Well. This was unexpected. Potter had apparently chosen the most roundabout way of asking if his own father's bullying was the reason his Head of House had treated him shabbily. Severus slowly uncurled his fist, not surprised to see blood well on his palm when he dropped the broken quill.
Forcing himself to take several breaths before he cursed the boy and threw him out of the classroom for such a breach of decorum, Severus shook his head. He placed his wand carefully on the desk in front of him, as it had somehow appeared in his hand without his thinking about it.
He, Severus, was not that bully, and would not be. He had promises to keep. Once he had his breathing under control, he gave the boy a sharp look. The green eyes -- Lily's eyes -- tracked his every movement, as if he were a snake about to strike. Severus could not blame him.
The cut on his palm stung, so Severus took out a handkerchief and pressed it to the wound to staunch the blood, though there was not much of it anyway. Then he sighed. How had he come to this? Explaining his motives and his mistakes to an eleven year old? The eleven year old son of James Potter, no less, the tormentor of his youth. And Lily's son, a tiny voice inside reminded him. Yes, and Lily's. He sighed again.
"I cannot pretend to know whether your father's . . . interactions with the Dursleys impacted them negatively with regards to you." Severus passed a hand over his eyes. "It may just be as you said, that they disliked magic enough to dislike its practitioners." His gaze sought Harry's again, and he watched the boy sitting almost unnaturally still, waiting. Severus did not want to say more, but he knew he should.
At last, he continued, "As for . . . others who may have had . . . less than stellar interactions with your father. It is possible those interactions caused a certain amount of . . . resentment towards anyone connected to him."
"Like his son," Harry said quietly, still holding Severus' gaze.
"Just so," Severus replied.
The boy nodded again, and there was no resentment in his green eyes, nothing accusatory in his mien. Just . . . weary acceptance, and perhaps a bit of resignation.
Severus looked away.
"I like the broom very much, sir," Harry said into the quiet that followed.
"You were meant to." When he turned back to the boy, Harry's head was bent over his essay once more, but he could have sworn the boy's shoulders were held less tightly than they had been a mere hour before.
Severus was just finishing up his stack of exams when Harry spoke again. "Sir?"
"Yes, Potter?"
The boy was fiddling with his quill again, and looking nervous. "I have a question about salisyline root, sir, and the best way to harvest it. Professor Sprout said it's most potent if you harvest the root on Midsummer, but I thought I read in our Potions book that it's best if cut on a full moon. What if the two aren't the same time?"
Severus almost smiled. He managed to refrain. "They rarely are."
Harry's brows drew down. "Well, then, which time is really better?"
"Think about it. Apply that brain of yours, if possible."
Chewing on his lower lip and ignoring Severus' sarcasm -- which had been half-hearted at best, anyway -- the boy did just that, and then said, hesitantly, "Does it depend on what you're going to use it for?"
"Indeed. Now, tell me why."
Another moment's thought, and Harry said, "Well, sir, if you were going to use it in a poultice for boils or a rash, you'd want the salisyline root to be as potent as possible, so you'd want to cut it at Midsummer. But if you're using it in a more delicate potion, like a Sleeping Draught, you'd want something other than sheer potency."
"Such as?" Severus asked, impressed with the boy's logic despite himself.
Gazing at his hands again, Harry said, "Its properties of muscle relaxation? I mean, taking the root at the full moon would make that aspect of it more, uh, viable, so a potion would help the person fall asleep, without accidentally killing them?"
"Are you asking me or telling me?"
Harry huffed a laugh and glanced up at Severus through the fringe of his hair. "Telling you, sir."
Severus inclined his head slightly. "Then you are correct. Well reasoned, Potter."
And then he saw the boy's smile -- which was radiant and full of gratitude, for something so small as a moment's praise -- and he was gladdened to have been responsible for its appearance, at least in part. He gestured to the boy's work. "When you have finished your essay, let me look it over."
"Sir?"
"So I may make sure your work is up to par. Your mind seems capable of holding not completely unintelligent thoughts, and I wish to see if such knowledge can be adequately transferred to paper."
The boy still had a stunned expression that showed no signs of fading. "You want to check over my homework?"
"Indeed, Mr. Potter," Severus replied, and his tone turned more acerbic. "Finish your essay. Now."
That smile again, and Severus truly had no knowledge of why it might appear now. But the, "Yes, sir!" that followed on its heels seemed pleased.
Several days later, as mid October approached, Severus was summoned to the Headmaster's Office. Once more, he felt the role of penitent most keenly, and wondered what, exactly, he had done this time. But Albus apparently did not wish to call him on the carpet. Instead, after offering a dish of his ubiquitous sweets, and attempting to engage him in small talk -- both of which Severus refused with varying degrees of pique -- Albus brought up one Harry Potter.
"I have heard from Harry's other professors that his work has improved dramatically in last couple weeks, Severus. Why, even Minerva has professed herself 'amazed' by his turnaround."
"She is easily impressed, no doubt," Severus muttered resentfully. He had far better things to do with his time than discuss this matter. The boy's marks were improved because he had time to study now; there was no great conspiracy to be found.
"I very much do doubt it, my dear boy." Albus turned on his twinkle, full blast, and Severus winced. "But she has also expressed her concern about the reason behind his sudden improvement. Have you noticed anything . . . odd about his study habits of late? Has he been getting undue assistance from any quarter?"
Severus glared at the Headmaster. He should have expected something like this, but he honestly had not, assuming that the Brat Who Lived would be above such suspicion. He would gladly wring McGonagall's interfering neck for this insult. "Are you suggesting that Harry Potter is cheating? The Savior of the Wizarding World?"
"Of course not, Severus. Of course not." But Albus' expression said otherwise.
Severus sneered. "Then what is your objection to the boy's improvement?"
"I have no objection, certainly. I am merely bringing these concerns to your attention."
"I see." And he did. He knew this discussion would never have happened if Harry had been sorted anywhere but Slytherin. But the children in the House of Snakes was always suspected of malfeasance, even where there was no cause. "If there are no other delusive asseverations you wish to share, perhaps we could discuss Professor Quirrell's unhealthy obsession with Mr. Potter."
Albus had the audacity to wave a hand dismissively. "Have you discovered any evidence that Quirinus was actually involved in the attack on Harry?"
"Only the boy's memory!" Severus growled. "Which we both observed through the Pensieve, if you'll recall."
"And I believe we concluded it was difficult to be sure of the identity of the attacker. The voice was rather distorted, after all."