Saturday was an anxious morning for Harry. He spilled his pumpkin juice three times at breakfast and the clock moved so slowly toward 10:30, he assumed it must have been bewitched.

"What's wrong with you?" Ron kept asking, and Hermione suggested he take three different potions.

Feeling nervous and grumpy, Harry snapped at her, "You don't even know how to make a Draught of Peace. You're a first year."

She tossed her bushy head and buried her nose in a book. "At least I'll be prepared for our O.W.L.s," she said in a snippy tone.

At 10:00, Harry told Ron and Hermione he was going to detention and stormed out the front doors.

He might not have been in such a sour mood if he had known where Snape was at that moment. After spending six hours the previous evening grading papers, Snape had fallen into bed and was still there having a very pleasant dream. In his dream, Hagrid had brought a fire-breathing dragon into the castle which burnt the tapestries to a crisp. Dumbledore had no choice but to close the school (at this point, Snape got a sneaking suspicion that he was having a dream) and Snape made plans to spend his time off crossing Europe on foot.

Then his charmed clock jangled and reminded him, "It's time to meet Harry Potter at Hogsmeade."

He jolted awake, still holding onto the feeling of freedom and the smell of the fresh countryside. The feelings vanished the instant he saw his drab curtains, the piles of papers beside his bed marked with "T"s and the dark, grimy skylight that would have let in sunlight if he ever had time to clean it.

He looked at his clock, and swearing, he threw on his robes and hurried out into the warm day. Fred and George were floating on their broomsticks, chatting with each other so fast Snape thought they might fall off.

"Oy," George said when they saw Snape flapping in their direction, "no matter how Bill defends him, you mark my words, that man will give us detention just for being here."

Chills ran down Snape's spine. Bill defended him? He turned to the Weasleys. Despite everything within him that begged him not to converse with students, he wanted to know how Bill was doing. Under the Cruciatus curse, he might even admit that he missed the older two Weasley boys.

Before he could even think of the right words to say, Fred and George had zoomed off. George was whooping and shouting that he he had dodged a detention.

Anger boiled inside him. He was convinced the Marauders had laid a curse on him that would never lift. Students went to Minerva in the middle of the night when they had a bad dream. Pomona Sprout helped students with their homework after classes were out. And Severus Snape? Students either fled from him in terror or they mocked him and called him a great greasy bat.

"What did I do that offended you so?" he growled at the Weasleys' retreating forms. "Or was it more the fact that I exist?"

His altruistic approach to Harry had all but disappeared. He wanted to be curled up in bed, hiking across Europe in his dreams.

When he got to Hogsmeade, he was already half an hour late. He peeked in the windows of Gladrags Wizardwear where he had asked Harry to meet him. It was in a private location and Howarts students never came in until their robes started to wear out, around springtime. Harry was in the back of the shop, rifling through the racks of second-hand robes. He was admiring a dark blue robe and didn't even look up when the bell above the door chimed.

"Second-hand, Potter?" Snape said into Harry's ear, smirking when he jumped.

"They still look nice," he said in a surprisingly defensive tone for someone who was raised by... come to think of it, Snape wasn't quite sure who had raised Harry after Lily and James had died. Dumbledore had only told him that they took good care of Harry. Was it James's rich parents?

That must be it, Snape decided. James had always come to school with new robes and shiny cauldrons and Harry arrived at Hogwarts much the same way. From the other teachers, Snape had heard rumors about just how much money Harry had saved away at Gringotts.

"Professor?" came a mousy voice and Snape blinked, embarrassed that he hadn't been paying attention.

The owner of the mousy voice—Julius Gladrags himself—was hobbling toward him on a cane. "Have you come to buy your boy some new robes?"

Snape felt his face flush. Harry looked up at him with disgust.

"N-n-no, I haven't." He scratched his greasy head. "Th-this is my student."

He gave Gladrags his best glare, hoping Julius wouldn't remember that he had brought Harry in when he was two, wondering why he had suggested in the first place this shop with all its memories...

"Hmm, I could have sworn this was your boy. Isn't yours dark haired with the greenest eyes you'd ever see?"

Snape tried to slow his breathing. When had he gotten to be so emotional? He glared at Harry and replied cooly, "This is the same boy but he is not my son. He's my student."

Gladrags sniffled. "I suppose it's none of my business."

As soon as he had shuffled away, Snape snorted. "That's right, old man. Absolutely none of your business." He looked over and was horrified to see Harry laughing silently.

He fixed a cold glare on Harry who sobered quickly.

Snape straightened the robes on the racks. He needed to hurry this meeting along and get Harry and himself back to Hogwarts where they could continue to ignore one another—at least for today.

"I asked you here for a reason, Potter," he said, his back still to Harry as he fiddled with the robes. Then he turned slowly, attempting to make his own robes billow for maximum effect. "McGonagall has informed me that you and your friends believe in the preposterous notion of the chamber of secrets."

Harry's eyes widened. "The what?"

Snape bit his tongue so he wouldn't curse. Clearly Hagrid wasn't the only one stupid enough to spill secrets to eleven-year-olds. "Never mind. Look at me, Potter...it doesn't exist."

"I know," Harry said much too readily. "I would never--"

Snape squinted at him. "I raised you for three years," he said quietly. "So don't lie to me."

Harry lowered his eyes and began twisting the sleeve on his robe. "I only want to know what is going on and no one will tell me."

"It's for your own good. You're too young." Harry nearly rolled his eyes, catching himself, and Snape thinned his lips. "You asked me once if I am fond of Professor Dumbledore. No, I am not. I think he coddles you and if you are to face the Dark Lord, then you must be prepared for it."

Harry thrust his chest out. "I can face him."

"Good, because you will." Snape chewed on his lip before realizing how vulnerable he must appear. "Professor Dumbledore will not tell you the truth and I believe he is making a grave error. So I propose this: you will meet me in my office once a week and I will explain everything he refuses to tell you."

He broke into a grin. "Brilliant."

"Sir," Snape reminded him. He ran his hands over his face trying to forget Harry's toothless grin many years ago. "And that will be all, Potter." He was embarrassed as soon as he said it: as though he had the power to banish a student from a public clothing shop. But Harry nodded and backed away, rushing out the door as soon as he could.

Gladrags started to hobble toward him.

"Not now, Gladrags," Snape said coldly, and with his robes flaring behind him, he swept out of the shop and headed to Hogwarts. He was sure he had made a huge mistake.