Author's Note: To my two reviewers, Elfwyn and Alika Jones, thanks so much! I also just want to say in advance that I'm totally making up all the potions-brewing stuff. I hope it sounds logical.

Random thought: Bad Romance by Lady Gaga should totally be the Snarry theme song. Look at the lyrics and tell me you don't think so.

Harry had earned himself another detention in Potions. He wasn't sure how it had happened. He thought he'd been doing rather well, but then the Slytherins had started snickering to each other, Harry had turned to look, and while he was distracted, the potion had started spitting and sparking.

"Well, Potter, at least this time you aren't trying to blow us up," Snape had said coolly, throwing a neutralizing potion into the cauldron. "It's an improvement." Harry flushed and muttered some sort of apology. "Looks like another zero for the day and another detention tonight. Oh, and twenty points from Gryffindor for being completely unable to follow directions." Snape's eyes were hard as he looked at Harry. "I expect better than gross incompetence from my NEWTs students, Potter."

Harry felt his flush deepen as he heard the reprove in Snape's voice. Malfoy chuckled darkly on the other side of the room. Hermione patted his shoulder consolingly.

But Snape was right. That was what really made him flush. Harry was sixteen years old; he should know better than to allow himself to be distracted by the Slytherins. He hadn't even known what they had been snickering about, but, like a child, he'd had to turn to see what they were doing.

He just wasn't meant for potions. Maybe he'd drop the class and ask McGonagall to get him into the NEWTs Care of Magical Creatures class. At least there he'd never be accused of 'gross incompetence.'

But that would mean he could never become an Auror.

He presented himself promptly for his detention. "Come," Snape called when he knocked on the door to the Potions Master's office. "Tell me, Potter, what exactly you did wrong today," Snape ordered without looking up from the stack of papers he was grading.

"I wasn't paying attention-"

"Yet again," Snape drawled, still not looking up from his desk. "And why did that ruin your potion this time?"

Harry wracked his brain for the passage he'd read about this particular potion. "Err, because I needed to, err… add the mandrake root as soon as the potion turned blue."

This time Snape looked up from the papers. "Precisely, Potter. And what happens when you don't add the mandrake root at the right moment?" His eyes glittered like black beetles.

"Err, the other ingredients combine too quickly, and adding the mandrake root can be…" Harry closed his eyes, "potentially volatile. The sparking and spitting happens when it's too late to add the mandrake root."

There was a long moment of silence where Harry refused to open his eyes. Finally, Snape spoke up. "It occurs to me, Potter," Snape tapped a finger against his desk, "that you might actually benefit from Remedial Potions." Harry's eyes snapped open and he looked at Snape in shock. Extra lessons? Was Snape really offering to give him extra lessons? Especially after the fiasco of the Occlumency lessons last year?

"Your other professors keep trying to convince me that you aren't hopeless, Potter. And your OWLs would suggest that they're right. You're main problem is that you are too easily distracted. Perhaps some extra lab time would benefit you."

Harry stared openly at his professor. "But sir-"

Snape's mouth curled into a half-smile. "Yes, Potter, we don't have a great history of private lessons together. You can appreciate the sacrifice I'm making, so understand this: if you aren't at least doing consistent E work by the winter holidays, you're out of my class."

Harry nodded, feeling inexplicably relieved. Snape was only being nice up to a certain point. "Err, just one question professor-"

Snape sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. "No, Potter, we don't have to call it Remedial Potions if your delicate ego can't take it. We'll call it a lab period. But as such, Potter, I'll expect lab reports."

Harry grinned and Snape gave him a look that was half disgusted. "Your pride will be the death of you, Potter. Go finish this afternoon's potion before I change my mind."

Severus drummed his fingers against his desk, a nervous habit. Extra lessons with Potter. Had he really just volunteered to do extra lessons with Potter? Had he completely and totally lost his mind?

It was Anastasia's fault, he thought irrationally. Things always changed whenever she showed up. He always changed when she showed up. She'd always had a habit of making his life go topsy-turvy. And this reconciliation visit of hers was no different.

Severus thought back to the brown-paper package that sat, unopened, in his quarters. It was a surprising gift, and a very, very generous gift, but he hadn't had the courage to open it. He thought he remembered the painting, thought he knew every inch of it, but he was afraid that if he opened it, it would be worse than he'd remembered.

This has always belonged to you, she'd said, as though she'd painted it for him, all those years ago. But she hadn't. She'd painted it for herself. All her paintings she painted for herself. Art was a very selfish occupation. At least, it was in Anastasia's hands.

Severus sighed and paused to listen to the activity in the classroom. There was nothing out of the ordinary. He heard the distant thud of Potter chopping, the slosh of the potion and the crackling of the fire. No explosions. That was something, at least. Maybe Potter was actually improving.

Another knock sounded at his office door, and Severus looked up in surprise. It was rather late for a student to be coming to him, and, with the exception of Albus, none of the other professors made a habit of visiting him. Severus frowned. He hoped it wasn't Albus; he didn't particularly want to deal with the man's cryptic hints and magnanimous smiles tonight.

Severus rose from his desk and crossed to open the door. At least this way he could stop any undesirables from entering and shut them out. But when he opened the door, he was very surprised to see Anastasia.

She brandished a couple tickets at him. "I got these really good seats," she said without preamble, "to see that new group, the FireDrakes. I thought I'd see if you were free to come. I hear they do some really great illusions during the show."

Severus frowned at her. "You know I always hated concerts. Besides, I can't just leave with no warning. I'm the Head of Slytherin House."

"Reeeeaaaaallllllly," Anastasia said interestedly, drawing out the word. "That's so awesome, Sev. I didn't know that." She offered him a half-smile. "I mean, it has been nearly 20 years. You'll forgive me if I'm a little behind the times."

"Of course." There was an awkward silence. Severus stepped to the side. "Will you come in?"

She smiled again, a full smile this time, and stepped past him inside. There was a low hiss from inside the classroom. That was the sound the potion was supposed to be making. Potter didn't do half bad when he wasn't distracted. Severus blinked. Did he actually just think that?

Anastasia peered at the classroom door interestedly. "You got something brewing in there, Sev?"

"I'm overseeing a detention."

"What'd they do?"

Severus sighed. "Anastasia, you know I can't tell you that."

"You're too boring, Sev." She gave one last look at the classroom door before sitting in the chair placed in front of his desk. "You got plans for the weekend?"

"I-"

"And don't say you can't leave, because you can so long as you give notice, right?"

"Anastasia, I appreciate everything you've done," he said slowly, the words coming with difficulty. "But I think I need some time to… adjust. I can't just go back to the way things were. Not yet, at any rate."

Anastasia's smile faltered slightly. "That's understandable, of course. Sorry for being so pushy, Sev. I guess I just wanted to forget that you've spent the last 20 years hating me." She shrugged and put her hand on his. "We had a good thing, back then. I was in a bit of a rush to get it back."

Pull your hand away, Severus thought to himself. That was how this all started, all those years ago: just the touch of a hand. But he wasn't ready to start it again, not yet. Just pull your hand away! But he didn't move.

But luckily- or unluckily, depending on how one viewed the situation- Potter chose that moment to enter the room. "Professor, err…" the boy trailed off, looking between Severus and Anastasia. Severus noticed that Potter also flattened his fringe to cover his scar in an almost unconscious manner. Not quite the attention seeker Severus had always made him out to be, it seemed.

Severus slipped his hand from Anastasia's. "Is there a problem?"

Potter gave one last nervous tug of his hair before turning to Severus. "I'm not really sure…"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "You aren't sure if there's a problem, Potter?" Anastasia gave a startled little twitch beside him and peered more closely at the boy.

"Well, err…" Potter rubbed the back of his head, looking extremely uncomfortable under Anastasia's scrutiny. "It's not quite the right color."

"Go bottle a flask and bring it to me." Potter looked relieved to be able to leave the room. No, not an attention seeker in the least.

"You had Harry Potter here for a detention, Sev?" Anastasia asked incredulously.

"He breaks the rules just like any other student." Severus collected some papers off of his desk to make room for his examination of Potter's potion.

Anastasia looked expectantly at the classroom door. "D'you think he'll let me paint him?"

Severus placed the papers carefully back on his desk and turned slowly towards Anastasia. "Not," he said softly, "while I am his professor."

Anastasia blinked at him. "But Sev-"

"Potter is extremely trusting, Anastasia, often to the point of stupidity. Should you offer to paint him, he'll agree without precisely knowing what it is you paint." Severus stared straight into her eyes. "As his professor, it is my job to protect him from such mistakes, and such people who would take advantage of him."

Anastasia gaped at him. "I'm not trying to take advantage of him, Sev-"

"No, you just want to use his name to further your career." Severus' upper lip curled into a sneer. "I do believe you had somewhere to be tonight. I suggest you leave now."

Anastasia's face darkened. "It's James Potter's son, Sev, I thought you'd be glad to let me paint him."

"Potter has enough trouble concentrating without having his every flaw on display for the world to see. I don't need him blowing up my classroom, thank you. Good night, Ms. King."

Anastasia opened her mouth as if to say something else, but she closed it, shaking her head. "Hope to see you around, Sev," she said softly. Severus closed his eyes as she left, breathing hard through his nose as though he'd just run a race.

"Err, professor…"

Severus opened his eyes to see Potter standing in the classroom doorway. Who knew how long the boy had been standing there, how much he had seen. From the nervous way he was pulling on his fringe, it had been plenty.

Severus held out his hand. "The potion, Potter?"

Wordlessly, Potter handed to him. Severus sat at desk to examine it. Potter didn't move. "Sit down, Potter," Severus said impatiently, gesturing to the seat Anastasia had vacated.

Potter slid bonelessly into the seat, and Severus examined the potion. Potter had been right, it wasn't the exact shade of violet that the potion should be, more of a blue-violet. "This color occurs when there isn't enough sodium in the solution," Severus explained, examining the bottle closely.

Potter frowned. "The book didn't say anything about adding salt."

"No. The sodium in the potion comes mainly from what naturally occurs in the ingredients. That can be a varying level, depending on soil quality and the like." Severus turned the flask over in his hand. "A Potions Master learns to compensate for the changes in those levels, but for a student at your level, this is acceptable." Severus set the flask aside and reached for his grade book. "You may leave now, Potter."

But Potter didn't stand up. "I… thank you, professor."

"Don't thank me Potter," Severus replied, marking Potter's half-credit in his book. "It is still quite unacceptable that you can't get these potions right on the first try."

"I didn't mean for that."

Severus looked up to see that Potter was once more tugging nervously on his fringe. Oh, so he had heard plenty. "As I told Ms. King, I was doing my job as your professor. Plus, if your head swells any more, I don't think we'll be able to fit it in the castle," he added dryly. It was the kind of comment that Severus had tried to stop using, but he found himself uncomfortable with Potter's gratitude.

But Potter didn't get angry. He just sat there, tugging at his fringe. "It… I ruined something, didn't I? I'm sorry."

"What you saw, Potter, was something that ended a very long time ago. It's high time that we accepted that and moved on. I'm sorry to say that you can't claim any responsibility for it."

And Potter kept tugging on his damn fringe. "What did you mean when you said my every flaw would be on display?"

"Not even going to pretend you didn't listen, are you?" Severus asked with a raised eyebrow and Potter flushed. "Anastasia King is one of the most famous artists of all time in our world, Potter. If you're so interested, look it up. Now if you don't mind, I do have other things to do." Severus looked pointedly at the door. Potter took the hint this time and stood to leave. "Oh and I'll see you here Monday at 5 o'clock sharp."

"But- I didn't- I mean-" the boy spluttered, obviously thinking Severus had given him another detention.

Severus let it go on for a moment before interrupting him. "For your lab period, Potter."

The boy flushed again. "Oh. I forgot," he admitted.

"Indeed. See that you don't forget again. If you're late, I will not be in a forgiving mood."

Potter offered a grin that seemed… almost shy. "Of course, professor. And thanks again. For everything."

"Extra lessons with Snape?" Ron asked incredulously. "And you agreed? Are you out of your mind, mate?"

Harry shrugged, picking at his breakfast. "He offered. He's not being forced to, not like last year. And I need Potions to become an Auror."

Hermione frowned with concern. "Still, after last year-"

"That was my fault. Not Snape's. Besides, haven't you noticed? He's…better."

Both of his friends stared at Harry in disbelief. He sighed. "I'll take that as a no, then." He took a sip of his pumpkin juice. "He doesn't hate me any more."

"You're mental, Harry," Ron said, shaking his head. "Absolutely mental."

Harry grinned at him. "But we knew that already, didn't we?" Finished with his breakfast, Harry stood to leave.

"Harry, where are you going? We don't have class until-"

"Library. There's something I want to look up before class." He waved to them. "See you later, alright?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other questioningly. "First extra lessons with Snape and now he's going to the library before class starts?" Ron looked at Harry's vacant seat. "You think he's sick?"

But Harry had gone to the library to look up Anastasia King. The way Snape had acted (and yes, Harry had witnessed most of the fight; after all, how long does it take to bottle a few ounces of potion?) had suggested some personal hurt. In other words, he'd known King would take advantage of Harry because she'd likely taken advantage of Snape.

They'd seemed awful friendly, though, the first time Harry had walked in on them, and Snape wasn't exactly the forgiving sort. But maybe she'd come to make amends. After all, everyone now knew that Voldemort was at large and they were in danger. A lot of people were forgetting old feuds and forgiving old grievances because of that.

What you saw was something that ended a long time ago, Snape had said. But he'd been holding King's hand just minutes before saying that. Maybe it was something he hadn't wanted to end. Or maybe it was something he wanted to start again. And Harry had ruined it.

Once Madam Pince showed Harry the art section in the library (not very big; maybe he should tell Hermione so she'd forget SPEW and start campaigning for arts in the curriculum), he quickly found a book about King. Actually, he'd found more than a few with King mentioned (Snape hadn't been kidding when he said King was one of the most famous wizarding artists of all time), but the one he ended up pulling from the shelves had a decent-length biography, and pictures of some of her most famous works.

And what he read made him feel a bit queasy. King not only focused on and emphasized the flaws of her subjects, but that was all she painted. And she used magic to show not only physical flaws but emotional and psychological ones as well.

Seems like someone Snape would be friends with, Harry thought uncharitably, turning the page.

King's first portrait in this style, The Art of Potions, was done when she was only a few years out of Hogwarts. It has quickly become her most famous painting, although in recent years, King has refused to show it. King never reveals the subjects of her paintings, but rumors abound. It's been said that although King's portraits never truly look like their subject, someone familiar with that person- especially familiar with the darker side of that person which King paints- can see the identity of the portrait. Even if that is so, no one has stepped forward to identify the man featured in The Art of Potions.

There was no picture. Harry felt vaguely disappointed. The book said King hadn't given them permission to reproduce it. But Harry had an inkling of who it was that King had painted in that portrait.

Harry had thought that Snape's argument with King had smacked of personal hurt, but had the betrayal been much more public than he'd realized?

Potter has enough trouble concentrating without having his every flaw on display for the world to see.

And that was what Snape had saved him from. Harry brushed a finger over one of the pictures of King's work. And that meant that Snape must really be over the whole hating him thing; any other year Snape might have been glad to let King paint him, just so he could point to it and say see? Potter's what I always told you.

Harry closed the book firmly, feeling he had plenty of food for thought for one morning. He checked his watch and grimaced; if he didn't run he'd be late for Transfiguration. As it was, though, he didn't think he'd much be able to concentrate on the class. There was too much else to think about.