“Harry. Harry, come on. Get up, mate!” Ron said, shaking Harry hard.

“Alright, alright!” Harry said, slapping Ron’s hand away. “I’m up, I’m up!”

Ron grinned at Harry as he got up, grabbing a his clothes and pulling them on quickly. Harry tended to sleep in just his shorts lately, because the fabric of his pajamas aggravated his back and the becks of his legs. He had meant to get new ones in Diagon Alley, but hadn’t gotten the chance.

He threw his school robes over his uniform and slipped on his shoes. He tried in vain to smooth his wild hair, growling and glaring at Ron when he laughed.

He was letting it grow out in the hopes it might tame itself, but so far that had only served to get it in his eyes more. Though, somehow, it seemed to be getting silkier…

“Are you coming, Harry, or are you just gonna stand with your hands on your head all day?” Ron said, grabbing his friend’s arm. Harry through him a mock glare, but followed the red-head down to the common room, where Hermione was already waiting.

Someone else was there too.

When Harry saw Arynn, the events of the night before came rushing back, and he groaned softly.

“Hello, boys,” Hermione said, smiling at them. Ron smiled back and Harry managed a half-grin.

“Hi, Harry. Hi, Ron,” Arynn said, grinning at the pair. Ron nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable with the girl. Harry didn’t do anything, until Hermione elbowed him in the stomach.

“Uh, hi,” he said, staring blankly at the girl’s long hair, or her shoes, or anywhere other than her face. He knew he’d never be able to keep his mouth shut about last night if he looked at her face.

Hermione sighed, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Idiotic boys!” under her breath.

“Well, come on then. We’ve got to go eat. Goodness knows we’ll need a good breakfast. We’ve got Potions, first class.”

Ron groaned. “We’d be better off without breakfast, Hermione. I’ll probably end up sicking up everything in my stomach if I look at Snape!” he said, whining slightly.

“Is he really that bad?” Arynn said. “I mean, I’ve heard he’s not the nicest person in the world, but surely he can’t be that awful!”

Ron looked at her in horror. “He is that bad. And worse.” He said passionately. “He’s the snarkiest, evilest git in the world!” he cried.

“’Evilest’ isn’t a word, Ronald!” Hermione muttered. The red-head glared at her.

“Guys?” Harry said, trying to break up the fight before it started. “I think we need to go?” he said, taking Ron’s arm and pulling him. After a moment, the girls followed.

Harry sighed softly as he reached the door of the Potion’s classroom, a sickening feeling of fear and dread settling in his gut.

Hermione came up behind him, giving him a sad smile, and pushed him slightly to get him moving. He gave her a grateful smile as he walked into the classroom.

As he made his way to a desk, he couldn’t help feeling that there was some truth in Ron’s statement about breakfast. As he looked at Snape, who was sitting behind his desk flipping through a text, he did feel as though he were about to sick up. Though, it wasn’t from disgust. It was from fear, and nervousness, and…embaressment.

He was frightened of his Potions Master.

He had realized this at the beginning of last year. His hands had shaken so much during his first Potions Class that he had botched up his and Ron’s potion, causing the cauldron to bubble over and Snape to yell at them for almost five minutes straight. He had sank lower and lower in his chair as the man yelled, wishing for all the world he was invisible, and praying his potions master wouldn’t see that he was afraid, because he didn’t even know why he was afraid in the first place. And he was even more frightened now, because of what had happened on the train. What would Snape do? Would he be even worse than he usually was? How could someone so awful have felt so…safe?

“Harry!”

He was shaken out of his worries when he heard someone hiss his name. He turned to Hermione.

“You’re paired with Arynn!” she whispered, pointing to the girl who was waiting expectantly at the desk behind him. He hurried to join her, and immediately began chopping the root that was lying on the table. He didn’t look at the girl, and they worked easily (and in silence) for about 20 minutes. Soon, their potion was almost done, and the only ingredient left was some sort of root, which Harry immediately began to chop. He chopped hurriedly, hoping he would get through the class without anymore cryptic messages from the girl beside him. But never mind what he wanted. Harry silently cursed the fates when he heard a barely audible whisper in his ear.

“I know what’s going on,” the girl said, leaning closer to him. “I know all about you, Mr. Snape. I know how frightened you are. I know-“ she stopped as Harry let out a strangled cry.

He had been concentrating on her words and hadn’t been paying attention to what- or where- he was cutting. A deep red line ran across the inside of his thumb. Harry put it to his mouth and sucked on it to try and stop the bleeding.

“Stop that!” he heard, and he flinched as his thumb was pulled from his mouth. He looked up to see Snape standing over him. He hadn’t even heard the man come close.

“Class dismissed.” The silky voice commanded, and the students beat a hasty retreat, leaving their nearly finished potions still simmering in their cauldrons. Snape drew his wand and Harry flinched again, but the man merely muttered a vanishing spell and returned the wand to the folds of his robes.

“Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Thompson. Leave.” He said, not even glancing over his shoulder at the three. They all gave Harry sympathetic looks, but left. Harry didn’t blame them.

“Sit.” Snape said, pushing the boy into a chair. Harry watched him warily as he walked to his desk and opened a drawer. Harry let out a soft sigh of relief when all he took out was a white cloth and two potions vials. One was a filled with a creamy paste-like substance that reminded Harry a bit of Aunt Petunia’s nail polish; and the other held a clear, thin liquid that Harry thought could have been rubbing alchohol.

The man came back to Harry and sitting the vials on the desk, pressed the cloth against his still-bleeding thumb. When he pulled it away, it was soaked with blood.

“Honestly, Potter.” The man muttered. “How you can injure yourself on your first day back is beyond me.” He said, though there was no malice in his voice. Harry found this odd, and he wanted to look at the man’s face to see if his eyes betrayed any thoughts, but he didn’t dare. Instead, he focused on the man’s hands, which were currently reaching for the vial of clear liquid.

Harry tensed as he pulled the stopper out of the vial, waiting for the pain that was sure to come if that liquid was what he thought it was. Snape must have seen him tense up, because he said:

“Yes, this looks like rubbing alchohol, but it isn’t. It’s similar to it, in the way that it rids the wound of toxins and germs, but it doesn’t sting. It simply gives you a tingling sensation.”

And it did indeed, because Harry barely felt anything when the liquid was poured over his thumb. But that might have been because he was in shock at hearing Snape talk about rubbing alchohol. He didn’t think the man knew anything about muggle methods.

“He’s a Potions Master. Of course he’d know about muggle medicine, stupid!” he thought to himself as he watched the slender hands pick up the other vial.

“This helps mend the skin, Potter.” He said as he pulled the stopper out of the vial and dipped his long fingers in the sticky substance. Then he gently rubbed the stuff across Harry’s cut. Harry watched in amazement as the skin slowly began to pull itself together.

After a few moments, Snape removed his fingers, and Harry gaped. The cut was gone, with no evidence of it ever being there in the first place.

He stopped staring at the space where the cut should have been only when he heard Snape say:

“Get going. You’ll be late.”

Harry did as he was told, jumping from his stool and grabbing his bag, pausing to give the man a soft ‘thank-you’ before he raced out the door.

If he had chanced a look at his Potions Master, he would have seen the look of disbelief on the man’s face as he took an empty vial from his robes and placed the bloody cloth inside it.