Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and those to whom she has licensed her creations, including without limitation Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I make no money from this and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N:Great thanks to separatrix and snottygrrl for their fantastic beta skills and wonderful cheerleading.
"Morning, Potter," Blaise drawled as he turned on the shower next to Harry's and went about his business.
Harry grimaced and shuffled as far away from Blaise as he could. His first week at Wolsford had been a fast education in living in very close quarters with other fifteen year-old boys. He had been mortified when he learned that only the prefects and head boy had private baths. Communal showers were normal, apparently. Harry, never having boarded or participated in sport and physical education, had never suffered through this particular rite of passage. It made him keenly aware of his body in a way in which he'd never really thought of it before. That, of course, made him uncomfortable, as did the way the other boys carried on boisterous conversations and borrowed each other's shampoo with the nonchalance of asking for the sugar at Tea.
"You've got Botany Colloquium this afternoon, right?" Blaise asked as he washed with lazy circles of his flannel.
"Yes," Harry said through gritted teeth as he scrubbed as quickly as possible. He'd decided that, in order to avoid the indecency of having to shower with the other boys, he'd get up at five o'clock every morning. Blaise Zabini had turned out to be an early riser as well. A chatty one at that. Bugger.
"Mind your P's and Q's in that class, Potter. Professor Snape's punishments and tongue-lashings are legendary. Keep your head down and don't call attention to yourself. The last thing you want is to be the first person called in his class. Trust me on that. I've heard stories," Blaise said with a quick glance in Harry's direction, as if to add emphasis.
Harry darted to the corner of his shower, pretending to wash his hair. While the showers were spaced far apart, and small walls that came up to Harry's waist separated each one, those small indulgences gave only the illusion of privacy. One could see everything if one were looking. Harry wasn't looking. In fact, he was taking great pains to ever avoid looking or being looked at. "Honestly, bloody expensive school can't afford private showers?" Harry muttered to himself as he washed as quickly as he could.
"What was that?" Blaise said as he bent back and peered over the wall at Harry.
Harry turned his head away. "I said, thanks for the advice."
"No problem."
Harry hoped Blaise might have been finished with his chattering, but to no avail. Just as he began to relax, Blaise started up again. "Only three more weeks to the first official cottage party. Very exclusive invitation list, you know. Of course, being my dorm mate and Draco's friend grants you an automatic spot on the list. It's always a good party, too. Lots of pretty girls from Collenton will be there," Blaise said in a sing-song voice with a waggle of his eyebrows.
"Right. Party. Thanks," Harry said, as he washed the last of the soap away, turned off the shower, and grabbed his robe. He'd never been more thankful for Mrs. Malfoy's insistence that he have a robe. "See you," he said as he gathered his things and rushed to his wardrobe cupboard.
Harry knew exactly what Blaise had been trying to convey with his waggling brows. His dorm mates had been talking non-stop about the upcoming party. Ron couldn't wait to get up with Hermione—as far as Hermione would let him go, of course. Which, if the jokes were anything close to the truth, wasn't very far. Far worse was the swaggering gait Blaise had adopted every time the subject of Collenton girls came up, which inevitably led to frank discussions between Blaise and Draco about their sexual prowess, and Ron's guilty tittering about which of the Collenton girls had grown breasts.
That teenage boys thought about such things was not news to Harry—even if he didn't think of such things or participate in such conversations. What was rather startling was that it happened at Wolsford. He'd honestly believed that graphic conversations about sex (and misinformed ones at that, Harry thought), the size and feel of girls' breasts, wanking—God, they talked incessantly about wanking—and how to tell if a girl was an easy lay were restricted to the loo at his old comprehensive school, or the backrooms of pubs populated by low class drunkards. Not so. It was disgusting, really. Didn't they have any sense of decorum? Apparently not. That Harry had nothing to contribute (other than a damned infuriating blush on just the tips of his ears that he couldn't seem to make go away) had caused him no small amount of ribbing about being uptight and ignorant of the world's pleasures. Ron and Blaise had decided it was their personal mission to acquaint Harry with all of their favorite vices. Harry didn't think it was such a good idea, but had said nothing. Draco had merely sneered in their direction and said something uncomplimentary about their choices in vices.
The stirring of his sleepy dorm mates brought Harry back to the present. Time to get ready for classes. He felt a frisson of nervous excitement as he put on his uniform. He wondered if that feeling would ever go away. He looked at the boy in the mirror. This time he didn't seem so foreign and unapproachable.
Draco strolled through the halls of Wolsford as if they were part of his fiefdom and all the other boys scurrying about worked his lands. He turned to Harry, whom he was ferreting to his next class, and reminded him that he he'd be waiting for him at the end of class to walk him to dinner.
"Draco, I told you I don't need an escort to every bloody class."
"You nearly got lost on the way to Literature the other day and those older boys would have sent you to the North Tower for History had I not been there and you'd listened to them. You're already on edge today. I'm just trying to do what I can to make it bit easier on you. It's a bloody castle, Harry—easy to get lost."
"I'm not on edge."
"Of everything I've just said, that's what you focus on?"
Harry scrubbed his eyes and stopped walking. He was tired and overwhelmed and cranky and was dreading the Botany Colloquium. He didn't much care what his other professors thought of him, but Professor Snape was altogether different. "All right. So I'm a bit on edge," he conceded. He slumped against the wall and bit his lip.
Draco rolled his eyes and leaned next to him, knocking Harry with his shoulder to get his attention. "You've nothing to worry about. You've survived Literature, Maths, Biology, Latin, and History—I can't believe they brought Boring Old Binns back, by the way—and a visit with the barmy headmaster on Monday. You've been measured and analyzed and tested in every class and you've survived unscathed."
Harry went a bit pale at that. "What do you mean, 'measured and analyzed and tested?'"
"Again, Harry, focusing on the wrong things. What's important is that you're about to go into the one class, the one place, where you know you'll excel and where you've got the professor in your corner. Relax and go play with your plants."
"I don't play with the plants, Draco."
"Focus. Wrong thing. Again."
Harry snorted. "Thanks," he said.
"Anytime. Now, off you go. After dinner I thought we could start working on revising for Literature."
Harry bit his lip. "Um. I sort of said I'd study for Biology with a few of the others in the Main Library after dinner."
Draco's smile in response was as stiff and tense as his shoulders. "Of course. Afterwards, then."
"Uh, sure. We . . . we might be going late . . ." Harry trailed off.
Something flickered in Draco's eyes, something that Harry couldn't grasp in the split-second it lingered. "No problem," Draco said with perfect, cold politeness as he smoothed his trousers. "I should start helping Blaise coordinate the invitation list for the party, anyway."
"About that. I was thinking about not going. I'll never get through all my assignments in time and we have that comparative paper due in Literature right after. And what if we get caught? I really don't want to be expelled after only being here a few weeks. So, yeah, I don't think I'm going."
"You can't be serious," Draco gasped, his demeanor changing. "Look, Harry, the party is during an official school holiday. Blaise's brother is going to take you, me, and Blaise for the weekend. There's no 'sneaking' to worry about. Besides, you can't miss this party."
"I'm not much of a party person. Haven't been to too many, you know."
"You've been to my parties."
Harry let loose a short bark of laughter. "Yeah, when we each turned eleven. Somehow I doubt this party is of the cake and punch variety."
"Oh, there'll be punch there," Draco said with a waggle of his eyebrows.
Harry studied him for a long moment. "Do you take a class in that?"
"Class in what?"
"Malicious eyebrow waggling. It seems as though whenever any of you want to make suggestive innuendo or discuss clandestine plans, you waggle your eyebrows. How do you do that? Anyway, don't you think the professors notice? All of that unnatural eyebrow movement is sure to catch someone's attention."
Draco's face went from pale to bright red to pale again, all while his jaw worked up and down like a landed fish. "Look here, Potter," he began, but stopped at Harry's chuckle. "So you think you're funny, do you? Just for that, I won't mention that I talked with the gamekeeper, Mr. Hagrid, about teaching you to ride outside of classes, or that he said yes, or that he said he might consider letting you ride Buckbeak someday," Draco said as he turned on his heel and started walking away.
"Draco, wait!"
Draco turned, his face smug and dismissive. "Yes? Oh, I'm sorry, I do hope my eyebrows didn't waggle. I know how much that offends you."
"Stop being a prat, look, did you really ask? Did he really say yes?" Harry questioned in a breathless rush.
Draco smiled. "Course. Told you I'd convince him, didn't I? We'll start next week—see how you do with one of the older mares first. Assuming you can tear yourself away from your study dates."
"Brilliant," Harry said, not noticing the bitterness in Draco's voice about Harry's "study dates." Bells chimed in the distance and several students rushed by. "That would be my cue, I think. See you," he said as he waved goodbye and scurried into the classroom.
"See you," Draco said to Harry's back, feeling unsettled about something, but unable to understand what it was.
The first thing Harry noticed was that, including him, there were only about twelve students in the Colloquium class. The next thing he noticed was that ten of those students were upper years, leaving him and a milquetoast chap named Neville Longbottom, also in Harry's year. Neville looked as much a fright in this class as he had in Literature, where he'd dropped his books and his sent his journals and pens flying just trying to make it into class. Harry had started to stand to help him, but stopped when Draco and Blaise sneered and made a joke about "Nervous Neville's" clumsiness. Seeing Neville now—just as unsure and unconfident as before—Harry regretted that decision and decided to rectify it.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" Harry asked Neville, who started with such alarm at being spoken to that he sent his dissection kit to the floor and nearly fell off his stool. Harry grimaced at the titter of laughter behind him. This—this sense of superiority, of disdain from the other students—was what he'd been expecting all along, only he'd expected that it would be directed at him. That it was directed at someone else, and that Harry had a decision to make about how he dealt with it, was a surprising quandary in which to find himself. If he'd been back at his comprehensive school, Harry would have laughed along with the other students, said something smart, and found somewhere else to sit. Little Whinging had been about survival and surviving meant keeping his head down and staying out of notice as much as possible. But he wasn't in Little Whinging anymore. He refused to let his new life be dictated by the same rules.
"May I?" Harry asked again, when Neville remained wide-eyed and silent.
"Course," Neville stammered.
"Thanks. Er, I'm Harry Potter, by the way," he said as sat and stuck out his hand.
Neville looked afraid for a moment before thrusting his own hand forward and shaking Harry's with far too much enthusiasm. His beaming smile made Harry feel a bit sad. "Pleasure to meet you, Harry. I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom."
Harry didn't get a chance to say anything else, because at the moment the door at the back of the room flew open with the bang. The snap and swish of heavy robes sounding in time with sureness of step cut through the air, preceding Professor Snape like a band of maudlin heralds.
"Stop your chattering and sit straight, eyes ahead," Professor Snape commanded as he strode through the class and up to the front. He turned with knife-like precision before unfolding his long-fingered hands and splaying them across the podium. The room was silent.
"I am Professor Severus Snape. Each of you is here because you have displayed some interest in botany and some modicum of ability in the area of biological sciences. We have far too much material to cover in this course, which means you will work very hard in this class and you will have too much work to do and not enough time to do it. I suspect you will think me horribly unfair in my assignments and my grading. I do not mollycoddle, so do not expect gold stars," Professor Snape said with a sneer.
There was a short snigger of laughter that Professor Snape let go. Harry wondered why, but then Neville whispered that another professor used to favor handing out gold stars and had been sacked for low academic standards.
"I demand that you give me your very best," Professor Snape continued, putting an end to the soft sniggers and chattering. "If I do not believe that you are working to your full potential, I reserve the right to turn you out. Look around the room, gentlemen. Some of you will be leaving Wolsford at the end of the year and others will be sitting exams before moving on to A Levels. You may be in different years, but in this class you will be treated the same. I make no exceptions. You will all be held to the same rigorous standards. Some of you will fail to meet those standards, but a select few will exceed them. Those few will be my research assistants for this year's project. If this is too much for you, leave. Now."
Harry was tempted to leave. What he'd thought would be an easy time—well, easier than his other courses—had become a nightmare. His hands crept to his satchel, but before he could grab the shoulder strap proper, Professor Snape's glare rested on him and said wordlessly, "Don't you dare." Harry stared back dumbly as he hands uncurled and moved back to his lap.
"Very well," Professor Snape said as no other students made an attempt to leave. He folded his arms within the voluminous sleeves of his robes. He stepped away from the podium. "It is very few students who are permitted to study the noble, subtle art of Botany. I can teach you to create things you thought unimaginable—flowers so beautiful and with perfume so potent they ensnare and bewitch; plants so prodigious that they seem to multiply and divide in front of your very eyes; hybrids so rare that you'll swear they are otherworldly. Before we can accomplish those things, however, there is the matter of the basics."
Professor Snape flew back to his podium and ran his right index finger down a page. "Mr. Potter," he barked, "What is the purpose of botanical name classification?"
Harry felt like he'd been struck by lightning. Blaise's words from earlier that morning came back to him and sounded like a clamoring bell inside his head. He couldn't believe that Professor Snape had called on him. Why was he doing this? To him? Didn't he know how nervous he was? Was he really that cruel?
"Mr. Potter, we are waiting," Professor Snape said, still studying the sheaves of paper on his podium, as if he couldn't be bothered to look at Harry.
Harry blushed in embarrassment as several of the older students laughed. His hands, however, curled in anger. He would not be made a fool of. He was furious with Professor Snape. "To provide a neutral classification of flora and fauna free from cultural and locality based identifiers," Harry barked, not caring a whit that he sounded belligerent.
"That is correct," Professor Snape said, still without looking up. "An example, please--Cirsium lecontei, perhaps. Define, Mr. Potter."
Harry's eyes widened in surprise. His mouth flopped open a bit and his hands uncurled before he grabbed hold of himself. Harry didn't pay attention to the furious whispering sweeping behind him or the choked sounds coming from Neville. Professor Snape wasn't being cruel at all—he was being uncharacteristically kind.
"Thistle, sir. Cirsium descends from the Greek kirsion, which means thistle. Lecontei refers to LeConte—the botanist credited with discovering this particular species of thistle."
"Its physical attributes, Mr. Potter."
More furious whispering and choking sounds followed. "Pink blossoms, sir, and a nasty barb."
"Why not then, Mr. Potter, just call it pink thistle with a nasty barb?"
A smattering of laughter broke out. Harry smirked as well, but for different reasons—reasons no one else in the room would understand unless they had met Professor Snape as an inquisitive eight-year-old boy. "Because there are a great number of species and varieties of pink thistle, sir, but there is only one Cirsium lecontei."
"Precisely. Tell me, Mr. Potter, why is that important."
Harry bit his lip and tried to think of an answer. Professor Snape had stopped tossing out the easy questions. It was up to Harry to puzzle this one out. "Each species of plant has its own peculiarities. Even though, at first glance, two kinds of pink thistle look alike, they are rather different biologically. It's important to understand plant classification so that you always know what you're working with. For instance, in hybridization work, not knowing which pink thistle you're working with could be disastrous."
The room was silent as Harry finished. Professor Snape's stare bore into him. Even the air dared not move. Harry resisted the urge to bolt from the room.
His eyes never leaving Harry's, Professor Snape growled, "Why aren't the rest of you writing this down?"
In the next instant, there was an explosion of sound as Harry's classmates scrambled for their satchels, muttering excitedly under their breaths the whole time. Harry heard the crack of new journal spines all around him and the sounds of pens and pencils scraping across the fine linen pages. Seconds later, Professor Snape launched into his lecture, which had Harry scrambling for his own satchel and journal.
"A word, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape said as he finished his lecture and dismissed the class.
Harry nodded and set about gathering his things.
"You know a lot," Neville said, as he swept his things into his bag in one big jumble.
Harry shrugged. "I like plants," he said softly.
Neville nodded. "Me too. About the only thing I'm good in actually."
Harry smiled, feeling a bit of empathy for Neville.
"Perhaps . . . well, I mean, . . . I was thinking . . .the workload seems brutal, I thought maybe you might--" but Neville didn't get a chance to finish. An older boy approached them, stood in front of Neville, and stuck out his hand to Harry.
"Potter, I'm Thomas Wright. This is Dennis Coatfield and Jason DuPrez," he said as two older boys joined them. "We've talked it over and have decided that you should be in our study group. Tuesdays and Thursdays, Main Library, eight o'clock."
Harry looked over the older boys warily. He shook the proffered hand while he thought what he should do. From his peripheral vision, he could see Neville deflate a bit. It was obvious he'd been about to ask Harry to be his study partner. Harry had already learned that study groups were essential at Wolsford and their formation had as much to do with social standing as intelligence. They formed quickly and were jealously guarded. Harry, of course, didn't give a toss about the political nonsense that accompanied these groups.
"Er, thanks," Harry said, glancing at Neville's slumped posture and his ill-disguised frown. "I'm sure Neville would love to join up as well, wouldn't you Neville?"
"M-m-me?" Neville squeaked. "I-I-I . . . Me?" he repeated, though no one was paying attention.
Thomas snorted. "Nervous Neville? Are you joking?" he sneered, while the other boys sniggered.
"No, I'm not," Harry said, furious that these boys thought themselves Neville's betters. "Guess it's just you and me, Neville," Harry said as he turned away and packed his things.
Thomas sputtered and turned a fantastic shade of purple. "Look here, Potter," he began, while Neville dropped his satchel in surprise and stammered, "Me?" again.
Harry turned and fixed Thomas with a glare—the glare he'd reserved for teachers that asked too many questions or other kids who'd tried to have a go at Harry at his old school.
Thomas backed down. "Look, Potter. We don't normally even bother with younger years, but you clearly know your stuff and you've impressed Snape—a damned impossible feat. We've nothing against your . . . uh . . . friend, here. We just don't have time to waste. Surely you can understand that?"
"Neville's quite good with plants, otherwise he wouldn't be here. A study group sounds brilliant, only I'm studying with Neville. Main library. Mondays and Wednesdays. Seven-thirty." Harry glanced at Neville, who nodded jerkily in confirmation, his face flushed with embarrassment or happiness—Harry didn't know which. He turned his attention back to Thomas. "You're welcome to join us," he said with a shrug before turning and making his way to the front of the room. "See you," he called over this shoulder to Neville, who sputtered something back, before Thomas started grilling him about what he knew about botanical name classification.
"Impressive, Mr. Potter," Severus said as Harry made his way to the front of the class.
Harry flushed. "Well, you made it a bit easy on me," he mumbled.
"Not what I was referring to," Severus said while glancing at Neville and Thomas, who now seemed in the thick of a theoretical discussion as they wandered from the class.
Harry twisted around to see what Professor Snape was looking at, and ducked his head as Neville and Thomas shook hands and went their way.
"How are your classes?"
"Er, fine," Harry said as he turned back, surprised by the question.
"If you experience any issues, please know that you can always come to me."
Harry nodded.
"How is the dormitory experience thus far?"
Harry flushed and looked down at his feet. He cleared his throat. "Erm, it's not quite what I'm used to," he said.
There was a long pause before Severus spoke again. "Most of these boys you're living with have been boarding for a long time. They have no sense of modesty, as you might have guessed."
Harry bit his lip and kept his head down. He nodded. "Yeah, I'm beginning to get that sense. They're rather, uh, nervy," he said, remembering what he'd heard two nights prior. How Ron had possibly thought velvet bed hangings would keep his wanking private, Harry didn't know.
"What's happened? Have the boys been harassing you? Is there something that needs to be handled?"
"No, sir. Nothing like that," Harry said hastily. "It's just--" he looked away and tightened his grip on the shoulder strap. "I just thought it might be different, is all. I mean, I thought we'd talk about philosophy and things. Instead . . ." Harry hesitated.
Severus chuckled. "Instead, your dorm mates are more interested in discussing girls and parties."
Harry's eyebrows shot to his hairline, as if to ask, 'how could you possibly know that?'
Severus chucked again. "I was a young man once too, you know."
"I didn't mean to imply . . . I mean . . . I just—I just never really gave much thought to those kinds of things," Harry sputtered, finishing with a whisper.
"No, I suppose you had more pressing things on your mind. Now you can think of such frivolities, and you should, Harry. There is much about adolescence that is quite enjoyable."
Harry's face burned with embarrassment. This was not the kind of conversation he wanted to have with Professor Snape—or anyone, for that matter.
"I understand you're considering learning to ride," Severus said, changing the subject once again.
"Ride, sir?"
"Yes. Ride. Horses, I believe they're called."
Harry scowled and resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. "Yes, Draco's decided to teach me. I've always wanted to ride a horse. It will be brilliant, I think. Draco says that he thinks I'll be a natural, though I'm not sure how you can tell a thing like that. He says he thinks I'll have a good seat, what ever that means."
"Draco seems to have given this a lot of thought," Severus said. His tone was a bit hesitant, but Harry didn't notice.
"I think he has. He's already organized a schedule, I think, though he's not shown it to me. He thinks eventually I'll be able to ride Buckbeak."
"That vicious beast? I think not," Severus scoffed, already thinking that a visit to and few words with Hagrid were in order.
"He likes me!" Harry defied. "And I'm not some delicate china doll, you know."
Severus's mouth quirked at the edges. Harry went to great lengths to prove how "tough" he was. "Be that as it may, that horse is dangerous. It takes an especially gifted rider to handle him. I simply want you to be careful. And as for being a china doll, you do not have to fear proving your toughness to me. I expect far too much of you to ever think you delicate."
Harry grimaced. "I . . . sorry, sir," he whispered.
Severus nodded. "Along those lines, there are some things we should discuss. I know what you are capable of, Harry, which puts you a great disadvantage. I will demand more from you than any other student, and not just in this class. I plan to follow up with all of your professors on a regular basis, as I doubt seriously the Dursleys will do so. I tell you this now so that you understand what is expected of you."
Harry nodded. Part of him chaffed at the idea of being minded like a small child, but the larger part of him felt ridiculously pleased that someone like Professor Snape would take such an interest in him. "I'll do my best, sir. I swear it."
"Good." Severus hesitated for a second, as if deciding what topic to address next. "I assume you have made the cut for Mr. Zabini's cottage party?"
The question came out of nowhere and Harry, never good at diffusing Professor Snape's sideways attacks, stuttered and stammered before finally blurting, "You know about that?"
"Of course I do. All the professors do. And we've all taken the older students aside and made it very clear what the consequences would be for them should anything happen to younger students like you."
"But . . . but . . . there are . . . things and, and . . . yeah . . . uh . . . things that—that happen at these parties, or so I've been told," Harry added hastily.
Severus drew himself to his full height and stared down at Harry. "Do you believe, Mr. Potter, that your generation is the first to conceive of the idea of having illicit parties on holiday weekends?"
"I—I—I--"
"Attending a party is not license to make a fool of yourself. I ask that you act in a responsible manner befitting a young man from Wolsford. You are neither hooligan nor beast. If I find out that you have acted foolishly, recklessly, or in any way that is a danger to your well-being, I will personally see to your punishment. Am I clear?"
Harry could only nod in response.
"Good."
"Erm, I better go. I think Draco's waiting in the hall for me."
"Is he," Severus said. It was a statement, not a question.
"Yeah. He's taken it in his head that I need an official escort to all of my classes for the first week or so. He can be rather odd at times," Harry said with a chuckle.
Severus narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips into a fine line.
Misunderstanding the reason behind Professor Snape's narrowed gaze, Harry prattled on, hoping to clarify what he meant. "I don't mean odd, odd, just, er, odd. I guess I'm just not used to having someone show me around and stuff," Harry babbled, trying to loosen the grim line Professor Snape's mouth made. "Though, that's not strictly true. I mean, when we were kids at Bennington-Bright, Draco, uh, well, you know, he looked out for me. I guess it's no different here. I mean, he's made all sorts of introductions for me. And we've got that Smythwick dinner this weekend. Draco's been giving me pointers about everyone who's going to be there, the kinds of questions to ask, and things like that. He says that it's important to make the right acquaintances and impressions. Sort of like what you said earlier, only Draco said it differently. And, well, yeah . . ." Harry said, trailing off and feeling rather unsuccessful as Professor's Snape's gaze was still narrow, his mouth still compressed into that same grim line.
"I seem to recall a brazen young boy that made it perfectly clear to Draco Malfoy that he was not a thing to be dragged about," Severus said at long last.
"What? What do you mean? It's not like that," Harry said.
"Isn't it?"
"No. Draco's trying to help me. Not make me some sort of plaything."
Severus sighed. "I'm sure Draco has the best intentions, but I think it would be wise for you to make your own friends, on your own terms, much like you did with Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Wright. Don't let Draco dictate every moment of your day. I know all of this is rather overwhelming and it's easier to rely on someone who knows the state of things. But you're stronger than that. You can do this on your own."
Harry pulled the shoulder strap of his satchel closer. "I know that," he said with a sniff, wondering if, in fact, he'd been letting Draco take over because it was easier than doing it himself.
"See that you remember it," Severus said. "Off you go, Harry. Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all."
Harry nodded and left, closing the door behind him with a soft snick.
When the door had closed, Severus sat heavily in his chair. He didn't like the way Draco was shepherding Harry around the school as if he were a prize possession—not at all. But, truth be told, Severus had his suspicions about the true reasons behind Draco's behavior. He doubted Draco knew himself why he was acting the way he did. Severus knew for a fact that Harry hadn't any idea. Severus thought that, if forced, Draco would posit some vague excuse about Harry's traumatic past and the tie of their childhood friendship as the reason for his hovering protectiveness. While plausible, Severus doubted that was all of it. Draco was quite taken with Harry. It was obvious to those who cared to look. But what did that mean, exactly? What would Draco do when he realized that? Worse still, what would Draco do out of frustration because he didn't understand?