"You can't go and play quidditch! You have homework to do!" It was a quick decision for Harriet; fun or school. Her homework could wait for the evening, but the Quidditch pitch wouldn't be available for long. It was a bright, sunny day outside that had Harriet in a good sort of mood.

"We have all day to do the work, 'Mione. We want to go have some fun. Wanna come?" As usual, Hermione chose not to, shooting the two a dirty look before leaving them for the library, probably. It was fine by Harriet. Hermione was the kind of friend you could count on to remind you about your homework. She was the friend you could count on to keep you alive. She was the person she went to for the girl stuff that she just couldn't talk to Ron about. However, she wasn't the person you'd go to for Quidditch. That was most definitely Ron.

"Great, there's no one out here," Ron said.

"I'll go get the balls." She sprinted ahead to the changing rooms, and opened the cupboard where all the balls were stashed. She retrieved a quaffle and met Ron in the field. "Ready?"

"Yeah. I'll play Keeper."

"I'll be Chaser then." They mounted their brooms and off they went. Ron flew first, up to the goalposts. Harriet followed close by. She wasn't using her full speed since this wasn't a real match and because it would be unfair to Ron, who played on a Cleansweep. It wasn't a bad broom, exactly, but it wasn't as good as her own Firebolt.

Harriet circled around him, trying to strategically throw the Quaffles past Ron and through the hoops. He deflected them with ease, making her a bit surprised. She hadn't noticed how good of a player Ron actually was. She knew he wasn't terrible, but he certainly had gotten better at it. He ended up winning since she had only been able to make about a quarter of the balls in. Well, there was a reason she was Seeker and not Chaser.

After they finished, they took a quick shower to wash off the sweat they had accumulated and joined Hermione in the Great Hall for breakfast. "Honestly, you two-" the Great Hall filled with loud screeches, signifying the entrance of the morning owls. Bloody great timing if you asked Harriet.

Harriet's mood, however, was greatly diminished when she saw the article on Sirius. "He shouldn't have come out," Hermione shrugged nonchalantly, "It's fine though. He'll just have to stay in the house for longer."

While Harriet agreed with Hermione, she felt the need to defend her Godfather. "How would you like being stuck in a house with your dead hag of a mother? He just wanted out the house."

"And that sort of immature behaviour-"

"Oh, come off of your high horse! Anyone in his shoes would have acted the same way."

"Guys!" Ron interrupted, "Read this." Hermione and Harriet leaned closer to see the section he was pointing at.

TRESPASS AT MINISTRY

Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31st August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watch wizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defence, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban

"Sturgis Podmore?" Harriet muttered. The name sounded familiar, she just couldn't figure out from where. "Order member," Hermione answered, "He was supposed to be our guard-or at least part of it."

"Right, Moody blew his gasket when he didn't show up," Ron chuckled. "Though, I can't say I blame the man, exactly. I wouldn't want to escort a bunch of teen-"

"Guard, that's it! I gotta run, guys!"

"Where are you going?" Hermione called. Harriet didn't answer her as she was already halfway across the Hall. How had she missed it?

She was panting by the time she reached the dungeons. She allowed herself 10 seconds to catch her breath before knocking on Snape's office door briefly. She didn't wait for him to respond before barging in. "Potter!" He yelled, "20 points from Gryffindor! How dare you-"

"You-You were there-On the train," she said in between breaths.

"How astute of you, that still-"

"You were a part of our guard, weren't you?"

"Potter!"

"Afraid the'd do me in on the train?" She was absolutely furious with him. She didn't need his protection. She didn't need any of their protection. It was embarrassing enough that she needed babysitters to go to the train, but the Headmaster -who was still ignoring her- had gone behind her back and assigned another one on the train. As if she were a bloody child! Couldn't she just be a normal girl for once?

"It would be no skin off my back had they chosen to do so," he coldly said. She was sure the bastard would rejoice should she die, but that was beside the point. "Detention with me for an entire week for wasting my time."

She shrugged, "Yes, sir." After detention with Umbridge, his would be a piece of cake. It was only now that she realized her state of attire. Her clothes were all ruffled, her hair a mess, her cheek pink from her exercise, and her chest heaving up and down-partly out of exhaustion and partly from anger.

"What are you waiting for, Potter? Merlin to come down and escort you out himself?"

"A dismissal, sir. You've not given me one yet."

"In that case, you are dismissed. I've no need for your presence any longer." He said all this without even looking at her.

"Yeah?" She wasn't a bloody house elf that he could send out on her way and she wasn't about to let him treat her like that. Without thinking, she walked to his desk swiftly and placed her palms flat out on his desk so that she was just inches away from him, "Well maybe I'm not done with yours." One moment she was glaring at him, and the next, he was springing out of his seat and backing her up against the wall. Then, all she could feel was fear.

He had enough of Potter. She was an everlasting thorn in his side and she was only getting worse. How dare she walk into his classroom as if she owned the place? Just like her fucking father. Everything about her screamed James Potter's offspring. Except she had Lily's eyes. Which made it worse.

She'd gotten intolerable recently and he'd had enough of it. There had always been that indignant spark in her eyes, but she would never have had the audacity to not be cowered by him. Sure she had nearly crossed borders of disrespecting his authority, but she never disregarded it so blatantly as she had just done.

He observed the brat in front of him. Her hair was the most noticeable- a big fucking mess as always. Her tie was crooked and her shirt wasn't tucked in properly. Her collar was adjusted too tightly, leaving an outline of red just underneath.

This wouldn't do. Before she could make a sound, he was out of his seat and next to her. She seemed to have realized that she was in danger because she slowly backed away, choosing to leave her Gryffindor brashness behind.

She made a 'thump' against the wall, but he barely registered it. It was almost as if time had stopped. It was just him and her. And, she was completely at his mercy. He could do anything to her and no one would be the wiser.

To test the power he held, he encased her throat in his hand. It was almost a perfect fit-as if his hand belonged there. He could make her shut up. He could feel her heartbeat pumping furiously through the veins in the side of her neck. He was barely even squeezing and she was already terrified. Her face took on a ghostly white colour, while her knees trembled uncontrollably. He'd never seen her this scared. Not when she woke up in the Hospital Wing after defeating Quirrel. Not in her second year when she slaughtered the basilisk and put an end to diary-Riddle's plan. Not in her third year when she was confronted by a werewolf. Not in her fourth year when she was put into a competition that she could be killed in. And, certainly not when she faced the Dark Lord himself.

But, she was scared of him. Severus Snape. He scared her. He liked that he scared her. It fed the dark monster inside him that he had tried for years to hide, to defeat. He squeezed her hard once for good measure before releasing her. It didn't take long for her to leave his office.

Harriet couldn't sleep that night. Her hand lightly touched where his was just hours ago. She should report him to Professor Dumbledore. Or Professor McGonagall. Hell, even Ron and Hermione. Hermione would cease her 'Saint Snape' shite and Ron...maybe it was better that she didn't tell them. If it were a duel between Snape and Ron, she already knew who'd win.

The problem wasn't a lack of guts. All of them would believe her over Snape, she was certain. The problem was that she liked it in some fucked up way. She didn't enjoy the not being able to breathe part that much, but she did enjoy the action of his hand wrapped around her throat. So much that she almost asked him to not stop.

What was wrong with her? She hated him and he hated her. This was the man she was positive was trying to kill her. And, he almost had in the classroom. But, he didn't, she argued.

Maybe not, but he almost did. What's going to stop him next time?

There's not going to be a next time, Harriet. What would Hermione and Ron think?

There was one thing Severus hadn't considered. Dumbledore. The girl would surely go crying to the Headmaster-or worse, Minerva. The latter would kill first and ask questions later. The former would probably take his side in front of the girl, but Severus didn't know how he would react in private. He'd be horrified, there was no doubt of that, but it wasn't as if he could do anything about it. Dumbledore needed him to spy on the Dark Lord.

He waited all evening, all night, and all morning and nothing. He was further proved right when he covertly observed the girl that afternoon. She looked as if she hadn't slept a wink the past night but other than that, everything seemed to be in order.

That was interesting. Why didn't the girl tell anyone? She could have used it as blackmail (he'd have killed her had she, but it did sound like something she would do). Yet, she didn't. What was her game?

Harriet, meanwhile, was unable to meet Snape's eyes. She just couldn't get the memory of his hand on her skin out of her head. If only he'd gone a little lower… Stop this, Potter. You are being absolutely ridiculous! That's Snape you're talking about!

Snape, who had nice hands. Really nice hands. "Harry! Your cauldron, it's-" a loud boom filled the classroom as her cauldron exploded. A throbbing pain burned her stomach and her arms. It was hot and prickly and she felt as if her skin would melt at any moment. "Out! Everyone!" The students didn't waste a second exiting the classroom, except for Ron and Hermione who hesitated for a second before Snape sent them a warning glare.

When the room was completely empty, Snape strode to where she was. He roughly grabbed her by her upper arm and pushed her against the table so that she was awkwardly squished between him and the edge, which bore down on her arse. She bit her lip to stop herself from whimpering. This wasn't a comfortable position to be in. "You foolish girl! Are you trying to get yourself killed? Remove your clothing."

"What?"

Snape look disgusted, "Not like that, you imbecile. Your potion exploded on your torso," he said as if he were explaining it to a child, "How else am I supposed to heal it?"

"Umm...Madam Pomfrey?"

He huffed but stepped backwards and extended his arm out in the direction of the door, "Go ahead then, be-my-guest."

"No!" She yelled, "No. Please, would you heal it?" He cocked an eyebrow arrogantly but did as she said. He unbuttoned her robes, his hands a blur of motion and then hooked his fingers under the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head quickly. He seemed to appraise her figure for a moment before sneering, "Don't worry, Miss Potter. Your modesty is well protected-it's not as if there's much to see."

That bothered Harriet more than she cared to admit. She knew she wasn't the hottest girl in Hogwart or anywhere even mildly close to being so. She had a pretty face, but it seemed to be the other parts that attracted guys. And, before this moment, she'd barely enough time to wish she had bigger breasts or nicer curves. Turns out that being too busy trying not to get killed does wonders for a lack of concern for body image.

But, right now, bare except for a mere bra for her most hated -no, second-most hated- professor, she wished she could at least have something more to impress him. Impress him? Since when do you care what the bat thinks of you? She never had before. She hadn't even bothered to try as Hermione did.

Snape nonverbally accio'd a paste that was a dull orange in colour. He swiped a finger full of it and placed it on her arm. His hands were cold. It felt nice. His hands moved across her skin, up her arm. His hands were rough and firm and ice-cold. Exactly what she would have expected of him. Still, there was a certain grace that he moved with.

Her breath hitched as his hands switched from her arm to her shoulders to her breasts. It was strange, this was such an intimate position, yet he made it feel so clinical. Even stranger, she didn't want him to be clinical. "Holy fuck!"

"Language, Miss Potter."

"That hurts!"

He leaned forward and bent so that his mouth was just above her ear."Well, what did you expect?" His hand was splayed over her flat stomach now, applying the medicine in soothing circles. Just a little higher, she wanted to instruct him. That would be inappropriate.

Then, it stopped. He backed away from her and returned to his desk, not even gracing her with a look. There it was again. The shame. She donned her clothes and ran all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, ignoring her friends' calls.

She shut the curtains, climbed under the blankets, pulled the pillow over her head, and then she cried.

The next day, Hermione and Ron were full of questions that Harriet just didn't want to answer.