It was Friday morning and Harry was

It was Friday morning and Harry was sitting in the Potions classroom, waiting for Snape to arrive. While he waited, he thought about the events of the week. Strange though it was Ron and Hermione didn't bother him all that much… yet. On the other hand he noticed that the red head who could only be Ron's sister was always somewhere around and if he spotted her, she would squeak and run off. Harry found her very odd and Neville didn't help much, instead he just chuckled whenever Harry asked his opinion on the youngest ginger head. Their quest to find out more about the binding they wanted to do was so far unsuccessful, though they did go through pretty much all books that were not in the restricted section, which turned out to be not as hard a task as Harry imagined, though it did make the two friends spend all their free time in the library. Secretly Harry wondered why Hermione hadn't approached him yet, since he'd seen the girl practically every day, but he decided not to worry over it, especially since he wasn't all that keen on talking to her.

Finally the door banged open and Severus Snape strode in, his robes billowing impressively as he walked between the desks.

"Welcome to your second year of Potion making. I will collect the summer assignments at the end of the lesson and for your own sake I hope everybody has done them." – he paused to glower at the students, mainly the Gryffindor ones and Harry in particular – "And now let's see if you retained the knowledge acquired last year… Potter! Where can we get a bezoar?"

The Potter heir nearly jumped at the abruptness of the question, but made sure to answer in a calm and steady voice, though he didn't quite manage to sound as cool as he wanted to:

"A bezoar is a stomach stone that is used to cure most common poisons and can be found inside the stomach of a goat, sir." – the boy tentatively looked at his stern professor and gulped at the sight of those black eyes narrowed and fixed on him.

One thing Severus Snape did not expect was for Harry Potter, dunderhead extraordinaire in his opinion, to answer the question correctly. Of course, he reasoned, there was an off chance that the idiot Potter brat would be able to answer a question that Severus already asked him once before. Thus he continued to question the boy for at least five minutes more. To his utter bewilderment the boy answered all of his questions correctly. This, Severus decided, was weird and unexpected and thus needed to be examined further. Much to his personal displeasure, he grunted:

"Correct, Mr. Potter, 10 point to Gryffindor and stay after class." – he then turned his gaze to the rest of the students, who were openly gawking at him – "Well, what are you dolts waiting for? If you did not know these things, then write down the answers and get to work! The instructions are on the black board."

As Snape left Harry alone, the boy visibly sagged and only Neville's well timed pinch prevented him from going to la-la land in the middle of the class. Obviously, Harry decided, the extra-reading paid off which was a very good thing in his book. He looked at the assignment and saw instructions for the temperature reducing draught written on the black board. This was the first potion their text book discussed and Harry was fairly certain in his ability to brew it correctly. Neville's herbology knowledge would come in handy as well, since the other boy undoubtedly knew more than Harry about the ingredients used in the draught, at least those that were plants.

'Okay,' – Harry thought, as he went to the storage room to take out the necessary ingredients – 'I've read about this one and even about the techniques used in the process. I can and will do this. I don't want Snape to think I'm an incompetent idiot.' Mental prep talk done, he carefully gathered the things he needed and promptly returned to his work station to see Neville about to light the fire under the cauldron. He grabbed the other boy's wand hand and hissed under his breath:

"Neville, what are you doing?"

The Longbottom heir flinched as he frowned at Harry:

"What do you mean? I was about to light the fire…"

The brunette scowled lightly. It seemed that Neville's potions skills were not a part of his mask:

"Exactly," – he explained under his breath – "And in this potion the fire needs to be lit after we add the crushed snake fangs, which is three steps away."

Neville bit his lip and mumbled an apology. Harry frowned at this meek gesture as it seemed genuine and not like the confident boy Neville really was:

"What is it, Neville? It's written on the board, how come you didn't notice?"

The question was asked softly and yet Neville really flinched this time:

"I… I just didn't pay attention." – he bit out – "I'll be more careful."

The young Potter heir knew better than to push him, after all he himself never enjoyed Hermione's prodding, but he decided that he needed to know more before he could take any definite actions. Thus the two boys went back to brewing their potion, neither of them noticing Severus Snape standing nearby and also frowning at the new information that he learned and yet couldn't use in any way because it was too random and out of context to really mean anything at this point. As much as he loathed the idea, he needed to keep a closer eye on the two young lions. The new school year, he mused, was getting more and more annoying every day.


As the last students left the classroom Harry came up to the professor's desk and waited silently for the man to speak. He began fidgeting slightly as the man just sat behind his desk, regarding with a strange expression in his black gleaming eyes. Finally the professor spoke:

"Well, M. Potter, it seems that you're finally beginning to actually apply yourself to my subject." – the words were rather sarcastic, but Harry knew it was not an insult… or at least it didn't feel like one.

"I am trying, sir…" – murmured Harry, not knowing if he should say something or just remain quiet. He knew from his mother's diaries that Snape has been a very good friend of hers and that was the first reason for his reading more on Potions, apart from his own interest.

"Make sure to keep up to today's level," – said Snape – "And you'll be a passable brewer in the end."

Harry nodded, eager to accept even the smallest bits of praise, no matter how grudgingly given.

Snape frowned at the child in front of him. He had no idea where the brat's temper disappeared to and it made his hating Harry that much more difficult. For the first time since the boy appeared in Hogwarts Snape didn't feel the rage that usually consumed him when he saw the brat's mop of hair. That thought made him pause and frown a bit more.

"Where did you glasses go, Mr. Potter?"

It was a random question, one of the few Severus wanted to gain answers to, but he didn't expect Harry to react as strongly as the Potter boy did. The child practically froze in his place, no doubt trying to think up something that could pass for an answer. Before the child even opened his mouth, Severus knew whatever he would say would be a lie.

Harry struggled to say something believable, something that would sound probable. Even though he knew the man in front of him was his mother's best friend despite their fall out in sixth year, he couldn't bring himself to overlook the man's behavior towards himself just for the reason of Harry looking like James Potter. Unfortunately healing, both magical and muggle, was not a subject Harry had knowledge on and thus he barely shrugged, not knowing what to say.

Snape wanted to insist on an answer, but something raw and fleeting that he saw in the boy's green eyes, eyes that reminded him so much Lily, made him stop and change the topic:

"Well, no matter. If your vision is better this way, than it doesn't really matter." – he said, trying to give the boy the impression that he really couldn't care less – "However do explain to me why you were so inept last year and what changed."

Harry visibly relaxed when he saw that Snape wouldn't puck him, though he found it rather odd. The question about his potion making was an abrupt change of topic, but Harry was not about to point it out:

"Well…" – he cleared his throat and thought about how better to phrase his answer – "I found my Mother's diary from school at the attic and she spoke a lot about how much she liked the subject. So I just… tried to understand what she liked about it, since I never knew much about her… And the things she wrote were much easier to understand than the textbook, since it gave explanations between dicing things and mincing them and so on… So then I bought some books for kids about Potions and once I understood the process it did actually begin to make sense… after that I actually began to like the subject…"

The boy's speech was delivered in a slightly faltering voice, though the eyes were as stubborn as Lily's had been and Severus had to fight very hard to not give the child a slight smile. At the same time he silently berated himself for letting his hatred of James Potter cloud his judgement so much that he forgot that Harry Potter was muggle raised and therefore wouldn't know the things any pureblood would be taught at an early age and that he had to explain privately to the muggleborns. The simple fact that this boy had enough of his mother in him to overcome an obvious handicap was proof to the fact that Albus Dumbledore was correct about one thing at least – Harry Potter was most certainly not a mini-James.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," – he spoke levelly – "It is now almost time for your next class, so off you go. I will not write you an excuse note."

Harry gave the man a timid smile and with a muttered 'Good bye, sir' hurried off to the next class, which just happened to be Defense Against Dark Arts.

'I certainly hope our teacher this year will be better than Quirrel…' – he thought as he climbed the