Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the reviews! I adore receiving them, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story.

I hope you like this chapter!

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Harry lay stretched out on his bed in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, waiting for the others to get back from classes. His mind was still buzzing with the events of his Potions class with Snape. The shame still burned through his body; the fact that he had lost his temper so completely disgusted him. How had he let Snape rile him up so much?

Though he wished he had never blurted out everything he felt towards the man, nothing he had said had been false or exaggerated. Snape was a pathetic piece of slime that liked nothing better than to bring his students down. Harry thought bitterly of his first year, when he'd just arrived at Hogwarts, and how much he had been looking forward to Potions. He remembered walking into the classroom, and Snape looking down his slimy, hooked nose at him with nothing but loathing. "Harry Potter, our new celebrity." The slime practically oozed from his voice. To him, Harry was the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. The bastard had even blamed Harry for Neville's accident that first day, when the other boy was working with Seamus. How was it possibly Harry's responsibility that Neville's cauldron had blown up?

Snape's behavior towards Neville was abominable, too. The toad incident, which he had thrown at Snape today, filtered through his mind. It was plain to see that Neville cherished his pet, and Snape had threatened to poison him! Thank Merlin Hermione had helped him, and Neville had gotten that potion correct. Would Snape have gone through with it if the potion was botched? I just bet he would have, Harry thought, livid. The man was truly vile and detestable.

And at the end of the year, the vitriol that had spewed from Snape's mouth had made Harry so angry he'd cast Expelliarmus on him. The spell had been so forceful it had caused him to pass out. Harry had felt intermittent bursts of guilt at this; he should never have done that to a teacher. But there were other times when he'd felt satisfied. Snape would have gladly sent Sirius to receive the Dementor's Kiss when the man was innocent. Obviously there was a nasty history between the two, but did Snape honestly hate the man that much? Of course he did, Harry thought. Would he have sent me to get the kiss, too, if he could get away with it?

And he was supposed to have received the Order of Merlin, but because of Sirius escaping Hogwarts at the last minute, it had been taken away from the slimeball. Too bad, so sad. He had truly looked unhinged, foaming at the mouth as he screamed and yelled, and right in front of the Minister of Magic no less! Harry couldn't say he liked Fudge all that much; he seemed quite moronic to him. But he certainly had a point when he called Snape unbalanced, he thought, glaring at the ceiling.

After a few more minutes of stewing in his thoughts, the dorm door opened, and Ron walked in. "Harry, are you in here?" he called. "I want to talk to you."

Harry immediately opened the curtains around his bed. He was happy that Ron was making the first move; he'd planned to do this himself, but it lifted his spirits to know that Ron was starting it. "Yeah, Ron, I'm here," he said.

Ron sat down on his bed and faced Harry. "Wow," he breathed, his voice full of admiration. "That was some scene with Snape. I can't believe you lost it like that."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry. "I shouldn't have done it. I'm just so tired of how he treats us."

"I'm glad you said all that stuff, honestly," said Ron. "But I don't think I've ever seen him so angry. If looks could kill ..."

"We'd all be dead," Harry finished. "Trelawney would have predicted my death correctly, for once."

Ron snorted. "Yeah," he agreed. "She'd've been thrilled, because we'd have been there with you. After you left, he hissed at us to brew our potions, and loomed over all of us Gryffindors and spewed nasty comments all over the place. Neville messed up his potion again, and Snape basically called him a waste of space."

Harry's heart sank. "I should apologize to Nev," he said quietly. "I feel so bad for leaving him at that bat's mercy like that."

"He's okay," Ron reassured him. "I'm sure he'll forgive you." He stopped for a moment, contemplating his thoughts. Then he burst out, "But Harry, I still don't understand the whole thing with Malfoy. Today in class, you still acted like you hate him."

"Ron," said Harry, "I do still hate him. Just because I didn't want him thrown around on the floor doesn't mean I suddenly think he's a saint."

"But he insulted my family, and then he tried to curse you from behind!" Ron exclaimed. "And Moody was just trying to defend you. He's probably dealt with his scum father, you know. Do you have any idea how many Death Eaters that man put in Azkaban? The stories I've heard about him ... you don't want to piss him off, that's for sure."

"But Ron, Moody was HURTING him," Harry protested, desperate for his friend to get his point. "Yeah, Malfoy's a nasty piece of work, and what he said about your family is revolting. And I don't have any doubt that his rotten father's teaching him how to be a little baby Death Eater. But if Moody had continued with what he was doing, he literally could have killed him."

"Don't be ridiculous, mate," Ron cajoled. "He wouldn't have gone that far."

"Maybe not," Harry finally conceded. Looking at his best friend's face, he came to a sudden realization. Ron honestly hadn't seen the viciousness behind Moody's eyes, the pure pleasure he got from simply hurting someone. But Harry had. He'd grown up with his Uncle Vernon, after all, and Dudley constantly used Harry as his own personal punching bag. After spending time at the Weasleys and seeing the love that flowed between them all, he knew Ron had never experienced anything like that. He'd put up with teasing from his brothers, and sure, the twins could be royal pains in the arse - some of their acts could come off as malicious. But it seemed as though the dynamic duo truly didn't realize when they crossed the line from pranking to bullying. What Harry had seen from Dudley and his gang ... their eyes held the same sort of malice Moody's did when he attacked Malfoy.

Ron was silent, and Harry wondered what his friend was thinking. Finally, he said, "Are we okay, Harry?"

"Yeah, 'Course," said Harry. "We don't have to agree on everything, you know. You've been my friend since first year, and we've done a lot together, you know?"

"Yeah, a bunch of crazy stuff," said Ron, sounding relieved. He then said in a dramatic voice, "I'm glad we got to talk before you have to go to detention."

"Afraid I won't come back?" Harry teased. "Reckon Trelawney's got another chance for her prediction to come true?"

"Yeah, mate, Snape's bloody scary," said Ron. "Better tread carefully around him from now on."

"I'll try. I make no promises though," said Harry, and though he said this in a joking tone, he also knew it was true. He didn't want to become enraged again like he had in class - that would do him no favors. Things would get much worse if he insulted Snape without restraint like that again. But he was afraid of what the' man could provoke from him, with the insults he was sure to drawl.

Ron snickered. Then, he grew serious again as he put to words the dread that Harry had felt since he stormed out of the dungeons. "Do you think you'll be expelled?" he said slowly, not even wanting to entertain the possibility.

"I hope not," Harry whispered, his heart speeding up. He imagined being sent back to the Dursleys in disgrace, his wand being snapped, and the vicious smirk that would adorn Snape's face for the rest of eternity.

"We're probably worrying over nothing," said Ron, trying to sound confident. "We've broken all kinds of school rules, haven't we? And Dumbledore's never expelled us. And he loves you, doesn't he? He'd never do that to you. You could yell at Snape dozens of times, and you'd always get to stay." Harry could detect a little envy in his tone then. He couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed. At times, he could detect that Ron was jealous of his fame and fortune. The other boy truly didn't understand that Harry would give it up in a heartbeat if he could only have his family back. Seeing the dynamics of the Weasley family in action had shown him how incredibly lucky Ron was to have a family that adored him.

Harry did his best to tamp down the annoyance, though. He and Ron had just cemented their friendship again, and Harry didn't want to start an argument. Instead he just said, "I doubt I'd be able to go that far, Ron. I really hope I don't get kicked out of here."

"Nah, you won't," said Ron. "C'mon, I'm starved. Let's go eat."

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Several hours later, Harry trudged down to the dungeons, the pit of his stomach churning. All through dinner, the buzz in the Great Hall revolved around the shouting match with Snape. He'd received looks of awe from many students, while the Slytherins glared at him mutinously. Hermione had spent the meal scowling at him, not saying much of anything but her look spoke volumes. The only good thing was that Neville had accepted his apology immediately, proving what a gentle soul he was.

When he'd dared to look at the staff table, his green eyes had met Snape's black ones. It had only been for a second, but the look in those fathomless eyes was murderous. And Harry couldn't say he wasn't intimidated. What was Snape planning to do with him this evening?

He found out all too soon when he knocked on Snape's office door. "Come in," the man barked, and the pit in Harry's stomach opened wider as he walked into the office.

Harry had never liked this room. Each shelf contained more slimy ingredients than the last, and there was an ominous feeling to the place. It had always given off an aura of hostility, and Harry wished he could avoid it at all costs.

"Now, POTTER," Snape growled, spit literally flying from his mouth as he spoke his surname. "You will go to the classroom and clean every single cauldron in there. I do not wish to see a speck of dirt when you are finished. If there is a single one left, you will clean the entire set all over again. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry couldn't help the glower that suffused his own face as he stared challengingly into those malicious black eyes. They glittered with venom, and the more Harry looked into them, the more Snape's lips seemed to snarl. The man was even baring his teeth at the boy, and eventually, unable to stand that look anymore, he turned away and marched to the classroom.

As he got to work, he tried not to focus on the fact that Snape stayed in the classroom and scrutinized his every move. Usually, whenever he received a detention with the dour man, he stayed in his office and checked on him periodically. Not today, though. Today, he was sneering and snarling at Harry every minute, a constant barrage of snide comments streaming like a fountain from his mouth. And how many times could he possibly say Harry's surname in one minute? It seemed endless. Snape got some sort of sick pleasure out of spitting "Potter" at him like it was some kind of expletive.

Harry had to say that he was proud of himself, because he just gritted his teeth and continued to work. Snape was testing him, trying to make him lose his temper again. It won't work, sir, Harry thought viciously as Snape growled, "Any slower, POTTER, and I will force you to stay here all night."

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Harry was finished. He put the cleaning supplies back where they were supposed to go, and turned to look into that hated face. "I'm done, sir," he said in a monotone.

"Oh, we'll see about that, POTTER," Snape hissed as he slowly and methodically checked each cauldron for the tiniest dust mote. And he says I'm slow? Harry thought sarcastically as he stood there with clenched teeth, waiting for the verdict.

"Get out of my sight, boy. And come back here tomorrow at the same time," Snape said in a low, dangerous voice. Harry felt a flash of anger; for a moment there, Snape had sounded exactly like Vernon. The large, beefy man hardly ever called him by his name - it was always "Freak", "Whelp", or his very, very favorite, "Boy".

Harry took a deep breath, fighting for control. "Yes, sir," he said dully, and, without looking back, he grabbed his bag and left the classroom at a quick pace.

As he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, he promised himself that he would win this battle of wills with the so-called Professor Snape. He wasn't going to allow himself to be defeated by some hook-nosed, greasy-haired git. He would prevail, and show Snape that Harry Potter was not going to back down; he would not run scared from a man who was nothing more than a petty bully.

And I wasn't expelled, he suddenly thought, realizing that he'd been so focused on his battle with Snape that he hadn't ruminated on this. I wonder if Dumbledore put a stop to any threats of that. A feeling of relief swept over him; he had not lost his place at Hogwarts.

This only strengthened his resolve to win against Snape. This can go on for as long as it takes, he thought with defiance running through his veins. I will stay strong, and stay in control.

And that, he vowed as he climbed through the portrait hole, he would stick to until the end.