Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or associated characters and plotlines.

A/N: Sorry about the delay; I'm still incredibly busy and will be for the rest of the semester. Midterms this week…yay….Thanks so much for all the wonderful and understanding reviews and comments. You guys keep me so inspired! Enjoy this chapter!

EDIT: Re-uploaded the chapter with the quotation marks. I have NO idea why they didn't show up the first time!

Thirteenth to Fifth

The Chemistry Professor

After some consideration, Harry decided his weekend had gone well. Aside from the fact that he had fallen into depression before his first week of school ended, was molested and almost raped by a prostitute, beaten pretty badly by his uncle, and only ate one real meal per day, everything was fine.

By Sunday night he had pulled out of his melancholic attitude—with Ron and Ginny's help—gotten a bit of stretching in, and although his ribs and hands still hurt from his beating, his legs were no longer sore from the previous week. On Monday morning he woke up early enough to sneak a small breakfast of stale cereal, begin a few warm up routines, pack his bag for the day, and leave for the bus stop with plenty of time to spare. The crisp morning air refreshed him just enough to feel optimistic about the day. He could do this...despite the odds.

There were only a few students and teachers in the main hall, and Harry was able to move quickly to the next floor. He stowed his bag away in his locker just as the clock at the far end of the hall struck 7:30—he still had a half hour before he had to worry about getting to class. On a whim, Harry grabbed Ginny's iPod—she had loaned it to him last night—and ducked into the second dance studio in the hall. He picked an upbeat soul tune by James Brown and turned the volume up, tapping his foot and swaying a bit until the song picked up and he found the beat. The solid, quick movements he had been dancing since fourth grade came freely to him, in such contrast to all the new steps he had learned on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday of last week. Knee drops, the occasional freeze, Charleston rocks...his feet seemed to move as his body followed along in easy time. One song bled into another: a mix of soul, funk, modern hip-hop, rap, and rock, and Harry changed his footwork to match each one.

Harry flipped onto his hands, bracing his elbows against his hip and outside knee in a freeze—legs suspended above him. His right hand, with more than half his body weight on it, spasmed, pain flaring, and Harry crashed to the floor in a heap.

"Fuck," he swore as he cradled his hand to his chest. The bruising was still obvious on both hands, and although they were no longer swollen and he could move them with relatively little pain, Harry had discovered that overuse tended to set the injuries back a bit. He shouldn't have spent twenty minutes dancing on them.

"Mr. Potter?" a sharp voice called. Harry jerked upright and, out of habit, pushed himself against the nearest wall. Professor Snape was standing in the doorway, holding two textbooks in his arms and a clipboard in his right hand. "Are you alright?"

The teenager pulled the earbuds out of his ears, looking nervously at his teacher.

"Sorry, what was that?" he asked timidly. Snape sneered.

"You're going to be deaf before you graduate at that rate, Potter. I asked if you were hurt or not," he repeated.

"Oh, no, I'm fine. Just fell." Harry tried to move his hands out of his professor's line of sight. Snape just glared and entered the studio, his shoes tapping ominously on the black dance floor as he moved.

"Do not lie to me, Mr. Potter," he commanded, "and stand up." Harry jumped to his feet, leaning back into the wall once more when colorful spots clouded his vision for a moment. Snape appeared unaware. "What would you be doing here so early?" Harry shrugged.

"I don't know," he whispered.

"If there is one," Harry jumped, the word spat so venomously that he looked into Snape's eyes, "answer that I dislike the most, it is 'I don't know'. Do you not have any memory of this morning, Potter, or are you simply too stupid as to not care that you are here?" Harry began edging away from the man who towered over him, glowering.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Answer the question."

"I'm sorry! I was...I just wanted to warm up before school started. That's all. I didn't think it...that it wasn't allowed," Harry stammered out, making up a quick lie as his gaze nervously flicked from his own feet to his teacher's feet ten inches away from him. To Harry's surprise, Snape sighed.

"It is not against any rule to come to school early," Harry looked up with a small smile, "However, the first person to get here—Albus, the headmaster—arrives at six, so if you arrive earlier you will find yourself locked out for an amount of time. And if you ever...need a place to sit an study for a time before school, my classroom is always available."

"Really?" Harry asked, his smile growing just a bit.

"Really," Snape drawled sarcastically, his tone hardening once more. "I only ask that you knock before entry, and that you do not enter at all if I am not in the room." Harry put his head down again, still smiling. "Now, let me see your hands."

"It's fine, sir," Harry said, his hands behind his back.

"Then let me see them," Snape pressed. Harry shrank away.

"Really, they're fine," he repeated. The professor glared.

"Let. Me. See. Them," he snarled. Harry flinched and his hands flew out in front of him, looking as if they were ink-stained and colored on with a green marker that wouldn't wash off. Snape did not focus on the boy's hands for several moments, preoccupied with Harry's face. Harry had turned his head as far to the left as he could, his eyes snapping tightly shut for a second before they flashed open and stared blankly at the floor. With a scowl, Snape turned his attention to the rigid hands trembling in front of him. "What on earth did you get yourself into?" he demanded.

"I fell. On my skateboard."

"I see." Harry chanced a look up at his professor to see if he bought the lie. "Perhaps a visit to Madam Pomfrey, then?" Harry nodded.

"Sure. I'll stop by her office..."

"How about now? I'll escort you," the professor offered.

"Um...that's okay, you don't have to," Harry said frantically.

"Come on boy, I'll have no more of your lies," Snape spat. He noticed his student flinched once more at the word 'boy'. Wide green eyes looked up.

"It's not a lie! I honestly fell!" he proclaimed. Snape raised one eyebrow.

"I wasn't talking about that comment...but now that you mention it..." The professor, waved an arm to get Harry to follow him out of the room, satisfied once he heard soft footsteps behind him. He had believed the boy when he'd said that he fell; if he had fallen on his hands, the bruising was quite probable. But when accused of lying, instead of defending the statement about the nurse, Harry defended the statement about the origin of the bruising. Well...that made two lies, then. Snape quickened his pace, Harry practically running to keep up with his long strides. "You will tell me exactly how you got those bruises," Harry's teacher snapped.

"I fell."

"No lies, Potter."

"Fine. I was skateboarding with my friend, and something happened, loose rock or something, and he tripped. I was already on the ground tying my shoe, and his feet landed right over my hands. It happened on Saturday," Harry said, giving a more creditable lie. Snape seemed to believe this one, although he didn't offer any comment.

Harry was dropped off into Pomfrey's office, and Snape even stayed until the rotund woman had greeted Harry and made him sit down. The professor even explained Harry's injury—including the fictional origin. Harry stayed silent and stared at his discolored hands until he heard the door shut and the nurse's own hands tilted his head up.

"Harry, my dear. How are you today?" she asked with a cheery smile. Harry shrugged.

"I was just fine," he said, his voice a bit too biting. Madam Pomfrey didn't seem to notice—or take offense.

"Well, let's take a look at your hands. You can move all the fingers, yes?" Harry nodded.

"Just fine," he whispered.

"Any pain?" Harry glared and received a sympathetic look in return. "Well of course, dear. Silly question. What I meant, was, is there any pain you feel, aside from the bruising? Any sharp needle-like feelings occasionally?"

"I don't know. Maybe once or twice just after it happened. I haven't had any in a few days though, even earlier today when I was dancing with them." The nurse nodded and patted his hands.

"I'm sorry, dear, but there's nothing I can do for the bruising. You'll simply have to endure the questions for a few days, however I dare say you won't have to worry about Professor Snape dragging you off to my office anyway...best to get that out of the way. It's entirely possible that there are a few tiny fractures in there—that's those sharp bursts of pain—but nothing that won't heal in a week. For now, be very careful not to abuse your hands. It'd be best to not dance too intensely on them, write for too long, grip things tightly...that sort of thing. For now, would you like something for the pain?" Harry gave a weak smile, shrugging.

"Uh....sure. That'd be great." Madam Pomfrey beamed.

…

Harry stumbled through his ballet class with a little more grace than he had the previous week, and the teacher seemed to be happy with him for it. The unnatural movements plagued his muscles, and it was hard to convince his arms and legs to cooperate with his brain, but the class hadn't been a total disaster. The worst part of it was answering all the questions about his bruised hands. After class, the instructor asked Harry to stay behind for a few moments. As the rest of the dancers filed out of the room after putting their warm-ups or clothes over their dance clothes, Harry went to the front of the class.

"Sir?" he asked. His teacher smiled at him.

"You did well in class today, Harry," he said seriously. The teen boy looked away with a pleased smile on his face.

"Thanks," Harry whispered.

"I'm sure you'll catch up very quickly. In the meantime, you need to start looking at buying some proper dance-wear for yourself." Harry kept his eyes on the floor. "I am not particular about what you wear in this class, but once you're back in sophomore ballet the teachers, Madam Trelawney and Remus," the teacher playfully rolled his eyes at Sybil's name, "it's school rules to wear proper attire." Harry sighed and looked up for a brief moment.

"What....what exactly do I need?" Harry asked.

"I would start with pair of black and a pair of white tights, two of each if you wish, a couple more pairs of black dance shoes, and a white shirt. How's that sound?" Oh fuck.

"Yeah, sure. I'll...look into it," Harry said half-heartedly. His teacher looked at him for a moment.

"There's a quaint little shop on A 6th. You might start there," he said kindly. Harry looked up and gave him a smile.

"Sure, thanks."

"Alright, Harry. Get to class, and nice job today. I have a feeling you'll do well here." Harry didn't react for a moment, but then a smile broke out on his face and he nodded. His teacher laid a hand on his shoulder for a moment, until a gentle push sent Harry out the door and onto algebra. He ran through the hall and hurried to unlock his locker, tossing his dance bag inside and grabbing his algebra textbook and homework. A one-minute warning bell rang and Harry swore, slamming his locker shut and sprinting down the hall. Someone grabbed his wrist just as he was about to jump down the stairs, and Harry was whirled around to stop about a centimeter away from someone's chest.

"Watch where you're going, kid," Draco said with a smirk. Harry couldn't decide whether to laugh or glare, and the attempt at both was hilarious.

"Draco...do you need something? I'm going to be late to algebra...." Harry mentioned.

"I just wanted to make sure we were still on for coffee on Wednesday," Draco said with a cheery smile.

"Draco, I have ten seconds to get to class and you're making sure we're still going to hang after school in two days? Oh my god," Harry said with an exasperated chuckle. Draco draped an arm over Harry's shoulders, not noticing how tense the black-haired teen became, and began walking with him down the stairs. The bell sounded and Harry groaned.

"Chill, Harry. I'll let the teacher know that you had a valid reason for being late."

"And she'll listen?" Harry asked.

"Sure. I'm Draco Malfoy."

"Right. Whatever," Harry said. He looked up at Draco, noticing for the first time the aura of confidence that Draco positively oozed. It was almost suffocating, but at the same time, nice to be around. Draco stopped at Harry's classroom and dropped his arm from around the teen's shoulders, opening the door for him. Harry walked in and all the eyes in the classroom snapped to him. He took a step back, blushing and staring at his shoes in embarrassment, but Draco's hand at his back stopped him.

"Sorry Mrs. Hampton, but Harry and I were having a discussion about after school studies with Professor Snape. He said to let you know that this really isn't Harry's fault, and he would have had a pass...but, well, this is Professor Snape," Draco said with a 'you know what I'm talking about smile'. Mrs. Hampton nodded.

"Of course...that man doesn't believe in passes....come in Harry dear, come in. We were just talking about real numbers, weren't we class?" Harry didn't move, waiting for everyone to stop looking at him.

"I'll see you later, Harry," Draco whispered in his ear, giving Harry a push into the class. The black-haired teen stumbled before catching himself and practically running to a seat in the back. He sat down and saw Draco wink at him before the blond left to his own class. Harry turned to the teacher with a nervous look on his face and the teacher continued with her lecture.

…

"Harry, calm down! It's just hip-hop...jeez..." Hermione said with a smile, forcing Harry's bouncing body into a chair in the cafeteria. The two shared a hip-hop class along with Doug; for Hermione it was the worst dance class the school offered. "I just don't see how you can actually be excited about it, let alone like it. The class is horrible...."

"It couldn't be that bad, Hermione," Harry looked to Doug. "What do you think?" The dark-skinned boy shrugged.

"It's fun, really. Kinda crazy moves, but it's a nice change from the normal ballet technique stuff. 'Mione hates it because she sucks at it," Doug said with a wink in Harry's direction. Hermione gave an indignant huff and stood.

"I'm going to go get lunch," she announced, and marched off to the line across the room.

"How's the food here?" he asked, turning to Doug.

"It's good. Healthy as hell, but everything's really good. Most kids don't bring lunch from home because it saves time in the morning, although I've always liked making my own lunch," he explained. Harry nodded.

"How much is it?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Depends on what's being served. Everything's under four bucks, and salads are the cheapest...I think. It's because of this grant the school got—lunch prices were cut in half or something, like, two years ago." Harry nodded, digging his apple out of his bag and taking a bite. It was soft and mostly bruised—one of Vernon's rejects. Hermione came back several minutes later, and to Harry's surprise, set a tray of food in front of him. He looked up to the girl who was now seated across from him.

"I didn't ask—"

"I know," she said simply. Harry pushed the tray away from him, and both Hermione and Doug pushed it back at him. Neville had joined their table with Luna just before Hermione arrived with the food, and they looked on with apprehension.

"Well if I didn't ask, then why did you get it for me?" Harry demanded, glaring. Hermione glared back.

"I don't know how you survive on an apple a day," she stated. Harry's glare deepened.

"Fuck, Hermione, you've known me for how many days? Like, four? And now you're butting into my life like it's actually your business?" Harry asked, his voice raising just a bit.

"Harry! It is my business, because you're not eating properly and you're my friend. I'm worrying about you," she retorted.

"Well I didn't ask to be worried about either! Why can't you just mind your own business?!" Harry stood up and shouldered his bag. Doug jumped up as well.

"Harry, it's just lunch. She didn't mean to offend you, just wanted you to...She was just trying to help," he said.

"I didn't fucking ask to be helped! Don't—"

"Mr. Potter, watch your language. Swearing and yelling may have been permitted at your old school, but not at this one. You may bring your lunch and follow me," a silky voice demanded from behind Harry. The black-haired boy flinched in surprise when the professor spoke, but he didn't turn around. Didn't move. "Did you hear me, boy? Bring your lunch and follow," Severus Snape snapped. The sharp tone made Harry grab the tray in front of him without question and turn to follow Snape from the room. He looked back at his friends just as he slipped into the hall. Hermione appeared happy that he taken his lunch and Doug just gave a sympathetic look. Harry focused on the man in front of him and hurried down the hall.

The professor and Harry walked up the stairs and entered the chemistry room. Snape pointed to a desk at the front of the room, indicating Harry should sit there. Harry sat stiffly and let his bag fall from his shoulder after setting his tray down. Snape moved to his own desk and sat down, not sparing a glance at Harry who sat stock still, as if expecting Snape to start screaming at him. After fifteen minutes, the professor looked up.

Harry was still sitting the chair, back rigid, his eyes staring at the periodic table at the front of the room. He didn't move, didn't alter his position in the slightest. And the food before him, a ham and cheese sandwich with a salad next to it, was still untouched even though Snape had heard the boy's stomach complain several times.

"Potter," he snapped. Harry's green eyes moved instantly, but didn't remain focused on Snape for long, choosing to rest on the floor tiling. "Why haven't you eaten your lunch?" Harry was silent. "Answer me," Snape demanded. Harry looked up again.

"I...it's not really mine, sir," he whispered. Snape raised his eyebrows.

"Then what on earth possessed you to bring it with you? Whose lunch is it?" he asked sharply. Harry's eyes were back on the floor.

"Um...Hermione bought it."

"You took Mrs. Granger's lunch," Snape accused, eyes narrowing. Harry jumped at his professor's tone, although his eyes stayed on the floor.

"Well, she said she bought it for me, but...I didn't ask her too," Harry mentioned. Snape sat back in his chair. The boy sitting in his classroom was possibly the most perplexing child he had ever encountered at this school. Why would he mention that he hadn't asked his friend to purchase lunch for him? Why would that matter?

"Maybe if you explain yourself, Mr. Potter. From the beginning," Snape requested, his tone slightly, only slightly, softer. Harry tensed.

"Sir, I don't mean to be rude, but it's...it's not any of your business," Harry said. His posture had sunk until his back was pressed against the chair back , his shoulders hunched over and his head down.

"On the contrary, Potter, I am your teacher, and it is my business," Snape corrected.

"Please, sir, it's not that important."

"Explain the situation, Potter," Snape demanded.

"It's really not that big of a deal, sir," Harry persisted.

"EXPLAIN, POTTER!" Snape yelled, slamming his hands on the desk. "Do not tell me what is 'not a big deal'. Just tell me what I asked you to explain," he bit out, forcing the words through his teeth. Harry jolted backwards, almost tipping the desk back. His face turned to look at Snape, wide and frightened eyes looking from under long lashes. Harry looked terrified.

"Um...Hermione said....Hermione said last week that I didn't eat enough and I got mad at her. And today she bought me lunch because she wanted me to eat more, but I didn't ask her too, and so I didn't want it because it didn't seem right that I...um...just take food that she bought...and then we were arguing and then you came and I'm really sorry, sir. I won't do it again. I promise. I'm sorry, really, I am. Please sir, don't..." Harry seemed to catch himself. "Never mind. I'm sorry, sir."

Snape put his face in his hands. Where is Black when you need him? he wondered. He wasn't about to counsel a student on accepting favors.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. Next time, you will do as I tell you, the first time. I believe you owe Mrs. Granger an apology, and a 'thank you'. For now, you will eat the lunch in front of you. I'll not have you waste perfectly good food."

"Thank you, sir," Harry whispered.

"And it will be after-school detention the next time I hear you swearing in this school," Snape added.

"Yes, sir," the teen said, picking up his sandwich.

The professor couldn't help but to observe the boy as he ate. Every bite seemed to be...cherished, not forced, as Severus would have expected it to be. Harry Potter's name had been added last Monday to a list of 'children at risk', or so Madam Pomfrey called it. It was a list of children with either psychological problems or eating disorders, mainly the later. Harry was thought to be either anorexic or bulimic. It was common for these children to undergo therapy with Sirius Black until their disorders could be properly dealt with. Harry should have immediately be placed into counseling, but Black had gone on a honeymoon with Remus Lupin, another teacher at the school, and would not be back for two more weeks.

However, Snape had ruled out the possibility of Harry being anorexic. Within ten minutes the boy had carefully eaten his sandwich and salad at a rapid pace—not normal behavior for someone who could not bring themselves to eat more than three bites.

When Harry set down his fork after finishing the last of his meal, Snape put down the pencil he had been grading with and cleared his throat. Harry's gaze snapped to him.

"Mr. Potter, I am going to ask you several questions, and I want to you speak freely. I am asking for honest answers, and not something you think I wish to hear. You will no be punished for anything you say in the next ten minutes or so. Is that understood?" he asked. Harry nodded, appearing nervous.

"Yes, sir," he whispered.

"You mentioned earlier that what led to your being here was 'none of my business'. Why did you assume this? Be honest." Harry took a deep breath before answering. He began with a shrug.

"I...It just felt like that was personal. Between me and 'Mione, you know? I honestly didn't mean to be rude, but you're...you're a teacher," he said softly, refusing to look his professor in the eye. Snape sighed.

"Mr. Potter, let me explain the situation for you. As you know, Madam Pomfrey suspects you of having an eating disorder—"

"What?! She told you?! I thought...I thought that—"

"Was confidential?" Snape cut in. Harry nodded, eyes wide. "As it would have been, had it been anything but an eating disorder that could affect your performance at this school, let alone your health. At that point, all the teachers must be notified in case something happens, such as you fainting in class." Harry looked down at his hands. "If I had it my way, you would be in counseling with Mr. Black as of your first day of class, but Madam Pomfrey decided to give you a month, and Black is gone on other business at the moment anyway.

"In the case of Black's absence, I am traditionally the replacement counselor. I know how adverse you are to the idea of counseling, but I wanted to extend the offer to you," Snape stated. Harry glared.

"Sorry, sir, but I don't exactly want my personal feelings known to every single adult in this building," he said, a hint of anger beneath his words.

"Anything you say to me will not be shared with anyone else. In the case that you reveal something that is absolutely necessary for Madam Pomfrey to know, I would inform her, and only her," the professor explained.

"What if I told you I...did have an...eating disorder?"

"That would be one of those times Madam Pomfrey would need to know. It would then be between her and I to put you on a course to recovery."

"What about...parents? I mean, would you tell them?" Snape raised his eyebrows.

"I was under the impression you lived with your uncle?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

"Okay, would you tell him?" he re-phrased.

"I would think he already knew. But in the case that he didn't, still I would not tell him. That is entirely up to you." Harry breathed a small sight of relief.

"Okay. I'll...I'll think about what you said. Thank you, sir," Harry said. He looked up at his professor and gave the man a small, timid smile. Snape nodded his head.

"Please do. You may leave now, classes will resume in fifteen minutes," Snape informed him. Harry nodded and stood, taking his tray and bag with him as he left the room.

"See you later, professor," he said before leaving the room. Snape contained his smile until Harry was out of eyesight. The child was...charming in a way. Entirely frustrating and troublesome, but still charming. Severus couldn't remember another time when he actually offered his shoulder to cry on for another student, although he was counting on the fact that Harry wouldn't know it.

Harry stored his bag back in his locker and walking quickly to the cafeteria to turn his tray into the dishwashers, before heading back upstairs to change into his dance outfit for hip-hop. Hermione and Doug caught up with him as he was walking up the stairs.

"Hey guys," Harry greeted softly. Doug smiled.

"How was Snape? Did he cut off your left hand to use in experiments?" he asked with a wink. Harry laughed.

"What? No! He just...I dunno, told me not to swear anymore."

"Well, you shouldn't. I hope you listen to him," Hermione added. Harry looked at her.

"And put my left hand in danger? Never!" he joked. She smiled, shaking her head. The three walked in silence for a moment before Harry spoke up again. "Listen, Hermione. I'm sorry about earlier. I just...I don't know. I'm not used to being helped, so it's strange that someone would do something nice for me just...to be nice. I appreciate it, I really do."

"Harry, I'm sorry too. I should have at least asked. Doug and I talked about it and we decided it probably was kind of rude to assume you would want our help. You can tell us to back off, you know, and you won't hear of it again," she said seriously. Harry shrugged.

"No, it's fine. Kind of nice actually. I'll pay you back for lunch, too," he offered. He was sure he had three dollars of so in his bag somewhere. She vigorously shook her head.

"It's okay. I don't mind paying for it, as long as you eat it, okay?" Harry looked at her, surprised at the offer, but still pleased. Maybe this was what Seamus was saying about accepting help and all that.

"Alright. Just...don't feel you have to buy lunch for me every day. And if I insist on paying sometimes, please let me, okay?" Hermione gave him a hug.

"Of course, Harry!" she exclaimed, while Doug just rolled his eyes. "Now, we have to change or we'll be late for class. Go on!" She shooed the boys off to the locker rooms and went to the girls' locker rooms herself, smiling. She didn't know what Harry's real problem was, but she wanted the boy to trust her.

…

Harry might have struggled with ballet, but hip-hop was...easy. Ridiculously so. As today was the first hip-hop class of the year, most of it was review, but there were no unfamiliar steps. It was odd to learn the names of moves that he had been using since fourth grade, but they were still the same idea. Within the first five minutes Harry knew this class wouldn't teach him much...even though the teacher seemed adept.

"Harry, demonstrate that last move, please," the instructor requested. He was a lean black man, built like a track star, but with the arms of a basketball player. Harry had never seen or heard of him, but he had an instant respect for the man.

Harry demonstrated the move that the class had been trying to learn. Honestly, he had never done it before in his life, but it was pretty much a combination of swiveled knee drop and a kick out...the basic stuff. Easy as breathing. If only ballet were this easily, Harry thought to himself as he was dragged to the front of the class for more demonstrations. It was nice to receive impressed looks from his classmates for a change; Harry felt himself smiling every once in a while, hope bubbling in his chest. If he could do nothing else, he knew how to dance out on the streets, when all the preppy kids at this school couldn't do a graceful rock step to save their lives.

Reviews are wonderful inspirations to me! I would love to hear what you all think.

Thanks for reading,

-Wykkyd