A/N Exhibit A and B, are Excerpts from HP, Philosopher's Stone

This is a world where Harry doesn't quite make friends with Ron on the train.

Why? Well, there are many reasons you can choose from:

For one, Dudders prevented him from making friends since the first day he stepped into school and so he never actually learned how to make them. And on days that he imagined he had friends he would only end up wondering what one did with them if you didn't particularly like running around and bullying others. For another, he was ashamed. Ashamed of his appearance, his scar, his wonky glasses, everything from his odd hair that didn't want to lie flat, to the fact that he looked like a drowned rat in his fat cousin's clothes.

But really it was this.

Exhibit A - Planting the seed:

"You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?"

"Who?"

"Harry Potter!"

Harry heard the little girl's voice. "Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him, Mum, oh please. . . ."

"You've already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?"

"Asked him. Saw his scar. It's really there—like lightning."

"Poor dear—no wonder he was alone, I wondered. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get onto the platform."

"Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?"

Exhibit B - Watering the seed:

"And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger.

Draco Malfoy looked at him. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford." He turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find that some people only make friends where they can benefit. Would be great for them to be best mates with Britain's saviour, wouldn't it? I bet he made you share your sweets too, did he have a soggy sandwich that he didn't like? Boo hoo."

It ended in a brawl. Ron and his rat attacked the boys. And Harry stood up for Ron, even helped. But the harm was done. Harry who never had anyone he could trust, family or teachers, took the little watered seed to heart. Afterwards he wasn't quite so eager to share information anymore, and he went on a different boat.

Whispers followed him wherever he went. The students found him stuck-up and decided it was because he believed in his own importance. This was only helped by the worst professor in the school who taught them potions.

"Tut, tut — fame clearly isn't everything," the Professor said when he couldn't answer a question and went on to berate him for not opening his books before he came to Hogwarts.

He had opened his books and he had spent the time before school reading avidly in his room. He even spent his time reading now, not having any friends to do anything else with. He had no cheeky answer ready and cringed in his seat when his clasmates tittered.

When Hagrid sent a note to visit he jumped at the opportunity and afterwards visited the half-giant often, but he never realised he had made a friend. How could he? He still didn't know what friends did together. Then. Later on he did learn from watching his roommates. Ron, with Seamus and Dean would go watch the quidditch games, play conkers and exploding snap, eat together, and do or not do their homework together. Neville would disappear off somewhere, too shy, Harry guessed, or maybe he made friends in the other houses.

He studied. He suffered headaches. He never bothered about the third floor corridor, especially not after Halloween and the troll which the teachers eventually caught near the Hufflepuff dorms. Snape didn't stop hating him, especially since Malfoy and his two goons—who could never forget that Harry had stood up for Ron on the train—did everything they could to sabotage his potions.

Christmas he stayed in school and he might have made friends with Ron then, the Weasley brothers were all staying in like him and there were just the two of them in the room. But he saw the twins spelling snowballs to hit the stuttering professor and decided he was better off not making friends with someone whose brothers were bullies.

Final exams came and he thought he did well, in fact he was elated, for the first time he didn't have to do bad for Dudley's sake, and he even tried to do better than snippy Hermione who knew it all. There was a week left for them to wait until the end of term, some kind of feast to look forward to, and his elation made him ask, "Can I come with?" when Ron, Dean, and Seamus went off to fly.

"No," Ron said.

"Yes, sure," Dean said.

"Well…" Seamus said. "Why? You didn't want to play with us the whole year."

Which was not true. He wanted to. He just never got his Gryffindor courage up enough to ask. He did now. "I'd like to be friends."

"You have to prove yourself," Ron said in true Weasley spirit.

"Okay."

It was their Potions exams. Ron and Dean were sure they failed, and Harry, who had shown himself to be smart, even if it was just smart enough to study, was to find it, check it, and fix it.

"Okay."

He went in the night.

Flick, swish, swish, flick, and twirl. Stupefy!

He hadn't been so scared in his life, sneaking down the icy corridors after curfew, wand at the ready, still practising the stunning charm he had spent the day learning. Flick, swish, swish, flick, and twirl. Stupefy! He had cast it at flies and swear one had wobbled but he figured in times of stress was when the heroes prevailed, and prayed a bit as extra insurance. Luckily he had his invisible cloak—he still couldn't figure out who gave it to him—and he went undetected all the way to the potions classroom.

Snape's office was behind the potions store; he knew, having been called there quite a few times to stand on the carpet after Malfoy yet again made his cauldron boil over. He wasn't going to do that great in potions, that he could bet his cloak on, because even though he boiled the exams potion perfectly, it wasn't the only thing that counted to his marks. At least he was as sure as Ron and Dean that he had aced the theory.

The classroom door creaked. His heart was beating thrice its normal speed. The room only dimly lit from a scone at the back, he bumped a desk with his hip, and stood stock still for half a minute, imagining the whole dungeon must have heard.

"…courageous Gryffindors…" he whispered, and sneaked on, through the empty store and to the office door, clutching his wand so hard his fingers hurt. Flick, swish, swish, flick, and twirl. Stupefy!

The office door creaked even louder than the classroom's, and he nearly fainted, waiting two minutes this time, motionless with only the blood rushing through his ears, expecting Snape to jump out of the dark room, shouting, "Gotcha!"

But he didn't, for no one was there.

When the two minutes were up he giggled, glad his future friends weren't there to see him acting like a right idiot. Of course no one was there, Snape wouldn't work in the dark even if he was a bat like some students insisted.

"Lumos," he whispered and the tip of his wand glowed a faint blue.

Was it his lucky night? You would think so, since he'd gone undetected so far. But you would be wrong. There wasn't a parchment in sight; Snape's desk was gleaming in his little light, devoid of even a quill.

This was the moment when he should have turned around. Gone back to bed. Settled for a life devoid of mates and best mates. Instead he decided his luck would hold for another minute. Surely everyone was asleep and the dim glow from the door behind the desk—that must lead to Snape's rooms—was just a forgotten scone.

It wasn't.

For once the door didn't creak, and he slipped into the room undetected. It wasn't Snape's bedroom either, but a private potions room.

Harry clocked a table full of chopped ingredients, an enormous cauldron almost as tall as himself hung in the middle of the floor, suspended over a purple flame. His luck chose that moment to turn. Snape—Snape!—was leaning over the cauldron, sniffing at the green goo with his long nose nearly in the bubbles, preparing to dip a glowing red stone delicately into the brew with golden tongs.

Harry squeaked.

Snape looked up and his greasy hair fell into his eyes. "Who's there?!" he snapped, looking right at Harry.

Flick, swish, swish, flick, flick. "Stupefy!"

The worst thing in the world—well for Harry and Snape—happened. Snape's face turned a stunning, neon blue, he contorted into a position no human being should… and then he wasn't hovering over the cauldron anymore but falling into it with a huge splash. Green glop spattered everywhere… and he disappeared.

"Professor!" Harry yanked his cloak off, rushed toward the cauldron, skidding the last bit, and grabbed the rim to lever himself up so he could peer inside. "Professor!"

It might have surprised him a year ago to find nobody in the cauldron, but by now he had seen many amazing things, the Weasley twins turning Neville into a yellow canary being the least of it, so it didn't.

Cauldrons were safe to touch no matter what you boiled, but the potions weren't, and Harry cast around for more golden tongs. Which of course there wasn't, it was probably expensive enough that people bought only one. What he did see was a net, lying under the table, and he fetched that to drag the potion for his Professor.

Unbeknownst to him, the net was made of gossamer fairy snot, and it was the worst thing he could do in a night of worsts. Hell, he would have done better to drag his own hand through it even if it would have boiled to the bone. But the deed was done.

On the second drag he snagged the Professor and brought him up. "Professor!"

The tiny professor. Tiny, tiny, tiny Professor. Well, not that tiny but at that moment Harry thought he was. He was certainly smaller than a Ken doll. And also not breathing.

"Professor!" Harry shouted like a stuck record. Memories of health-class jumped to the fore and Harry grabbed him by his tiny legs and shook him upside-down. Gently. Certainly not as hard as Piers Polkiss had done with him. Either way, if old Miss Johnson were to see him she would have failed him summarily.

Snape's little black robe flapped over his head and he coughed.

Coughing… Wait! Snape was alive! Harry nearly flung him away in his relief but at the last moment found sense enough to drop him on the table next to his chopped-up slugs.

Snape coughed and got on his knees, spitting out green glop. When he looked up Harry realised expulsion was in his future. Snape often threatened him with it, and even once had him in front of the headmaster, swearing that Harry had tried to kill him with his Freckles-Be-Gone.

"Potter!" he yelled. Well, he tried to, but he squeaked like Scabbers. "What the bloody devil did you cast?!"

Harry's mind blanked. "Uhm…"

"Idiot!" Snape shouted and shook a splinter out of his wet sleeve. It took Harry a moment to realise it was his wand. Snape waved it over himself, and a tiny pink lightning bolt zapped his greasy hair, making him stumble back to trip over a slug. He swore. Then zapped himself again. The third time he nearly knocked himself out. "What were you doing? Trying to kill me?" he shouted up at Harry from where he lay on his back.

"No, I…" Yeah, he couldn't tell him why he was here. And it was funny he was accusing Harry of something he was currently trying to do to himself. But not that funny. "I wasn't!"

"Oh, he found his tongue!" Snape hopped up, buzzing like an angry hornet. "Explain yourself! Why are you here?!"

"I… I got lost, and—"

"Lost next to the classroom you managed to find for a year?" Snape squeaked. "This time you've done it, Potter! You'll be expelled!" He zapped himself a fourth time with his splinter and fell on his back, lights out. "It might even be Azkaban for you!" he squeaked when he revived.

Harry had no idea what spells he was trying; a finite had never made lightning bolts, big or small. Or what Azkaban was. But he didn't actually care. It was late, he was tired and scared, he had been caught on his way to fix his roommates' tests, even though Snape didn't know it yet, and he had shrunk his Professor.

Snape was right, he was going to be expelled.

He had to do something, but what?

"…Expelled!" Snape yelled with a kind of furious glee.

"No, I'm not!" Magic was all he had. No family, no friends, no life—just magic. Fear turning into blinding fury, Harry acted. He tipped a glass jar over Snape, scooped him up, and banged the metal lid on before dropping the jar on the table like a hot potato.

Then he saw sense.

He seized Snape's knife and banged holes into the lid. There. Should he throw some grass in with him? No, Snape wasn't a beetle. Well, maybe for something to sit on. Too scared to unscrew the lid, he spent a minute pushing grass through the vent-holes while Snape hopped around like a madman.

"I'm not!" Harry repeated when done.

For a moment Snape simply stared at him, his tiny little mouth hanging open. Then he banged with his fists on the glass and shouted something that was thankfully too muffled to understand, his doll-sized little face an ugly purple.

"I'm not going to be expelled!" Harry yelled back. "And I wasn't trying to kill you! I never was! I'm only eleven!"

Harry then did the only other thing available to him and ran out of the room. He returned for his cloak and ran out again, not sparing the jar a glance. He had always thought Dudders would get expelled before he did; guess he didn't know anything.

Halfway through the classroom, he realised he still hadn't fixed the tests. But where were they? Snape's private rooms? He had no idea where that was, and he couldn't just ask him, could he?

Oh, he was in so much trouble! Tomorrow they would find the Professor if he didn't fix himself before that, and he was going to tell them everything—would they let Harry be a groundskeeper? He paused with his hand on the door. Snape couldn't tell them anything if they didn't find him, right?

Harry was in time to see Snape cast a spell at the glass and watched in awe as the little lightning bolt—now black—ricocheted through the jar, setting the grass on fire.

"Professor!"

And that was how Harry Potter came to wander the halls in the early morning hours, carrying a singed Severus Snape in a jar.

He was starting to be quite optimistic, by the way. Oh, not about being expelled—that was still going to happen—he was feeling positive about his chances with Ron, Dean, and Seamus. They wanted him to prove himself a criminal before being allowed to play with them? Well, what was a better than a kidnapper?