Author's Note: Holy crap! I want to thank you guys who reviewed/favorited this fic! Didn't think anyone would be interested. xD Slight meanie-Snape this chapter (but some nice Snape too!) But especially next chapter.

Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter Two:

"Questions"

"Ugh! How much homework did that git have to give us? Especially in the first week of ruddy classes!"

They were seated at the breakfast table. Harry looked over at Ron who it seemed had yet to fully complete his Potions homework. Hermione sat across from the both of them, frowning in disapproval, and shook her head.

"Well, if you had finished it last night instead of procrastinating the whole evening..."

Ron glared at her. "I was working last night!" He said hotly. "Don't forget we had Transfiguration homework too! And Charms!"

"All we had to do in Charms was practice the 'swish-and-flick' movement," Hermione replied tersely. "And the Transfiguration homework was to simply read an introductionary chapter for today's lesson. The Potions homework wasn't that difficult, either, we just needed to define the ingredients we used in yesterday's potion and basically write the theory and steps on how we brewed it."

"Okay, I get it!" Ron snapped, his ears growing red. "The Transfiguration homework surely was easy, if it hadn't been boring and taken me a long time to read because it kept putting me to sleep, and oh yeah, the Charms practice was simple too, only because you kept telling me how to do it every five minutes and the Potions essay was a piece of cake too, if I knew how to write it out and could remember how I did it!"

Hermione clicked her tongue. "You need to stop making excuses and just get the homework done before our lesson this afternoon, Ron. Harry and I both managed to finish that Potions essay last night."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, maybe because you guys actually remember what you did and because we didn't get anything new to do because Snape's such a greasy git and doesn't want to actually take the time to explain anything to us. He works us to death and then gives us a load of homework without bothering to even tell us anything. He sucks. Just points at the board and – "

"I don't think he's a bad teacher." Harry mumbled. "Just strict."

Ron looked at him as if he were crazy. "Harry, have you seen the way he treats everyone? It's as if he's got a stick shoved up his – "

"Ronald," Hermione scolded, "Professor Snape's just one of those teachers that cares about his students' academic achievement and so he sees fit to come down on us. Personally, I find him a great teacher. Sure, he's not very pleasant, but he's strict and firm because he cares."

"Oh, sure," Ron snapped sarcastically, "That's why he has it in for us Gryffindors and favors his own bloody house."

Hermione sighed loudly in exasperation. "Honestly, Ron! If you took care to notice, he awarded Gryffindor five points yesterday because of Harry, and he gave us all – yes, even the Slytherins – the same homework. So stop complaining and just finish it. Everyone got the same thing."

That seemed to shut Ron up. Huffing, the red-head went back to his parchment, tapping the bottom of his quill against it momentarily before he began to lazily write. Harry looked over at the Staff table to see Professor Snape engaging in small conversation with Professor Flitwick. He smiled slightly; ever since yesterday's class when Snape had praised him, Harry was excited to go to the next lesson. Potions was a subject Harry rather liked, and although he had made it his goal to do the best he could in all his classes, for some reason, he wanted to do even better in Potions. Snape had been pleased with him in his first class, and Harry had no intention of doing anything but his best to keep his teacher proud.

Professor Quirrell, the weird, stuttering, Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher locked eyes with Harry, then, and almost at once, Harry's scar seared with pain. He winced, raising a hand to rub at it gingerly. For a moment, he thought he saw Snape look over at him with something like alarm in his eyes, but Harry was sure he had imagined it, because a second later the Professor was back to his conversation as if he'd never even noticed anything.

Harry lowered his head onto his arms, letting his scar rest against the cool wooden table and closed his eyes. He didn't like when his scar hurt. It happened at the feast and then when he'd caught Quirrell staring at him almost murderously at dinner last night, and now again. Somehow, he got the feeling it was Quirrell's fault his scar hurt, and to Harry's disappointment, they had him directly after breakfast.

Like clockwork, the bell rang, and Harry groaned as he felt everyone else around him begin to disperse from the table. "Harry," Hermione called gently, "Harry, it's time to go."

He sighed, and trudged to his feet as he followed miserably after her and Ron. He did not notice Snape's black eyes retreat back to him as he left.

"H-H-hello c-class." Quirrell stuttered, giving a nervous, twitchy smile.

No one returned the greeting; most of the students had their noses covered with their robes from the hideous odor resonating from Quirrell's turban. Harry, too, felt slightly nauseated as he sat just in front of the Professor. It had been weird; Harry had quickly moved to take a seat in the back like he had always done at school for classes he didn't particularly like, and before he had claimed a spot near the back window, Quirrell came sprinting into the classroom, requesting that Harry sit in the front. Yet, he made no other requests for any other student; they all sat wherever they wanted.

"T-t-today," The man continued, smiling wider, "We are going t-t-to l-l-learn about c-curse scars."

Curse scars? What the hell? Harry narrowed his eyes. Quirrell looked down at him, directly at Harry's lightening-bolt scar. "A-as you k-know, we have a s-s-student among us that h-h-has such a s-s-scar. The o-o-only s-s-student in f-f-fact."

Okay. This guy was absolutely creepy. Harry shivered. He knew the man was referring to him, and he dreaded what he knew was going to come next. He was annoyed, and his scar was throbbing painfully again.

"M-Mr. P-P-P-potter," Quirrell nearly squeaked. "If you w-w-would come to the f-f-front of the c-c-class, p-please."

Feeling as though his stomach had dropped out from under him, Harry thought he was going to vomit. "Um... I actually don't feel so good, Professor," Harry stated, hoping the man would just leave him alone and let him go up to the Infirmary. Quirrell's lips twitched, in worry or amusement, Harry couldn't tell.

"A-ah, yes, I just n-n-need you a m-m-moment, Mr. P-Potter, t-then you may w-w-ish to go to t-t-the infir-r-rmary, yes?"

"Yes, sir." Harry sighed, knowing there was no way out of it; he couldn't tell Quirrell no, and he could not just run out of the classroom either without risking getting caught by a teacher. Although that alternative was very tempting at the moment..

To his relief, Hermione's hand shot up before Harry had the chance to leave his chair. Quirrell looked over at her, frowning slightly. "Y-y-yes, Miss...?"

"Granger, sir." She replied, her brown eyes watching him carefully. "I was wondering, Professor, why do you need Harry to come up there?"

Quirrell laughed slightly, and the sound of it made Harry's skin crawl. "For a p-p-practical l-l-lesson of c-course, Ms. G-G-Granger. P-Potter's scar is v-very c-c-curious indeed. I s-simply r-r-require his as-s-istance m-momentarily."

Hermione lowered her hand, frowning. "Oh, I see, sir."

Feeling as though he was going to heave at any moment, Harry slowly got to his feet and walked to stand next to Professor Quirrell. It was all he could do not to throw up his breakfast when Quirrel lowered himself to Harry's height and peered unrelentingly at the scar. "T-this scar was m-made by a c-c-curse."

Well, duh. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. That's why it was called a curse scar.

"A very e-e-vil c-curse. H-however, it is n-not one u-usually a c-cause from a f-f-failed c-curse. I-It's s-shape is v-very c-curious." A thin finger ran along his scar then, and Harry jumped from the electrical surge that seemed to have run through it at Quirrell's touch. "A-ah, it s-seems P-P-Potter does not l-l-like to h-have his s-s-scar t-touched."

Just figured that out, genius? Harry grimaced. Hermione's lips were pressed together tightly, as if she was restraining herself from demanding the Professor to stop.

"T-t-then, I s-shall e-end this p-practical l-lesson. C-curse s-scars a-are all d-different. S-some c-cause p-p-pain, others do n-n-not. In a-a-all my y-years of r-r-research, I have n-never s-s-seen something s-so e-extraordinary! T-t-thank you, P-P-Potter. S-shall I-I s-send G-G-Granger with the h-h-homework l-l-later?"

"Yes, sir." Harry let out a huge sigh of relief, and wasted no time in walking as quickly as he could without it being a run out of the classroom and into the corridor. Almost at once, the nausea lifted. The pain in his scar eased, but only slightly. He winced, rubbing it again as he started up to the Hospital Wing, hoping to get something for the pain, or at least the light-headedness he was feeling.

He walked slowly now, struggling to stand upright as his vision blurred and darkened. He blinked rapidly to calm it, and then before he knew it he had staggered forward and walked straight into something heavy. He looked up, only to see Professor Severus Snape glaring down at him.

"Potter," Snape snarled. "Aren't you supposed to be in class? The class just behind you, in fact?"

Harry nearly flinched at the hard tone. "Y-Yes, sir, I was just there. Professor Quirrel's sent me to the Hospital Wing."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Whatever for?"

His head started to swim, as if someone had seized him and was spinning him around continuously forever and ever. Everything seemed to be dimming out, and he blinked and it was refocused.

"H-H-Head..."

His vision darkened dramatically again, and he felt himself growing limp, and he knew Snape was talking to him but he couldn't hear...

And then Snape reached out, pushing Harry up before he could collapse to the floor, his omniscient eyes glazed with the alarm Harry had seen earlier that morning. "Potter, can you hear me?" He asked softly.

Harry nodded weakly. "Y-Yeah... now I can, sir."

He still felt weak, and the sickness was back, and his scar continued to ache. He closed his eyes, whimpering slightly as it gave a particularly harsh throb.

"What's hurting you, Potter?" Snape asked, his voice still soft. Harry squeezed his eyes shut as the pain worsened.

"My s-scar, Professor Snape."

Had Harry's eyes been opened, he might have seen the shock flick across Snape's face. "Your scar..? Does it usually hurt you?"

Harry opened his eyes slowly as the pain calmed. "No, sir. Only when I have the dreams about the green light and the man who killed my..." He trailed off. He didn't want to think of Voldemort.

Or his parents. Or anything, really. He just wanted to rest, to will the pain to go away.

"Is that what happened at the Sorting feast as well?" Snape inquired.

"Yes."

"And has it hurt anymore since that time?"

"Last night, at dinner. And this morning at breakfast, and then just now in Professor Quirrell's class."

He watched Snape as the man nodded slowly, his expression stoic again. "Very well... do you need assistance to the Hospital Wing, Potter?"

"No thank you, sir," Harry shook his head, managing a small smile. "I think I'll be okay..."

Snape looked thoughtful for a moment before he simply nodded, and let Harry stand on his own, watching the boy as he walked slowly, but more steadily, down the hall. "Potter," He called, and the boy turned to gaze at him inquiringly. "If you are unwell enough to make my afternoon class, I can arrange for a lesson for you after dinner if you would like. You may also try to brew some extra potions for extra credit if you wish."

Harry looked simply confused for a moment before his mouth split into a huge grin. "Really? Oh, I would like that, sir! Thank you!"

"Then, I shall see you tonight. Come promptly at Seven."

"Yes, sir! Thank you!"

Still grinning, the boy continued to his destination, looking a sight better than he had just moments before.

Severus stood there, simply watching the boy until he could see him no longer and then he took off in the opposite direction, past Quirrell's class, and even though the incentive to enter and question the blundering idiot what was going on with Harry was almost overwhelming, he continued until he reached the Headmaster's office. After saying the newest password, Snape climbed up the winding staircase and without even bothering to knock, shoved the door open to see Albus sitting in his chair.

The old man looked up, eyebrows rising as he saw the expression on the teacher's face. "Severus, what has – ?"

"It's Potter," Snape spoke quickly. "I just ran into him apparently skipping class, until I questioned him and found out that was not the case."

Dumbledore looked puzzled. "So what was...?"

"He was in Quirrell's class, Albus. He was sent to the Hospital Wing after claiming his scar was hurting him. When I found him, the boy was dazed, staggering and in downright danger of losing consciousness."

"I see," Dumbledore said slowly. "Then, our assumptions..."

"Have pretty much proven true," Snape finished. "If Quirrell is indeed being possessed by the Dark Lord, then Potter is in danger every single time he is alone with him."

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded sadly. "I feared as much, Severus. For Harry's scar to be hurting him now of all times... did the boy say anything else?"

Snape nodded. "He did mention that his scar has hurt him before when I questioned him about it, but that was from the times he dreamt of the 'green light' when he was younger." At Dumbledore's confused look, Severus continued, "He saw them die, Albus. He dreamt of that man murdering his mother and father!"

"Oh, my." Dumbledore's expression turned even more somber. "Poor Harry. I never did think he'd remember such a horrific ordeal; I'd hoped he would have been spared of it, that the child would have no recollection of that event whatsoever, but it seems my hopes were in vain."

Snape said nothing. How could the child not remember that night? Even as young as he was, only a year old, the murder of your parents would surely remain buried in the subconscious. That was the way the mind worked; children's dreams, moreso than adults, revealed hidden memories and recollections that they never should have witnessed in the first place. He, himself, was a victim of that true fact. He'd watched his father beat his mother from the age of two onwards, and even now, at his age, did it sometimes come back to haunt him. Among other things that still haunted him.

"Well," Dumbedore sighed, leaning back in his chair, "This makes things slightly easier now, doesn't it?"

Snape's eyebrows furrowed. "I am not sure I follow you, Headmaster..."

Dumbledore's eye twinkled annoyingly. "If Professor Quirrell is a container for Lord Voldemort, then no doubt he's going to try and kill Harry while he's here at school. Of course, there's not much he can do, with me here, but he will try nonetheless, anything he possibly can without making it look intentional. He will make them look like accidents. He will find ways, I assure you, because while he will count on me looking out for Harry, I can not do it at all times of the day, but he will not, however, count on you looking out for the child. "

"Yes," Snape said.

"Your vow to protect Harry is going to be the only thing we can rely on, Severus. No one else knows, not even the boy, that you will be keeping an eye on him. Voldemort will eventually figure it out, especially if you thwart any attempts at the boy's life, but I will not allow you harm. I will not allow Harry nor yourself to become yet more victims of Lord Voldemort once again. I daresay he's taken a bit too much from both of you already."

Snape was stunned into silence.

Harry was feeling much better by the time dinner came around. So much better in fact he was almost giddy. His scar was no longer hurting him, and the sickness he had felt earlier that day seemed to have been replaced by hunger. He ate quickly, watching the time, squirming in his seat from excitement.

"Blimey, Harry," Said one of the twins, who Harry thought was Fred. "By the way you're acting one would think – "

" – that you were excited for a Quidditch match or something." Finished George.

"Yeah, really," Ron grunted, as he ate his third plate, "Going to a make-up lesson, Potions nonetheless? I'd be dreading it!"

Hermione glared. "Harry happens to like Potions, don't you, Harry?"

Harry blushed. "Yeah. It reminds me of Chemistry in Muggle School. It's the same kind of thing. The theory behind it. I just think it's fun to learn. You have to be so precise, so there's never a dull moment, because any mistake can mess it up."

Hermione beamed, but Ron just looked bored. "Maybe you just like it a lot because Snape seems to be okay with you, and he's not with any other Gryffindor. Or anyone else, really."

Harry went red.

"What's this?" The twins chorused in unison.

"Does ickle Harry – " Fred began, smirking.

" – Have a kiddie crush on Snape?" George snickered.

Harry knew he was as red as a tomato and sputtered, almost choking on his drink. "What? No! No, I don't!" He yelled loudly, his neck down seemingly ablaze with fire he was so hot, fists pounding on the table as the Weasleys laughed. "Stop it, you guys! I don't have a crush on Snape for Merlin's sake!"

"Crush on Snape?" Draco Malfoy drawled as he passed their table, smiling evily. Harry nearly squawked. "Well, that would certainly explain things, wouldn't it, Potter?" He sneered.

"Sod off, Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed hotly, "It's not like that! I just don't think he's a rotten git like everyone else does!"

Malfoy was looking at him with something between amazement and horror. "You know, you should have been a bloody Slytherin, Potter." He stalked off.

"What the hell," Harry asked, "Was that supposed to mean?" No one answered him.

At seven o' clock sharp, Harry made his way down to the Dungeons, still slightly embarrassed by the twins's antics. Instead, he tried to focus on collecting his thoughts so he could properly brew the potions he would be required to do for today's lesson, and wondered just what kind of extra credit work he would be given. Knocking on the door that belonged to Professor Snape, he waited, until a sharp, "Enter!" echoed around the walls, and Harry opened the door and stepped inside.

Snape glanced up from his grading as he found Harry. "Good evening, Mr. Potter."

"Good evening, sir," Harry replied politely as he made his way over to a small work table where a cauldron was already placed. Glancing quickly at the blackboard, he saw that the instructions for a Forgetfulness Potion was written and immediately set off to gather ingredients.

Snape stayed quite whilst Harry worked, glancing up only now and then to observe Harry's progress. He noticed the boy was taking even more caution than he had the previous lesson, biting his lip as he checked each instruction multiple times a piece.

"Tell me, Potter," He addressed the child, and Harry looked up at him, "Why is it that you check each individual instruction multiple times for this particular potion, when the last one you checked around four or five times all-together?"

"Erm," The boy fidgeted slightly, his brow furrowed in thought. "Because this potion can make you forget even the simplest of detail as you're brewing it, and the last potion was a simpler one, so less concentration – though still an acceptable amount – has to be given?"

Snape nodded. "Correct, Potter, very good."

The little boy smiled, and went back to his potion. Twenty minutes later, and the draft was complete, perfectly accurate. Snape could tell Harry was pleased with his work, and he even had a small bounce in his step as he filled the vial and headed over to place it on the desk.

And then his scar erupted into pain, and Harry let out a loud gasp as his vision blurred and he staggered forward, falling onto his knees, and his completed potion slipped from his grasp, the vial busting upon contact with the floor and spilling the potion's liquid remains. "Oh, no." The boy wailed, despair and disappointment etched into his voice.

Snape sighed and got up and rounded the desk, stepping around the spilt potion to Potter's side. He reached out and grabbed the boy firmly, but almost gently, by the back of his collar, pulling him up and turning him around to face him. He did not expect to see tears falling rapidly down the child's cheeks, his face red from embarrassment and shame. He said nothing, simply letting the boy cry, and with a simple spell, cleaned up the mess from the floor and went back to his desk to finish the grading.

Potter simply stood where he was, hiccuping, and for how long Severus did not know, but he barely managed to restrain a smile when he heard the sound of movement, glasses clattering and the familiar sound of bubbling that told him the boy was making another draft.

Some time and a completed potion later, Harry brought the successful draft up to his Professor's desk, his eyes still slightly puffy from all the crying he had done, but filled with absolute determination as well.

"Very acceptable draft, Potter," Snape informed him as he held the small flask between his slender fingers. "Lacking some of the texture of your last concoction, but acceptable nonetheless. And in some ways, even better than your last."At Harry's confused look he continued. "You put all of your effort and determination into this one; that is what I expect from my most gifted students. Of course, perfection will always be my most required stipulation, but the effort put into the potion matters just the same. The strive to make your very best work. Concentration and attentiveness to detail and instruction are important, Potter, but what I expect from my most talented, prized students who show competency with potions, is now what I expect from you in all you do."

Harry nodded, though he now looked a little unsure of himself. Snape sighed again, and realizing he was pressuring the boy, placed a hand on his small shoulder. "One thing I want to encourage in you, P-Harry, is that determination I saw just a little while ago as you remade this potion. You broke the last one, and you did exactly what I wanted you to do; you tried again, which is exactly what I and your mother would have done."

The boy's eyes widened. "You knew my mother?"

Snape cursed himself mentally. Of all things to bring up to Potter, he had to mention Lily. He'd sworn, he'd promised himself he never would speak of her around Potter's spawn, not when the boy would be so much like his father. But Harry wasn't really at all like his father, was he? No, he was too much like Lily, too much it was painful. And that pain was exactly why he refused to speak of her.

He had to give the child an answer, however, and he decided leaving it for a later time would be more beneficial for both of them.

"I do not want to talk about it, Potter. You are dismissed." He said flatly, turning away from the child to hide his pained eyes.

"But — " The little boy protested.

"Out, Potter!" Snape yelled.

The boy didn't need told twice; he scrambled for his bag and headed quickly for the door. Just before he left though Snape caught the dejected, pained look upon the child's face and for a moment, and only a moment, wished he could take it back.

... And, he wondered briefly, when the hell had he started referring to the boy as "Harry"?