Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling, therefore I don't own Harry Potter.

Mrs. Figg, resident of Wisteria Walk, rarely ever had company over. Most people found the offensive smell of her cat-infested house to be intolerable; therefore, she usually spent her evenings alone.

Of course, there was that pleasant little visit from Dumbledore a few days ago, asking her to confirm if her neighbor, Harry Potter, was under house arrest by his relatives. Remembering the obnoxious clanging and banging of Vernon putting up those bars outside of the poor boy's only window— not to mention the shouting that had ensued once those other Muggles departed the Dursley residence— she informed the headmaster that yes, the boy was indeed being held captive by his relatives.

After that brief encounter, she returned once more to her Muggle way of life; having no contact with anyone, whether it was by Floo or owls.

So, it came as a surprise one evening, as she sat knitting a scarf for one of her favorite cats, when the orange fire in her sitting room fireplace transformed into magnificent green flames.

Startled by the sudden change, Mrs. Figg tossed her knitting aside and waited anxiously for her new visitor. She was used to wizards not asking her for permission to enter her home via the Floo Network; she had already informed Dumbledore that he was free to send people to her home without her prior consent, since she knew it would almost always be for her neighbor's safety.

Still, she was somewhat shocked to see none other than Severus Snape walk through the bright flames, followed by Harry. She knew the boy hated his relatives, and she found it hard to hide her surprise in seeing him return to Little Whinging so soon.

As he got up— it was painfully obvious he had never used the Floo before— he looked around in bewilderment, until his attention landed on her. She smiled as pleasantly as possible, but she knew it must have astonished him that she, of all people, was connected to the wizarding world. The fact that she had never told him this in all his times visiting her must have been pretty frustrating as well.

"Mrs. Figg?" he inquired childishly, still not believing whose house he just Flooed into. Glancing around at the masses of cats strewn about the place, however, he figured there was no way it couldn't be her house. "You're a witch? But…"

"Squib," she corrected him, but he only stared back blankly, looking no less baffled than before.

"But—"

"That's enough, Potter," Snape snapped at him then directed his attention to Mrs. Figg. "My apologies for coming this late…"

"Oh Severus, there's no need to apologize—"

"—but it appears that Potter left his beloved broomstick at his relatives and stubbornly demanded that he came back to retrieve it," Snape finished tersely with a glare in the boy's direction. He squirmed in place, unwilling to further upset the man, lest he turn back and leave without even looking for his Nimbus Two Thousand.

"We won't be long…right Potter?," Snape hissed under his breath at Harry.

"Yes sir," he replied instantly and he and Snape exited the house, having no time to stay and chat with the woman if they wanted to be back to Diagon Alley before morning.

Once they found their way onto the shadowy street of Privet Drive, Harry grimaced. Had he really only been away for just two days? It felt like it had been two lifetimes since he had seen the Dursleys— not that he was complaining. In case of emergency, he had brought along his Invisibility Cloak. He wasn't sure how Snape planned to get his broom back— a Summoning Charm would no doubt alert the Dursleys to trouble, and neither of them wanted another confrontation with Petunia again— so Harry decided he would just follow Snape's lead and hope for the best.

As they reached the foot of the perfectly manicured lawn of number four, Privet Drive, Snape paused. Harry stopped right next to him and they listened.

The three Dursleys were still awake; in the sitting room by the sounds of it. Dudley was making a loud racket, probably playing his latest video game on one of his many computers.

"Well Potter, you know what to do," Snape nodded for Harry to go up to the door. He stared back into the man's murky black eyes and didn't move.

"Go on, we don't have all night!" Snape snapped at him impatiently, gesturing more forcefully towards the front door.

"But—"

"Potter!"

Harry shut his mouth at once, but continued glaring icily up at the enraged expression on his professor's face. He had thought Snape had a plan; instead, he was forcing the entire task of retrieving the broom onto Harry himself.

Harry fidgeted for a moment, unconsciously reaching into his pocket. He couldn't use his wand, of course, but there was something else…something smooth and silvery…

He pulled it out and remembered with a jolt that he had his Cloak with him. He definitely didn't want to meet the Dursleys directly if he could avoid it, and invisibly sneaking around the house certainly sounded less time-consuming than having to explain why he was back so soon.

"Sir? I think I'll go in the back way…uh, my aunt doesn't like people using the front door," Harry lied.

He avoided eye contact with Snape as he hurriedly trudged off into the darkness in the direction of the side yard, where Dudley always left the back door open after returning home from beating up toddlers at the local park. It was much less conspicuous this way, and once he was out of sight, he pulled out the Cloak and threw it over himself.

Harry didn't want Snape knowing about his Cloak; it was so useful at Hogwarts when he needed to go somewhere after curfew and he didn't want to provide solid evidence that Snape could use against him once they were back at school.

Meanwhile, Snape didn't wish to be seen idly staring up at the Dursley home this late at night, so he cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself and leaned against a nearby lamppost, hoping that Potter would keep his promise about making this a quick trip. At the first sign of trouble, he knew he'd have to go in after the boy, but for now, he would remain outside. He would hardly be of much use in finding the damned thing; he had almost forgotten that Potter even played Quidditch, let alone owned his own broom.

After fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, a panicked sensation washed over Harry. What if the Dursleys destroyed his broom? Surely they wouldn't throw it away— in case the Muggle authorities found a flying broom in their garbage— but he couldn't think of what else they'd do with it.

Burn it, perhaps, Harry thought as a chill ran down his spine at the very thought of his beloved broom smoldering in the Dursleys' fireplace. No, it's got to be somewhere around here, I know it.

It wasn't anywhere upstairs, as far as Harry had searched. His room had been completely cleaned out since his last time in there; there was no evidence that anyone had ever even set foot in the room by the way Petunia had obsessively organized it.

Harry made his way down the stairs and darted into the empty kitchen at the end of the hall; he didn't dare go near the room where the Dursleys sat watching the nightly Muggle news…not until he had looked everywhere else, anyways.

His heart jumped at every sound, because every time he heard something from the other room, he assumed it was the Dursleys moving into the kitchen. He couldn't be caught…Snape would kill him if he was forced to intervene…

After another couple minutes of mindless searching, Harry realized that he was holding his breath. Taking in a big gulp of air, he mentally smacked himself. Why was he so afraid? He had lived here nearly his entire life, and nothing ever attacked him; aside from his uncle and the occasional whacks from Dudley's Smeltings Stick, that is. But still, he had wandered around the much more dangerous corridors of Hogwarts the previous year under this cloak with perfect ease. Heck, he'd even survived meeting Fluffy and later he came— literally— face to face with Voldemort. And yet, he felt more comfortable during those times than here, hiding under an Invisibility Cloak in the fourth home on the Muggle street of Privet Drive. He laughed out loud at the irony of the situation.

Not good, Harry thought worriedly as he flung his hands to cover his mouth. But the deed was already done.

"You hear something?" his uncle's voice boomed from the other room. The sound of footsteps immediately ensued, and within seconds, Harry found himself almost directly in front of his aunt and uncle. Dudley was too lazy to come and see what the disturbance was, apparently.

Maybe it was just Harry's imagination, but both of them looked more frenzied than he had ever seen them. Even his normally-composed aunt had a strange, wild look about her that he hadn't noticed before. Maybe Snape's visit had rattled them?

He wasn't sure, but he knew one thing: to stay out of their way. If they caught him sneaking around their home— under a wizard's Invisibility Cloak at that— he'd be dead.

Continuing to hold his hands over his mouth, Harry cautiously backed up towards the opposite end of the kitchen. Petunia was staring straight at him for quite some time, but he knew that it was impossible for anyone— magical or not— to see him. They waited for several minutes, as though something was really going to reveal itself as the cause of the noise. Harry didn't stick around much longer once he crept out the door adjacent to the empty living room.

Instead, he made a break for the front door. That had been much too close, and he didn't exactly wish to risk finding out what would happen if the Dursleys somehow found him.

As he ran past the sitting room, however, he saw the most peculiar thing: Dudley, alone and clearly bored, was standing on top of a stool, straddling a broom. Not just any old broom, however: it was Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand.

His mum and dad weren't around to yell at him for touching the awful thing that linked their nephew to the wizarding world, so Dudley took the opportunity while he saw it. He was still terrified of magic, of course, but it seemed as though he secretly still harbored some curiosity about flying broomsticks. That, or he was delighted that his parents had stolen one of Harry's things and had supposedly given it to him.

Harry was so stunned to see Dudley even touching something that was made for wizards that he stared on at the scene in amusement for quite some time, until it snapped in his head that he was here to get his broom back.

Watching out for his aunt and uncle, Harry carefully tiptoed in and rounded to the very edges of the room, where he was assuredly safe from potential contact. Dudley was waddling around with the broom secured between his legs, making zooming noises as he went along. It was glaringly obvious the boy had no previous knowledge of how to mount a broom; not that Harry blamed him, considering that he was a Muggle, but the way he "rode" the broom looked quite painful.

Stupid git, Harry thought as he idly clenched his fists in his anger over Dudley playing with his broom. He had millions of other toys; why did a broomstick— one that wouldn't even fly unless a witch or wizard was upon it— interest Dudley so much?

Taking a deep breath, Harry walked forward, praying that the cloak would stay on him. Dudley didn't look like he was going to put the broom down anytime soon, so Harry had no other choice but to reach for it.

As Dudley paused from his long "flight" around the living room, Harry darted right next to his pig of a cousin and hesitantly tried yanking the broom out of his grasp. Dudley's grip on it was too strong, however, and it barely budged at Harry's persistent jerking. At this point, Harry knew he was running out of time, so he tried a different tactic: mounting the broom from the backside.

At once, it began to rise, much to both of the boys' horror. For some reason, Harry hadn't expected this, and if Dudley was at the front…then he had complete control of the direction the broom flew if it so chose to take flight.

Harry suddenly felt his cloak start to slip. Holding on to the levitating broom with one hand, he quickly pulled the cloak over his head with the other hand. The broom shook violently from the excess of weight on it; Harry was surprised it didn't snap under his cousin's immensely fat body.

Over Dudley's panicked yelps of terror, Harry heard Petunia scream. He darted his head to the left: there she was, standing next to her oaf of a husband in the doorway that led to the kitchen. Vernon's purplish glow had returned, though the sight of his son near the tip of the ceiling on a broomstick left him utterly speechless.

"Dudders!" Petunia wailed as she foolishly ran into the room, and stood directly underneath the broom. She shrieked for him to come down, but it seemed as though Dudley hadn't even heard her; he was too busy screeching at the top of his lungs for someone to save him.

Harry struggled to remain balanced from his awkward position near the tail; Dudley's uncontrollable shaking nearly tossed him off on several occasions, but miraculously, he managed to stay aboard. If he fell off, the cloak would undoubtedly reveal his presence…

All of a sudden, the broom gave a violent shake, and then it was still. For just a few seconds, Harry thought the worst was over….

He was wrong.

Instead, the broom unexpectedly exploded forward with the force of a bullet; Dudley hadn't been prepared for this, and fell backwards, his head hitting Harry in the face. His glasses were knocked off at once, blood started trickling down from his nose, and worst of all: he felt the cloak slowly slip off of his head as the broom soared up the stairs…

Dudley's monstrous head whirled around to see what he had struck: his shrill scream of terror at the sight of Harry's head flying along with him— somehow the rest of Harry's body was still concealed beneath the cloak— was literally earsplitting.

"Dudley, face forward!" Harry yelled as loudly as he could, but Dudley was completely oblivious to anything but the nightmarish sight of his cousin's bodiless head following him. His eyes bulged and rolled back into their sockets as the broom rounded the upstairs hallway, shattering the pictures that lined the walls as they went by. His grip seemed to be loosening on the handle, and Harry saw foam fleck the edge's of the boy's mouth. It looked like he was having a seizure, though Harry was pretty sure it was just from his fear of riding a broom in such a small area such at top speed.

Harry tried shoving his cousin forward, but he wouldn't face that direction: he merely slumped over, making the broom plunge sharply downward. Just before they hit the carpet, Harry managed to pull his dead-weight cousin back towards him again. Harry was very close to slipping off the tail of the broom, but thanks to his excellent training as a Seeker the previous year, he was able to remain steady.

Neither boy noticed the chaos downstairs. Instead, they had other problems to worry about: looking over Dudley's shoulder, Harry saw a window up ahead. If Dudley didn't change his position soon, the broom would fly straight through it, ensuring plenty of pain and suffering for each of them. He tried snapping the other boy out of it, but it was no use. He was too petrified with fear to be of any use. Now there was only two or so seconds before they broke through…

"DUDLEY!"

Just as Dudley seemingly regained full consciousness and jerked his head up to face forward, the two soared through the glass window, shattering it into millions of pieces. Glass cut at Harry's face, narrowly missing his eyes on a few occasions. It stung, like several thousand tiny knives slicing through his face and tearing at his clothes, even if he couldn't see them.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion after the crash: they soared through the cool night's sky for a mere second; then Harry heard a terrible snapping sound and gravity instantly set in. They were soon hurtling towards the Earth at a dangerously fast pace. The lampposts of Privet Drive swirled through his head as he spun in the air for what seemed like hours. He was pretty sure he'd hit the asphalt any second now…it would hurt a lot, he knew…but what could he do? It didn't occur to him to use his wand, not that he knew of any spell to save himself with anyways…

Just before Harry was going to plunge headfirst into the ground, he felt some invisible force jerk him back upwards by his ankles. The cloak tore off of his body completely and drifted to the ground, light as a feather.

It appeared that Dudley wasn't so lucky: once Harry felt himself hoisted up by his ankles, he heard a deafening crunch of a body hitting the pavement nearby, followed by a terrible scream that Harry hoped he would never have to hear again.

Blinking away the white spots in his eyes, Harry blurrily noticed a figure dressed in all-black running towards him. He was then gently lowered from this odd, upside-down position in mid-air onto the cool grass.

Looking up from his the place where he was lying, Harry vaguely recognized the man as Snape. His vision was terrible without his glasses, so luckily for Snape, he couldn't see the overly-concerned expression on the professor's normally-scowling face. He whipped out his wand and muttered a few unrecognizable incantations; the bleeding stopped and all of the tiny shards of glass that had been deeply lodged in Harry's face disappeared.

"Are you okay, Potter?" he demanded, though his tone was softer than usual.

Harry nodded dizzily. "Where's Dudley?"

Snape pointed over to where Vernon and Petunia were huddled around Dudley's lifeless figure. Harry could hear his aunt sobbing, but couldn't quite make out where they were. Noticing the way Harry squinted his eyes, Snape quickly Transfigured the boy a new pair of glasses, which he readily took.

Assured that Potter was fine, Snape tugged him up to his feet and they walked over to the three Dursleys.

"My baby's dying!" Petunia wailed, caressing Dudley's head in her arms. She looked up and saw Snape quickly approaching, but shrieked at him to stay away. "You…you killed him! See what you've done?"

Snape shoved her aside anyways and immediately began waving his wand and began performing healing charms on Dudley's bloodied body. Petunia continued her hysterical sobbing, and pointlessly tried throwing one of her fuzzy pink slippers at Snape's head to make him get away from Dudley. The boy was so still that Harry almost wondered if he really was dead…

"You get away from my son," Vernon growled at him, though he hung back, somewhat fearful of visions of what a full-grown wizard could do to him. Snape paused, looked up at Vernon, and then turned his attention back to the boy, pretending he hadn't heard a word Vernon said. He swore under his breath, but made no further attempts to get Snape away from Dudley, fearing more for his life than the boy's. Harry noticed that he was looking quite faint, a rarity for a man with such vibrant skin tones than always seemed to match whatever mood he was in.

The longer Snape took to heal him, the louder Petunia's sobs grew. By now, she seemed to possess a faint understanding that magic was necessary to save Dudley, but she still wasn't happy about it.

"Get away! Get away!" she hissed at Snape once she had used up all her patience, and tried pushing him away from Dudley.

Snape tried jostling her back, but that only made her shove him harder. Shrugging indifferently, he stood up and muttered a quick spell that siphoned the dried blood off of his robes.

"Have it your way…oh, unless you were hoping he'd survive…?"

Petunia stared at him— tears streaked all over her horsey face— and after a few moments of thinking about it, she backed away; a subtle, yet obviously reluctant invitation for him to go back to saving her son by use of magic.

After another two minutes, Snape stood up once more, ignoring the horrorstruck looks on the Dursleys' faces. Harry was shocked they even allowed Snape to hold a wand over their precious Diddykins' body, let alone perform magic on him.

Then again, from what Harry had previously seen, their choice was to either let Dudley bleed to death or put aside their lifelong grudges against magic in order to save him.

"I've stopped the bleeding," Snape informed them, but didn't make eye contact. "But he's suffered quite a concussion. It'd be wise to take him to St. Mungo's just to be safe."

"St. Mun—" Petunia whispered inaudibly, too appalled to even finish the word. Everything went silent among the three adults for several moments. As usual, Vernon looked sorely confused, but Petunia was shaking in fear. Harry wondered why they hadn't gone on blaming him for nearly killing Dudley yet. Perhaps they didn't even realize he was there?

"You do remember where St. Mungo's is, yes?" Snape cocked an eyebrow at Petunia curiously.

Much to Harry and Vernon's surprise, Petunia nodded, looking extremely pale. Her sister had gone there during the summer before her third year at that freak school. Her parents had wanted to see their favorite daughter, and Petunia had so unfortunately been dragged along to that awful place…full of freakish people with their ridiculous wizard's wear and wands…

She looked up at Snape, then back to her only son. St. Mungo's was a wizard's hospital. Dudley would be fine at a Muggle hospital, where people were more normal and professional. She didn't need any magic to save him, the Muggle doctors would certainly suffice if it was just a concussion…

"He's not going!"

Snape, whom had begun walking back to Harry, turned around and smirked. "Oh? Then I'll love you hear how you explain to the Muggle healers when your son wakes up with recollections of flying on a broom."

Vernon and Petunia both twitched at the last couple words Snape said. This left them with no other options for Dudley, though Vernon wasn't finished raging just yet.

He had finally noticed Harry, standing behind the place where Dudley lay in the darkened street. His temple was throbbing obnoxiously, and he looked as though he was quite capable of murdering Harry once and for all…

"You ruddy little bastard…" Vernon roared as he flung himself towards Harry, ready to tackle the boy to the ground and beat him to a pulp for what he did to his son. He wrung out his pudgy hands in front of him, as though he was showing Harry how he would strangle him once he got his hands around his neck. When he was just a single stride away from Harry, he was suddenly jerked up into the air by his ankles. His infuriated roar at this interference seemed to echo throughout the streets of the neighborhood, no doubt waking several of their neighbors up. He'd never experienced this before, and knowing that a wizard caused this discomfort enraged him even more.

Harry held back a snort of laughter at his uncle hanging there, upside-down like a stuffed human-piñata. Maybe it was because of all the blood rushing to his head, but Vernon's face seemed to swell up like an overblown birthday balloon. What was more interesting, he was held by the same exact spell Snape had used to save Harry from hitting the ground earlier. He had to figure out what spell that was!

Casually walking past the place where Petunia stood— gaping at the figure of her husband hanging in the air as though by some invisible rope— Snape held his wand steady and called up to the beefy man: "As much as I'd love to leave you there all night, I'm afraid we need to get the boy to the hospital or his memories will be permanently distorted from lack of medical treatment."

Vernon's eyes nearly popped out of his head at the mention of Dudley possibly suffering from memory loss. As much as he wanted to howl and rage at this…this…this wizard…he had no choice if he wanted to get down here and— hopefully— save his son.

With a lazy flick of his wand, Snape released him; though he didn't bother cushioning his fall as he did for Harry.

"Oh…oh my goodness! Severus…what happened?" Mrs. Figg came hustling up the street with two cats trailing behind her. She surveyed the scene and gasped when her eyes finally rested on Dudley's lifeless body. "Oh! Is the boy…?"

"Alive, believe it or not," Snape cut her off impatiently. "Would you be so kind to escort the Dursleys to St. Mungo's? The boy had an…accident and will need memory modification and corresponding treatments for his injuries."

Mrs. Figg blinked. It was such a high honor for a Squib to escort people to St. Mungo's…she nodded her head eagerly and motioned for the Dursleys to follow her. They didn't follow however; they stupidly turned their heads back to Snape.

"Go!" he snapped at them in a very professor-like tone. They immediately started following Mrs. Figg, though they were terrified at the thought of what Snape might be doing to their boy while their backs were turned…

"Wait here, Potter," Snape ordered the boy, then pointed his wand at Dudley and muttered: "Mobilicorpus."

The body lifted up into the air and followed the path Snape's wand ordered it to, down onto the next street and into Mrs. Figg's home. Once Harry was alone, he quietly stuffed the Invisibility Cloak into his pocket and ran over to what remained of his broom in the middle of the street. When he saw just how bad the damage was, he felt his heart drop like a stone. It was completely shattered into hundreds of pieces, very much like the window he and Dudley had crashed through a mere half hour ago.

Twigs from the tail of the broom were strewn out all over the front yard, and the handle looked as though it had been mistaken for a pig in a butcher's shop. He thought he heard a small pop somewhere behind him, but his grief blocked out any other distractions for the time being.

With the Dursleys finally gone, Snape silently exited Mrs. Figg's home. He looked out towards number four, Privet Drive, where Harry was on his knees under a single streetlamp, holding what remained of his first broom. He watched as the boy mournfully reached down for one of the several chunks of the handle, and upon his touch, it turned into a pile of ash.

Trying not to pity the boy, Snape strolled over and paused next to him, choosing not to say anything for a while. Harry was fully aware of his presence, but nothing mattered right now except that he, Gryffindor's Seeker, had just totaled his first and only broom.

"Can you fix it?" he whispered to Snape, holding just a small pile of parts from the broomstick up to the elder wizard. He wanted to refuse. He wanted to say there was nothing he could do. He'd already troubled himself enough with the boy's crises; he didn't need to keep helping him again and again!

Harry's head turned slightly, waiting expectantly for an answer. What a child, Snape thought distastefully as he noticed a single tear slide down the boy's cheek. He was what, twelve? Certainly old enough not to cry over a bloody broom, for God's sake…

And then, they made eye contact. Snape had tried avoiding it, but it was inevitable. He saw more tears flitting around the edges of Harry's eyes…those devastatingly familiar green eyes…still torturing his heart after all these years…as much as he tried to fight it, he soon felt his anger and frustrations with Potter melt away…maybe one more time wouldn't be so bad…it might even get the boy to finally ignore him for the rest of the week…and so he conceded to help.

Damn you, Potter…if you didn't have your mother's eyes, I swear I would have said no.

xXxXxXxXx

"Sir?"

"Hmm?"

"What…what spell was that?"

"What spell, Potter?"

"That one you used to save me."

Snape froze. The boy was asking about his personally-invented Levicorpus spell. He knew the consequences of telling a Potter about that spell…he wouldn't make the same mistake again…

"It's too advanced for you.'

"Can't you just tell me what it was?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I said so."

"That's not a good excuse!"

"Potter!"

Harry, about to retort that he was only asking for the name; shut his mouth and settled for glaring at Snape instead. He may well be trying to repair his seemingly-irreparable broom, but that didn't stop him from being irritated with the man's stubbornness.

Snape normally wouldn't have cared whether or not Potter knew, but he definitely wasn't going to make the same mistake with Harry as he had with James Potter…

It was a lovely day. The sun was shining, and it was so warm outside that several of the students were out swimming in the lake. Even Severus Snape, normally the gloomiest student at Hogwarts, felt slightly cheered by the coming of summer. He was sitting under a tree near the shores of the lake, reading the new Defense book Lily had bought him for Christmas but he hadn't had time to read until now.

He was left to himself for a few hours of peaceful bliss, but naturally, this nearly-perfect day had to be ruined at some point for Severus, and indeed it was: down the grassy slope came James Potter, alone and headed straight for Severus.

"Hey Snivellus…woah, what's the rush?" fourteen year-old James laughed as Severus dropped his book and leaped to his feet, pulling out his wand at the sight of James Potter approaching him.

"Go away Potter," Severus threatened him, but this only made the boy laugh louder. He was so irritatingly arrogant, even without his other friends around. Severus took at step closer towards the other boy, holding his wand even with his forehead. "I mean it."

James narrowed his eyes. "I don't like your tone, Snivvy. Maybe this will…argh!"

Just as James had begun to pull out his wand, Severus angrily slashed his through the air before the other could even react. Within a fraction of a second, the Gryffindor boy was jerked up into the air by his ankles. He looked quite idiotic dangling up there, much to Severus' satisfaction.

However, James' initial shock didn't last long, and his expression transformed into one of delight at this new spell. Everything was spilling out of his pockets from his upside-down position, but he ignored them; they weren't that important if Snape so chose to steal them.

Severus frowned. That wasn't the reaction he had been hoping for…that little prat…he wasn't supposed to be enjoying it…he was supposed to feel humiliated!

Loving the infuriated look on Snape's face, James lazily crossed his arms as his body slowly swiveled around in circles and called out to the other boy: "This is some excellent magic…what do you call it?"

"Levicorpus," Severus replied through clenched teeth, not once pausing to think of the consequences of this action. He felt both an immense hatred for the boy and a burst of pride at the idea that one of his personally-created spells had managed to surprise Potter.

It wasn't until the following year that Severus learned why Potter had looked so gleeful after their encounter last summer…that awful day in their fifth year, when he used Levicorpus against its creator, thus leading into one of the worst memories in Snape's entire life…

If there was anything Snape learned from that disastrous mistake, it was never teach a Potter anything he might use against you.

Including Harry, seeing that he was a splitting image of James and because Snape later learned after Harry's first year that it was Granger whom had set him on fire at the boy's first Quidditch match. If he and his friends didn't care if they assaulted teachers this early on in their Hogwarts careers, what would stop them from later using his own spells against him?

Snape blinked as sunlight washed through the windows of their room at the Leaky Cauldron. Was it morning already?

Looking down at the still-hopeless heap of broomstick pieces, Snape sighed and looked over at Harry. He looked completely exhausted, but he had repeatedly refused to go to sleep— even at Snape's persistent nagging— until he heard the verdict on his broom's condition.

"Well, sir?" he asked timidly, fearing the worst. His broom still looked as though someone had let twenty Bludgers attack it…surely Snape wasn't finished yet…?

"I can't repair it, Potter."

"What?! But sir! Can't you try harder?"

Snape cringed and looked away as all hope disappeared from the boy's pleading green eyes. He'd already wasted an entire night for Potter: first retrieving the broom, and then trying to fix it. He was not going to give in again…

The boy remained silent for a few moments, wondering if Snape was thinking it over. After a while, he realized that the professor probably wasn't going to try any longer, so he tried a different tactic.

"Sir?"

Snape let out another exasperated sigh and looked back over to where Harry was now on his feet, looking hopeful again. Uh-oh…

"Sir…I think Quality Quidditch Supplies might be able to repair it…could we try going there today?"

It took every ounce of patience for Snape not to bang his head against a nearby wall. If Gryffindor's prized Seeker went back to Hogwarts without a broom, he harbored no doubt in his mind that Minerva would be livid. Murderous, even; judging by how competitive she became whenever Quidditch was mentioned. She would probably claim that Snape destroyed Harry's broom on purpose, since he too, had expressed a desire for his house to win the Quidditch Cup this year. But what Head of House didn't want their team to win? Snape would never go as far as to cheat in order to win…if cheating was the only way to win, then why bother?

Apparently he didn't have a choice now. Either Potter went back to Hogwarts with a functional broom, or Minerva would personally get revenge on the Slytherin team, something Snape would much rather avoid.

"Fine Potter."

Harry's glum expression dissolved into one of pure ecstasy. In fact, he looked so overjoyed that Snape feared for a moment that the boy would hug him. Luckily, he maintained his distance— Snape would have Sectumsempra'd every limb off the boy's body if he had attempted to hug him— and he excitedly began putting his shoes on, ready to go, oblivious to Snape's longing to recover his lost night's rest.

Dumbledore did not pay him enough to do this.

xXxXxXxXx

"I'm sorry Mr. Potter, but this broom is irreparable."

Snape was afraid of that. Sure, he had been somewhat prepared to hear this— not that he told Potter this— but it still didn't soften the blow of wasting the last twenty four hours of his time helping Potter to find a broom that would eventually be destroyed anyways.

Harry, on the other hand, didn't take the news so well.

"What do you mean? You're a Quidditch shop owner! Shouldn't you be able to repair brooms?"

His eyes flashed angrily at the elderly, yet muscular man behind the counter. He looked slightly uncomfortable from having to explain to the famous Harry Potter that he couldn't fix the boy's severely damaged Nimbus Two Thousand.

"I can repair them, Mr. Potter, in most circumstances. However," he held up the dirty sack that contained what was left of Harry's broom. "You are missing a vital piece. To say it plainly, you're missing its 'flight chip.'"

"Flight chip?" Harry asked, looking baffled. "What's that got to do with this?"

"It's a small, heavily enchanted bit of wood embedded in the broomstick's handle…without it, the broom is nothing more than a Muggle cleaning instrument."

"Well, don't you sell some of them here, then?" Harry demanded, feeling the elated sensation in his chest sinking every second.

The shop manager laughed. "Oh no, no, no! Those are extremely rare when separate from the broom, and we aren't permitted to carry them here. Even if you were to get your hands on one, the broom would fly much slower than it did previously. Mr. Potter, I'm very sorry, but by the looks of it…you're better off getting a new broom."

Harry's heart plummeted. "But…I can't afford a new broom…"

"What about a Permanent Flying Charm?" Snape inquired sharply. He didn't know loads about Quidditch, but he still knew more than the average witch or wizard. After all, in his years as a referee in Hogwarts' Quidditch matches, he had seen just about everything there was to see in Quidditch by now, except for the death of a player, perhaps.

The shopkeeper thought this over, but after a few moments, he shook his head. "It would certainly make the broom fly, Mr. Snape, but it'd be uncontrollable. Mr. Potter would have no say in which height or direction he'd wish to go in."

Well that won't work, then, Harry thought sourly. The Seeker was a very precise position; without control, there was no way he'd ever even come close to catching the snitch. Feeling a wave of depression wash over him, Harry stared glumly towards the entrance to the shop, where the newer, faster Nimbus Two Thousand and One sat in all its glory in the front window. Several first year boys were gathered around it, looking awestruck by the sheer beauty of the world's fastest broom.

Being not much older than the other boys, Harry felt himself mesmerized as well, until reality kicked back in, that is. He sorrowfully remembered that his only choices left at this point were to either leave Gryffindor's team or spend the next season flying on the school's mind numbingly-slow brooms. So much for his excellent record as Hogwart's youngest Quidditch player in a century…

"I'm going outside, professor," he didn't bother looking up at Snape as he said this, but it didn't matter if this was disrespectful or not. Harry couldn't stand to stay in here much longer; not when he knew that his up-and-coming Quidditch career was now going down in flames.

As he walked past the new Nimbus, Harry purposely diverted his attention to the Quidditch goggles hanging on the opposite wall, so that he may not be tempted on his way out. He knew there was no way he could purchase himself a new broom, unless he wished to live in poverty for the rest of his years at Hogwarts. His parents may have had a lot more money in Gringotts than the Dursleys had ever spent on him, but by no means did that mean a fortune…

Stupid Dudley, Harry thought furiously as he kicked the door open and went outside to sit on a nearby wooden bench. If Dudley hadn't messed with his broom, Harry would have easily retrieved it from the Dursleys and he'd be cheerfully finishing his summer assignments right now, rather than pointlessly searching for someone to miraculously repair his irreparable broom.

The Dursleys had always managed to mess things up for him. Once he had discovered the wizarding world, Harry had thought that he had finally found a place where the Dursleys had no effect on him. It appeared that he had been sorely mistaken, however, and now his favorite pastime in the entire world had unfairly been taken away thanks to Dudley's foolishness.

Of course, deep down, Harry knew it wasn't all Dudley's fault, but it sure made him feel better to place all of the blame on him for now…

Back in the shop, Snape figured that he had done everything imaginably possible to help Potter and his great broom crisis. He'd gone to the trouble of returning to Privet Drive, healed Potter and his corpulent cousin when they exploded through the window, gave up an entire night's sleep to try and restore the broom to its original state, and now he took Potter all the way down to this broom shop. There was nothing left he could do that he hadn't done already.

Nodding his head to the shopkeeper, Snape grabbed the sack of broken broom pieces and began walking out. He absentmindedly tried shoving the sack into his pocket, but for some odd reason, it wouldn't fit.

Mystified by this, Snape paused in the middle of the shop and reached into his pocket. There was a sack with something heavy in it. How had he not noticed this earlier?

Snape figured he was merely too sleep-deprived to really notice that he was carrying so much extra weight. Putting the first sack on the ground, he untied the second mystery sack and peeked inside.

His mouth dropped open at the sight of Galleons upon Galleons inside. He quickly darted his head around to ensure nobody was watching him; otherwise, they'd have thought he just went and robbed Gringotts judging by the sheer amount of gold coins he possessed.

A crumpled piece of parchment lay on the top of the seemingly endless pile of coins. Curious, Snape pulled it out and set the bag at his feet— keeping a watchful eye on it to make sure nobody would run up and steal it from him. The note shouldn't have been such a surprise to him, but it was just so unexpected that Snape couldn't help but feel stunned by the words he read:

Dear Severus,

Thank you for watching over Harry. To express my gratitude, I felt this would suffice. Use it wisely.

-Albus Dumbledore

It was a simple note. Snape could almost imagine the old headmaster winking at him as he read the last line. "Use it wisely."

And what was that supposed to mean?!

Looking up once more, Snape's gaze fell immediately on the new Nimbus Two Thousand and One glowing magnificently in the window.

Use it wisely, the note had said. Snape connected the two together at once.

Oh no, no, no! No way!

There must have been over one hundred Galleons in here. More money than Snape had ever held in his entire life at the same time. Dumbledore had given the bag of money to him, not Potter. Therefore, the money was clearly meant for him, and would only be used for him. Not Potter. Dumbledore hadn't said: "Buy something for Harry." He had written "Use it wisely." Since he had clearly left it up to Snape's interpretation, he didn't need to feel obligated to give away any of his money. Especially to Potter.

It was Potter's own damn fault his bloody broom was destroyed. Snape didn't need to feel any sympathy for him; he'd already helped Harry James Potter enough for one lifetime.

And yet, try as Snape did ignore the boy's predicament, he felt his willpower losing ground to his heart…the devastated look on the boy's face as he knelt amongst the remains of his shattered broom…the tears rimming the edges of those haunting green eyes behind the glasses…not to mention the effort Harry was putting forth to be more respectable to him this year…

You sicken me, a small voice said in his mind. One of the world's greatest Occlumens and you're letting memories of one of your worst students soften you like a pillow…

But Harry's Lily's son, a different voice said calmly. Do it for Lily…

But he's also James Potter's son, the first voice retorted. Potters and Quidditch don't go together; you saw how thick-headed James became after he won that first Quidditch Cup…

If the boy goes back to Hogwarts without a broom, Minerva will kill you…is a sack of Galleons worth more than your life?

But why should you sacrifice your own money to help your rival house win the Cup again?

Snape ignored the two voices and looked back up at the broom in the window. Never had he felt so conflicted before…sure, as much as Harry Potter had irritated his every last nerve the previous year, he still couldn't stand the sight of him being upset. Grief was something that he had never seen cross James' face, which may have been why it was such a strange sight on his lookalike son's face. He hated admitting that Harry was different than James though; it was so much easier to punish the boy when he smothered his mind with this fallacy.

Forcing himself to look away from the broom, Snape shakily concentrated on the hastily handwritten note that was still in his hands.

Use it wisely.

Oh, how those words haunted him.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed. This is my first HarryxSnape fic, and the support is very encouraging. :)