A/N: Thanks everyone for waiting! Ugh. Life happened. :) Your lovely reviews were very motivating! All of the guests, SherryGabs, Twonky, green boredom, Lumcer, you guys are awesome, so glad you are joining me for this story. One more note: the title of this story was inspired by the song, Looking Too Closely, by Fink. The lyrics mesh with this story in the best possible way, and let me promise that you won't regret listening to it. Ok! Without further ado, chapter 6...

Harry's leaving the hospital wing, robes gingerly back on, a canister of something called bruise balm with a nasty smell that he's supposed to spread on every night tucked into his bag, and his bag clutched to himself like a lifeline.

He's still a bit stunned, and he sat there and let the Madame cluck her tongue and wave her wand and stuff a potion down his throat - is this what a dr.'s visit is kind of like? - and he's got gauze taped over the wide, bloody surface scrape on his side, his shoulder muscles feel all warm and relaxed instead of painfully strained like they did earlier, and even his bruises feel much, much better after that first layer of cream.

And he's not quite sure what to do with all this.

He's not quite sure what to do with Snape.

The man was just as angry as Harry thought he would be, dragging him through the corridors, harsh and scowling and snarling and furious. And then…

"This isn't a punishment, Potter, this is a health check." "Potter get back here!"

"What else are you going to do, take points?" "Twenty points from Slytherin."

Harry had been so sure he knew what kind of adult Severus Snape was. Sure he knew what the man wanted, sure of where it all was headed, the odd questions and prodding. He had expected…he had expected...

He curls his arms around his hanging bag, shaking his head a little, as if he could just jumble everything into place.

"I don't understand-" "You certainly don't, Mr. Potter, if you imagine I am able, much less willing, to use such methods of chastisement."

What did it mean? Obviously - Harry flushed - obviously, the man wasn't going to belt him. Had he misread him so badly? Snape was an adult. An adult who didn't like him, really didn't like him, seemed like had despised him right from day one. They hadn't interacted that much, but he seemed to relish tearing Harry to pieces in every way possible the few times they had. What made a man like that keep from taking a few shots at Harry when he had the wide-open chance?

Harry remembers the resigned defiance that prompted him to the hated position against the wall, remembers the grim anticipation, an iciness that seemed to shiver over his skin, remembers chanting to himself in his head it will be worth it, this'll be worth it if I get to stay, it's worth it, it's worth it. How his muscles locked rigid into place and his breath strained, and his eyes pulled tautly closed waiting for the first snap, the heat and the familiarity of the pain spreading across his already aching skin…but most of all, he remembers how it never came.

The man took points. The man took points, after Harry had mocked it incredulously as the light chastisement it was, much too light for Snape to use against him when he had better options, when he had Harry's gritted submission before him. When he had everything against Harry and something to hold over him.

And now it's relief, and it's dim apprehension and it's confusion and it's suspicion, it's hope flickering hushed in the back of his mind. It's he-doesn't-know-what when he stands in front of the heavy iron-clasped door.

He's paused, leaned just barely against the wall, staring at the entrance, and taking deep breaths, waiting for his wild insides to soothe and quiet like a tamed beast. They do, after a minute, as he pushes himself into focus, and he feels better; less fragile.

He's under no misconceptions about the upcoming hearing. Draco Malfoy is the House's favored, and he'll spin some tail where it's all Harry's fault, and Harry will protest in vain and then take the fall. He knows how these things go.

But he shrugs it off as he curls his fingers into a fist and raises it let out two quick, quiet raps.

He doesn't think of Malfoy, and he doesn't think of Snape as he hears "enter!" in the man's smooth, unreadable voice. He thinks of Blaise, walking next to him on their way to classes this morning, laughing, and it's the thought of that easy laughter that makes him straighten as he lets the door swing open and walks over the threshold into Snape's workspace.

Draco's sitting, stilted, in his chair, and he throws Harry a dark look, all kinds of revenge promised by those icy gray eyes. Walking slowly over to the chair next to him, Harry pulls it out and sits down, landing with a hard, muffled thud.

"Potter,"

"-Sir."

They acknowledge each other, and Harry feels his balance tip a little more, because he's never heard such a neutral tone in Snape's voice directed toward him, and that alone makes him guarded. The man doesn't even look at him really, shifts his eyes to Malfoy.

"Draco, I will see you at 7 tonight precisely. You may go."

"But, sir!" Malfoy objects predictably.

"Draco," Snape warns, and the one word stops Malfoy short, making him slump petulantly back into his chair. Harry wonders what Snape did before he was here to make Malfoy so compliant.

The other boy rises to his feet, gathering his robes, and gives Harry one superior, gloating smirk, before walking, in no hurry, towards the door.

"Mr. Malfoy."

Malfoy stops, peering back at his Head.

"Twenty points will be taken for disobeying a teacher."

Malfoy looks outraged for a moment, his jaw opening and shutting, and Harry keeps a similar look of disbelief from sprawling across his points! That's a lot for Snape to take from Malfoy, more than he's ever taken from- actually…no…twenty. Twenty points…the same amount he took from Harry. Harry feels a prick in his mind, wondering if it means something, but brushes it away. His nerves are too raw to deal with every blip of alarm and every question mark running through his head right now.

Malfoy's turned, drawing himself up, and he stomps out, the door slamming behind him. Harry controls his breathing, evenly, and this unknown is almost worse than anything else Snape could dish out. Maybe, maybe Snape was just waiting for the privacy of his office before…he sucks his breath in quietly.

The silence is sitting so hard in the room Harry feels like even a whisper might crack it open.

"So." Snape's word sounds ominous to Harry, and his teeth catch roughly on the edge of his lips.

"You step in to defend the Gryffindors," He can feel Snape's gaze on him, can hear so many layers of tone and disgust, and no, dang it, he knew Malfoy would spin it around like that!

"No, I-" Harry's protest comes out almost squeaky, and he winces and tries again, before Snape leans forward toward him, brow shoved low, and that's all it takes for Harry to snap his jaws shut.

"You goad Draco into the sky," Snape continues, still intimidatingly close, "and then chase after a schoolbook you clumsily dropped-"

Harry feels a flash of anger.

"That's not what happened-" He snaps, before he can think better.

His Aunt Petunia always has gone on about his untamed tongue.

"And finally,"

Harry can see his jaw click. Dang. Harry couldn't read him at all earlier, but now…the man is definitely angry.

"You crash land, miraculously saving your miserable, measly text. Setting an abhorrent example for your fellow Snakes, displaying a disgusting lack of obedience toward those in rightful authority, and inconveniencing your entire class…House…and Head."

Harry twitches his head downward, trying to hide the hot anger that's starting to smolder in his the lines of his face. He clicks his jaw together. He's not doing this. He knows the man won't hear him, he knows how this is going to end, he's only going to make it worse by-

"No defense, Potter? Nothing to say?" Snape's voice is dangerously soft.

"No. Sir." Harry mutters.

Snape's eyes are burning darkness now, relentless.

"Well?"The man bites, but before Harry can say anything, "-And was it worth it, Potter? Did you save your precious text?"

"Yes." Harry juts his chin out, eyes snapping.

The man finally - finally - sits back, gaze tunneling on him shrewdly.

"Do you have said text?"

"Well-yes," Harry tries to cover how taken back he is by the question.

Snape's mouth curls into briefly into an already familiar sneer.

"Since it seems worth disobeying rules put in place for your own safety, and that of your classmates, Potter, perhaps I shall hold onto it for you until you learn the proper place of a book in the hierarchy of importance. I'll give you a hint; it's below safety."

Harry's walls drops as he shrinks back a little, his mind going still.

"Hand me the book, Potter." Snape's voice, flat.

For a moment, all Harry can see is that one November day that Dudley tore his favorite schoolbook from him and ripped it to pieces while his gang held Harry pinned watching, and how much worse it would feel to give up that picture. He can feels his hands move toward the precious book, but instead of handing it over, he snatches it and hugs it to his belly, darting a glance at Snape.

The man's eyes narrow.

"Potter, the book."

"No." Harry's breath catches, and the word falls, almost involuntarily, from his lips.

Snape pushes his chair back and rises, towering over him, and Harry feels a flicker of panic. He can't explain, the man won't care. He can't just hand it over, either, he'd never see his picture again…but the way things are going…his mind is screaming at him, trapped. It's Snape, and it's expulsion, it everything on the line.

"I-I-can't-" Harry stutters, cursing himself for the way it comes out, small and vulnerable.

"Now Potter!"

"No," Harry gasps, and he's pushed backward too, jolts to his feet.

He can feel his blood careening crazily through his system. He needs…he needs Snape predictable, and the man isn't cooperating! How's he supposed to have an idea how the man's going to react after the way he shattered Harry's expectations so violently in that Hospital Wing?

But there's no hospital matron here, nothing to hold Snape back. For one split second, there's just air spinning around him and terror, and Harry not even sure what he's afraid of. A thought nags at the back of his mind. It's not ideal, and he doesn't know…if he can get Snape distracted, if he can goad the man into a livid rage, maybe…maybe Snape will whip him after all, maybe he'll be satisfied with that, maybe he'll forget about a little thing like Harry's book.

Harry swallows, pulse pounding in his throat. He doesn't have a good idea of how to do it, and he doesn't know if it will work - it could go so badly wrong, and he doesn't exactly want to get belted, anyway. But if it takes this once for him to stay away from the Dursley's…Harry's on the very fine edge of exhaustion, and he just wants to get the worst over with. Snape wouldn't do it earlier, and Harry's not quite sure why, but maybe, maybe, as much as the thought of it makes him wince, he can use it.

The man's already angry, but not nearly as much as he was when he dragged Harry from the lesson earlier, and Harry needs him at least that furious. His breathing shivers and speeds. Okay. Defiance. He can do this.

"I said no!" Harry dares, drawing himself up and deliberately mustering every ounce of belligerence he can to shove into his tone.

Snape steps close, intimidating and severe.

"You and I both know this isn't about the book, boy!" He hisses, and Harry stares at him in alarm. Could Snape know…?

"You just wanted a chance to show off your immodest flying skills in from of everyone! Just have to be the show-off, Potter, don't we, willfully and completely flaunting your insolence-!"

That's it, attention off the book, onto Harry. He relaxes a little. No, Snape doesn't know. But he is getting more worked up. Time to turn up the heat. He doesn't have much ammo on Snape, what does he know? Ineptitude upsets him. Flaunting authority. Anyone who thinks they know anything. And Harry. Pretty much anything to do with Harry. This shouldn't be hard, right?

"I don't know about show-off, sir," Harry smirks a little. "Seems I'm not the one who always has to make an attention gathering dramatic entrance. Besides," He adds flippantly, clinching a bit harder. "It's not like anyone got hurt."

"I'll show you get hurt, Potter!" Snape's arms snaps up, and Harry viciously steels himself against his automatic recoil, against ducking. This is what you wanted, you pushed him into this, now take it!

Dang it. Snape's not doing anything. Why's he paused? What's that look? His body, his eyes…he's straightened again, all dark and burning and threatening, with shades of ice in his eyes, but he's not raging, and he's got that calculating look on his face. Words tremble in Harry's throat.

Get angry. Get angry, dang it! He can do this!

"I'd like to see you try, sir." Harry scoffs, light and quick and breathy.

The man backs away, and Harry can hardly feel his fingers anymore, they're wrapped so tightly around his book, and why is the man backing away?

And then Snape's hand darts away and whips out his wand, and…oh. Harry hadn't thought-he'd forgotten, and-

The eyes have calmed, black and unfathomable, and Snape raises his wand. Harry jerks sharply, panicked, throwing his hands up to block his face as he gasps, the book shielding his face. Is it pain? Or…he hopes doesn't just make him disappear or freeze or something. Blaise would notice if he went missing, and - well, the man's a teacher. He probably…probably wouldn't do that. It's probably against the rules.

Harry's braced himself for whatever insidious, hissing magic will shoot from the end of that dark wand, before he feels an unexpected tug. The next thing he knows, the book is ripped from his loosened grip by an unseen force.

With a cry, he leaps forward after it. Hands frantic, he nearly knocks it from it's trajectory, and the book spins, splitting open, pages heaving and fluttering, while Harry's momentum sends him forward hard into the ground, skidding onto knees and throwing out scraped palms. In the silence after the book snaps into Snape's hand, something quivers, drops down softly in the rippling air to land on the floor, and Harry feels ripped open.

He cowers there on the ground for a moment, staring at it, and Snape is staring at it, too.

And Harry had thought this day could not get worse…

He swallows miserably, hid mind exhausted from the adrenaline and confused. His picture is sitting there, on the floor, and Snape is holding Harry's textbook. Harry knows when to admit defeat.

He doesn't even reach for his picture. His arms are heavy, and he heaves himself over, wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball. He scoots slowly over to the desk and slumps against the smooth wood, curling himself into it. He's fought hard today, he's fought up and down, but he's lost everything and he doesn't know what Snape is going to do, and he doesn't even feel scared or confused or wary, and he doesn't even feel defeated, he just feels dead, and he feels like his head is far too heavy to lift.

Pale, slender fingers grasp his picture and pick it up softly, and then there's a crinkle as it unfolds. Harry brings his knees up and stuffs his face into them, unwilling to see the gloating on Snape's face.

But there's no gloating, and there's no relishing words, and Harry peeks up. Snape's eyes have widened imperceptibly - he looks almost shocked, and then floored, and his arms tremor for a minute, as if his arms were suddenly too weak to hold the weight. Snape's eyes dart to Harry, who looks quickly back at the floor.

"Potter." Snape's voice is almost a whisper, and he's staring at the picture, and Harry's not quite sure if he's saying Harry's name or…or…

The man fumbles backward, unseeing, hands grasping for his chair, which he then falls into.

"You…this…"

The words drop into the air, hanging, and Harry's not quite sure what to do with them - not quite sure what Snape expects him to do with them, so he doesn't do anything. He just accepts them, quiet as they thump unwilling in the space between.

"Potter! Up here, now!"

Those words, he knows what to do with. Sort of. Except they seem to take a long time to fight all the way through to his brain.

Sluggishly, Harry rises, and he pulls back his chair, and sits, but he still has this strange instinct that wants him to coil into himself until he's as small as he feels, and then stuff himself…somewhere. A large pile of blankets. Under a bed with the dust particles clinging to his hair. In someone's arms…ha. No, he better stick with realism. And the reality is…the reality is, that Snape…Snape has all the trumps cards, and Harry has nothing. He has nothing but his painful little shreds of determination, and they're littered, dragging, behind him somewhere. Harry has nothing but the stale scent of his cupboard and the bitterness of a contempt that tastes almost like blood, and a distant memory of love slipping around in the back of his mind.

Snape opens a little drawer in his desk and tucks the picture in to it, letting the book thump, forgotten, onto the top. The drawer closes with a snick.

"That's mine." Harry meant to snap it, but the words came out all limp and pleading.

"That, Potter, unless I'm mistaken, is a page unjustifiably ripped from Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century…probably a library copy?" The man succinctly enunciates the last two words.

A pause.

"Probably," Harry agrees.

The thought flits through him that this probably means harsher punishment, too, and he wonders when he stopped caring. Tendrils of resentment wiggle through the fog. But he's not going to apologize, he's not. Not for this, not for stealing a little piece of his parents to carry around. He won't apologize, and he's not sorry.

"I expect," Snape's voice is even. "An explanation for this, Potter. Vandalising a copy of a public library book. I want to know," Snape leans forward, "why."

"I wanted the picture." Harry says dully.

"Yes, that's quite obvious, Mr. Potter." Snape taps his finger on the edge of his desk and Harry's eyes follow it. Tap. Tap. "My question remains. Do you enjoy such acts of destruction? Why?"

"Why?" Harry echoes, incredulous. "I just wanted to see them."

The silence is startled and sharp.

"Speak plainly, Potter!" Snape bites after a moment.

Harry doesn't know what Snape wants, he's not sure he ever did.

He swallows. "They're my parents!"

"Get ahold of yourself, Potter, I believe that's a well known fact-"

Harry's words are dazed, his eyelids feel thick when he blinks them.

"I just…I saw them, and once I knew…I couldn't just-I wanted to have. Something. To, you know, remember…"

Snape snarls, frustrated, and Harry trails off.

"What about your myriad of other pictures?"

Harry squints at him. Yep, he's aggravated. And something, somewhere in his brain, is screaming at him that this is a very bad thing. But he can't quite get a handle on just what Snape is talking about. He eyes the man.

"What other pictures?"

"Your pictures of your parents, Potter, don't try to-!"

But Harry gives a snort and shakes his head, and Snape stops.

"Are you telling me, Potter," He says, so very, very softly. "That this is the first picture that you've had of your parents?"

Harry nods. "Erm. Had. Seen. I didn't want to forget what they looked like…"

Like I forgot how they felt.

Sometimes he dreams about being held.

"You'd never…known…what they looked like."

Snape's disbelief seems to be matching Harry's tranced state, and Harry feels a bit annoyed.

"Like Aunt Petunia would ever take time out of her day to show me pictures!" He laughs tiredly. "Of my parents? - I'd be surprised if she hadn't burned them. I'd be surprised if she had any at all."

"Potter-" Snape's head it tilted a little as he studies Harry, and Harry fights the urge not to laugh again. "Potter,"

"My mum had red hair. Did you know?" Harry says suddenly. "I already knew…Hagrid told me… I have her eyes."

"Hagrid told you." The man says blankly, and then his jaw tightens.

Harry can't seem to say anything right…although since when is that new.

And suddenly, Harry is just very, very tired. He's tired of being afraid and he's tired of waiting and he doesn't have the energy to hope or want, he just wants this over.

"Are you going to punish me now, please?" Harry says.

Harry is starting to hate that uncomprehending stare on the man's face. It looks slightly wrong.

"First I will assure you, again, Mr. Potter," Snape sounds annoyed. "That my punishments will not be in keeping with what your..relatives see fit to dole out."

Harry wasn't really expecting it to be, but he relaxes anyway, minutely, before panicking. "Not expulsion-"

"Potter!"

That shuts Harry up.

"You have detention with me for the next week days. You will take the book back to Madame Pince and apologize, then pay for a replacement-"

"Does that mean I get to keep the picture?" Harry questions. "Because it makes sense, if I pay for the book, and then it becomes mine-"

"I am trying to give you consequences, Potter, and you will sit and be quiet and not interrupt me!"

"But, Sir-"

"Potter, I can assure you that I will be keeping an eye on your flying classes from now on, and the instant I see anything worth reporting, you and your school career will be the worse for it, I will give the details of your discipline at a later time, and right now I will thank you to get out of my office!"

"But I-" Harry starts again, ducking his head shyly.

"Potter, out."

"I-" Harry lets his head fall into his hands as he tries to gather himself, his fingers curled into hard, helpless fists. Still steaming, he yanks up from his chair, glares at the man, and whirls, ready to leave that stupid chair, that stupid desk, that stupid man behind him. The only thing he's not ready to leave is his picture, but he promises himself he'll figure it out. He'll get a plan together, break into that drawer sometime, steal it back. He will. Sometime. But right now…right now, he just wants to lay down.

He's back in the dorm and it's quiet and he heads for the bed but then there's a rustling in the closet. Please, no.

Blaise backs out from it and swings around to face him.

"Found i-oh, hey, Potter."

Blaise scrunches his eyebrows mischievously.

"That was some stunt you pulled. How'd it go with the Head?"

"Blaise," Harry chokes a little on the other boy's name coming out, and Blaise looks at him sharply, and then sidles closer.

"Somethin' happen?"

Harry turns away. "No. No, I just…I just need a minute."

"Looks like you need more than one, what'd you say, Potter?" And Blaise slips over to Harry bed and then falls back on the pillows, hands locked behind his head, all spread out, and Harry isn't sure what to do but he can't think, he doesn't want to make decisions right now. What is Blaise doing?

"Zabini-"

Blaise grins. "Ah, a minute ago it was Blaise, but now-"

"Blaise." Harry takes a breath, and realizes distantly that this is the first time he's used the other boy's first name to his face. And then he falls onto the bed and shoves his face into his pillow. His head hurts. Snape is going to kill him, he's going to kill him, why hasn't Snape killed him already, and he needs that picture, he's going to murder him…

"Hey, I know the Professor's a pretty dark character, but if you ask me, going homicidal on a first year is probably a little below his aspirations," Blaise comments.

"What." Says Harry blankly.

"You were muttering."

Why is Blaise still here? It's not that Harry doesn't want him here, he just doesn't understand what the boy's doing. And isn't it-?

"Isn't it lunch time?" Harry questions.

Blaise stretches and slips off the bed. "Good point. Food will help you face your problems. Let's go."

"No, I meant," Harry pauses, bewildered. "I'm not really hungry, but if you haven't eaten, you should…you should go."

"Is that a hint, Potter?" Blaise raises his eyebrows mockingly. "Don't you want me around?"

"No!" Harry says, words stumbling over each other. "I mean, yes, I do! It's…it's not a hint."

"Well, good, because I wouldn't of taken it." Blaise says lightly, eyeing him as if he's insulted by the mere thought. "I'll tell you what, how's about I go down, sneak some snacks out for both of us and then we'll feast up here like kings."

"Is that allowed?" Harry wonders, hesitant.

"Not really." Blaise says airily. "Neither is racing sixty feet into the air with no adult supervision in a show-down with another student."

"Point," Harry says ruefully.

Blaise flashes him a grin and strides smoothly from the room, and it gives Harry a chance to take stock of himself. He no longer feels like drowning himself in the darkness and warmth of those incredible fuzzy blankets for the rest of the year, which is good. And, Harry is surprised to notice, he actually feels a little better for having traded some banter with Blaise.

He's glad he left; Harry's not really sure how to - well, emotion, around other boys yet, and he'd rather not risk anything right now. But he's glad Blaise is coming back, too. In fact, laughing on that velvet green bed with Blaise, munching on whatever luscious items Blaise will smuggle down to him, and talking about the day, sounds just like something Harry's always wished for.

And never pictured himself having.

When Blaise comes down, though, he's not alone. Harry stifles his reaction because he's not quite sure what to do with Theodore Nott standing next to Blaise.

"Harry!" Blaise hails, and starts unloading pastries and fruit from his bag.

Harry can't decide whether Nott looks more amused or irritated. He glares at Harry, then turns back to Blaise, who's slouched, fussing with his plunder.

"Blaise, what-"

"Oh c'mon, I got tired of watching you make goo goo eyes at Daphne Greengrass over the length of table, have I told you these treacle tarts are supreme?"

"I was not," Nott stutters, "making goo goo-"

He whirls to face Harry.

"I wasn't doing that." He denies firmly, and Harry feels a smile creeping up his lips.

"And anyway," Nott snaps, "I don't see that this is really a better option, whatever…this is."

"Do you want to sit down?" Harry wants to ask, but he's tired, and everything seems just a little ridiculous right now, and it comes tumbling out of his mouth like, "Sit down."

"Don't tell me what to do, Potter." Nott says, and then blinks. He sits on the bed.

"What are you two doing up here?"

"Harry was just telling me how it went with Professor Snape."

Nott's face darkens, as if he just remembered. "Of all the idiotic, irresponsible things to do, Potter! I can't believe-you could have died!"

Nott sniffs.

"Well, I-I didn't get expelled." Harry's not quite sure why that's the most important thing to vocally affirm right now, but something tugging at his mind is insisting that it's a big deal. And also probably the only thing good that happened in the whole situation.

Oh, yeah, besides not getting whipped with a belt in the Hospital Wing, but Harry's not quite sure what to think about that yet.

"Oh, is that all you were worried about?" Blaise says.

Nott eyes Harry and lifts his brow dismissively. "Don't be absurd, Potter. The Headmaster wouldn't expel you for flying your broom unsupervised! Even if it was against a teacher's orders."

Well, that's funny. Because Harry distinctly remembers being threatened with expulsion. His mouth flattens wryly. So adults lie. Big deal.

Besides, Nott could be wrong. Snape's a teacher, he would know the Headmaster personally, and he might know better than Nott. Or perhaps Harry could only get expelled with Snape's supportive influence.

Harry looks up again to find Blaise and Nott exchanging glances.

"Was that really your first time on a broom?" Blaise says casually, inquiring.

"Yes." Harry mumbles.

Nott looks grudging. "Not bad, Potter."

Harry looks up, wary. "You mean…you mean, I was good?"

Blaise laughs, light and warm. "You didn't think any ol' first year could pick up a broom and handle it like that? You're going to be brill at Quidditch next year. You practically gave Malfoy a run for his money!"

"Ugh, don't talk to me about Malfoy," Harry groans.

"Treacle tart." Blaise shoves the flaky thing into Harry's hand.

Harry absently bites into it, and then glances at it in surprise. Wow, that was good.

Nott crosses his arms. "I don't even know what I'm doing here."

"So what did the good Professor do?"

"Well, he, um-" Harry pauses, answers flying through his mind. He took Harry to the Hospital Wing? He got mad, he left, he took Harry's picture? "Detention. For a week, and, er-"

Snape, whipping out his wand, it's smooth, dark point aimed straight at him, shivering with power. "I'll show you 'get hurt', Potter!" "I'd like to see you try, sir." Harry crumpled on the floor next to the desk, and aching. Feeling his heart close as surely as that drawer did, with his picture inside, sinking, sinking…

"Points. He took twenty points each from…me and Malfoy, I think."

"A full seven days of detention, though, in just your first week!" Blaise sympathizes.

Harry shrugs.

"I'll have to help you with homework."

Harry looks at Blaise sharply. "You…will?"

"How else will you get it all done, ninny?" Blaise laughs.

"That's right, Zabini." Nott drawls. "Insult the guy. He'll be sure to accept your generous offer."

Harry's lips curl up and break into a short, surprised laugh, and Blaise joins him, shaking Nott's commentary off.

"You know, Nott? You're just too uptight. Here, try one of these, they sure seemed to loosen Harry up-" Blaise shoves a treacle tart at Nott, who breaks his expression to reel back with a shriek, but then Blaise is on him, shoving the tart into his mouth, and Harry is laughing gleefully, without even thinking about it as the poor pastry becomes scattered, sticky crumbles all over the bed. He watches, and he laughs, and he thinks thet, yeah. This is just as good as he could of imagined.

He doesn't dare jump into the fray too hard, after just getting all fixed up by Madame Pomphrey and with still tender bruises, but he does grab another treacle tart from the pile (Blaise must be fond of them, he really brought a ridiculous amount), and saunters over to the wrestling two, commenting with a impish grin. "I think maybe Blaise needs a taste of his own medicine."

He falls asleep that night with treacle tart on his tongue and laughter in his ears, the thought of Snape and fear as a distant memory.

Severus Snape is not falling asleep so easily. He paces in the dimmed light of his office, back, forth. He knew two seconds after his eyes scanned that parchment paper in the Hospital Wing that Harry Potter was abused. An ugly word, and there was no other one for it. By the time he dealt with Draco, his patience was running short, and when Harry Potter sat down in that chair, all excuses and explanations and angry interruptions, the events at the Hospital Wing had gotten shoved from Snape's mind.

Perhaps they shouldn't have been. Because there's no denying the fact that Severus lost his temper with the boy. His temper's always been easily lit, and he's never apologized for it. He walks slowly over to his desk, and slides open a small drawer in the front. He thought he had it all figured out, thought he had a grip on exactly what happened in the sky that morning, and exactly what motivations were behind it. His hand grips a rumpled piece of paper that still smells like library book, fingers smoothing one edge.

And every time he thinks he has Potter pegged, the boy has to go do…something, that shatters his nice pre-planned reality.

"I wanted the picture."

He knows he threatened the boy - since when hasn't he enjoyed putting some well-earned fear into certain little delinquents? He knows he frightened him, too, could see Potter's eyes go wide and his body go still as he flinched defensively away from Snape's wand, arms flying up to cover his face.

He was angry at the boy earlier, but he's not angry at him, now. Irritated, yes. Potter barely seems able to understand or answer a straight question, he's smart-mouthed, and -

"What other pictures?" "I didn't want to forget what they looked liked."

Severus skids his hand over the glossy bordered photo of James Potter and Lily. They look happy. His fingers tighten.

"She had red hair, did you know?" The boy's eyes look achingly lost.

Did he know... merlin, as if he could ever forget. Severus leans over his desk, propped up on both arms, and squeezes his own eyes shut.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow he'll go to Albus.