“Hey, mate – what’s wrong?” Ron asked, throwing himself down on the Common Room sofa next to Harry.

His friend shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Oh, come now, Harry,” Hermione coaxed, seating herself on his other side. “You’ve been out of sorts for a few days now. What is it?”

“Restriction’s nearly over – you should be happy,” Ron reminded him, trying to cheer Harry, but the other boy just nodded.

Hermione studied him. Was Harry sulking over the punishment? He would hardly be the first person to begin to chafe under a week-long ban. She had expected Ron to start complaining days ago, but he was still so chuffed over his new wand that he really hadn’t noticed much of anything else. But no, Harry didn’t seem like the type. But then what was it? “Did you and Professor Snape have an argument?” she hazarded a guess.

He huffed. “How? I practically never see him these days.”

Ron’s face creased in confusion. “Huh? But we see him in Potions and he just supervised us the other night and –“

“I never see him alone any more,” Harry clarified. “ ‘S'not like we’re gonna have an argument in class.”

“Oh. Right,” Ron nodded.

Hermione nodded too. “You miss him,” she said knowingly.

Harry turned scarlet. “Do not! You think I’m such a baby?” he demanded angrily, uncharacteristically short-tempered.

The girl was taken aback. “No, Harry! No! I just meant that – well, you and Professor Snape haven’t had much time to get to know each other. It’s only reasonable that there are a lot of things you still want to talk about. I didn’t mean that you were – were homesick or anything like that.” Ron watched, wide eyed, as Hermione anxiously tried to placate their friend.

“Okay then,” Harry muttered, mollified. He stared moodily into the fire for a few minutes, while his friends exchanged nervous glances above his head, but his conscience wouldn’t let him keep silent for very long.

“Sorry,” he mumbled guiltily, not looking at Hermione. It really wasn’t fair to take out his bad mood on either of his friends. Hermione just had to figure out any puzzle in front of her, and just because he was a little embarrassed about missing Snape didn’t mean he should snap at her like that. And Ron had been his first friend ever – though Harry doubted he’d stay a friend if he kept ignoring him like that.

“ ‘S’okay, mate,” Ron answered for both of them, throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “It’s like Hermione said, we’ve had eleven years with our folks – it’s not such a big deal for us to be away from ‘em. You don’t miss the Dursleys, do you?” Harry shuddered and shook his head. “See? It’s just that Snape’s new. That’s why you miss him. Totally reasonable, yeah?” he asked Hermione.

“Absolutely,” she agreed, glad to see Harry now smiling shyly.

“Thanks,” he said, grateful to have such wonderful friends. “ ‘S’just that when I’ve gone down to see him the last few times, he’s been too busy to talk. I mean, I can go stay in my room if I want, but he won’t let me stay with him, not even to cut up potion ingredients.” His shoulders drooped. “Maybe he’s gotten bored with me.”

“Nah, mate!” Ron disagreed. “Why’d he do that?”

“I dunno. But it’s not like I have anything interesting to talk to him about. He’s always doing something really important, like remember the other day, when the Headmaster put him on that committee? He always is busy with stuff like that. An’ he’s been working extra-hard on some project lately…” He shrugged again, despondently. “What do I do ‘cept go to classes?”

“I don’t know that you’re being very fair to yourself, Harry,” Hermione pointed out, as usual the voice of reason. “I mean, we’ve been on restriction for the past week. He would have been angry if you had done something interesting.”

“Yeah. Once you’re allowed to fly again, then you’ll have plenty to talk to him about!” Ron said encouragingly.

Harry still looked doubtful. “I guess… ‘Cept he’s not really that interested in Quidditch.”

Ron looked horrified. “Not interested in – Are you kidding?”

Harry and Hermione exchanged an amused look. “Well, I mean, he wants his House to win the Cup an’ all, but it’s not like he spends lots of time reading the Quidditch scores in the Prophet or anything like that.”

Ron shook his head in amazement. “Blimey.”

“Well,” Hermione said, ever practical, “why don’t you do something that he would find interesting?”

Harry perked up. “That’s a great idea!”

“Yeah! ...Uh, like what?” Ron asked after a moment.

“Well, you could do an extra credit research project in Potions,” Hermione began animatedly. “Or maybe –“

“Nah,” Harry brushed aside her ideas excitedly. “We’ll solve a mystery!”

Hermione looked apprehensive. “What mystery? You’d better not be talking about the third floor -”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No, Hermione. I’m not stupid, okay? Pr’fessor Snape would kill me if I went up there after the Headmaster told us all not to an’ said it was dangerous an’ all. An’ even worse than that, the Headmaster might decide to send me back to the Dursleys for disobeying him.”

“But what other mystery is there?” she asked blankly.

“Professor Quirrell!”

“There’s a mystery about Professor Quirrell?” Ron echoed, confused.

“Sure!” Harry’s eyes were shining. “I mean, Pr’fessor Snape can’t stand him – he’s always giving him The Look – an’ that’s got to mean something. An’ now he’s been in the Infirmary since the Quidditch match – that’s got to mean something too!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Boys! Always trying to find a secret when there wasn’t one. “It means that the poor man fell down the stands in all the excitement. The Headmaster announced that he’d been badly hurt and would have to stay there for a while, remember?”

Harry huffed in disbelief. “C’mon! Madame Pomfrey fixed your wrist up in no time – what could he have done to himself that takes more than a week to fix? If he’s that hurt, why would he stay here? Shouldn’t he be in a hospital?” He paused abruptly, a little uncertain. “There are Wizard hospitals, right?”

Ron looked thoughtful. “He does have a point, Hermione. If anyone’s really hurt, they should be taken to the wizarding hospital, St Mungo’s. I mean, Madame Pomfrey’s really good an’ all, but she’s only one person, and this is just a school infirmary. St Mungo’s has a big staff and special spells and all that stuff.”

“Hmmmmm.” Harry saw that look in Hermione’s eye and knew she too was hooked.

“And then there’s the biggest mystery of all,” Harry said temptingly. “What’s under his turban?”

Ron snorted in amusement. “Is that like asking what’s under his kilt?”

Hermione gave him a primly disapproving glance, ignoring Harry’s snigger. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Ronald.”

“Seriously, though,” Harry persisted. “I overheard some of the older students talking, and he never used to wear a turban, so why’d he start? Maybe he’s hiding something in it!”

Hermione looked at him doubtfully. “Why? If he had something to hide, why not just put it in Gringotts or someplace else that’s safe?”

“Maybe he can’t. Maybe it’s something on him,” Ron suggested. “Like – like a curse scar!” he exclaimed, his eye falling on Harry’s.

“He’s a DADA teacher. Why would he need to hide a curse scar?” Hermione argued.

“Maybe because he lost the fight and he doesn’t want everyone to ask about it and find out?” Ron offered, a bit lamely.

“I bet he’s just going bald and is vain about it,” Hermione said dismissively. “Men can be very silly about losing their hair.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. And girls aren’t silly about their hair at all.” He mimicked Lavender’s high voice and petulant tones. “Ooooh, I just don’t know what I’m going to do, Parvati! My hair just won’t stay the way I want it to. You’re so lucky that your hair is so perfect. I wish I had straight hair like yours!”

Harry got into the game. “Oooooh, Lavender, I don’t know what you mean! I just love your hair. You’ve got those lovely curls. I wish I had curly hair!” Harry minced in a passable impersonation of Parvati.

Hermione huffed. “Just you wait, you two. In a few years, you’ll be in front of the mirrors too – wanting to look nice and impress all the girls!”

Harry and Ron collapsed in laughter. “Us? Mirrors? Girls? Yeah, right!”

Hermione huffed again and rolled her eyes. Sometimes it was so hard being the mature one.

#

Snape looked over the piles of parchment still to be corrected and sighed. Work had really piled up over the last week, thanks to all the time he had spent masterminding Black’s reemergence into the Wizarding world. Not to mention convincing Dumbledore that he had to do something about Quirrell. After the last Quidditch match, he had told Albus in no uncertain terms to get rid of the stuttering wreck, but the Headmaster had proved surprisingly recalcitrant.

At first Snape had assumed that, once again, Albus’ inability to see the Dark side of anyone was blinding him to the threat that the man posed to Harry, but further conversation had made it clear that Dumbledore simply wanted to know who was giving Quirrell his orders.

“You and I both know that Professor Quirrell has neither the wit nor ambition to attack The Boy Who Lived of his own accord,” Dumbledore had said, his mien for once grim. “I want to know who has the audacity to attack one of my students on these very grounds.”

Snape had grudgingly admitted the logic of such a plan – could it be Lucius? Or one of the LeStranges, pulling strings from Azkaban? Or perhaps… He was forced to admit that not knowing was just too dangerous. “Very well, but how are you going to prevent him from attacking Harry again or – on the off chance that if it isn’t a Death Eater plot – some other student?”

“He will remain in the Infirmary, recovering from his very nasty spill,” Dumbledore replied, twinkling again. “It seems in all the confusion poor Professor Quirrell lost his footing and suffered some very serious injuries in a fall from the stands.”

Snape unwillingly agreed. At least it bought them some time. It kept Quirrell isolated and Harry safe while not – necessarily – tipping off whoever was pulling Quirrell’s strings. But he didn’t trust Albus entirely, and he had taken to prowling the corridors near the Infirmary during the night, ensuring that the DADA professor didn’t sneak out while Madame Pomfrey slept.

Between guarding Quirrell, scripting Sirius’ press conferences, teaching class, and keeping an eye on his House, he was feeling more than a little frazzled. He hadn’t really paid much attention to Harry, either, though at least he saw him in class and at the Great Hall for meals, not to mention during those evenings when he had supervised their punishment. For a few days the boy had seemed a little quiet, but now he and his little friends constantly had their heads together, whispering and muttering. Obviously they were plotting something to celebrate the end of being on restriction, and if they weren’t careful, they’d end up right back on it, Snape fumed. He had no intention of allowing Harry to run wild the way his father had, though he had to admit he hadn’t been a particularly good guardian of late. Perhaps he needed to do something with the brat, just to remind the little terror that he was under close scrutiny.

#

“NO! No no no no. No.”

Albus smiled. “I just wish you to think about it, my boy.”

“Have you gone deaf, Headmaster? I said no. The idea is absurd. When I brought up the topic, I was thinking more along the lines of having the brat do his homework in my quarters one evening,” Snape snapped, mentally kicking himself for even mentioning his thoughts to Albus.

“So that he can be working at one table and you at another? That is hardly spending time with him.”

“It most certainly is spending time with him. He would be in my presence, would he not? That is the meaning of the term ‘with him’. And your idea is patently ridiculous. I am not going to encourage the little monster to celebrate the end of a punishment. That would be the epitome of encouraging bad behavior!”

“I made no such suggestion, Severus –“

“Taking that brat out for an ice cream the first day he’s off restriction most certainly is celebrating the end of that restriction. I am not going to buy him sweets and make a fuss over him when he earned every day of that restriction with his appalling actions.” Snape sulked. “It would be the same as telling him the punishment was too harsh.”

“You are neither celebrating nor apologizing for the punishment,” Dumbledore argued calmly. “You are commemorating the fact that, now that he has served his punishment to your satisfaction, he is once again permitted normal privileges. What is more you are reminding him of some of those privileges, such as an excursion to town and a treat.” He paused, his twinkle replaced by a crafty gleam. “In some ways, it would be quite cruel, you know, showing him what he had missed for the past week and reminding him what he stands to lose, should he misbehave again.”

Severus’ expression shifted the tiniest bit, and Dumbledore pressed his advantage. “And it would remove him from the castle and Professor Quirrell during a weekend day when it might otherwise be difficult to keep track of him. He might, for example, wish to wander around a bit after being cooped up for so long. He did behave himself, didn’t he? No sneaking around despite his restriction?”

“No,” Snape admitted unwillingly. He’d been rather surprised by that. James Potter would never have accepted his punishment so meekly, but Harry and the others had obeyed the strictures, turned in their essays, and even assisted in potion ingredient preparation without any complaints or whinging.

“There, you see?” Albus said happily, as if Snape had just agreed with his ludicrous proposal. “Have a good time, my boy.”

“Headmaster, even if I were going to remove the boy from school grounds, there is no reason to take him all the way to Diagon Alley. Hogsmeade is perfectly adequate for – “

“No, no, my boy. Diagon Alley. Harry needs to experience Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor,” Albus smiled as he walked away, leaving Snape to fume by himself.

Well? Should he do what the old coot patently wanted and take the boy on an outing? It would give him yet another treat he could withhold for punishment, and the broom had worked out spectacularly in that regard…

Oh, all right. He might as well, since he knew that Dumbledore wouldn’t give him a moment’s peace until he had done so. Besides, this way he could pick up some ingredients while they were out and see if there were any new potions journals at Flourish and Blotts. But he certainly wasn’t bringing along a whole passle of brats. He shuddered at the thought of shepherding Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy, and the rest of Harry’s friends around the Alley. No, he thought sternly, this was not a trip for Potter’s little entourage. If the brat refused to come without his friends, then he would just learn what it felt like to sit in his quarters and copy lines for the day. That would show him that there were worse things than having to accompany his stern guardian around London and behave himself. If Potter thought a trip without his friends was too boring to contemplate, then he’d quickly learn the truth. Snape nodded in satisfaction. He’d make it clear that this was no treat for the boy, but an obligation about which he’d better not complain.

#

Harry trotted happily at his guardian’s side. He was so lucky! Professor Snape was taking him all the way to London with him! Just him, Harry. Nobody else. Not Flint or Jones or even Draco – no, Professor Snape had chosen him over any of his snakes. Even Hermione, with her better grades, would have been a more reasonable choice in some ways, but no, his professor had wanted him.

Harry beamed. He’d never had an adult want to spend time with him before, yet there was no other explanation for Professor Snape’s behavior. Harry felt like he could burst from happiness.

Even Professor Snape’s timing was perfect. This was their first day off restriction, and Hermione had been waiting outside the door for Madame Pince to open the library that morning. She was planning to spend the day there, among the books, making up for her absence over the last week. Harry shook his head. Girls.

Meanwhile, the twins had promised to smuggle Ron down to the kitchens and bribe the house elves to let him have all the puddings he’d missed over the last week. Harry suspected that they were hoping that Ron would eat himself sick, but he had more faith in his best mate’s enormous appetite. He suspected the twins might be disappointed when their “good deed” turned out to be exactly that, but maybe he was being unfair. Their promise about today had carried Ron through some of the long, long meals when he could only stare in mute longing at the desserts. Harry had told Ron not to linger at the table once the pudding was served, knowing from bitter experience at the Dursleys that it was much worse to be able to see and smell the foods that you had no chance of tasting, but Ron preferred to torture himself.

His behavior had ensured that the rest of the school knew all about the punishment, and as a result Harry had been the recipient of more than one sympathetic look from students who obviously considered his guardian to be a fearsome disciplinarian. Most of the other teachers would have been content to assign detention and perhaps lines, they said. Only Snape would select such targeted and painful penalties.

Harry had happily accepted his schoolmates’ solicitude – it made quite a change from being reviled as “that freaky kid who lives with the Dursleys” – but he was really rather proud that his guardian didn’t just beat the hell out of him (as the Dursleys would have) or use an uncaring “one size fits all” approach (as the rest of the faculty seemed to do) when he screwed up. He found it rather nice that his professor spent time thinking about what would make the most impression on him and chose punishments that actually taught him something, like the essay, or matched the infraction, like the restriction. He wasn’t sure why the other students didn’t see it that way, but he supposed it might be a Wizarding thing and didn’t give it much thought.

And now, as if to address all his fears about his Professor still being mad at him, here he was being taken to Diagon Alley as a special treat! Professor Snape had made it clear that he was going to the Alley to run some errands, and he didn’t normally take anyone along, but he was going to allow Harry to come with him! He’d even taken the time to explain exactly how Harry should behave, which made Harry even happier. The last time he’d been at the Alley with Hagrid had been fun, but he’d been all too aware that he’d stuck out like a sore thumb, not knowing how to dress or talk or behave. This time, Professor Snape had made sure Harry was well prepared and wouldn’t make a fool of himself. He was even allowing Harry to walk beside him, rather than making him stay several steps behind the way his relatives always made him do. Harry hugged himself in delight. This was one of the best days of his life.

Snape glanced down at the urchin walking at his side. At least the brat was keeping up with his longer strides now. At first the little menace had trailed behind, but after he’d seized him by the wrist and yanked him along, holding his hand as if he were a misbehaving toddler, the brat had learned his lesson. Now he was sticking by his side and – oddly enough – smiling.

Snape grudgingly admired the fiend’s ability to accept a rebuke. Most of his Slytherins – including, if he had to be honest, himself – would have sulked for hours after such treatment, but Harry just seemed to take Snape’s point and move on. He’d behaved similarly after Snape had sat him down and explained in excruciating detail just how he expected Harry to conduct himself. He’d outlined all the behaviors that were unacceptable and drilled him on basic etiquette until he’d expected the boy to explode. He was eleven, after all, and he couldn’t appreciate being lectured on such basic things as using a public toilet’s hand washing spells or excusing himself if he came between a wizard and his familiar on the street.

Yet Harry had listened with every appearance of rapt attention, and Snape had been defeated in his attempt to catch the child out in a display of sarcasm. Even his “thank you” after listening to Snape drone on about proper greetings for the Gringotts goblins sounded sincere and interested. Snape decided that Albus must have whispered something to the brat about Fortescue’s, and the boy wasn’t going to do anything that might jeopardize his treat, no matter how insulted he might actually feel.

Snape had been surprised that the brat hadn’t even asked about bringing along his friends, but again, perhaps Albus had warned him. He had to admit, the boy was – so far – behaving very well indeed. He hadn’t even sicked up after they Apparated, much to Snape’s surprise.

#

Harry was in Heaven. He’d loved the sensation of side-along apparition, especially as it gave him a socially acceptable reason to give his guardian a hug. Snape had looked at him a little oddly, but hadn’t objected, and the man had even given him a little pat on the shoulder and a “well done” when Harry kept his feet during the transport. And now, they had been wandering the Alley for hours.

Snape kept going into the most fascinating stores – with weird potion ingredients and captivating books – and he’d actually bought Harry something at most of them. This was utterly unprecedented in Harry’s experience, and he’d protested, but his professor had insisted in his usual way. “Potter! I have had enough of your impertinence! Having the companion guide to your potions textbook will enable you to develop your essay themes in much greater detail. No more arguments. I will be purchasing this book, and you will be reading it. Do you understand?”

And now Harry kept flipping through the amazing book – which had step by step animated illustrations to show the difference between chopping and dicing and why stirring counterclockwise was important and how to tell salamander eyes from newt eyes and… “Potter! Pay attention! You nearly walked into that stand!”

“Sorry, sir, ma’am,” Harry said quickly, nodding to the stand’s owner. The old lady caught sight of his scar and gasped in delight.

“Ooooh, Mr Potter, sir! Here, have one on the house!” She stuck a stick in his hand and waved away his thanks.

Harry hurried over to where Professor Snape stood waiting, a sour look on his face. “What is it, sir?” he asked, holding it out for inspection.

“An all day sucker,” Snape snapped. “It tastes like whatever is appropriate for the hour – pancakes in the morning, tea at midday, and so on.”

“Brilliant!” Harry said, popping it into his mouth. “Mmm!”

Snape huffed. “Just what you need – more sugar.”

Harry started to remove the lollie, but Snape shook his head at him scoldingly. “It would be most ungracious to refuse it, and I suppose you still require additional caloric supplementation to make up for past neglect.”

Harry happily replaced the sucker and handed over his book for the professor to stow with the rest of his purchases.

“Potter,” Snape said, a bit uncomfortably, as they continued down the street, “are you… all right?”

“Huh? I din’ hurt m’sel on th’stand if tha’s what you mean?” Harry asked, a bit confused.

“Do not mumble around that treat in such a slovenly fashion,” Snape corrected sharply. “Take it out of your mouth when you are speaking.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. What do you mean, am I all right?”

“It is a simple enough question.” Snape’s voice was harsh, revealing his feeling of awkwardness. “You have experienced many changes in your life over the past few months. It would be natural to feel – unsettled.”

“Oh.” Harry thought about it. His life certainly had changed a lot, but they were all good changes. He had a new place to live, friends for the first time, more than enough to eat, and – best of all – he had his guardian who looked after him and spoiled him with outings and presents. He was learning to use his magic, and no one had called him a freak in months. Even when he got into trouble here, he didn’t have to fear a beating… Could life get any better? “I don’t think I feel unsettled. Everything’s good,” he assured his professor.

“Has the attention around your godfather been,” Snape cleared his throat uncomfortably, “difficult for you?”

Harry considered. The only real difficulty had come when Snape had caught him looking at what had turned out to be a naughty picture. Harry still wasn’t sure whether his godfather had helped to kill his parents or not – he figured his professor would let him know when everything had been sorted out and a decision reached on that point – but even if it hadn’t been him, someone had helped kill them and they’d still be dead no matter what. Harry suspected that if he were still living with the Durselys, then he’d care a lot more about his godfather’s guilt or innocence, as that might provide him with a way to escape his relatives’ care, but since he now had his professor, the whole thing became a lot less relevant.

Besides, he didn’t know what this godfather was like. Most of his life, Harry’s luck had been pretty rotten, and he knew better than to expect things to turn out well for him. What if his godfather was mean or bullying like the Dursleys? Or even just a lot less tolerant than his guardian? Harry had had enough of getting screamed at and whacked (really whacked, not the little swats his professor administered) and made to scrub floors. He knew his professor would never do any of those things – but with this new unknown anything was possible. No, Harry was very happy right where he was.

He knew his professor was still waiting for an answer, so he shrugged. “Not really.”

Snape frowned. Was the brat in denial? Burying his feelings? Hmm. He might have to get a few more books on child psychology. Perhaps those Muggle books he’d special ordered had finally arrived at Flourish and Blotts. “Come along, Potter,” he led the way into the store. “You may select two books to purchase,” he said sternly. “Only two, mind!”

Harry’s jaw fell open. “B-but, Professor –“

“No arguments,” Snape snapped. Greedy little fiend! “Two!”

“But you already got me a book! You don’t have to buy me any more!” Harry protested. He’d already cost the professor so much today.

Snape blinked, readjusting his preconceptions. “Potter,” he said, his tone significantly less sharp, “I am perfectly aware that I don’t ‘have’ to buy you these books, but it is customary to be permitted a few treats on a shopping expedition – if you behave yourself like a young wizard should,” he added hastily, lest the brat come to think he was entitled to such gifts.

The smile spread over Harry’s face like sunshine. “So I’ve been good? I’ve behaved properly?”

“Didn’t I just say that? Shall I have Madame Pomfrey check your hearing?” Snape asked snarkily. “Now go look for your books. I will not sit around and wait while you dilly dally!”

Harry shot off, straight for the Quidditch section. How predictable. Snape rolled his eyes and made for the counter at the back of the shop.

He’d just finished paying for his books and was about to go in search of the little monster when a voice behind him purred, “Severus. So good to see you again.”

“Lucius.” He turned, his face carefully neutral.

“Mr Malfoy! Hi!” Harry appeared at his side, grinning up at Malfoy. “Is Draco here too?”

“No, I assume Draco is safely back at Hogwarts,” Lucius replied, casting a pointed glance at Snape. “School is still in session, is it not?”

Severus’ eyes narrowed, but he didn’t take the bait. Harry, on the other hand, was as artless as usual. “Oh, sure. But Professor Snape had to run some errands, so he brought me with him. Wasn’t that nice of him?”

“It certainly was,” Malfoy answered, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “He must take exceptionally good care of you.”

Harry nodded vigorously. “He’s brilliant!”

“That’s why I was surprised to hear of your latest adventures,” Malfoy continued, finally turning to look at the boy directly. “A troll, Mr Potter?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “How did you know about – Oh! Did Draco write you about it?”

“He did, though I had already read about it in the paper.”

Now Harry’s mouth formed an “O” of surprise. “The newspaper! The newspaper wrote about the troll?” He spun to face Snape. “Did you know that?”

“Why, Mr Potter, of course the newspaper was interested in learning that students at Hogwarts had been threatened by a troll,” Lucius answered before Snape could. “Hogwarts is getting to be a very dangerous place.”

“And yet despite the troll’s efforts, the boy is fine,” Snape replied coldly. “You would do well to remember that.”

“Did they write about everything?” Harry demanded, oblivious to the undercurrents between the two men. He looked at Snape beseechingly. “Did they say about… you know?” At Snape’s look of incomprehension, he threw an agonized look over his shoulder at Lucius, then hissed, “You know. About our punishments an’ all?”

Snape rolled his eyes. Children! “No, Mr Potter, although I am all too aware that the public’s insatiable curiosity about you doubtless means that they would like to know that you were smacked and restricted – “ Harry squirmed, casting a mortified glance at Lucius’ amused face “ – no such information was contained in the article. It merely noted that a troll had entered Hogwarts and threatened several students before being neutralized. Most of the article focused on the obvious need to improve the school wards lest such a thing happen again.”

“Oh.” Harry was relieved. He didn’t want everyone to know such embarrassing details about his life. It was bad enough that most of the school knew! “So are they going to be? The wards, I mean. Improved.”

“Oh, yes,” Snape replied calmly. “The public outcry was enormous. Fudge authorized the additional expenditure last week, and I understand the Headmaster will have the new wards in place very soon.”

If he ended up writing any more press releases, he was going to have to add “journalist” to his resume, but after Albus banned all reporters from school grounds, the Prophet had been only too glad to accept his account of the event, under a penname. And that allowed him the opportunity to improve the school wards, further safeguarding his charge. He had been telling Dumbledore for years that the wards were getting worn, but in the absence of any credible threat, his words had fallen on deaf ears. Other areas of castle maintenance had always been seen as more pressing.

Well, no longer. Now Albus was installing some of the most powerful and comprehensive wards available, aided by Gringotts’ best.

Lucius looked as if he had smelled something unpleasant. “I see,” he said shortly. “And what about the Quidditch game? What happened there?”

“Did that make it into the newspaper too?” Harry asked in disbelief.

“No. That I heard about from Draco,” Lucius admitted.

“Have you found your two books?” Snape interrupted before the brat could answer Lucius’ question.

“Erm – one of them,” Harry admitted.

“Then go find another. Run along!” Snape’s tone admitted no room for discussion, and Harry hurried away. The Potion Master turned to Malfoy, eyeing him assessingly. “And what do you know about the Quidditch game?” he asked coolly.

Malfoy spread his hands in a mocking gesture. “Why, nothing, Severus. Only that it appears that – again – your ward was the victim of an attack. That sort of thing seems to happen quite frequently, doesn’t it?”

“Mm. And yet, the boy is fine, and it’s his assailants who are suffering ill health.” Snape was doing everything in his power to spin events to carry that message. The stronger and more invulnerable the boy appeared, the fewer Death Eaters would have the courage to attack him, particularly in the absence of Lord Voldemort to spur them on.

Malfoy frowned. “I’ve thought about what you said,” he said, abruptly changing the subject.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“I admit you raised some ideas that were… new… to me, but you can hardly expect me to throw in my lot with some child on the basis of a few lucky encounters.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you would term surviving a Killing Curse?”

“No one knows whether that was the boy or his mother or even some miscalculation on the part of –“ Lucius glanced around and lowered his voice “- the Dark Lord.”

“And the troll? And the latest attempt on his life?”

“Suggestive, but not compelling,” Lucius said dismissively. “The boy needs to do more to prove he is indeed a match for… Well. You understand what I mean.”

“The boy is merely eleven and already he has achieved what no other wizard has done.”

“I’m not yet convinced. When I am, I’ll let you know.”

Snape inclined his head and moved away. In truth, he’d gotten more of a concession from Malfoy then he had expected. Obviously the Dark Lord’s defeat ten years ago had shaken him badly, not to mention the near disaster his allegiance had caused his family. Voldemort’s methods may have attracted someone of Lucius’ rather unusual tastes and his notion of pureblood superiority had doubtless appealed to the blond’s vanity, but Lucius’ primary loyalty would always be first and foremost to the Malfoy name. Unlike his sister-in-law, whose fanaticism for the Dark Lord knew no bounds, Malfoy had only been in it for the torture and the power. He had never had any desire to promote Voldemort’s philosophy at the cost of his own interests… hence his pleading the Imperius, while Bellatrix’s unwavering allegiance to Voldemort had ensured her the cell next to Black’s.

Of course, while Malfoy was unquestionably out to cut the best deal he could for himself and his family name, until he was convinced that it was in his interests to ally with Harry and not against him, he remained dangerous. Snape wasn’t sure what Lucius had meant with his comment about Harry needing to prove himself. It sounded somewhat ominous, though Snape was reassured by the prospect of the new wards that would soon be in place.

He collected Harry, reviewed and grudgingly approved his book selection (one was on famous Seekers while the other, titled ‘There and Back Again’, appeared to be a travelogue), then escorted him to the ice cream parlor. He had known this was going to be a chore, but he was genuinely surprised by how impossibly the brat behaved.

Harry’s eyes were enormous as he stared at all the different kinds of ice creams. He changed his order three times, running from one end of the display counter to the other in an agony of indecision. Finally Snape’s patience snapped, and he ordered the boy to one of the tables under threat of a sticking hex.

A few moments later, he arrived at the table bearing the boy’s enormous sundae and his own modest scoop. “Have you calmed down yet?” he grumbled irritably, shoving the sundae in front of the little monster. “You’re carrying on as if you’ve never had – oh.” Abruptly he understood the reason for the boy’s excitement.

Harry reddened, but he didn’t confirm Snape’s suspicion. He didn’t have to.

“Well.” Snape struggled to recapture some of his earlier irritation lest this useless surge of pity overwhelm him. Even his own father – on the few occasions he wasn’t drunk and abusive – had taken him out for ice cream. “I daresay that we will have many opportunities to have ice cream in future,” he informed the brat, “and I expect you to bear that in mind and behave with a modicum of dignity.”

Harry’s embarrassment drained away. Professor Snape had just promised to take him for ice cream lots of times! And wizard ice cream looked lots better than the boring old Muggle stuff. Harry almost wished he could go back and tell Dudley what he was missing. “C’n I – I mean, may I start?” he asked

Snape nodded and Harry dug in with gusto. MmmmmmmmMMMMMMMMmmm. It really was every bit as good as he’d dreamed. Yes, there had been the odd scoop of ice cream with dessert at Hogwarts, but never a sundae, and never these exciting flavors either.

Harry shoveled another spoonful into his mouth and moaned in delight. Professor Snape had even let him get a banana split. Harry had longed for one ever since reading about them many years ago. He’d made the mistake of telling his fat cousin how much he wanted to try one, and from that moment on, he’d had to watch Dudley order them over and over after. Needless to say, Dudley had made sure Harry never got to so much as lick the spoon, no matter how much he’d begged or how hard he’d worked to try to earn one.

Harry sighed in contentment. Professor Snape hadn’t made him do extra chores in order to come with him. Oh, he’d told Harry that if he misbehaved, he wouldn’t get the treat, but Harry figured that went without saying. And then, even when he’d driven the professor mad with his excited babbling and dashing to and fro, his professor had still given him the longed-for treat. Yes, it had been worth waiting for, not only for the sheer ambrosial taste of the ice cream, but also for the fact that he was sitting here enjoying it with his professor.

It was only after he’d scraped up the last of the melted ice cream that he turned to his professor with a half-reproachful, half-amused question. “You wouldn’t really have stuck me to the chair, would you?”

‘I most certainly would have,” Snape informed the brat haughtily. “When have I ever not kept my word?”

“But –“ Harry started to protest, just for form’s sake, as he thought having his bum stuck to a chair a very mild chastisement indeed, compared to the punishments the Dursleys had often applied to that same area, but then an idea struck him and his voice trailed off.

Snape stared at the boy in some concern. The little monster, now properly glutted with ice cream, had begun to whine about something, only to go mute as his eyes focused on something internal. Had Snape’s threat brought back some horrible atrocity the Dursleys had committed? He tried to imagine what they could have done that threatening to Stick the boy in one place could have evoked… Perhaps they had forced him to sit in a chair for hours or days, not permitting him to get up to attend to necessary needs? Perhaps they had bound him in place by Muggle means? Perhaps… Snape found he had bent his spoon in two, and now Harry was staring at him in astonishment.

Harry’s mind worked quickly. A Sticking charm! Of course! That was it. He and his friends had been struggling to think of a way to get Quirrell’s turban off for days now but they’d only come up with silly ideas that even Ron admitted were farfetched – floating hooks, bribing Peeves, that sort of thing. But Quirrell was in the Infirmary, which meant he must be in bed, though they had heard from a Hufflepuff who’d had to see Madame Pomfrey about a hex gone awry that the man had kept his turban on even under those circumstances. Still, if they Stuck his turban to his bed, then managed to get him to jump up… Harry grinned to himself. That could work!

Now all he needed to do was to convince his professor to teach him the spell. He turned to the man, only to find him with the most horrible glower on his face and his spoon twisted like a pretzel in his hands. Harry gulped. Had he so provoked the man?

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically, then shrank further in his chair when a new spasm of fury crossed the man’s countenance.

Snape barely managed to avoid chucking the spoon at the wall. Still apologizing! Always assuming he was at fault! Those bastard Muggles had much to answer for. He calmed himself by thinking of what the Marauders’ reaction would be when he told them this story. Remus had started to idly wonder what the Dursleys would do if they received word they’d won a trip to the forests of Romania and whether dragon handlers were ever short on food for their charges. Sirius had countered by suggesting that in the really deep woods of Transylvania, there were things that even dragons were scared of… not to mention that werewolves could run free in those forests, and of course dragons, being creatures of the sky, could easily pop up where they were least expected, particularly if a highly motivated young dragon handler showed them the way. Remus had looked intensely thoughtful and mentioned that Muggles were beginning to think of Transylvania as a trendy new vacation spot.

At the time, Snape had reminded them that he had no intention of letting the Muggles off so easily, and the idea had been dropped, but now he was wondering if he had been too hasty. A mauling by a werewolf followed by draconic incineration sounded increasingly appealing.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he snapped at the boy, reaching over and rather roughly wiping smeared ice cream from his face. He refused to admit that he needed to touch the boy for his own reassurance. It was merely that he was tired of looking at the chocolate sauce that seemed to coat the brat’s features.

Harry endured the man’s gentle ministrations, fighting down his own sense of delight. He had long ago realized that however much Aunt Petunia might fuss over Dudley, wiping his chin and cutting his meat and kissing his boo-boos, he was never going to get the same treatment. But now… Okay, there was no way he could accept the kissed boo-boos (well, except from Auntie Molly) or the cut-up meat, but if his professor wanted to hide his caring gesture under a grumbling monologue about “messy little boys”, he was more than willing to tolerate it.

He did his part by squirming away – carefully waiting until he judged the professor was pretty much finished anyway – and protesting. “Pr’fessor! I’m eleven! I’m not a baby!”

“If you used your napkin properly, then you would not be subject to such indignities,” Snape retorted, unrepentant. “Now, what was it that in our conversation that so upset you?”

Harry blinked. Upset him? “Erm, I’m not sure what you mean,” he replied in confusion.

Snape ground his teeth. Obviously the boy was too traumatized to speak of the incident. Or perhaps he had just had a dissociative moment and truly didn’t remember? Or was it simply that he was too embarrassed to reveal how shabbily he’d been treated? He well remembered the hot shame he had felt at the thought of anyone seeing his own welts and cuts. He’d often endured several days of agony at the beginning of each school term, sitting through classes on a raw, well strapped backside, rather than having to admit the truth to Poppy so he could be treated.

“Potter, you must learn that your relatives’ treatment of you was appalling and unnatural. You have no reason to be ashamed of what happened.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Okayyyy,” he agreed slowly.

“Do not try to placate me, Potter!” Snape flared, newly incensed at the brat’s automatic acquiescence. “You will tell me what so upset you when I mentioned a Sticking hex.”

“Oh!” Harry’s eyes lit up with comprehension. “I wasn’t upset, Pr’fessor. I was just thinkin’ that –“ abruptly he realized that he could hardly tell his professor about their plans to investigate the Mystery of Qurrell’s Turban; he needed to wait until they’d solved it, and then he’d have plenty of interesting things to discsuss with the man. “- erm, that it’d be a good spell to use during a duel.”

Snape blinked, then blinked again. “Oh?”

“Yeah!” Now that he thought about it, Harry warmed to the idea. “I mean, if you Stuck your opponent’s feet down, he couldn’t dodge, right?”

“An excellent point,” Snape allowed, privately impressed. Perhaps those extra lessons really were paying off.

Harry gave him a sly look. “It was perspicacious, wasn’t it?”

Now Snape was even more surprised – the brat had actually been paying attention to him? “I suppose,” he admitted off-handedly. It wouldn’t do to let the little monster get a swelled head. “Though you can hardly expect – or want - to receive a chocolate frog immediately after ingesting that mountain of ice cream.”

“No, that’s okay,” Harry agreed, “but could you show me the spell instead?”

Snape considered. The hext had enormous potential for mischief, but Harry hadn’t displayed a prankster streak, nor was he currently enmeshed in any juvenile vendettas at present… And the boy did deserve a reward – not that Snape had any intention of admitting that to him.

“Oh, all right,” he grumbled, casting a Muffliato for privacy. “Now, watch me closely…” He demonstrated the spell, somewhat disconcerted by the way the boy’s eyes glowed as he watched with an almost unnerving concentration. Snape fought down his reservations. It was only a Sticking hex, after all – even Potter could hardly get into trouble with something so benign.