Disclaimer: Absolutely not.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the reviews. I'm glad you enjoyed that intense chapter with Harry and Severus. I've always wanted to write Snape's reaction when he first sees Lily's body, and I hope I did it justice. Where do Severus and Harry go from here? Well, you'll have to read on and find out!

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Harry was reeling. Absolutely reeling. He tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. He couldn't get Snape's thunderous expression off of his mind. A storm had been unleashed as Harry had spat the comment at him about Snape hating his mother. Of all the experiences he'd had with the Potions Master, he'd never seen such a look on his face. For one, heart-stopping moment, the man was raw, flayed wide open by something Harry had said.

"Get. Out."

It had honestly sounded to Harry like a demon speaking, like the gates of Hell were blown wide open. Harry had been stricken with horror at the sight of his teacher's expression, and it was only when he said those two words that Harry moved. If he'd stayed a moment longer, he shuddered to think what might have happened. The man's countenance reminded him scarily of Sirius when he had faced down Peter Pettigrew - a ball of hatred, rage, and grief all rolled into one.

When he'd come back to the common room, he'd gone right up to his dorm, and to bed. His friends tried to speak to him, knowing that something awful had happened during his detention, but Harry point-blank refused to say anything. Snape's bottomless black eyes haunted his mind, and just the thought of telling anyone what had happened set his teeth on edge. Harry wasn't sure exactly how, but tonight had changed everything.

It had definitely been a downright tomultuous day, to say the least. After Harry and Neville's enlightening conversation, the other boy had asked to be left alone, and Harry had obliged at once. He knew what it felt like to have an endless amount of thoughts to sort out. He let Neville know that he would be there if needed, and he knew his friend was grateful.

Unfortunately, Neville had been right about what the entire school would talk about for the rest of the day. And if it wasn't about the awful fate of Neville's poor parents, it was about the fact that Crouch had been teaching them for a week. People were constantly asking Harry how he'd realized that something was wrong on Friday night, but Harry didn't give them the answers they wanted. It was one thing to tell Neville about the Marauder's Map; the boy had shown himself to be an amazing friend, and Harry knew he'd owed him an explanation for why he, McGonagall, and Snape had suddenly burst into the DADA office. But he wasn't about to tell everyone about it, even though he didn't have it anymore. It had been created by three people he cared about, and he wished he could pretend the fourth never existed. Some things were meant to be only between himself and his dearest friends. Some of the students kept prying, and Harry made it a point to avoid them whenever possible.

But as Harry tossed and turned that night after his horrible encounter with Snape, he couldn't help but feel a stab of guilt he dearly wished he didn't possess. Since when did he feel bad about anything he said to Snape? The man was a vile, disgusting, rotten, slimy bully who hated Harry just because he looked like his dad, a man who he barely remembered. The man wouldn't care if I told him that my only memory of him is when he yelled at my mum to take me and go, and that he'd hold Voldemort off, Harry thought savagely.

And tonight, when he'd arrived at detention, it was as if the last few days had never happened at all. Maybe he'd actually dreamed of Snape finding him in the hallway on Friday night? Maybe, somehow, he'd contracted a dangerously high fever and hallucinated staying in Snape's quarters? He'd had a very similar thought this morning when Snape had accosted him and his friends during the confrontation with Malfoy. Maybe, when he'd told Snape to act normal, he should have thought better of it. It had hurt all the more when Snape had snapped at him to start cleaning the nonexistent dirt off the already sparkling cauldrons.

How had things escalated out of control so quickly? When thinking back over the confrontation, he grew angry all over again. If Snape was going to take the Marauder's Map from Harry over the school's security, didn't Harry have the right to ask questions about how the wards were constantly being breached?

He absolutely despised how Snape had to somehow involve James Potter in every argument they had. Harry was bloody sick of it. If anyone was acting like a self-centered, spoiled brat, as Snape had accused him of being, it was the awful man himself. How dare he treat Harry like that! From the first moment he had stepped in Snape's classroom, it was spiteful comment after spiteful comment, starting with, "Harry Potter. Our new celebrity." Harry remembered the bitter sarcasm injected into every syllable of that phrase. He had been very much looking forward to Potions before that moment, but from then on, it was his worst subject.

But still, when dawn came all too soon and Harry had barely gotten any sleep, he somehow knew he'd gone too far when the comment about his mother had burst out of his mouth. Snape's face had truly been monstrous at that moment, and it had terrified Harry more than he was willing to admit. He didn't even want to start contemplating what this all meant, or what it might signify. The fact that the comment had broken down all of Snape's barriers had to mean something. He wouldn't have reacted like that if Harry hadn't hit a nerve.

"Harry, mate, are you ever going to tell us what happened in your detention last night?" Ron asked worriedly as he stared at his friend. "Merlin, you look terrible. Did you sleep at all?"

"Thanks a lot, mate." Harry scowled. "I'm fine."

"Leave him alone, Ron," Neville said quietly as they left the dormitory. "He'll talk when, or if, he wants to."

Harry gave Neville a grateful smile, ignoring Ron's continued scowl.

Harry could tell that Neville was extremely hesitant to be back amongst the student body. Harry, Ron, and Hermione made sure they stuck by him, trying to intercept any students who looked like they were going to ask Neville a question. Unfortunately, some asked anyway, and Harry could freely admit that he was proud of his friend. Through the obvious emotional turmoil he was in, he repeated over and over again that he didn't want to talk about it. As time passed, his voice grew more confident. Harry met his eyes, exceedingly glad they'd had that talk yesterday.

Hermione studied Harry critically as they made their way to the Great Hall. He knew that she, too, was more than curious to know exactly why Harry was refusing to discuss last night's detention, and why he looked so thoroughly exhausted. She did not look at all happy when Harry continued to avoid the subject.

When they sat down at the Gryffindor table, his eyes fell on where the staff were sitting. He sighed in relief when he realized Snape was not there. The man didn't seem to eat that many meals in the Great Hall, and whenever he did turn up, he looked surly and was completely antisocial, often scowling at teachers like McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout who were always deep in animated conversation. It was obvious that the Great Hall was the last place Snape wanted to spend his time. On a morning like this especially, Harry couldn't thank Merlin enough that he wasn't in attendance.

"Look," he said to his friends when he saw that the real Alastor Moody was sitting at the staff table for the first time. Snape had indeed been correct - Moody was well enough to teach classes today. The fourth-year Gryffindors wouldn't have him until Thursday, and Harry could honestly say that he was curious about whether he would spot any differences between Moody and Crouch. Crouch had fooled Albus Dumbledore, of all people - was he really that good of an actor to be able to pull off Moody's disposition so astoundingly perfectly?

Without even realizing he was doing it, he looked at the Slytherin table. His eyes focused on Draco Malfoy, who was scowling fiercely at the food on his plate like it had done him some great personal wrong. Pansy Parkinson was simpering at him, but Malfoy was paying her absolutely no heed.

"Errrgh," Ron muttered, a mutinous expression on his face. "We have Potions first this morning, remember?"

Harry felt his stomach plummet down to his toes. Today was Monday - he should have remembered they had Potions first. Oh, no. Oh, Merlin, no. After the way Harry's detention had ended, he was absolutely dreading stepping foot in the dungeons again. Would Snape murder him the instant he arrived in the classroom?

"Harry, mate, you look sick," Ron commented as he studied his best friend's expression. "Maybe you should go to the infirmary rather than Potions."

"No," Harry said stubbornly. He refused to take the coward's way out. He was not going to be cowed by Professor bloody Snape. "I'm fine."

Hermione put her hand on Harry's forehead, causing the boy to glare at her. "I'm fine, Hermione," he insisted crossly.

Hermione glared right back at him, unmoved. "Whatever you say," she said flatly.

The owls bearing the morning mail flew into the Great Hall. Harry thought of Sirius - he hadn't received a letter from him in a while. He had a sudden, uncontrollable urge to write to his godfather and tell him everything that had happened since the beginning of the school year - Crouch pretending to be Moody, the plot to make Harry Hogwarts champion and force him into participating in Voldemort's disgusting rebirth, the bizarre night in Snape's quarters where the man had actually acted like a human being, and then, what had happened last night when Harry had blurted out the comment about Snape hating his mother, and the man's profound reaction. The urge passed as quickly as it had come, though - Sirius was still on the run, trying to stay a step ahead of the Ministry. The last thing Harry wanted to do was distract him.

One of the owls Harry saw was an eagle owl, the one that always dropped off letters and parcels for Malfoy. Harry couldn't help the envy he felt when the other boy boasted about the sweets he always received from his mother, and the letters he always got from his father. There's nothing to be jealous of, Harry had to keep reminding himself whenever he remembered who Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy actually were. Lucius had put Tom Riddle's diary in Ginny's cauldron, starting a horrific chain of events that almost resulted in the young girl's death. When he'd seen Narcissa at the Quidditch World Cup, she had a nasty sneer around her mouth like she was smelling something foul. Who cared if Malfoy got letters and sweets from them? They were vile, horrible people. Harry wanted nothing to do with them.

He couldn't help but watch, though, as Malfoy accepted the parchment the eagle owl offered him. The other boy, however, did not read the letter. Instead, he folded it neatly and placed it in the pocket of his robes. It was something Harry would do, too, if he got a letter from Sirius. Some things were meant to be read in private, although Harry was always going to wonder what Malfoy's letters said. Was Lucius always writing about how filthy and dirty Mudbloods were and how awful Harry was? He didn't want to imagine what evil things were said about Hermione by Malfoy's father. Harry remembered that the man had not been at all happy to learn that Hermione had beaten Malfoy in every class. Harry felt very smug when he had discovered that information.

"Come on. We'd better go to Potions," Hermione said, putting her knife and fork down. "We don't want to be late."

"Do we have to?" Ron groaned. "Snape will be his usual nasty self."

"Since when is he not?" said Harry, but he couldn't deny the pit that had formed in his stomach.

Neville got up silently, still ignoring any looks that were directed at him. "We have to. Let's go, then," he said bracingly.

Feeling like his body was growing heavier and heavier with every step, Harry trudged down to the dungeons, his friends beside him. A lump formed in his throat as the vivid memory of Snape's thunderous expression burned itself to the backs of his eyelids.

When they arrived in the classroom, Snape was already there. Malfoy and his cronies arrived at the same time, and he shot Harry a look of loathing as they entered the room. Harry was going to shoot one right back, but thought better of it. He was not going to bait Snape into taking every single last point from Gryffindor.

"Antidotes," Snape snarled at the class once they had sat at their desks. "As some of the more intelligent of you know, there are certain ... extremely unpleasant poisons that have been created throughout wizarding history. You will come to learn that there are ways to counteract these poisons. Some of you, I am positive, will be abysmal at creating any antidote." His black eyes roved around the classroom, and he gave Neville a look of complete and utter loathing. Normally, Harry would have garnered one of those looks too, but Snape surprised him. His eyes went right past Harry as if the boy didn't exist.

Harry couldn't pretend he wasn't shocked. Snape had never ignored him in class before. Out of everything he had been expecting, it wasn't this. He had expected to be shouted at, to be told to get out of his classroom and never darken its doorstep again. To be ignored ... it reminded him of how the Dursleys sometimes treated him. He had come to like it a whole lot better than being called a freak, sworn at, and spat upon.

So as Snape droned on about poisons and antidotes in between insults about how poorly the Gryffindors would undoubtedly do on their concoctions, Harry felt very relieved. He honestly wasn't sure what Snape's new attitude towards him meant, but he tried not to care. He wasn't about to look a gifthorse in the mouth. Anyway, he was getting sick and tired of figuring the man out. In the space of a week, Snape had shouted at him, taken him to his quarters to spend the night, apologized for not Transfiguring bloody pyjamas, of all things, for him, looked at him with the purest hatred like he wanted nothing better than to murder him where he stood, and completely ignored him. Harry couldn't possibly understand the man. Maybe this was all a ploy to drive him absolutely insane. Well, he thought as he and his friends left the Potions classroom after a rather uneventful lesson where they hadn't actually brewed any potions, he's certainly succeeding.

xxx

Draco sat behind his bedcurtains that night, after all his dormmates had gone to sleep. Crabbe and Goyle's snores permeated the room, making him scowl fiercely. Did those two have to be annoying at every turn?

He sighed in irritation as he retrieved his father's letter from his pocket. It wasn't like he didn't have the words memorized already, but still, he couldn't help but look at it again.

Dear Draco:

I hope you are well, and that you are studying hard and living up to what I expect of you. Your mother and I will not tolerate anything less than your best. We have been very disappointed in your recent grades, but we are very hopeful that you will surpass every one of your classmates this year. You know, Draco, of whom exactly I am speaking of. Do not let it happen again. However, this is not the only reason I am writing to you on this day.

The time is coming, my son. Change is soon to come upon us. You are aware, I am sure, of the recent article that was printed in the Daily Prophet. However, just because that plan was thwarted by the likes of certain individuals does not mean that our restoration to greatness cannot be achieved another way.

You will be instrumental, Draco, the key to our salvation. The time has finally come for you to show your true colors. If you accept this offer, your mother and I will be very proud of you. You have been given the opportunity to prove yourself.

If you accept, simply respond by sending me an owl with the word, "yes". Once I receive it, I will be sending instructions.

Do not take long, Draco. This is very important.

Yours sincerely,

Father

It was supposed to be the moment Draco had been waiting for. He wasn't stupid - he knew exactly what his father was alluding to. He again remembered the stories the man had told him, about how the Malfoys were once part of something great before Potter ruined it all. The hatred his father had for Potter was beyond anything Draco had ever seen, and when he'd found out that he would be in the same year as him at Hogwarts, he couldn't help but be intrigued.

He had made a decision, then and there, to seek out the other boy on the train. Merlin knew where Potter had been all these years since his parents had died. His mind was bombarded with all kinds of ideas, until he finally lit on one. It had made him smirk widely - what if he befriended Potter, took him under his wing and showed him that he was wrong to have destroyed the Dark Lord? According to the rumors and speculation he'd heard, the man might return one day. What if he, Draco Malfoy, was the one to show Potter that the darkness was the correct path to go down? He'd love to see the look on the Light's faces when their wonder-boy turned into the Dark Lord's right-hand man. After all, it could happen, right? Potter was just a baby when he'd supposedly vanquished the Dark Lord. He must be extremely powerful in order to accomplish something like that at fifteen months old. That power could be wielded to suit Draco's needs, and there was no doubt in his mind that his father would be proud of him for thinking up something so ingenious.

But then, it had all gone wrong. The instant he'd laid eyes on the boy, he'd been flabbergasted and dismayed to discover that it was the little runt from Madam Malkin's robe shop. Draco had been distinctly unimpressed by the look of him, and by his attitude towards Hagrid. And to make matters worse, he was now mixing with, of all things, a filthy weasel.

And the rest, they say, is history. Draco couldn't remember ever being as angry as he had been when Potter outright rejected his friendship, and threatened to fight him, Crabbe, and Goyle. And from there, the hatred had only grown between them. And when Potter had accepted that stupid Mudblood into his friendship circle, Draco's loathing only intensified to new heights. He hated being reminded of how Granger had beaten him in every class - he knew how disappointed his parents were, especially his father. It made him sick to his stomach.

And now, he had the opportunity to take part in something that could restore him and his family to greatness. He could show Potter that he had been wrong to mingle with rifraff like the Weasels, that Mudblood, that pathetic Longbottom, and that oaf Hagrid. He could play the leading role in making sure that Harry Potter got exactly what was coming to him.

Why, then, was he delaying writing a response to his father? Why, then, did Potter's flashing emerald eyes, his snarling voice as he shouted at Crouch to stop torturing him, keep infiltrating his mind? Why, then, did he keep thinking about Crouch and how he had hurt him rather than protected him? They were on the same side, for Merlin's sake! Why, then, could he not forget the feeling of being thrown to the floor, agony slicing through every nerve in his body as he was mercilessly bounced, the laughter of his classmates filling the entire hallway, only to be saved by Harry bloody Potter? Why, then, was Snape's simple explanation that Crouch was unhinged and hated his father because he didn't go to Azkaban simply not enough for him? Why, then, could he not forget the hot, bubbling fury he felt towards the Potions Master, someone he had always considered a mentor?

And why, oh why, was he so completely, utterly scared?