Harry half-jogged down the dark dungeon corridor in order to keep up with his professor’s long strides, but he wasn’t having much luck.

Buggering hell! Slow down! Harry thought in frustration, as he walked swiftly, the cool, damp air sweeping across his shins. However, as Harry gritted his teeth, his recently scoured tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, and he immediately frowned in repulsion…and blushed in remembrance.

The flavor of the strong soap lingered on his taste-buds like a chewed-up peppermint. But it definitely didn’t taste as good. Harry pressed his lips together as he walked, making sure that nothing else vulgar flew out of his mouth—even on accident.

Suddenly, Snape halted and spun around. Stopping as well, but jolting back in surprise, Harry held his breath as he stared up at Snape, grimacing oddly. Good god, could the man hear his thoughts?

Snape lowered his eyebrows, curling the right side of his mouth in a questioning manner, “Problem, Potter?” he asked in a low voice, his narrowed eyes perusing the boy’s awkward stance.

“Erm…”

Harry, you idiot… Glancing down himself, the boy noticed that his hands were splayed out stiffly in front of him.

“No, sir. You startled me, is all,” Harry explained quietly, feeling stupid. He lowered his hands quickly.

“Comforting to know I still have that effect on even you, Potter,” Snape said in a slightly sardonic manner as he pulled out the ebony wand that he’d tucked inside of his robes. He gestured with a curt tilt of his head, indicating for Harry to follow.

Unsure whether or not Snape was making fun of him, Harry hurried over to his professor’s side, taking larger steps this time. He fixed his eyes on the somewhat sodden stone floor, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers, feeling partly ashamed and partly irritated at the remark.

“In Defense,” Snape spoke up suddenly as they rounded a corner, “it is vital not simply to be aware of your surroundings, but rather to be precisely certain of them…”

And pausing again in his trek forward, Snape held out his forearm against Harry’s middle, preventing the boy from gaining distance as well.

Harry stilled, but this time, he only allowed his eyes to travel slightly upward, deliberately avoiding eye-contact with the potions master. However, to Harry’s surprise, he felt a solid hand on his left shoulder, and as if drawn magnetically, the boy turned his head to the side, his eyes sliding over to identify the warmth. His professor’s hand was so close that Harry could make out the barely visible ridges on the fingernails. The boy briefly thought about pushing Snape’s hand away, but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t go over well.

“Potter…” Snape began, gazing down at the top of the dark, messy head of hair. And then Harry felt his chin being lifted gently. Snape’s hands smelled faintly of the soap that Harry had nearly gagged on and…something else…new wood, perhaps.

Harry glanced up at Snape through a smudge on his glasses.

“It was not my intent to startle you,” the man said gravely, yet softly, “Nevertheless, I do expect your full attention when I am explaining something as important as this.”

Cracking his knuckles, Harry wanted badly to chew on his fingernails the way he often did when he wasn’t sure how to respond. Was Snape lecturing or apologizing? Harry had no idea. All he knew was that his stern professor didn’t explain himself often. And for some reason, the calm in Snape’s tone gave Harry the strength to retain eye-contact with the man.

He nodded against Snape’s fingers.

“Very well,” Snape replied, removing his hand from underneath Harry’s chin but leaving the other one resting on the boy’s shoulder as he picked up where he left off, “As I was saying, Mr. Potter, you must become conscious of everything that surrounds you. You must pay attention…”

“To what?” Harry wondered, reaching up to give his glasses a firm nudge.

“To your senses.” Snape removed his hand. “Come along.” As they began moving again, Harry noticed that Snape was walking slower than before—slowly enough for Harry to maintain a brisk pace alongside the man.

“I don’t get it,” Harry said after a few minutes of walking in silence. He looked up at Snape with a squinty expression.

“You will,” Snape assured him without returning the stare, “You seem to catch on rather quickly.”

Even if Harry wanted to, he couldn’t have suppressed the small smile that strained the corners of his mouth. He shifted his eyes up toward Snape once more, knowing very well that the potions master wouldn’t look down at him, having already disregarded the subtle compliment. But still, Harry couldn’t help smiling.

When they reached the stairs that led to the first floor, Harry shot forward, suddenly overcome by a surge of energy. Bouncily, he took the steps two at a time. “Where are we going, Professor—Whoah!” Harry nearly lost his balance halfway up the staircase as he felt a tug on the hood of his robes. And then Snape was very close.

“Enough of your flitting about, Mr. Potter,” Snape reprimanded, releasing the boy’s hood but remaining near by, “You will keep this juvenile behavior under control.”

“Sorry…” Harry offered in a slightly bewildered apology, yet the edge of the boy’s tone was curled with a hint of mirth at Snape’s touchiness.

“I would advise you to channel that absurd energy into your Defense lessons,” Snape continued, more mildly, pressing a firm hand in the middle of Harry’s back to propel him forward.

“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled as he plodded up the stairs in single steps this time. He wiggled his shoulder blades, hoping Snape would take a hint, but the pressure on his back only increased. And finally, Harry gave up. With a scowl, he allowed Snape to guide him. Of course, only then did Snape remove his hand and gesture toward the final flight of stairs. For some reason, it suddenly struck Harry that he really was acting childish. And it made his stomach squirm with embarrassment.

“Which floor are we going to, Professor?” Harry inquired, attempting to sound as polite as possible. After all, Snape didn’t have to give him extra lessons in Defense.

“The second.”

Harry really felt like asking How come? But he only nibbled on the corner of his bottom lip as they climbed up the last three steps and nodded.

There were no classrooms on the second floor that Harry knew of. The corridors were dark—almost as dismal as the dungeons—and the heavy wooden doors were all sealed. But as much as Harry wanted to ask questions, he figured Snape’s patience was just about spent. So Harry simply let his eyes wander back and forth between the width of the corridor as he and Snape made their way through the gloom.

However, Snape cleared his throat in a preparatory way that caused Harry to snap his head up in the man’s direction.

“Many of the rooms in this particular wing of the second floor are used for storage,” the man explained, nodding toward one of the closed doors to Harry’s right, “A few are classrooms that are no longer in use.”

“Can I go look in one?” Harry piped up before he could stop himself, “I mean…may I?”

“No, Potter. Not now.”

Harry felt his cheeks sag a bit in disappointment, even though he figured Snape would say something like that.

“What is most useful to our lesson at the moment, Mr. Potter, is not an empty classroom but rather the empty corridor,” Snape continued, slowing down as they edged around a corner and reached a long corridor with only three gleaming closed doors and smooth stone walls on either side.

“What’s the difference?” Harry wondered aloud, tracing a ridge in the stone with the tip of his forefinger.

“Today, Mr. Potter, I am going to teach you how to magnify sound,” Snape began, virtually ignoring Harry’s question. The man gave a minute roll of his eyes as he reached out and clamped Harry’s absently trailing finger in between his thumb and a few of his own fingers. Harry watched as Snape simply escorted his small hand down to hang by his thigh. And he certainly didn’t miss the tired, vaguely aggravated glare that followed. “Are you capable of focusing for the next half-hour, or shall we simply skip this afternoon’s practical session and work in the text?” Snape exclaimed in—what Harry felt to be—a quite patronizing way.

What am I, a bloody toddler?

“I’m listening…” Harry emphatically stated.

Snape held up a finger in a warning gesture, but before he could begin scolding, Harry pressed on.

“I mean, I think it sounds pretty cool…I’ll probably be able to hear the voice better, won’t I?”

Biting his lip, the boy studied his professor’s face for a reaction. The first Defense lesson didn’t sound terribly exciting, but Harry was sort of proud of himself for suddenly catching on.

“Possibly,” Snape replied slowly, straying over each syllable as he cocked a single eyebrow. The minute of consideration was most likely Snape digesting the miracle of Potter actually understanding his intention without having to resort to relating an intricate, adolescent version of the mechanism.

Harry could tell this simply by the look on Snape’s face. And at the moment, he found that concept hilarious. The boy gave himself a discreet pinch on the thigh to help himself swallow the laugh that was threatening to burst from his throat.

“I shall demonstrate the incantation, Potter, and you will observe,” Snape informed in a serious, quiet tone that sobered Harry right up. Knowing that Snape’s solemn demeanor indicated importance, Harry backed up a few small steps and leaned his shoulders against the wall, the cold stone penetrating even through his robes.

Pushing up his sleeves, Snape cleared his throat and fingered his sturdy wand in a delicate way that Harry found almost mesmerizing. But as Snape poised his wand, he seemed to change his mind, instantly lowering the wand and crooking his finger toward Harry. “Come here, Mr. Potter.”

And Harry, figuring he was already quite close, offered his professor a confused look, but he moved forward until he was about a foot away from the man’s nose. Snape put a hand on either one of Harry’s shoulders and crouched down, looking him right in the eye, “I want you to go down to the end of the corridor—the very end—and when I give you leave, you will recite the ingredients of the potion you brewed in my class today,” Snape instructed in a very low voice, “You need to speak as quietly as I am speaking right now.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry whispered, feeling a bit odd, as if the two were sharing a secret.

“Why do you suppose I have asked you to do such a thing?”

Harry thought for a moment. Magnification. Loud noises.

Probably like when Dudley turns his Nintendo up on the loudest volume and Aunt Petunia tells him his eardrums are going to start bleeding…

“Because yelling or talking loud when the sound is magnified will hurt your ears, won’t it?” Harry answered, still speaking in a hushed voice.

“Precisely,” Snape agreed with a nod, “Now do as I’ve instructed.” Snape ended the peculiar, quiet conversation by giving Harry’s shoulders a brief squeeze and swiveling him around toward the other end of the corridor. “Go on.”

Harry bolted down the corridor in a jog, spinning around when he had almost reached the end and continued taking a few steps backward, like some boys did in primary school when they were getting into position to play cricket. “Is this good?” Harry called out.

“That will do.”

Harry stood very still while Snape pushed his sleeves up again and gracefully raised his wand.

“Sonitus Amplificarum,” Snape recited clearly as he waved his wand in a broad circular motion.

Harry stiffened. He waited for some sort of spark to fly out of the dark wood. Waited for the air to start swirling…or something. But everything was still. He stared hard at Snape, waiting for a signal. The man was blurry standing so far down the corridor—even through Harry’s glasses. However, Snape not only nodded, but gestured with his wandless hand for Harry to begin his recitation.

“Crushed nettles…” Harry began, speaking as softly as he often did in History of Magic when Professor Binns was droning on about nothing, “Lavender…powdered forewings of…erm…Brine flies?...”

Harry thought he saw Snape nod.

Can he actually hear me?

The boy continued down the list of ingredients until he reached liquefied bee pollen.

“Is that it?” Harry whispered, feeling silly—it was as if he’d gone crazy and was talking to himself.

Snape waved his wand in a brisk pattern and pocketed it inside his robes. “All right, Potter, come back,” he called out in a moderate voice that echoed hollowly off of the surrounding walls.

Strolling forward quickly, Harry met Snape halfway, chewing on the insides of his cheeks and surveying the potions master’s face carefully for any sign that spoke of Harry’s failure to list off the correct ingredients. Harry thought he’d done it correctly…but he was pretty much rubbish in Potions…

“Did it work?”

“Inspiring recitation, Potter,” Snape said, smirking condescendingly. But Harry wasn’t as bothered by his professor’s patronization as he was during his first year. The man’s eyes weren’t piercing and dark the way they often looked last year when he’d slinked around Harry’s workspace in Potions, pointing out his mistakes every few minutes.

It was a different sort of smirk.

And Harry counteracted the expression with his own half-smile.

“Wand out,” Snape ordered. Harry complied, lifting his jumper a bit and pulling his treasured holly wand out of the waistband of his trousers. Even though the spell was simple, Harry felt his palms tingle with excitement. He loved doing magic.

“Repeat after me. Sonitus Amplificarum,” Snape enunciated clearly.

Harry repeated the incantation.

“Again, Potter. Accent the fourth syllable this time.”

When Harry did so, Snape had him practice the wand movement without speaking the incantation simultaneously. It took three tries before Harry got it right.

“Acceptable,” Snape exclaimed in a clipped tone, “When you are in position, after you have spoken the incantation, I will say something this time, and you will repeat it back to me when you return from your end of the corridor. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry answered with a nod. He pushed up the sleeves of his robes just as Snape had while he walked back to the place he’d just vacated.

When Harry was in position, he raised his wand slowly, closing his eyes in concentration and twisting it a few times in his hand before reciting the spell.

The fourth syllable…the fourth syllable…

Harry opened his eyes.

“Sonitus Amplificarum!” the boy waved his wand elaborately as he spoke.

Nothing.

He bit his lip in embarrassment and gave a small shake of his head.

“Try Again, Potter. Relax your arm,” Snape prompted, appearing as if it was completely normal to botch up a spell the first time around.

Taking a deep breath, Harry relaxed the muscles in his neck and shoulders and repeated the process.

Instantly, dull white-noise erupted all around him, crashing in his ears. It sounded like a massive amount of radio static. When Harry lowered his wand, he heard every rustle and swish of fabric against fabric.

“Can you hear me, Potter?”

Snape’s voice sounded odd—like he was speaking through a pipe—but the words were clear. It sounded as if Snape was standing right beside him, speaking into his ear. The closeness and crispness of his professor’s voice caused his skin to break out into goosebumps.

Harry nodded. His own breathing roared against his eardrums.

“Good. Listen carefully: the following three ingredients are essential in producing a wit-sharpening potion—“

But all of the sudden, Harry could only see Snape’s lips moving as all of the boy’s senses were engulfed by a strong whispering, unnerving voice. Louder than ever.

Harry’s limbs turned to ice and his tongue went instantly dry.

Must kill soon…Blood…Kill…KILL…

“Professor…” Harry squeaked. His mouth felt as if it were full of dust. His voice echoed—heavy and slurred—in his head as he spoke.

Snape stopped speaking. Harry couldn’t make out distinct features on the man’s face, but he definitely thought he saw his professor moving forward. He must have heard.

Harry spun around. The voice was now hissing—like sharp, heavy, continuous breaths sucked through teeth. There was another corridor to his right. And the heavy scraping against the walls told Harry that the thing was moving.

Among the rasping noise that throbbed all around Harry, he vaguely heard Snape call out to him. The man sped up, his robes flowing, cape-like behind him.

“I heard it, Professor!” Harry cried, as he beckoned toward the potions master. Snape was almost twenty feet away. A great feeling of bravery flowed through Harry’s veins and melted his frozen limbs. He wasn’t alone in this. Elated, he sprinted forward down the nearest corridor. The pounding of his soles crashed madly in his ears as he ran. “It’s moving!”

All the sounds were one—Harry’s panting, his footsteps, the scraping, Snape’s voice.

As Harry whipped around to see how closely Snape was following, he suddenly stumbled, splashing through two inches of standing water. The edges of his robes and trousers were soaked and heavy, and in his confusion, Harry tripped among the sopping wet material and fell forward, catching himself painfully on his hands and knees. He felt the flesh of his palms scrape sickeningly across the rough, stone floor.

But before he had time to register the acute smarting or even ponder over the source of the water, he heard Snape’s booming, muffled voice close behind.

“Finite Incantatem!”

It was as if all sound had been sucked into a vacuum.

Harry sat back on his heels in the dense puddle, panting. Through the water drops on his glasses, he saw that he was kneeling in front of the girl’s lavatory. He heard brisk splashing behind him, and Harry looked over his shoulder at Snape.

“Ugh! Is all this water from the toilet?—

But Harry was cut off instantly as he felt himself pulled up roughly from around the waist and carried a few feet away from the water before he was placed firmly on the ground.

“I heard it…” Harry began feebly, taken aback by the forceful way in which he was retrieved from the water.

But as he tried to turn around to face his professor, Harry felt his drenched robes swept to the side, and not more than a second later, he felt a hard hand crack him solidly across the bottom.

The sharp echo caused by the hard smack to the wet seat of Harry’s trousers bounced impressively off the stone corridor. Stunned, Harry lost his breath for a moment. That was the last thing he’d been expecting. And it hurt.

Snape yanked him around and grasped his shoulders firmly.

What did I do? Harry thought wildly, pulling back. Snape looked livid.

“You, young man, do not run from me!” Snape lectured severely.

“I—I wasn’t!” Harry explained, shaking his head vigorously. “I heard the voice in the walls…and it was moving…and I…I saw you following…”

“I called out to you, Potter!” Snape continued his tirade, “I told you to come back…”

“I didn’t hear you!”

“And you simply ran ahead, without waiting for me, directly into a potentially dangerous situation…”

“What are you talking about?” Harry cried, throwing up his hands in frustration, “It could’ve gotten away! It did get away, Professor!”

“Potter—your hands…” Snape said with a frown. Releasing the boy’s shoulders, he leaned down and carefully took one of Harry’s damp, chilly hands and gazed pointedly at the scraped and bleeding palm. He repeated the same process with the other hand. Harry frowned sourly at Snape but allowed him to survey the damage.

Snape glanced up into the pinched face, “Your first lesson in Defense, Mr. Potter, and already you’re bleeding and soaked to the skin.”

The man shook his head as if he were at a complete loss. Harry only shrugged.

Snape sighed heavily and began removing the boy’s robes gingerly, as not to touch his injured hands. He bundled up the sodden material and tucked it under an arm, “All right, Potter, let’s get you cleaned up.”

***************

Standing at the ever-familiar basin in the dungeon classroom, clothing now warm and dry, Harry reluctantly held his hands—palms up—above the drain. He made a face as he looked up at Snape, who was holding a skinny glass bottle full of a clear, liquid substance. The man seemed to have calmed down considerably during the walk back to the classroom, and although Harry wasn’t sure why Snape had mellowed out, he was definitely grateful.

“That stuff is gonna burn…” Harry matter-of-factly informed his professor but made no move to jerk his hands back.

Only a baby would be afraid of that…

“It is only hydrogen peroxide,” Snape said as he took hold of one the boy’s wrists, “It shouldn’t.

Harry held his breath and sucked in his stomach as Snape poured the solution over his scrapes. The liquid began bubbling madly, but Snape was right—it didn’t sting.

“Brilliant,” Harry commented and held his other palm closer to the potions master so he could get it cleaned as well.

“Mind-boggling…” Snape followed up in a dry tone.

When the bubbling stopped, Snape gently patted the boy’s wounds dry with a thin towel.

“And now, to heal the skin,” Snape said as he walked back to a near by cupboard.

Harry gazed at his hands as he waited for Snape to grab the bandages and whatever else he was going to use to fix the abrasions. Unfortunately, the sting in his hands was no longer doing battle with the sting in his bum. Not that either situation was a good thing… However, the pain in his hands had doubled and caused him to wince every once in a while. Too bad the humiliation of getting scolded hadn’t faded as quickly… But even so, Harry tried to just forget about it. He decided, as they walked backed to the classroom, that he couldn’t spend the rest of his second year embarrassed and timid over a little telling off. Ron seemed to get over that howler by the end of the day it had come… And if his best mate could survive getting chewed out by his mum in front of the whole school, Harry supposed he could deal with Snape…

He just wished the guilty twinge would leave his stomach.

Closing the cupboard, Snape stalked back over to Harry and handed him a small vial filled with a light blue solution. Harry frowned in puzzlement as he read the label:

Potter, Harry

Surface cuts solution

Harry looked up at Snape, perplexed. “But this is the one I made,” he said softly.

“It is,” Snape replied, with a nod as he leaned against the counter top.

“How do you know it’s going to work?” Harry asked, tilting the thick, cloudy potion back and forth in his hand.

“Try it.”

“It won’t work,” Harry insisted, shaking his head, “I’m no good at making potions.”

“Potter…do you honestly believe I would give you a potion that would harm you?” Snape demanded, holding on to his calm façade.

“Er…”

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter…”

“Oh, all right,” Harry said with a sigh, uncorking the bottle and pouring a small circle of the creamy blue potion in the middle of one palm. Gently, he rubbed it in, gritting his teeth and bracing himself in case the skin of his hand just melted right off.

However, a cool sensation immediately spread over his palm, followed by a pleasant tingling. And slowly, quietly, the scraped skin repaired itself. Harry looked up at Snape, his mouth open in befuddlement.

“Do the other hand,” Snape told the boy, and Harry obeyed.

When both hands were healed, the skin soft and pale again, Harry wordlessly sealed the remaining substance and handed it back to his professor. He couldn’t believe it. He’d actually brewed a potion correctly.

“Two successes in one day, Mr. Potter,” Snape commented as he replaced the half-empty vial back in the cupboard. Inwardly, Harry smiled. Closing the door once again, the man turned, “And one disappointment.”

Harry cringed, the guilt twisting and dripping like a wet, wrung-out rag in his stomach.

“I didn’t run away from you on purpose,” Harry muttered, rubbing his right thumb in circles along his repaired palm, “I wasn’t trying to prove anything…”

“Perhaps not, Potter,” Snape replied, moving forward and resuming his position against the counter, “However, you must take into consideration the consequences of your actions before you rush headlong into them.”

Harry nodded, staring at the floor. “I know.”

“If you know, then you will not make the same mistake next time. You will do better. I expect nothing less.”

There it was again. Snape expected something from him. Harry shifted his eyes up to meet his professor’s and nodded again. “Yes, sir,” he replied. What else was one to say?

After several seconds of quiet, Harry spoke up again:

“Professor?”

“Potter…” Snape replied in his habitual fashion.

“We need to do something about what I’ve been hearing in the walls,” Harry said, more strongly he felt, “I think it really wants to hurt someone…”

Snape said nothing as he considered the boy’s words.

“I will investigate further.”

“But Professor,” Harry pleaded, “I’m the only one who can hear it… And who knows when I’ll hear it again—“

Snape held up his hand for silence. And Harry closed his mouth grudgingly, biting back a glare.

“Fine, Potter, we will investigate further…”

Widening his eyes in disbelief, Harry’s face brightened.

“However…” Snape continued, pointing his finger at sternly for emphasis, “You will only seek out the source of the noise when you are with me. And you will obey everything I instruct you to do during Defense lessons and the like. Is that clear, Mr. Potter?”

Harry nodded intently, “Yeah, it is. I swear it.”

“Gather your things, then,” Snape instructed, gesturing toward Harry’s shoulder bag that, at the last second, he’d hastily thrown back onto one of the tables before heading to the second floor. “We will meet again after Potions on Friday. Read the second half of your Defense book, beginning with chapter five if you haven’t already.”

“I will,” Harry replied as he reached for his shoulder bag and threw it over his head. Snape walked over to where Harry stood and handed him his dry robes.

“In addition, you may want to inform your friends that you are, indeed, alive and well,” Snape remarked absently, nodding toward the door.

“What do you mean?”

And with a swish of his wand, the door to the classroom flew open.

However, all Harry heard was an odd squeal followed by fast, clipped footsteps and Hermione’s gradually diminishing, admonishing voice. Ron had to be with her.

Oh, no…

“How did you know?” Harry asked, his eyes wide. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be horrified. Merlin, his friends were daft sometimes, but still…they were his friends.

Snape gestured toward the small window at the very top of the door. Harry glanced up at the window and back toward the potions master, baffled at how he seemed to miss either Hermione’s bushy head or Ron’s bright red one peeking over the top of the door.

“Run along, Potter,” Snape said with a smirk, “You need to eat dinner.”

Harry nodded as he walked toward the exit. But holding onto the doorframe, he paused before twisting over his shoulder to look at Snape.

Might as well try it, Harry thought as he offered the man a light smile.

“See you, Professor.”

After a brief pause of his own, Snape gave a quick nod in acknowledgement, “Goodnight.”

Reaching over and pulling the door closed, Harry removed his shoulder bag, alternating holding the strap in his left and right hands as he slipped on his robes. They were still warm. And the twisting ache in his stomach was long gone, Harry suddenly noticed. Funny how quickly that feeling came and went…

He sighed. All he had to worry about now was how to break the news to Ron that Snape really wasn’t a git after all. Not really. But knowing Hermione, Harry was almost certain that she’d liberally hinted at that fact.

Shaking his head, the boy shrugged his shoulder bag closer to his neck and exited the dungeons.