Severus wiped the perspiration from his hairline as he rested in one of the creased leather armchairs in the Headmaster’s office. The fatigue was slowly draining from his muscles as he stared at the shredded and scorched covering of the diary in solemn consternation.

“You have known about this for some time, then?” he stated, running his thumb along his lower lip in his classic, interrogative manner.

Caressing the portion of silver beard that lay in a tousled curl on the desktop, Albus’ gaze drifted upwards as casually as a balloon. “I had my suspicions, Severus. And I can only go by what I have discovered thus far. “

“Thus far…” Severus repeated, frowning deeply. He shot a fleeting glance toward the now vacant armchair to his left where he’d hauled a pasty and cranky Potter through the Floo upon Dumbledore’s request.

He would have to owe Madame Pomfrey a crateful of freshly brewed potions in the morning after tending to the boy under such circumstances.

“The spirit of Tom Riddle that was implanted in the diary has been destroyed,” Albus maintained. He widened his eyes behind the fragile spectacles that rested on the tip of his nose. “Of that much, I am certain .”

“You expelled it…”

Albus paused meaningfully. “I did. And you, my boy, thwarted Slytherin’s monster if I am not mistaken.”

Reclining impatiently in his chair, Severus swallowed the familiar, intolerant tingle in his throat. He disregarded the acknowledgement. “For a short time, Potter possessed control over the basilisk—“

“Control, Severus?”

“It came to him, Albus,” Snape bit out with a terse tilt of his head, “sought the boy out with absolutely no intention of harming him.”

Thin fingers froze within the colorless curtain of hair before joining the opposite hand atop of the parchment strewn tabletop. Albus cocked his head slightly; the blue of his eyes was dull and deep—like the sky after a particularly lovely sunset. He gazed beyond the reproachful black pupils, saying nothing.

Severus’ chest ached with disgust, though his ire had no direction. He had been certain that after a single second of pupil-to-pupil contact with the serpent, Harry Potter would have dropped dead. Dropped dead under his watch…

But he didn’t. The child had merely been entranced. And he’d somehow kept the basilisk in mutual distraction. Kept it from striking.

Regardless, at that moment, Severus loathed himself. He massaged his rutted brow in order to barricade himself from the pensive haze that lingered about the office.

The headmaster cleared his throat gently in a poorly hidden attempt to grasp his colleague’s attention. When it failed, he proceeded: “Harry has a gift—“

“I know this, Albus.” The interruption was blunt. Severus pressed his fingers into the arms of his chair as he pegged the Headmaster with a raw glare. “The boy’s been recognized as a bloody Parselmouth for months now.”

“You misunderstand me, child,” Albus countered smoothly. He waited until the tight lids slackened around Severus’ eyes before continuing. “What I meant to say is that Harry is uniquely valiant for a boy of twelve. He has not been given much of a choice, I’m afraid.”

The shadow of a storm passed over Severus’ face. As usual, the old man was missing the point.

“However,” Dumbledore continued, speaking wistfully to his laced thumbs. “He will still struggle to find a balance between doing what is simply brave…and doing what is necessary. “ He inclined his chin carefully. “You, Severus, have succeeded in instilling this conflicted notion in Harry’s heart.”

Severus gawked at him, making no effort to clear the tempest. “The boy met its gaze and lived to tell it,” he said brusquely. “Does this not concern you at all?”

The headmaster clutched his fingers together as he turned his head toward the diary for a brief instant and then looked back down at his hands.

“Indeed it does,” Albus replied in a soft, stiff voice. “And I am sorry that I cannot provide you with an adequate explanation, my boy.”

Setting his teeth, Severus dropped his chin slightly and finally loosened his grip on the arms of his chair. His knuckles felt thick and brittle as sticks.

“But Harry is safe now. You brought him back.”

Severus snapped his head up at the simple statement. “Potter could have easily died, Albus,” he snarled, his stomach shrinking in self-contempt. “I have no one to blame but myself—“

“Severus...” Dumbledore interrupted mildly. Snape looked away, shaking his head in tiny movements, as if to ward off any attempt at condolence on the Headmaster’s part.

“I said nothing to him,” Severus mumbled between weak lips. “He faced down a basilisk and I barely said a damn thing…” He tapered off.

Dumbledore leaned forward a bit on his elbows. “What should you have said, child?”

For a long moment, Severus did not speak, only sighing as he fisted his knuckles underneath his nose. Albus never judged him. And sometimes Severus wished that he would. Perhaps it would assuage the guilt that constantly crawled through his resilience, threatening to choke him.

But he knew Albus wouldn’t hear of such nonsense. The headmaster knew that Severus paid for his treason every second of the day. Such internal suffering was more than enough.

“You have done an exceptional job, Severus,” Dumbledore murmured in tender mollification.

Severus exhaled against his fist again as if dismissing the praise. “I will be astounded if Potter manages to make it through his academic career unscathed.” He turned his face toward the desk with the slightest of pivots. “He’ll be the death of me. “

A trace of a forlorn smile crinkled the old man’s eyes as he glanced down at his desk, blanketing his features in his own sort of ambiguity that Severus could never interpret.

The fire sizzled and popped in the hearth as Severus silently scrutinized him. Finally, Dumbledore emerged; a more natural smile pronounced itself at the corners of his pale lips as he glanced up serenely. “Continue to cultivate him, Severus. And he will be fine. Both of my boys,” he elaborated significantly, “will be fine. “

Severus instantly felt the walls of his throat inflate and quickly hacked away the sensation as he shifted in his chair, straightening his shoulders presentably. He lifted his chin, his hair drifting away from his cheekbones.

“The diary,” he asserted gruffly, changing the subject. “You say you found need to destroy it, though I cannot help but assume the action was not done on a whim, am I correct?” He nodded toward the gaping hole in the blemished leather.

The soft glimmer in the blue eyes became mute and sober as they followed the professor’s indication. “I shall enlighten you to the best of my ability, Severus,” Albus declared as he drew in his folded hands closer to his chest.

Severus nodded once, inspecting the laggard movements of the Headmaster.

“However-“

“Yes?”

Dumbledore cocked his head in peculiar meditation. “I fear that instinct may have been a greater motivation than I had originally wagered…”

Intrigued, yet concerned, Severus furrowed his brow as he assessed the candid wonder that flashed beyond the spectacles once again.

Even with age, the Headmaster still had difficulty concealing his distress in the face of the sinister.

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

“Under your tongue,” the Mediwitch ordered with no-nonsense finality.

“Et tasse fuddy.”

A stern finger shot out and plinked Harry under the chin and remained there, effectively clamping his lips shut.

“Not another word,” Madame Pomfrey admonished with a pointed glare. “That thermometer is going to stay in your mouth for two minutes, and I’ll not hear another word against it. Is that understood?”

Harry bobbed his head in affirmation. The minute she turned her back and began fussing with the blankets at his feet, he made a face and crossed his eyes at her. The thermometer tasted like rubbing alcohol. Or maybe that was just the smell of the infirmary seeping through to his taste buds… Harry opened his mouth wide and rolled the glass stick against his bottom row of teeth, only to mash his lips together again when the woman turned around briskly.

Pomfrey narrowed her eyes warningly. “Two minutes,” she repeated.

Sinking back into his propped-up pillow, Harry twisted his mouth against the thermometer and looked down at his blanket, feeling contrite. Snape wouldn’t have liked that. He didn’t mean to be a brat; it just happened sometimes…

Breathing evenly through his nose, Harry closed his eyes and did some thinking.

It was so irritating to be dropped off in the infirmary like a wounded infant. He felt perfectly fine—a bit sleepy—but well enough to have been able to sit through a conversation in the headmaster’s office.

Oddly, this time, it hadn’t been Snape who had asked him to step out of the room—it was Dumbledore.

And that was completely unfair, Harry thought with a sigh.

His mouth was beginning to water and his lips were growing tired of pinching the thermometer. He wiggled his legs around under the covers and shifted the tip of the bulb under his tongue.

Madame Pomfrey was doubled over across the room; her behind wavered back and forth as she reached under underneath a mattress for a bedpan.

Harry wound the corner of his sheet around his thumb over and over again as he waited. Why hadn’t he been allowed to listen to their discussion? Dumbledore was the one who usually let him sit in on things like that. It couldn’t have been that blasted top-secret, could it?

Scowling around the glass in his mouth, Harry nursed his hurt feelings by contenting himself with the fact that Snape had promised to fill him in on anything pivotal. And he didn’t think Snape would lie to him or skip over the juicy facts like grown-ups loved to do.

After all, Harry hadn’t lied to Snape.

Four beds down, Madame Pomfrey reached into her starched white robes to check the dainty pocket watch stored within a pocket. After a brief nod, she slipped the small, silver circle back into its holding place and finished aligning the pillows.

Harry clunked the back of his head against the wall behind him. These two minutes were moseying by even slower than the time he’d had to keep a piece of soap on his tongue.

He thought some more about the ink-shellacked diary and got the shivers again. The sword had been dripping too, which meant that it was somehow used to puncture the diary. Dumbledore had been fingering the damage so strangely, almost like he was fascinated…or confused. Or maybe—

“All right, Mr. Potter,” the Mediwitch sighed as she bustled over to his bedside. She plucked the thermometer out of his mouth and held it up to take a reading. She glowered disapprovingly at the red stripe.

“I’m not sick,” Harry grumbled. “I was just dropped off here—“

“That bit of pink on your cheeks says otherwise,” she interrupted, shuffling over to a nearby tray and plunking the thermometer into a thin vial full of rubbing alcohol.

Harry watched it sink to the bottom before he felt invisible binds at his ankles tugging him flat on his back.

“Hey!”

Madame Pomfrey stuffed her wand into the sleeve of her robes with a satisfied smirk. “To bed.”

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

Dumbledore ran his thumb gently along the now clean and shining blade of the sword that he had laid across his desk after revealing as much as he dared.

“You mean to tell me, Headmaster,” Severus began, “that you suddenly had the urge to extract the sword and plunge it into Riddle’s diary like a fish on a spear?” His tone was customarily dry but not cruel.

Albus caressed the knob-like ruby sealed within the hilt as he eyed Severus in stark seriousness. “Have you never experienced such inkling, my boy?”

Frowning in perplexity, Severus shook his head. “No.”

“Ah.” The stark reply was laden with connotation.

Severus erected even further in his chair, appearing as if he were trying to organize his thoughts. But Dumbledore took a preparatory breath, and Severus waited for him to speak.

“You are aware, Severus, that the truest form of magic comes from within oneself,” Albus reflected importantly.

“Of course, but—“

“Lord Voldemort and I are ancient enemies,” the Headmaster continued as if Severus had never interjected. “And such a spell can only be produced with absolute intention, even if those intentions are subconscious…”

“Yes, but fiendfyre, Albus?” Severus proclaimed, skeptical still. “The idea is absurd! Surely you would have burned to ashes in the midst of it. The curse is inexorable—“

“Unless it was transferred through the body of the sword only,” Albus mused as he continued to gaze at the gleaming instrument.

Severus shook his head again as his eyes strayed over to the dried ink smeared along the crisp cover and pages of the diary. “You understand what this means, then.” He felt ill at the realization but his shoulders remained squared.

Dumbledore expelled a melancholy breath. “Knowing Tom Riddle, I am hardly surprised. Ever since you retrieved the diary from Miss Weasley, I had my suspicions, Severus,” he admitted for a second time. “And I cannot imagine the terror the child must have felt, having been entwined in his soul.”

“I can.”

Startled from his reverie, Albus’ pained eyes grazed over the pallid, weary face in front of him. “You, too, possess inconceivable bravery, Severus,” the Headmaster said affectionately. “I want you to know this.”

Severus didn’t respond; he instantly regretted his insensible ploy for sympathy. “What do you need me to do?” The inquiry was automatic.

The dreariness melted a bit from Albus’ face. He nearly smiled. “I want you to go to Harry,” he directed.

Severus swallowed. “Go to him…”

“He is a powerful wizard for one so young. But he is still just a child, Severus,” Dumbledore replied. He wove his bony fingers together and peered over his spectacles. “You were right.”

Lifting the majestic sword and cradling it against his arms, Dumbledore sidled over to its open case, leaving a stunned Severus congealed to his chair.

“You want nothing more to be done about this?” the Potions Master confirmed after a while; the words were arid and cracked in his choked throat. “Simply collect the boy and go about my business as always…”

Albus ran his wand over the case as it snapped shut. The handle of the sword seemed to quiver with a soft, red light—dull in contrast to the sparkling rubies.

“It is, after all, the Christmas holidays, “ the old man said a bit more jovially as he dawdled over. “And nothing more can be done.”

The Christmas holidays indeed, Severus inwardly sneered, though he physically bridled his disgust.

“Except—“

“Except what?” Severus slowly hoisted himself upright. He despised being half of anyone’s height.

The headmaster raised his chin artfully. “I would be obliged, Severus, if you would inform Professor Lockhart that he is to dispose of the basilisk as soon as possible.”

Simpering with unmatched glee, Severus tipped his head. “As you wish.”

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

Harry rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands repeatedly before they finally slit open. He jerked up when he realized where he was and scraped the rickety table top beside him in search of his glasses.

On cue, Snape palmed the boy’s chest and applied pressure. But he allowed him to slip his frames over his ears before he pushed Potter all the way down to his pillows.

“Where’d you come from?” Harry asked groggily. Then suddenly, he was awake. “And how come you left me here?” The volume of the child’s voice rose in concurrence with the urgency of his questioning.

“I knew the complaints would begin sooner or later,” Snape remarked as Harry wiggled underneath his restriction. “Politeness from you, Potter, can only last so long…”

Harry stilled. “I’m polite most of the time,” he argued vaguely, as if trying to convince himself. “You have to be in class, you know.”

Biting his tongue, Severus pulled a somber expression and straightened the folded blankets with a fierce flap. “I see.”

“So what’d you and Dumbledore talk about that was so important that you had to go and chuck me in the infirmary?” Harry asked, rolling over to his side and propping up on his elbow. His jumper was as rumpled as his hair. “I dunno why you think I can’t handle anything…”

“That decision, young man, was made by the Headmaster,” Snape scolded. “And if he felt your presence was unnecessary, then you should be mature and respect that decision.”

Harry frowned. “I do respect him—“

“The decision, Potter.”

The boy paused for a short moment, pondering. “Well…I would, but it was a stupid one.”

Snape closed his eyes and sighed. “Just as I suspected…”

“I mean, it didn’t make any sense…” Harry continued, shifting on his elbow to emphasize his point. “He had no problem with me going down into the Chamber with you, and then he—“

“Who claimed the headmaster had no preambles about you accompanying me?” Snape cut in. He knew very well that Albus had encouraged the joint venture, but Potter didn’t need to know that.

“He—“ Harry trailed off, cocking his head. “I didn’t think he minded very much, did he?”

“Your welfare is Professor Dumbledore’s most precious priority, Potter,” Snape disputed. “And his decision to utilize your aid in the search was not made lightly.” Perhaps if he repeated the insistency to himself, Severus would also be convinced.

Fingering the fold of his bedsheet, Harry thought about this for a moment. He scrunched his nose up, shifting his glasses a bit—the way he always did when he was deciding something.

“You said you’d tell me what you talked about,” Harry mumbled to the mattress.

“If I thought your knowledge of the matter was necessary…”

Harry glanced up sharply. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Potter—“ Snape began, and then stopped. He could tell just by looking at the tiny wrinkles around the boy’s eyes that his feelings were injured. Severus would have liked to tell him how frustrating it was to sit in front of the Headmaster and know nothing—to learn the bare minimum but understand that a secret was deliberately penned behind the fogged blue of Dumbledore’s eyes.

A secret that Dumbledore would only reveal in his own time—when he was ready. Severus had known Albus for years. And he knew all too well that even he could not persuade the Headmaster to adjust his methods.

“He was able to expel Tom Riddle’s spirit from the diary,” Snape finally explained.

“Well, yeah, that much was obvious—“

“Do not interrupt me, boy, or you’ll get nothing,” he snapped. He knew Potter would spout something along those lines.

“Sorry,” Harry said quickly, bowing his head back to his fidgeting.

Nodding in acceptance, Snape cleared his throat and continued. “The Dark Lord preserved his spirit in the diary long ago, and the Headmaster believes he was able to destroy that portion of his soul—“

“By the sword?” Harry’s eyes widened in concern.

Snape made a small noise of annoyance in the back of his throat. Taking a hint, the boy bit the inside of his cheek and grew quiet again.

“The sword was the medium for the magic produced, yes,” Snape clarified.

Harry waited until he was sure the man was finished talking. “What sort of magic?”

Hesitating only a second, Snape swallowed. “Fiendfyre.”

“What’s—“

“A means for destroying the diary,” Snape answered too quickly.

Harry frowned again. “Is it like some sort of wizard exorcism, then?”

“What?” Snape matched the boy’s grimace of confusion.

“You know,” Harry shrugged, swishing his feet back and forth beneath his covers, “Like a way to get rid of a spirit trapped in something. Like they do in India.”

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter,” Snape muttered tiredly, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “I suppose so.” He exhaled heavily. “India,” he repeated under his breath in a soft, dry tone. This was going to take all day.

“Professor?”

A short pause.

“What is it, child…”

He could hear Potter’s head squashing the pillow as he lay back down. “Why couldn’t I have stayed? That’s not really much of a massive secret…”

Snape looked up from behind his fingers. Potter was gazing up at him with round eyes. He fought desire to roll his own at such an expression. An innocent, clueless expression.

He sighed. “I do not know. “ And he didn’t. Not completely. Severus knew that once a horcrux was destroyed by a curse as powerful as fiendfyre, the damage was irrevocable. Perhaps Albus had finally understood that Potter’s knowledge of such things would make no difference.

At least for now.

Potter continued to stare at him. “Can I get out of here?” the boy suddenly asked. “Madame Pomfrey said I had to stay overnight just in case, but tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, and if I have to lay here and smell that foul—“

“Careful, Potter.”

“What?” Harry demanded. “I wasn’t talking about Madame Pomfrey... I was talking about the smell in here.”

“Really?”

He gave Snape a naughty, lop-sided grin.

Without warning, Severus felt his throat compress. And he gritted his teeth furiously against the sensation. He detested when such emotions leaped up and snatched his good sense. To distract himself, he reached inside his robes with cold fingertips.

He extracted a medium-sized volume from his deepest pocket. Severus had taken it along in case the boy began asking too many questions he couldn’t answer. Passing it over, Severus waited until Harry had scanned the title:

Functional Uses of Defensive Magic, Volume II

Shooting up immediately, Harry’s face brightened as he began flipping through the book. “You’re giving me the second one already?”

“You have chewed your way through the first one as impatiently as I knew you would…”

Harry looked up; his eyes were wide and smiling. “Does that mean I still get lessons?”

Raising an eyebrow at the peacock’s tail of black hair poking haughtily in his direction, Severus nodded once. “Gilderoy Lockhart is still a Hogwarts employee, is he not?”

Really grinning now, Harry thumbed his way back to the Table of Contents. He stopped when he reached the inside cover. The paper lining was slightly yellowed but still intact. In the bottom left-hand corner, written in small, spiky script were Harry’s initials: HJP.

He ran his thumb over the shallow ridges made by the point of the quill. It wasn’t a Weasley jumper with an ‘H’ knitted into the front, but suddenly felt like crossing his arms around the book and hugging it to his chest. The volume was meant to be kept. Even if it wasn’t wrapped or labeled as such, Harry knew it was a present.

And after he finished studying it each night, the book was going to go in his special shoebox, right next to the flute Hagrid had carved for him last Christmas.

“What on earth are you gawking at, Potter?” Snape grumbled.

Harry glanced up at him. “Thanks for the book,” he said with a soft, timid smile. He had never been good at thanking anyone for anything. Clenching his fingers around the binding, Harry laid it gently in his lap.

“You’ve got another one just like it…” Snape reasoned in a quiet, gritty voice.

Shrugging, Harry dragged his thumbnail along the golden lettering of the title. “I know.”

They refrained from speaking for a moment until Snape finally cleared his throat. “Study it well,” the man said gently.

Harry nodded. “I will.”

“In fact,” Snape began wryly, reaching over to pluck a ball of fuzz from Harry’s jumper, “you may begin by reading the first two chapters as soon as you have returned to your dormitory. “

“I…wait,” Harry stammered, squinting. “Now?”

“Now.”

Harry widened his eyes eagerly. “You’re getting me out of here?”

Flipping back the stiff, white blankets draped across Harry’s knees as he stood, Snape gestured to the boy’s stocking-clad feet with his nod of his head. “Put your shoes on.”

“Brilliant!”

As Snape watched the boy kick away the remaining covers and scramble to the edge of the bed, he couldn’t help but relax his face completely.

He knew the final two days before Christmas were going to be pure hell with a finicky Potter in stride.

Perhaps they would discuss the first chapter tomorrow. After the storeroom was cleansed from top to bottom, of course…

The job would go quickly with two.

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

Five months later…

Harry jumped on his stool as he felt a stinging snap across his backside. He immediately sank back onto his heels and turned around.

“What was that for?” he complained,

“You know better than to kneel on your stool like some sort of hooligan,” Snape chastised, glaring in disapproval as he rounded the lab table. “Sit properly.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry shimmied his legs out from under his seat and plopped down, letting his legs swing.

“You almost made me fall right into my cauldron,” Harry accused, scraping his stirrer along the sides of the pewter pot to make sure his Sleeping Draught didn’t burn. “You’d’ve had to scoop pieces of my face out of it.”

“How entertaining…” Snape moved closer to the moping boy and leaned his elbow against the table top.

Harry continued stirring.

“Do explain the attitude,” Snape demanded in a hushed voice. “It has been quite a while since you’ve received a zero for a Potions assignment.”

“I messed up,” Harry said with a simple shrug. “Neville did too…”

“There has hardly been a potion that Longbottom hasn’t blundered,” Snape stated, snarling at the thought. “Try again.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You know very well that doesn’t work with me, young man.” Snape had inched closer, and Harry suddenly stopped mixing his solution.

Staring into his cauldron, the rasping sound of metal on metal began again as Harry stirred counterclockwise.

In a flash, Snape pulled his wand from his robes and flicked it toward the boy’s cauldron.

The entire concoction disappeared.

Harry wrenched his head up in horror.

“Tell me,” Snape said solemnly, his eyes burning right past the smudged spectacles.

“My potion—“

“Forget it. I’ll excuse your horrendous work if you are honest with me.”

The offer was tempting. Harry twisted his hands together underneath the table. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Perhaps…” Snape admitted.

Harry made a face. Snape never had a problem with honesty.

Taking a deep breath, he spewed it out before he could think on it. “It’s just…everyone’s all excited about going home for the summer, and I’ve nothing to look forward to. I hate going back to Surrey. It’s boring.” Harry focused on his empty cauldron. “I’m sick of hearing about everyone’s plans…” he mumbled; he could feel his cheeks turning pink.

“You could get ahead in your studies,” Snape suggested, nudging aside Harry’s cauldron with his forearm.

“They won’t let me.”

“You could read for pleasure…”

“I hate reading.”

“Oh, Potter,” Snape exclaimed, exasperated. “You devoured your Defense book in less than three weeks.”

Harry lifted his head. “Well that’s ‘cause it was interesting.”

“You—“ Snape began, but then he paused, drawing in a deep breath. His face clouded with question. “Is that all that worries you about returning to your relatives?”

“What do you mean?”

Snape shifted a bit and bowed his head, clamping his lips together before trying again. “You’re not afraid to go back?

Harry sucked a portion of his lip against his teeth. So that’s what Snape meant. He shook his head.

There was a short stretch of silence before Snape spoke. “Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry answered right away. “I’m not frightened of them at all. They’re just sort of annoying. We’re barely around each other except for breakfast and dinner. The park just gets boring after a while, and I can’t stand being around Dudley for longer than five minutes. That’s why I mostly go exploring.”

Studying the boy for a moment longer, Snape nodded toward Harry’s chest. “You remember the incantation?”

“For what?” Harry glanced down. “The portkey?”

“Yes, the portkey.”

Harry pressed the hidden nub with his fingertips. “Sure.”

“You are welcome to use it during the summer if you feel you need my assistance,” Snape told him, adding as a second thought, “or any of the staff’s.”

“I can?”

“Why else would I have allowed you to keep it, Potter?” Snape rapped out.

“Oh,” Harry commented with a shrug. “I dunno…” Handling the locket for a bit longer, Harry dropped his hand onto his lap. “I can come to Hogwarts whenever I want to?”

“No, you may come whenever you need to,” Snape corrected. “And by need, I mean—“

“Yeah, I get it.” Harry hopped off of his stool and bent over to retrieve his duffle that was lying in a heap on the floor.

Snape straightened up and tugged at the wide lapels of his robes. “Put your supplies away.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged as he emerged from his hunched position. But he quickly piled everything into his pot and hurried towards the back of the room anyway. As he turned back around, he stuffed his scales and cauldron into the open flap of his shoulder bag, wishing he knew a shrinking spell like Hermione so he wouldn’t have to walk around with an odd bulge on his hip.

“You’re really giving me full marks for today?” Harry questioned as he untwisted his strap and arranged it comfortably over his shoulder.

“I am excusing you,” Snape said, pivoting slowly as he walked toward him. “There’s a difference. And keep in mind, Mr. Potter, this is the one and only time my clemency will be in your favor…”

Harry rested his back against a lab table as he gazed up at his professor. “You should give Neville a break like that once in a while too—“

Snape’s hands were on his shoulder, turning him and steering him forward before he could say anything else.

“Go,” Snape commanded, giving him a light shove toward the door.

“I’m going…” Harry droned as he wrapped both hands around the iron handle and pulled. “I’ll probably see you later,” he called over his shoulder with a fleeting half-smile before he slipped out between the Potter-sized crack in the door.

Snape circled two fingers against his temple and closed his eyes. “You always do, child.”