Harry was now under the impression that the Professor muttered to himself often. After clearing his mouth out of soot once again – Harry was beginning to feel like a chimney sweep – it was becoming quite apparent to him. The man was muttering dark things under his breath, sounding extremely irritated. 

“Idiot woman,” Snape was saying as he dragged Harry along towards the middle of the room. “Lines, of all the—How dare she claim I don’t know how to deal with children! Me?!” 

It was almost comical. 

Then again, Harry was once again the only one in the room to take Snape’s full wrath. 

Luckily, though, it appeared that Snape’s fury was for the toad and the toad alone. Harry was finally released from Snape’s grasp. The man flicked his wand and a long rectangle table appeared in front of them. With another flick, the door of Snape’s office flew open. There was a long pause before Harry caught the sound of clanging metal in the distance. 

Cauldrons… 

Yep, that’s what it meant. There was no doubt about it and while normally Harry didn’t like the prospect of scrubbing endless caldrons, at that moment, he was beyond thankful he wasn’t required to etch that horrible sentence into the back of his hand. He’d scrub cauldrons any day. 

A stream of cauldrons floated into the room. By the time they finished arriving, there were fifteen in all – fifteen dirty, nasty smelling cauldrons. But they were heaven sent in Harry’s eyes. He resisted from rolling up his sleeves so Snape didn’t think he was too eager. This he could do, having had to do endless chores all his life back with the Dursleys. 

“Potter, you are aware of the concept of scrubbing, are you not?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good, because you are going to become reacquainted,” sneered Snape, looking down at Harry with a light smirk tugging at his thin lips. “I believe ten cauldrons for your stupidity of not keeping your mouth shut with that woman, then another five for your disrespect in my quarters will suffice. For a repeated offence of such disrespect, I’ll double that. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” 

“Transparently,” said Harry, hiding the mischievous smile that was attempting to break his face. He got a raised eyebrow for that, but the man didn’t comment on it. Harry didn’t really care either way. He was just delightfully happy that he didn’t have to spend another evening with that horrible toad – even if it did mean he had to spend the evening scrubbing cauldrons. Snape waved a hand over towards a sink that was at the back of the office. 

“Gloves are in a drawer over there. You are not to use magic,” instructed Snape, before snapping out, “Now get to work!” 

Jumping slightly from the sharp tone, Harry did as the man commanded. He grabbed one of the large cauldrons and plunked it into the sink. He turned on the tap, warming it up first, and filling the cauldron with the water. 

“Potter.” 

Harry turned back, glancing at Snape. The man was watching him with sharp eyes. They seemed to study him carefully. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“What did Umbridge really have you do?” asked Snape, his voice in a low undertone. “You cannot expect me to believe that she merely had you do lines. Surely something so trivial like that cannot have instilled such fear into that flagrant rule breaking brain of yours.” 

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He adverted his gaze immediately; his hand slipping over his wrist, just above those condemning words that were carved into his skin. His hand tightened. The noise of rushing water hitting metal was the only sound that lifted into air. 

“Yeah, she was only making me do lines, sir,” said Harry softly, still not looking back up at Snape. Harry’s hand was shaking from the force of his grasp, causing his hurting hand to flare up in pain – but he couldn’t stop. He was thankful that his robe sleeves hid his hand so well. He didn’t want anyone to know. He just couldn’t let anyone know. 

The man didn’t say anything for a few moments. Then, there was a sharp sigh. 

“Get to work, Potter,” said Snape. Harry glanced up to see the man turning away and walking to his desk. He only paused for a moment as he watched Snape take a stack of paper and begin to read the first one – probably student essays. 

Poor man… thought Harry wryly, thinking about all his own badly written essays that he had turned in throughout the years – he certainly could admit it. With a smile tugging at the side of his lips, he turned to his own work. He stopped the water, which was now overflowing in the cauldron, and pulled out the gloves from the nearby drawer. He glanced over at Snape, biting his lower lip. The man was deeply involved with the sheet of paper in his hands; his eyebrows furrowed and his expression sour. Quickly, Harry slipped one of the gloves over his writing hand. Then, he put the other one on. He couldn’t help but glance over at Snape again, hoping the man didn’t catch sight of his strange behavior. 

The man didn’t. 

A silent sigh passed over Harry’s lips. His secret was still safe. There was no reason to let anyone know what the hag was doing to him. This was a battle of wills between the two of them. There was no way Harry was going to give Umbridge the satisfaction of knowing she got to him. No, this was his fight and his fight alone. He wouldn’t allow her to get the better of him. 

His friends didn’t need to know; his head of house didn’t need to know; Dumbledore didn’t need to know – and if they didn’t need to know, then Snape certainly didn’t need to know either. 

This was just another thing Harry kept close to his heart. Just another little secret that no one else knew. 

It wasn’t as if anyone really wanted to know. It wasn’t like anyone could do anything to change his situation either. No, it was best this way. He’s been alone for so many years, it was just natural this way. He loved Sirius, but his Godfather wasn’t around very much. He was sure that Sirius loved him, but sometimes he wondered if that was only because he was James Potter’s son and not because he was Harry. He loved his best friends, but he never could confide in them his deepest feelings. 

Such things were too tender, too fragile – they could break if given to someone who didn’t fully understood. Harry wasn’t sure if he could handle it if his deepest secrets were broken in the hands of someone who wasn’t careful. 

Harry shook himself of his thoughts and set to his job at hand; rolling up his sleeves. He wanted to get through this as quickly as possible. With the ending in sight, he could go as fast as he wanted. Before, in detention, Snape always instructed to scrub until he said to stop. But here, there was a limit – not to mention, it was easy. He’d done this kind of work all his life, after all. 

Within the next ten minutes, Harry filled every cauldron with hot water. He couldn’t use any cleaning solutions, even though he wished he could. But he knew that if he did, the residue from the solutions would interact with future potions. Wouldn’t want to give students another reason to blow up or melt their cauldrons, now would he? 

Next, was the hard, but easy part. Nothing a little elbow grease couldn’t handle, though. He started with the first cauldron he filled and began the difficult task of scrubbing off the nasty, crusted potion remains from the interior. But because of the hot water, the residue was coming off easily. His mind forget all else as he got into a rhythm. He even didn’t realize how quickly he was going. He just continued without stopping for a break. 

On his tenth cauldron, he leaned back for a minute, wiping the sweat that had accumulated on his brow. He was pleased with his work. It was an accomplishment to get these things cleaned so well, he knew. Ruined potions tended to stick to the cauldron siding like super glue and a well placed sticking charm. Harry wondered how the school handled all the destroyed cauldrons the students went through every year. 

Harry silently chuckled to himself as a picture of the bill of what having Potions class cost rose inside his mind, before he moved onto his eleventh cauldron. 

Almost done. 

Severus was staring at the same essay for the past forty-five minutes and he still couldn’t make head or tails of it. It wasn’t because the student did a poor job of it, however – which was a miracle in itself – it was more because Severus’ thoughts were far away from a potions essay. 

The brat was hiding something – what, Severus didn’t know. Though he was tempted to use Legilimency on the boy, he couldn’t, of course. One, because the Headmaster would – no doubt – ‘frown’ on it and two, because the brat broke eye contact whenever he was hiding something. He knew a liar when he saw one. Potter wasn’t lying, though – the boy was doing lines. But his body language said it was much more than that. 

Oh, he’d been tempted to use Legilimency on the toad that was supposed to be called a woman. But it was far too dangerous to try. He didn’t know if Umbridge had any training in Occlumency. If she did, she would instantly know that Severus was trying to enter her mind. It wouldn’t do Severus any good to get into trouble with the Ministry, since he was on shaking ground as it was now. No one really believed there was such a thing as an Ex-Death Eater. 

So, he had refrained from slipping into the toad’s mind. Probably would’ve been an unpleasant experience anyways. 

But that still didn’t change the fact that Potter was hiding something. He wasn’t even like his usual, annoying, arrogant self like he was in class. Something was up and Severus was determined to find out. The brat must be up to something. That had to be the only explanation. 

Yet… 

Images flashed in Severus’ mind – the way Potter shivered and stepped away from Umbridge, the way Potter looked so submissive in front of Umbridge when answering her. 

Yes. Something was going on, something strange was definitely going on. It probably wasn’t anything more than some mischief contrived inside the Potter brat’s mind. Blast his curiosity in this! It wasn’t like he cared, only if it was rule breaking and trouble mongering, then he could take points and assign detentions. But, here he was, unable to get these thoughts out of his mind about the Brat-Who-Lived. And now, not only that, but he had to house the boy in his quarters. 

Severus needed a good, stiff drink. Too bad he never drank anything stronger than a butterbeer – just couldn’t bring himself to do it. The ghosts of the past haunted him too much to allow that into his life. 

What was he going to do now that he had a teenager forced upon him? And not just any teen, but the blasted Golden Boy, the hero of the Wizarding World. On top of it all, that same boy had to be the symbol of the very thing that Severus detested more than anything in the world. 

Potter. 

Bitterness rose inside Severus’ chest as unbidden memories replayed in his mind. His lip curled at the very thought of his hated enemy. Oh, he hated the Dark Lord, there was no doubt about that. But Potter held the grand medal of making Severus’ life a living purgatory as a child. Black was included in that, being his little cohort. 

The very spawn on his most hated enemy now had to live with him for an indefinite amount of time. 

Fate really knew how to get a chap in the gut. 

“Sir?” 

Severus’ thoughts broke as the brat’s voice spoke up. He turned his head over to the boy and gave him his best glare. 

“What?” 

“I’ve finished.” 

“What?” breathed Severus, standing up. He walked over to Potter to inspect his work. “You cannot be done so soon.” 

“Well, I am,” said Potter, sounding annoyed. 

“Watch the cheek,” snapped Severus. “You will address me with respect.” 

The brat sighed and ran a gloved hand through his messy black hair. He appeared tired and resigned. 

“Right, yes, sir. I’m sorry,” said the boy, looking contritely up at him – a look Severus never imagined could grace that face. He blinked once, a little startled by the instant compliance. Then, he continued to look down at Potter with a stern expression. 

“I thought I told you no magic.” 

Potter’s eyes widened. 

“But I didn’t, sir. I cleaned them all without magic.” 

“Oh?” drawled Severus derisively, folding his arms. The little brat expected him to believe that? Severus mentally scoffed. “You cannot expect me to believe that Gryffindor’s precious Golden Boy scrubbed those cauldrons so quickly without magic.” 

“Hey, I did!” cried Potter indignantly. “I scrubbed every last one without magic.” 

“So quickly? Impossible.” 

“Well, I did. You were here with me! You would’ve been able to tell if I used magic, right? I really did the work.” 

“In a mere hour?” said Severus in disbelief. “It takes other students at least two to three hours to accomplish that.” 

“Well, sir, I’m good at scrubbing,” said Potter with a shrug. “I can easily do fifteen cauldrons in an hour.” 

Severus’ eyes narrowed. 

“Prove it, Potter. Do another set of fifteen cauldrons.” 

Potter folded his arms and stared at the cleaned cauldrons. Then, he glanced up at Severus, his emerald green eyes narrowing. Severus tried very hard not to avert his own gaze from those eyes of the past. 

“What’s in it for me?” asked the brat, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve already done my detention work, and well, actually.” 

To say that Severus was surprised by this answer was an understatement. He’d have expected this response from one of his own, from one of his Slytherins. But from the Golden Boy of Gryffindor? It was preposterous. However, the boy kept looking at him as if he expected an answer. 

“Perhaps I will abstain from taking points for your cheek,” answered Severus, letting his voice drop to a soft tone – his usual one that sent students fleeing from his presence in terror. “Perhaps I won’t assign another detention.” 

Potter unfolded his arms and scratched his cheek with his left hand. He glanced at the cauldrons for a moment, before looking back up at Severus. There was a gentle fire inside those eyes, one that was filled with spunk. 

“Twenty points to Gryffindor says I can do it.” 

Severus raised an eyebrow. 

“And if I can’t, you can take fifty points from Gryffindor for my, uh… cheek.” 

Never in all his teaching years had Severus ever heard such a proposition from a student. The little brat was actually betting house points on this! Potter was literally dripping with confidence. Severus could barely contain his scoff. The brat sure had nerve! 

“Or you could obey me and do it anyways. Or I could just take fifty points right now for your impressive arrogance,” said Severus, trying hard to hold back the snarl in his voice. 

“What, you’re afraid I might actually prove you wrong?” asked Potter, green eyes glowing brightly as a smirk tugged at his mouth. “You obviously think I can’t do it. What have you got to lose?” 

There was a twitch. 

“You’re on, Potter,” said Severus flatly, flicking his wand towards the door to summon more dirty cauldrons. “Let’s see these astonishing scrubbing skills of yours.” 

The smile was blinding. Severus couldn’t imagine having such an effect on the boy, but the Brat-Who-Lived-to-Drive-Him-Insane was smiling broadly as he began to grab two clean cauldrons at a time to stack them in a corner until they were all stacked. Soon, in their place at that table were fifteen more cauldrons. 

“Ah—” Severus tapped Potter on the shoulder. As the boy turned, Severus held out his hand expectantly. “Your wand, Potter.” 

The boy hesitated as he pulled it out of his back trousers pocket. 

“You’ll give it back, right?” 

“Possibly,” smirked Severus. The boy sighed and handed over his wand. Then, before Severus could set it aside, the boy was already getting to the job. Severus leaned against his desk, folding his arms as he watched the boy work. 

The boy seemed to have some knowledge of scrubbing cauldrons, or possibly pots. He was soaking them in hot water. Severus’ eyebrows lifted up high in surprise when the boy started – really attacked – the first cauldron. The boy was truly putting everything into scrubbing the grime from the sides of the cauldron. Never had he seen anyone work that hard – barring house elves, that is. There was an intense amount of concentration that went into the work as well. 

Severus didn’t want to admit it, but he grudgingly was impressed with the brat. The boy was proving him wrong, he really did clean those cauldrons without magic in such a short amount of time. As Potter rinsed out his first cauldron, inspecting it for a minute, and moved onto the next, Severus went over to check on the boy’s work. 

It was nothing short of exemplary. 

If only his work in class was like this, thought Severus bitterly. He glanced back at the boy, who was already hard at scrubbing the next cauldron. Severus couldn’t help but frown. Where did the boy get such determination? It was only twenty points. The brat could easily earn that. So why? Why was he pushing himself so hard for this? 

Or… 

Was this normal behavior for him? Severus wasn’t his head of house, so he certainly couldn’t be aware of the small things. But if this was normal behavior, why hadn’t it been seen before? This wasn’t the lazy, arrogant, defiant, attention seeking brat that gave disrespect in class. This was a determined young man, trying to prove something. 

What was he trying to prove? 

Just who was this boy anyways? 

It was a short hour to Severus as he watched the boy. His mind was trying to unlock the enigma before him. Every time he tried to compare the boy with his predecessor, it was like an error was popping up in his mind. It just didn’t connect. James Potter would never be caught dead scrubbing cauldrons and if he had been forced to, he’d have complained and whined through the entire event. 

And he certainly wouldn’t have taken on a second patch for twenty points. 

This boy in front of Severus was a curiosity. 

How irritating! How dare the brat do anything confusing like this! Now Severus had figure out what was going on and he certainly didn’t want to take an interest in the Brat-Who-Lived. No, he did not want to waste any time thinking about this boy. 

Yet, he was… 

With the final cauldron finished, Potter set it aside with the other gleaming cauldrons. There were thirty cauldrons all ready for the next dunderhead to muck up a potion inside. Severus doubted those cauldrons had ever been so clean since the day they left the shop. 

“Well?” asked Potter, turning to him and grinning broadly; a trail of sweat slipping down his temple unimpeded. 

Well, indeed, Mr. Potter. 

“Mmm, twenty points to Gryffindor for showing up a house elf.” The grin that glowed from the boy’s face rivaled a Lumos Maxima spell. Irritating. “And… ten points from Gryffindor for betting with a teacher.” 

There was an elaborate groan. 

Potter wiped the sweat off his brow. Then, after a moment, he shrugged and still smiled up at Severus. 

“Well, I still earned ten points. That’s something. A first with you, anyways, sir. I bet I’m the first Gryffindor to earn points from the feared Head of Slytherin.” 

There was something undeniably cheeky about that smile. 

Severus took it upon himself not to mention to the boy that he hadn’t really taken those points away – despite that cheeky smile. It was rare that he was ever impressed with a student and he was experiencing such a thing at that very moment. 

Just how was it that the pampered, lazy, spoiled Golden Boy of Gryffindor could clean better than the best of house elves?