Severus continued staring at the vials, even after he had set them back in their respective places on the storeroom shelf. The glass, Snape imagined, was still warm from how long he'd held onto them.

He backed away, pushing the heavy door closed with both palms flat against the wood. Severus kept his hands on the sealed door for a moment in thought. However, it didn't take very long for the man to come to a practical decision.

With a brisk sweep of his dark robes, Severus marched over to the classroom exit, threw open the door, and strode down the corridor to Dumbledore's office, his lips pursed. As he rounded the corner and stood in front of the stone gargoyles that guarded the entrance, he stopped.

For a moment, Severus continued to stand idly, unconsciously tracing the contours of his lips with a fingertip. But try as he might, he couldn't rid his mind of the distinct image of Potter's face, the slight, controlled tremble of the boy's fingers as he placed the vials on the edge of the desk.

Pure antipathy had been the only emotion that had radiated in thick waves between professor and student over the past year and a half, and suddenly finding his storeroom lacking had been enough to plunge Severus into familiarity. He'd basked in it.

But only briefly.

Never in a century would he have expected Potter to come clean. After all, he'd had no proof of the boy's involvement, except for the mysterious coincidence of items stolen only seconds after a cauldron exploded. It had, without a doubt, been one of Potter's little side-kick nuisances who had done it. But for reasons unknown, the boy had taken responsibility.

A twelve-year-old...boy, Severus brooded, placing emphasis on the latter as if it were a vile curse.

The son of James Potter. He grimaced.

The supposed bloody hero of the wizarding world…

Lingering over the last epithet, Severus sighed. It was this final thought that pressed him into muttering the words "chocolate frog" with a roll of his eyes. The final consideration that deterred the man from slinking back to his dungeons in apathy.

Severus listened to the grumbling movement of the stone door and stepped inside.

Albus Dumbledore was perched behind his desk like a careless toddler playing in his spilled, smashed bananas. His silver head was bowed over a length of parchment that lay unfurled before him.

He glanced up at the terse knock and offered a soft, knowing smile.

"Come in, Severus," the headmaster called gently, his eyes adopting a twinkle as he followed the man's rigid strides.

"Good evening, Headmaster," Severus greeted with a single, curt nod of his head when he stood only a few paces away from Dumbledore's gleaming desk.

The smile lines etched around the headmaster's eyes deepened as he surveyed Severus' poised stance.

"A pleasure to see you, my boy," Albus spoke up once more. "Judging by the late hour, I assume this is not simply a social call?"

Severus inwardly snorted. When did he ever simply make social calls?

"Indeed," Snape began but hesitated, as he wasn't exactly sure how to proceed.

"Have a seat, Severus," Albus offered, motioning to one of the chairs that sat across from his desk. "Lemon drop?"

Severus shook his head. "Thank you," he added. He had almost declined the offer to sit as well, but at the last minute, he had decided against it. There was no need for him to give Albus the need to think something was bothering him.

The headmaster said nothing but raised his eyebrows.

Sensing that he would inevitably be the one to speak first, Severus sighed, shifted, and began. "In regard to Potter—"

"Ah, yes…Harry," Dumbledore tipped his head and popped a small lemon drop into his own mouth. "Go on, Severus, what is your concern with the boy?"

Severus hesitated, unsure of how to continue.

"He…the boy is beyond control, Headmaster!" The words had rushed out; Severus recoiled at his own volume, opening his mouth to speak again before Dumbledore could retort.

But he wasn't quick enough.

"I see," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes trailing over the parchment that still lay in front of him. "What has he done?"

Snape considered this for a moment. He thought about revealing the day's events to the headmaster but felt barricaded by an indistinguishable force.

He tried again. "What I meant to say, Albus, is that the Potter boy knows no limits. He is immune from consequences." Feeling more able, more confident, Severus cleared his throat and continued. "I cannot keep the boy…out of harm's way…" He stumbled over those few words."...if he is unwilling to keep himself accountable. Potter needs boundaries. He needs consequences for acting like an idiotic, little—"

"I believe Harry found himself in detention several times during his first year, as well as this year, has he not?"

"And yet he still managed to crash a flying car into the Whomping Willow," Severus sneered.

Dumbledore reclined in his chair, frowning at Severus with a look of mingled confusion and curiosity. "He did," the old man agreed with a nod. "And he was punished. Minerva saw to that."

Severus huffed, leaning forward. "On the contrary, Albus, the boy was rescued from punishment." Snape felt his patience waning…and quickly. "If it had been any other student besides your precious Potter, he would have been suspended without mercy!"

"Now, Severus…"

Snape stood up, brushing his robes behind him.

"It is the truth, headmaster!" Severus was pacing now. "Potter could not have cared less about the measly detention he was assigned! The boy has no regard for his safety and others'."

"Oh, I believe quite the opposite, Severus," Albus replied. "True, he may not adequately look after his own safety, but I believe he cares very much about his friends."

Snape paused, maintaining his rigid stance but attempting to remove the scowl that had creased his features. "I cannot," Severus began, his voice low and fierce, "look after a boy who flippantly disobeys every rule without sufficient consequences. The bloody Boy-Who-Lived may not give much thought to his own life. But I imagine there are many that do, including you, Albus."

Snape hesitated another moment before returning to his chair and sitting down hard, a hand cascading over his face.

"Ah, I see." Dumbledore steepled his fingers in thought and gazed faraway over the tips.

"Enlighten me, Headmaster, what do you see?" Severus retorted, without removing the hand from his eyes.

Dumbledore ignored the question.

"What are you suggesting, Severus?" the headmaster inquired, shifting his eyes to meet the professor's.

Snape allowed his hand to drop onto the arm rest. He looked up at Albus. "If I am expected to keep Potter…safe…" He barely restrained from choking on the word. "If I must do precisely that, then give me the authority to ensure that safety by having more control over his discipline."

There, he'd said it.

Dumbledore paused for a long moment without unlocking his own eyes from the muddy black. "Discipline, Severus?"

A single nod.

"The boy needs proper consequences, as well as someone who can consistently follow through with them. After last year's…events….it is beyond clear that Potter is far too impetuous."

Dumbledore nodded, still gazing at the Potions Master in deep thought.

"He is quite a remarkable individual, Severus. The boy certainly has a knack for trouble, just like his father," Dumbledore smiled again, failing to draw attention to the adjacent snort of disgust. "But I firmly believe that his inclination for compassion…for honesty…is what makes him so much more like his mother."

The two men held each other's stare for a moment longer before Severus turned his head away, the swallow thick in his throat.

"Tell me, my boy, how would you plan to employ this...discipline?"

Wrenched back to the present, Snape drew in a deep breath. "The same way I deal with my Slytherins: high expectations and a firm hand. It is precisely what the boy needs."

"Perhaps." Dumeldore nodded. "However…"

Severus closed his eyes. This was a waste of time.

"…a firm hand requires a soft disposition."

Snape felt the blood rise to his cheeks again, his impatience edging towards exasperation.

"If you expect me to provide Potter with a bedtime cuddle, you are sadly mistaken, old man…"

Dumbledore chuckled, his cobalt eyes twinkling in amusement. "I'll consider your request, Severus."

Snape froze, startled by Albus's sudden compliance. But, quickly regaining his neutral expression, he jerked his head into a nod. Straightening his robes, he stood up and made his way toward the exit.

"Oh, but Severus…"

He stopped, turning.

"A word of warning: I believe Minerva might require a bit more convincing than I. Good luck with that." With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore closed the door on Severus' aghast expression.

A flash of the headmaster's mischievous smile was the last thing Snape glimpsed as the heavy door swung closed with a snap, concealing Dumbledore's office from view.

Harry couldn't sleep.

His stomach was twisted into knots and his feet were cold and clammy as he tossed and turned in his dormitory bed. Even though Harry was hot underneath the heavy blankets, every time he threw them off, he'd start to feel shivery again and ended up cocooning himself in the smothering heat of his covers.

His head swirled. His mind felt disconnected from the rest of his body. His eyes were heavy and remained closed, but sleep refused to engulf him. Likewise, his body was exhausted. The muscles in Harry's arms ached from scrubbing so many vials, and the muscles in his legs twitched tiredly, endlessly, begging for the release of slumber.

It was useless.

Today had been one of the most confusing days of his life, and Harry felt that he'd made a thousand mistakes, each one worse than the last. He couldn't believe he'd given himself up—given his friends up. Ruined the entire plan. Now they'd never be able to sneak into the Slytherin common room undetected.

But another part of Harry felt relieved. Cleansed. And Snape hadn't even said anything. Harry had braced himself for an explosion as he had attempted to exit the classroom but received nothing. Snape had only given him the time for his next detention the following day—7:00 instead of 6:30.

A miserable thought: his professor was probably cooking up something really vile for tomorrow night…if he made it through until then.

But Snape wasn't the kind of person that made anybody wait for anything, and Harry knew it. He was the most swift, reactive adult that Harry had had come in contact with. Ever.

Snape never hesitated a second to deduct points from Gryffindor and had somehow seen Harry chuck the firework into Goyle's cauldron, even though he had been so careful to do it when Snape had his back turned.

No, Harry had been spared again, he decided. He just wasn't exactly sure why.

Giving up all hope of falling asleep, the boy dragged himself out of his bed and down the steps to the common room. A meager fire was still blazing, and Harry plopped himself onto his favorite arm chair. He draped his legs over one of the arms and relaxed back into the corner of the plush chair.

Suddenly, it occurred to him:

His invisibility cloak.

Why couldn't he just sneak down to the dungeons and wait for someone to come with the password? Then, he could just slip right through.

It was simple, really. Of course, he would have to locate the Slytherin common room first, and then he'd have to think of a plan once he got in it. How could he get Malfoy to talk about the Heir of Slytherin?

Harry decided he could think about that later; he could ask Ron and Hermione. They could all come up with a plan…together.

Forgetting for the moment all of the worry over Snape and his strange behavior, the stolen and returned boomslang skin, the next day's detention, Harry's eyes grew heavy as he watched the flickering flames in the fireplace blur and swivel.

Sure, he would have to worry about everything else tomorrow, but right now he could only smile over his sudden spark of brilliance and surround himself with the warm thoughts of his friends. Maybe he hadn't ruined everything after all.

Instantly, Harry's eyes drooped as he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

TBC...