Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related characters, situations, settings, and plots is the original work of J.K. Rowling and under copyright. While I enjoy playing/experimenting in her sandbox, it's not mine and never will be.

Author's note located at the end of the chapter.

On the second day of the new term, Moody grabbed me by the arm and yanked me into his office. He slapped a roll of parchment on his desk and stabbed them with his finger. "Explain," he growled.

Bewildered, I looked at the top paper. My antidotes test. My heart sank. A "T". I studied for weeks and even compared my answers with Hermione afterward. I knew I made at least an "E". With shaking fingers I picked up the parchment and unrolled it.

The first third had a few snarky comments in the margins, but no point deductions. The bottom two thirds was covered in dried green slime. I clenched my fists, wrinkling my exam. "That sorry son of a bitch."

"I take it you completed the exam."

"Of course I did," I said, rounding on Moody. "I don't want to fail potions. My trust fund has enough money to support me for a while, but not for life. I need potions. Even if I get an O on my Potions OWL and NEWT, employers will still look at my grades and class standing."

"Easy, Potter," Moody said as his dark detectors, obviously malfunctioning, quaked on their shelves.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, falling into a more controlled state. "My apologies."

"Don't apologize for something that's not your fault, Potter. I thought you were backing out of our agreement. My mistake. I should have suspected Snape before you."

"I'm not backing out."

"Good to hear," he said and seated himself behind his desk, propping his leg up on a padded stool. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Follow procedure," I said half-heartedly. When I discovered Hogwarts had procedures intended to deal with professors like Snape, I was ecstatic. Then reality intruded. If after thirteen years 'teaching', the wizarding world's euphemism for abusing students under his care, Snape never lost his job, odds were he wouldn't lose it just because I joined the legions of complainants.

"Which is?"

I sighed. Why did everything have to be a lesson? "The Hogwarts Charter by reference to statutes, Acts of the Wizengamot, and Acts of the Board of Governors entails the following steps," I said. Moody demanded detailed answers. When I couldn't give one, he ordered me to research the topic and then we discussed it two days later. If I failed his second exam, which only happened once, the next oral quiz occurred during dueling practices. Wrong answers added hexes and curses to the list he was allowed to use, but since it was technically my third exam on the same topic right answers didn't earn me anything. "In 1512, the Board of Governors, inundated with complaints concerning Brandon Derwent, the Charms—"

"—transfiguration," Moody corrected. "Keep going."

"—Brandon Derwent, the Transfiguration Professor, passed an Act of the Board, which established procecdures for filing a formal complaint. Step One: meet with the professor and your head of house and discuss why you believe your grade is incorrect. Step Two: File a written complaint with the deputy head. Step Three: Written appeal to the headmaster. When the headmaster rejects my appeal, I'll file a formal complaint with the Department of Magical Education," I said, already cataloging the many incidences of discrimination and downright bullying I'd endured at the hands of Severus Snape.

"Why do you think it will fail?"

I stared at him incredulously. "Step One: Snape would sooner die than admit I earned anything higher than an A. Step Two: I can count on one hand the number of times McGonagall has taken a student's side over a staff member's. In her eyes, staff members are always right. Period. Step Three," I rolled my eyes, "I think we both know how well that will go over."

Moody drummed his fingers on his desk. "How will you handle Snape?"

"Same as always. My attitude won't make much difference."

"Not what I meant, Potter. Meeting with Snape is no different from meeting with Albus. Analyze his character. What do you know about him? His personal situation? How can you use that to your advantage?"

I had a flash of insight. "Library," I yelled over my shoulder as I dashed out the door. Moody's chuckles followed me down the hall.

Following an hour digging through the library, three quick notes to Silas—all delivered by Dobby for the grand price of five knuts—and four hours locating various classmates and convincing them to hand over memories and old exams, I rapped on Snape's office door.

"Enter," he called.

I pushed the door open and slipped inside. Snape was bent over his desk, grading papers. He had an ink smudge on his nose. Without looking up, Snape waved his hand at a small table. "Put everything there. I'll check it later."

Unsure what to do, I stayed standing in front of the door.

"Cold," a low voice whispered.

Parseltongue, I realized after a few seconds. I scanned the room, eyes roaming over meticulously labeled bottles, books, spare cauldrons, and seven stacks of essays. Everything had a place. A bit OCD for my tastes, but if it wasn't related to magic, Aunt Petunia would love it.

"Severus, heat up my rock," a voice to my right hissed.

I turned my head. A gorgeous, mottled boa constrictor, male judging by the head, was coiled in a chair near the fire. A glass habitat with an open lid was built into the same wall as the fireplace. I silently crossed the room to the snake.

"Hello," I said, keeping my voice low so I didn't disturb Snape. The boa lived with Snape. Judging by his size, Snape probably got him when he was around my age. Thus, the boa represented a new source of information.

"How interesting. Why didn't Severus bring you to see me before?"

"Because he hates me."

"Ah, you must be the Potter boy he fusses so about."

"Guilty." He must understand English, a rare skill even among captive snakes. "How does he warm up your rock?"

"With his wand."

I rubbed my right thumb and middle finger together. My wand dropped out of the holster into my hand. "The big one?" I asked, sticking my wand inside the habitat.

"Yes."

Warm 35 degrees Celsius, I thought, focusing on Dyfi's preferred temperature as the magic flowed into my wand. The warming charm hit the rock. Heat warmed my hands and I withdrew my wand, stowing it back in the holster strapped to my right arm.

"Thanks," the boa said, slithering back towards his habitat. Not surprising. According to Dyfi, dry heat isn't scale friendly.

"What's your name?"

"My first human named me Franklin. The other snake talker tried to teach me to answer to something else, but I'm afraid I'll always be a Franklin."

"Other talker?" I asked.

"She found me in a park where my previous owner had abandoned me. She took me home and nursed me back to health. Her family wouldn't let her keep me, so she gave me to Severus."

She? When Franklin said other, I thought he meant Voldemort. Excitement filled my veins. Maybe…"Do you remember her name?"

"It's been so long since she last visited me. She wasn't like you, though. She wouldn't talk to me here in the castle. Wait for summer, she said. Even then, she never spoke with me in front of my human."

"What do you want, Potter?" Snape's biting voice cut off what was turning into an enlightening conversation. I sighed and turned my attention back to the matter at hand. Grade first.

"I cast a warming charm on Franklin's rock, but it will wear off by tomorrow night," I said, seating myself in the small chair across from his desk. The wooden slats dug into my back. Clearly, he didn't want visitors.

He sneered at me, but did cast a quick spell at the habitat, checking the temperature before setting his wand on his desk. "Don't you have anyone else to pester?"

I took my exam out of my pocket and set it on his desk. "Please explain this," I said as politely as I could manage.

"There is nothing to explain. You got exactly what you deserve."

"You may have given me the grade you think I deserve, but I want the one I earned." I unrolled the parchment and pointed to his comments. "Not one point deduction and you gave me a T. I'm sorry, professor, but I fail to see your logic."

"You clearly didn't finish."

My eyes turned cold. "I most certainly did finish," I said, letting the lisp all parselmouths have slip into my speech. Aunt Petunia would be appalled. Four years of speech therapy—a nephew with a speech impediment was worse than a delinquent nephew—at my muggle school wasted.

Snape blanched. I crowed inside my mind. My crazy gambit worked! According to the old Prophets and Sirius, Snape was definitely a death eater. Dumbledore vouched for him, meaning Snape turned traitor. I didn't think my slight accent sounded like Riddle's. In the chamber, he used an exceedingly snobby, received pronunciation. However, the slight lisp still affected Snape, possibly conjuring memories of Voldemort. Not someone I wanted to be compared to, but Snape's fear was dead useful.

"Professor, when I turned my exam in, the only thing on this parchment was ink. When you returned it, two thirds of it was damaged by some sort of potion. Did you grade it before or after the damage?"

"What happened to your parchment after I graded it isn't my concern."

"Then you do know what happened to it."

"Nothing. It was exactly like that when I received it."

The cunning head of Slytherin slipped up. I bared my teeth at him. "Which is it, professor?"

Snape ground his teeth, his fingers inching towards his wand. I rubbed my fingers together, retrieving my wand from its holster.

"That was your test, young one?" Franklin hissed as he climbed out of his habitat and slithered towards us.

"Yes. Did you see what happened to it?"

Snape eyed Franklin with trepidation as he climbed onto a table and nudged a potion's vial with his nose. "Severus tested that potion on it."

A label written in block print read 'Kenneth Towler, 5th Year, Gryffindor. I blanched. Towler was Gryffindor's equivalent of Marcus Flint, as in he made trolls look smart. "You poured fire protection potion on my exam," I said through gritted teeth.

"I was merely testing a student's work."

"Luckily for me, my exam didn't burn. If it had, which I'm sure you intended, I wouldn't have had grounds to question my grade."

"Ruddy snake."

"Now, professor, did you test the potion on my exam before or after you graded it?"

"After."

"Before," Franklin hissed, returning to his habitat.

"Funny. Franklin says before. I'm more inclined to believe him than you."

"That's not my problem, Potter. Go ahead. Go crying to McGonagall. Your only witness is a snake."

I reached into my robes and removed another sheet of parchment, which I slowly unfolded. The parchment crackled, drawing Snape's eyes to my hands. Even with his patented Harry-Potter-sneer plastered on his face, I could see curiousity burning in his eyes. I smirked at him. "Franklin's word is good enough for me, but I would never dream of going to McGonagall with only his word. Of course, your own contradicting statement is rather incriminating, but even that wouldn't be enough. No, professor, I merely came to discuss a few matters."

"Get on with it."

"The ministry doesn't bother comparing statistics between departments," I said, handing him the parchment, "but I thought it might make for an interesting exercise. Guess what I found, professor. Since you began teaching at Hogwarts, less than 1 out of 10 students take the Potions NEWT. Down from 6 out of 10 for your predecessor. That's an 80% decrease in NEWT potion students. Admittedly, your NEWT pass rate is 100% where your predecessor's was 80%. Still, he graduated 4.8 NEWT potions qualified students for your 1. That's still a 79% decrease. That means there are 79% fewer Hogwarts graduates qualified to be aurors, healers, and potioneers. As Hogwarts accounts for forty-three percent of total OWL graduates and fifty percent total NEWT graduates, these numbers are reflected in a 37% drop in applicants to St. Mungo's and a 52% drop in applicants to the Auror Academy. Because of you, an entire generation is relegated to lower paying jobs, and our society faces the very real possibility that we will have to extend the retirement age or face severe shortages at both St. Mungo's and the ministry. Congratulations, professor," I drawled, "you have single-handedly done more damage to our society than Voldemort ever hoped to."

The color drained out of Snape's face.

"I suppose that was your plan all along. When Voldemort returns, you'll hop off to your master, confident that he'll forgive your betrayal because, thanks to you, there aren't nearly as many aurors to contend with."

"It's not my fault you lot are bigger dunderheads than the last generation."

"Try the last twelve, professor. Horace Slughorn and his predecessor had nearly identical stats. Now, here's my dilemma. I could have taken my exam straight to Dumbledore and asked him to rein you in. Trouble is, that would only fix my problem once. Of course, there is the small matter of a prophecy."

Snape inhaled sharply. "He told me you didn't believe the prophecy."

"I don't. The facts don't support Voldemort believing in it either."

His hands stilled. "What did you say?"

I calmly repeated the same argument I told Dumbledore, complete with eye rolls at key points. Snape clenched his jaw several times, but didn't refute my logic or make any snide comments. I wondered why he cared about the mutterings of a stoned drunk, but I didn't care enough to ask. "That aside," I said, "I came here to discuss your future at Hogwarts."

Snape snorted. "You're delusional, Potter. Dumbledore controls Hogwarts, not you."

"True." I smirked. "However, Hogwarts is accredited by both the ministry and the ICW. It also receives forty percent of its funding from the ministry, who also administer both the OWLS and the NEWTS. I checked the ICW rules. As the current headmaster of an ICW accredited school, Dumbledore is prohibited from sitting on their education committee, and the current members aren't among his biggest fans. I am prepared to very publicly challenge Hogwart's accreditation.

"I've drafted complaints against both you and Professor Binns, who we all know should be sharing Myrtle's toilet, not teaching. In your case, I've gathered pensieve memories along with old test papers and returned essays. As we speak, my solicitor is closeted with my barrister. They plan on finalizing the complaints over the next week and filing them with the appropriate authorities. I've also arranged to forward both my findings and my complaints to Rita Skeeter, who is chomping at the bit to rip into both you and Dumbledore. If you do not agree to my terms, I will have your job and your reputation, and the next time I encounter our mutual acquaintance, I might just decide to distract him with tales of all the times you saved my life. Who knows, maybe I'll even mention the little life debt you owe my father," I said.

"Do you want me dead?" He snatched his wand of the desk and pointed it between my eyes.

I raised an eyebrow. "You finally understand, professor. If you want me to call off my legal team and keep my mouth shut, it will cost you," I said, ignoring the wand in my face. Before I came down, I visited Gryffindor tower and announced I was visiting Snape to the entire common room. About fifty people knew where I was. If Snape cursed me, it'd be the first nail in his coffin.

"What do you want?" he whispered.

"For starters, a fair grade. You will grade all students by the same standard you do your Slytherins. You will stop your incessant bullying. I don't care if you hated my father, but you will accept that I am not him. I don't even remember him. You will find the capacity somewhere in your shriveled heart to acknowledge that my name is Harry, not James. From what little I know about him, I'm nothing like my father."

"You are exactly like him. Swaggering around this school like you own it." Spittle hit my face. I glared at him and wiped it away with my sleeve.

"If you knew anything about my life, you'd know I don't swagger, but you're stuck in some pathetic fantasy. I don't care if you remain in it, but you will not share it with anyone and you will treat me no differently than you do any other student. If you wouldn't say something to Malfoy, you won't say it to me, Hermione, Neville, or any other student. You will penalize students for tampering with another student's potion. You will control your temper, stop stalking around the classroom like a caged animal, and actually teach. Or, I swear on my mother's grave I will use the fame I never wanted to destroy you."

He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "Tomorrow, we have class. I will know your answer by your behavior. Good night, professor."

I strode to the door and spun on my heel. "One last thing. Before Hogwarts, I loved potions and history. They were the classes I looked forward to the most. In less than three minutes you and Binns both destroyed that love. I understand Binns. He's a ghost, permanently stuck in the past, who doesn't even notice his current students aren't the ones he had when he died. But you…I spent years thinking I did something wrong. That I somehow offended you, justifying the abuse heaped on me by a man twenty years my senior. However, there is no excuse for asking a first year, who didn't even know he was a wizard until he got his Hogwart's letter, OWL and NEWT level questions on the first day of class, mocking him for being a celebrity because he survived when his parents both died, or punishing me," I whispered, "for making mistakes in class that are your job to teach us how to avoid."

"You're just another Potter," he snarled.

"My mother's name was Lily Maia Evans. I'm half of her," I said between clenched teeth. He stilled. Fury and pain blended on his face with another emotion I couldn't name. His fingers clenched around his wand. "Choose wisely, professor." I dropped my exam on his work table and swept out of his office.

There was still time. He hadn't officially returned them, yet.

My next potions class was an experience. Snape still stalked between our cauldrons, sneering at our efforts, but he kept his comments to himself. Once, he snatched an ingredient out of Neville's hand, visibly steeled himself, and then showed Neville how to chop his newt tails and guided Neville's hands through adding them to his cauldron and stirring. Neville shook like a leaf the entire time, but by the end of class, he had a small smile on his face. For the first time ever, Neville Longbottom brewed a passable potion.

That wasn't the only change. When Malfoy tried to throw porcupine quills into my cauldron, Snape stopped him by hitting his hand with a minor stinging hex. Then he proceeded to lecture the entire class on the dangers of sabotaging another student's cauldron and assigned Malfoy detention with Filch. He didn't take any points, but I didn't expect perfect behavior, yet.

The biggest shock came at the end of class when Snape officially returned our antidote exams. He placed my parchment beside my cauldron and handed Hermione hers with a whispered, "well done." Praise from Snape? I was tempted to run outside and see if the sky was falling.

I unrolled my parchment. The T was crossed out with an O written beside it. Wide-eyed, I brushed the grade with my fingertips as if it would disappear. Then I skimmed my paper. It was clean. He'd cleaned off the potion and restored my answers. I lost five points total.

Grinning, I rolled it up, tucked it inside my bag, and packed up my cauldron. Hermione looked at me, mouth opening to ask me how I did. "Later," I mouthed.

"Dismissed," Snape said, face twisted in a grimace like his actions caused him physical pain.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and slipped out the door. I whispered my grade in Hermione's ear and ducked into a hidden stairwell before she could formulate a question or demand proof. Whistling to myself, I climbed the stairs, exiting at the dusty corridor that ran behind Moody's office.

I followed two sets of footprints, mine and Moody's, to a blank wall where I tapped the stone six up and twenty-four over four times: three longs, one short. A door appeared and I entered Moody's office.

Moody set his quill down and regarded me coolly. "Well?"

Grinning, I took my exam out of my bag and handed it to him. He unrolled it. His eyebrows rose as he read the grade and Snape's comments. "Much better. Care to tell me how you managed it?"

I flopped down in the chair across from his desk. Grinning, I relayed my meeting with Snape and his snake. Moody's eyes bugged out when I told him about my threats. When I finished, Moody regarded me coolly, his lips twitching. Then he started to laugh. His booming laughter completely drowned out the whirling and whistling gadgets he surrounded himself with. Still shaking with silent guffaws, he cocked his head at me. "If I wasn't holding the proof, I'd never believe it. Harry Potter blackmailed Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House."

"Blackmailing," I corrected.

"Indeed."

Author's Note: This is the shortest chapter in the manuscript, but I hope it's not too big a let down. This chapter took a little longer to get out because I have this six-hundred-wordish exchange between Harry and Snape that was in the original that I adored. (Yes, I know writing is all about killing your babies, but I REALLY liked it.) It doesn't fit anywhere else in Part 1 or Part 2 and it contained some things I've always wished someone would say, but after putting the story down for an hour and rereading the chapter with all the edits, I finally admitted to myself that Harry isn't the right person to say it. Sorry for the delay.

Whether Snape responded to Harry's threat or was stunned by how much damage he personally created is your call.

About the statistics...I began with an assumption. The British wizarding population is mostly self-sustaining, which translates into a total magical human population greater than 50,000. A few people have mentioned in PMs and reviews that it's actually closer to 70,000. Since it only took a few tweaks to a spreadsheet and adjusting two sentences, I went with 70,000. If you assume the average generation length is 24 (which seemed reasonable given the known ages of Harry's parents and his classmate's parents), the average lifespan is 211 (a little high, but anything lower and the student aged population was too high to justify Hogwarts's influence), and 1000 students attend Hogwarts at a given time, then on September 1, 1994, you have 2,326 witches and wizards between ages of 11 and 17. Thus Hogwarts educates 43% of the population.

Josh, I don't normally respond to reviews in public, but I just wanted to say you're close. Unfortunately, we'll have to wait until the 2nd to last chapter of Part 1 to see how close.

Please read and review.