Thank you for all the reviews! This is the second part.

Younger Siblings

"What a brilliant wand you have, Sol!"

Harry peers at his younger brother over the top of his book. It's the summer between his first and second years, and the upcoming term will be Sol's first at Hogwarts. Sol is making a huge shower of sparks rise from his wand—thirteen inches, oak, unicorn hair—and Mum and Dad are applauding.

Harry smiles when they look at him. "That is brilliant," he agrees, and goes back to his books.

He's aware of his parents exchanging worried glances, but they do that about him all the time, so it's easier to ignore. It's not until a few hours later, after dinner, when Sol has gone upstairs to play Aurors Against Death Eaters with Romulus and Alicia, that Mum comes to find him.

"Can I talk to you, Harry?"

"Oh, of course, Mum," Harry says, and puts his book down, giving her his full attention. She rubs her hands nervously against the side of her robe. His mother is beautiful, Harry thinks, with that shining red hair a few of his siblings have and those green eyes he was the only one to inherit.

"I just—I don't want you to be jealous of Sol," Mum says, and she almost stumbles over the words. "Since he'll have more powerful magic and a lot of friends and he'll probably be in Gryffindor."

Harry feels a distant pity. He's felt it before. He didn't write to his parents because he knew they would be concerned about him being in Hufflepuff, and they talked almost non-stop about it when he was home on the Christmas and Easter holidays. They think he's resentful that he wasn't in Gryffindor.

Harry loves his parents. He wants to impress them. He understands them. But sometimes he thinks they're more than a little close-minded.

"I'm not," he says.

Mum has started to speak again, but she falls silent and blinks so hard it looks like she's fluttering her eyelashes. "You're not—jealous?"

"No." Harry shakes his head. "It's useless. And it would be petty of me. Sol can't help being born with powerful magic." And Sol can't help the way Sirius likes him better, either, or that he'll probably be in Gryffindor. (Not that Harry is at all jealous of that last one). "And I don't want to be in Gryffindor anyway."

"Oh." Mum hesitates a second. Then she says, "But if you didn't want to be in Gryffindor, why didn't you write to us the first part of last year?"

"Because I knew you would say that I should want to be in Gryffindor," Harry says. It's his turn to blink. Surely his mother knows this? "I didn't want to listen to you tell me over and over that it was all right to be in Hufflepuff, because I know you don't believe that and you'd just want to reassure me. I don't like being falsely reassured."

Mum's face turns a bright crimson. "Of course we think it's okay that you're in Hufflepuff, Harry!"

"But then why did you assume I would be jealous if Sol was put in Gryffindor?"

Mum spends a moment fussing with the line of her robe, which Harry doesn't think needs any help. Then she gives him a helpless smile. "Maybe we were being silly, Harry. I just thought you would be jealous of him. I suppose I don't have any proof that you are."

Harry gives her a polite nod. That's right. He wants his parents to stop assuming that he's jealous of his siblings and start warning his siblings not to be jealous of him. He's decided that he won't show them anything until he can do everything that Sol and Romulus do, and better. Alicia is too young yet—just seven—for him to be sure what she'll get up to at school.

"And I want you to know that we don't love you any less." Mum is talking intensely, the way she does sometimes with people through the Floo when she's consulting on Charms accidents at St. Mungo's, her hair falling forwards around her face and her eyes flashing. "Please never think that. We love you just the same as everyone else. We just know it's going to be—harder for you."

Harry nods. He knows his parents don't love him any less. They just want to protect him from a wizarding world that treats Squibs harshly.

They don't love him any less. It just feels like they do.

"I'm glad we had this talk," Mum says, sounding vastly relieved. She stands up and hugs him. "And you know, you don't have to read all the time! There are plenty of things you can do that don't involve magic."

"But Sol and Romulus only want to play those games." Harry sometimes thinks Alicia is bookish, like him, but again, too young to tell.

"That does sound like you're jealous, Harry."

He can't explain this to them. He isn't old enough. Harry knows that he understands a lot of things better than the adults around him think he does, but sometimes he agrees that they're right, and he doesn't have the experience or the words. "I'm not," he says simply now, and goes back to his book.

Mum sighs, strokes his hair, and wanders away. Perhaps for a private conversation with Dad, Harry thinks. She often has them after she's talked with Harry.

One of these days, she won't need to do that, Harry thinks, and delves back into advanced Transfiguration theory. He's starting to think that he'll have to study Potions, too. But on his own. Professor Snape hates Potters too much not to feed him wrong information or tell him he's stupid, which Harry doesn't have time for.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Severus rolls his eyes. He doesn't know why he thought, for one moment, that another Potter might go to a different House. But no, Sol Potter is flopping out from under the Sorting Hat and straight into the arms of his Weasley comrades at the Gryffindor table.

Severus can't help glancing at Potter—the Potter, he calls him in his mind—to see his reaction. He applauds for his brother, politely, and then delves into the book he has propped in front of him. Severus finds himself craning his neck to see the title, but can't make it out before he has to turn around to applaud a Slytherin.

When he can focus on the Potter again, one of his Housemates is speaking to him. The Diggory boy, one of the few Hufflepuffs Severus can approve of. He casts an Eavesdropping Charm to listen in.

"There are some people saying you should have been put in Ravenclaw, Harry!"

"Mm-hm," Potter says, without glancing up from his book.

"And now you're studying Potions? But you get terrible marks in that class!"

Potter glances up, exactly as if he's aware of the way that Severus's shoulders have stiffened. "But doesn't that make you think I should study some more?"

"Well, maybe, but not that much," Diggory says firmly, and shuts the book and puts it away. Now Severus thinks he recognizes it, from the size and the flaking gold in the center of the cover. Probably Eldon Huxley's Potions and Their Uses. Certainly a library book, but not one he would have expected a second-year to take out. "Come on, tell me what Quidditch team you favor. I've never known."

Severus cancels the charm, because he knows the rest of the conversation will be inane. However, it seems the Potter agrees with him. He answers tolerantly enough, but his eyes continually stray towards the place under the table that Diggory shoved his book.

Severus flexes his fingers around his knife before he looks away and digs into his dinner. He may have misjudged the Potters. At least one of them wants to make an effort and improve at the subject that he always does badly in.

And who knows? Perhaps that judgment will turn out to have been a misjudgment about the younger Potters, as well.

No. No, it is not.

Sol Potter is a powerful wizard—and that is all Severus can say for him. He is all energy, crackling like sparks from a practice wand being waved around. He doesn't know how to channel that energy. He does know spells, but none that are useful in Potions.

And from the way he steps into the class with the crowd of his Gryffindor yearmates and aims a vindictive glance in Severus's direction, family legend has prepared him for an ogre. Severus snarls before he can stop it, his own hatred rising to match it.

He never claimed to be particularly mature, and so he takes great delight in noting down everything that is wrong with Sol's potion: color, consistency, number of ingredients distributed into it, coverage of the bottom of the cauldron, amount steaming away in vapor. The boy finally turns around so fast he almost topples out of his seat and glares at him.

"Why are you doing this, huh?" he snarls at Snape. "It's just because you hate all Potters who can stand up to you, right?"

Severus gazes down at the boy with a distant glance, while inwardly his mind pauses. Stand up to him? Has the Potter complained to his parents about Severus? But no, in that case, he would have received at least one Howler. And in a strange way, the Potter who was already here has stood up to Severus. He simply refuses to acknowledge him as important, and he obviously plans to study Potions on his own.

"I dislike all students who force their cheek on a professor," Severus says smoothly, on the outside. His tongue need never pause for his brain, if he does not wish it to. "Ten points from Gryffindor, and detention for tonight. Seven-o'clock, Mr. Potter." He turns and sweeps on, knowing that he looks intimidating; it seems as if the Hollisberry girl over there might have an accident.

Potter is muttering in outrage behind him, comforted by the youngest Weasley child—although Severus has heard a rumor that Molly Weasley might be pregnant again, sweet Merlin—and a Gryffindor boy named Something Kennedy. Severus savors the outrage, and thinks a little about the Potter.

But not too long. He has to scare the life out of the Hollisberry girl now.

Life At Hogwarts

Harry sits back from the book and reads the paragraph he just read again. It's breakfast, but Cedric always sleeps in late, so Harry isn't worried about his study being interrupted the way it was last night.

If this paragraph is right, or maybe he should say if he's understanding it right…

Then Snape really has been steering them wrong all these years. Deliberately lying? Or just not presenting things the way the book's author does?

Harry thoughtfully bites into an apple and flips the page to make sure that he isn't forgetting something important from a thousand words ago. No. The author, Huxley, is insistent. He really does think that a potion's success depends on the personal power and affinity for potions of the brewer.

Well, no wonder Snape's so good at it, then, and he thinks we should be, too. Harry finishes his apple and bends down to stare at the words on the page while imagining his mind as a crystalline box with light glowing through it. He doesn't know why, but this is the visualization that works best when he wants to memorize something. It's a pain to read it over and over while keeping that crystalline box clear in his mind, but when he does, he never forgets something he's read.

And he wants to know how to be good at Potions. If Huxley is right, then Snape can't help him with it, anyway. Harry doesn't have enough power. He'll have to flex his magic and make it grow until he's good at Potions the way he's done when it comes to Charms.

Snape probably also thinks that no one in particular has his gift, Harry admits to himself. And I don't have an affinity for potions. Not the way Snape does.

A second later, Harry wants to snort. So what? When has that ever stopped him? You could say that he didn't have an "affinity" for Charms or Transfiguration, either, but he's steadily bringing them under his control.

He will do the same with Potions.

Having memorized Huxley's words, Harry shuts the book with a snap and turns to eating his breakfast. For one thing, Cedric is coming, and he would make Harry put the book away anyway. For a second, Harry doesn't think he'll learn anything else half as useful.

And for a third, he doesn't want Snape to see what he's reading. He has enough to deal with, given the pitying looks his family doesn't seem to realize are on their faces most of the time; he doesn't need sneers and coolly raised eyebrows.

"I just don't understand it, Minerva. How can he be doing well in your class, which requires all that magic a Squib wouldn't even have most of the time, and so badly in mine, when it's mostly theory and just getting the plants to respect you?"

Severus pauses with a cup of tea halfway to his lips. Most of the time, he doesn't sit next to Pomona at lunch; either Albus or Minerva takes that seat, since the others are too wary of him. But he was late today, and Pomona has his normal chair and is almost waving her arms at Minerva in distress.

Long before he catches the name, Severus is sure they're talking about the Hufflepuff Potter. He fills his plate and chews quietly as he listens.

"I don't know for sure, Pomona." Minerva is in "sympathetic listener" mode: fingers hooked together beneath her chin, her head tilted and her eyes crinkled a little. "I can tell you what I think from observing Harry."

"Yes, please." Pomona nods so hard that her hat slides down over one ear, making Severus snort into his salad.

"He doesn't much value the classes a Squib should excel in," says Minerva bluntly. "Or a wizard with weak magic, I think we should say, since he's definitely no Squib. He was probably told over and over at home that he would do fine with Herbology, and Potions, and Astronomy, and History of Magic, and he could make a worthwhile career out of those. But he doesn't want to. He wants to master the harder subjects, and I know that he's working overtime on Charms—Filius told me—and Transfiguration—of course I see that—and Defense—almost all self-study, since, while I do honor Quirinus for trying, he's not a good professor for that subject." Minerva glances over her shoulder to make sure said Quirinus isn't at the table, which is too bad. Severus doesn't think people should get into trouble for speaking the truth, unless it's cheek. "I understand why Albus wants to keep Quirinus in place, since we had all those troubles with filling the Defense position for so many years until Tom's death broke the curse, but he should choose someone else."

"Has Mr. Potter shown any interest in electives?"

"I wish he would talk to you more as Head of his House," Minerva mutters, maybe also thinking it would spare her conversations like this one. "But he did mention to me that he likes Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."

"He could do the theory on both of them well enough." Pomona sounds doubtful. "And the physical motions of drawing the runes. But to empower the runes, or make the equations into incantations—"

"I know. But that's what he wants to do."

"What does he want to do, though? Does he want to be an Auror or a Healer? I'm afraid he'll never have the magic for that. He still needs all that practice to master a spell, and Healers and Aurors have to react quickly."

Severus rolls his eyes at his bread. Plenty of Aurors and Healers don't react all that quickly, which is one reason Aurors are partnered with each other and Healers work in an environment where help is always available. He's becoming convinced that Harry Potter can do anything he sets his mind to.

Except, perhaps, be polite to Severus or excel in his Potions class.

I wonder why he's so determined not to be polite to me, Severus thinks, and begins to tear his bread into smaller pieces. I can understand why he doesn't care about Potions if Minerva's suspicions are true, but why not care about getting detentions? They would interfere with his efforts to become better in the more difficult subjects.

Severus pauses with his hands on either side of his plate. Well. Now that he thinks about it, Harry Potter hasn't taken any detentions with him this year. It's always his brother. Harry just keeps his head down in class and nods when Severus scolds him or takes points from Hufflepuff.

He's probably doing exactly what Minerva says. Plodding through classes that people think he should be naturally good in by virtue of having less powerful magic, and then excelling in the more difficult subjects in his off-hours.

Severus narrows his eyes and stands. He finds himself unwilling to stand by and watch someone make a fool of him. Not to mention, if Potter is one of the few students in his class with a brain, Severus refuses to let him ignore the most important subject.

"You are to come to my office tonight at nine-o'clock, Potter."

Harry wrinkles his nose a little as Snape sweeps off. He's been trying so hard lately not to get detentions, because he's working on mastering some special defensive spells against Dark creatures, and they're taking all his attention.

But needs must, and at least with the detentions Snape usually assigns, Harry can move his hands and let his brain exercise itself. He turns back to the potion in front of him and stirs it idly. He knows that it isn't going to be up to Snape's standards anyway.

It isn't, and Snape glares at him harder than ever as Harry hands his vial in. Who knows why? Harry doesn't. He goes up to the Owlery to visit with Asphodel, the white owl that he bought in Diagon Alley the last time he was there, and then to dinner, and then he does get in a little study of the theory behind his spells after all, and then he's knocking on Snape's door.

Snape barks at him to enter, as usual. But Harry halts when he opens the door and sees the single chair in front of the desk. There's no parchment and quill and ink, the way there would have to be if he was doing lines.

"Sit down, Potter."

But he is here for detention, after all, even if it's kind of a weird detention. Harry sits down, narrowing his eyes and saying nothing.

"I know that you are considerably cleverer than you have presented yourself," Snape begins, which makes Harry blink. He isn't sure if he's more surprised that someone was telling Snape that or that Snape listened. "You are no longer going to put more effort into Charms and Transfiguration than Potions. Tell me why you ignore them!"

His voice has risen. Harry gives him a flat stare. He can't believe Snape doesn't see it.

"Tell me." At least Snape has lowered his voice this time, but he's also marched around the desk, and he's glaring down at Harry as though he has the right to ask questions of him at all, when he's as pathetic a teacher as he is.

Harry folds his arms. What's Snape going to do, give him another detention?

Snape finally seems to realize he's going about this the wrong way. Not that there is a right one, as far as Harry's concerned, but there's a way that might get Snape his answers and a way that definitely won't. Snape rolls his eyes, sighs, and leans back against his desk, watching Harry.

"Does it have something to do with your low magical power and you being expected to master Potions?"

Harry shrugs. He knows shrugs infuriate Snape. From the way his jaw almost pops out of his skin, it does it this time, though. But, unfortunately, Snape doesn't give up.

"Or does it have something to do with me?"

Good job, Snape. Harry makes sure to keep his eyes down, as if he's being respectful and submissive, so that Snape won't read that thought out of his mind. After a longer time than it needs, he nods.

"Why?"

This one he can't answer by being nonverbal. And Snape has calmed down. That means he might hold Harry in detention for hours, and Harry finds it much harder to control his magic when he isn't well-rested. He sighs and answers.

"You don't teach well, sir. And I know that nothing I can do will ever please you, because I'm a Potter and look so much like my dad. So I thought I might as well save my effort for things that will get me decent results."

Snape is silent. Harry thinks that either he'll ask more questions in a second, or he's in the grip of a rage so vast that he'll order Harry out the door before he throws something.

But he does neither, and after a few minutes, Harry looks up at Snape with a frown. Snape is staring back at him. His eyes are deep in a way that intrigues Harry for a second before he looks away. The last thing he wants to do is give Snape free permission to read his mind when he's done so much to prevent it.

"How did the Hat not put you in Slytherin?"

"Because I have no ambitions to be a sadistic wanker, sir."

"Ten points from—"

But Snape cuts off. Harry looks up in a small bit of interest. He'd already started to go away in his mind to the place that he goes when he's not confronted with something he has to do right now, the place where he decides what magic he's going to learn next.

Snape is studying his every move. Harry masters the temptation to flick out his tongue at him. He isn't going to study how to become a frog, or how to be chopped up into Potions ingredients of the right size for a cauldron.

Severus almost did it. He almost took ten points from Hufflepuff in his frustration.

But he already knew the boy doesn't care about House points. And this time, he saw the way those green eyes changed, shifting away from him and turning soft and dream-like. He isn't focused on Severus anymore, when he does that. He's thinking about his magic, or his parents, or something else in a way that Severus can't penetrate.

It's incredibly frustrating.

So Severus holds his tongue and his temper, and waits until the boy looks back at him. Then he speaks quietly. "What you seem to have is a driving ambition to learn as much as you can about magic. And a driving cunning to achieve it."

"But I don't have any ambition to matter in the eyes of the world," Potter points out, his voice utterly calm. Severus knows students three years older than he is who can't be that calm, especially in front of their feared Potions master. "That was what the Sorting Hat asked me. I don't care if anyone knows I'm great. I don't do power plays for their own sake. I don't care what my Housemates think of me. The Sorting Hat asked me all these questions, and then it decided that Hufflepuff was the place for me."

Ah-ha. Potter is human after all. Severus caught a twitch of a smile on his mouth a moment ago, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

"There are people you want to matter to," he says, studying the boy as hard as he ever did any Dark Arts text. "And they would turn away from you if you were placed into my House. Is that not so?"

The flinch is unmistakable this time. Severus stalks towards him and halts in front of the boy, lowering his voice.

"You want to matter to your parents. Who look at you and see a Squib, not the dedicated young wizard that both you and I know you are. Minerva suspects, doesn't she? So does Pomona. But both of them are fooled by the fact that it takes you longer to master the magic." Severus stalks behind Potter. Potter doesn't turn to face him, which is impressive in its own way. "They do not see the strength when you do."

Potter forms his hand into a fist for a second. Then he shrugs and says, "It doesn't matter, sir. Right now, my parents don't know, either. I'm going to show them when I've mastered some really impressive magic and they can't turn it into—"

He doesn't finish, but Severus knows what he would have said. Denial. They would deny that he is a skilled wizard without some strong proof.

They are as blind as Minerva and Pomona. Severus feels a strange exultation pour through him. And this is a way to triumph over James Potter that he will never recover from, not when he learns who really saw the potential in his son.

"You are ignoring Potions in some misguided quest to become seen as more than an average Squib," he says idly, and comes to rest against his own desk, staring intently at Potter all the while. "You should not ignore such a powerful subset of magic. I will help you learn it."

"What? You can't."

If it was indignant, spluttering, any kind of emotion like that at all, Severus would know that Potter is upset about Severus discovering his secret. But this is merely half-laughing, and Potter shakes his head.

And Severus again knows rage.

"Why not?" he hisses, turning and facing Potter down. "Do you think that only Charms and Transfiguration can provide you true power? And Defense Against the Dark Arts?" It wouldn't surprise him if Potter is trying hard in that class, as well, although it would be masked by the inefficiency of the professor. "Do you think—"

He stops, because Potter is shaking his head in a different way.

"I know you have the skill, sir," Potter says, in a simple, condescending tone that reminds Severus far too much of Albus. "But you don't have the will. You would try to help me, I know that. But you would end up hating me because I'm a Potter, and then you would spend more time making cutting remarks than helping me." He stands up and stretches his arms out so the bones seem to pop. "Thank you for the offer, though." He turns towards the door.

Severus feels as though someone has punched him in the chest and then walked away instead of running. He waves his wand to spell the door locked. Potter merely turns around and looks at him patiently.

The patient look is the final straw.

"I will help you," Severus hisses. "Not a single cutting remark, as long as we keep this from the ears of your parents until you are an acceptable level of skill. Like all your other skills. Now, get out."

Standing in the corridor beyond Snape's office, Harry blinks and looks at the wall. He almost expects a snake to appear and invite him into the secret quarters of Salazar Slytherin or something like that.

At this point, nothing would surprise him.

But he does feel a slight, smug smile pull on his lips as he remembers how thoroughly he confounded Snape. Without even a Confundus Charm! And got help from him. Which is something that Harry doesn't believe a student outside Slytherin has ever received.

It all makes him almost swagger as he walks down the corridor. But then he remembers his time of neglected practice, and turns towards the classroom where he always works.

Help with Potions will be appreciated, but he really wants to get this particular spell right.