ambitious, cunning, adaptable | hp x dm

chapter thirteen: insomnia

A few days later, Harry had his first lesson with the professor since he'd been in trouble. He arrived with his supplies and hesitated before knocking. This particular session was something he'd be dreading almost as much like the one after his first Quidditch game. At least that time it hadn't been nearly a week for him to worry about it.

When he knocked, the door swung open. The cauldron and book were open like normal, and Snape was standing in front of them, arms crossed and looking very cold. Harry gulped. "Hullo, Professor."

"Mr. Potter." His tone was clipped and harsh and Harry ducked his head, feeling his stomach twist into knots. "I would think that you would know how to begin, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised if you continue to fall below my expectations."

Harry gripped his bag and nodded, not looking up. Some little part of him, the bit that had helped him to survive the Dursleys all those years, took hold. He kept his head down as he checked the potion - a Forgetfulness Potion. He silently got to work, afraid any more words from him would be taken as 'lip'.

He began preparing the ingredients. Unlike how he'd given pointer and tips before, Snape snapped out criticisms. "Don't hold the handle like that." "Clumsy." "I suppose that's alright if you want your potion to end up useless."

Each of his professor's words stung, like scratches on his chest. Normally those sorts of comments didn't bother him - not anymore, anyway. But Harry genuinely liked Snape. The man had been so helpful to him, and nice in a strange sort of way.

And now he had buggered it all up.

Tears began to form in his eyes, and he hunched up his shoulders. Snape made a comment about his poor posture.

Finally, the potion was at a point where it had to be stirred at a specific rate for a few minutes. At first, Harry was able to match that, but as his emotions rose his hands began to shake. Soon he lost his rhythm altogether.

"Stupid boy!" Snape snapped a hand out towards Harry, and he was unable to contain his flinch. The jerky movement sent him sprawling backward over his chair, where he fell hard on the stone floor. Stunned for a moment by the impact, Harry forgot to keep his head down, revealing his hot face to his professor. Slowly, he met Snape's gaze. The man was staring at him, completely frozen, with one hand resting on the stirring rod. For the first time since he'd been caught that night, the man didn't look cold or angry. Just confused.

Something in Harry shattered, and a quiet sob escaped him. He curled up on himself and began muttering, "I'm sorry" over and over.

There was a long moment where Snape seemed like he had no idea what to do with himself. Then he fell to his knees beside the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder. Harry flinched away from that, bringing his arms up to protect his head and vulnerable neck.

Dark eyes widened as he recognized that pose. It was one he'd adopted against his own father when he was young.

Rather than try to touch the boy again, Snape murmured, "Mr. Potter?" His voice was the softest it'd been in years. Harry didn't react. "Mr. Po- Harry. Harry."

Finally, green eyes peered up at him, tear-stained. Slowly, recognition and shame bled into them, and Harry carefully unraveled himself, glancing away from his professor. The boy slowly stood on shaky legs and remained silent for a moment. His eyes tracked over to the potion, which had turned a dark color during their inattention.

"Should I start over, sir?" His voice was blank and just slightly subservient.

Snape hadn't thought anything could have hurt him more than those eyes.