Breakfast the next morning was Belgian waffles with whipped cream and strawberries. It was Saturday morning, so the hall was only about three quarters full despite the later time for breakfast. Too bad, Harry reflected, watching one of the owls heading for the Slytherin table, apparently something's up. The owl was carrying something large...and pink...and- Oh. My. God. It was a life-sized Muggle-style blow-up doll, wide -eyed, -mouthed, and -legged. Minerva McGonagall covered her mouth as it went by, whether from horror or humor Harry couldn't tell. Dumbledore was chuckling openly, while Sinestra's eyes and mouth were wide with outrage. Snape watched neutrally as the owl flew by, before returning to his breakfast. Finally the owl reached the Slytherin table and started towards Flint. Flint apparently recognized what it was, and watched in mute horror as the owl got closer with its disturbingly life-sized burden. Harry mostly ignored Hedwig, who had come in just behind the other owl, just taking the note she carried without reading it and petting her absently while watching the spectacle. To the great delight of all the students witnessing, the owl dropped the doll directly into a large bowl of in front of Flint, sending dollops of whipped cream all over the place. Flint stared at the doll in front of him uncertainly. It was blocking him from eating anything, but he was clearly unwilling to touch it. Finally he gave up on his breakfast and awkwardly fled the hall, still covered in whipped cream. Harry finished his own meal and left, noticing as he did so a new scoreboard sheet on the outside of the door to the great hall. As he watched, Lee Jordan got ten points.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

After breakfast, Harry went straight to the infirmary, and hovered outside the door, gently rolling his sore lip between his teeth. He'd decided not to come the night before because, he'd told himself, it was after curfew. He didn't feel any more convinced about the trip in the daylight, though. His nose hurt, of course, but not enough to make it worth facing Madame Pomfrey with an injury obtained through fighting with another boy. He didn't have any sort of choice, however, because Snape would see him that evening. I could just hide it. He realized. But his nose was still bleeding occasionally, and just his luck he would touch his face in Snape's presence and have the blood come off on his hands. He'd fooled Snape before, but never for very long. And if he got caught hiding an injury that Snape had already told him to get fixed- Oh, God. He'd kill me. Feeling resigned, Harry walked slowly into the infirmary. Maybe if she's not here – fat chance. Sure enough, Madame Pomfrey bustled up to him as soon as he came through the doors.

“Mr. Potter! What happened to your face?”

For the moment she sounded sympathetic. That won't last long.

“I got in a fight with Ron.”

As predicted, she frowned at him disapprovingly. “Should I expect Mr. Weasley in as well, then?”

Harry blushed a little and shook his head. “He went home for the weekend.”

“You got caught, then.” She sounded satisfied, and Harry had to remind himself not to snap at her. She was the one that kept having to deal with it, after all.

“Yes.” Hazards of fighting in the common room, I suppose. I gotta start fighting in empty classrooms or something, if I'm gonna keep this up. The Dursleys never cared if he fought, as long as he didn't hit Dudley, so he'd never had to worry about getting caught. Not that I want to keep fighting with my friends, but Malfoy...

Fighting with kids his size was kinda fun; satisfying, not like fighting with Dudley's gang or with Flint. With Flint especially it was like the older boy didn't feel his fists. Probably didn't. He's a bloody fifth year. Only his ego is vulnerable to me.

Thankfully, Madame Pomfrey didn't comment further on Harry's fighting, instead choosing to sit him on a bed and fix his face. He'd washed his face on his own, and the swelling had gone down some overnight, so the break in his nose was clear to see. She fixed that with a simple spell, then got out her bruise balm. Harry held out a hand for it but she shook her head.

“The bruise is too close to your eye. This balm is great for your skin but really bad for your eyes.”

No good. Don't touch my face. “Can we just skip it? I can heal on my own.”

“No, we can't just skip it! Why did you even come, then, if you don't want me to heal you?”

Harry looked away a little and admitted, “Professor Snape's making me.”

“Well, then, you think he would be content with you just getting your nose fixed and leaving?”

“But last time I was here I didn't need it!”

“How would you know? You were unconscious.”

Harry blushed. “Oh. No I meant...before.”

“Those had mostly healed on their own before you got to me. You're not leaving here with your face looking that bad.”

“Can I please do it myself? I'll be careful!”

Madame Pomfrey shook her head firmly, but not unsympathetically, and met his eyes squarely.

“Can you hold still for me? It won't hurt.”

Damnit. Harry stiffened but nodded. At least she's not behind me, this time.

She opened the balm slowly while Harry took a deep breath. Harry gripped the edge of the bed and clenched his teeth as she reached out to touch his face but didn't close his eyes or flinch away. Madame Pomfrey shook her head and started gently spreading her balm on his cheeks and eye socket. After a couple of seconds she started scolding him gently. Somehow Harry found it soothing.

“You could have avoided this, you know. Even if Mr. Weasley started that fight you could have pulled away instead of hitting back. Now look at you, all beat up and coming to me for healing. And then you say you want to skip the bruise balm! As if I would allow you to run around with bruises like that on your face, even if you did get them all on your own. How did you think you weren't going to get caught with those, hmm? And don't tell me you'd planned to use those glamours of yours. Professor Snape won't tolerate that, and neither will I. You're in enough trouble as it is without hiding injuries. Come to think of it, if Mr. Weasley went to the Burrow for the weekend he's probably wishing the Professor was in charge of him, too. You think Professor Snape is strict you should try facing Mrs. Weasley in a temper.”

Finally she finished with his face and put the balm away. Then she turned back to him and her voice grew stern. “Now don't you give the Professor any trouble, you hear me? He's got every right to be angry with you. What are you thinking, hitting your friends all the time? You realize it was just yesterday you came in for the bruise balm for Mr. Zabini? And now you've hit Mr. Weasley. You keep fighting with your friends and they won't stay friends.”

It doesn't matter. She's just an adult. Nothing she thinks of me matters. He knew it was childish, but he remembered the rhyme just the same: Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me. To this he added his own interpretation. If she's not going to punish me, then she should just shut up. Harry was starting to realize, however, that his mantras didn't stand up anymore. What worked with Aunt Petunia, or even Sinestra, who would believe badly of him seemingly no matter what he did, didn't work with Madame Pomfrey or Professor McGonagall. 'Mere' words were starting to hurt, and none of his defenses seemed to work anymore. Having Madame Pomfrey scold him when McGonagall already had and Snape had been so furious was difficult to bear. He looked away from the scolding woman in shame. Weakling.

“Look at me, please.”

Harry stubbornly turned his head further away, upset.

“Harry.” Harry looked up, startled, when he heard his first name. Madame Pomfrey rarely used it when she was angry with him.

“Why do you keep doing this? Twice in two days! What could your friends possibly say to you to make you feel you have to hit them?”

Harry just shrugged, not wanting to talk about it, especially when he still had to talk to Professor Snape that evening. Evening? He never said a time. Do I assume he means the same time as detention usually is?

Finally Madame Pomfrey let him go, and Harry went to lunch. He sat down before remembering the note Hedwig had brought him that morning, and pulling it out of the pocket of his robes. It relieved his earlier uncertainty, replacing it with a different kind of anxiety.

Harry – please see me in my office at 7:00 this evening. -SS

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry arrived at Snape's office at precisely 7:00 and knocked without giving himself time to get nervous. At Snape's command to enter, Harry let himself in and stood in front of Snape's desk in a way that was becoming annoyingly familiar.

There were times, now, when being yelled at felt terrible; when he felt he'd actually done wrong, like when he'd hurt Kallie, or hit Blaise. Sometimes McGonagall could make him feel that way even when he didn't think he'd done wrong, just because he didn't like her being mad at him. This time, though, he couldn't get that upset.

Harry had thought it over the night before, and decided that this was the other kind of trouble, the one that didn't bother him as much. He didn't particularly mind getting yelled for saying he was a freak or 'putting himself in danger,' because whatever Snape said, who cared what he said or did to himself? He refused to feel bad about it. He also refused to feel bad when he'd gotten himself in trouble on purpose, like when he had played a prank, or when he didn't care about the adult who was mad at him, like with Sinestra. Why should he care? This was that kind of trouble: why should he feel bad, when Ron had been after him, first? It had only felt wrong with Blaise 'cause Blaise hadn't hit back when he should've. Ron had been just as mad as Harry, and hit just as hard.

Harry still felt jumpy, though. Snape had been furious yesterday, and then just as abruptly had seemed really upset about that reaction. As a result, Harry had no idea what to expect from the coming conversation. He stood in front of Snape's desk and waited for him to speak. Snape didn't say anything, though, and finally Harry couldn't bear the silence.

“If you're going to yell at me, would you just do it already?”

“I am not going to yell at you, Harry.” He said reproachfully. “At least not immediately.”

Really? He relaxed a little. Snape had only truly yelled at Harry twice, and Harry was beginning to think the first time was a mistake, too , but he'd still been nervous. Maybe he's all angered out? Harry wondered. If that was so the man might even listen to him, for once.

“So why did you feel you needed to hit Mr. Weasley?” Snape sounded tired.

Harry relaxed even more as he realized the man still didn't sound angry. “He called Blaise and Theo and me Death Eaters in training, said all us Snakes were.”

“I see. Do you think that is a viable excuse?” His voice held an edge.

Yes. Harry figured he'd be in trouble if he said that, though, and suddenly didn't feel so confident about explaining. Chicken.

“Just answer the question, Harry.”

Harry took a deep breath. Well, he asked for it. “Yes, I think it is.”

Interesting. I'd've expected him to say no, even if just because he thought that's what I wanted. “Why?”

You really want to know? Surprised, Harry explained as openly as he could, hoping to make Snape understand. “'Cause Ron was looking for a fight, just like Malfoy was. If I hadn't hit him, he might've hit me anyway. Far as I'm concerned that's fair. Maybe I shouldn't've hit Blaise, when he was just trying to help, but Ron was just being a prat.”

“I did not realize that you were that sensitive about being called a Death Eater.” Severus commented, honestly curious.

“I'm not, particularly.” Harry said.

“Then what caused you to be so upset that you hit your friend?”

“That was it. I was just already upset.”

“And why was that?”

“Hermione was...” being an annoying nosy know-it-all “being Hermione.”

“So you hit Mr. Weasley because you were angry at Ms. Granger?”

He sounded more intrigued then angry. Maybe he really will listen to me? “Well, sorta. I was already angry at him, really, and then Hermione made it worse. So then when he was yellin' at me I got mad quickly.”

“Why were you so angry with Ms. Granger, then?”

That one I'm not sharing. “No reason. I was just in a bad mood.”

Snape just looked at him, waiting. Harry stared back, holding his breath and trying to ignore the leaden silence. Finally Snape spoke again.

“Do not lie to me. Tell me that you don't want to answer the question, if you must, but do not lie to me.”

Harry looked down as the man continued speaking. “Now try again. Why were you so angry with Ms. Granger?”

Maybe if I just stay vague. “She kept asking questions.”

Severus decided not to call him on the eye contact. “What kind?” When Harry didn't answer he figured his assumptions had been correct.

“Questions of the sort Mr. Zabini asked before you hit him?”

Harry nodded almost imperceptibly, blushing. Severus sighed.

“Harry, people are going to ask-”

“Why?” Harry demanded. "Why can't they just mind their own business?”

“And if they did, Harry? You wouldn't be hurt if they knew, and stood by and did nothing?”

“That's all anybody else has ever done.”

“Yes, it is. And it has made you hate them.” Snape pointed out.

Harry didn't have an answer for that, and so said nothing.

“If you wish them to stop asking questions, you could consider telling them.” Once again Harry didn't answer, and Severus decided to move on.

“At any rate, hitting them is not a solution.”

“Blaise has stopped asking.”

“If you mean out loud, perhaps he has, but I highly doubt he has forgotten.” He talked to me, after all.

“As long as he doesn't say anything.”

“Even if he doesn't, I am sure Ms. Granger will. At any rate continuing to hit your friends will leave you with few of them.”

Harry looked up. “So, what? Your solution is to go up to my friends and say, “oh, by the way, you were right. I'm so bloody weak a disgustingly fat motherfucking muggle can beat me up, but please accept me for who I am”?”

Snape looked at him, and Harry realized that his language had been less than ideal. He smiled a bit. “Fine. You suggested 'harpy' for bitch. How about for- him?”

Severus thought for a moment, then smirked. “How about 'repulsively ugly muggle who may or may not enjoy sexual practices of an unmentionably deviant sort?'”

Harry's eyes grew wide. “I don't know if I can remember all that, sir, but as Ron would say it's brilliant.”

“Thank you.” Said Snape. “Now to return to our earlier discussion, I suggest, and it is only a suggestion, that you either answer their questions honestly, or tell them – calmly – that you don't want to talk about it. On a side note, I understand that this is not something you want made known, but there is no shame in it. You have lived through a lot. This does not make you weak, but rather proves your strength.”

Harry snorted. “Sure. Whatever. The point is, you want me to go and announce my secrets to the whole world just because they're curious. Not going to happen.”

“What to do about your friends' fears is your choice. I was merely providing advice given that your current solution seems to be to break one friend's nose because another was bothering you with questions.'”

“I didn't break his nose.” Harry retorted, feeling childish.

“But you did hit him. Which returns us to our current problem. You fought, you got caught. You don't seem repentant about this, and Mr. Zabini did not want you in trouble, when you hit him. Do you know why that was?” Other than because children are strange? He added mentally.

“I think he wanted us to deal with it on our own, sir.”

“And you agree?”

Why would you ask me that? “Yeah. I probably shouldn't've hit him, but Blaise understood. We would've done just fine if Ron hadn't interfered.”

“How about when you hit Mr. Malfoy?”

“Oh that's never gonna get figured out. If I hadn't hit him, he would've started it, and then it would've been a hexing fight.”

“And so you regret hitting Mr. Zabini, but not Mr. Malfoy?” Severus asked, trying to figure it out.

“Yeah. And not Ron. They both wanted a fight. I gave it to them. It's our business.”

He's got a point. Severus realized. He and Blaise Zabini figured it out on their own, and he and Draco aren't going to. What happens with Mr. Weasley is anybody's guess...perhaps Harry'll learn on his own that not everybody is as understanding as Blaise Zabini. Perhaps I should ignore it, when I can.

“Very well, I'll concede the point. If you fight among yourselves, and you all come out all right and don't get caught, it is your business. One caveat, though. When you get caught you make it my business. Fighting is undignified and against the rules, and as such it reflects badly on your house, and on me. Are you listening?”

Did he just say what I think he just said? It almost sounds like he's just going to punish me for getting caught! That's so...Slytherin. He almost smiled. Blaise would approve. “You- you're saying that I'm right? That you'll stay out of it?”

“Let's just say...if it's not shoved in my face, I won't investigate. On the other hand, I am quite serious about getting caught, and I expect you to get treatment for any injuries, minor or not. If you get seriously hurt I will consider it putting yourself in danger and you will be in real trouble. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir. I understand.” It just means I'm still in trouble.

“Good. You have your choice between three hours of lines now, or being grounded for three days.”

Some choice. Harry mused. For a moment he considered taking the grounding and trying sneaking out again, but he knew, for some reason, that he couldn't do that. He'd get caught...and he'd feel bad, somehow, even if he didn't. He thought it over briefly. Writing lines was the most boring thing in the world, but being stuck inside sucked, too. What if he lurks? After a moment Harry realized that that would be okay, too: if the man hadn't wanted to hit him even when he was angry, then presumably he wouldn't do anything when he so clearly wasn't.

“Lines, I guess.”

Severus nodded and transfigured the desk for him, and Harry sat down and read the line he was assigned.

Getting caught fighting reflects badly on Slytherin House. I will endeavor to follow rules and keep my dignity in front of others.

He smiled and wrote his first line, putting in his own subtle contribution.

1.Getting caught fighting reflects badly on Slytherin House. I will endeavor to follow rules and keep my dignity in front of others.

When Harry handed in his lines at the end of three hours, Severus noticed the boy's alteration with a tiny smile. He's still messing with me. The idea gave him a little hope. At least he could tell he hadn't completely ruined things.

“Good work.”

Harry smiled a bit, knowing that Snape had noticed his slight insolence and didn't mind.

“Before you are dismissed, have you apologized to your professors yet?”

Harry scowled. Oh yuck I really don't want to do that. “No sir.”

“By Wednesday, please.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Dismissed then.”

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Harry usually had Herbology first thing on Monday mornings, but today he had other plans. The twins gave him a thumbs up at breakfast, and he smiled back savagely, knowing the plan was on. This is going to be BRILLIANT. He snarfed his breakfast and ran back to his dorm to grab the robes Fred and George had lent him, then headed off to the nearest bathroom. In five minutes he was changed, and pictured Percy Weasley's face and build. Percy was a good bit taller than he was, which made the transformation tougher than impersonating another first year, but he estimated that he could easily hold it for the hour and a half that he needed. Thus prepared, he headed down to the Potions classroom, and sat down in Percy's spot next to Marcus Flint. Worried that Snape might notice him, as he didn't have Percy's mannerisms down as well as he'd had Malfoy's, he kept his head down as much as he could, doing his best to brew the complicated potion when he couldn't understand half of the instructions and had to watch what his neighbor was doing the whole time.

Finally, once everyone was thoroughly involved in their potions, Harry got his opportunity. At a moment when both Snape and Flint were looking away from him, he dropped his quill onto the floor and dove after it, in the process knocking several potions ingredients from his desk. As the class giggled and Flint and Snape both sneered, Harry 'clumsily' groped after his ingredients, while surreptitiously grabbing the hem of Flint's robes with one hand, and touching both his shoes with the other. It was the most complicated transfiguration he'd ever tried, but it worked: within ten seconds Flint's robes were transformed into a very short bright green leather tube dress, and in another ten, his neat dress shoes became matching strappy high-heeled sandals that laced high up his calves.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus watched quietly as Percy Weasley groped around clumsily on the floor. The boy was acting oddly – nervous and clumsy in a way that he usually wasn't. Soon enough, the Potions Master saw why, as Flint's robes were transformed into an outfit that the Weasley boy would never have thought up. Damn. I should have recognized the boy before he got into trouble. As 'Percy' slipped back into his seat, Marcus looked down at himself and squalked, turned bright red, and stood up. He promptly discovered his new sandals as well, and teetered for a moment before balancing precariously as the class laughed uproariously. Severus was hard-put not to laugh himself – the outfit really was inspired. However, he felt that the situation could not end well, and moved closer to the two boys.

Meanwhile Harry met Marcus' eyes and smiled innocently. “Nice duds, Flint. I wouldn't have thought you the type, but it suits you quite well.” In a flash Flint's eyes filled with comprehension, before darkening with rage. His fist flew out rapidly towards 'Percy's' face, and Harry knew he'd ducked too late to miss the blow.

It never landed, though, and after a moment Harry looked up and shivered. Snape had Flint's wrist in a crushing grip, and the look in his eyes was murderous. When Harry had ducked, he'd lost hold of his metamorphmagus abilities, and looked like himself again. Flint looked at him, and the color drained from his face before he looked back at his wrist and up at Snape. His expression was no longer murderous. Instead, his eyes as he looked at Snape held little but terror and pleading.

“I d-didn't know it was him. Honest.”

“Perhaps if you could not tell it would have been wise to reconsider before striking a student in front of me.”

Flint said nothing, seeming frozen to the spot.

“Get out of my classroom.”

“Yes. Yes sir.” He looked ready to wet himself, and as soon as Snape released his wrist he clutched it to him and fled without his books, still tottering on his transfigured heels.

Severus breathed for a minute before turning away from the door and most of his class to look down at Harry.

“I believe, Mr. Potter, that I had told you to stay away from him.”

Harry looked down, still a little shaken up by the turn of events. He'd been hit by Flint before, and had no desire to repeat the experience. Good thing Snape was here, I guess, even if he is mad.

“Yes sir.”

“Is it also true that you are currently cutting one of your own classes?”

“Yes sir.”

“Get to it, then. We will discuss this in detail, but for now I have to run my class.” Harry nodded mutely and fled as well, trying not to think of all the trouble he would be in later.

Finally Severus turned back to his class, who stared after Harry open-mouthed before looking back at him in confusion. You knew I was protecting him, imbeciles. This should not be a surprise. He sneered, took ten points from Gryffindor, and got back to his class.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

“You are more than forty-five minutes late, Mr. Potter.” Commented Professor Sprout as Harry came in.

“I guess so.” Commented Harry, sounding unconcerned. Leave me alone, you old squash.

“Perhaps a detention will teach you to come to class on time.”

Harry found Professor Sprout endlessly annoying, but usually if he was rude enough she'd give up on talking to him. Harry lifted his chin and spoke neutrally. “Perhaps it will. Thank you so much for spending your precious time to teach me the value of punctuality. I had no idea that coming in an hour late would piss you off.” Hermione gasped, looking outraged. You'd think she'd have gotten used to it, by now.

And, sure enough, the professor ignored him for the rest of the class. Unfortunately, Harry noticed, so did Ron.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHHPHPHPHPHP

Harry's next class after Herbology was Potions, and given a choice he'd have just as soon skipped. Still, he didn't want to catch more trouble, so he made an effort to get there on time. It didn't matter, though: he could tell that Snape was angry, though he took it out on the Gryffindors and not on him. For the most part Snape ignored him, but when their eyes met it was clear that the Potions Master was only waiting for the opportunity to get him alone.

To make matters worse, Ron studiously ignored him and Blaise for the entire class. Blaise gave Ron a cool look before focusing back on his potion, seemingly unconcerned, while Harry just bit his lip and pretended not to notice. The class went really slowly, though, and he missed Ron's antics and railings against Snape, despite his own changing opinion of the man. Finally, it was time to pack up their books for lunch.

Snape was watching him, but Harry pretended not to notice, hoping to sneak out with the rest of the class. Finally the man came in front of him and laid a large hand on his shoulder. Figuring sneaking out for a lost cause, Harry took a breath and looked up. The man was looking down at him soberly. He wants me to stay behind. Harry realized, and took a deep breath before nodding to show he understood, then shrugging his shoulder a little in his own request. Snape nodded in return and took the hand away. Harry couldn't really relax much, and sat miserably as the other students left. Blaise was last, and looked at him questioningly, waiting for Harry's nod before leaving.

Eventually everyone was gone, and Harry watched anxiously as Snape pulled a chair over to sit opposite Harry across the desk. Finally the man spoke.

“Tell me, Harry, do you have an explanation for why you cannot go two days without challenging me?”

“I can!”

“The evidence is sorely against you on that point.”

“What if I could and I don't want to?” Harry asked insolently.

“Then you like being in trouble.”

“Like it? Hell no! But it's gonna happen anyway, isn't it?”

Severus frowned. “You think I would punish you even if you did nothing?”

“I think that so many things are against the rules that you might as well.”

“I have no more rules for you than your friends parents have for them.”

“Yeah but you're not my bloody father!”

“Language, Harry. No, I am not your father, but somebody has to enforce rules with you.”

“Why? Here I thought being an orphan had one measly advantage and you're out to take it away. I don't want a father, or a mentor, or whatever you're supposed to be, okay? If you'da just let me alone, I would've left you alone. Instead you're all involved and I can't do anything without getting into trouble. Why the hell would I want that?”

“Do you think I enjoy yelling at you, or grounding you, or giving you detentions? Do you think I want that? I don't. Believe it or not I don't like seeing you unhappy, and I like making you unhappy even less. But as far as I can tell, that is what you want. You want me to be angry, you want me to yell, and you want me to punish you.”

“Don't you get it? I don't want anything from you!”

“Should I have let Flint hit you, then?”

“He wouldn't have hit me in the first place if you hadn't kept giving me detentions! I'd've been just fine if it weren't for you interfering in my life.”

“Fine? Allow me to point out that if it were up to you, you would be dead. Or had you forgotten the infection you had because you didn't get yourself treated when you got here? If you will not go to Madame Pomfrey when you have to, then I will make you. If you won't keep yourself safe for your own sake, then you will do it in obedience to me. Or would you prefer I just let you die, because you're not intelligent enough to keep yourself safe?”

“I am!” Harry was getting confused. Why was this man getting involved? Why did he care?

“Again, the evidence is against you. I count twice this year that you would have died if it weren't for my interference. I will therefore 'interfere' in your life until you can keep yourself safe on your own. In the meantime, you'll have to deal with it.”

“How is it your business if I die or not? What's it to you?” Harry asked, anger rapidly being replaced by confusion. Why does he bloody care?

“That does not matter.”

“Of course it does! It matters everything! How can I bloody trust you if you won't tell me your motivation?”

“Language, Harry. Last warning. I have told you my motivation. I want what is best for you. That is all. My business or not, I will keep you alive and healthy if it is the last thing I do, and whether or not you want me to. As for that, I repeat, should I have let Flint hit you?”

Harry looked away, the last of his anger falling. “I don't know. I just- I just don't know what you're doing, okay? You want what is best for me? What is that supposed to mean? What are you after? If you hate punishing me so much then why do you bother?”

“And if I punish you because that is what I judge best for you?” Snape asked, calming some.

“Not likely.” Harry replied.

“Perhaps, from your perspective,” Snape acknowledged, “but it is nevertheless true. If it were not true then I would, in fact, be abusing my authority over you, whether I hit you or no.”

“You mean the way you take points from the Gryffindors?” Harry asked insolently.

“Oh, I'm sure it does then some good. If nothing else it corrects for the hero-worship they receive from other teachers.”

Harry shrugged. It wasn't his issue. Snape continued speaking.

“As for what I'm doing, for the moment I am attempting to keep you alive and healthy.”

“Then why do you bother with my language? And my grades? Hell, why do you even care if I hit my friends, as long as I come out of it alive?”

“Some of that is encompassed under what I would consider healthy. For the rest I would amend what I said. I am attempting to keep you alive and healthy, and to help you to grow into a successful adult. Does that encompass everything for you?”

“No. It doesn't make any sense.”

“What doesn't make any sense?”

Harry bit his lip, uncertain. Nothing makes sense. You don't make sense. “It's just not logical. What's in it for you?”

“Seeing you grow up healthy is not enough?”

“Why should it be?”

“It would have been for your parents.”

Harry felt his throat grow tight, and his voice with it. “Well that's not logical either.”

“Perhaps you should not judge it based on logic, then.”

Finally Harry got mad again. “What else should I base it on, prior experience? I'm not even allowed to say half of what prior experience has taught me, with you.”

“Because your prior experience is false, Harry! You are not what your relatives have told you you are, and most adults are not like the ones you are used to.”

“I have no reason to believe that.”

“Other than the last couple of weeks? No, you don't. But you have as little reason to believe I want to harm you.”

“I've got a lifetime's worth of reason to believe that, as you know very well.”

“To point out the obvious, that was not me. Not all adults are bullies, Harry. You are basing your entire outlook on the actions of one family.”

“Doesn't everybody? Ron and Theo clearly think the world is all sunshine and rainbows. I don't. Blaise doesn't. I'd even go as far as to say that you don't. Why are you urging me to believe something that you know isn't true?

“I am not asking you to trust everyone you encounter, Harry, far from it. There are bad people in this world, and frankly a lot of them want you dead. I am just asking you to judge people on an individual basis.”

“And if I still don't like them?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Then we will have even more in common then I thought.” Snape said.

Harry caught the humor and relaxed a little, answering sarcastically, “Oh, joy.”

Snape almost smiled. “I thought you would like that.”

“Hmm. Maybe I'm better off deciding the world is all sunshine and rainbows.”

Severus smirked, not hurt in the least. “That bad, really?”

“Honestly, would you want to be like your old Head of House?”

Severus winced, remembering Horace Slughorn. “Point taken.”

A brief, awkward silence fell, as Severus thought of how to return to the original topic. Finally Harry got tired of waiting.

“I know you're still mad at me.”

“Do you know why?”

Harry sighed. So much for convincing the man that it wasn't his business. “Yeah. I went near Flint when you told me not to, and skipped my Herbology class.”

“And why would that make me angry?”

“I wasn't trying to put myself in danger. How could I know Flint would hit Percy, too?”

“You knew he hit you.”

“Yeah, but everybody hits me.” Harry said practically, “Doesn't mean they hit anybody else.”

Severus closed his eyes and recited to himself the reasons he was not going to go and kill the Dursleys. They're helpless Muggles. Albus would kill me if I went and harmed them. They're Harry's only family. He probably doesn't want them dead. Dementors make for unpleasant company. The boy was almost right, however: by his twisted logic, he had little reason to think himself in any danger. He still didn't avoid Flint as I asked.

“If you were not trying to put yourself in danger, you certainly weren't doing much to stay out of it.”

Harry looked down and mumbled resentfully. “It was just a prank.”

“Have I ever spoken to you for this long over one of your pranks?”

“No.” Harry admitted. Even when Harry put farm animals in his office and they trashed the place, the man had just had him clean it up, and given him detention. He hadn't talked it over with him the way he did with a lot of other things.

“So?”

“So what was I supposed to do, just let the guy pound on me and do nothing?”

“Openly? Yes, that was exactly what you should have done. You are a Slytherin, Harry, couldn't you have gotten your revenge in such a way that you stayed out of trouble?”

“But then everybody would think I just let you deal with it, like I couldn't do anything on my own!”

“You shouldn't do anything on your own, not when it's going to get you hurt.”

“I'm not going to sit around and let people beat on me without fighting back! Anyway I didn't know that I was going to get hurt.”

Severus sighed. This was going nowhere. “I thought it likely, which was why I told you not to go near Flint. You disobeyed me, and almost got hurt. You're therefore grounded for five days.”

Harry gasped. Five DAYS? He'd been grounded for two weeks before, but that was for a whole list of things. “Just for a prank?”

“No, for disobeying me and putting yourself in danger.”

Harry lifted his chin defiantly. “I'll go out anyway.”

“And you'll be grounded for an extra week.”

“I hate you.”

Severus suppressed his hurt. Should've expected that one sooner or later. “Very well. You're allowed to hate me. You are not allowed to put yourself in danger.”

“But – five days?”

“Yes.”

“Please!”

“Your pleading would be a lot more effective if you'd attempted in before defying me and telling me how much you hate me.” Severus pointed out with little sympathy.

Harry turned around and headed for the door.

“You have not been dismissed.”

“Too bad.” Answered Harry angrily. He left. Severus watched him turn away from the direction of the Great Hall and towards his dorm, apparently deciding to skip lunch. Severus sighed. Well that went well.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Early that evening, Severus stepped into the Slytherin common rooms and gestured discretely to two of his seventh-years. He'd chosen the two because they were on the road to either becoming skilled Death Eaters or somewhat unscrupulous Minestry aurors, and because Severus suspected they were more loyal to him than to either side. They came close and he spoke quietly.

“Marcus Flint is still here.”

“Understood, sir. We'll take care of it.” Said Jack Manson, the talker of the two, as his friend Charles nodded seriously.

“Good. Dismissed, then.”

“Thank you, sir.” They started to turn away as he gave his final instructions.

“Don't kill him, and above all don't get caught.”

The two seventeen year olds looked at him strangely on the first request, then nodded in unison as Jack answered.“We understand, sir.”

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Four hours later, Severus was 'invited' to Albus Dumbledore's office for a chat. For once the old man didn't offer him any tea, or a lemon drop. He just motioned seriously for Severus to sit, and stared at him gravely for a moment after he did.

“Marcus Flint has just been admitted to Saint Mungos with serious injuries to his torso as well as several more minor injuries.”

“Oh?” Severus sounded lightly inquiring, and Albus scowled and continued.

“I couldn't help but notice the similarity to young Harry's injuries a few weeks ago.”

I guess they took a personal interest. Severus mused, but kept his expression and tone neutral.

“Interesting.”

Finally Albus got to the point. “Before losing consciousness he seemed to be under the impression that you had ordered it.”

Severus looked up to meet Albus' eyes. “He has no proof.”

Albus failed to suppress a wince. “You did.” It wasn't a question, but Severus smiled grimly and answered anyway.

“And if I did?”

“Severus.” He sounded disappointed.

Severus braced himself against the disappointment and spoke bluntly. “You chose a Death Eater to protect Harry Potter. Why are you acting so surprised?”

“Severus,” Albus admonished, “how many times do I have to repeat that you are not a Death Eater?”

“The ministry's attitude is once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. It may be the only thing we agree on.”

“But you are loyal to the light, Severus.”

“Tell that to the people I've killed, Albus. Or rather to their families. I'm sure they care.”

“I care.”

“I realize. You were one of the two most grieved when I took the mark. Nevertheless a change in loyalties does not erase it,” said Severus matter-of-factly, pulling up his sleeve to show Albus his mark, “no matter how much you may wish it would.”

Albus smiled sadly. “It has faded some.”

“And yet it will light up again, good as new, as soon as the Dark Lord returns.” Severus commented sarcastically, covering the mark again with a brisk movement of his arm.
"And in all likelihood I will return to serving him."

“You are not his, Severus, and therefore you are not a Death Eater.”

“To abuse the muggle phrase, if it looks like a Death Eater, and acts like a Death Eater, it's a Death Eater. I bear the mark, I wore the robes- ”

“You do not act like a Death Eater, Severus.”

“No? Why, then, did you ask me in here, if not to chastise me for ordering the beating of a fifteen-year-old boy?”

“You could have ordered him dead.”

Severus gave a harsh smile. “Now what would be the fun in that?”

Albus frowned. “I know that is not why you left him alive.”

“Perhaps I did not want my students in Azkaban.”

“Would a Death Eater care?”

Oh, for the love of- At times he wondered if it was possible to get Albus to see things in less than black-and-white. The man could be Slytherin when he wanted to be, but for sheer idealism he was pure Gryffindor. “Theodore Nott loves his son, Albus. How different am I, really, from those who stayed? We cannot know what would happen if the Dark Lord were to threaten Nott's son, nor what would have happened had he left Lily alive. Perhaps now I am a better man, and perhaps Nott could be, but that changes little. I am marked for life, and so is he, and if I were to face him in battle I would kill him without pause or grief, and young Theo would be an orphan.”

“That is not you, Severus, that is war.”

“And I am marked by it. We will not win another war with the Dark Lord working like the aurors, fighting with spells approved by the Ministry and trying to take people alive. Respectfully, sir, we need more people who are willing to kill. I am willing. In the past I have even done it for fun. The reason I make a good spy is that the Mark is set into my nature as much as it is into my skin.”

Finally Albus gave up. “That is neither here nor there. I pretended not to notice your 'war' against Marcus Flint. Do you expect me to ignore his beating as well?”

Severus stilled. “Unless you would consign me to Azkaban, or more mundanely fire me, yes. That is your choice. However I would remind you that I acted on your orders. You cannot tell me to protect Harry, knowing that I am a Death Eater, and then criticize my methods. As you pointed out, I left the boy alive, when he almost killed Harry.”

“If Harry had gone to the infirmary-”

“He never should have had to!” Severus snapped. “That boy has been hurt enough in his life and he will be safe here!”

Albus stared at Severus briefly before smiling hugely. The twinkle in his eyes could've blinded anyone looking at him. “I'm sorry, Severus. I had not realized.” He paused and sat back. “Far be it for me to tell you not to protect him when you clearly care so much.”

Severus moved quickly to nip that thought in the bud. “Glad to hear that my methods merit your approval.”

Albus seemed impervious, however, and though his smile faded as he spoke seriously, it never disappeared completely. “I'm not particularly happy with them, but you do have a point. It is imperative that the boy be kept safe, and as long as Flint was at the school he was not. I can understand your actions, even if I cannot condone them. I am glad that I appointed you Harry's protector.”

“Hmm.” Severus said noncommittally, trying to ignore the pleasure he felt at the older man's approval.

“How is Harry doing, anyway?”

“I don't honestly know.” Started Severus hesitantly. “Sometimes he'll tell me things, and sometimes he won't. He is less fearful of me than he was, but still barely trusts me. He does not understand why I am still 'interfering,' as he puts it, and clearly wishes I wouldn't.” Severus covered a wince as he remembered the boy's words. 'I don't want a father, or a mentor, or whatever you're supposed to be, okay? If you'da just let me alone, I would've left you alone. Instead you're all involved and I can't do anything without getting into trouble. Why the hell would I want that?' Severus pushed that to the back of his mind and kept talking. “I do know that his friends have been asking him questions about his background, and it has caused problems. He is unhappy with them, and them with him. He fought with the youngest Weasley boy on Friday, and the boy has been ignoring him since then. According to his friend Blaise, he is also stressed. I believe it: I have gotten more reports from teachers in the last two weeks then the rest of the school year combined.”

“Reports of what?”

“Rudeness, mostly. He's not as bad with them as he is with me, usually, but that's not saying much.”

“He is disrespectful?”

“Frequently. He is most polite when he is most comfortable, or, conversely, most frightened.” He snorted in a parody of humor. “If you would call that politeness, anyway.” He continued. “I get the fewest complaints from Minerva, Filius, and Pomona, but even with them he has a tendency to get rude when confronted. Professor Binns doesn't complain at all, but then I doubt he would notice if the boy threw things at him. Harry is worst with Sinestra and Quirrell. Sinestra has taken an active dislike to him. Harry says Quirrell gives him a headache, but Minerva seems to think the boy fears him.”

“He fears Quirinus?”

“A lot less than he fears me, or especially Argus Filch, but yes.” Severus' frustration came out a little bit in that last, and he pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache.

“Argus Filch?”

“Attacked Harry in the hallway. I told him if it happened again he'd lose a lot more than his job. He seemed to believe me.”

Albus looked at him seriously. “Of course he did. I believe you.”

“I don't suppose you'd consent to get rid of him?”

“No.” Albus smiled a bit mischievously. “And to clarify, you're also not allowed to kill him.”

“Alas.” Severus answered seriously, only his eyes betraying a light of humor.

“A problem?”

“How am I supposed to entertain myself with you around and the Dark Lord gone?”

“Good works.” Albus suggested. “Help elderly witches cross the street, volunteer at a bake sale-”

Severus tried to stave him off. “I don't do 'good works,' Albus.”

The old man just laughed at Severus' scowl and continued evilly. “Mentor a child...”

Severus opened his mouth to speak before closing it in outrage as Albus continued. “Truly, Severus, you are a terrible person. A Death Eater: out only for your own power and glory at the Dark Lord's side.”

Severus abruptly decided that he'd said all he needed to and it was time to leave. “If you have no further need of me-”

“Just one last thing.”

Severus had been starting to stand, but he sat back down. “Yes, Albus?”

“Don't get too frustrated, Severus. You really are doing a fantastic job.”

Severus hid his embarrassment. “Yes, sir.”

And finally he was allowed to leave.