Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling, I do not own any of these characters and I am merely writing this for my own, and hopefully others, enjoyment

AN: I found the beginning of this fic, and I really liked it. Therefore, I continued writing on it. So the beginning isn't mine. I would recommend the original fic, but I can't seem to find it. So sorry.

English is not my native language, so please excuse any grammar faults
Hope you enjoy

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"Mr. Potter. Our new celebrity."

Harry grimaced at the reference. Ever since Harry had discovered the wizarding world, while a relief to leave his uncle, was tiring with all of the unwanted attention. He wasn't used to it, really. At the Dursleys, he had either not gotten attention at all, or got attention that leaves a few things to be desired. His uncle, in other words, was never kind, and it seemed that this Professor Snape had the same intentions. But maybe a little less drastic.

At his relatives (he loathed to call it home) he was nitpicked for everything he did, and his uncle was always in a snit whenever the ebony-haired boy showed his face, and was sure to give him a welcome-home present when the year was through. Harry wondered if they had magical doctors or just regular ones. It wouldn't matter, Harry thought, because the Dursley's wouldn't pay for the medical bill either way.

Another thing was his grades. They were always low, even in primary, D's to remain on the safe side of things, for Harry remembered the time when he had thought that bringing his straight A's home would be a good thing. He hadn't been given food for a month, and beaten twice a day, and back then, he was so scared, for he didn't even know if he would survive. Now he suspected that it was his magic keeping him alive.

He knew the treatment he got wasn't right. Children were supposed to have rooms, a bed, food. They were supposed to be praised for good work, not belittled for it. They were supposed to have love. For Harry, that was just a pipe dream. No one was going to help him.

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

He looked up to the dark man, wondering what his intention was. And it was clear as he looked into the professor's eyes. He wanted to humiliate him.

Alright, Harry acknowledged, time to heat things up a bit.

Harry decided that he would actually use the intelligence he was born with for once, the intelligence he earned by going to the library when he was left on the porch alone by his 'family'. Damn the Dursley's, for this man seemed to want him to play stupid.

"Sir, academically, I wouldn't know. I've never studied anything magical in my life, with good reason, as I might as well have been a muggle-born at my home life," the pre-teen answered.

Snape critically raised an eyebrow. "You said academically?"

"I know what I said, Professor," Harry answered smoothly.

Snape sneered. Truly he wondered if the boy could answer the question otherwise, wishing to test the boy's intellect, even if what he was referring to was risky to be said aloud, for appearances sake, but he figured the boy was too pampered to know the difference between a twig and a tree.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "I mean, Mr. Potter, could you tell us what exactly your answer would be, if not academically in magical terms?"

Potter nodded. "I'd be delighted to sir," he paused. "It means you bitterly regret Lily's death."

They heard gasps around the classroom. Snape snorted, though Harry thought he could hear an edge of hysteria in it. "And how did you determine that, Mr. Potter?"

Harry hesitated. "Well sir, according to Victorian Flower Language, asphodel is a type of lily meaning 'my regrets follow you to the grave' and wormwood means 'absence' which typically symbolizes bitter sorrow. If you combine that, it means 'I bitterly regret Lily's death'." There was a pause where Snape merely stared at Harry. "sir" Harry added, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

He remembers that specific book, in fact, it was one of his favorites. He liked learning different languages, and that one was kind of unique to him. He also knew French, but he didn't see how that would help him any. He would have to learn Latin, Harry mused.

The silence was overpowering. Then again, Harry was used to it. He had been silenced more than enough in his cupboard.

Snape was about to come with a snarky comment when Harry winced and squeezed his eyes shut. A boy beside him, a ginger one, started fiddling with the Potter brat, asking if he was okay. Potter nodded silently, before biting his lip and staring at the desk in front of him. Snape frowned slightly, wondering what was wrong with the boy, but decided he had wasted enough of his class on Potter brat already.

"Anyhow" Snape started, his eyes studying every student as he spoke, but lingering on one student longer than the others.

The rest of the class went quite swimmingly. The first year brats were as annoyingly scared as ever, but it was nothing the dungeon bat wasn't used to. That was until Snape decided to ask Harry another question.

"Mr. Potter" Snape started, but he stopped as he realized the boy had not reacted at all.

"Mr. Potter" Snape repeated, his voice now harsher. The bushy haired girl to Potters left elbowed him in the ribs.

"What?" asked Potter, almost irritated as he rubbed where the girl had elbowed him, wincing slightly.

"Mr. Potter!" Snape said for the third time, almost growling in annoyance. Potter quickly looked up at Snape, but to Snape's surprise, there was no sign of fear or dread in them as he faced his scary dungeon bat. "See me after class" said Snape, striding back to his desk

"" Snape stormed towards Harry and slammed his hands on Harry's desk, before lowering himself to Harry's level so they were eye to eye.

"See me after class, Potter. And be sure to get rid of that insufferable attitude of yours immediately" he hissed through clenched teeth, staring intently at Harry, as if his goal was to make Harry's head explode if he stared hard enough. Harry bit back the comment that was on the tip of his tongue, watching the fire of rage dance in his professors eyes. For some reason, it didn't scare him at all. He was used to people like Snape. Who demanded respect, but showed none in return. He had lived with people like him for 11 years, letting them bring him down and beat him. No more. Hogwarts was his escape, and he would be damned if he was going to let Snape ruin in.

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