Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Harry Potter entered Magical world, unaware of his fame, the power his name carried. So enamored of the world presented to him, so fascinated, unbelieving was he that it took him an entirety of forty-eight hours before he realized the implications carried in people turning to look at him, in whispers blooming where he walked.

Later he looked back on these forty-eight hours, two entire days as his time of bliss, his childhood. Of course, this outlook was later, colored by wearied eyes that observed his long ago innocence with cynical eyes; Knowing of his fame did not in any way mysteriously change him overnight from a very young, somewhat contained boy to a jaded mature lad carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

But it is truth to say that he was remarkably happy, an entire world at his fingertips, the wonder of magic, finding an entire world that was frankly medieval, managing without technology, but as well as the twentieth century world outside their firmly drawn boundaries with the use of their magic.

Of course, he did not find out about his fame in any normal or very kind way.

He had turned to look at Hermione ever so expressively as soon as he had realized that the classroom was actually going to be in a dungeon. She had raised her eyebrows at him, before returning her attention to the tall boy who had led them to the class, a second year assigned on rotating basis to escort the 'firsties' to their various classes.

She was the only person listening to him as he tried to make the rest of their year be quiet and sit down! The rest were boisterously acquainting themselves with each other, already forming the friendships that would either flourish or break in the next seven years. Harry didn't really know anyone yet, having stuck to himself, or with Hermione.

Soon the Second year left, giving up on the general instruction on the course and professor that he was supposed to do. The noise didn't recede, even grew on his departure. It was amplified by the dungeon, echoing, and growing until it was hard to even think.

Harry and Hermione obtained a workplace to themselves and perched on the counter side by side, swinging their legs freely and watching their classmates mingling with the Ravenclaws with whom they shared the class. Every once in a while one of them would comment on something and the other would reply, but it was mostly in silence that they sat, surrounding themselves with an almost unconscious bubble of unapproachability that daunted more than one person who contemplated approaching them.

So it was that they were the first to notice that the door had opened.

The first impression Harry Potter had of Severus Snape was an image of Darth Vader superimposed on him. The cloak, the sneer, the aura… He whispered his opinion to Hermione, still the only other person to have noticed the teacher's presence.

So it was that Severus Snape first saw Harry Potter with his head thrown back, laughing. He disregarded the grinning girl next to him with his habitual sneer, focusing on the son of both the love of his life and his worst enemy. Perhaps it would have been better had Harry not noticed the professor, or not found something funny in that moment, for the image he formed was remarkably reminiscent of his father, in that moment, carelessly perched, his expression alive with laughter, his legs swinging…

It was a short interlude, the mutual forming of first impressions, cautiously hostile on one end, frankly approving on the other. They were not to last.

Snape had always known how to affect an entrance with style. A whisper froze the students where they were: 'Silence.' It echoed around the dungeon in an awe inspiringly effective manner, stopping students where they stood, sheepishly assembling in proper order at the workplaces after a stunned moment.

Silence spread, and the sound of Snape's deliberate steps resounded off the stone walls, further grabbing attention. He spoke again after a brief pause, his voice dry, low, whispery, echoing off the hard stone of the walls, the echoes adding to the cadence that held the students spell bound, almost petrified, absolutely silent, describing the beauty of his work, of a potion in it's many stages.

His voice remained dry, but his eloquence indicated a certain attachment and competence in his line of work. He paced as he talked, his cloak billowing behind him. He was graceful, his steps gliding, his carriage intimidating, and Harry was in love. He couldn't resist leaning over to Hermione, whispering, "I want to be him when I grow up." emphatically into her ear.

She turned and gave him a look, an eyebrow expressively arched. If Harry had tried to he couldn't have explained his sudden extreme admiration for this newest teacher whose name he did not know. All he knew was that this man was no charlatan relying on smoke and mirrors like Ollivander, or a half insane Gandalf look-alike, or a huge, slightly unintelligent man, or an old woman who looked just like a normal headmistress, except for the robes.

This man was deadly. He had actual power. His cloak billowed. He was Harry's newest ideal as a wizard. So he just shrugged back at her, before returning his interest to the awesome wizard.

And right on time, for the teacher had begun calling the roster. For a brief moment, Harry wished his second name began with a letter that came earlier within the alphabet, but then he discarded it, leaning his elbows on the work table he was sharing with Hermione and gazing adoringly at his newest idol, ignoring Hermione's increasingly frustrated nudges against his mind. She didn't seem to get it. He was star struck! He needed to bask for a little!

Then everything started going wrong, started fracturing as that dry dry voice paused before continuing, "Ah yes. Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity."

There was such scorn in that voice and Harry found himself inexplicably hurt, as hypersensitive as he was to any sort of harsh tones within a voice, and he didn't understand- "No- I mean- celebrity?" People were turning to look at him, he knew. They looked askance at the Teacher, but they wondered at his reaction.

He didn't understand, but he took the time to chastise himself for sounding so stupid. Then Hermione had given him a hand, and it was an anchor, and enough to pull himself together, demand an explanation, and he didn't know what he said.

Only that it was the beginning of the worst conversation he had ever had, being told of the true deaths of his parents in that emotionless dry, so dry voice, that he had so admired but was beginning to hate, told in the same cutting wording that he had been so impressed with, and eventually told with unsympathetic harshness his claim to fame, surviving the thing that killed his parents, took his family away from him. Interjected within the narrative were insults to his father, continuous assurance that his fame was an undeserved freak accident, that he was an idiot…

He felt as if it had taken hours, but forcing himself to look at the clock her perceived that not even a quarter of an hour had passed. The room was quiet after it ended for a long moment. Then Hermione was standing, saying something to the professor, leading him out of the room, so cool once but so oppressive now.

She pulled him after her, and they climbed stairs so many, up, up, up. Her objective was the top of one of the towers, and they stopped there, Hermione pulling him to lie on his back. And they lay there for a long long time, staring, at the sky, watching birds, and just listening, deeply, to each other, to the world as a whole. It was almost as if they had sunk into each others' presences, but not for they were intensely aware of outside world, extending their senses, listening to the far off song of a bird, the rustling of a forest as a strong wind blew through it, once hearing the thundering of hundreds of hoofs passing almost close by, and also hearing the pulse of friendship, calm, love between the two.

It was a long time before Hermione stood up herself and offered him a hand up, pulling him to his feet and momentarily blanketing him with her presence, almost as if offering him a hug. He blinked, offered her a wavering smile, and followed silently.

Then there was facing lunch, which was when they finally descended, Hermione hovering next to Harry worriedly. She needn't have. They were Hufflepuff, and if the entire school knew of what Professor Snape had said to Harry Potter, so did all of Hufflepuff. They closed ranks about them, plying them with perfectly innocent questions, glaring off those who were wont to approach from other tables.

The school murmured, but Hufflepuff acted as it did every day. It showed a smiling face to the rest of the world and kept all muggle-born first years far away from Harry. When Harry, sick of the charade rose from the table, half of the house decided perfectly coincidentally that they too had had enough and Harry left the great hall surrounded by his house.

They reached their common room without incident, and when people showed an inclination to approach Harry, who had thrown himself into the armchair in front of the fire, with purposeful expressions, they were warned off by a glare from Hermione who was lounging with all the grace of a large cat on the rug next to Harry.

When Harry had gone up to sleep that night, Hermione talked to Hufflepuff. 'Later' she said to those who wished to reassure Harry that he was a hero, that they believed in him, that they wished to thank him, 'Later, when he knows you, when your words actually mean something. Let him mourn for a little.'

Thus Hufflepuff noted that Hermione Granger was the authority on Harry Potter, and they accepted her position at his side without a blink.

Do you have any idea how hard this was to create? And I'm still not happy with it! (recurring theme that, huh?) It doesn't seem right to me! I spent all night on it 'cause I truly hated all of three different scenes I had written out. At least Snape meeting is done. And before people jump on me, I do not like Snape. He is mean. But I thought, well, he has style. And, ehm...

Interestingly, I went 'till 1:00 without sleep just 'cause. Then I said, Wow, I'm tired. It's easier to write when you're tired. And there you have it. I still don't like it.

Also, guys, once people start calling each other brother/sister, there is no possibility of a romance left. None. For the idiots: that says, this is not a Harry Hermione romance. Nope, not at all. No romance. At all. Lets hope Luna behaves...

Hija