Disclaimer: standard--see chapter one.

Friday dragged as Harry watched the clock, counting down until he'd have to start his first study session with Mr. Williams. It wasn't that he didn't like the man, he just didn't relish having to spend three extra hours a week doing school work.

"Your assignment is on the board, and--" Mr. Williams stopped, looking at the clock. "We seem to have finished early."

The class gave a small cheer.

"Take your science books back out and outline chapter three until the bell rings. No talking."

A collective groan filled the room.

Harry couldn't help but smile to himself. He knew Mr. Williams would never give them free time during class, for any reason--it was something about his personality--and to hear the disappointment from others who did not seem to catch on to their teacher's attitude towards free time made him want to laugh.

Half way through the chapter, the bell rang.

"Make sure you copied your homework."

"I wish he'd give us back our graded work," Angie Smith muttered to her friend, Lisa Perry. "We have a test Monday, and it would be nice to be able to study."

Lisa nodded as she followed her friend out to the teeming hall.

When the room was emptied, as well as the hall beyond, Mr. Williams looked up from the book he was reading. "It seems we are left to our own devices, Potter."

"Yes, sir. Shall I come up to your desk?"

"What for?"

Suddenly feeling unsure of himself, Harry glanced down at his books. "To study?"

"You don't need extra study. Well, yes, actually, let's face it. You're hopeless in history. But other than that, you're fine. Consider this time to do your homework without...distraction."

"He'll just tear it up tomorrow morning anyway," Harry muttered, opening his notebook.

"Is that how stupid you really think I am?" Mr. Williams sneered.

Harry was once again startled to look up from his work and find a dark, penetrating stare eating into him. There was something in those eyes that barely seemed human. "N-no, sir. I don't think you're stupid at all."

"Then stop talking to me like you do. I know very well why you haven't been turning in your work."

Harry glared at him. "Then why do you still make me stand up in the middle of class when you know it's not my fault?"

"There is no acceptable excuse for not having homework short of a lost limb or other major bodily organ," he snapped back. "Whatever your reason, I will not allow your issues to interfere with the authority in my classroom. Now do your homework. Leave it on my desk before you go."

Silently, Harry opened his book and started copying the study questions into his notebook. It was sort of funny now that the rest of the class was gone. Mr. Williams didn't seem quite so mean. Oh, he wasn't nice, but he wasn't being quite as much of a dictator. Sort of like the night he'd taken Harry into his living room, gotten him tea, and offered to take him home. Mr. Williams sure hadn't been nice, snapping at him not to touch things, and all. But he'd wanted to help... Harry smiled a little.

The hour passed quickly. When the activity bell rang at four, Harry closed his book. When he looked up and saw Mr. Williams eating a sandwich, a cup of steaming tea on the desk in front of him, he was suddenly reminded of how very long ago lunch was. He hoped he'd be allowed to eat dinner.

As if he sensed he was being stared at, Mr. Williams looked up. "All done?" His eyes narrowed. "Stop staring at me like I'm an entree. You can't be that hungry."

"I didn't get much lunch."

He raised an eyebrow. "You bring your lunch from home, do you not?"

Once more, Harry looked away from the man's eyes. He heard Mr. Williams sigh.

"Lunch was a while ago. Here. I brought an extra apple."

Harry looked at the offered fruit. The Dursleys would be so mad if they found out he was begging food off of other people. They'd say it makes them look bad. But still, he was hungry...Aunt Petunia never packed he as much food as she gave Dudley. With little more thought, Harry walked up to the desk and took the apple.

"Thank you, sir."

"You should bring an extra snack when we meet. Then you wouldn't have to grub off other people."

His cheeks flushing scarlet, Harry just started down at the apple. "Yes, sir."

There were a few moments of tense silence before Mr. Williams said softly, "Make sure to leave your homework before you go. I'll grade it tonight and you can pick it up in my mailbox at the office Monday morning."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Harry rushed back to his desk and got his books. On his way by, he dropped a small pile of papers covered in dark scribbles on Mr. Williams's desk, then headed out the door, apple in hand.

"I feel so domestic," Severus muttered, waving his wand to duplicate the lunch bag he'd made for himself. To think, he was packing a school lunch for Harry Potter. But it was perfect. Potter had revealed to him that he didn't get enough to eat from his aunt. It was not inferred knowledge, nor was it forced, which made it the perfect knowledge to act upon in building his relationship of trust with the boy.

And one of the first things Voldemort had taught him about making friends and torturing people was that the basic, life-sustaining essentials were always the best way to start.

When he had everything put in his carrying bag, Severus left the house, locking the door behind him. It was a very short walk to work. He stopped in at the office, smiled at the pretty, red-haired secretary, and dropped Potter's homework in his mailbox.

"I'll be having a student come in to get some things out of my box this morning, Ellen," he told her.

"All right. Have a good day, Mr. Williams."

She really was a pleasant woman.

As he was leaving the office, he saw Potter walk through the front doors and start towards him.

"I already dropped them off, Potter," Severus informed him.

"Thank you, sir."

Severus maneuvered his way through the crowded halls and into his classroom. He liked coming later so there wouldn't be so many students to pick his way around, but this, too, was all for a good cause. Potter had also made it painfully obvious, on more than one occasion, that Dudley and Piers tormented him in the morning. He would be a very poor "loving mentor," indeed, if he did nothing to ease that burden once he'd been made aware of it.

Sitting behind his desk, Severus took his book out of his bag. He'd stopped in at Diagon Alley on Saturday, picked up three correcting quills, several bottles of ink, a potions book--for entertainment reading--that he'd bewitched to look like an economics textbook to anyone besides himself, and a small supply of Tongue-Twisting Taffy--the only sweet he enjoyed, and which he'd missed severely over the previous week.

"Good morning, sir." Potter walked into the room carrying his papers. "You're hear early."

"There is merit in getting up with the sun," he replied easily, looking back at his book.

"Yes, sir."

"Potty, oh Potty! We all know he's--oof!"

Piers, who'd just elbowed Dudley in the stomach to make him be quiet, was looking at Severus warily. Dudley, just noticing that the teacher was in, remained silent, though he glared at his friend as he rubbed his stomach.

Severus watched Potter dive behind one of his textbooks to hide the fact that he was dangerously close to laughing.

The rest of the class trickled in over the next few minutes, chatting to each other until the bell rang.

"All right, everyone. Math homework out while I call roll." Severus went through the list very quickly, giving each student only enough time to make a slight noise of presence before calling the next name. "Very good. On to homework. We'll be going up the rows. Bartlet, number one."

"Ninety-nine."

"Sit. Carlson, number two."

When at last he reached Potter, Severus paused. "Shall I bother to call your name today, Potter?"

For a moment, the boy seemed confused. Severus could almost hear him thinking, But he knows I have my work! "Er, yes, sir."

"Very well, then. Stand up, and give me number eighteen."

"Sixty-two."

"Sit. Smith, number nineteen."

Glancing back at Potter, Severus was pleased to see him looking happy with himself. That contentment was good. Very good. But only it if surfaced in controlled situations, and overlaid the right amount of hostility.

Once the homework was passed forward and the students were set to drills, Severus sat in his seat. Hmm, perhaps I've been a bit heavy-handed with those boys, he mused, peering at first Dudley, whose face was screwed up in painful concentration, then Piers, whose pencil was zipping back and forth across the page as if he needn't read the questions at all to know their answers. We can't have Potter's torment easing up. After a moment of thought, Severus smiled to himself and opened his potions book. Ah, I know just the thing.

TBC