A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Lestat le Vampire, whose singing and constant bitching kept me awake all night, prompting me to (finally) write this.

Chapter 3 – Draw Me Down

Harry slept badly that night, his dreams once again dark, and haunted by velvet murmurings. He woke long after the sun had risen and hurried to breakfast. Slipping quickly into his seat next to Ron and Hermione he allowed his gaze to rest briefly on the staff table, desirous of Snape's presence and yet afraid, lest he should embarrass himself under that cool gaze. Snape was there, taking a sip of coffee and resolutely ignoring Professor Flitwick, who was trying in vain to engage him in conversation.

Jolted accidentally by Ron's elbow, Harry's eyes snapped back to his friends. He listened to Hermione detail the research she'd done for a piece of Transfigurations homework the night before, grateful for the distraction, but still keenly aware and watchful as Snape's black-robed figure swept out of the Hall.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Hermione asked. "You seem awfully distracted. It's not your scar again, is it?" She added, lowering her voice.

Harry shook his head, "No, I'm just tired. Didn't sleep well last night."

Ron snorted, "I know. You've got a squeaky spring in your mattress. Your fidgeting kept me awake all night."

Harry grimaced apologetically, "sorry."

"Doesn't matter," Ron grinned. "It was quite funny; you kept mumbling things to yourself."

Harry snapped to attention. "What was I saying?" If he'd been speaking aloud as he had in his dream, God knows what Ron must think.

"No need to get nervy, Harry." Ron said, looking at him oddly, startled at his friend's reaction. "It was all nonsense. Sounded like you were talking to someone. Anyway, it didn't really keep me awake for too long. I can catch up on my beauty sleep in detention tonight. I'm with Binns, he won't notice."

Hermione looked disapproving and Harry breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't revealed anything. Not that he was purposely hiding this from his friends.

"I still don't know how you managed to get a detention, "Hermione said, "You're a prefect, and it's virtually impossible for prefects to be given detentions. You're meant to set a good example to the rest of the school."

Ron rolled his eyes, "Oh, don't go on again, 'Mione, please…"

Harry let his friends bicker and followed them out of the Hall towards the dungeons and another Potions lesson, feeling oddly excited and apprehensive, though he had no idea how he'd react when Snape appeared.

Snape was, in fact, already in the room when they all filed in. He watched them walk through the door – a nod to Draco, and a glare at Parvati Patil, who tripped over the legs of a desk and almost sent a set of stacked textbooks flying – and when Harry entered, the boy couldn't help but look towards the dark-haired man, who now followed him to his desk with dark, hooded eyes. Harry felt their gaze upon him as he sat down and kept his eyes lowered. 

When the last sorry stragglers – Seamus and Dean – had arrived and had had five points deducted from Gryffindor each, Snape began to address the class.

"Today you will brew a Sleeping Draught, a potion considered necessary to the curriculum by the Ministry of Magic. It is, therefore, uninteresting in the extreme and so pathetically simple to brew that I expect all of you, even those of you who have yet to show any skill in Potion preparation, to receive acceptable marks." Here he looked pointedly at Seamus. Harry felt almost wounded that he had not been singled out for acknowledgement… Had he completely taken leave of his senses? Of course he didn't want to be humiliated in front of the rest of the class in that way. But if it meant Snape would look at him once more, speak to him again with that silken voice…

"However," Snape continued, "be warned. For all its simplicity, this potion has the potential to become somewhat… explosive if inattentively brewed. Injure yourselves or your fellow students and you will receive little sympathy and a detention." Snape glared malevolently at the class. "Do I make myself clear?" There was a silent nodded chorus of assent. "The instructions, although those of you who have read the textbook should have memorised them, are on the board. Begin."

Harry set about preparing the ingredients, taking his mandrake root and beginning to cut it carefully into equal and tiny slivers. He tried to concentrate on what he was doing, but the found his mind wandering around the room, tense, wondering where Snape was. Lifting his head in the pretence of checking instructions off the board, he saw out of the corner of his eye that the dark figure of the Potions master was peering into Blaise Zabini's cauldron and quietly giving her a few extra instructions. Disappointed yet relieved that Snape did not stand near him, Harry continued to chop the roots.

Next he began measuring a precise amount of powdered asphodel, tipping it cautiously into the small brass scaled that stood before him on the bench. Just a little bit more… He caught movement at one side of the room and saw that Snape had moved on to Hermione's cauldron and was inspecting her attempts at the draught. To his amazement, Harry realised that instead of the usual look of sneering disgust with which Snape viewed the Gryffindors' work, the look on Snape's face was currently one of respect, thinly veiled by a half-hearted curled lip. It was as though he knew Hermione was an exceptionally gifted student, but he felt obliged to disguise his respect for her, and was loathe to admit any such acknowledgement of her skill. Oh, bollocks, he'd tipped in too much asphodel. He began removing it from the scales one spatula-tip at a time and replacing it in the packet on the desk, this time paying careful attention to what he was doing.

The lesson progressed with agonising slowness, and ten minutes before the end, Snape was one desk away from Harry's, which would be the last one he inspected. Harry began to quiver slightly in anticipation of their closer contact, and checked through the instructions on the board, knowing that this time he would impress Snape with his skill, having brewed the potion absolutely correctly. There was just one more ingredient to add – half a diced lavender stem.

"Sir!" Draco Malfoy said, raising his hand lazily, "What exact shade of lilac is the potion supposed to be?"

Snape narrowed his eyes slightly, and for a moment Harry thought he was going to snap a sarcastic answer at the blonde boy, but then he seemed to calm himself and walked over to the cauldron, which stood behind Harry, answering the other boy.

"As it says on the board, Mr Malfoy, a pale lilac."

"Will this do, sir?" Draco asked simperingly.

"It is slightly nearer grey than lilac, but yes, it is satisfactory." Snape replied. Harry held his breath, waiting for him to walk over. But Snape had caught sight of Pansy Parkinson's cauldron and had turned to her, "Yours is too strong a purple, Miss Parkinson."

"What should I do, sir?" She asked in what she obviously thought was a sweet, charming manner.

"An addition of more asphodel should improve the colour. Do not add more than a pinch, or -"

The clock struck 11 and the single chime of a bell sounded, signalling the end of the lesson. Harry glared down at his cauldron, and his perfect, almost complete potion. He felt anger rise. If it hadn't been for Malfoy, Snape would have inspected his potion, and been impressed. Snape would have had the same look of respect on his face for him as he had for Hermione. That bastard Malfoy had once again ruined –

He was thrown off his feet as the now violently purple draught exploded from his cauldron. Landing painfully on the floor, he saw that the potion had evaporated quickly, leaving only purple fumes hanging in the air. His cauldron was a lump of mangled pewter, and the desk was severely charred. He felt a searing pain in his hand and looking down at it saw it had been burnt in the explosion. He realised to his dismay that, in his anger at Malfoy, he had let the whole lavender stem fall into the cauldron.  

"Mr Potter." Snape said quietly, menacingly, dangerously. "Am I to assume you added an entire lavender stem?"

Harry nodded miserably. Of all the stupid, foolish, idiotic things to do –

Snape seemed to pause for a second, then, "All of you, out. Get to your next lesson."

The others scrambled to gather their belongings and hurried out, Malfoy shooting a smug sneer at Harry as he remained sitting on the floor, Hermione lingering for a moment at the door before being pulled away by Ron, who threw him a last sympathetic glance.

"Stand up." Snape snapped. Harry got to his feet as quickly as he could and stood, waiting for the tirade to begin. It didn't. Instead, in a mildly yet grimly amused voice, Snape spoke again: "Congratulations, Potter. You have destroyed a perfectly good cauldron and reduced one of my desks to charcoal. Mr Filch will not be pleased." Harry was surprised, but made no reply, judging correctly that Snape would have more to say. "Is there a particular reason for your idiocy?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I'd been doing fine until then, and I just dropped it in by mistake -"

"I am perfectly aware that you had brewed the draught with remarkable and uncharacteristic accuracy until that point. Just because I did not inspect your cauldron personally, it did not mean I was not taking note of your progress." Snape snapped. He lowered his voice and stared coldly at Harry, "The next time you feel you aren't getting enough attention from me, Potter, control your little jealous rages, or you may find your injuries to be far more severe than a slightly burnt hand."

Harry raised his head defiantly, annoyed. How dare he treat him like a child? But then he realised that was exactly how it appeared he had acted; like a spoilt child. He felt himself colour slightly. "I don't have jealous rages," he said, glaring at Snape, "and I didn't want any more attention from you. My hand slipped."

Snape's contemptuous gaze told him clearly that the man didn't believe a word of it. "Do not think, Potter, that because of our extra-curricula arrangements, you will receive any special treatment from me. You will be treated as any other member of the class, and simply because the Wizarding world once again believes you to be their Messiah, and in the eyes of the other teachers you are a saint, I will not change the way I teach you. Foolish heroics and dead parents have always been something for which you are renowned, but do not think it will earn you any praise from me."

Harry was momentarily speechless before he recovered himself and glared at Snape, unmasked hatred in his eyes. "How dare you! I don't expect special treatment!" Lies. "I didn't ask to be born who I am, I didn't ask to survive! I have never expected your praise!" But God, I desire it, to impress you, I want it. "And do not bring my parents into it!"

Snape looked a little taken aback at Harry's fury, but a small smirk found its way onto his features quickly. How intriguing that he could evoke such a force of emotion in the boy, that he could get such a reaction. Even more fascinating that he felt a little regret at having made such a hurtful comment.

"I am sorry, there was no need to mention your parents. It was unnecessary." Snape conceded. Harry regarded him suspiciously, eyes still narrowed, wondering what Snape would say next, and cursing himself for the exhilaration that wound its way through his body at the thrill of such an intense interaction with the older man. "Do not think that any further displays of this nature will go unpunished. I am warning you, Potter."

Harry longed to tell him to get over himself, the great arrogant bastard. Instead, he kept quiet and simply tried to increase the intensity of his glare. Snape turned away and, with a wave of his wand, the mangled cauldron and charred desk slid to one side of the room, out of the way.

"Now, Potter. Your hand." Snape said, turning back to him. Harry glanced down at his injured hand and realised how much it hurt. "Delenare." He said, wand raised. Harry felt a small sensation in his skin, as though a cool balm had been spread over his burn. Raising his hand, he saw that the redness was receding and his blistered skin was becoming smooth. "Infula." Clean white bandages wound from Snape's wand and wrapped themselves around the reddened flesh. He swiftly lifted Harry's hand with cool, nimble fingers, and inspected the bandaged wound. Harry shivered slightly despite himself, and he knew that Snape had felt him do so. The older man dropped his hand as though scalded, and spoke rapidly, "It will heal quickly."

Harry looked up at Snape, puzzled by the man's reaction. Snape had turned away, his hair falling over his face, hiding his expression. A small smile of wonder appeared on his face. Snape couldn't bear to touch his skin. Or was it that he didn't dare to?

"You may go." Snape said, still turned away, moving a pile of papers from a drawer of his desk onto the table so that he could begin marking. Harry felt a nervous flutter in his stomach. He knew what he wanted to say. "There is something else you want, Potter?"

You. "I…"

"Spit it out, Potter." Snape looked at him, "You'll be late for your next lesson."

Harry raised an eyebrow, at which Snape did the same, an amused glint in his eye. "I'm already late. And it's only Divination, it doesn't matter." Snape's eyebrow moved higher. "I mean, I'm sure Professor Trelawney won't mind."

"Very well, get on with it."

"I need to talk to you. About my decision."

"You need to talk to me?" Snape smirked, "Such enthusiasm is most refreshing."

"Sir…"

Snape waved a hand lazily, "Yes, yes. Alright. Detention, Potter."

Harry looked a little taken aback. "Detention!"

"You will serve a detention tonight with me in my private chambers. You will be assisting me in the preparation of a complicated potion which Madame Pomfrey needs in the Hospital Wing."

"Oh, I see."

Snape raised an eyebrow once more. "Indeed."

"Umm… Can I ask one thing?"

"Spit it out."

"Your private chambers…?"

"They are in the dungeons, as you would expect. If you cannot find them, I'm sure one of the Slytherin ghosts would be delighted to show you the way." This was said in sarcasm and Harry shuddered inwardly at the prospect of having to ask the Bloody Baron for directions. "Is there anything else?"

Harry shook his head, "No."

"No…?"

Harry glared, "No, sir."

"Very well, then." Snape propelled Harry towards the door. He reached from behind the boy and grasped the door handle, in effect trapping Harry between his body and the heavy wood. Lowering his voice to little above a murmur, he spoke into Harry's ear, setting nerves tingling along the boy's body. "I look forward to it." Lingering for a moment, his breath gently falling on Harry's trembling skin, he opened the door and gently pushed him out, as the boy's legs seemed to have momentarily stopped working. "Until then, Potter."

Harry watched the door close in front of him for the second time in as many days. He nodded. "Until then," he said faintly, even though Snape had gone. He could still feel the heat from Snape's hands on his back where he had been pushed out of the classroom.

~~~~~

To be continued, hopefully with more rapidity than this chapter was written.