A/N: Hello everyone! I know this is a short chapter, but I reached a good stopping point, and it means that I get to put out a fairly quick update. Enjoy!

"Come here, Potter," Snape snapped as soon as the classroom door had closed behind the last of the other second years.

Harry hurried to obey, nearly knocking his stool over in his haste to get to Snape's desk.

"Yes, sir?" he asked nervously, hardly daring to hope that Snape may have changed his mind about taking him on as an assistant. But he had had a chance to prove himself in class. What else could Snape possibly want with him?

Snape didn't answer immediately, but eventually shoved a piece of parchment across the desk so that Harry could see.

Taking a closer look, the boy soon realized that he was staring down at the homework assignment he had turned in two days ago. And at the top, his professor had scribbled one word.

Acceptable.

"I thought we agreed that you would be handing in nothing but your best work from now on, Mr. Potter," the man growled, glaring down at the young Gryffindor.

Harry visibly deflated. So Snape just wanted to berate him about his homework.

"I've been doing better," he attempted to argue, hoping he wasn't about to make the potions master's bad mood worse. "And an Acceptable isn't so bad."

"Except that you have clearly demonstrated that you are capable of producing better work!" Snape hissed, snatching the parchment back up and giving it a shake. "This essay was clearly not thought out well, and lazily thrown together!"

Harry dropped his gaze to the floor as his face turned red. So he had procrastinated a bit with that essay. He had been playing a lot of wizard's chess with Ron, and discussing Quidditch strategies with his teammates over the last few days. But why should Snape care? He didn't have to be perfect all the time, did he?

"If you are unable to manage your time wisely, and keep up with your schoolwork, then I cannot allow you to assist me in making potions," the man continued.

And Harry's head snapped up.

"You would let me help?" he asked eagerly, momentarily forgetting that the man was still fixing him with what could only be described as a deadly glare.

"Not if this is going to be the quality of your work," Snape answered, placing the parchment back on the desk rather forcefully.

"I'll do better. I promise—"

"That is exactly what you said the last time we had this discussion, Potter. Why should I believe you this time?"

Harry hung his head again, having no idea how to respond. "I'm sorry, sir," he said quietly. "But I will try harder."

"Look at me, Potter," Snape said sternly.

And Harry slowly raised his head.

"You have proven today that you were paying attention these last few nights in detention," the man said then. "And for that, I may be willing to give you an opportunity to assist me—"

"Really?" Harry couldn't help but to interrupt, his face immediately lighting up with hope.

"But," the man made sure to emphasize, holding up a hand to silence the boy, "If I receive just one more paper from you that is anything below an Exceeds Expectations, I will abruptly put an end to this little arrangement. Do I make myself quite clear, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"

"Do not make me regret this decision," Snape warned. "I will see you this evening, Potter."

"Yes, sir," Harry repeated happily. "I'll be here."

Snape just shook his head then as he watched the boy gather his belongings and rush out the door.

"What have I gotten myself into this time?" the man grumbled quietly to himself as soon as he was alone.

The next couple of weeks seemed to fly by as Harry focused harder than he ever had before on his schoolwork.

"I swear you're becoming more and more like Hermione every day," Ron said incredulously as he glanced over a potions essay Harry had just rewritten for the third time.

"I'm just trying to do a little better in my classes this year," Harry said with a shrug. "It's no big deal."

"No big deal?" Ron repeated. "Harry, you hate potions."

"It really isn't that bad, Ron," Harry answered, rolling up his parchment as he got to his feet in the Gryffindor common room.

A look of shock settled on the redhead's face then as he watched his friend preparing to leave. "Don't tell me you're going to the library again?"

"I just need to research a few things for my essay," Harry lied smoothly. He certainly wasn't going to tell his friend that he was voluntarily going to the dungeons to help Snape every night. Somehow, he didn't think that conversation would go very well.

"Okay, you're not like Hermione, anymore. You are Hermione."

Harry just grinned. "I'll see you later, Ron."

"We will begin brewing some Pepperup Potion today, Mr. Potter," Snape said brusquely, as he directed Harry to his prep station. "Madam Pomfrey has informed me that she is nearly out of stock."

"I know," Harry answered, rolling up his sleeves. "She practically force-fed it to me at my last checkup, even though I didn't have a cold or anything! I had steam pouring out of my ears for hours!"

"If Madam Pomfrey gave you a dose, then you must have been on the verge of developing an illness, Mr. Potter," the potions master said in his usual severe tone. "You should be grateful she caught it early."

"Yes, sir," Harry answered. "Especially since I've been cleared to start flying again next Saturday!"

"You must be absolutely delighted," the man said sardonically. "Now chop up those roots for me," he directed, when he saw that Harry was ready to start working.

Harry picked up the small knife then, and pulled a pile of roots closer to him. "I think Oliver's even more excited than I am," he replied. "I think he's planning to work me extra hard so I'll be ready for the Slytherin match next month."

"If you aren't careful, Potter, you'll end up right back in the hospital wing," Snape warned, as he uncorked a bottle of something bright yellow in color.

"Don't worry, sir. I can handle myself on a broom."

"Indeed," the man answered simply, in what Harry thought sounded like a disbelieving tone.

Harry trudged through the castle doors the following Saturday, broomstick in hand, and his clothes splattered with mud.

Quidditch practice had been tough, but at least he had managed to catch the snitch nearly a dozen times that morning. Harry had never seen Oliver look so happy.

"You see, Oliver?" one of the twins had said at the end of practice. "When you give people time off, they actually perform better."

Harry smiled at the memory of Oliver turning away, pretending not to hear, as he walked along a narrow corridor on the first floor.

And then he suddenly heard a quiet mewling sound, just before something small and furry began to rub up against his leg.

"Hi, Mrs. Norris," he said happily, looking down at the scrawny feline. "Careful, I'll get you all dirty."

Mrs. Norris looked up at him then, before tilting her head in the direction of the trail of mud Harry was leaving with his shoes. Her tail seemed to twitch in annoyance.

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry," Harry quickly apologized. "It's just so wet and muddy outside."

The boy fumbled around in his pocket then until he found his wand. Aiming it at his shoes, he muttered a quick cleaning spell and then looked to the cat for approval.

Mrs. Norris began moving away then, but she stopped halfway down the corridor to look back expectantly at Harry.

"Do you want me to follow you?" he asked uncertainly.

Harry thought that the flick of the tail this time was likely in assent, so he quickly followed Mrs. Norris down the corridor and around the next corner.

And not five seconds later, Harry heard a roar of anger from the corridor he had just left.

"Filthy rotten students! Always making a mess!"

The voice definitely belonged to Filch, and Harry's heart began to race as he remembered the last encounter he had had with the man.

"Just wait until I get my hands on 'em this time!" the man snarled.

Harry swallowed and immediately looked around for his companion.

Mrs. Norris was still moving, and so Harry continued to follow her, turning down several corridors and climbing three flights of stairs until they were well away from the murderous caretaker.

Finally, the cat stopped when they reached a small alcove in a hallway somewhere on the fourth floor. Harry let out a huge sigh of relief as he crouched down to scratch behind the feline's ears.

"Thanks, Mrs. Norris, you saved me again," he said sincerely, smiling as the cat purred loudly in contentment. "You're a real friend."

Mrs. Norris lifted her chin so Harry could easily reach underneath and the Gryffindor laughed as he moved to scratch her there. "I should get you something for the next time I see you," the boy said, still grinning. "Would you like that? Maybe a nice snack?"

Mrs. Norris seemed to purr louder at that, and Harry laughed. "Okay, I'll see what I can find."

Harry had almost made it back to the common room after leaving Mrs. Norris on the fourth floor.

And then he heard a long, drawn-out sigh from behind him.

And Harry quickly turned around.

"Nick?" he asked uncertainly, as he recognized the Gryffindor ghost. "Is everything alright?"

"Oh, yes, everything is just fine, Harry. Splendid," Nick said sarcastically.

Harry repositioned his broomstick on his shoulder as he pointed to the piece of paper in Nick's hand. "What's that?" he asked curiously.

But almost as soon as Nick began speaking, Harry came to regret his question. Of course he stood there politely, listening as Nick went on about his denied request to join the Headless Hunt. He nodded in all the right places, and did his best to look sympathetic.

And when the ghost had finally finished his rant, and there was a slightly awkward silence in the seventh-floor corridor, Harry said the only thing he could say in such a situation.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Nick?"

Nick hesitated for a moment, glancing from Harry to his letter, and back again.

But finally he made up his mind.

"Harry, would you consider attending my Deathday Party?

A/N: So as I'm sure you all can guess, next up will be Halloween :) I'll start working on that chapter soon.

Thanks for reading!

Ailee17