It didn't matter that Harry nearly always made perfect potions in class, or that he stayed quiet and polite and never tried to draw attention to himself. Snape always managed to say something insulting. If he weren't so frustrated, he could almost admire Snape's creativity.

All right, so he wasn't particularly creative. He had two favourite topics: Potter's celebrity status and Potter's parents. Ron had repeatedly reminded him that talking back simply would not help around Snape, as if he hadn't already known that. Ron was extremely sympathetic though, for which Harry was occasionally grateful, but mostly he just felt bad that Ron didn't know the full story.

Harry had to admit that the primary reason why the insults so bothered him was because of Malfoy. His smirking presence made the insulting infinitely worse. It didn't matter that the Slytherin himself occasionally messed up his work, or that his pals nearly always made potions as bad as Neville. The Slytherins were given free rein in Potions. It was the Gryffindors who got the brunt of Snape's vitriol.

And Snape had a pretty good swing. He nearly made Hermione cry, once—nobody bothered much about that since she was always hopping up and down whenever Snape asked a question—but it just went to show that even knowing the answers didn't keep you safe.

"It's Levi-o-sa," Harry heard her saying to a furious Ron Weasley. His own feather gave a sort of feeble wiggle, and then settled back on the seat. Thankfully Flitwick didn't look peeved; in fact, he looked rather like he'd been expecting a less-than-stellar performance from the class.

Hermione's feather rose obligingly off the desk.

Harry settled in beside Ron after the class, preparing himself for another rant. He wasn't disappointed. When Hermione pushed past them though, and he saw her tear-stained face, he felt a knot of guilt in his stomach.

"I think she heard you."

Ron looked uncomfortable. "So? I bet she's noticed she's got no friends."

Harry watched her disappear into the crowd. In the next class, they noted her absence and shared an uncomfortable glance. When they heard Patil talking to Brown about Hermione crying in the girls' bathroom, Harry looked sidelong at Ron, wondering how he'd react to the advice of making an apology.

But they soon entered the Great Hall and he forgot all about her. The Hall had been decorated for Halloween and Harry had never seen anything quite as awesome as this in his life.

"Troll—in the dungeon—thought you ought to know!"

Harry sat frozen in his chair as Quirrell fell to the ground and screams echoed through the Hall. As the students began getting up from their seats, he looked up at the staff table, and noticed Snape standing up along with the other teachers, his black eyes searching the Gryffindor table, the slight exhale when he spotted Harry. When Dumbledore got the students' attention and directed the Prefects, Harry's eyes were on Snape. Was Harry only imagining it? No, there was definitely an air of concern in the man's general expression. And it was directed at him.

It was only once he'd started to move toward the entrance of the hall that he remembered the other thing that was on his mind. He turned back to the staff table, wondering if he could tell Snape—McGonagall—Dumbledore, anybody—but the table was empty.

He grabbed Ron's hand in a panic. "Hermione—she doesn't know!"

Ron bit his lip. Harry pulled him along and they split from the crowd.

They'd been creeping along the corridor for a while when Ron suddenly pulled him back, hissing, "Percy!"

But the figure that was hurrying along the corridor was Snape. Harry opened his mouth, to call out for his help, tell him about Hermione, but then he suddenly noticed something.

"That's not the way to the dungeons…"

Ron shrugged. Harry frowned. When he turned back, Snape had disappeared from view.

"Come on, then."

When they caught sight of the troll, Harry nearly changed his mind about helping Hermione. But it ambled into a doorway, and Harry, after one look at Ron, jumped over and locked the door.

"Good job!"

They turned to leave, but then—

Ron and Harry turned to stare at the door through which the terrified scream had come.

Harry felt just a tiny bit sick.

His last thought before he entered was that he was definitely going to hear about this from Snape.

Five agonising minutes later, the troll was on the floor and Harry's wand was sticking and dripping with— "Urgh, troll boogers." He wiped it off on the troll's trousers.

A slamming noise and the sound of footsteps made them look up. Harry looked at the open door, hoping it wouldn't be Snape—not that McGonagall would be much better, but as their Head of House perhaps she'd be more inclined to give out points rather than deduct them…

At the look on her face, he wasn't so sure.

Snape followed her into the room, and he wished once again that Hogwarts could open up its floor and swallow him when he willed it to.

Quirrell took one look at the troll and sat down hard on an overturned sink. Snape stared at Harry, head to toe, and Harry had the uncomfortable feeling he was processing him for injuries. Then he deliberately turned away and bent over the troll.

"Never, in all my life," McGonagall was whispering, whether out of admiration or just disbelief, Harry wasn't sure. "What on earth were you thinking?"

Snape cast him a swift glance over his shoulder, and Harry swallowed at the look on his face. No. he would definitely be hearing about this.

When Hermione came out with her story, Harry looked squarely at McGonagall, or at the floor if he could possibly help it.

"Five points from Gryffindor," McGonagall said. Hermione winced. "And five points to Gryffindor each, for the both of you," she added, looking at Harry and Ron.

"I don't think—"

"For sheer dumb luck."

Snape's mouth snapped shut. The look he sent Harry was the same as any sent his way in Potions class. Harry pressed his lips together and glanced away.

McGonagall cleaned up his wand with a flick of her own, and then they trooped past the teachers together, Harry in the lead, looking at anything but the black figure of Snape to his left.

It was only after he'd collapsed into his bed that he recalled Snape's odd presence in the corridor. Maybe he would ask him about it.

"I suppose you think that defeating a troll every other day will suffice as a magical education? I must disillusion you, Potter. Added fame as a troll-defeating prodigy on top of your already inflated celebrity status will not dissuade me from giving you a T when you deserve it."

Snape was standing over his cauldron. It was a mess, and Harry knew it. He had done this one in Snape's house, but he'd made a mistake, he wasn't even sure where, and he was too sick of being picked on all the time to care. He bit down on the corner of his lip, tried to blot out the view in the corner of his eyes of Malfoy sniggering openly.

"Two blobs of Flobberworm mucus, not three. I suppose it is too much to expect the Boy-Who-Lived to know how to count?"

Harry opened his mouth, fully prepared with a sharp retort, but Ron stepped on his foot. As Ron's foot retreated, he lowered his head, pressing his lips together with the throbbing in his leg.

Snape Vanished the mess that was his potion with a wave of his wand. Harry kept his eyes on his empty cauldron, his heart thudding almost painfully against his chest.

Malfoy's face was red with laughter.

"T grade," Snape announced—quite unnecessarily. "Quite appropriate, wouldn't you say?"

Harry glared up at Snape, his jaws clenched. For a moment he forgot everything else except the venom in Snape's eyes, and he didn't even care that it wasn't real. If Snape was acting, he was doing way too good a job of it.

"Lower your eyes, Potter, or I'll be taking points off next," he said softly. "That scar on your forehead might bewitch others, but it has no effect on me."

"Don't worry, sir. I know being a Slytherin is the only thing that does have an effect on you."

He'd said it quietly enough, but the class was silent, as it usually was when Snape was within five feet of Harry's cauldron, and judging from the look on his classmates, everybody had heard it. Malfoy's mouth had dropped open mid-laugh.

Snape's eyes glittered. "Detention, Potter."

Harry's blind fury vanished in an instant—the Quidditch match!

"Starting today at 4 PM. And twenty points from Gryffindor. Do not be late," he added as he walked off. "I'd hate for your House to lose more points."

At five minutes to 4, Harry stood outside Snape's office, thumping on it with his fist instead of knocking. At Snape's quiet voice, "Enter," he pushed it open just short of a slam, and went in.

Snape was at a shelf, apparently in the middle of rearranging the potions sitting there. "Sit, Potter."

Harry stomped over to a bench and sat down hard. Potter, was it? Well, fine. That was fine with him.

Snape gave his shelf a once-over and then turned around. With slow, calculated movements, he walked to his desk, dragged out his chair from behind and sat.

"What was that about?" Harry demanded, not bothering to keep his voice under control. "You've never been that bad before—though it's definitely not for lack of trying!"

Snape appeared unconcerned. "I did tell you at the start of the term that I would not be lenient in my treatment of you. The castle is abuzz with your heroic management of the troll; in fact, most people, and I mean both students and staff, seem to think that McGonagall was parsimonious in her awarding of points."

Harry opened his mouth to say that had nothing to do with anything (and what in the world was parsley-whatever) but Snape went on, "As for your complaint, I confess I was rather trying to bait you into a reply so I would have sufficient reason to give you detention. I have been racking my brain all morning," he said in the too-casual tone that Harry knew by now to watch out for, "and I am fairly certain that Granger was not in the Hall when Quirrell came in with his announcement. Which makes me wonder what the real version of events is."

Why did Snape have to notice everything, he thought a bit desperately. "I—" Snape's hard gaze made Harry falter. "Are you sure you didn't see her?"

"Harry." Although he did use his first name, Harry slumped at the sharpness in his tone. "I have already reached the conclusion that she lied. If your reluctance to open your mouth is out of a desire to protect your friend—she is your friend now, I'm assuming? I saw her looking at you when I assigned you detention, you seem to have gained a loyal ally." He gave Harry a ghost of a smile that vanished almost as soon as it appeared. "If you're concerned about saving her from my wrath, you needn't be. Minerva has deducted House points from her; the matter is over and done with. I simply wish to know the truth. From you."

"Why?"

"Indulge me."

Harry did not want to indulge Snape. He was pretty sure that he was in for an earful, and a lot of it too. He swallowed painfully. "Don't be mad," he whispered. "Please."

Snape's lips compressed a little, but his voice was quiet. "I will try my best."

"I knew Hermione wasn't in the Hall. Parvati and Brown were talking about how she was in the girls' bathroom," Harry hesitated then, wondering who would be more upset if he told the whole truth, Hermione or Ron. "So, we broke away from the group to find her."

At Snape's expression, he quickly added, "But I couldn't find you, I looked for you! Or any of the other teachers, they'd all gone to the dungeon."

That didn't seem to mollify Snape much. "I suppose you didn't think to inform a Prefect or Head Boy or Girl?"

"Ron—Ron didn't want to. Percy's a bit of a—anyway, he didn't want to."

Snape raised his eyes heavenward. "Merlin spare me from the theatrics of children who cannot be bothered to ask adults for help."

"Percy's hardly an adult," Harry felt compelled to point out. "And anyway, we thought the troll was in the dungeon." And what were you doing on the third floor and not in the dungeon, he wanted to ask.

"That is beside the point," he snapped.

"I meant I wasn't going looking for trouble. But we found the troll, and it entered the bathroom, only I didn't realize it was the bathroom then, and I locked it in—"

"You. What?"

Apparently, Snape had a much higher view of what constituted bravery than McGonagall. "I mean—"

"Potter—" Harry's heart sped up, just a little, at the use of that word. He didn't realize it showed on his face, but Snape seemed to notice, because he closed his eyes briefly and began again. "Harry. Do you know how to fight a troll?"

Harry shook his head. "I wasn't trying to fight it, just get it out of the way. And then tell you or one of the teachers."

"You went up to it. Never mind the fact that you locked it in with a student, which in itself should be enough proof of your incapability to handle dangerous situations—"

"Well, I know that now," Harry mumbled, a bit annoyed, but also not brave enough to say it too loud.

"I certainly hope the lesson sinks in deep."

"Yes, sir. No more troll-fighting," It sounded a bit flippant.

"Harry."

Harry looked up at Snape, a bit sheepish now. "Sorry. I won't—I won't put myself in danger anymore."

Snape's face looked very odd, and Harry couldn't understand why. Did he say something wrong? "Sir?"

Snape's eyes flickered up to meet his. "Remember that promise, Harry."

His face still looked weird. Harry nodded. In the silence that followed, Harry wondered if he could possibly ask Snape about being on the third floor.

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Snape raised an eyebrow at him.

"You were on the third floor though," he blurted.

There was no mistaking the look this time. Snape definitely looked startled, though he hid it very well: just a blink and a mild lowering of the eyebrows. "That is none of your concern."

"I thought all the teachers went down to fight the troll."

"Dumbledore gave me…other business."

The dog was on the third floor. Was that what he went to check? Hermione said it was guarding something. Harry felt a twisting guilt in his stomach that he hadn't told Snape he'd seen the dog, or his suspicions—their suspicion, really—about it.

Did the troll come to steal the whatever-it-was? What was it? Harry felt sure that Snape knew. He found he was staring at the man, and all of a sudden he remembered that Snape was a Legilimens and could read his mind, idiot! He dropped his eyes as casually as he could.

If Snape noticed the odd behaviour—and Harry was almost certain he did—he ignored it. "How is your Quidditch preparation coming? I haven't heard about any visits to the hospital wing; I suppose that is a good sign. If Wood makes you practice more than what is considered a rational, sane amount for an eleven-year-old, I will confiscate his broom."

"You can't do that," Harry said, half-laughing.

Snape's eyes gleamed. "Watch me. I could make it disappear without a trace and have it miraculously appear the day of the match."

"I don't think that'd stop him."

"Hm. Perhaps I shall make all your brooms disappear. You have a particularly fine one, do you not? Courtesy of your Head of House?" His grin took on a particularly wicked cast. "She seems quite convinced you will be the saviour of the Gryffindor Quidditch team this year."

Harry stared at him aghast. "You wouldn't do that."

"Of course not!" Snape's humour seemed to vanish in an instant. "I am not particularly concerned about the fate of my House's team one way or another."

This, Harry thought, was quite doubtful. "That's not what everyone says though," he ventured to say.

Snape smirked. "Oh, I have a fairly good idea of what everyone says. What did Percy Weasley tell you at the feast about me?"

Harry goggled. "How'd you know he was talking about you?"

"You kept looking sneakily at me. You're not as subtle as you'd like to think, Harry."

"Or maybe you're really good."

"Oh, both are true, I believe. I also noticed the look you gave Dumbledore."

"What look?"

"How shall I describe it? Rather like the look a stray dog would have on encountering the owner who abandoned it."

Harry flushed. "I did not look like that."

"Dumbledore did not abandon you. He may have treated you harshly, cruelly even, but his end goal was and always will be to keep you—" safe, Harry knew he'd been about to say, but he couldn't, could he? "—alive. And as safe as he possibly can, for a child who defeated a Dark Lord when he was a baby, a Dark Lord who is still alive."

Harry got the cold feeling he was beginning to get every time someone brought up Voldemort—or You-Know-Who, as Ron insisted on calling him. You-Know-Who was a more terrifying term in its own way than the name. "It took him weeks to get me out, though. You knew I was there."

"And I knew to what extent they were harming you. I came by nearly every day." With potions. To tip into his throat, with or without his consent. Usually without. "We had to be sure we could get you out safely and without—exposing my true loyalties." He lowered his head, and his hair obscured his face. After a moment he raised it again, and he looked strangely apologetic. "For what it's worth, it wasn't easy to wait. For me, or for Albus Dumbledore."

"I can bet it was nothing compared to mine though." Harry could barely register that the words were coming out of his mouth. He felt like he was in a fog, he could barely think straight. He did not—ever, ever—want to talk about this. He did not want to think about being left alone in that place. "And then at the trial—"

"The Dark Lord is alive." At the sound of that title Harry sat up, feeling colder than ever. "When he comes back, and he will, his first target will be you. My work as a spy might end up being the only thing that will keep you alive from him. Would you want to give that up just for the chance, a chance only, at capturing Lucius?"

"That is not fair," Harry whispered.

"I agree. It is not. It was not fair that you were captured when you were ten years old, or that you had to witness someone die before your eyes. It is not fair that your captor is alive and free when he should be dead for his crimes—crimes far worse and more numerous than capturing you. It is not fair that you have to be with a family who dislike you because a mad wizard killed your parents." Harry sat, mouth agape, unsure of how he was supposed to respond to that. "But it has happened, and what would you have us do?"

The clock on Snape's table quietly twanged to mark the hour.

Snape was looking at him, and there was pity in those eyes, but everywhere else he just looked calm and dignified.

"I don't know," he said at last.

"Well," Snape said with a faint smile. "We had to. And Harry, it's not just you Dumbledore has to think about. The whole world—Muggle and Wizarding—is in danger as long as Voldemort is alive. Any small advantage we have, even if it is a single spy in his ranks, could mean the difference between victory and defeat."

Harry didn't know how long he sat there, lost in a confusing mess of his thoughts. Somewhere into the quiet he whispered, "Okay," and soon after Snape sighed heavily and opened his mouth and closed it.

Then he walked toward him, and Harry didn't take much notice of it until he felt a warm hand on the back of his head, pressing him forward until his face encountered the warm black cloth that was Snape's robe.

Snape was patting his back, very lightly.

He sat in perfect silence, numbly aware that he was trembling. Then he lifted his arms, very slowly, in case Snape decided to end the hug. Hardly daring to breathe in case he broke the moment, he looped his arms around Snape's torso.

His fingertips brushed each other at the other end.

"It's going to be okay," Snape said, and Harry was taken aback at the fierceness in his tone. "It will."

A/N: In case anyone's interested: I had a 2-hour test today which I finished in a quarter of the time (not because I'm a genius, but because I knew nothing. Also it was an MCQ-type thing) and spent the rest of the time scribbling Snape-Harry conversations on my question paper - currently at GoF in the timeline, woohoo! Pretty sure the invigilators thought I was out of my mind. Ah, the sacrifices one has to make for creativity. Did I say sacrifices? I meant the opposite. I barely noticed the sweltering heat. It was amazing. Anyway. Ramble over.