Harry awoke the next morning, surprised that he’d actually gotten back to sleep. The previous night’s events came rushing back to him.

Discovering Dumbledore’s plot. The incident in the library. Snape blowing up, and then later, apologizing for it.

Why? What could he gain from doing that? He wouldn’t get in trouble; isn’t that exactly what Dumbledore wanted in the first place, for him to make me miserable? So what would Snape gain from pretending to be nice and saying he won’t hurt me?

Harry shrugged, noticing a lingering soreness in his shoulder. Ignoring it, he dressed. Technically, there was no more danger in being in Snape’s company than there had already been. Snape could do what he pleased, and Harry would not be able to escape, at least until he figured out how to break through the wards.

Shoving his dagger into his pocket, Harry made his way to the kitchen.

Snape was seated in his usual place at the table, but there was no newspaper in sight. He nodded to Harry, gesturing toward the food. Harry ate carefully, on his guard, knowing that Snape would speak eventually.

And he did.

“It has occurred to me, Mr. Potter, that I have not assessed you for lasting injuries you may have received at my hands.”

Snape said that in an inscrutable tone of voice, though Harry thought he glimpsed a glimmer of remorse in the man’s eyes.

He’s just faking it.

Snape was looking at Harry, waiting for something.

Oh.

“I’m fine, sir. There’s no need.”

That is the last thing I need. Especially considering what happened the last time someone wanted to assess me.

“While your forbearance is commendable, Mr. Potter, I cannot in good conscience leave your shoulder unchecked, considering that you treated it yourself,” Snape said carefully.

Harry felt his heartbeat speed up.

Not good. I don’t want him near me. I don’t want anyone near me. Ever again.

He shook his head quickly.

“It feels perfectly fine, sir. I don't need further treatment.”

Please let it go. Please.

“I am afraid I must disagree with you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry wanted to smash his head against the table.

“If your shoulder has sustained untreated damage, it is likely to grow more painful, and the injury may eventually become irreversible.”

Harry shook his head again, trying valiantly to control his anxiety.

“No, thank you, sir. I don’t-”

Snape held up a hand, silencing Harry, and he stiffened, his eyes following Snape’s movements.

Snape lowered his hand, looking somewhat agitated. He took a deep breath, as though gathering the last vestiges of his patience.

“Mr. Potter, I am aware that you do not feel you require it, but it is necessary for the damage to be attended to. I would much prefer that you allow me to do so. However, should you continue to refuse assistance, I will have little choice but to insist.”

Harry wanted to run, as fast and far as he could, ‘til he was back on the streets, alone and in control.

I have no choice now. When I don’t comply, it hurts more. And I’ve no doubt that he could force me. It’ll happen no matter what I do.

Harry's hands began to tremble, and he didn't bother trying to conceal them. He nodded once, tersely, avoiding Snape's gaze.

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry looked up through his fringe.

“I will reiterate, as it appears you require me to do so, that I will not harm you in any way. I intend to repair the damage, not to exacerbate it,” Snape said, in a tone that was clearly meant to be reassuring.

You don’t fool me. You’re a liar. This is a trick, so you can do what you want to me without my initial resistance.

Harry glared at Snape; there was no reason not to, now. Snape would do what he wished, but Harry wasn’t going to be pleasant about it. Clearly, being pleasant hadn’t worked thus far.

Snape, contrary to Harry’s expectations, did not call Harry out on his rudeness. He simply shook his head slightly, a crease between his eyes.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter. If you are quite done with your food, I will ask that you follow me.”

Harry nodded, and they both rose, Snape waving his wand to clear the table.

He followed Snape into the sitting room, and, as per instruction, sat down on the couch, while Snape conjured a chair, swiveling it around to face Harry. Harry sat back at far as he could, his hands in fists, far too agitated to contemplate the magic Snape had just performed.

 Snape sighed.

“Mr. Potter, I will require you to remove you shirt so I can properly assess the damage."

Please. No. Not this. Anything- Get a grip, idiot, you knew this was coming. Comply, and you might get off easy. Stop being pathetic. Show no fear. You don’t care at all. You don’t.

Forcing his fingers to cease their trembling, Harry removed his shirt, shivering slightly as he felt cool air breeze across his bare chest.

Snape’s reaction was odd. Instead of reaching toward him, Snape’s eyes traveled down Harry’s torso, pausing first at Harry’s slightly swollen shoulder, and then at the bruising around his upper arms. Harry saw Snape’s face tighten at that.

Harry then saw Snape’s gaze shift to the spot on his chest, just below the collarbone, where he’d been knifed a while back. At least Harry had won the dagger after that fight. Then Snape’s eyes moved toward the misshapen rib on his left side, which had never quite healed. And at all the more recent scrapes and bruises in various stages of healing.

Feeling exposed, Harry drew his arms around himself, but that just drew Snape’s attention toward the burn scars near his elbows, from when he’d been shoved into the stove.

What is he doing? Just get on with it, will you?

Harry looked at Snape, and studied the strange expression on his face. It was fierce, and angry, but Harry did not think that the anger was directed at him.

Why is he so interested in my scars and stuff?

Snape was silent for another moment, his gaze traveling to Harry’s face. Harry avoided his eyes, staring resolutely at Snape’s hands, which had yet to reach toward him.

“Are your nightmares a regular occurrence, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked quietly.

What? Damn his observance! Only he would make that connection. Why is he asking? What does he care?

Harry remained stubbornly silent. Snape could poke and prod ‘til the cows came home, but Harry was not going to make this easy for him.

However, Snape seemed to have guessed the truth.

“I must once again express my apologies, Mr. Potter. I was unaware of your current injuries.”

As if I would tell you.

Snape then straightened in his seat, pulling out his wand. Harry immediately tensed, and it was all he could do not to run for the door.

It’ll just be worse if you do.

Snape studied him through narrowed eyes.

“Mr. Potter, I wish to simply cast a diagnostic spell to determine the state of your shoulder, nothing more. You will not feel anything.”

Harry’s breathing only quickened at that, and he glanced quickly around the room, looking for an escape route.

“Potter, while your wariness would be prudent were I likely to pose harm, I only intend to help you.”

That’s what they all say.

Fear was beginning to overtake Harry’s senses.

You’re a liar. Stupid git. That’s it.

All logical thought seemed to abandon Harry, and he immediately ran for the door. It closed in his face, lock clicking shut. Harry just stopped and simply stared at the door, his chest heaving.

“Potter.”

Harry turned slowly to find Snape in the same position he had been, albeit with a less neutral expression on his face.

“To me. Now,” Snape said in frighteningly soft tone, his black eyes boring into Harry.

This is it, then. No more games.

Harry smoothed his features into blankness, and walked back toward the couch, feeling as though he was walking toward the electric chair.

He sat and looked at Snape, waiting.

After a pause, Snape raised his wand, and it was only through sheer force of will that Harry did not cringe.

But when Snape waved his wand, Harry felt nothing, his shoulder simply glowed red for a moment, then stopped.

“That was it, Mr. Potter. Was that truly worth your previous display?” Snape said, in what Harry thought was a condescending tone of voice.

Screw you.

Harry did not appreciate being talked down to. He had no reason to believe that Snape wasn’t going to hurt him.

“Yes, sir. It was,” Harry said in a hard voice.

Let’s see how nice he is now, after that.

However, Snape just looked at Harry with an inscrutable expression on his face.

“It is unfortunate that you feel that way, Mr. Potter.”

It is unfortunate that I have to sit here with my shirt off while you wave your wand in my face.

“Now, back to the matter at hand,” Snape said, it a more businesslike tone of voice.

“While your shoulder was indeed relocated correctly, it was done so rather roughly, which resulted in the swelling and stiffness you are currently experiencing. Therefore…” Snape pulled a bottle of a bright blue liquid out of his robes. “This will ease the swelling.”

He handed the potion to Harry. Harry didn’t take it, he just looked at Snape with raised eyebrows.

You expect me to just consume that willingly? Looks like poison to me. You’ll have to force it down my throat, I’m not dying willingly on your terms.

Snape looked irritated.

“Would it help, Potter, if I first sampled the potion, so you can be assured that I have no intention of poisoning you?”

No.

“Perhaps, sir, it is only lethal in large quantities,” Harry said tersely.

At this point, Snape appeared slightly amused. He flicked his wand, and Harry jerked back, but nothing happened. A moment later, a book flew into Snape’s hand. He rapidly flipped through its pages and handed it to Harry.

“This is the recipe for the potion, Mr. Potter, and it is pictured here,” Snape pointed.

Harry looked. There was an image of a blue potion identical to the one in Snape’s hand, titled Anti-Inflammatory Potion. He skimmed through the ingredients, finding nothing that appeared sinister.

“As I do not doubt you are aware, considering the apparently extensive research you have seen fit to engage in, if a potion is altered in any significant way, it will no longer appear as it was meant to,” Snape said, in an irritatingly erudite tone.

Nice try. You almost got me there.

“You're a potions master, sir. I’ve no doubt that you of all people would be able to get around that.”

Snape smirked slightly.

“While you flatter me with your most generous assessment of my skills, even I am not capable of such a feat.”

So you say.

Harry continued to stare at Snape, refusing to accept the potion.

Snape was appearing less amused, and rapidly more irritated.

“You are being irrational, Potter.”

No, just reasonably cautious.

Snape looked angry, now.

“You will drink it. Now.”

Harry shook his head, scooting backwards.

No, you’ll have to force me. I’m not an idiot.

Snape rose from his seat, towering over Harry.

Oh, god, here it comes.

Harry dug his head into his knees, wrapping his arm around them tightly as he waited for Snape to grab him. But nothing happened. A minute passed. Then another. Harry heard Snape sit down, and he peeked through his fingers.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said in a low voice. “I do apologize for frightening you.” Snape’s eyes were slightly narrowed, though his face was inscrutable as ever.

I am not frightened.

Harry slowly untangled himself and blanked his face. Snape looked tense, but no longer angry.

“If you were to assist me in brewing the potions you require, would you be amenable to consuming them?”

Harry studied Snape face, not quite believing his offer. But, odd as it was, Snape appeared sincere in his statement.

 I can do that. I guess he really doesn’t want to poison me. Otherwise he would have forced me. Maybe he’s come up with another plan.

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, Mr. Potter. You will accompany me to my potions laboratory immediately following lunch. You may go.”

Snape flicked his wand, and the door opened.

Harry pulled his shirt on and left the room as quickly as he could without running. Instead of going to the library, Harry retreated to the grounds, and he ran as far as he could from the house. He stopped by his favorite tree and scrambled up its branches, until he was almost completely concealed by large, dark green leaves.

Why did Snape have to start noticing him, now? Everything had been fine before, when he and Snape had simply left each other alone. But for some reason, now Snape insisted on asking questions, and he would not stop poking around where he was not wanted. None of it made sense to Harry, and he longed for the first few days he’d been here, when he’d barely had to look at Snape.

I don’t get it. He clearly does want to give me healing potions, because he’s going to the trouble of letting me help brew them. If he wanted to poison me, he wouldn’t do that. So why, then?

The only plausible explanation Harry could come up with was that Snape really was sorry for hurting him. But that made no sense.

Maybe he just doesn’t want Dumbledore to find out.

But that made no sense either.

According to my theory, Dumbledore wants me to be miserable here, and anywhere I live before Hogwarts. Unfortunately for him, I figured out his plan.

Nothing was adding up, and Harry hated it. He always knew what was going on, or at least had some idea, but now, he was coming up blank, and that was not okay.

Harry continued to sit on the tree branch broodingly, his legs swinging.

After an undetermined length of time, Harry figured, by the position of the sun, that it was about time for lunch. He hurried inside, and found that he was not far wrong.

Without looking at Snape, Harry sat at the kitchen table and filled his plate, eating in silence.

“Did those relatives of yours see fit to feed you regularly, Potter?” Snape asked suddenly.

Damn, more questions?

“I wonder why you’d ask that, sir.”

Snape narrowed his eyes.

“Judging by your physical state, Potter, I could only conclude that, at the very least, the muggles did little to ensure your well-being.”

If I lie, it means I care about the truth, which I don’t, but I’m not about to spill my guts, either.

“One might come to many conclusions to explain my eating habits, so I wonder why you choose that one, sir.”

That’s right, just be polite and clueless.

“Have you any others, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked sardonically.

Harry pushed back the glare that he sorely desired to direct at Snape.

“None that I wish to share with you, sir,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

Stop talking to me!

To Harry’s annoyance, Snape just raised a patronizing eyebrow.

“I do hope you are aware, Mr. Potter, that you have just answered my question.”

“Why do you suppose that, sir?”

“Your response, Potter, was simply a somewhat more polite and elaborate way of informing me that it is “none of my business.”

Well, it isn’t.

“Therefore,” Snape continued, “it is clear to me that I was correct in assuming what I did, as avoiding my question is rather a manner of providing me with an affirmative answer.”

Harry wanted to growl. Why couldn’t Snape just shut up and mind his own stupid business?

“Assume what you will, sir,” Harry replied in a deliberately calm tone, and he looked down towards his food, indicating that he was done with this conversation.

Thankfully, Snape said nothing more, and silence ensued for the next ten minutes.

Harry ate slowly, in attempt to postpone the moment where he’d have to accompany Snape to the potions lab. Although he was interested in brewing, it was not worth being in the company of Snape for any longer than he had to be. He swirled his food around his plate with a fork until it all combined into an unappealing brown mush.

“Mr. Potter, judging by the activity you are currently engaged it, it is clear to me that you have quite finished.” Snape abruptly rose and moved toward the door.

Harry groaned inwardly, but stood and followed Snape down the hall. Harry hesitated when they reached the door of the lab. What if this was a test? Maybe Snape wanted to see if Harry would still follow the rule about staying out of the lab.

Typically, Snape correctly deduced the reason behind Harry’s hesitation.

“I am aware that I informed you in rather strong terms that you are not to enter my laboratory. However, the rule no longer stands if I accompany you,” he said, turning to face Harry.

Harry nodded, looking away, and Snape waved his wand to open the door. Harry followed Snape down a steep flight of stairs, into a large, dark room. Harry tried to force back his apprehension.

Get a grip. He doesn’t have to bring you down here to do anything, he could just as well do it upstairs.

Annoyingly, Snape, once again, took note of his anxiety.

“You would do well to relax, Mr. Potter. It is not my intention to dismember you for use of potions ingredients, as very few potions require human body parts,” Snape said dryly.

Harry almost snorted, but oddly, Snape’s comment did relax him slightly.

Snape waved his wand again, and some lamps attached to the wall lit, revealing the room to be occupied by tables holding cauldrons of various materials and sizes. There were a few bookshelves containing potions volumes, and there were shelves filled with countless bottled potions and odd looking ingredients.

Despite himself, Harry looked around with interest. Now, somewhat less anxious, he was actually quite looking forward to attempting a potion, after reading so much about them.

Harry looked up quickly as Snape walked over, carrying the same book he’d shown to Harry upstairs, open to the anti-inflammatory potion recipe.

“As this is a rather advanced potion, you will primarily observe its making, only adding to it as I say. Is that understood?” Snape said severely.

Harry nodded.

“Follow me.”

Harry followed Snape to a narrow door, which turned out to be an ingredients cupboard.

“I will name ingredients, and you will retrieve them for me. Are you amenable?” Snape asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Snape began to call out ingredients, and Harry found them quickly, handing them to Snape.

He’s actually serious about this. He’s having me get the ingredients so I’ll know for sure that he isn’t adding anything.

When all the ingredients had been collected, Harry followed Snape to a table set with a large, black cauldron with a low flame lit beneath it.

“Now, I will first add the syrup of hellebore, as stated here. You will measure out two quarter pints of boswellin…”

Harry gradually began to relax, more and more and the potion progressed. Snape followed the instructions of the book precisely, even though Harry was sure Snape could make the potion without it. He allowed Harry to measure out and occasionally add ingredients, and, toward the end, he permitted Harry to stir.

Harry was fascinated. This was nothing like chemistry class, as Harry had thought it would be. Each ingredient caused the potion to change drastically, often in entirely unexpected ways, and even the stirring affected the potion significantly, in ways such as thickening it, changing the color, and the texture.

So great was Harry’s interest that he was almost okay with Snape's presence. He did keep Snape in view at all times, but his fear of Snape doing something gradually lessened as the potion progressed.

After roughly forty-five minutes, the potion was nearly complete.

“While the potions simmers, Mr. Potter, I will allow you to attempt a potion used for superficial injuries, as it is far less advanced.”

I get to make it myself?

Snape handed Harry the recipe, and Harry went back to the cupboard to assemble the ingredients, occasionally looking back at Snape to make sure he didn’t add anything to the first potion.

Harry turned his cauldron to face Snape, and carefully began, double-checking every instruction, while Snape occasionally voiced corrections.

The potion was pretty simple, and after a short while, it was complete. Snape came over to inspect it.

“Quite adequate for a first attempt, Mr. Potter, just be sure to stir more forcefully in the future.”

Did he just give me a compliment? Maybe he just wants me to think the potion is fine, but it’s really all wrong and- No, it looks like it’s supposed to.

Harry nodded to Snape, unsure of how to respond, and Snape bottled both potions. He beckoned toward Harry.

“Follow me.”

Harry tensed again, but followed Snape to a door, which led to a small side room stocked with more potions. He pointed Harry toward a wooden chair beside the wall and handed Harry the bottle of anti-inflammatory potion.

“I assume, Potter, that you now trust this is not poison?” Snape said sharply.

Harry nodded quickly. He didn’t understand why Snape felt it so vital that he take the potion, but as it was clearly not poisonous, he drained the bottle. Almost immediately, he felt tension leave his right shoulder, and he could almost feel the swelling diminish.

Harry felt a tightness in his chest, but, this time, it was not from fear. When had anybody ever gone to such lengths to heal his injuries? Heck, when had anyone even cared at all? Harry did not trust Snape’s motives, but he could not come up with any logical explanation for his actions.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry whispered.

Snape frowned, that fierce expression crossing his face yet again

“Do not thank me, Mr. Potter, as your injury was caused by myself.”

But I don’t think he even dislocated my shoulder on purpose. What the hell is going on? He hasn’t said one mean thing the whole time we were down here.

Snape spoke again. “As for the bruise balm, I presume you would prefer to apply it on your own?”

Harry nodded quickly, relieved.

“As for your… older injuries, such as your poorly healed rib and the scarring, they are beyond my capabilities to heal sufficiently. Therefore, they will be tended to by the school nurse at the start of term.” He gave Harry a look that clearly indicated that there would be no getting out of this.

Yeah, later is good. I can wait, possibly forever.

Snape then handed Harry the potion he’d made himself, which had taken on a hue of pale green.

“You may go. However, should you neglect to apply the balm, and I assure you, I will know if you have, I will apply it myself,” he said austerely.

No way are you doing that.

Harry gave Snape a look that communicated his thoughts. Snape just looked back, saying with his eyes that if Harry wanted to avoid it, he’d better apply the potion.

Without a word, Snape handed Harry the potions book he’d been using, and Harry nodded his thanks. He quickly climbed the stairs and curled up in the library.

Well, that was… fun.