A/N: Please enjoy Chapter 9! And to everyone who has left a review for this story so far: Thank You. Reviews never fail to make me smile :)

Harry was nearly to Gryffindor tower when he suddenly decided to change course and head away from the common room. He wandered down a long corridor and descended several flights of stairs, not really giving much thought to where he was going. All he knew was that he wanted to be far away from the dungeons, and far away from Snape.

Harry sighed as he finally paused to lean back against the wall of an empty passageway and attempt to collect his thoughts.

It was only the second day of school. And already, he had earned himself two detentions, lost forty points from Gryffindor, and been kicked out of class after receiving a zero for not having his textbook. The Weasley twins couldn't have managed to get themselves into so much trouble.

Harry sighed again as he studied the cracks in the wall across from him. He needed to focus, now. There was nothing he could do about his textbooks at this point. He would just have to wait for them to come. Hopefully, he would be able to stay out of Snape's way until then, and avoid any additional detentions.

And then there was Malfoy. Who knew what he was planning? The boy was clearly out for revenge, and Harry was going to have to keep a close eye on him if he wanted to steer clear of any more trouble.

It wasn't going to be easy.

Harry frowned and looked down the corridor, only just now realizing what part of the castle he had ended up in. The library was located at the end of this hallway.

And suddenly, Harry knew how he was going to be spending his unexpected free period.

Twenty minutes later, Harry found himself seated at a small table in a secluded corner of the library, with a small stack of books sitting in front of him. Somewhere within the pages of one of these volumes, Harry hoped to find the solution to his problem.

With a deep breath, he pulled the first book towards him, and opened it up to the Table of Contents.

"Harry Potter?"

Harry jerked his head up, startled. He hadn't expected anyone to bother him all the way back in this part of the library.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to—well, what I mean to say is...Wow, you're interested in photography, too?" the newcomer's eyes fell on the stack of books in front of Harry.

Harry raised his eyebrows at the young boy standing in front of him, wearing a large camera around his neck.

"I'm sorry. Have we met?"

"Oh. No, I'm Colin Creevey! I'm a First Year. And in Gryffindor. Just like you. I know who you are, of course. You're famous! My friends told me all about you. Hey, do you think I could get a picture with you to send home to my Dad? And then could you sign it? Oh, that would be so cool!"

Harry listened to Colin ramble on, silently trying to figure out a way to get out of this situation. "Oh, um..." was all he could manage to say when the boy stopped talking to look at him expectantly for an answer.

"Just one quick picture? Please?"

Harry looked down at the books stacked in front of him, and was suddenly struck by a stroke of inspiration.

"Are you busy right now, Colin?"

"Oh, no. Our flying lesson ended really early today after someone fell off their broom and hurt their ankle. Madam Hooch had to take him to the hospital wing, and dismissed the rest of the class."

Harry smiled to himself. After what happened last year during his own first flying lesson, he thought he knew why Madam Hooch wouldn't want to leave a large group of first year students outside, alone, with a bunch of broomsticks.

"Okay. Do you think you could help me, then? You do like photography, right? And I promise you can have your picture when we're done."

Colin beamed and immediately plopped down in the chair next to Harry.

"You want me to help? Really?"

Harry nodded. "Only if you want to, of course. It's just that another set of eyes might be useful and—"

"I'll do it!" Colin interrupted happily. "What do you need?"

"I'm doing a bit of research on repairing photographs. Apparently, it's pretty tricky."

"Is this for class?" Colin asked, already pulling a book closer to himself.

"No. It's a personal project."

"Oh," Colin said simply, opening his book. "It must be a pretty important picture for you to go to all this trouble."

"Pictures," Harry replied, as he returned his gaze to his own book. "There's more than one. They got torn to shreds by a dog."

"Oh," was all Colin said in reply. Thankfully, he didn't ask any more questions.

It was quiet for a while then, as the two boys flipped through pages, and scanned over paragraphs and paragraphs of wordy and confusing text. The first two books Harry skimmed through were far more concerned with the history and importance of wizarding photography, rather than the recovery of ruined pictures, and he eventually pushed them off to the side, stifling a yawn as he reached for another large volume.

Next to him, Colin read silently, completely focused on his task. He didn't seem bothered by the tedious work at all. In fact, Harry thought that the boy rather seemed to be enjoying himself.

"Have you found anything?" Harry asked, after nearly an hour of researching.

"No," Colin said, looking up. "But there's this really cool section on developing magical photographs," the boy pointed to the page he had been reading.

Harry sighed and closed his own book. "I haven't had any luck either. I found something on the restoration process in old portraits, but it wasn't anything I could use."

"Well, don't worry, Harry," Colin said, standing up. "We'll find something. I have to get to class, now. But I'll make sure to do some more research later."

"You don't have to, Colin," Harry said, checking his watch. He had Charms in ten minutes.

"Oh, but I want to! I'm going to earn that signed photograph!"

Harry suppressed a groan as he stood up and grabbed his bag. He should have just said no to the picture. He should have expressed his discomfort with the idea, and simply refused.

But he hadn't. He'd promised the first year a signed photo.

And Colin was not likely to forget.

It wasn't until after Charms class that Harry had much of a chance to speak with Ron and Hermione. He had purposely planned it that way by only slipping into the classroom just as Professor Flitwick began speaking. It was easy then to ignore his friends' worried and sympathetic looks. He kept his eyes determinedly fixed on the front of the room, and did his very best to pay attention to the lesson.

Of course, as soon as class was dismissed, and the second years made a mad dash for the door, hungry for dinner, Ron and Hermione fell into step on either side of Harry and immediately began talking.

"Oh, Harry, are you alright?"

"I can't believe what he did to you! You should go to Dumbledore, mate. You really should."

"It was just awful. You didn't do anything wrong."

"No one blames you for losing those points for Gryffindor, either. They all knew how unfair it was."

"Thanks guys," Harry said quickly, before either of them could say anymore. "I'm fine, and I appreciate the support. But can we please not talk about this anymore?"

Thankfully, Ron and Hermione fell silent for a few moments, then, as they continued down the corridor.

"You two should go ahead to dinner," Harry said, when they were nearly to the entrance hall. "I'm not really that hungry."

"You need to eat, Harry," Hermione immediately protested.

Ron glared at her. "Leave him alone, Hermione. He's got a detention in just a little bit."

"Two detentions, and he hasn't been eating!" Hermione argued. "Harry, you need—"

"I'm fine, Hermione. I'm just going to go sit in the library for a while before heading down to the dungeons."

"The library?" Ron and Hermione said together.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes, the library. I'll see you both later."

And with that, Harry turned and headed off alone, in the direction of the library.

"I usually have to drag the two of you to the library," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"Well, there's only one conclusion I can make," Ron put in, as he continued on his way to dinner. "The poor bloke's finally lost it."

Harry probably stood in front of the Potions classroom door for a full minute without moving. He had had another unsuccessful research session in the library, although he hadn't really expected himself to be all that productive with the thought of having to see Snape again so soon looming over his head.

And now, here he was. Dinner was over, and it was time for his detention with the dungeon bat.

Silently reminding himself that he was a Gryffindor, and needed to stop acting like a coward, Harry finally took a deep breath and raised his knuckles to knock—

Only to have the door swing open before he was able to do so.

And there was Snape, standing over him in his dark, billowing robes, and staring at him with those dark, cold eyes.

"Were you planning on coming in, or were you just going to stand in the corridor all night?" Snape said by way of greeting, his voice full of contempt.

"Sorry, sir," Harry said quickly, stepping into the room.

The door closed loudly behind him, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling of being trapped. His thoughts almost immediately went to the photograph in his pocket, then, and it somehow made it easier to turn and face Snape.

The man glared down his long nose at Harry, looking as though he were taking a moment to decide what he should do with him, although Harry really doubted that Snape didn't already know.

"So, Mr. Potter," the professor began softly. "Do you remember why I assigned you a detention today?"

Harry stared down at the floor, suddenly feeling like he was back at the Dursleys', answering his uncle's questions.

"Yes, sir," he answered quietly.

"And what is that reason?"

Harry swallowed before answering. "I-I wasn't prepared for class, sir."

"And do you believe that you will be prepared for my next class, Mr. Potter?"

"I hope so, sir."

"You hope so." Snape repeated, the question absent from his voice.

"It's just that I had to owl-order my textbooks, sir. I'm not exactly sure when they're going to be here. But I—"

Snape held up a hand to silence Harry. "I am not interested in your excuses, Mr. Potter. If you are not able to attend my class prepared, then do not bother showing up. You can simply report back here for another detention each evening that you miss class until you are able to join your peers in the classroom with all the required materials."

"Yes, sir," Harry answered, knowing that there would be no point in arguing. He continued to study the floor then, as he waited for Snape to continue.

"You will be scrubbing cauldrons this evening, Potter," the man said at last.

Harry raised his gaze to look to the far side of the room, where Snape was gesturing to. There, sitting lined up along the counter and next to a large sink, were several big cauldrons, all in desperate need of a cleaning.

"You will work until I am satisfied with your efforts," Snape continued to speak. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir. But I-uh—"

"But what?" Snape spat out dangerously.

"I have another detention with Professor McGonagall at seven, sir."

Snape's glare only seemed to become more deadly. "Then I suggest you work extra hard to ensure you are there on time, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir."

"Now take off your robes and roll up your sleeves. You have a lot of work to do."

Although uncomfortable with the situation, Harry didn't dare defy Snape. So after putting his bag down, he shrugged out of his robes, carefully draping them over a desk, and rolled up the sleeves of his overly large shirt. The bruises had mostly faded away from his arms thanks to the bruise balm, but Harry still felt self-conscious about them. And within seconds, he was hurrying over to the sink to avoid Snape's penetrating gaze.

Harry turned the hot water on and reached for the soap. This was just like washing dishes for the Dursleys, he thought. Easy. All he had to do was scrub for a little while, and then he could move on to McGonagall's detention. Maybe the night wouldn't be too terrible, after all.

He filled the first cauldron with hot, soapy water and allowed it to sit for a minute before taking up the scrubbing brush. As he worked, Harry tried to imagine Malfoy scrubbing a cauldron like this. His detention had been last night, after all. Had Snape assigned the Slytherin to the same task?

Somehow, Harry found the image of Draco Malfoy standing at the sink with a scrubbing brush in hand highly amusing, and he smiled despite himself. He doubted that the snobby, stuck-up boy had ever worked a day in his life, and so he rather liked the idea of the Slytherin having to do some scrubbing in detention.

Harry finished with the first cauldron after a few minutes, and carefully rinsed it out, making sure no soap was left behind. Then he reached for another cauldron, and started the process over. The faster he worked, the faster he would get to leave, he reminded himself. He looked down the counter, then.

Hopefully, Snape wouldn't make him do them all.

"That is enough for tonight, I think, Mr. Potter," Snape said at last from behind Harry, as he scanned over the boy's progress. "You may continue Thursday evening if you have not yet acquired your class materials."

"Yes, sir," Harry said glumly, putting down the scrubbing brush and shaking out his sore arm. He had finished cleaning half a dozen cauldrons, most of which had contained horribly stubborn stains that had taken forever to get out. The result, of course, was that Harry had been unable to progress nearly as fast as he had wanted to, and he had begun to worry that Snape would not allow him to leave before seven o'clock with so few cauldrons finished.

Harry dried his hands and took a look at the clock on the wall. He had just a few minutes to get to Professor McGonagall's office. Turning his gaze then, Harry saw that Snape was already standing at the classroom door, waiting impatiently for him to leave.

He crossed the room then, relieved that the detention hadn't been nearly as bad as he had expected, and grabbed up his robes to pull them back on.

But unfortunately, something fluttered out of one of the pockets just as he was putting an arm through one of the sleeves, and drifted down to the floor.

Heart pounding, Harry immediately bent down to grab at the picture.

But he was too late.

Long, pale fingers were suddenly there, snatching up the old photograph before Harry even had a chance to grasp at it.

The room was deathly quiet, then.

And all Harry could do was to stare at his empty hand, still reaching for the floor, in complete and utter horror.

A/N: Sorry about the cliffhanger, guys. But it was just too perfect. Let me know what you think!

-Ailee17