Once upon a time, there was an ordinary boy, who lived an ordinary life, in an ordinary house, with ordinary parents and went to school at an ordinary. Everything about his life was ordinary and normal. Nothing interesting ever happened to this boy, and he was happy and content with that. He grew into an ordinary man, who married an ordinary woman, and they had ordinary children, who also had ordinary lives. Then the man grew old, as it is ordinary for human to do, and died an ordinary death, happily and peacefully.

That was the fairy tale that Harry Potter played out in his head over and over again. The life he wanted, but could never have. Because Harry Potter was not an ordinary boy, did not live an ordinary life, and while he did live in an ordinary house, he did not live with ordinary parents, and he certainly did not attend an ordinary school.

All in all, Harry wasn't unhappy with being a wizard, and he truly loved Hogwarts. He still liked his fairy tale, though. A fairy tale which was, every day, becoming more and more a fantasy.

Harry never thought he would find a teacher he detested more than Snape, he realized sullenly, as he sat through Umbridge's first Defense lecture. He quickly amended that, though, because Lockhart sure had given Snape a run for his money in the race to the bottom. Harry recalled having grudgingly rooted for Snape on in the dueling club the day he found he was a Parselmouth. No matter how much he hated Snape, it had felt good to see Lockhart publicly humiliated, and Harry was sure that if Snape and Umbridge had some sort of a public conflict, he would, once again, silently hope Snape would do as good a job humiliated the Toad as he did humiliating him.

Other than in Divination, it was the first time Harry had ever seen Hermione show such blatant disgust for a class, especially one where the description was "take out your books." Harry felt the justification of his annoyance go up three notches at this observation.

Harry found it very difficult to concentrate on a class this idiotic. His mind began to wander. He had certainly had an - interesting - summer, if that were the right word for it. The Dursleys had acted normally - what was normal for Harry, anyway. He was very glad to be rid of them for another year, and he was certain the feeling was mutual. His trial for the use of underage magic had been a large stress for him, wondering if they would let him off, or expel him from Hogwarts over it. It was to save his life, for crying out loud! Would they have rather he be the Boy-Who-Defeated-Voldemort-But-Died-At-The-Mouth-of-a-Renegade-Demetor? And to think that Umbridge already had him targeted from his trial. He was sure this class would be hell for the rest of the year.

It was the rest of his summer though, that was the - interesting - part. Something he hadn't mentioned to anyone, but knew he had to. There had to be someone who he could talk to, but it was a matter of utmost delicacy. His biggest concern was being believed. He had to find someone who would believe him. Harry began ticking off names in his head. Finally, the appropriate person occurred him. A most unlikely person, yet perfect.

So after a truly infuriating class was finished, Harry and his friends got to attend the next most infuriating class - potions.

It went as expected. Harry's potion, which was supposed to be a brilliant blue, ended up a flat grey. Ron's blew up in his face, and Hermione's was sky blue. Snape sneered at each of them in turn. Harry, honestly, couldn't have cared less about his potion at that moment. Snape was dismissing them, and everyone was darting for the door as fast as they could. Except Harry, that was.

When Ron and Hermione saw Harry dawdling, Ron elbowed him pointedly.

"Hey, hurry up," Ron hissed at him, glancing nervously at Snape, who had noticed what was happening, and was currently glaring at them from where he sat behind his desk.

"No, it's fine," Harry whispered back. "Go on without me. I have to talk to Snape for a minute." Ron gave him an incredulous look, but both friends left when Harry nodded his insistence upon the matter. After the door quietly clicked shut behind them, Harry picked up his bag and walked over to stand opposite to Snape.

"What do you want, Potter?" Snape sighed dramatically.

"Sir," Harry began nervously, "I have a question."

"Then ask it!" Snape snapped.

"How much to you hate me?" Snape paused and then looked up at him. His eyes were narrow and calculating.

"Infinitely," Snape replied after a moment, saying the world slowly, as if looking for a trap. Harry nodded, but didn't appear hurt or offended by the comment. He had been expecting something along those lines.

"How much do you hate Sirius?" he continued.

"Also infinitely," Snape replied, quicker this time, but still clearly puzzled about this line of questioning.

"It's commonly understood that there are greater and lesser infinities," Harry began, sounding a bit philosophical. "Whose infinity is greater?"

"Why are you asking me this?" Snape suddenly asked.

"Because I need to know," Harry replied, a bit of fear creeping into his voice.

"Why does it matter to you, who I hate more?" Snape didn't seem angry with him, properly speaking, more annoyed and curious at the same time.

"Because - because I need to tell someone something," Harry stammered. "And I need to know if you'll believe me."

"You. Want to tell me something?"

"Yes," Harry said, now clearly scared, nodding. "But I need to know if you'll believe me."

"And you think that if I had your dogfather more, then I'll believe you."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, nodding again, still agitated.

"And if I tell you that I hate you more? What will you do then?"

"I don't know, sir," Harry said. He had hoped that wouldn't be the answer. He needed to tell someone and much as telling Snape repulsed him, much as he knew Snape would mock him, not telling anyone was the worst thing he could do, he was sure. "You're kind of my last hope."

"What could be so bad that you can't talk to the Headmaster about it?" Snape asked, the annoyance in his voice beginning to fade.

"Something," Harry evaded. "Dumbeldore - "

"Professor Dumbledore," Snape corrected evenly.

"Professor Dumbledore might not believe me," Harry began, "because he likes Sirius. And I don't know why, but he's not looking at me this year. What if he thinks I've lost it or something? Everyone else does. Much as you might not like to admit it, you know I'm not lying about Voldemort." Snape winced at the name.

"You're right, I know you're not lying about that," Snape conceded. "Take it to your Head of House. I'm sure she's more than capable of dealing with this. She also knows you haven't 'lost it,' as you so eloquently put it."

"But she likes Sirius!" Harry argued. "She won't believe me either."

"She likes you as well," Snape pointed out.

"But - but - I've heard stories about this kind of thing - " Harry stammered. "She might choose to not believe an - inconvenient - truth."

"And you think that I will?"

"You don't avoid reality," Harry said. "Most of the time," he amended.

"So what's troubling you?" Snape finally sighed.

"Who do you hate more?" Harry pressed in return.

"Black," Snape said.

"Are you just saying that so you can get me to answer your question?" Harry challenged.

"No," Snape said. "Black has done much more to earn my hatred than you have."

"It was this summer," Harry began. "I spent the end of it at headquarters - you know that - and there was…alone time."

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean, there were times where everyone was gone, or sleeping, and it was just Sirius and me." Snape frowned thoughtfully.

"And?" he pushed.

"Things happened," Harry swallowed. He felt like the room was closing in on him.

"What sort of things?" Snape asked patiently, more patiently than Harry had ever seen him.

"He - " Harry began and then cut himself off. "I don't know how to say it."

"Stay calm, and describe what happened," Snape advised, his voice no longer having any note of annoyance, and in fact, if Harry were truly insane, he would have thought, a note of concern.

"It's not his fault," Harry began. "It's just been that he spent too long in Azkaban. I can't imagine being twelve years with dementors."

"Alright," Snape said. "I'll agree that Azkaban has left much to be desired, and a few marbles less than round."

"Yeah, so," Harry said, then stopped again.

"Did Black harm you?" Snape asked.

"Sort of, yeah," Harry agreed.

"How?"

"Did you know Sirius liked my dad? Like liked?"