"I can't stand that nasty, greasy— argh!" Harry slammed his books down onto the low table in a fit of rage, earning him a few curious glances from some nearby sixth years but otherwise going ignored. Plopping down heavily into a waiting armchair, inwardly glad the common room was so empty, Harry, as usual, took his ire out by picking angrily at the red, raw skin around his nails, trying not to think about just what all he'd like to do to Snape given the chance. He really might just hate the man enough to—

"Well, it's really no surprise, is it?" Hermione's voice cut through his inner tantrum as she primly took the seat next to him, Ron standing warily off to the side. "I mean, he caught you with a preserved snail's shell while we were making a Hair-Raising potion."

The boys stared.

"Oh for goodness sake, don't you two study at all?" She glared at them, absently reaching for her Charms book and flipping it open to begin her homework. "Think about the properties of the ingredients used in a Hair-Raising potion and then add a snail's shell of all things to it."

Ron still looked confused, but something niggled at the back of Harry's mind, making him snatch up his Potions text and flip through until he found what he wanted. Letting his eyes scan the passage, he rapidly paled. "Blimey."

"Exactly," Hermione agreed, digging through her bag for a quill. "The explosion would have been monstrous, and a lot of people could have been hurt." Here she frowned, looking at him in perplexity. "Including you, Harry. What were you—"

"I already said it wasn't mine!" He closed the book with a snap, anger returning in full force. "S'not my fault the bat didn't believe me."

"Well," Hermione paused, carefully mulling over her words, "I suppose he was rather unfair, not giving you a proper chance to explain and all. However, assuming the shell had been yours, the punishment he gave out really couldn't be considered too harsh for once. It was really dangerous."

"But it wasn't mine." The boy collapsed back into the comfy cushions of the chair, arms crossed over his chest and perfect pout in place. "Snape just really hates me."

Ron let out something similar to a snigger, raising his eyebrows in his friend's direction. "Well yeah, mate, we've always known that."

Not that that made it any better. "Now I've got detention for a month starting tomorrow... why tomorrow?" Why not that very night?

Hermione peered at him over the top of her book, giving Harry that look that made him feel about as smart as Dudley. "We have Astronomy tonight, remember? You know Professor Snape never holds detention on Astronomy nights."

Ron snorted uncouthly. "Yeah, because if he did he would only be able to keep you there until twelve."

"He doesn't normally keep you longer than that, if even that long," the girl fired right back, instincts making her stand up for a teacher, even if it was Snape. "I'm sure he just doesn't want you exhausted for class." She didn't mention how Snape seemed to have the Astronomy schedule memorized because he handed out so many detentions.

"Sure, Hermione." Ron rolled his eyes Harry's way. "Whatever you say."

"Don't patronize me, Ronald Weasley!"

"Don't... what?"

"Let's just go down to dinner," Harry quickly cut in before they could really get going. He didn't know anyone who could bicker back and forth the way his two best friends could.

"It's still a bit early," Hermione started, only to realize that Ron, the human garbage disposal, was already up and headed for the portrait hole, making anything she said completely obsolete. You didn't get between a Weasley and food.

Harry picked listlessly at the pile on his plate all through the meal, not hungry in the least. The overwhelming rage he'd been feeling had faded by then, leaving a rather empty sensation in his gut, like someone had taken a large spoon and hollowed him out. It wasn't the first time he'd ever felt like this, but it wasn't exactly a common occurrence either; and he had no idea why he was letting Snape get to him like this. Hadn't he vowed just the other day he wouldn't let the Potions Master win this year?

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked in concern, eyeing the untouched food with obvious worry.

"Fine, Hermione," he insisted, forcing a smile. "Just thinking."

Weary in a way that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion, the boy left his friends in the common room after dinner, slowly climbing the stairs to his dorm where he collapsed heavily onto his four poster bed, doing his best to just not think. It wasn't all that surprising he dozed off, only to have Ron shake him awake several hours later. "Astronomy, mate, remember?"

Unfortunately, he did. With a long groan, wishing he could just curl up under the warm covers and sleep for a year, the child pulled himself from his bed, running a hand absently over his messy raven mop in a futile attempt to smooth it down. His head had taken on a dull throbbing while he slept, and the last thing he wanted was to drag himself up to the cold Astronomy tower and endure Professor Sinistra's glare while he tried and failed to find Jupiter. Sinistra may not be anything as bad as Snape, but she was still far from the most pleasant teacher.

Of course, Harry's sluggish movements as he stuffed his feet inside his shoes and went about trying to smooth down his now wrinkled uniform meant that he and Ron could be found dashing desperately through the halls, attempting to reach the school's tallest tower in time. "Sorry, Professor," he gasped out the moment the duo burst through the doors. He leant forward, resting his hands on his knees to try and catch his breath. "Sorry we're late."

He was expecting Sinistra's low, rather monotone voice to order them coldly to their stations, maybe if she was in a bad mood take five points from Gryffindor. He was most certainly not expecting the cheerful and definitely masculine, "Quite all right, boys. A minute or two won't hurt anything, just try not to make it a habit."

Dark head snapping up in surprise, Harry found himself blinking rather stupidly at the same man he'd quite literally run into the other day. What was going on? Was he their new professor?

A tug on his sleeve from Ron had him moving numbly towards the unoccupied telescope next to a frowning Hermione who told them waspishly that they were supposed to find Orion's belt ("Something you would already know had you gotten here on time. You're lucky he didn't take points!"), and he proceeded to adjust his lens on autopilot. After less than a minute, curiosity caught up with him, and he hissed as softly as he could, "Say, Hermione... who is that man? Where's Sinistra?"

She sent him a glare for interrupting her work but answered all the same. "Professor Sinistra is ill, remember? Professor Dumbledore told us Professor Jenkins would be filling in for her at the Welcoming Feast." She made as if to turn back to her telescope before her eyes widened in a way Harry had become familiar with. It was the proverbial light bulb going on above her head. "Oh! Sorry, I forgot you weren't there, of course you didn't know." Rather redundantly, she said again, "That's Professor Jenkins, Professor Sinistra's substitute." The frown began returning rather quickly. "Though he has been sitting at the high table every meal so far, so you think you might have noticed him there before."

Ron, who had of course been listening in, looked once more at the new professor who was at the moment patiently (very patiently) helping Neville. "He seems nice."

Hermione added an endorsement of her own for the man, but Harry stayed silent, just watching. He felt... odd. He honestly didn't know how to describe it, though his stomach definitely felt a bit warm. All he knew was that when Professor Jenkins looked up from Neville's telescope and sent a gentle smile his way... He was glad the man would be around for a while, that was all. He was looking forward to being called Harry again.

-Disfigured-

The sheer audacity of the little brat was truly astounding. Mind-boggling even, completely incomprehensible. Then again, this was James Potter's spawn he was referring to, so maybe it wasn't all that surprising after all. This was just like something the Marauders, as they called themselves, would pull. A harmless prank, cause an explosion in Snivellus' class, make a mess, have a laugh. Never mind the numerous injuries that were caused to the people around them, because hey, why should they ever care for anyone but themselves. As long as they had a good time, everyone else could go jump in the lake. And it was obvious Potter truly had inherited more than just his father's bad eyesight and unruly hair.

Glowering darkly at the object of his ire, who was currently scrubbing a rather large stack of cauldrons, all Snape could see was his childhood nemesis reincarnated to make him miserable once more. Whether or not he should have seen this coming, the fact was, he hadn't. Especially not after Potter's last detention only days prior, the lines he'd been made to write. Snape had thought the punishment had gotten the message across, that he would not tolerate any of the boy's Gryffindor antics this year. He had even suspected Potter had worked out what it was he was truly being punished for, because, loathe as he was to admit it, the brat wasn't completely stupid. He could actually be considered quite clever whenever he bothered to apply himself; which just made it all the more infuriating that instead of accepting his comeuppance and taking Snape's warning to heart, he'd apparently seen it as a cause for even further rebellion. Hence the near disaster in class.

Well, Potter could attempt to rebel all he wanted, he would not get away with it. Snape would not have it. The child would learn his place, even if it meant keeping him in detention until the little monster graduated. He would not allow another James Potter to strut about unchecked; and he didn't even want to remember the somewhat personal insult he'd felt when he noticed the potion the boy had ruined and attempted to blow up was damn near perfect, would have gotten him excellent marks. Obviously that didn't matter to the Boy-Who-Lived so long as it was his greasy Potions professor's class.

Still genuinely furious about it all, Snape didn't bother to feel the least bit guilty in assigning the boy a batch of cauldrons he normally reserved for fifth year and above, the older, stronger students. He actually took some mild amusement in watching Potter attempt to scrub out the largest pewter one, which he could easily climb inside of and hide in. The boy really was minuscule, scrawny. He should eat more.

It was just as the child was attempting to balance his stomach on the edge of the cauldron so he could lean in and clean the bottom, that there was a soft knock against the Potions Master's classroom door. Snape frowned, knowing he didn't have any appointments and not recognizing the knock as a frequent visitor. A student? His snakes knew his door was always open to them, and even the older students from other houses finally learned he would always civilly answer questions about homework or Potions in general, so long as the questions weren't utterly inane. "Enter."

He was a little startled when the person who came in turned out to be Hogwarts' newest professor, not that any of his emotions showed on his carefully neutral face. The man just came in quietly, giving him that pleasant smile he seemed to grace everyone with and which had already managed to earn him the devotion of most of the students. Snape sneered in return. "Jenkins. To what do I owe the pleasure."

If the man caught the sarcasm in his colleague's voice, he certainly didn't let on. "Good evening, Severus. I just ran into Minerva, and she mentioned having to deliver this to you. I told her I didn't mind bringing it down for her; she's so busy with her duties as Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor, even taking the time to use the floo—"

Snape snatched the proffered parchment from the man's hand, thankfully cutting off his pointless rambling. He should have known this man would be the kind who always felt the need to make friendly smalltalk. Even if the other person was him.

Flicking dark eyes down the missive in front of him, he gave the slightly older man a curt nod, the only thanks he would get, and with another smile Jenkins turned to leave— only to pause at the rather humorous sight of Potter only visible from the waist down, upper half inside the cauldron, his feet flailing about as he tried to scrub and keep his balance at the same time. Snape tried not to smile.

Sending a glance the Potions professor's way, Jenkins cleared his throat lightly. "Harry?"

Snape took a moment to ponder how Jenkins had figured out which student he was looking at, before realizing there weren't many children, boys especially, as small as Potter in the entire school, not to mention that anytime the boy wasn't in uniform, he wore a particularly ratty pair of old trainers at least two sizes too big for him which most of the students wouldn't be caught dead in. The same shoes which were now on blatant display, dangling in the air for all to see. Obviously Jenkins was more observant than the ex-spy would have given him credit for, a fact Snape carefully filed away for possible use later.

At the sound of his name, Potter attempted to surface from his work and face the speaker. It was all Snape could do not to chuckle when the boy found himself stuck, unable to push himself upward enough to get out of the cauldron, feet kicking helplessly as though it would do any good and nearly sending those over-sized monsters flying. Priceless.

He scowled a touch when Jenkins quickly moved forward and, reaching into the cauldron, grabbed Potter beneath his arms, bodily lifting the small boy to safety. Once the child had been gently set back on his feet, Jenkins' one hand moved to his shoulder in a friendly gesture, smile firmly back in place. "All right there, Harry?"

"Yes." The boy hastily adjusted his glasses and ran a hand back through his sweaty hair, making it stick nearly straight up in the process and reminding Snape uncomfortably of the way James Potter would purposely do the same. "Thank you, sir. For—" he gestured towards the cauldron with a mild blush.

"Not at all," the professor said with a wave of his hand, brown eyes straying towards the cauldrons and landing on the already decently large pile of carefully cleaned ones. "Did you do all of those tonight, Harry?"

For some reason that Snape couldn't fathom, the boy was positively beaming. "Yes, sir. Well, all except the big one. I haven't finished..." He shrugged.

"I see." Jenkins' brow scrunched a bit as he contemplated the pile once more. "Well, I'm sure Professor Snape would agree that you've done plenty for one night's work."

Harry blinked in surprise before shooting a glance at the Potions professor. It didn't look like Snape agreed with that at all; but then Professor Jenkins looked at Snape too and raised his eyebrows just a little. "After all, you are still only a second year."

Snape, who had been doing his best to make the Astronomy professor spontaneously combust with just his eyes (how dare the man interfere when he was disciplining a student), actually felt a small twinge at Jenkins' next words, though he refused to let his glare lessen. Potter may have deserved punishment, but he was still only twelve. It was possible (only possible, mind you) that Snape had been abusing his power just the tiniest bit; and the boy had, confessedly, worked hard all night without complaint. Very well, Snape knew when he'd toed the line. He'd never admit it, but he still knew.

"I suppose, taking into account Potter's astonishing level of incompetence, that this is indeed the best I will receive from him this evening." His dark gaze snapped from the slightly older man to the small child by his side wearing over-sized clothes that made him look as though he were playing dress-up. "Same time tomorrow, Potter. Now leave, before your ineptness begins to infect my classroom."

Harry was momentarily torn between thanking Snape for the unexpected early reprieve and snapping back at him with a few witty insults of his own. It took a total of two and a half seconds before he wisely decided to just not say anything and instead scurried from the room, not daring to look back over his shoulder, Gryffindor or not.

Snape, who had returned to his marking the moment he'd finished dismissing the boy, heard the door thud shut behind him, though he was all too aware of the other presence still in the room. Without bothering to look up, he drawled, "Something you need, Jenkins?" If the man thought he would discuss what had just happened or why he'd decided to go along with his suggestion, he was sorely mistaken.

When the other man didn't answer right away, he reluctantly allowed his eyes to flicker up, only to find himself being studied by the man, as if he were some sort of interesting new specimen to be looked at beneath a microscope. Oh, he still wore that friendly smile, yes, but his eyes had become rather shrewd, as though he were trying very hard to determine something. After a short pause it seemed he found whatever he was looking for, and the brown eyes softened once more, posture relaxing into a more defenseless position. "Nothing at the moment, Severus. Be sure to look over that document from Minerva; she seemed a tad frazzled by it. You have a lovely evening."

Snape was disinclined to reply, but he carefully watched the man as he left, mind already whirring with bits and pieces of new information. Jenkins was likely harmless, yes, but there was definitely more there than a soft-hearted, soft-headed Hufflepuff. He would have to keep an eye on him... to assuage his own curiosity if for nothing else. He smirked. It should be fun.

Meanwhile, Jenkins softly shut the door of the Potions classroom behind him, turning to head back up out of the dungeons and nearly bowling over the small figure blocking his path. "Harry! You're still here? Is something wrong?"

Harry smiled happily (if not a bit shyly) up at the man, warmth blossoming in his chest. "Er, no, sir, nothing's wrong. S'just... I wanted to say thank you. For getting me out of detention early. Snape would never have let me leave otherwise." Once he'd finished speaking he realized exactly what it was he'd said and waited for the soft admonishment for forgetting to use Snape's proper title. It never came, which made him strangely glad.

"Yes, I had a feeling that was the case." The professor studied the boy kindly and his smile got even more affable, if that was possible. "Don't mind Professor Snape, Harry. I know he seems harsh, but his bark is worse than his bite..." The smile turned a bit sly. "Probably."

Harry snorted, admiring the man all the more for not only standing up to Snape for him but also being unafraid of harmlessly joking about the bat. It was clear he wasn't doing it to be mean, nothing malicious about it, but knowing Snape, he'd probably attempt to turn him into potions' ingredients if he heard. The git had absolutely no sense of humor.

Jenkins made a sudden movement, reaching out a hand towards him, and his first instinct was to duck away before he could be cuffed about the head. Managing to keep his reactions to only a minute flinch, the boy stiffened when the hand did indeed touch his head, falling lightly to rest on his bird's nest of dark locks.

Staring rather blankly at the man, he felt more movement and wondered idly if the professor was trying to mess up his hair; because, really, it didn't need the help. Though it did feel good...

And then he became aware of just what it was the man was actually doing. He was 'ruffling Harry's hair'. Causing it to become even more untidy than usual, yes, but that was because he was running his fingers through it, massaging them against the boy's scalp. Letting his eyes fall shut, it wasn't lost on Harry that this was the first time an adult had ever done this for him. In fact, with the exception of Mrs. Weasley's hugs, this was the first time an adult had ever done more than put a friendly hand on his shoulder. It was nice.

-Mutilated-

Giggling was the first thing Harry heard as he climbed the familiar stairs to the second-year boys' dorm, making him roll his eyes lightly behind smudged glass. He often wondered why it was girls who were pinned down as the giggly ones, when he knew for a fact he and his friends (some more than others) indulged in that particular type of laughter quite often. Maybe it was just because they were often loathe to do it in public? It wasn't very manly, after all, and with them being twelve, some of them thirteen already, it would hardly do to go around making the same noises as, say, Lavender Brown. The very thought made him cringe.

Pushing the door open and stepping through, he found all of his roommates huddled together around Seamus' bed, the Irish boy and Dean looking oddly delighted, Ron very shifty-eyed and pink-eared, and Neville... well, Neville's face was so red, Harry was afraid all the blood in his head might make the rounder boy pass out right there. Curiously, he stepped over, standing on tip-toes to see properly over his best friend's shoulder, wondering out loud, "What have you got this time?"

The pitch of his laughter (giggles) rising significantly, Seamus brandished the magazine in his hands in Harry's direction, gleefully informing him, "Me cousin sent it. Most popular in all of Wizarding Britain."

Harry frowned in perplexity and craned his neck for a better angle. Most popular what?

The moment his eyes landed on a naked pair of breasts— moving naked breasts, he realized why Neville looked the way he did. Fuck all, it was a bloody porn magazine and —sparing one more quick glance at the vigorously active photo— fuck was indeed the correct word. This wasn't the typical Muggle Playboy he'd seen Dudley and his friends drooling over once or twice before, this was a full-out picture of a couple, a male and female together having... doing that. It was— fuck, what was the woman— oh piss, did women really do that?

Sharing a wide-eyed look with Neville, the only other boy there besides himself who seemed uncomfortable, Harry quickly squeaked out, "Gotta go. Detention," and positively fled from the room and then Gryffindor Tower altogether.

Walking down to the dungeons (he hadn't lied; he really did have a detention, after all, it just wasn't for another half an hour yet) the Boy-Who-Lived attempted to slow his breathing and tried to get his outrageous blush back under control. Why did Seamus have something like that? Were he and Dean and even Ron really interested in that already? Was there something wrong with him because he wasn't?

Not that he wasn't curious, to a degree. He knew about sex, all the mechanics of it and everything, that people did it for babies and pleasure, what part went where... And, of course, he'd gotten... erections. Plenty of them, all at what he swore were the absolute most inopportune times. He'd even... touched himself before, when he was able to find some privacy, he understood it was all a perfectly normal part of being a teenage boy... but that magazine had been a bit much. He wasn't— he didn't— ugh, what was wrong with him? Were the others really that much more mature than him?

No, no, Neville had looked just as awkward as he had. So that meant... he was just as mature... as Neville...

Stopping with a sigh and turning to face the wall, letting his still too-hot forehead fall forward to rest against the cold stone, Harry cursed himself, his stupid reaction to what was apparently supposed to excite him, and his obvious childishness. It was blatant he would need to work harder to act more adult, to catch up with the other boys. He wasn't even really interested in dating girls yet. While the others were starting to look at them that way, he still considered them as nuisances or friends. He really needed to get his act together, and quickly.

He'd spent too many years, being the odd, nerdy kid who had his head shoved in toilets and was always picked last. He didn't ever want to be that kid again. Never.