Harry stared at the blackboard where a long list of Latin words stood in a straight column. He could guess at a few of them - most of the magical spells he used at Hogwarts came from Latin, he thought. He had hazarded a guess at the Latin word for study, gotten it completely wrong, and Snape had slammed the pointer down on the table again. Then Snape had swished his wand at the chalk, and the chalk had started to write the Latin words on the board.

It was odd for Snape to be using magic, especially in the old-fashioned schoolroom setting. Of course, Harry knew magic had been used in the 1800's, but he wanted to point out to Snape that he shouldn't use magic and try to teach Muggle subjects at the same time. Not that Harry would have dared to say such a thing. He thought the best thing to do was nod along with whatever Snape did and try his best to be a good pupil.

"Translate the first word," Snape commanded, walking to his desk and swishing the pointer through the air.

"Amo," Harry read. "Uh, that's love, isn't it?"

"Wrong," Snape barked out.

"But I thought -"

"You thought incorrectly, as usual. The full translate would be "I love." Present tense, first person. That's one wrong."

"That's not fair," Harry argued. "I knew some of the word -"

"Interrupting is not allowed," Snape said shortly. "For each word you translate incorrectly, you will receive a mark. At the end of the language lesson, you will receive a stroke," he swished the pointer through the air, "for every mark. Arguing and interrupting will get you twice as many."

It was so beastly unfair. Harry had to grip the edge of his seat to keep from shouting at Snape. He had guessed the man planned to punish him during the lessons, just to make him miserable, but the fact that he would be adding to his own punishment with each incorrect answer - Snape loved to torture him!

"Any further protests?" Snape raised his eyebrows. "You're already at two marks. Believe me, I'd like to get you up to three dozen before this part of our lessons is over."

Harry shook his head.

"No?" Snape's voice was almost gentle. "Pity. But we will still have mathematics, and grammar, and writing, and history, and philosophy. You'll be sitting uncomfortably for the next few hours, I wager."

Harry said nothing. He could feel himself shaking with rage. He hated Snape, and he knew the feeling was mutual, and he didn't see why Snape wanted to keep him trapped there. If Snape hated him so much at school, why would he want his worst student with him during the summer?

"Next word?" Snape's voice cracked like a whip.

Harry stared at the word venire, and he had no idea what it was. "I don't know, sir," he admitted.

"Three," Snape smiled. "Next word."

"I - I don't know any of them," Harry confessed.

Snape started towards him, gripping the pointer tightly.

Harry could imagine how much the long wooden pointer would hurt, and he felt his stomach churning with dread. "Please, sir," he stammered.

"What?" Snape demanded.

"I don't know any L-Latin," Harry managed to get out. "I - I never - we didn't learn it at my school. But if you could just explain it to me -"

"Ha!" Snape snorted. "Why should I waste my time?"

"Because," Harry swallowed hard, "I'll listen."

"No, you won't," Snape retorted. "You'll behave just like you do in Potions. Whispering to your friends, shifting, talking back, ignoring my directions, ruining potions, doing everything you can to attract attention."

Harry stared up at Snape. Surely he didn't do all those things in Snape's class. True, he didn't always listen like he should, but other people played around in class. Why was he being single out just because he sometimes didn't pay attention?

"Pouting only gets you extra," Snape warned him.

"No, I'll be good," Harry promised, wriggling over in his seat as far away from Snape as he could get without falling out of the desk. "Just give me one more chance."

"I'd rather watch you dance to the tune of my pointer," Snape sneered. But he didn't make a move to grab Harry.

"Maybe - maybe you could show me some Latin," Harry rushed on. "I promise I'll listen, and then you can ask me the words again. If I get them wrong then, you can beat me."

"I don't beat you," Snape replied coldly. "And I don't need your permission, either. As a teacher, it is my right to discipline unruly students. I often thought a good whipping would make you pay attention in Potions, and now I intend to put that theory to work."

"But - but - but," Harry searched desperately for a valid excuse. He wanted to shout that you shouldn't hit people, but he knew during the 1800's schoolboys got whipped regularly. Part of him felt happy that he didn't live back then, but another part of him wanted to crawl under his desk to hide.

Snape made a movement to grab him, and Harry jerked back. However, he pulled back too far and ended up falling out of his desk. It hurt when he hit the floor, but Harry immediately scrambled to his feet. He ran for the door, but the doorknob was locked tight.

"Get back here," Snape ordered, still standing by the desk.

Harry knew he had been stupid to run - Vampyr was outside in the hall, probably, ready to rip him to pieces. Harry turned to face Snape.

"Right now," Snape pointed to the floor in front of him.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry said quietly as he started dragging his feet towards Snape. "I panicked."

Snape crossed his arms, rested the pointer against one arm.

"And I'm sorry I didn't know my lesson," Harry said, trying to play along with the setting. Maybe if he pretended to be the reluctant schoolboy, scared and shame-faced, Snape would let him off.

"Are you?" Snape asked, smirked coldly.

"Yes, sir," Harry let his voice slide into a whimper. "It's just - I don't like my lessons. I'd rather be doing something else."

"Such as?"

Harry racked his brains to think of what boys might do in the 1800's. "Uh, I wanted to play outside."

"And?" Snape prompted.

"Go swimming?" Harry hazarded a guess. "Chuck around a ball? Maybe fish somewhere."

"And miss your lessons?" Snape looked exceedingly stern.

Harry was still a few feet away from him, but he kept up the game. "Yes, sir. I know I've been bad, but -"

"You've been exceedingly naughty," Snape decided.

Harry felt his cheeks warm at the childish word, but he nodded along. "Yes, sir, very naughty. Please let me sit down and continue my lesson."

"Bend over your desk," Snape told him.

"Sir, please -"

"Now," Snape commanded, his eyes flashing.

Harry slowly leaned his torso over the flat desk. He felt the hard wood under his stomach, and he clung to the edge of the desk to brace himself for the cuts.

The first strike of the pointer stung, but it didn't hurt too much. Harry wondered if Snape was starting out slow because he planned to keep hurting him the whole day. Another stroke, and Harry bit his lip lightly. Another, a harder stroke, and Harry wanted to protest that he didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of it - he should be back at Privet Drive being bullied and ignored all summer, not suck in a classroom with a discipline-happy professor.

"Take your seat," Snape ordered. He turned and marched to the board, leaving a bewildered Harry to sit back down.

Three strokes, and Snape stopped? Harry was sure he had at least two dozen coming, probably more for talking back and trying to run. He did not object - he wasn't completely stupid enough to question his good luck - and waited for whatever would come next.

"Now for mathematics," Snape said with what had to be a very evil smirk. "I trust my student is well acquainted with geometry and will have no problem discern the x-y axis along with other linear and nonlinear plains."

Harry wanted to shout that he wasn't even twelve yet - that they didn't start that in Muggle schools until later. He had been fairly good at math before he went to Hogwarts, able to multiple and divide fairly quickly along with working pre-algebraic problems, but nothing like Snape had just said.

The chalk began drawing diagrams with lines that stuck out and numbers placed all over, mixed with letters. Harry watched with a sinking stomach as the chalk started writing out what he should solve: Imagining that this diagram takes place on a real scale and that the variables are not imaginary numbers, give the number of possibilities for x.

"Do you know the answer?" Snape inquired.

"I don't even know the question," Harry protested. "What is an imaginary number? Why x and not the other letters?"

"You have five minutes to solve it," Snape handed him a small slate with a piece of chalk.

Harry stared down at the black slate, feeling upset and miserable which was exactly what Snape meant him to feel. He felt trapped, and he tried to push down the panic that rose inside him.

Picking up the chalk, he began to scribble on the slate.

"Oh, yes," Snape observed, "I can only imagine what you might be writing. Perhaps something about how you have the worst tutor in the world, calling me all sorts of names. Rude names will get one mark, swear words will get two. Show me your slate now."

Harry turned the slate to face Snape, letting him see the words.

"‘X is a number and not imaginary'," Snape read. "What on earth is that?"

"It's right, isn't it?" Harry asked slowly.

"It is not right," Snape declared.

"Then x is not a number and is imaginary?" Harry asked.

"No, it is a real number," Snape insisted.

"Then my answer is right," Harry pointed out.

Snape came over to his desk, towering over Harry. "Are you trying to be fresh with me?" Snape asked in an ominous voice.

"No, sir," Harry hastily said.

"Go ahead," Snape hissed. "Show me some more of that Potter cheek. From the first day in my class, you've shown me nothing but obstinate, obnoxious, arrogant cheek, flouting your rebellion right in my face."

"I haven't," Harry protested.

"Yes, you have," Snape snapped. "You like showing everyone that the precious savior doesn't have to respect his teachers, especially his vile Potions master. You enjoy getting away with murder, knowing no one can stop you."

"I haven't gotten away with anything!"

"Sneaking out of bed at night, going after the Stone, strutting around the castle - I've seen you," Snape had bent over so he looked Harry right in the eye. "I know what you are, Potter. I know where you come from. I know what you're capable of."

Harry's eyes widened at the hatred in the man's voice. "What I'm capable of?" Harry said, his own voice high and strained. "I don't understand -"

"You don't have to," Snape replied. "I see him in you, more than looks, more than blood - you are him!"

"Who?" Harry asked, frightened. "Who am I?"

"He tricked her, took her away," Snape looked demented. "I loved her, and she went with him. She saw what he was, and she still went with him! And you're going to pay for it, pay for all of it."

Harry opened his mouth to ask what he was paying for when a loud chiming noise sounded from the other side of the house.

Snape straightened, his face going back to its normal sneer. "Stay here," he ordered. "Move from this room, and you'll wish you'd never been born."

Snape swept out of the room, locking the door behind him.

Harry leaned his arms forward on the desk, breathing slowly. What had that been about? He wished he knew who and what Snape had been going on about. How could he feel bad or sorry or explain anything if he had no idea what Snape was saying?

Harry glanced around the room. He had no illusions about climbing out either of the two windows - they were almost too high for him to reach and he knew they were locked tight.

Harry waited in his seat for a few minutes, watching the old-fashioned clock tick on the bookshelf. It wasn't even ten o'clock yet; the lessons could drag on for hours. Harry swung his feet from the seat, letting the heels of his clunky shoes scrap the floor. How long would they be pretending? And it wasn't very good pretending, considering that Snape kept going back to being his old ugly self instead of staying the stern schoolmaster.

Harry had read books and seen Muggle movies about the 1800's; schoolmasters back then didn't go mad and blame their students for crazy things. And they didn't use magic.

Harry glanced over at the bookshelves again, and he felt another twinge of exasperation. Most of the titles of the books were about magic. That was so stupid! Why have an old-fashioned Muggle schoolroom and not change the books?

Snape probably wasn't smart enough to think about that. He had never played pretend as a child, never imagined something so completely that it became real. Harry had, many times. In the tight confines of his cupboard, he had pretended that he was prisoner locked in a dungeon, pretended so well that he could almost hear the dripping water and creak of chains.

Other times, Harry had closed his eyes and imagined that he was on ship to India. He had stretched out on his bed and rolled back and forth, pretending the ship was pitching over the waves and he was seasick down below.

A few times, he had reached his hands up above his head and imagined that they were chained there because he was bound to a torture table and the evil Cardinal was about to come torture him for information about the location of the three Musketeers. But Harry wasn't worried then because he had a secret knife hidden in his sleeve, and when the Cardinal came close he would stab at him with the knife and then flip off the torture table to attack the villain.

Now that had been pretending. This stupid schoolroom with its Muggle subjects and magical books - Harry was not impressed.

In front of the books were a few small figurines. Harry got up to look at a few of them. There was a dragon, a unicorn, a coiled cobra with its mouth open, a centaur, and what looked like a bird mixed with a horse. All the figurines were made from shiny black iron, and Harry couldn't help touching the rounding head of the cobra.

He used to have a few figurines in his cupboard, small toys that Dudley had broken or no longer cared about. Some horses and knights to play battle on the shelf above his bed, Harry remembered. Two horses had lost legs, and one knight didn't have an arm, but Harry had liked them anyway, with their worn edges and faded paint where his small fingers had held them over and over again.

He knew he was far too old, but he couldn't help wishing he could play with the iron figurines on Snape's shelf. No, not play, because that sounded babyish, but maybe arrange the figurines in order of height or fierceness.

He knew he shouldn't touch, but he couldn't help picking up the dragon. Hagrid had that baby dragon in the spring, and Harry wondered if Norbert would grow up to be as scary-looking and dangerous as the dragon in his hand.

Suddenly, the iron dragon began to move, and Harry nearly dropped it. He kept hold of it, but the dragon kept moving, shifting his feet and spreading out his wings.

"Can you fly?" Harry asked the figurine softly. "Do you want to fly?"

The dragon began pumping up and down its wings as if it were about to launch into flight. Harry held his palm out flat.

"Come on, fly," he encouraged. "You can do it."

He pushed his hand up and the dragon was airborne. For a glorious moment, Harry knew it would fly, it could soar high up in the room. But then the dragon fell like any other toy. It hit the ground, and one wing broken off.

"No," Harry whispered as he picked it up, careful not to break off the other wing. "No, no, no."

He shouldn't have touched it, but he wanted to let it fly, wanted to free it and let it soar wherever it chose. He placed the broken figurine on the shelf, praying Snape wouldn't notice. Harry was about to run back to his seat when he saw a piece of paper stick out from between two books. He would have gone back to his seat, but he caught sight of the title of one book: Lily, Fairest of the Flowers.

Harry smiled a little bit as he always did when reminded of his mother. It was an odd book to find in Snape's house, Snape who hated everything pretty and sweet. Harry reached for the paper, wondering what kind of paper Snape would keep near such a book. Probably a spell to kill all lilies and any other flowers Snape didn't like.

The handwriting on the paper was small and curvy, a lovely cursive that wove the letters together.

My dear Severus, the letter began, I write this from the bedroom of my parents' house. My sister had not come yet, but I pray she will. The guests will arrive any moment, and I can see all the flowers from my window. My dress hangs from the doorway, white and lacey just like I always imagined. Everything is perfect, except that you are not here. I want you to know - I need you to know now and forever that I will always -

Footsteps sounded in the hall.

Harry stuffed the letter back between the two books and dashed to his desk. He sat down and put his hands on the desktop, trying to look innocent as the door opened behind him. Harry took short, quiet breaths to calm himself as Snape walked in and came towards him.