A/N: I would just like to send out a quick "Thank You" to one of my guest reviewers, HPbabyy, who pointed out an error last chapter that, even after having read the whole thing through about 10 times or so, I still didn't catch (I guess that's what I get for doing my editing at 3 in the morning). Anyway, the situation has since been remedied, and I thank you again for pointing it out.
Enjoy Chapter 21!
"No, Ronald. This whole paragraph is wrong. You got all of the wand movements backwards. The spell would never work the way you described."
Ron scowled as Hermione slid his Transfiguration essay back across the table before turning her attention back on her own work.
"I still don't see why we should even bother with any of this stuff on a Friday night," Ron grumbled, glaring down at the piece of parchment with contempt. "I don't feel like doing homework, right now."
His eyes wandered over to an opposite corner of the common room, then, where Fred and George and several of their friends were currently engaged in a very loud and very lively round of Exploding Snap.
Hermione just shook her head as she carefully wrote out another line of her essay. "You'll both thank me later. Come Sunday night when everyone else is scrambling to get all of their work done at the last minute—"
"But Harry's not doing his homework, either," Ron pointed out, gesturing towards the boy in question, who was sitting silently in a chair to Hermione's left.
Harry looked up at the sound of his name to find both of his friends staring at him.
"Oh, sorry," he said. "I was just—"
"Where did that picture come from, Harry?" Hermione asked curiously, leaning over to get a better look at what Harry was staring at.
"Oh, so it's okay for him to slack off," Ron complained under his breath, crossing his arms.
Harry hesitated for a moment. He wondered if he should just shove the picture back into his pocket, and pretend that it wasn't anything important.
But in the next second, he realized how silly that sounded. He didn't need to hide this from Ron and Hermione. They were his friends. They weren't going to try to take it away from him.
And so finally, he passed the photograph over. "I found it at my aunt and uncle's house," he lied smoothly.
Hermione took the picture of the young girl and the dog in her hand and studied it for a few seconds. "Is this—?"
"My mother," Harry supplied, his eyes finding the picture once more.
Ron leaned across the table to get a better look. "She looks like you," he observed.
"Yeah, the eyes. I know," Harry answered, his gaze still focused on the young Lily Evans.
"Not just that," Hermione chimed in. "Look at her expression. You smile exactly like her, Harry."
"I do?" Harry asked, surprised, looking more closely at his mother's smile.
"Yes, you do. Though admittedly, I haven't seen much of a smile from you, lately," Hermione sounded almost reproachful.
"There hasn't been much to smile about," Harry countered.
Neither Ron nor Hermione argued with him on that point. Between fights and detentions and getting kicked out of class, not to mention Hedwig getting poisoned, no one could disagree that Harry's second year hadn't started out particularly well.
"It'll get better, mate," Ron eventually said, and Hermione nodded her head in agreement.
"Thanks, guys," Harry said with a sigh, getting to his feet.
"Where are you going?" Ron asked, frowning.
"Detention," was the simple reply.
Ron grimaced and gave Harry a look of sympathy.
"What does 'A Thousand Words' mean, Harry?" Hermione suddenly questioned, as she passed the photograph back to him after taking a moment to glance at the back.
"Don't know," Harry answered, tucking the picture back inside his robes. "All I can think is that it must have something to do with that saying—"
"A picture is worth a thousand words," Hermione recited. "That was my first thought, too."
"What?" Ron asked, confused.
"It's an old muggle saying," Hermione quickly explained. "But why did someone write those words on the back of your mother's picture?"
Harry just shrugged as he pulled his schoolbag up onto his shoulder, his thoughts momentarily wandering to Snape. "I have no idea."
Harry made his way down through the castle, thinking about his mother's picture as he went. He was glad that he had finally shared it with his friends. Because now, he no longer felt like he needed to protect it or hide it away where nobody could see it.
He wondered for a moment if he would have felt the same way if he had still had the other picture, the one that Snape had been a part of.
He really couldn't be sure.
Lost in thought then, Harry rounded the next corner, hardly paying any attention to where he was going...
And nearly ran right into someone, traveling in the opposite direction.
"Sorry, Professor," Harry was quick to apologize, automatically taking a step back and lowering his eyes as he recognized his head of house.
Professor McGonagall frowned at the behavior as she regarded Harry with curious eyes.
"That is quite alright, Mr. Potter. There is no harm done. I suppose you are on your way to detention now?"
Harry nodded, looking up. "Yes, ma'am."
McGonagall paused for a moment, and Harry found himself suddenly nervous at what might be coming next.
"I spoke with Professor Snape earlier today," the woman finally continued. "Among other things, he informed me that you recently had a panic attack?"
Harry's stomach twisted in embarrassment. "Yes, ma'am," he eventually answered. "But I'm fine now. Professor Snape helped me."
McGonagall's normally severe expression softened a bit. "Are you sure?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
There was another brief pause before the Transfiguration professor spoke again.
"Then I won't keep you any longer. But I would like you to come to my office tomorrow morning."
"For a detention?" Harry's face suddenly fell. Would he ever get out of trouble?
"No, Mr. Potter. Not a detention. I would just like to discuss a few things with you."
"Okay," Harry answered, not exactly sure how he felt about the situation.
"Then I shall see you tomorrow. After quidditch practice, I should think."
"Quidditch practice?"
"Oh yes. The issue regarding the quidditch pitch has been resolved at last," McGonagall stated. "And I do believe Wood is already planning out how to make up for lost time."
Harry had to suppress a sigh as he thought briefly about Oliver.
"Yeah, I bet he is," the young boy thought to himself.
"Sit down, Mr. Potter," the potions master drawled out as soon as Harry entered the classroom. The man was sitting at his desk, writing something out on a piece of parchment, and he hadn't even looked up when the Gryffindor had come in.
Harry walked over to the table that was closest to the teacher's desk and sat down. Quill, ink, and parchment had already been laid out for him. It looked like he was going to be doing some more writing tonight.
"I trust you remembered to bring your textbook?" the professor asked, still scratching away at the parchment with his quill.
"Yes, sir," Harry bent down to pull his potions book out of the bag lying at his feet.
Once the textbook was in his hands, Harry straightened once more to place the book on the surface in front of him, only to flinch back violently when he realized that Snape was now standing directly in front of his table.
Snape completely ignored the reaction, and began speaking instead. "Before you begin your assignment for the evening, Mr. Potter, I would like to continue our earlier discussion about your actions today."
Harry frowned. He had really hoped that the man would have forgotten about that.
"Tell me, Mr. Potter," Snape continued then. "What is one thing you could have done differently today in order to keep your temper in check?"
Harry's frown deepened, and his brow furrowed in thought. "I guess I could have not punched a wall?" he eventually answered, unable to think of anything better to say.
"There really is no limit to your intelligence, is there, Mr. Potter?" Snape responded mockingly.
Harry stayed quiet as he felt his face heat up in embarrassment.
"Now what, pray tell, could you have done instead?" the professor demanded.
Harry just shrugged, unable to come up with an acceptable answer under the pressing gaze of the potions master. "I don't know."
"Think, Mr. Potter. Try to actually use that brain of yours for once," Snape practically snarled. "I will be asking you this question again sometime in the near future. And then, I will be expecting an actual response."
Snape paused then, to ensure that his message would be taken seriously, before continuing with his next words.
"In the meantime, you will begin on tonight's assignment." Snape then reached over, grabbed a roll of parchment from his desk, and dropped it down on the table in front of Harry.
Harry reached forward and picked up the parchment, unrolling it with nervous hands.
"My homework essay?" Harry asked, as he recognized his own handwriting on the parchment. It was the essay on fever reducers he had turned in during the last potions class. Only now it was also covered in red ink from the potions master, wherever the man had saw fit to write out some scathing remarks or harsh comments as he had corrected the paper.
"You will rewrite this essay, tonight, Mr. Potter. Only this time, you will put some actual effort into the assignment. Your work ethic has been absolutely dismal up to this point, and I refuse to accept it any longer."
Harry could feel himself growing angry. His work wasn't that bad. He knew for a fact that his potions essays were always better than Ron's. And he did put effort into his homework. Snape was obviously just singling him out because he didn't like him very much.
"You may begin," Snape stated, gliding back over towards his desk. "Oh, and Mr. Potter?"
Harry looked up to meet Snape's eyes.
"I want that two-foot essay from our previous detention on my desk by Monday morning."
"Yes, sir," Harry answered, suppressing a sigh.
Harry finished rewriting the first paragraph of his essay. This time, he had made sure to expand upon the setup process of the potion, and explain why it was so important to do everything in exactly the right order.
That had seemed to be Snape's biggest problem with the introduction, anyway. It was kind of hard to tell though, when most of the man's written comments were full of jabs and insults, rather than constructive criticism.
"Professor?" Harry's soft voice cut through the silence of the room.
"What is it, Potter?" Snape asked, his voice sounding especially annoyed as he looked up from his work for a moment.
"Could you check the introduction, sir? To see if it's, um...okay?"
There was a long pause as Snape put his quill back to the parchment he was working on and wrote out another few words.
"Bring it here, Mr. Potter," he finally replied without looking up. And Harry was quick to obey.
The boy stood up and went to stand at the end of Snape's desk, waiting silently for the man to finish whatever he was writing.
A minute later, Snape finally put down his quill, and then turned to Harry, holding a hand out expectantly.
Harry passed him the essay and then waited with bated breath as the professor read through the beginning paragraph.
"This is very poor work, Potter. Did you not even read the comments I left for you on your first essay?" the man sneered, passing the paper back with a dismissive air.
"Yes," Harry bit out defensively. "I did read them, sir. I thought this is what you wanted."
"What I want, Potter, is for you to explain your statements. Why is it important to have all of the ingredients properly sliced and prepared before lighting the cauldron?"
"Because you have to add all the ingredients really quickly. You wouldn't have time to cut something up in the middle of the brewing process. That's what I wrote in my essay!"
"But you failed to explain why that is," Snape countered. "Why do all of the ingredients go into the cauldron within just seconds of each other?"
Harry thought about it for a moment before giving his hesitant reply. "Because of how they all react together to stabilize the potion?"
"So you can think, Potter," Snape said in mock surprise. "Now you just need to elaborate on that point throughout your entire essay. Explain just how each of the ingredients reacts with the next to ultimately formulate the potion and keep it balanced and stable."
Harry frowned. "But the textbook doesn't explain very much about the ingredients themselves, sir."
"Have you not read the supplemental materials I assigned at the end of last year?" the man demanded.
"I thought that was optional reading, sir," Harry replied nervously, remembering that Ron had said something similar on the Hogwarts Express.
The professor sent him a terrifying glare then as he used his wand to summon several books off of a shelf on the other side of the room. And when they zoomed into his hands, he immediately slammed them down onto the desk in front of Harry, causing the boy to jump back in alarm.
"I would suggest that you start doing a bit of optional reading, Mr. Potter. You just might learn something useful."
"Yes, sir," Harry answered quickly, gathering up his essay and the small stack of books in his arms and heading back to his table.
He could feel Snape's eyes on him then for a long time after that.
"You are dismissed for the night, Potter," Snape finally called out some time later, when a couple hours had passed.
Harry gratefully closed the book he had been looking through; a thin, black book that was all about different potions ingredients and their common properties.
"I haven't finished the essay yet," Harry stated, looking down at his parchment. He was only about half-way done by his estimate.
"Then you will continue with it during tomorrow's detention," the professor said, not sounding the least bit concerned.
Harry nodded and stood up, picking his schoolbag up off the floor and stuffing his textbook back into it.
It was quiet then in the potions classroom, with neither of the two occupants making any noise.
And Harry knew that this was the perfect opportunity to ask his question.
"Sir?"
Snape looked up, surprised to see Harry still standing there. "Yes, Potter?" he asked wearily.
There was barely a second's pause, then.
"What does 'A Thousand Words' mean?" the boy blurted out quickly, before he could lose his nerve.
Snape's eyes flashed as he once again put down his quill and stood up from his desk. "What have I told you, Potter, about—?"
"I know you don't like to talk about my mother," Harry interrupted. "But please, sir. Just tell me this one thing."
"Why is this so important to you, Potter?" Snape sounded both irritated and genuinely curious.
"Because she's my mother," Harry answered automatically. "And I never got to know her, sir. But you did. And you could tell me about her."
"Many people could tell you about her," the man argued.
Harry sighed. "Please. Just this one thing. And I promise I won't bother you again about it."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," Snape grumbled, taking a moment to fold his arms and glare down at the floor. It was several more seconds then before he spoke again.
"I will make you a deal, Mr. Potter."
Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise. "A deal?"
"Yes," the potions master continued, his expression suddenly thoughtful. "If you can manage to turn in a perfect, well-written essay that meets my standards and exceeds all of my expectations, I will provide you with an answer to your question."
Harry's face fell as several thoughts immediately started racing through his head. A perfect essay that was up to Snape's standards? It wasn't possible, was it? There was absolutely no way he could manage it.
But then again, Harry knew that he didn't have much choice.
He would have to agree. He would have to at least try. This was his one opportunity to get a bit of information out of Snape regarding his mother. He would just have to put absolutely everything he had into this assignment. And he might just have to ask Hermione for a little bit of help, too...
Finally, Harry nodded, looking up to meet Snape's eyes.
"Okay, sir," he said at last. "It's a deal."
A/N: All feedback is greatly appreciated :) Thanks for reading!
-Ailee17