Harry was going to be late. There was no avoiding it.

His detention was at 5 pm, as per usual, and he had thought he would have time to bolt down something for dinner before setting off for Umbridge's office. However, Ron and Ginny had seated themselves directly across from him, locked in an intense discussion about Quidditch. Harry had leapt in to offer his own points, and when he at last came to his senses, he realized he had five minutes to book it all the way to the other end of the castle.

Trying hard not to think of what Umbridge would do to him if - no, when - Harry showed up late to his detention, Harry ran as fast as he could along the 3rd floor corridor, his footsteps echoing in the empty hall. Nearly all the other students were at dinner, and the staff. The only people who had been absent from the Head Table were Snape, who was rarely seen in the dining hall anyhow; Hagrid, who still had not returned from his mysterious mission for the Order; and Umbridge herself, who was no doubt sitting in her office, relishing the opportunity to further punish Harry.

His hand still hadn't healed from last week's detention, and in Transfiguration that morning he had been absently picking the scab, until at last he looked down to see his hand was once again bleeding profusely. Without a doubt, Umbridge would have him carving deep into the wounds once more, working late into the night.

He was nearly there. Gasping, with a terrible stitch in his side, Harry made to turn sharply around the corner that led to the next floor, when -

WHAM!

Harry collided with something solid, forcefully enough to send him crashing to the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, his head spinning, the back of his skull smarting from where it had hit the cold stone floor. He sat up and blinked, adjusted his glasses, and at that moment it became clear what it was he had run into at full speed.

It was perhaps the one person who could make Harry's situation even worse, other than Umbridge herself: Snape. Snape, who had been carrying a tray of glass bottles full of clear potion, which were now smashed all over the floor. Snape looked from the broken glass at his feet to the boy on the floor before him.

"...Potter." His voice was deadly. Harry was forcibly reminded of a coiled snake, except this wasn't a coiled snake, this was even worse. Harry felt as though he had tread on the tail of a ferocious black dragon that now had its obsidian eyes fixed on him, narrowed in fury and dislike.

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape hissed, his face pale with suppressed rage. "What could possibly be so important that you have to travel at light speed?"

"I'm late for a detention-"

"Naturally."

"-With Professor Umbridge," Harry finished anxiously. He was now at least 5 minutes late. He could feel his hand smarting painfully, and it would only get worse during his detention. He flexed his fingers and felt pain shoot up his arm. The cuts were open and bleeding again.

Snape raised one dark eyebrow.

"Surely even you, Potter, know that Dolores Umbridge is one of the last people with whom you should seek quarrel? And yet here you are, landing yourself in weekly detentions with the woman. I cannot say I'm surprised, of course - You would do anything to get a moment in the spotlight, wouldn't you? Fame certainly has made you reckless, Potter." Snape waved his hand and the broken glass disappeared from the floor.

Harry bit back a retort. As much as he wanted to defend himself, he didn't want to land himself in a detention with Snape. Of course, Snape, menacing as he was, had never forced Harry to write with his own blood. Harry suddenly realized that he would much rather spend the evening labeling potions ingredients and listening to Snape drawl on about the idiocy of Gryffindors than sit in Umbridge's office, slicing open his own hand. Maybe, if he could make Snape angry enough, he would make Harry come with him to detention right then? Maybe Harry could avoid Umbridge altogether?

"Yeah, that's right. So what?" Harry said, his heart hammering as Snape's expression turned to stone. "I imagine you can't afford to be reckless, Snape." Harry gathered his courage and tried to keep his voice from faltering. "What with Voldemort constantly breathing down your neck-"

Harry realized a split second too late that he had stepped over the line. Snape looked, for a moment, as though he would punch Harry squarely in the face. He didn't. Instead, he took a menacing step forward, his hand closing tightly around Harry's wrist, tight enough to make Harry yelp. Harry found his feet leaving the ground; he dangled by his wrist as Snape easily held him in the air with one arm, lifting Harry so he could look directly into his eyes.

"Excuse me?" Snape's voice was no more than a hiss. "How dare you speak that name so casually, speak my name so casually, I am your professor and you will treat me as such!" Harry felt his fingers going numb as Snape tightened his grip. "It is not of your concern what I do for Him, you are just a child, an arrogant child who thinks the world will end when you do. Stop acting like you understand. You will never understand."

Harry twisted his wrist in a futile attempt at escape, and felt all the negative feelings he'd been suffering through since June rise to the surface. The misuse. The shame. The anger. Fear, confusion, hate, indignance, impatience, rage, rage, rage - He twisted, dropped to his feet and scrambled away, bile rising in his throat as he fought back angry tears.

"I don't understand! I know that! But the thing is, none of you adults will let me understand! You don't tell me anything! Dumbledore - Dumbledore's been keeping me in the dark for months! It's like, you people automatically assume that my pathetic little brain can't handle this stuff! Well obviously I can, otherwise I'd be dead! Voldemort would have killed me ages ago! I wish you would trust me, it's my life, I should have a say in how it ends!"

"Potter."

"No! Don't 'Potter' me! I'm sick of it, I'm sick of being treated like some stupid kid, like after I fought the dementors, all anyone could say was 'Stay in your house, don't mess anything else up'! I want to be taken seriously, I want to know what's going on so that I can help put a stop to it, not shoved aside and forced to let the grown-ups handle it!"

"Potter."

"All anyone seems to care about is making sure I behave like a good little boy who doesn't know anything about the world! I'm not going to shut up and act like there isn't a madman out there trying to do me in! I want to fight, let me fight! Don't tell me I don't understand, if you won't even let me try!"

"Potter! Your hand!"

Harry stopped pacing. He was so angry, he hadn't even noticed the throbbing pain in his hand as the cuts split open; now they were steadily streaming blood onto the floor. He gasped and tried to staunch the bleeding on his jumper, but Snape caught his wrist again and stretched Harry's hand out in front of him. Jet black eyes scanned the words carved into Harry's skin. Snape frowned severely.

"Did you do this to yourself?"

"Um - what?"

"Did you do this on purpose?"

Harry was silent, and rather bewildered. Was Snape still angry? The hold tightened on Harry's wrist, as though Snape were trying to squeeze the answers out of him. Harry relented, eyes on his trainers.

"No... No, of course I didn't do this to myself. I… It's from my detention." Harry said.

"Dolores Umbridge… did this?" Snape's expression was unreadable, his eyes a gateway into a turbulent black sea.

"Well, not exactly. She - She has this special quill, it doesn't need any ink, um…. When you write with it, the words are cut into your hand. And they appear on the paper in… in your own blood." Harry tried to keep his tone light, as though this wasn't anything to be concerned about. When he looked up at Snape, he saw that the man was staring back at him as though unable to believe what he had heard.

"This… This is what you've been doing in your detentions with her?"

"Not just me. She's done it to Lee Jordan and Fred and George Weasley, too. I think it's her… Favourite punishment."

There was a long, stony silence. Harry watched Snape closely. Snape wasn't looking at him; he was still examining the deep cuts on the back of Harry's hand. Finally, he spoke.

"Come with me." He said, leaving no room for argument. Letting go of Harry's wrist, Snape led him down the hall, away from Umbridge's office, down the corridor, and through a door to the right. Snape led them down a steep set of stairs, the walls made of moist stone bricks like the rest of the dungeons. At the bottom of the staircase, they turned down a dark, damp hallway, passing several doors that led to somewhere Harry could only guess. At the end was a narrow wooden door, which seemed ill-fitted for its frame. Snape turned the tarnished knob and led them both inside.

Harry blinked, finding himself in the potions classroom. Turning back to the door they had come through, he tried to remember seeing it before. There were the heavy double doors that the students usually came through, the locked door to Snape's supply storeroom - the one which Hermione had once stolen from - and this one, which was behind Snape's desk, and had apparently gone unnoticed by Harry for five years.

Harry was interrupted from his puzzling by Snape clearing his throat impatiently. Turning, he saw Snape by the door to his storeroom, holding a bottle of anomalous green liquid.

"If you're finished gawking, Potter," Snape hissed, sneer in place. Feeling thoroughly wrong-footed, Harry approached Snape in much the same way one would approach an angry panther; slowly, with much trepidation, and preferably not at all. Snape held out his hand; Harry hesitated fractionally before extending his own. Taking him by the wrist, Snape examined the deep cuts on Harry's hand, frowning. He uncorked the potion and poured a single drop onto the wounds.

Harry had the peculiar sensation that his hand had been submerged in cool water; even as he watched, deep cuts sealed and faded, blood evaporated and all lingering pain receded. For a few moments Snape examined the thin white lines that now marked Harry's hand, the only sign that Harry had ever been injured. Seemingly satisfied, Snape released him and returned to his storeroom, leaving Harry to stare in awe at the back of his hand.

It was totally healed. Harry flexed his fingers without any pain; he could barely make out the words that had once been carved so deeply into his skin. He looked up as Snape reentered.

"What kind of potion was that? Er, Sir." He added, remembering who he was talking to. His anger for the dark man was somewhat quelled by his newfound interest. Snape watched Harry for a moment, as though deciding whether to answer or not.
"A healing solution, of my own design. Usually there would still be quite a bit of scarring, but your injury wasn't serious to begin with."

For a moment, Harry was left to wonder what kind of serious injuries the potion had been designed for. Then Snape spoke again, drawing Harry from his thoughts.

"Now then, Potter." Snape slowly walked around his desk to stand behind his chair, surveying Harry lethally through long, dark lashes. "About your detention. Your detention with Umbridge," He added, seeing Harry's alarmed expression. "What exactly did you do to land yourself with so many? Clearly tonight was not your first."

Harry was hesitant to answer. Usually he would avoid conversation with Snape at all times, but he was more or less trapped in the dungeons with Snape standing in the way of the exit, so there was no way to avoid it.

"For disrespect. And for talking out of turn." He paused, while Snape looked unsurprised. "Also…. I told her and the class about seeing Voldemort return."

Snape went rigid as Harry spoke the name, his eyes darkening.

"You told her," He hissed, his eyes mere slits, "You told Dolores Umbridge of the Dark Lord's return, in front of the class, and landed yourself in detention for it?"

"I just told the truth!" Harry exclaimed. "She called me a liar, I wasn't going to take that-"

"That is not the point!" Snape growled, slamming his fist down on his desk so hard an ink bottle fell to the floor and smashed. "The point is that Umbridge is directly reporting to Cornelius Fudge, who will take every opportunity to discredit you and the Headmaster, Potter!

"You really want to be of use to the Order, Potter? You want to be helpful, do you? Then you can start by keeping your damn mouth shut in her presence! If the wizarding world is to be informed of his return, the prime witness - that would be you, Potter - cannot be seen as a lunatic who wants another chance in the spotlight! Do you understand?"

Harry was silent, staring in shock into Snape's jet-black eyes. Anger radiated from the man, but something else lingered; anxiety? Frustration? Desperation?

Harry opened and closed his mouth several times before he was able to formulate a reply. When he did, it came out somewhat weaker than he expected, and he stuttered over his words, subdued by Snape's outburst.

"But… it's the truth, you know it is, Dumbledore knows it is... Being called a liar, everyone thinking you're crazy, or evil… it's awful."

Snape bowed his head, grasping the back of his desk chair. His long black hair swung down to hide his face. Harry was silent, watching in quiet alarm as Snape seemed to stiffen before him. He truly was dreadfully thin, and the ever-present purple smudges beneath his eyes were darker than ever before. When he spoke, it was little more than a whisper through tightly clenched teeth.

"I know. I know it is, Potter. But people are desperate to believe everything is alright, everything is fine, nothing is coming for them. They are afraid, Potter, and fear can turn even the best of men into an animal."

There was a heavy silence. Harry stared at the sallow man before him, whose black eyes were tunnels into the darkest of hells. Their gaze met for a fleeting moment, and Harry swallowed hard; the back of his throat burned and he blinked quickly away.

"It's just so frustrating," He ground out, fists curled at his side. If I cry in front of Snape, I'll have to kill myself, he thought. He blinked again.

Snape's only reply was a short, quiet sigh. He crossed the room and opened the heavy oak doors, standing to the side.

"Return to your common room, Potter" Snape said, his eyes unreadable once more. "You have missed your detention. I will inform Umbridge that you were ill."

Harry knew that Umbridge would just reschedule the detention to tomorrow night, and probably make it twice as long. Apparently, Snape had foreseen this as well, and was already several steps ahead.

"You will also serve detention with me, tomorrow night. You will report to my office at five o'clock sharp." He said, his trademark sneer firmly in place. "No need to slice up your hand when I went to all the trouble of fixing it."

Harry gaped at the sneering man, once again standing tall and proud, black eyes glinting. After a moment, Harry dared to return it with a tiny smile of his own, hardly believing he was sharing a joke with the Potions Master.

"Yes, sir." he said, as he made to leave. "I'll try to control my temper from now on." Snape smirked at the Boy Who Lived, eyes alight with mirth.

"It would seem Hell has frozen over." Snape said, and closed the door with a snap.