Harry was halfway to Gryffindor Tower when he realized that he’d been walking for several minutes without realizing he was moving.  He couldn’t believe he hadn’t been expelled. 

If there was one person Harry did not understand at the moment, it was Professor Snape.  Since when did the man ever not follow through with a threat?  A week’s worth of detentions down in the dungeons with Snape was bad enough.  Harry didn’t even want to think of the countless slimy, dead creatures he would have to sift through over the next six days.  But what had kept Snape from reporting him to Dumbledore?  He’d blown up a bloody cauldron…in Snape’s classroom!  Harry groaned. 

And then flushed.

Snape had swatted him.  Harry reluctantly recalled the embarrassing event as his face heated so deeply that his cheeks prickled.  His eyes felt a bit itchy around the edges, and he unconsciously pressed his top teeth into his lower lip as he remembered the tears that he had tried so hard to stifle but failed.

Oh, God, Harry thought, what the hell is wrong with me?

As he reached the entrance of the Tower, Harry shook his head from side to side in attempt to rid his brain of all thoughts except the promise of his favorite, soft armchair in front of the fire in the warm common room.  But before he reached the stairs, he decided at the last minute to slip into the bathroom in order to splash his face with cold water…just in case. 

Harry leisurely surveyed the stalls for feet, hoping that there was no one lingering.  Finding the room thankfully empty, Harry turned toward the mirror.  Even though the room was dimly lit, the flames from the torches flickering and glowing in his reflection, Harry could faintly make out the redness still present around the delicate the rims of his eyes behind the round glasses.  One would have to stare intently at Harry’s face, standing about an inch or two away, to notice the mild aftereffects of his tears, but he knew they were there, and that was reason enough to rid all traces. 

Harry removed his glasses, placing them on the ledge of the sink beside him.  He ran the tap and cupped a large handful of icy water before splashing it carefully over his warm face and eyes.  He allowed his cooled fingers to remain pressed against his closed lids for a few seconds longer before reaching for the role of paper.

When Harry replaced his glasses, he slowly edged his face closer to the mirror, examining the eyes that Snape’s own had borne into so intently only a quarter of an hour before. 

The redness was definitely on the fade.  Harry squinted at his reflection, studying the patterns of speckled green that framed the blackness.  How often did one stare into his own eyes?  And what was it Snape had seen that had caused the man to cock his head like that?

You look like a bloody idiot, Harry inwardly scorned himself as he realized how odd he must look, staring at himself while fogging up the mirror.

Running the sleeve of his robes across the moisture, Harry exited the lavatory and climbed the stairs that lead toward the Gryffindor Common Room.

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

The minute Harry entered the common room, Hermione attacked him with a flurry of questions.

“Harry!  Where were you?!  Are you all right?  Someone said they saw Snape dragging you out of the dungeons!  What happened?  I got what we needed, by the way…” Hermione seemed to add the last statement as somewhat of an afterthought.

Harry realized he had backed into one of the wooden tables and knocked over a stack of books in an involuntary attempt to escape the girl’s interrogation.

“Well?” Hermione prompted, a bit impatient at Harry’s lack of immediate response.  She stared at him, a hand resting on her left hip.

“Erm…well…yeah, he caught me.  Throwing the firework into cauldron, I mean…” Harry began, but his explanation was promptly cut short by Hermione’s gasp.

She clapped both hands over her mouth.

“Oh, Harry, no!” Hermione exclaimed sadly, almost disbelieving.  She removed her hands and let them drop heavily at her sides. “Snape said he’d expel whoever did it!  Are you?  Expelled?”

“I…erm…well, no, I’m not,” Harry attempted to reassure her. “I’ve just got detention for the rest of the week.  Nothing to cheer about, but at least I’m not kicked out.”

Harry pushed aside another stack of books and hoisted himself up into a sitting position on top of the table.

Hermione narrowed her gaze.  “You…aren’t expelled?” 

Harry shook his head and shrugged.

“But this is Snape we’re talking about…not Professor McGonagall or Flitwick, who would most definitely be furious, but wouldn’t expel you!” she ranted rather loudly, causing Harry to scoot back a bit more. 

Hermione could be pretty intimidating when she wanted to be.

“I know,” Harry stated simply.  But he really didn’t know...not really.  Part of Snape’s reaction had been predictable: the silent anger, the sweeping robes, the bruising grip on Harry’s arm...  The other part, well, Harry just wasn’t sure. 

Harry couldn’t explain it.  He had always thought that Snape had hated him.  But people who hate you don’t have enough room for things like disappointment.  They could care less.  Not even McGonagall’s glare during last year’s infamous “dragon incident” had made him feel so ashamed.  It didn’t make sense.

Hermione sighed, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

“Well, anyway,” she continued, “you should count yourself lucky Harry.”

“Yeah…”

Hermione reached into the pocket of her robes, “At least we’ve got these,” she claimed as pulled out two vials—boomslang skin and bicorn horn.

Harry stared at the ingredients.  It didn’t seem like such an accomplishment anymore. 

“Let me keep those in my trunk,” he stated quickly, and noticing the retort forming on Hermione’s lips, Harry continued.  “That way, you can’t be accused of anything.  I’m already in trouble.”

“But Harry, there’s no way you could have gathered the ingredients when you--”

“Please, Hermione, just give them to me,” Harry said softly.  He was too tired to argue.  He held out his right hand.

Hermione sighed again, “Oh, all right.”  She placed them carefully against his palm and watched as Harry’s eyes traveled over the glass bottles before he clenched his fingers around them and carefully placed them in his pocket.

“Where’s Ron?” Harry asked, suddenly remembering his ginger-haired friend.

“He went to find Fred and George…to tell them what happened, I think,” Hermione stated off-handedly as she gathered up the last of her books and shifted them to a comfortable position in her arms.

Harry rolled his eyes, “Great,” he said sarcastically. “They’ll be quite proud, I reckon.”

“Probably.”

“Yeah,” Harry stated and gave a small wave as he watched Hermione climb up the steps to her dormitory.  He stared at his hands that were resting lightly on his thighs. “Probably...” 

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

Harry sluggishly dragged himself through the rest of his afternoon classes.  He was almost sick with dread every time he thought about his first detention that night with Snape.  His stomach was twisted in knots, and his hands wouldn’t stop sweating.  He wasn’t necessarily nervous about the detention.  He’d had plenty of those. But rather, he felt unsure and jittery about facing his professor so soon after their confrontation. 

Hastily, Harry made his way to the Great Hall for dinner, but he didn’t really have an appetite.  He had received a note a couple of hours ago at the end of his last class, delivered by a Slytherin first year, that announced the time of his detention: 6:30 p.m. 

As he traced patterns in his mashed potatoes with his fork, giving up all hope of actually swallowing the gloppy mess, Harry heard, without really listening, Ron’s endless prattle about Harry’s new and coveted hero-status, according to Fred and George. 

Hermione tried to talk to him about the particularly tricky Transfiguration essay that was due at the beginning of next week, but Harry could only respond with half-hearted smiles and nods.  Hermione didn’t pressure him to talk; she probably figured he was dreading his detention, Harry imagined.  She rolled her eyes as Ron’s obliviousness and joined in Pavarti’s and Lavender’s conversation when she heard the words “insect versus arachnid transformation”.

It was after 6:10 when Harry left the Great Hall.  He wasn’t sure how long he’d be trapped down in the dungeons and wanted to allow himself the liberty of walking slowly, enjoying the cool, damp air.  After stopping briefly by the loo, he decided he’d stalled long enough.  Standing in front of the heavy, wooden door, Harry wiped his cold, clammy palms on the front of his trousers before hesitantly pounding his knuckles three times against the door.

“Enter,” Snape called tersely.

Harry pushed open the door, thoroughly dreading the remainder of the evening.