Severus Snape, enthroned behind his massive desk, glared at the fifth year Slytherins and Gryffindors as one by one they smartly marched into his domain. All of them had long ago learned the wisdom of being punctual, at least to his classes. As such, his were the only ones that had a tendency to start early. Once they were all in and seated, he usually found them to be looking up at him with expressions of . . . not anticipation exactly, more . . . trepidation. Yes, that was it. The sense of waiting for the hammer to fall. Or more precisely, for whatever new tortures the dreaded Potions Master had planned for them.

Severus found that he quite enjoyed it.

There were of course a few notable exceptions. Longbottom, for one, wore his usual look of terror. Severus honestly believed that the boy would have found his backbone by now and told him off. 'Maybe then the boy will be able to achieve his potential. Nietzsche may have been a madman, but at least he had the right idea. If only the rest of them would stop coddling him.'

On the other hand, Severus actually found the facial contortions of Mr Weasley somewhat amusing, as he was vacillating between hate filled glares at his Professor, and looks of concern to Miss Granger, who still had a few remnants of her earlier distress about her. Obviously the boy blamed him. Miss Granger, was, of course, the essence of calm, with perhaps just a small hint of interest for the coming lesson.

And then there was Potter.

They all groaned in protest when he announced a surprise test instead of the expected practical exercise. He'd originally planned to have them brew one of three potions of their choice from their fourth year, but Severus couldn't afford to divide his attentions today. He directed Mr Malfoy to disperse the tests and, once they'd begun, Severus began his study of The Boy Who Lived.

To put it bluntly, Potter looked lifeless. 'I've seen more interest in a corpse,' Severus thought, 'Hard to believe that I didn't notice it before.' To find the cause would take careful observation, (something that he was skilled at after years of teaching and spying - which when you think about it, aren't all that different,) and considering the boy's Gryffindor nature, most probably a manipulated confrontation.

Severus allowed himself a brief reminiscence of the time he provoked a 3rd year Potter senior into confessing his crush on the recently instated flying teacher. Admittedly the entire male population had the same problem, but Potter was the only one to shout out his love for Audrey Hooch. In front of the whole school. Right before a Gryffindor/Slytherin quidditch match. On Valentine's Day.

Funnily enough the score had been 340-20. Slytherin's way.

Of course the downside of this little victory was that during the early years of his teaching career, Severus had found himself being volunteered every time Audrey found herself incapable of teaching, be it because of illness, injury, random parties, or even the occasional Piss Off Snape Day. Severus could finally understand why his father had always told him never to anger a Slytherin woman. They hold grudges, and have very long memories. 'Speaking of fathers, that will probably be the best approach, I think. Mentioning Potter Senior in a bad light usually brings out the worst in the boy.'

He took that opportunity to take a quick glance over the room to assess the tension level. It was discouragingly low. 'Time for a little extra pressure, I think.' Severus reached for a particular drawer in his desk and opened it with a harsh grating sound. From within he retrieved an especially wicked looking dagger and a whetstone. "Ten minutes remaining." He called out, causing most of the class to look up with that look of panic that so eloquently says, 'What? Already?' and removes all traces of thought from their minds. Some remained looking away from their tests as he removed the sheath and began to scrape the stone across the dagger's edge.

Now some would see this as cruel and unusual behaviour, but to Severus Snape it was a simple teaching tool. Okay, a complex teaching tool. He had picked up the trick while teaching the Weasley Twins in their fifth year. Once the students adjusted themselves to the presence of an apparently homicidal maniac supervising them, the OWL exams themselves became remarkably easier. Some students (Slytherins for the most part) had even come back and thanked him for it. Of course Fred and George Weasley had thanked him too - by replacing the dagger with the type of knife more often found in muggle picnic sets. What had been surprising was that news of his behaviour had not been passed down to the years below, so that it achieved the same result each year since.

For the remaining minutes, Severus sharpened his dagger and studied the Potter boy circumspectly. Unlike his classmates, Potter was taking little interest in his exam. Occasionally his quill would scratch something onto the parchment, but for the most part he seemed to stare towards the front of the room, resembling little more than an exhibit at a wax museum. It was like the boy was asleep with his eyes open.

Before long Severus had to cease his observations and turn his attention back to the rest of the class. He announced the end of the test and moved quickly among the students, crossing out wrong answers in vibrant red. The House with the least number of correct answers would be given a reading assignment in addition to the common homework of presenting the correct answers to him by the beginning of the next lesson. If the losing house happened to be Gryffindor, ten points were also deducted.

Severus failed to notice that Potter was fidgeting with something under the desk.

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"Potter! You will stay behind!"

'Well, it's about bloody time!' Harry thought with impatience. Outwardly however, he gave the impression that he didn't care.

Neither did his classmates, beyond a few scowls for the house points he'd lost. Of course, considering the façade he'd put up this year, he wasn't surprised. In fact, if Harry Potter ceased to exist, he doubted that any of them would care.

Which was exactly the point.

Snape slammed Harry's test down on the desk, and stood back. "Care to explain this, Potter?" He sneered.

Harry looked down at the parchment for a moment. If it had been human skin, it would have been easy to believe that Snape had been a little overzealous with that dagger of his. Harry looked back up. "Explain what, sir?" he asked in a bored voice.

Snape splayed his hands out on the desk and leant closer. But not close enough. "Don't play games with me, boy! You know exactly what I'm talking about. Your efforts on this weren't worth marking. In fact, your work has been absolutely abysmal all year." He sneered and slowly recoiled in apparent disgust, "Let me guess, you've decided to follow in your father's footsteps and let your dubious ability atop a broom carry you through school? Think again! I won't stand for that kind of nonsense."

Harry shot up, livid, "You leave my father out of this!"

"James Potter was a layabout, good for nothing . . ."

"He was a good man! He died for me!" Harry was yelling now, "To protect ME!"

He slumped back into his chair, "Why me? Why do they always have to die because of me?"

Neither teacher nor student said anything for a time, then Harry looked up, his eyes teary but still angry. "You hated my parents, and you transferred that hate to me before you even met me. What? Was the news of my arrival inflicted upon you? Was my fame mentioned everyday? Did it ever occur to you that I had no idea that this world even existed?"

"You're no saint yourself, Potter. As I recall, you didn't exactly look beyond the surface during your first year either! What was it you suspected me of? Helping the Dark Lord steal the Stone?"

"Well I wasn't too far off the Darkmark, now was I?"

"You insolent brat!"

For a moment the two just glared at each other, like cobra and mongoose, hated enemies staring each other down. Finally Harry backed off. "I don't need this. I really don't. Tell you what. You stop hating me, I'll stop hating you. Clean slate. We'll each play our roles: Spy and sacrifice. Apart from that, we stay clear of each other. Agreed?" He held out his left hand.

Snape sneered, "You must be even more delusional than I thought if you think I'd agree to anything you thought up. Just what exactly are you trying to pull here?"

"Bloody Slytherins and their bloody paranoia." Harry shook his head and stood up, "Screw this. I'm outta here."

As he stalked away, Harry dealt with the growing fear that he would actually get away with this small act of insubordination. He needn't have worried. Eight paces from the door, Snape's hand seized him by the shoulder and spun him around, only to seize him again by the front of his robes.

The rage evident on Snape's face would have frightened anyone below third year into hysterics. His thick brows were knitted and the black eyes below flashed with fury. His nostrils were flared and his lips twisted into a hideous grimace. Apparently no one had ever tried to walk out on him before, or if they had they hadn't lived to tell about it. "Don't you walk away from me, you arrogant little . . ."

Harry never did find out exactly what invectives the Professor had intended to use on him, for at that moment The Boy Who Lived seized Snape's wrist with his left hand, and the older man gasped in shock as the needle concealed in Harry's ring penetrated the delicate skin.

"Imperio!" Harry's right hand held his wand while his left maintained a hold on Snape. "And now, Professor, we have much to discuss."