Forty minutes later, he was cursing himself. Not because of the steady stream of meaningless prattle that Albus obviously considered soothing, but because they had already been in the Great Hall for twenty minutes and there was no sign of the brat, though the rest of the student body had long since assembled.

What had he been thinking? The little fiend was a Gryffindor, and one who was already puffed up with his own abilities, having survived encounters with both a troll and the Dark Lord. Why had he ever imagined that the brat would do as he was told? Doubtless he had made a beeline for the Weasley boy’s rat and had either hexed to death an inoffensive animal or been brutally murdered by the wizard who had betrayed his parents.

Sitting here was madness. He got to his feet to run to the Gryffindor tower.

Meanwhile, at one of the student tables, Ron, Draco, and Hermione were deep in a discussion of a recent Cannons match. To the boys’ irritation (and the girl’s glee), Hermione's post-troll punishment had ensured that she was now able to jump in and correct their statistics quotations. “I’m just saying, Ronald, that the fact that the Cannons haven’t successfully caught the snitch in their last eighty-seven games indicates that their Seeker isn’t particularly talented!” she argued.

“It's only been eighty-three games, ‘Mione!” Ron argued with all the fervor of someone who knows that (a) he is wrong and (b) his point is moot anyway.

“Oh, like that makes such a difference," Draco rolled his eyes. “Why do you keep insisting that this is their year, Weasley? They haven’t – hey, look! There’s a snitch loose in the Hall!” He pointed, and the others followed his gaze.

“Yeah!” Ron yelped. “What’s a snitch doin’ in here?”

Their shouts quickly caught the attention of both students and staff, but before anyone could move, Harry shot into the Hall… on his broom.

Harry flew in hot pursuit of the snitch, seemingly oblivious to the havoc he was wreaking in the process. He overturned serving dishes with his low dives, came close to braining himself on more than one sharp turn, ricocheted off the ceiling at one point, and lost several bristles when he scraped along the far wall for a heart-stopping four seconds.

In the meantime, the students screamed and cheered and dove for cover as he zipped over and among the tables after the little golden ball. The house elves popped in to try to remonstrate, but after one was nearly run over (flown over?) by Harry, they decided to retreat to the kitchens. Several staff, Snape among them, tried to catch the boy with a spell, but he dodged the magic as effectively as the more physical obstacles.

It was an electrifying four minutes until Harry’s hand closed around the Snitch, and everyone gave a sigh of relief as he landed safely in the aisle between the staff and student tables. Harry grinned at the students and proudly waved the snitch, prompting a howl of approval. (It should be noted that Hermione sat, frowning, throughout this accolade.)

The cheers broke off abruptly as Snape, pale with fury, rose to his feet. Noting that every eye was suddenly on something behind him, Harry felt rather like a character in a Muggle horror movie. He turned around slowly and flinched at the expression on his guardian’s countenance. As the rest of the school watched breathlessly, Snape advanced on the small boy, who suddenly seemed much smaller by contrast. Afterwards, staff and students alike agreed they had never before seen Snape so enraged.

As soon as he was within reach of the brat, Snape grabbed him by the arm, spun him around and landed a resounding slap on Harry’s backside that made the entire Hall wince in sympathy.

To his intense humiliation, Harry couldn’t restrain a loud yelp at the sting that blossomed across his bum. That had been a real whack!

"Just what were you thinking?” Snape’s hiss carried throughout the enormous room, and his tone alone caused several first years to whimper and cower. Most of those watching were convinced that Harry’s encounter with Quirrell/Voldemort could not have been nearly as terrifying as his current confrontation with the maddened Potions Master.

“I’m sorry,” Harry gulped, “but it was a dare. I had to do it. It was a matter of honor!”

“WHO DARED YOU?” At Snape’s bellow, the entire student body paled.

“I – I can’t say,” Harry managed to choke out. Even knowing that his professor was aware that this was all an act, he was still scared witless.

“Oh, you will, Mr Potter. That I promise you.” Snape’s silky threat made several – entirely innocent – children start crying, and when his malevolent gaze swept the student tables, the Hall went deathly still.

Internally Snape smirked as he watched several likely suspects tremble and shake their heads in a desperate attempt to assure him of their innocence. The Weasleys, Wood, Flint, and Draco seemed particularly petrified that he would assume they were the guilty parties, and he made sure to glower at them in particular. I’ve still got it, he thought smugly, watching the entire student body – except for the brat still squirming in his grip – quake before him.

“I will find out,” he repeated, his voice carrying throughout the silent chamber, “and when I do, the dark and hideous consequences will be spoken of for years.” Now most of the younger Hufflepuffs were weeping in terror, and even his snakes were positively green. They knew, better than most, just what happened to those who incurred his displeasure.

After scanning the Hall with one last ominous glower, Snape turned back to Harry. He snatched the broom from the boy’s hand and shrunk it before the brat could do more than yip in protest. “This will remain with me, Mr Potter!” he announced, placing the tiny broom in his pocket of his robes. “And since you are obviously too dimwitted to resist suicidal dares from other little dunderheads, it follows that you are also too immature to be allowed to board like the other students. You will reside in my quarters like the foolish little boy you are until you have proven yourself trustworthy to live without my constant supervision.”

“Noooooo!” Harry howled in loud dissent, even as the rest of the Hall broke out in excited whispers. Snape ignored them all and dragged off the boy, still bitterly protesting. As the doors shut behind the two, the noise level skyrocketed as students and staff alike started animatedly discussing what had just happened.

Dumbledore rose quickly, intending to go after them. He should have anticipated something like this. Exposure to his godfather would doubtless provoke Harry into mischief, and Albus had a strong suspicion that Sirius was the one who had dared Harry to behave so badly. He must have known that it would enrage Severus, and the punishment that Severus would have no choice but to mete out would only drive the boy away from the stern professor and into the waiting arms of his "playful" godfather. Albus sighed. Sirius unquestionably had reason to be bitter, but he had hoped he wouldn’t involve Harry in his revenge. Turning the child against Severus might wound the Potion Master deeply, but in the end it would harm Harry as well.

Well, whatever he suspected could or should be laid at Sirius’ feet, he needed to get down to Severus’ quarters right away. He trusted the Slytherin implicitly, but any parent could lose his temper and say or do something he would later regret. He rather doubted Severus would harm Harry physically – that one episode aside, Snape was too terrified of turning into his father to use much corporal chastisement – but the man’s tongue practically dripped acid when he was upset, and for all the remarkable improvement Harry had made since arriving at Hogwarts (or, to be fair, since being taken under Snape’s wing), he was still very fragile. Snape’s verbal vitriol could have devastating effects.

Severus was too irate to be left alone with the poor boy just now, and while Albus could appreciate Severus’ point about Harry's susceptibility to dares, he couldn’t permit the misguided man to deprive Harry of his friends in the dormitory. Surely some more traditional detention and maybe a loss of points would – To his surprise, a firm hand caught him by the back of his robes and jerked him to a halt before he could leave the table.

“Oh, no, Albus,” McGonagall told him, a steely glint in her eye. “You sit yourself right down again.”

“But – but, Minerva –“ he protested, so stunned by her interference that he automatically sank back into his chair. Surely she should have been pounding on Snape’s door by now, demanding the return of her little lion!

“You had the care of the boy for ten years, Albus, and we won’t talk of that result. You will now give Severus the chance to manage Harry as he sees fit.”

Dumbledore opened his mouth to argue but at Minerva’s expression, he meekly shut it again and silently turned his attention to his food. Powerful he might be, but he hadn't reached his advanced age without learning a few important survival skills, and something told him that arguing with Minerva over this would be a very, very bad idea.

Meanwhile, Snape all but threw Harry through the door to their quarters, then came through himself, warding it after him. Once they were secure, but before he could start to shout at the boy for his deathdefying idiocy, Harry rounded on him.

“That hurt!” Harry said accusingly, clutching his still-smarting bum. “I want a healing potion! That was almost as bad as one of Uncle Vernon’s whacks.”

“You deserved it,” Snape retorted, nevertheless Accio’ing the appropriate potion. “Your recklessness could have killed you. Flying a broom – AND CHASING A SNITCH – in the close confines of the castle? Have you lost the few wits you normally possess?”

Harry swallowed the potion and grimaced. “Yuck. Well, I had t’do something big. I bet everyone is talkin’ about it now,” he added, grinning. “The guys will talk an’ talk about it tonight in the dorm, an’ Pettigrew will hear an’ he won’t be surprised I’m not there.”

“The whole purpose of moving you out of the dorm was to keep you safe,” Snape scolded. “Breaking your neck flying inside the castle defeats the entire exercise.”

“It was the Great Hall,” Harry protested. He hated having his professor angry at him.

“Even so! Brooms – particularly one like the Nimbus 2000! – accelerate much too quickly for use in such a limited space. What were you thinking, you naughty child? I’m going to hex that idiot Black for suggesting you do something so dangerous!”

“Padfoot only said I should fly around a bit. The snitch was my idea,” Harry admitted. His spirits rose as he remembered his flight around the Hall and everyone’s open-mouthed admiration as he landed with the snitch. Okay, he had been pretty naughty, but there was no denying it was a wicked prank.

“WHAT?” Snape fumed and held out his hand. “Give me back the potion. You deserve that stinging backside.”

Harry grinned cheekily and displayed the empty vial. “Too late! Sting’s all gone!”

Snape raised one eyebrow. “Then I shall just have to reapply the cause of the sting,” he said coldly.

Harry gulped and hastily seated himself on the nearby couch. “It’s not fair to punish me twice for the same thing,” he argued reproachfully, making sure his bum was pressed against the cushions. He didn’t think his professor would make good on his threat, but he didn’t want to push it. “I’m sorry, Pr’fessor. Honestly. An’ remember, you said you don’t hit to hurt. Besides, you know I only did it ‘cause of Pettigrew, right? I wouldn’t do somethin’ like that just as a prank.”

Snape huffed, but deep down, below all the irritation with the brat, he was pleased to see that the Weasleys had indeed been rubbing off. Harry was no longer the downtrodden boy who meekly accepted every punishment, no matter how severe or undeserved.

“Um, Pr’fessor?” Harry ventured, heartened by the fact that it didn’t look like he’d be getting smacked again. “When c’n I get my broom back?”

“On your 30th birthday,” Snape retorted.

Harry pouted. “That’s not fair! It was all an act!”

“You could have easily injured yourself with that ridiculous stunt, and if you think you will not be punished for such a stupid idea, you obviously hit your head during all that grandstanding! Such reckless behavior is classic James Potter gloryhounding!” he snapped.

Harry subsided at this last demonstration of his guardian’s disapproval. He knew that his father had often targeted Snape with his pranks, and Harry felt bad that he had – however unwittingly – reminded his beloved professor of such unpleasant memories. He’d thought his professor might be a tiny bit pleased at his flying skills, not to mention impressed with his ability to think up such an outrageous stunt so as to be the talk of the school. He had just been trying to show that he wasn’t too young to help, but – as usual – he’d just messed everything up. Now his guardian was mad at him, and Sirius and Remus would probably be too. Harry’s shoulders drooped dejectedly.

Snape noticed. Such an annoyingly fragile child, he grumbled to himself. James wouldn’t have stopped crowing and congratulating himself on such a stunt for days, yet a few sharp words, and Harry’s practically in tears. Really – the boy needs to be more thick skinned, he huffed, feeling uncomfortably guilty. Who would have thought that his simple disapproval could so affect the brat?

“Your behavior was atrocious, Potter,” he said gruffly. “If you weren’t the most talented flier Hogwarts has seen in several generations, you would surely have killed yourself with that foolishness.”

Harry perked up at the praise. His professor couldn’t be that angry if he was taking the time to say nice things about Harry. Plus, it hadn’t been the violation of the school rules that he objected to, it was Harry’s risking injury. That showed he really liked Harry, despite everything. Harry grinned shyly at his guardian.

“Come along, you troublesome brat,” Snape scolded. “Do you imagine I will let you skip your dinner? Sit down in the kitchen while I order a plate of liver and brussel sprouts for you.”

“Yuck!” Harry protested, knowing his guardian’s threat was empty. Even if Snape did order such a disgusting meal, Harry knew the doting house elves would send up something else. “Not liver, Pr’fessor! I’ll be good!”

Sure enough, as if to make up for the drama in the Great Hall, the house elves delivered Harry’s favorite meal of roast beef with Yorkshire pudding and two vegetables. Snape huffed as it appeared on the table and pointedly ignored Harry’s delighted exclamation.

The two settled down comfortably to their meal. Harry wiggled on his chair, exulting in the fact that even though he had been absolutely eye-popping furious, Professor Snape had still given him the healing potion to make sure his bum didn’t hurt and took the time to show he’d noticed what a good flier Harry was. Harry beamed at his plate. Plenty of other parents weren’t nearly as kind. He’d heard his peers complain about their parents enough to know there were parents who, when they got angry, said awful, hurtful things to their kids, or walloped them until they were sore for days, or – worse – didn’t care in the least. Harry had experienced all of the above from the Dursleys, but he’d assumed it was because he wasn’t really theirs that they were so awful to him. After all, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia never treated Dudley like that.

It had astounded him to learn that some parents did that to their real kids. In the Wizarding world, Remus said there were even parents who hexed their children. Harry shivered at the thought. How could grown ups act that way?

He glanced over to where Professor Snape was sipping his tea. He was so lucky. Professor Snape was one of the nicest people ever. He’d saved Harry from the Dursleys and rescued his godfather for him and he didn’t even care that he was defying the Headmaster and breaking the law to do it. He was brave and noble and heroic and he was kind even to people he didn’t like – like making that potion for Remus every month. He never lost his temper – though he did put on a terrifyingly good act, Harry admitted silently – and he didn’t smack Harry really hard even when he should, like that time at the Weasleys. He also looked after his House better than any of the other faculty did – Professors Flitwick and Sprout and McGonagall might not insist on bedtimes and stuff, but neither did they offer extra tutoring or make sure that the prefects stamped out any internal bullying before it had the chance to begin.

During his week of detention after the Quirrell incident, Harry had had plenty of chances to see his guardian interact with his little snakes – and he and his friends had even gotten into the habit of stopping by the Slytherin Common Room to do their homework. Not only was it a lot quieter and more conducive to studying than was the noisy bonhomie of the Gryffindor Common Room, but also the older Slytherins were actually expected to help the younger ones, rather than the “every wizard for himself” philosophy of Gryffindor. Even better, it gave Hermione and Draco the chance to argue with each other over the assignments’ finer points, thus sparing Harry, Ron, Neville, Vince, and Greg.

At first Ron and Harry had worried that without Hermione browbeating them, their schoolwork might suffer, but Professor Snape – and the Slytherin prefects – didn’t allow them to get away with turning in sloppy assignments. Ron had discovered this one evening when a prefect demonstrated that: (1) doodling snitches and brooms was an unacceptable use of study time and (2) being seated in no way protected one’s backside from a stinging hex. Ron had started to hotly complain to the others about how the prefect was picking on him for being a Gryffindor, but Neville quietly pointed out that the same prefect who had just communicated his displeasure with Ron’s study habits was now administering the same correction to two fourth year Slytherins at the next table who’d chosen to discuss the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend rather than work on their Arithmancy homework. Ron had stared, open mouthed, as the two older students yelped and squirmed just as he had, then rather thoughtfully returned to revising his essay. (Like the two Slytherins, he also found it more comfortable to spend the rest of that evening working from a standing position.) The end result was that, while they would never rival Hermione or Draco for top honors, both Harry and Ron's academic efforts dramatically improved - and their grades followed suit. Auntie Molly and Uncle Arthur had been beside themselves with delight when Professor McGonagall contacted them with the news that Ron had earned special praise for his latest Transfiguration essay.

Harry also discovered that helping Vince and Greg with their work was actually kind of fun and helped him understand the material much better. Neville had even stopped being so scared of Potions when he realized that however poor his grasp of the material might be, it was infinitely better than Greg’s. Plus, Harry had noticed that his guardian liked it when there were Slytherins in the group of students who showed up with Harry to help Snape prepare ingredients. It was a good mix in other ways too; the purebloods were more familiar with the various magical ingredients, while the muggleborns were often good at preparation tasks, thanks to growing up in families that prepared food the Muggle way. Everyone hated to scrub cauldrons, though, and they quickly realized that any bickering or misbehavior while preparing ingredients in the dungeons led to a lengthy acquaintance with Snape’s scrub brush – and the rough edge of his tongue. Even Hermione and Draco learned to avoid arguing about house elves’ rights after spending a few evenings up to their elbows in cauldron sploodge.

Harry grinned again. His guardian not only took care of him in his quarters, but also made sure that he and his friends were welcome in his House and were treated there just like the other little snakes. Professor Snape oversaw his schoolwork, and not just in Potions either, and fussed about whether Harry ate his vegetables and got enough sleep. And of course he went spare whenever Harry did something reckless.

Harry knew that there were plenty of other students whose parents were nowhere near as concerned about them. Hadn’t Professsor Snape been the only one to stay with him in the Infirmary after the Quirrell incident, just so he would be there when Harry woke up and felt upset?

Snape sipped his tea, hoping that eventually his stomach would calm enough to permit him to eat something. Watching Harry careen around the Great Hall, nearly smashing himself against the unforgiving stone with one ridiculous, dizzying swoop after another, had caused his stomach to churn and roil. Obviously it was nothing more than a touch of motion sickness caused by his trying to track the brat long enough to snag him with a magical rope. What else could it be?

He had to admit though, that as dunderheaded and insanely dangerous as it had been, the stunt had also brilliantly accomplished its task. No one - students, staff, or portraits - could possibly fail to hear about it, or to question Harry’s absence from the dorm. And Harry had carried off the entire act flawlessly! He had appeared convincingly frightened when Snape had descended upon him, and his howls of protest as he was dragged through the corridors had made Snape’s ears ring. It was clear that it had all been an act though, given Harry’s strident demands as soon as they were behind his personal wards. Who knew that the little brat could be so duplicitous? Snape would have sworn that even Dumbledore had been fooled by Harry’s performance. It was… positively Slytherin.

The realization made Snape’s mouth twitch upwards, and though he quickly hid it behind his teacup, Harry caught the fleeting smile of approval and basked in its warmth. See? His professor was pleased with him.

That made it all the more unexpected when his professor ordered him to his room immediately after the meal. “What! But why?” Harry whined. “I want to sit out here with you for a while.”

Snape quirked an eyebrow at him, hiding the glow of pleasure the boy’s words gave him. “Indeed, Mr Potter? Perhaps you have forgotten your little exhibition in the Great Hall, but I assure you I have not – nor the fact that you have not yet been punished for it.”

“You smacked me!” Harry yelped.

“I healed you,” his guardian countered.

“You took my broom,” the boy tried.

“Yes, and now I am sending you to your room, where you may consider your foolishness at length.”

Harry scowled. “ ‘S not fair.”

“It is entirely fair, Mr Potter. You took a not-unacceptable plan of your godfather’s and unilaterally embellished it to the point of reckless idiocy. An evening spent alone in your room –“ Snape carefully avoided using terms like “locked in” “- will help you reconsider the wisdom of such actions. Stupidity,” he said sternly, “will always be punished, as will putting yourself in jeopardy.”

Harry pouted, but he couldn’t help squirming a little. Some of those turns had been a little tight…

“What is more, I expect that any minute the first of a long line of students and staff will be knocking on our door to ensure that you have not been strung up by your thumbs and tortured with hot coals.” Harry had to snicker. “It would hardly do our little fiction any good if you were found comfortably settled on my couch nibbling biscuits when you are supposed to be in serious trouble.”

“But I don’t want to go to my room,” Harry tried one last time, doing his best impression of Dudley’s whine with his own patented “puppy dog eyes”.

Snape’s eyes narrowed, then he shrugged. “Then by all means, Mr Potter, you can remain here.”

“I can?” Harry perked up.

“Certainly. If you are adamantly opposed to being confined to your room, you may spend the evening standing in the corner over there, where all of our visitors can witness and appreciate your disgrace.”

Harry choked in horror. Stand in the corner? Like a disobedient toddler? Where people could see him? “No, no, that’s okay,” he babbled hastily, backing away. “I think you’re right to send me to my room. It’s a very good ‘dad thing’ to do. I’m going, I’m going!”

Snape smirked after the fleeing boy. Gryffindors – they pose no challenge whatsoever.