve - not if one had a plan. And Minerva McGonagall now had a plan.

----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- -----

The brat was up to something. There was no doubt in Snape's mind. Every time he saw the boy he was huddled with the two Gryffindors - Weasley and Granger - whispering and scheming. Ever since ‘the troll incident' (as Minerva so primly termed it), the three had been inseparable - and the troublesome trio fairly radiated mischief. Even now, in class, they sat side by side, as if joined at the hip.

Snape had also noted that all three of them had been spending an inordinate amount of time in the library. He had no idea what the three were so assiduously researching, but he was fairly certain it wasn't class-related.

Pity they don't put as much effort into their studies as they do into mischief.

Granger, he could understand - the girl was obsessively fanatical about her studies. She would probably sleep and eat in the library if Madam Pince allowed it. But neither Weasley or Potter were naturally diligent. Both boys were mediocre students - the kind Severus despised - who squeaked by in their classes through an absolute minimum of effort.

Snape had mixed feelings about Potter's lackluster academic efforts. On the one hand, he took perverse pleasure from the brat's mediocrity. His father had been no great scholar, but had been at least intelligent enough to maintain respectably high marks. His son barely ranked in the top half of his class - a fact that would have deeply disappointed James. Severus derived considerable private gratification from imagining James Potter's dissatisfaction, had he lived to learn that his precious son was so very ordinary. It would have been a true blow to the man's enormous ego. But as much as he enjoyed the idea of James' disillusionment, Severus was disturbed to realize that he, himself, was also disappointed in the boy.

Lily had been so bright and talented - the top of her class in school. She had possessed a keen thirst for knowledge that rivaled Granger's. . . a thirst that Snape had understood and appreciated. It had been their dual love of learning that had drawn the teenaged Snape to Lily Evans in the first place. Of course Lily had been beautiful: easily the prettiest witch in their year. But while Snape could appreciate her beauty, he was never one to be impressed by looks alone. It was Lily's intellect that had caught his attention. And later, as they became study partners, then friends - her kindness, wit and tender heart had slowly changed his feelings from friendship into love.

That love was never returned, of course. There was too much against him - too much history; too dark a heritage. It was a bitter truth he had long ago forced himself to face. But he had remained her loyal friend - by necessity, a secret friend - even after she had married that obnoxious prat, Potter.

And now her son seemed to lack Lily's keen intellect, her love of knowledge. . . and that bothered Severus. It didn't seem right that Lily's child should show so little promise. The boy wasn't stupid, he had decided. Harry was just lazy and careless. He was disorganized, too easily distracted, and possessed appallingly poor study habits. Severus dreaded reading the brat's essays. They were always messy and barely legible - with great splatterings of ink all over the pages.

He held Potter's latest sloppy offering distastefully between his fingers and glared over at the boy. Potter didn't notice his Potions Professor's scowl. His head was bent over his cauldron, his small hands awkwardly mashing ingredients with clumsy fingers. The scrawny brat had a fierce frown of concentration on his face, squinting and blinking at his task as if it was a burdensome chore.

Tossing aside the boy's homework, Snape rose and began strolling noiselessly around the room, checking the students' progress. The majority of the little dolts were making a pathetic mess of the basic potion. . .the idiots couldn't even follow simple directions. He quietly warned and criticized as he went, snapping at the Gryffindors, and trying with some success to be more patient with the Slytherins. As he silently advanced on Potter from behind, he was pleased that the boy didn't notice his approach.

"POTTER!"

The boy nearly leapt a foot off of his stool, and Severus had to suppress a vicious grin. "What part of the words "Stir counterclockwise sixteen times" do you not understand??"

The brat blinked stupidly up at him from behind his new, but still hideous glasses. His hand stopped stirring instantly.

"Have you never seen a working clock before, you idiot child?"

Potter blushed and bit his lip.

"Do you even know the difference between clockwise and counterclockwise, Potter?"

"Yes, sir," the boy muttered resentfully.

"Perhaps clocks work differently in the Muggle world. Is that it, Potter? Do Muggle clocks run backwards?" Snape sneered, his word dripping with contempt.

"No, sir." Potter shook his head, his cheek flaming with embarrassment. He ignored the Slytherins' derisive sniggers and began stirring in the proper direction, his shoulders hunched defensively and his hands trembling slightly.

Snape towered over him a minute longer, satisfied to observe how his presence intimidated the brat. Then he moved away, turning back to sneer once more. "Ten points for sheer stupidity, Potter. Stay after class."

Potter dared a nasty glare, his eyes brimming with resentment, but he returned to his work without comment.

When the class ended, Snape sat at his desk while the students scurried out. He was very aware of Potter's presence as the boy gathered his things and then sat quietly at his station. Severus ignored him for several minutes, focusing his attention on the homework essays he was grading. When the boy shifted uneasily he finally looked up. "Potter. Get over here," he ordered harshly.

The boy rose reluctantly and shuffled over to his desk, clutching his bag with white fingers. Snape retrieved the boy's essay and tossed it over to him in disgust. "What do you call this?" he growled angrily. Potter blinked in confusion and stared at the parchment. He mumbled something barely above a whisper. "What? Speak up, boy!"

Potter swallowed and spoke louder. "It's my homework essay, sir."

"Is that what you call it? And what am I supposed to do with that? I can't grade it - I can't even read it!"

"Sorry, sir," the boy ducked his head.

"How dare you turn in an assignment in that condition!"Snape lectured harshly. "If you cannot be bothered to write legibly, without dribbling ink all over your work, how do you expect me - or any other Professor here - to bother trying to read it?"

Potter studied his shoes, a red flush staining his bent neck. "Sorry, sir," he whispered.

"What do you mean by turning in a mess like this? Are you hopelessly lazy, or just stupid?" The boy flinched and mumbled something again. "I said, speak up Potter! Don't mumble! And look at me when you are speaking!"

Potter took a shaky breath and raised his face to meet Snape's glare, but his stare lacked the defiance and resentment Snape expected to see. His eyes were suspiciously moist and it was clear the child was mortified. "I'm s-sorry, Professor. I never wrote with a quill before this year. . . I can't seem to get the hang of it," he confessed miserably, his voice small and anxious.

Snape stared at him. He had no idea how to respond.

He had never given the boy's point much thought before. Muggles didn't use quill and ink - hadn't for centuries, as he recalled. They used ink-filled plastic things. . .ballpoints, was it? Severus had used one on occasion, when moving about the Muggle world. He hadn't liked them. Clumsy things, no grace or finesse.

He studied the boy with disgust. A Muggleborn or Muggle-raised child would have no experience using quills, it was true. The messiest essays usually did come from those students, now that he thought about it. Still most of them managed - eventually. Snape assumed someone taught them. . . but did they? He had never considered such a thing with his first-year snakes.

"Has no one given you instructions on the proper use and care of quills, Mr. Potter?" he asked curiously.

"No, sir," Potter whispered.

"I see. Well, that is no excuse for carelessness. You will report to my office this evening after dinner. Seven o'clock sharp, Mr. Potter. Do not be late." Snape glared at him rather huffily.

"Yes, sir," the boy muttered with a forlorn sigh.

"Get to class. I will not write another pass for you if you are late."

The boy raced out of the room almost before Snape's dismissal was past his lips. "Irritating child," he muttered, gathering his papers with a irate snort.