Disclaimer: Don't I wish. J.K.owns 'em.

Authors Notes: Thanks for your continued support. I love reading what you folks have to say.

excessivelyperky rocks! Thanks so much for your edits and insight.

Enjoy

Chapter 23

Battle Scars

After speaking to Draco, Snape decided the first stage of his plan was coming together nicely. He felt an odd mix of relief and chagrin over having been recognized by Minerva, while he posed as Potter in polyjuice. She'd never let him live it down, if she ever came to give two Knuts about him again. But at least she hadn't hexed him, and had agreed to allow him to proceed. Snape's next stop, before heading back to the beach house, was Hogwart's kitchens to speak with Dobby. Snape had first thought of using the elf to help train Potter when he saw the little creatures fighting at the Burrow. Elves were not generally allowed to use their magic against wizards. However, anyone who wasn't too busy espousing their inferiority realized they had incredible magical skill and power at their disposal. The little creatures had brought that skill to bear with amazing results against the Death Eaters at the Weasley wedding.

Wizards had never thought to learn from elves as far as Snape knew. But the unorthodox nature of Potter's self-training thus far, and the fact that he had taught himself spells that were thought to be impossible, made Snape think it was worth exploring. And if they could create a group of similarly trained students, the Dark Lord and his followers would never know what hit them. Albus had been pleased with the idea. Of course it would be good to have Dobby around the beach house for household chores as well. Snape would have the little creature procure supplies before he joined them. Perhaps then Potter will feel it unnecessary to continue his life of crime, Snape thought with amusement. The boy's look of horrified embarrassment after being hauled home by Robert O'Brien had been quite priceless. The young man's face was so expressive. This was something they would need to work on as well, Snape knew. Sometimes Legillimency was barely needed when Potter was such an open book.

Potter's expressive countenance led Snape to consider the boy's reaction of hurt betrayal earlier. The boy had donned the expression like a rumpled cloak when the older wizard assigned the essay as punishment for his treatment of Filch. Potter's reaction irritated Snape somewhat. He had certainly been much harder on the younger wizard many times. Snape had studiously avoided calling Potter 'arrogant Gryffindor', 'idiot boy', or any of his old favorites. Maybe that was the problem, Snape mused facetiously; perhaps the boy missed the affectionate pet names. Even in jest, Snape wondered at his ability to use the word affectionate and Potter it the same sentence. It was not nearly so vile or repugnant as it should have been. The phenomenon was no doubt related to the Occlumency pathway. He knew it had created a bond between he and Potter, which was always the case. Snape had felt the soul link spasm pathetically as he had chastised the younger wizard regarding his actions.

Snape found himself hoping Potter would just complete the essay and put aside what had upset him. He knew it wasn't the essay itself that had caused Potter's stress. Being confined to his room, and ordered to not show up at dinner if he didn't complete the task, had no doubt brought up painful memories of Potter's childhood. Snape knew the memories of the tiny boot cupboard and the routine starvation from previous Occlumency attempts with the boy. Although he did mean Potter to stay in the room, he never thought of locking him in. Snape confined his Slytherins to their dorm rooms regularly in lieu taking points or assigning detentions. He never locked them in; he just expected to be obeyed. His Slytherins were a fairly obedient lot, and he had devised a few clever charms for those who weren't so much, and strayed much farther than the dungeon toilets while on restriction. He generally considered their having to go to Pomfrey to remove the puss-filled boils from their backsides additional punishment enough. Errant Slytherins soon learned to be more attentive to their Housemaster's instructions. As far as he knew his snakes never took it personally. They seemed to adore Severus and they were certainly the only students at Hogwarts who did.

Potter's panic about whether or not he would be locked in his room was nearly comedic. And the Potions Master could not help tormenting the brat a bit by stating dramatically that he should leave his door open. Snape had enjoyed his reaction thoroughly after the boy had such a good laugh at his expense regarding Fawkes. He did hope Potter would spend the morning in the fruitful pursuit of completing his essay rather than fretting about whether he was to be starved. Again this was something Severus would never dream of doing, having far too much experience with the practice from his own upbringing. However, that did not stop him from having a bit more fun at Potter's expense regarding the boy's fear. Snape mulled over the possibilities as he prepared to tickle the pear on the painting that would allow him entrance into Hogwarts kitchens.

Snape took a moment to return to his own form. He had used the quick brewed polyjuice that he kept on hand at his lab at the beach house, and only needed to think of something distressing to cancel the effect. A chilling thought of the two hours he had recently spent under the Dark Lord's wand did the trick. For a moment he imagined he felt a brief ghost of the Cruciatus. The Potions Master shivered. Thankfully the curse had been intermittent. The Dark Lord's magic had still been slightly weakened from the loss of Nagini's Horcrux, and he had diminished the potency further by trying to possess Potter while casting the curse. The effect had grown weaker as time progressed. However, Snape doubted that would stop him from having nightmares about the experience. Potter's potions had kept them at bay last night. Thus far Snape had gotten away with never having to cast that particular curse. It was certainly was one of Dark Lord's favorites, he thought wryly as he transfigured his clothing.

"Dobby only needs to pack, Master Severus," the elf squeaked in joyful enthusiasm, when Snape told him of his plans. "He has hats and socks and his Wheezy jumper," Dobby announced proudly as he snapped his fingers and disappeared.

The tiny elf reappeared a few moments later wearing every article of clothing he owned. Severus had to stifle a smirk. He always had enjoyed the eccentricity of house elves. Dobby had been an odd piece of work even when he had been bound to Lucius.

Upon returning to the beach house, Severus was pleased to find Potter hard at work in his room. He had two books opened in front of him and he seemed to have written a substantial amount. Snape gave Dobby strict instructions that the younger wizard was not to be disturbed, as the elf bounced up and down excitedly explaining to Potter that he would be staying with them. Dobby tried to wheedle his way into a longer visit. He whined that he only wanted to say hello to Harry Potter.

"Dobby can keep Harry Potter company," he offered with a plaintive little squeak.

Snape told Dobby Potter had work to do. He finally ordered the elf to go, resorting to his most dangerous tone, only to have the creature continue to beg like an annoying little first year. Snape's tone would have reduced any first year to quailing obedience. As it was, Potter had the good sense to smother his laugh in a cough as he bent his head back over his parchment. The tone did nothing to dampen Dobby's enthusiasm about seeing the wonderful Harry Potter.

"Well I'm not sure how to handle it if you don't obey me, Dobby," Snape stated reasonably. "What would Lucius do in this situation?" he mused silkily, looking pointedly at the elf.

Dobby's ears flapped forward dramatically, and the elf managed to look hurt as he scampered out of the room with a distressed little squeak. Snape felt a bit guilty. They both knew very well what Lucius Malfoy would do. But Severus doubted he'd ever have the heart to put his boot to a house elf's backside. Potter he had no qualms about.

"Back to work," he ordered the younger wizard with a snarl.

"Yes sir," the young man agreed in a tone that was far too amused for Snape's liking.

He cast around for a way to adjust the lad's attitude.

"This book will assist you how?" Snape demanded snidely as his eyes lighted on, A Healers Guide to Medicinal Magic . A sleeping Fawkes was still perched on the pile of books nearby.

"Oh," Harry began, a trifle unsure. "That one just looked a bit interesting. I borrowed it to read later when I'm done. If that's all right?" The boy finished uncertainly.

"Who would have predicted this latent interest in potions, Potter?" Snape purred sarcastically. "Certainly not I. However, I do admire your confidence in your ability to complete your assignment with time to spare." Snape paused to allow this to sink in. "Dinner is at five. Perhaps I will see you there?" Snape said casually. "How many feet have you completed?

"Um," Harry began, looking down. "Foot and a half..."

"Hmm," Snape glanced at the clock on the mantel. "Perhaps not," the Potions Master adopted a falsely unhappy tone. He was rewarded with the boy's petulant glare and a distraught little spasm of the Occlumency link as he swept from the room.

888

Git, Harry thought, as he took up his quill. He'd actually accomplished a lot in the hour or so Snape had been gone. It's just dinner, Harry consoled himself. One meal certainly won't kill me, he reasoned, copying a quote from the Unforgivables text and noting the page number in his essay. Snape's treatment was nothing compared to life at the Dursleys. And Harry still had a chance to finish the essay on time if he focused.

By 4:45 Harry was one foot short and knew he wasn't going to make it. Neither did he want to rush because he was quite pleased with how the essay was turning out. Besides that, Snape might make him rewrite it or something if it was cobbled together at the end. He had just completed the section on his treatment of Filch. It had been difficult writing about it until he distanced himself from the incident and discussed it like something he had heard about. He had no trouble explaining how his actions constituted ordinary darkness, and was surprised to realize that using the Obliviate was actually the smallest part of that. It was a bit more of a stretch deciding how his behavior would impede him in his battle against Voldemort. Harry finally reasoned that Voldemort could better control wizards that were similar to him. The only way to defeat him would be to aspire to be everything he was not. That felt a bit melodramatic to Harry, but it was all he could come up with, and he was beginning to tire from the task of writing.

Before moving on to his conclusion, Harry discussed whether some Dark curses were worse than others, or if all spells that were deemed dark magic were evil. Harry opined that it depended on the motivation. He detailed positive uses for several dark spells, and included the spell he was being punished for using. He discussed how an Obliviate could be used as a healing spell for someone whose painful memories were not allowing them to function properly. He even surmised that a Killing Curse could be used to end someone's suffering, and an Imperio could be used to stop someone from doing evil.

One curse that he could not come up with a positive use for, however, was the Cruciatus. Its sole function was to torture someone. Harry pitched his mind back to the night he had tried to cast the curse on Bellatrx Lestrange on the night Sirius died in the Department of Mysteries.

"You've got to mean it, boy," the ugly witch had spat, as she laughed menacingly from her position on the dais where Sirius had just fallen through the veil.

Harry had wondered earlier if Snape had heard about his use of the curse. He realized now the Potions Master had not, or it would have certainly been part of the morning's discussion. It came up in Harry's dream after the Filch incident. But Snape probably assumed most of the dream memory was fiction. Harry wondered what his punishment would have been if Snape had seen the memory of the Cruciatus as well. Knowing Snape he would have probably used the curse on me to demonstrate how wrong it was, and he would definitely have assigned a much longer essay, Harry thought with rueful humor.

Harry decided the best way to deal with the Cruciatus was to come clean. He didn't want to worry about trying to hide the memory from Snape during Occlumency. The easiest way to come clean was to write about it in the essay. It might also keep Snape from assigning a second essay, he thought shrewdly. Harry started with some information from the text on Unforgivables. It stated that casting the Cruciatus actually made the caster crave its use. The more you tortured, the more bloodthirsty you became. Harry was able to support this theory with the discussion of magical receptors from Of Ordinary Darkness. Then, as though he was detailing information from an historical text, Harry used the date of the incident at the DOM, and the name of the wizard, Harry Potter, who attempted to cast a Cruciatus without success. Harry quoted Lestrange as though she had been interviewed for the text. He forced himself to look back dispassionately on what his intention had been when he attempted to cast the curse. Harry refused to get caught up in the shame of his actions, or the pain of losing Sirius. That scab would still bleed if he picked it. After thinking on it for a bit, Harry realized that in casting the Cruciatus he had wanted to see Lestrange dead. That had been his intention. The realization was simple yet a bit mind blowing. He wondered if the outcome would have been different if he had cast an Avada Kedavra.

Continuing the essay, he argued that the spell may have been successful if spell and intention had been matched. He discussed what effect attempting the curse, and having the intention, would have on a wizard's magical receptors. Harry argued that the intention to kill would be less damaging than the intention to torture. He used Dumbledore and Voldemort's argument that day at the Ministry to support his claim. Voldemort had said there was nothing worse than death as he battled Dumbledore and possessed Harry on that horrible day.

"On the contrary," Dumbledore had replied, in his cool unruffled way. "One of your biggest failings, Tom, is your failure to realize there are many things far worse than death."

Harry wondered for a moment about Voldemort's attempt to get Dumbledore to kill Harry's body in the Ministry Atrium. Was there something about Harry that made Voldemort fear killing him directly? Had he needed to trick Dumbledore into doing evil before he could hurt the older wizard? Harry speculated about this as well in the essay. He then started to loop it back for his conclusion. He discussed how having intentions to use a Cruciatus or a similar curse might hinder someone in taking down Voldemort. It would give the dark wizard more leverage, Harry decided, because the caster would be to focused on hate or revenge. They would not have control of their emotions.

"Done?" Snape's silky voice, startled Harry, when the older wizard entered his room at precisely five o'clock.

"Six inches yet?" Harry offered hopefully, frowning at the mantel clock.

Snape merely inclined an eyebrow and left. Harry stared at the open doorway for a few moments after the man had gone.

Screw Snape, Harry thought dispiritedly. I'm sixteen; I can ruddy well feed myself. I'll nick something from the kitchen as soon as he goes to bed. He was sure Dobby had stocked the kitchen. Harry considered the elf with a grin. That's it, Harry decided brightly. He would get Dobby to bring him something to eat just as soon as Snape was off to bed. Forty-five minutes later, he finished the essay at just over five and a half feet. It was six inches longer than Snape had assigned. The work was actually quite a bit better than what Harry normally turned in on regular assignments. Just as Harry put down his quill and began rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses, Dobby appeared with a delicious steaming dinner tray as if in answer to his decision to have the elf sneak him some food. The boy looked frantically at the door.

"No, Dobby," he hissed, a bit panicked "Take it away. You'll get us both in trouble."

"But it is dinner, Harry Potter, sir," the tiny elf squeaked happily. And loudly, Harry noted, casting another glance at his bedroom door as the elf gleefully uncovered the platters.

"I do appreciate it, Dobby," Harry said in a whisper that was both placating and desperate. "But you have to take it away. Please." The elf had the most amazing talent for getting him in trouble. Harry thought wildly of a huge pudding exploding over a man's head, and later a purple faced Uncle Vernon dragging Harry up to his room for a hiding. "Get rid of it, Dobby," Harry squeaked, sounding a bit like a house elf himself. Reluctantly the little creature complied.

Harry was just breathing a sigh of relief and beginning to work the kinks out of his neck, when Snape's distinctive bellow caused him to wince.

"Shite," Harry swore.

"Potter, get out here this instant," the man ordered from what sounded like the front room.

Snape stood near the dinning room table. His arms were crossed and he looked angry when Harry entered. Dobby cringed nearby, dinner tray in hand. Before Harry could deny that he had sent for the elf, Snape was speaking again.

"I will not stand for this sort of childish behavior, Potter!" Snape declared.

Harry cast a look at Dobby. How could he phrase his denial in such way that it wouldn't get the elf in trouble? Snape was talking again before the young man could form a response.

"I will not have you spending your time sulking, is that clear?" The older wizard questioned. Rhetorically, apparently because he still didn't give Harry an opportunity to speak. "You can't just waste good food because you wish to behave like a spoiled brat."

Harry took a moment to try to make sense of the man's last words. Spoiled brat he understood of course; he'd heard it many times.

How the heck was I wasting food?

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked in confusion.

"I sent Dobby to your room with your dinner tray and instead of eating, you are apparently opting to sulk." Snape accused darkly. "Perhaps I will set you to writing lines after dinner. I must not behave like a petulant, sullen Gryffindor. 100 times.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry asked in angry incredulity. "You said I couldn't have dinner unless I was done with that bloody essay."

"Language, Potter," Snape warned. "I said you were not to come to dinner," Snape sneered as though Harry was a tad dimwitted. "That is why I sent Dobby to your room with your tray."

"You sent Dobby..." Harry sounded a bit dim to his own ears now.

"Never mind," Snape said impatiently. "Dobby, leave the food here. I shall see to it the boy eats, " he continued as the elf complied. "Potter, go to your room and fetch your essay," Snape ordered.

888

That was thoroughly enjoyable, Snape thought, as he watched the boy's retreating form. Bloody serves him right, I notice he's not laughing now. The Potions Master sat down and smirked amiably at Dobby.

"Master is not angry?" the elf asked curiously, arranging Harry's place.

"Certainly not, Dobby," Snape denied, in a falsely shocked tone. "I only mean to see to it the boy eats properly."

"Master is taking care of Harry Potter, sir?" the elf was almost tearful with joy.

Snape stopped himself from sneering.

"Of course, Dobby. Of course. We both will." Snape said soothingly."

"Master is good Master." Dobby squeaked happily.

"Honestly, Potter," Snape said when the boy returned and proffered the roll of parchment. "Did you think I meant to starve you like those idiot Muggles who raised you?"

Harry treated the man to a look of such pure uncensored loathing that the Potions Master actually shrank back from it. Snape realized with a start that it had been a while since the boy had graced him with such a look. He wondered vaguely when that had stopped.

"Sit down, Potter," he said mildly, after regaining his composure.

Snape watched in fascination as the boy instead gripped the back of the chair, and his fingers whitened as they curled around the wooden frame. It was interesting how this tightening coincided with a taut pull on the Occlumency link. At the same time windows all over the beach house began to rattle alarmingly.

"First of all," Snape began mildly, "you are frightening the elf," he indicated an impossibly wide-eyed Dobby pressed into the corner. "And secondly, there is a lot of glass in this house, Potter. If you accidentally break any, it's going to be a big job cleaning it up without magic," continuing in the same mild tone.

Snape saw the young man reining in his magic with effort, although it was clear he was no less angry.

"I was raised by an idiot Muggle myself," Snape continued conversationally. "He had the unfortunate tendency to starve me when the mood struck."

He thought the boy's grip on the chair eased slightly. The stress on the link lessened marginally as well.

"I'd never consider doing that to anyone. However," the Potions Master admitted with a smirk, "I enjoyed immensely making you think I would. Much as you enjoyed my discomfort with Dobby, and earlier with Fawkes."

"Yeah," Harry began in a rough voice, though his anger had abated substantially. "They used to lock me in a boot cupboard as well. It was a riot," the young man said without humor.

"Mine thought I'd rather enjoy the attic crawl space." Snape said with a tiny shrug.

"My Uncle Vernon used to beat me with a cane," Harry reported hotly.

"Good old Tobias favored a paddle," Snape returned mildly. "And my mother...Merlin...that bitch knew a hex or two," he continued.

Harry lifted the edge of his shirt to reveal a snaky little scar on his side. It was just at the waistline. "Lamp cord," the boy announced. "Eight years old."

"Belt buckle," Snape returned, revealing a rectangular scar in approximately the same area. "Seven."

The two went on for about ten minutes trying to out do each other as they showed off their battle scars. Finally, Snape prevailed cleanly.

"I was held under the Cruciatus curse for the better part of two hours by the Dark Lord," Snape proclaimed victoriously.

Harry's mouth worked silently for a moment or two before conceding defeat.

"You win," the young man said with chagrined amusement, before pulling out his chair and settling in to eat.

"Do you wish to attend Bill Weasley's funeral?" Snape asked after the boy had taken a few bites. "It is to be held tomorrow at ten in the morning," he informed him.

Harry stilled his fork mid way to his mouth, and then returned it to his plate. He gave the mound of mashed potatoes a contemplative stir before he answered.

"I'd like to, I think," Harry admitted, still looking at his plate. "Do you think it will be all right?"

"Obviously," Snape said dryly. "Else I would not have suggested it. I will join you," he told Harry. "I'll be disguised with polyjuice of course."

"Who will you go as that won't raise suspicion?" Harry wanted to know, as he gave his potatoes another try.

"Draco Malfoy," Snape supplied in a flat tone. "I shall write him now to say he is not to attend." Snape grabbed quill, parchment and ink from a side cabinet and began writing.

"Won't it bother Draco to know you are posing as him?" Harry asked in mild alarm.

"I had not considered it," Snape said, raising a trademark snide eyebrow. "No more than it should bother you as I was disguised as Harry Potter earlier today," the man observed as he continued to write.

"You what?" Harry sputtered, barely missing spitting out his pumpkin juice.

"By the way, I spoke to Headmistress McGonagall," Snape informed the boy and summoned Fawkes. When the phoenix had disappeared with the note, Snape began to detail the morning's errands. His look dared Harry to laugh when he got to the part about McGonagall realizing who he really was.

"That might work," Harry said enthusiastically when the plan was outlined. "It's ruddy brilliant, actually," the boy admitted, as he chewed noisily.

"So glad you approve, Potter," Snape returned with snide amusement. He took up Harry's essay and made for the couch in the sitting area. Fawkes returned, and Snape read Draco's response before slipping it into his pocket.

"So that was all a joke," Harry asked, as the man stretched his long form out on the couch and settled in to read the essay. "All that stuff with Dobby and the dinner tray was just to mess with me?"

"It was," Snape agreed stretching. "As was my admonition that you should keep your door open this morning," Snape admitted with a smirk.

"Geez," Harry intoned

"I always was a fan of the realistic prank," Snape conceded. "But when the windows started to shake, I assumed you'd had enough."

"That crack about my relatives did push me close to the edge," Harry admitted. "You even threatened to make me do lines for the love of Merlin," Harry shook his head.

888

Harry watched as Snape stretched again on the couch and positioned a throw pillow behind his head as he settled in to read the essay. The young man wondered vaguely if any of his other run-ins with Snape over the years were jokes gone wrong. He finished his meal and pushed his plate away. It disappeared Hogwarts-style.

"Potter, are the parchment and quill still on the table?" The Potions Master asked after a while.

"Yes sir," the boy told him, looking at the parchment, quill and ink Snape had used to send the message to Draco.

"Good," Snape intoned darkly. "I think I may have to assign you lines after all." He lifted his tall frame off the couch and turned to look at Harry. He held the young man's gaze until Harry reluctantly pulled the writing supplies in front of him.

"The Cruciatus?" the young man guessed, inclining his head to the tightly rolled parchment Snape was tapping against his thigh.

"Quite," Snape agreed "I might be inclined to assign you another essay had you not laid it out so succinctly here. This is a fair job, by the way," he admitted as his took up his seat at the table again. "If we had been at school, I would have assumed Granger had helped you."

"Isn't your attitude a bit hypocritical, sir?" Harry dared ask, emboldened by the unprecedented lavishness of Snape's compliment. "I mean getting after me for trying that curse, when I'm certain you have used it before."

"Don't play daft, you stupid boy," Snape hissed, rapping Harry smartly on the back of the head with the tightly rolled parchment. "As I pointed out earlier, our roles in this are entirely different. And as you have also pointed out, the only way to prevail against the Dark Lord is to aspire to be everything he is not. I can tell you from first hand experience, he has far too much affinity for that particular curse."

Harry almost pointed out the line Snape referred to had sounded a bit airy fairy when he wrote it, but was certain that would earn him another smack with the parchment. Snape continued when the young man made no response.

"And as well," he pointed out. "I have never used that curse."

Harry looked at the man incredulously. And then his skin paled at the thought that he might be a darker wizard than Snape.

"Oh please, Potter," Snape barked snidely, picking up the thought. "You are a far thing from dark. You have merely gotten a bit dingy from careless handling."

"I'm not... gray, am I?" Harry asked haltingly, thinking of the description from his essay.

"I don't know, Potter," Snape responded silkily. "Are you?" He asked, brandishing the parchment threateningly above the younger wizard's head.

"No sir," Harry decided, eyeing the parchment warily. Like Snape, he was far from a weak- willed gray wizard as described in the book.

"And just because I have not used that particular curse, does not mean I have not used others to the same effect," Snape pointed out. "And as you can surely attest to, I excel at verbal torture."

Harry smiled. He was getting a bit used to the older man's wit.

"So just dingy eh?" The boy opined. "We just need to brighten me up a bit for my big date with Voldemort," he offered smartly.

"Precisely," Snape agreed

"How will lines help with that?" Harry asked, indicating the parchment in front of him.

"There is a tremendous power in writing for clarifying thoughts," Snape opined. "I am a servant of the light. 100 times. Hmm?" the man said inclining his chin towards the creamy flat parchment that lay before the boy. "But I only meant it as a threat," Snape admitted. "You need not write lines. Your essay indicates your understanding of your actions. And I will count the extra six inches as payment."

"Thanks," Harry said. "I always thought lines were one of the more stupid punishments at Hogwarts," Harry admitted.

Snape looked pointedly at the white scarring on the back of the boy's hand.

"I could always fetch a quill like Umbridge's, if you think it would give the activity more depth." Snape returned snidely.

Harry reddened and hid his hand beneath the table.

"Bloody cow did that to a few of my Slytherins as well," Snape fumed. "I would have poisoned her if I could have worked it out."

"Wish you had," Harry agreed

"I did what I could," Snape said with a smirk.

"Such as?" Harry wanted to know.

"Such as decreasing the wards on my potions cabinets so the Weasley twins could complete their indoor swamp," Snape admitted.

The Potions Master began a humorous tale of spending the term deliberately just missing catching the twins time after time. And after he put together what they were trying to create, he left books and potion's ingredients out as hints. Harry listened to the tale with gleeful attention. And quite unconsciously, he took up the quill. Doodling along the edge, he began to write the words, I am a servant of the light. Linking the sentences together as though they were the most delicate scroll work, Harry began to travel in a circular motion around the parchment. He laughed as Snape continued to talk, every once in a while asking a question. Snape stole glances at the parchment. As his circles grew smaller Harry changed the wording to, I am a child of the light, until he finally reached the center, where he wrote, I am light.

Having finished his amusing tale, Snape decided it was time to retire. He rose from his seat and took a moment to look at Harry's quill work up close. He examined it for a few bemused moments. The boy had written the phrase many more than 100 times. For the second time that night Snape cuffed Harry on the back of the head. But the Potions Master's touch was oddly gentle. And if Harry had to characterize the gesture, he would have called it affectionate.

"Good night, Potter," Snape said quietly. "Don't stay up too late," the older wizard ordered as he made his way for his room.

"Good night," Harry called lightly when the man was out of earshot.

Hope you enjoyed it. Don't forget to review.