Thank you for the favs and follows of the story, I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am. I'm new to ff net but I'm trying my best to work out the site :D I'm my own beta reader so if there are any errors, kindly excuse my lacking knowledge and feel free to point them out (English is not my native language). New chapters won't be regular but I'll try my best to update the story frequently. Now, enjoy!

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Harry forgot.

Harry forgot.

An essay about antidotes completely slipped out of his preoccupied mind, which, given the circumstances, was not Harry's fault at all. His priority list was topped with learning a summoning charm, dealing with the consequence of that foularticle in Daily Prophet (he should have known that Rita Skeeter would add the part about Harry's glistening eyes), and Sirius' letter of disappointed and worrisome nature regarding Harry being a champion.

It was Thursday morning when Harry got a gut-wrenching feeling that he had forgotten something. He checked all the points on his mental to-do list during his lunch break, adamant (and anxious) to find out what had escaped his mind.

Fire-call with Sirius – check

Practice 'Accio' with Hermione – check

Tell Cedric about the dragon task – check

Avoid Snape as much as possible – che-

Avoid Snape as much as possible?

Harry's brows furrowed at the thought. He'd been evading the man since their first encounter for years – it was a subconscious act at this point, so why was it so important all of a sudden?

Lifting his eyes from the mashed potatoes in front of him, Harry's eyes reluctantly glanced at the spot belonging to the Potions Master. To Harry's dismay, his gaze met with Snape's.

In an instant, Harry looked away, swallowing dryly. He now remembered what he'd forgotten.

All feelings of hunger vanished in an instant and Harry found himself wandering outside of the Great Hall. Hermione yelled something after him but he seldom heard her.

"I'm not going to potions today," he said in one breath when she caught up with him.

"What happened now?" she asked, suppressing an eye roll. They had this conversation every time Snape's classes approached and Hermione was becoming tired of it.

"I forgot about the homework Snape assigned to me. The deadline was yesterday," Harry explained quickly, hoping that the urgency in his voice conveyed how catastrophic the situation was.

"It wouldn't be the first case you didn't hand in your essay in time," she brushed off the whole issue as if it was a daily occurrence. Harry groaned in frustration.

"He'll chew me up again! I really don't want to subject myself to Snape's remarks today," he breathed out pathetically, letting the exhaustion creep to his face. Harry hadn't been sleeping well since the dream about Voldemort killing a muggle, and even though playing the pity card on Hermione was below the belt, he was desperate.

"Harry, you're going to face a dragon soon, Snape is nothing compared to that."

"I'd rather fight three dragons than have a potions class," he lied.

"Look at it from the bright side, at least Snape's not gonna breathe fire at the sight of you," Hermione continued her persuasion, unbothered by Harry's objections. She'd grown immune to his tantrums a long time ago.

Harry begged to differ, fire-breathing Snape was a sight he could vividly imagine occurring in real life.

Dragged by his arm by Hermione, Harry once again didn't escape the absolute hellof double-period potions with Slytherins. He imagined the dragon frying him alive and it still seemed less of a pain than the two hours that just followed.

OooOooO

"I see that Mr. Potter has decided to grace us with his mighty presence today," Snape sneered gleefully. "What do we owe this pleasure to?"

Twenty seconds in and he was already being ridiculed. The unsuppressed snickers from Malfoy did not help.

Harry decided to ignore his professor, not giving him the joy of responding and losing control in the process. He didn't trust his temper that day.

"Tell me, since when have you been excused from doing school work, Mr. Potter? I have yet to be informed about such an arrangement. Champion or not, there surely is a limit to your privileges."

Count on Snape to humiliate him in front of the whole class. Harry gritted his teeth, still unwilling to reply or acknowledge the professor. Hermione's elbow carefully aimed at the side of his chest made him yelp in startle.

"I wasn't," he muttered at last, giving his friend a side-eye. She sharpened her quill quickly, paying him no attention.

Sniffles of laughter echoed in the room once again.

"A-ha," Snape exclaimed at the revelation, acting as if he had never been more surprised in his life. "Then I'm sure your potion today will be exceptionally exquisite. I'll be grading it at the end of the lesson," Harry's hands tightened into fists, nails digging deep into his palms.

With that, the Potions Master was temporarily satisfied with humiliating Harry and proceeded to open the lesson.

For a bright moment, Harry thought that was the end of it. His potion did receive a T when Snape uttered his lengthy condescending evaluation for the whole class to hear, but that was expected. Harry could hardly see the scribbles on the chalkboard, which blended into one blurry mess, so he didn't blame himself for the failure.

But he should have known better – Snape letting him go without deducting points or assigning detention would not be Snape at all.

"Potter, stay behind," he ordered sharply when Harry failed to evaporate from the classroom in time. Hermione shot him an apologetic look and swiftly left, wanting to be out of range of Harry's fury once Snape dismissed him.

The room emptied and Harry found himself facing his most hated professor face-to-face. If this was going to become a usual occurrence, Harry could as well stop trying to stay alive so hard.

"I'm lacking one of your assignments, pray to tell why?"

Harry went with the truth, knowing Snape would like it the best.

"I forgot," he replied, the phrase hardly tasting of remorse.

"You. Forgot." Snape articulated slowly, voice dropping low.

Harry shrugged under his piercing gaze. Hermione was right, he was going to fight a dragon on Tuesday, what was Snape compared to that?

A sudden image of the Potions Master spitting fire materialized in his mind and Harry battled the urge to snicker a little too late. His lips curved upwards before he bent them down again with stubbornness.

Nevertheless, Snape noticed.

"Is your academic life that laughable? Very well."

The smile was the last straw for Snape. His angry expression was replaced with one of total blankness.

Harry noted to curse Hermione for planting such an image in his brain.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for disrespect, and a detention for a week with Filch, taking immediate effect as of today," he informed Harry calmly and watched his face crumble.

"Weekend included," he added when Harry opened his mouth to argue.

Harry's lips snapped shut. Then he parted them again, once the overwhelming rage allowed him to speak.

"But the first task is in five days! I have to practice-"

"Spare me, Potter. I really don't care," Snape stopped his outburst immediately, waving his hand in a dismissive matter.

Harry rooted himself to the ground. He couldn't leave yet, he had to persuade Snape to change his mind. He had to practice Accio in his free time – his life depended on it. Couldn't the professor see it?

"Shall I die on Tuesday, I'll make it known to be your fault, sir," Harry proclaimed boldly, but the threat sounded more like a melodramatic statement to his ears. Harry cringed, he meant not to come off so pathetic.

One look at Snape told him he wasn't one bit impressed.

"Dramatic as always. Blaming others for your own incapability, how very predictable," Snape replied lazily. "Next time, instead of wasting your time boasting about yourself and your deeds that are not even remotely close to the truth, try to broaden your very limited academic knowledge. Despite the constant performance you display in my class I want to believe you know how to read."

The Potions Master gave him a stringent look and then continued.

"Now, even your glistening eyes will not coax me into withdrawing my punishment, so stop with the theatrics and. Get. Out."

It wasn't the stern order Snape barked out but the sheer horror and embarrassment that did it for Harry. His cheeks flushed deeply when he grabbed his things and stormed away.

Snape, out of all people Snapehad to read that article. Maybe he didn't read it and Malfoy supplied him with the information – it didn't matter. Harry felt so mortified he forgot to argue with the man. Leaving was a wise decision as it spared Harry further humiliation.

Detention with Filch isn't so bad, he tried to comfort himself as he rushed out of the miserable dungeons, he leaves me unsupervised most of the time. I could practice the charm stealthy… really, anything's better than Snape.

Satisfied with the conclusion, Harry set out to find Hermione and vent to her about the unfairness of the world.

OoOooOo

A few hours later, Harry was scrubbing flasks. Roughly.

He knew exactly how he ended up in such a situation, but he simply could not believe it.

Filch was too busy with the preparation of the first task, so he said. Harry could not help him as that would be cheating, so he said. Professor Snape was to overlook his detention himself…

Harry sighed in frustration. He would be more surprised if things did go (for once) his way.

He felt pair of eyes burning into his back and it was for that reason Harry didn't dare to stop his consistent movement of washing the small vials. There must have been hundreds of them scattered around the classroom, placed on every flat surface available.

Harry seldom knew where Snape got so many flasks and why they needed to be washed at once… he had a theory about the professor gathering them out of pure spite for Harry to clean, but he didn't dare to comment on it.

Snape looked sour as ever when Harry knocked on the door that evening, which mirrored Harry's internal feelings accurately. He was glad Filch informed Snape of the situation beforehand because Harry didn't feel like talking to the professor at all.

The physical labour didn't bother Harry, it was Snape's shadow that occasionally paced around the room, creeping behind Harry's back and spectating his every movement. He felt like Snape waited for Harry to slip up – to start lazy around or break something so he could lash out at him. Harry was reminded of Uncle Vernon. He too kept a close eye on Harry when he did his chores, looking for an additional reason to berate Harry.

Snape was in a bad mood, which meant Harry was in a bad mood, which meant everything was just bad.

Harry's plan to practice charms after the detention was flunked out of the window when Snape informed him he'd stay until all vials were cleaned.

"At your current pace, you'll be working the whole night, Potter," Snape stated the obvious an hour later. If the words were supposed to motivate Harry and prompt him to work faster, the effect was totally opposite.

Snape appraised the number of vials drying on one of the tables, and the extended silence told Harry he was not thrilled by his work.

Harry wanted to defend himself, he wished to explain the water was cold, his fingers freezing and the small flasks were too fragile to handle without proper care, but he knew it was futile. Snape would only accuse him of making excuses.

Out of resentment toward the man, Harry deliberately slowed down and played with the glass in his hands far longer than necessary. If Snape couldn't appreciate his best effort, he deserved Harry's worst.

It was after midnight Snape reluctantly dismissed him. Harry barely finished half of the vials but Snape barked out something about "having better things to do than supervising problematic students the whole evening" and kicked Harry out.

Harry considered it a small victory that Snape gave up in the end and went back on his words, but this meant the rest of the work awaited him the next day. With a heavy sigh, he headed back to the common room.

Despite the exhaustion Harry felt earlier in the day, it all vanished when he allowed himself to think about the first task. The images of a dragon attacking him were lurking behind his eyelids every time Harry attempted to close them.

Deciding to be productive instead of wasting hours rolling around in bed, Harry set out to practice the summoning charm with sudden determination. Hermione wasn't there but Harry knew he could not rely on her forever. Independence wasn't a foreign term to him.

"Accio vocabulary!" Harry tried the spell on a thick book back in the common room. When the heavy object seldom flinched despite being hit by the charm, Harry's optimism immediately wavered.

He tried again, and again. By one in the morning, almost all of his school supplies were hit by the charm with no satisfying result. Only quills jerked up to the air when Harry summoned them but fell back down in the following moment.

Frustrated and miserable, Harry reluctantly admitted defeat and dragged himself to bed. If I at least manage to summon a quill, I can try tickling the dragon to death, was his last gloomy thought before he drifted to sleep.

OooOooOoo

Since the cursed article in Daily Prophet came out, the hate towards Harry from everyone intensified. Slytherins were having too much fun quoting the interview and mocking him on his every step, and as the first task drew nearer, the derision hit new heights.

"Don't you need a handkerchief, Potter, in case you start crying during Transfiguration?"

"And since when are you one of the best students, Potter? Or did you and Longbottom start a school of your own?"

"I think his eyes are glistening! Oi, Potter, look this way!"

"Mr. Potter-"

"Yes, that's right!" Harry lashed out in the busy hallway. He'd had enough. "I just cried my eyes out because of my dead mother and I'm going to cry some more later..." he whipped around and was greeted by familiar black robes, which were disturbingly close.

Harry's voice died in his throat.

His eyes travelled up and met a particularly scornful expression. Snape was looking at him with open disgust but his brows were furrowed in something that resembled puzzlement. Harry took a tentative step back, trying to ignore the curious stares coming from every direction.

"Your today's detention has been postponed, nevertheless I expect you tomorrow at 9 am. I do hope you've shed enough tears by then as my handkerchief supplies aren't sufficient to withstand your fit," Snape announced, and naturally, the whole hallway heard him.

Laughter erupted in Harry's reddening ears. Anger and humiliation squeezed his chest uncomfortably, making his breathing quite challenging.

Harry desperately searched for an appropriate response to lessen the damage, to throw an insult back at Snape, but by the time he recovered from Snape's comment the Potions Master had flowed away gracefully.

Gritting his teeth tightly, Harry stormed off to his next class. He hopelessly tried to pacify himself with the pleasant news of cancelled detention, but Harry's bruised ego hurt too much that day.

At least Hermione was joyful about the sudden free time. They decided to practice right after the end of Hermione's arithmancy lesson while Harry skipped Divination.

OooOooOo

Harry wasn't planning to visit Hogsmeade but that didn't stop him from feeling bitter when he realized he couldn't go due to detention. Seeing Snape on Saturday right after breakfast… Harry tried and failed to imagine a worse spent morning. Battling Voldemort could compare.

His high spirits from the previous evening, when he finally managed to summon a roll of parchment into his hand, were deflated once Hermione told him she was going to Hogsmeade with Ron.

Yeah, because the two of them are going to battle a dragon in a few days and should enjoy their lives while they still could.

Feeling sullen, Harry stomped down the dungeons with surprising energy. He was afraid if the pace was any slower than a brisk walk, he'd changed his mind and never attended the detention at all. He considered ditching Snape at first, but then Harry imagined the professor seeking him out in a busy hallway and reprimanding him further with witnesses around. He shrugged involuntarily at the thought.

Meeting Snape in private (ugh, how that repulsed Harry) was somehow better these days. He was scarier when facing alone, but he wasn't as insufferable without an audience to entertain.

Yes, I can handle a Snape without a bunch of Slytherins behind his back ridiculing me, Harry encouraged himself and decidedly knocked on the door.

"Enter."

Harry did. And upon seeing the classroom, he could tell that the detention was going to be a disaster. The number of dirty vials increased. There was no trace of several hours of work he did just two days ago and Harry knew it was going to take him hours to wash everything up. His hands were turning cold just at the thought of freezing water waiting for him. Harry wished he could dissect frogs or chop up leeches instead.

Snape sat in the middle of the glass mess, completely unbothered by it. He noticed Harry's bewildered expression, temporarily averting his eyes from the parchment in his hand.

"I assume you've already had your daily weeping outburst, but if not, I insist you wait until you're done serving the detention and spare me the dramatics," Snape's silky voice hummed, clearly enjoying the revulsion that scrunched Harry's face.

A horrifying image of Harry crying in front of Snape appeared in his mind and Harry concluded he would gladly finish himself off before allowing that to happen.

Besides, why did everyone relish the thought of him crying? If Slytherins found pleasure in thinking the 'oh so famous Boy-Who-Lived' was weak, the feast after Harry died during the first task was going to be magnificent. Too bad he wouldn't be there to attend.

One minute in this bat cave and I'm already depressed, he concluded grimly.

"No worry sir, I've cried plenty enough before breakfast," Harry's voice was soaked in sarcasm that Snape's trained ears unmistakably picked up.

"Mind your cheek, Potter. I haven't had the chance to see Gryffindor's house points reach negative figures this year but keep this act up and we shall experience the pleasure together."

"Right. Shall I start?" Aching to escape talking with the man further, Harry inched towards the washing area Snape set up for him. When the Potions Master didn't reply and just stared at Harry, he quickly added, "Sir."

One curt nod later, Harry was pulling his sleeves up and got to work. He supposed the rules remained the same – he could leave when no dirty vials remained.

At least Snape wasn't stepping on Harry's neck this time. Though, the pressure of being left alone with the horrid man was still there, and Harry swore to himself he'd treasure every minute out of Snape's company for the rest of his life.

The sound of water splashing everywhere was the only companion to Harry's silent thoughts. He tried not to think about Hermione and Ron having fun together in Hogsmeade, or about the approaching first task, or how he was wasting time in detention instead of practising the bloody charm…

Harry promptly shook his head, forcing his anxiety down to the pits of his stomach. He willed himself to focus on the repetitive task, suddenly grateful for the physical labour to occupy him. Exercising his body instead of his relentless mind always helped Harry to calm down.

A long hour passed when Madam Pomphrey stopped by, requesting Snape's presence. Harry was given no other instruction than to "Continue and don't touch anything unnecessary," and received a warning look from the professor as Snape left him alone in the classroom.

Deciding to take the risk, Harry slumped into a chair. He needed a break to warm his rigid hands up and lessen the dark shade of red that coloured them (Harry became convinced Snape didn't have hot running water in the classroom on purpose).

It took him whole five minutes to become relentless again. The room dim room started closing on Harry and he found himself pacing back and forth nervously. Unwilling to return to the cold water just yet, Harry searched for other means to busy himself.

I wish I could practice Accio…

And then, besides his better judgement, he pulled out his wand. Why didn't he think about it sooner? There were hundreds of small objects around him, almost begging to be summoned to Harry's open hand. It'd be a crime not to exploit it.

Ignoring the thread about Snape coming back any second, he took a breath and focused.

"Accio vial!" Harry flicked his wand at nothing particular, and to his utmost astonishment, a small glass flask flew neatly into his palm.

A wide grin spread across his face.

Now, Harry could summon quills, parchment rolls and vials. None of it could be used as a weapon against a dragon, but if came to worst, Harry was ready to throw the glass objects at the monster in a heartbeat. With a little luck, he'd hit its eyes and blind it…

"Accio vial!" He tried again. Even this time, he was successful.

Hermione's going to be pleased, Harry thought smugly and aimed at a bigger bottle, pushing his goals further. Maybe he could finally manage heavier objects.

But he wasn't so lucky anymore. The empty bottle hovered in the air for a while and then came crashing down with commotion. It made an impact with the ground and shattered mercilessly, glass pieces jumping in all directions.

Some of the shreds still flew up to Harry, who watched the scene unfold almost in slow motion despite how instantly it happened. His fingers curled reflexively around the sharp edges of the shreds as they latched onto his palm, Harry seeker's habits kicking in at the wrong moment.

A hiss of pain escaped his mouth. Harry had to use his other hand to force his aching fist open.

It stung. There was blood.

Harry cringed at the sight of the shreds sticking out of his skin. Maybe summoning glass objects wasn't such a good idea after all. Hermione would've given him an earful by now.

Taking care of the wound became a priority, and Harry momentarily ignored the mess on the floor, not bothering to fix it with a simple repair spell.

Then, the door swung open.

Startled, Harry instinctively hid his injured hand behind his back and tried to school his tense expression. He was about to pull the largest glass fragment out when Snape barged in, scanning the room with his dark eyes, looking like he expected the space to be ravaged. His gaze flickered on Harry before he noticed the shattered bottle.

"I slipped," Harry explained immediately upon seeing how Snape's usual frown deepen.

The Potions Master sized Harry up and down with a stare Harry eyed rat brains before he cast a Reparo.

Harry felt the shreds vibrate as they wriggled out of his skin, making the glass bottle whole again. The pain in his palm intensified but Harry's neutral expression was preserved. He dared not to flinch with Snape watching his every move.

"Your incompetence to finish one simple task without causing disruption is hardly astounding, and yet I find myself appalled by the coincidence you did so in my absence, so tell me. What did you do?"

The glare bestowed on him was a familiar one. Harry knew it too well, Uncle Vernon similarly squinted his eyes when he was trying to catch him doing something forbidden. Like sneaking food.

"Nothing," Harry shrugged weakly, using his most honest voice. He maintained eye contact with the professor to prove his innocence further.

"Your hands," Snape barked out icily, eyeing Harry's left arm hidden behind his back.

"What?"

"Show me your hands," Snape repeated, articulating each word with more malice. He advanced towards Harry.

Harry involuntarily stepped back, alarm bells going off in his ears. His muscles tensed up.

"Why do you need-"

"It was not a request, Potter. Don't make me repeat myself."

Snape looked like he was two seconds away from losing his remaining patience, yet Harry couldn't will himself to obey the order. His injured hand stayed firmly tucked behind his back with no intention to move. Harry was determined to keep it in that position for the rest of his life if it meant Snape would drop the subject.

He got hurt due to his own recklessness and he was in no mood to hear Snape's lecture once he found out. Harry didn't want to give the man more reasons to ridicule him.

He averted his eyes to the floor and waited. Silence stretched on with suffocating slowness.

"Very well," when Snape finally spoke again, his voice was quiet and controlled. "You shall inform the Headmaster about your little stunt yourself. I'm sure he'll be just as interested to hear your excuse about stealing from my stores as I am."

Then, Harry's elbow was grabbed harshly and yanked forward.

"W-What? Stealing? When did I – what?"

Trust Snape to blow the simplest thing out of proportion.

"Wait, just wait a second," Harry struggled against the merciless tugging but the professor was unexpectedly strong. "Sir. Wait! Please!" he would've winced at the audible panic in his voice if he wasn't busy squirming under Snape's touch.

Finally, the grip loosened and Harry freed himself with a huff. Stumbling back, as far away from Snape as it was possible, Harry quickly weighed his options. Meanwhile, Snape was gifting him a "you have half a second to explain" look, successfully cornering Harry into a confession.

"Fine," he sighed in frustration and ran his uninjured hand through his messy hair. They were damp with sweat.

With great reluctance, Harry shoved his wounded fist towards Snape and uncurled his fingers to expose the true cause of his weird behaviour. His palm was bathed in accumulated blood, making the injury seem far graver than it was.

"Here, happy? I told you I slipped," Harry muttered heatedly, trying to hide his visible embarrassment. How did he always manage to make a fool of himself in front of Snape was beyond him.

"No, Potter, I am not 'happy,'" Snape's lips were pressed into a thin line. "Are you that incapable of existing unsupervised for ten minutes without attracting danger or was this just another conscious stupid act of yours?"

"It was an accident," Harry swiftly defended himself against the professor's fury.

"I'm sure it was," the corners of Snape's mouth curved up into an unpleasant smile. He then snatched Harry's wrist and pointed his wand at the wound.

Harry grimaced, already having one bad experience with a teacher treating his injuries back in the second year. But before he could accept his fate of having his hand vanished for good, a familiar cooling sensation soothed his skin and the cuts closed up.

"Filch will oversee the remaining detentions himself, according to the original arrangement," Snape announced sternly and then flicked his wand. All vials disappeared. "Dismissed."

For once, Harry happily obliged.