A/N: So this chapter was originally going to be a bit longer, but I decided to cut it a little short so that I could go ahead and post it while I had a little extra time on my hands. Enjoy!

Harry wasn't exactly sure why his eyes were stinging. He sighed and quickly wiped away any traces of moisture that may have been present on his face at the potion master's explanation, before reaching back into the envelope for more photographs.

"You may look at the rest of the pictures later, Mr. Potter," Snape suddenly interrupted Harry's actions, keeping his tone terse. "But now, you have a detention to serve."

Harry had to do his best to suppress another sigh.

"Yes, sir," he eventually replied. He reluctantly replaced the photographs back in the envelope, then, and attempted to hand it back to Snape.

"Put the envelope in your schoolbag, Mr. Potter. It is yours to keep," the man said dismissively, gesturing with his hand.

Harry was stunned. He never really imagined that Snape was going to actually let him keep the pictures. He had thought that the man was only letting him see them.

"But sir, they're your pic—"

"I have enough pictures, Potter," the professor interjected abruptly. "I also have the luxury of memories, whereas you do not. The pictures are yours. Now put them away, and we may begin your detention."

Harry's face broke into a grin as he hurried over to his schoolbag to tuck his new treasure away into the front pocket.

"Thank you so much, sir," the boy said, still smiling. "Thank you. This really means a lot."

Snape waved the gratitude away, and then flicked his wand at the back cupboard.

It sprang open almost immediately to reveal shelves and shelves of dirty vials and beakers and potion bottles.

"I imagine you may be able to guess what your task will be this evening, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked, smirking at the look of distaste on the young Gryffindor's face.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied dejectedly, moving forward to get started.

Severus watched as the boy gathered some glassware in his arms and headed over to the sink. He focused on strengthening his occlumency shields for a moment, then, pushing back the emotions and smoothing out his expression as he did so.

The man never talked about Lily Evans. With anybody. And yet, he had just done so with none other than Harry Potter, something he had told himself he would never do.

And yet, it had been almost easy. The boy's eyes had been shining with excitement as he listened to Severus' story. And for a moment, it had almost been like Lily wasn't gone. Because for a moment, for just a split second really, Severus could almost see her in the face and the expression of her young son.

Severus suppressed the urge to sigh then, as he suddenly found himself questioning the wisdom of revealing such a personal story to the boy. For several minutes, he stared at the back of the young Gryffindor's head, thinking.

And then a loud shattering sound suddenly disturbed the silence in the classroom, and interrupted his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry," Harry immediately began to apologize, stooping down to begin picking up the shards of glass from the beaker he had just dropped.

"Foolish child! Leave it be," Snape said forcefully, getting to his feet and sweeping over to the sink.

He pointed his wand at the shards littering the floor and in moments, the beaker was completely repaired and sitting back on the countertop next to the other glassware.

And then he rounded on Harry.

"Did no one ever tell you not to pick up broken glass with your hands?" the professor demanded.

Harry flinched back. "No, sir," he answered quietly. In fact, Aunt Petunia had actually made him pick glass up off the floor. On more than one occasion.

"I can't hear you," Snape practically growled.

"No, sir," Harry spoke a little louder, flinching again when the professor suddenly reached out to grab his arm.

"Did you cut yourself?" Snape asked then, his eyes carefully inspecting the child's hand.

Harry started to shake his head. But then he caught sight of the small trickle of blood pooling in his palm.

"Oh," was all he could manage to say.

"Indeed," Snape sneered, quickly summoning a potion from the other side of the room. "Well, I must say, Mr. Potter, that your complete lack of common sense is truly astonishing."

Harry didn't respond, but simply hissed in pain as the man poured some potion onto his wound, cleaning it out.

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated, watching as Snape's wand carefully traced over the thin cut then, sealing it up.

"This is becoming quite the habit of yours, isn't it, Potter?" Snape asked then, finally dropping the boy's hand.

Harry frowned. "Sir?"

"This is the third time I have had to heal an injury of yours since the school year began, Mr. Potter," Snape responded firmly.

"Sorry, sir," Harry repeated yet again, shoving his newly healed hand into his pocket to clench at the picture there.

"You're beginning to sound like a parrot, Potter," Snape replied scathingly. "Just think before you act, and you won't have these issues."

"Yes, sir," Harry responded, shifting awkwardly under the man's glare.

"Is your hand bothering you?" Snape asked then.

"No, sir. It feels fine."

"Then you may get back to work," the professor said quickly, turning on his heel to head back to his desk.

"Thank you," Harry spoke softly.

The man paused for a second, and silence reigned in the room. But then the potions master turned his head slightly and gave a quick jerk of the head in acceptance.

Harry let out a breath then, and turned back to the sink.

"Professor?"

"What is it, Potter?" Snape asked, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he looked up from the essay he was in the middle of grading.

"I'm finished, sir," Harry said quickly, sensing the man's irritation.

Snape glanced over towards the sink to confirm that the boy's task was, indeed, complete.

"You may go, Potter," Snape dismissed, then.

And Harry immediately headed for his school bag to lift it to his shoulder.

"Sir?" Harry suddenly asked, before he could lose his nerve.

"What is it, Mr. Potter?" Snape sounded exasperated. Why was it that the boy could never just leave when he was told to?

Harry swallowed hard before responding. There was no turning back now. "What was my mother like?"

The room was silent.

And then Snape was fixing him with a deadly glare.

"How many times must we go over this, Potter?" the man sneered. "I am not having this discussion with you."

"But why?" Harry challenged without really thinking. It wasn't fair. Snape knew so much about his mother. Why wouldn't he share some of that information?

"Any member of the faculty at this school could tell you about your mother, Mr. Potter. I suggest you speak to them on the subject."

Harry bit his lip, thinking of the best way to respond. He had one shot at this. He just hoped that it would work.

"I don't think any of them know as much about her as you do, sir."

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Did the boy really think he was going to fall for that?

But then Harry was speaking again.

"I already know quite a bit about my father. I know he was a great quidditch player. And that he was really smart—"

Snape made a noise at that, something between a cough and a growl.

"Was my mother smart?" Harry asked then.

"Well, of course she was," Snape snapped, before he could stop himself. "She was among the most intelligent people I ever knew."

A small smile crossed Harry's face at that. "What was her favorite subject?"

Realizing that he had been manipulated into answering, Snape considered refusing the little brat. But then he briefly locked gazes with those shining emerald eyes.

And he found himself offering a response.

"She was rather adept at Charms," the potions master began. Then he smirked. "Of course, she also enjoyed Potions."

"Potions?" Harry repeated, making a face.

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Is there something wrong with Potions, Mr. Potter?"

"No, sir," Harry answered quickly. "It's a fascinating subject. Really. Was she top of the class?"

"Sometimes," Snape answered. "The two of us were always competing for that top spot."

"And she beat you?" Harry asked, surprised, a small bit of pride evident in his voice.

"Sometimes, Mr. Potter," the man repeated. "Only sometimes."

Harry's smile grew wider. "Wow."

A strange feeling came over the dour potions master, then. But before he could dwell too much on what it was, he quickly cleared his throat and strengthened his occlumency shields even further in order to suppress it.

"You should be on your way now, Mr. Potter. It is getting late."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, glancing over at the clock on the dungeon wall. "Good night, sir."

"Good night, Mr. Potter."

Harry was in high spirits the following Saturday morning at breakfast. He even took an extra helping of eggs onto his plate at Hermione's urging.

"Your appetite is better today." the girl noted with satisfaction.

Harry just shrugged, uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

Thankfully, Ron soon changed the subject. "Look, Harry. It's Hedwig,"

Harry looked up, then, just in time to see his snowy owl land next to the jug of pumpkin juice.

"Hello, girl. How are you?" Harry asked enthusiastically. "Shouldn't you still be resting in the owlery?"

Hedwig gave a disapproving noise and nipped sharply at Harry's finger.

"Ouch! Okay, okay. I can see that you're better. You didn't have to bite me!"

Hedwig let out another, softer, hoot this time. Then she held out her foot to her master.

Frowning, Harry untied the little scroll from his owl's leg.

"What's that?" Ron asked, taking a huge bite out of an apple.

"Not sure," Harry answered absently, as he gave his owl an apologetic look. "Sorry, girl. I didn't know you were coming or I would have brought some treats."

Hedwig tilted her head to the side expectantly then.

"Yes, I'll bring some for lunch," Harry promised. "You just make sure you take it easy."

Seemingly satisfied with this answer, Hedwig gave one last hoot before taking to the air. And Harry watched her for a moment as she soared out of the Great Hall.

Sighing then, he turned back to the little scroll, and finally unrolled it.

Mr. Potter,

Please come to the infirmary after breakfast so that I may conduct your first weekly checkup. – M. Pomfrey

And just like that, Harry's good mood evaporated. He set the small scrap of paper down beside his plate and poked moodily at his breakfast. He didn't want Madam Pomfrey to give him a checkup. What if she decided to run a deeper diagnostic scan on him this time around? He nearly shivered at the thought.

"Well?" Hermione prompted. "What is it?"

"Note from Madam Pomfrey," Harry answered simply. "I'm supposed to meet her after breakfast."

Then, before either Ron or Hermione could reply, Fred and George were upon them, both carrying their brooms and beaming widely.

"Are you coming?" Fred demanded of the trio.

"Where?" Ron asked, eying his brothers warily. Now what were they planning to do?

"The big race, of course!" George exclaimed.

"Down at the quidditch pitch!" Fred supplied.

"What?" Ron and Harry asked in unison.

The twins shared identical looks of exasperation then, before offering a further explanation.

"All of the quidditch teams are getting together this morning to have a race down at the quidditch pitch," George finally said.

"How do you not know this?" Fred put in, shaking his head.

"It was supposed to be a secret," came Oliver's voice, as the quidditch captain made his way over to the group. "You two both know that Harry isn't allowed on a broom right now. I will not jeopardize his place on the team! And for your information, it is not a race. It is a joint quidditch practice. To promote house unity. It was Dumbledore's idea."

The twins exchanged meaningful looks.

"Sure, Oliver," Fred said with a grin.

"Whatever you say," George put in. "But we all know that you would never allow the other quidditch teams to see our new plays and game strategies."

"Which is why we'll be having another practice later this afternoon," Oliver responded with a shrug.

"I haven't been banned from watching quidditch, Oliver," Harry suddenly spoke up, crossing his arms as he glared up at the sixth year.

"I know that. I just didn't want you to be tempted to participate—"

"I won't be," Harry interrupted, suddenly getting to his feet. I want to come watch."

"But Harry," Hermione said, pointing to the abandoned message on the table. "You're supposed to go after breakfast."

"But I will go after breakfast, Hermione," Harry reasoned. "An hour or so from now will certainly be after breakfast."

Severus swept along the corridors, heading for the hospital wing. School had only been in session for a few weeks, and already Madam Pomfrey had summoned him, in need of more potions.

It was truly remarkable how many injuries and illnesses the student body were able to acquire in such a short amount of time, the potions master couldn't help but to think. He was half-convinced that the little miscreants were doing it on purpose, fully aware of all the extra work that it would mean for him.

He arrived at the infirmary and pushed the doors open. And inside, he immediately spotted Madam Pomfrey at the back of the empty wing, going through her medicine cabinet, and making notes on a piece of parchment she held in her hand.

"Good morning, Poppy," Severus greeted, walking further into the room.

"Oh, Severus, thank goodness. I've just about finished my list for you."

Severus strode past all of the empty beds until he stood at the mediwitch's side, taking a quick look inside the cabinet as he waited for Madam Pomfrey to finish.

"Here you are," the woman said a moment later, passing the parchment over to the potions master.

Severus nodded as he glanced down the list. "I'll get started on these right away."

"Thank you, Severus. I don't know what I would do without you."

"I'm sure you would manage just fine, Poppy," Severus answered, folding up the parchment, and turning to leave. "Good day."

"Oh, Severus?" the mediwitch asked. "I don't suppose you've seen Mr. Potter this morning, have you?"

Severus frowned as he turned back around. "No. Why?"

"I sent him a message this morning to come see me after breakfast and he hasn't been by," the woman explained.

In barely more than a second, the man's facial expression went from pleasant to menacing. "Is that so?" he practically growled.

"Now, Severus. Don't go jumping to conclusions—"

"It's difficult not to with that boy," the man interrupted. "There is a joint quidditch practice among all of the house teams this morning. I'd be willing to bet my entire Gringotts vault that that is where he is."

Poppy frowned. "You don't think he would—"

"Yes, I most certainly do think he would fly a broom," Severus finished her thought as he stalked towards the door.

And with that, he was gone, and Poppy Pomfrey couldn't help but to feel sorry for the young Harry Potter.

For his sake, she really hoped that the boy wasn't flying on a broom.

A/N: So what do you think? Feedback is always welcome!

Thanks for reading! :)

-Ailee17