Author's Note: This is set during Harry's first year, prior to Halloween.

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse. ...actually, I think that's all. If you see anything else that I should have noted here, let me know.

Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. I don't own Harry Potter or anything in any way related to it. I am not making any money from this.

Adequately done, Potter.

The words echoed over and over again in Harry's mind. Adequately done. He was still brimming with pride as he lay in his bed hours after leaving the dungeons from his detention. A surprisingly enjoyable detention. Everyone went on about how much they loathed Professor Snape, and Harry mostly tried to go along with them when they pressed him for it. Otherwise, he tried to ignore it. The fact was that he simply could not dislike the potions' master. Not really.

Yes, the man was meaner than the other professors, but not terribly mean. At least he never looked at Harry like he expected him to suddenly make it rain gold. He treated Harry normally. Well, he was a bit meaner to him than a lot of other students that Harry had noticed, but that wasn't surprising. He'd always been treated worse than other kids. Well, worse than pretty much everyone that he'd seen. But Professor Snape never hit him. And he never called him a freak. True, he did make fun of Harry's "fame", but that wasn't so bad, was it? Harry didn't care for the fame, so why should he expect Professor Snape to like it?

Since he'd been at Hogwarts, there were very few people who made any sense at all to Harry. Professor Snape was foremost among them. Draco Malfoy was another. Him and his "friends". Draco was a lot like Dudley, which Harry understood. He didn't like it, but at least he understood it. Professor Snape was… So far as Harry could tell, he was the only adult in the school that Harry could trust.

Though that first day had come as a shock when the professor had been so mean to him after all the other adults had been far too nice, he'd quickly discovered that he could understand the man. He didn't treat Harry like he was special. He just treated him normal. But he wasn't mean like Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia. Not even remotely. Harry had discovered that after just a few potions classes.

While the professor yelled at him and took points for no good reason, he never tried to hurt him physically. And there was something else. Something in his eyes even when he was yelling. It had taken a little while for Harry to understand what it was, but he knew now. After his detention, he thought he fully understood it. It was, of all things… disappointment that he so often saw when the professor looked at him. It had been difficult to believe at first, but it was true. He knew that now. Professor Snape was disappointed when he yelled at Harry.

That made him grin madly, for it told him two very important things. First, he actually did seem to believe that Harry was doing something wrong. He wasn't really trying to be unfair, Harry thought – or not completely, at least. Second… If the man was disappointed in him, that meant that he expected something of him in the first place. He truly seemed to believe that Harry could do better. He didn't think that Harry was worthless.

True, most of the adults at Hogwarts didn't seem to think that, but they didn't seem to understand, either. They looked at him, but they didn't see him. They saw his scar. The scar that made him famous. They expected something of the Boy-Who-Lived, not Harry the Freak. They didn't know who he really was. But Professor Snape was different. When he looked at Harry, he really looked at him. He really seemed to see him. And what he saw wasn't completely hopeless.

At his detention tonight, Harry had been given the task of cleaning cauldrons. Harry had almost laughed with relief at being given a task that he understood. No magic. Just a scrub brush, some soap and water, and a large number of very dirty things to wash. He'd been doing that as long as he could remember. It was something that he knew he could do well. It was one thing that he felt confident he could do without disappointing his professor.

And he'd been right! When he'd finished, the professor had examined his work with an eye for detail every bit as sharp as he used in class. After checking Harry's work thoroughly, he'd looked at Harry with something in his eyes that was not disappointment, and he'd said, "Adequately done, Potter."

Adequate! It was the first time in his life that anyone had approved of his work verbally. With the Dursleys, he knew that he'd managed to not mess it up if they didn't yell, hit, or lock him in his cupboard, but never once had they ever told him that he'd managed to do something properly.

Of course, he'd heard compliments a lot of times since coming to Hogwarts, but he never felt like any of them had been directed at him. They were directed at the Boy-Who-Lived. The only adult in the entire school that Harry could believe about stuff like that was Professor Snape.

Harry was still smiling as he drifted off to sleep.

Harry bit his lip in concentration as he struggled to grind the ginger sprig into… He glanced up at the blackboard, blinking and squinting until he was sure he was reading the blur properly. That was right. "Vaporous Dust". It was a good thing that Harry had spent so much time studying for this class, or he was certain he'd have had no idea what that was supposed to mean. It hadn't really explained in the book. He'd spent more than an hour fumbling around in the library before Hermione had found him and helped him find the right books, but he'd found them. And he'd read them.

So, he was now perfectly aware that "Vaporous Dust" was a potioneering term used to describe "the finest of powders, so light as to be swept away by the slightest draft". He also knew that it was only possible to achieve that state with a substance completely devoid of all moisture. Too bad it was a bit damp in the lab. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to reach that state. Still, he thought that he was about as close as he was going to get. Being extra careful to breathe away from his mortar to avoid inhaling or dispersing the dust, he gave the pestle one final swirl around the bowl – a swirling motion was required to achieve a truly fine powder, he'd read in one of the books. Finally, he set it aside, and carefully folded a scrap of parchment over it to make sure that it wasn't disturbed. That was very important, he'd learned.

Next, he turned his attention to the flobberworms. He squinted at the board again, glad that he'd all but memorized the potion over the weekend because he really couldn't see the board very clearly. He cursed himself again for not sitting in the front row on the first day, but Ron had sat further back, and he hadn't wanted to be alone up there on the first day.

It didn't say it on the board, he didn't think – his eyesight wasn't that bad, and he was good at deciphering the blurs – but he knew from reading those other books, that the worms needed to be alive immediately before preparation. Alive, and as "energetic" as possible. With that in mind, he passed over the one that was partially crushed, and a couple that looked practically comatose, and chose the worms that put up the greatest fight. He got bitten quite a few times, but he knew they weren't poisonous, so he didn't worry about it.

As he snatched up each worm, he carefully arranged it on his cutting board, and sliced the head neatly off, then promptly sliced down the length of the belly. He used a tiny spoon to scrape the flesh of the juicy goo that made up its inner workings, and then doused the flesh in the light lavender oil mixture, being exceedingly careful not to touch it with his fingers and taint the cleansing effects.

Finally ready to begin adding the ingredients to his cauldron, Harry checked the flame, adjusted it slightly lower, then waited a few moments for the base to cool a touch before he started. Carefully uncovering the ginger dust, Harry made sure it was within easy reach, then picked up his stirring rod with his right hand. Holding it at ready, he took a bracing breath, and dipped the first flobberworm into the powder. Very carefully coating it evenly, avoiding caking, and allowing no more than five seconds to pass between the time it first touched the powder and the time it entered the base – too long exposed to air would cause it to become slightly acidic and taint the worm apparently – he slipped the first worm into the cauldron. He counted to six in his head, then put the stirring rod into the pot and began counting out clockwise rotations while he began coating the second worm. Four rotations, add the second worm. Eight rotations, coat the worm, four rotations, add the worm – he'd figured out the right sequence that morning when he'd realized how hard it was going to be to do it by himself.

"Potter!"

Harry started badly as he was startled out of his concentration, and very nearly upended the ginger dust bowl. As it was, he splashed a tiny bit of potion over the side of the cauldron.

"Evanesco!"

The spilled bit vanished.

"Potter," Professor Snape growled as he came around from behind him to level him with a glare. "Do you have any idea what would have happened if that splash of potion had landed on your skin?!"

Harry frowned nervously, reminding himself to resume slowly stirring the potion – it needed twenty-six more rotations, then eighteen in the other direction – he struggled to remember anything he'd read suggesting a danger should the potion come into contact with skin. "Um," he breathed weakly, "I-I think, that it would have stained my skin green for a few hours, sir." He was trembling in fear, but he kept the stick spinning. He'd spent the entire weekend learning everything he could find about this potion. He was not going to mess it up now!

He caught something in the professor's eyes that looked like surprise, but it was gone so quickly that he couldn't be sure. Gone, and replaced by… loathing. That one was easy to identify considering how much experience he had seeing it directed at him.

Harry's heart plummeted. Had he gotten it wrong? He really thought that he remembered reading that, but he'd also read about a few other potions over the weekend. Perhaps that had been in reference to one of them?

"My, my," the professor drawled rather maliciously. "It seems that our resident celebrity is capable of opening a book."

Malfoy and the other Slytherins made a show of laughing behind their hands, though they clearly weren't trying to hide their laughter.

Harry didn't think there was a right response to the professor's comment, so he didn't say anything.

Snape's eyes fell to Harry's workstation, scanning it quickly. The eyes stopped on the ginger powder briefly before raking over everything else. Harry recognized the scrutiny of that look. He was trying to find something that Harry had done wrong. The boy held his breath while he waited to learn how he'd managed to mess up despite taking such pains to avoid that very thing.

When his silent count wound down, he started moving the stick in the opposite direction.

The professor's eyes snapped up in response to the change in direction, then settled on Harry again, loathing replaced by calculation that told Harry he was probably trying to figure out a suitable punishment. Harry just wished he knew what he'd done wrong. He'd hoped that the professor would at least tell him that much.

"Potter," the professor said in that drawl again. The one that made him sound so easy and almost pleasant. It was a tone that Harry already recognized as presaging danger. "What are the ten most common uses of Agrimony with regard to potions?"

Harry's eyes widened. He'd read ahead two whole chapters in the text, and he hadn't come across a section on Agrimony specifically. So it was further ahead than that, or maybe it wasn't even in the curriculum. Harry didn't think that the professor wanted him to be able to answer this question correctly. Still, he'd passed it once or twice. He struggled to remember what he'd read while trying to ignore the way Hermione's hand had just rocketed into the air as though she'd been the one to write the ten most common uses of Agrimony.

"Um. Well, it's used in… ah," shite, what had that been? "A sleeping… um, potion."

"How enlightening," the professor chuckled mockingly. "There are fourteen common variations of sleeping potions, Potter. And those are just the common ones. In total, there are eighty-seven recognized varieties of sleeping potions. Trust me, they do not all include Agrimony. But please, continue."

Harry gulped. If there had been the slightest doubt that he was being set up to look stupid, it was gone now. "Ah, well, it's also in a…" He scrunched his eyes shut and fought valiantly to remember exactly where else he'd seen it. Then, like a flash, the page he was searching for appeared before his eyes, and he remembered. "The Familus Protego potion uses it!" he declared triumphantly.

Again, that smallest flash of what might have been surprise. "Famil-EE-us Protego," the professor scathed. "Foolish boy. If you take as much care in pronouncing your incantations, I consider myself supremely lucky that you leave your wand tucked away in this room."

The Slytherins were laughing rather openly now. Hermione's hand was still sticking up in the air. And Harry deflated slightly at realizing how pathetic his small victory in remembering that had been.

He stopped stirring as he'd finished the rotations now, carefully removing the stirring rod from the cauldron and being careful to wipe every last drop of the potion onto the cloth without getting any on his skin or anywhere else after the way Professor Snape had reacted to his tiny splash before.

Professor Snape's eyes were narrowed again when Harry looked up from his task. "Any more blinding bouts of insight into Agrimony, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shook his head. He only remembered seeing it those two times.

Professor Snape shook his head as well, and Harry detected disappointment in his eyes again, which was enough to bolster the boy's spirits. If he was still disappointed, then he hadn't decided that Harry was worthless just yet. He'd just have to try harder. "You may consider opening more than one book in the future, Mr. Potter, before you try to prove your brilliance again."

Harry nodded, even though he'd actually read several books. Of course, he hadn't been trying to prove any brilliance. He'd just been trying to answer his professor's question. Still, the man made a good point. Harry needed to do more reading.

Thirty minutes later, Harry's potion was nearly finished, and it looked maybe even better than Hermione's. He was sure that Professor Snape couldn't find it less than adequate, so he was feeling pretty good about himself as he reached for the slivered leek leaves that would be the final ingredient to turn the orange potion into the dark brown that it needed to be.

He'd only just turned toward them though, when he felt a sudden breeze waft toward him. He reflexively reached to cover the delicate powder to protect it from the breeze, only to realize that that suddenly potent scent of ginger meant that it was already in the air. He turned toward the source of the breeze just in time to see a grinning Malfoy lower his wand from where it had been pointed directly at him – or rather, Harry's cauldron.

Time almost seemed to stop as Harry understood what was going on. Malfoy had just sent a cloud of fine ginger in his direction. At the most volatile stage of the brewing. He could see a layer of the dust settling on the surface of his potion. And that dust was going to contaminate and ruin his potion. Not just ruin though. That dust was thick enough to…

Time snapped back into proper speed, and Harry reacted. He took a step back to make his body a better shield, and protected Hermione from the blast that exploded out of his cauldron.

Harry knocked timidly on the Potions' Master's office door a few minutes early for the first detention that had resulted from his mishap in potions class. He had six more after this. Luckily, he'd been the only one to end up in the hospital wing from burns, though half the class had been speckled green from what he'd heard, Malfoy among them, which was a pleasant bit of news.

"Enter!" Professor Snape's sharp voice barked.

Harry opened the door and walked inside, his head bowed and shoulders hunched, trying to make himself as small as possible. Completely unthreatening. He'd learned that Dudley left off hitting on him sooner when he did that.

He stopped in front of the professor's desk, waiting to hear what his punishment would be and hoping that it would be something he could do well. He didn't want to upset the man any further. He waited through the silence for a little while before he glanced up through his fringe to see Professor Snape studying him carefully. He quickly looked down again, waiting.

"You'll start off your detention by brewing the potion that brought you here," the professor finally said.

Harry looked up quickly, surprised and very pleased by this news.

Professor Snape frowned distastefully at him. "I can't have you brewing among other students until I'm certain that you can manage such a simple potion without catastrophic consequences," he bit out. "If you actually manage to do so, I will grade you on this potion rather than your embarrassing failure in class." When Harry almost smiled, he quickly added, "But do not expect such generosity from me again, Potter. You're in detention, not remedial potions. Use that station there," he gestured to the one directly in front of his desk, "so that I can keep a close eye on you."

Harry nodded quickly.

"Begin!" he barked irritably when Harry mistakenly waited for further instructions rather than immediately moving to get started. Privately, Harry suspected that he'd have been reprimanded for trying to start without specific instruction as well. Sometimes, there simply was no right answer. That was a fact that he'd always known. All that he could do was try to choose the path that would earn him the least trouble.

Severus had planned to get some marking done during Potter's detention, but he rather quickly forgot about that as the boy set to work. The potion wasn't a difficult one, which made it all the more obscene that Potter had managed to blow up his first attempt. How the brat had managed to get that much extra ginger into his cauldron at exactly the worst possible moment…

That question only became more uncertain as he watched the boy work.

The potion was a simple one, appropriate for first years, but Potter… At first, he wasn't sure what to think. The more he watched though, the more apparent it became that Potter was giving it the attention to detail that Severus would give the Wolfsbane Potion or any of the most delicate mastery level potions.

As much as he hated to admit it, Potter was trying really hard to do every little thing perfectly. What's more, he was actually succeeding. The boy clearly had opened more than one book in addition to his course book or he couldn't have known some of the tricks he was using to prepare the ingredients not just satisfactorily but as close to perfect as any first year was likely to come.

Severus couldn't help but blink in surprise as the boy moved on to preparing the flobberworms. Most children instinctively reached for the least active specimens, but Potter was dutifully digging out the liveliest. Severus used charms when working with live insects to avoid getting bitten. Potter had no such charms. He was getting bitten – quite a few times. The boy neither flinched nor blinked, but continued picking those most likely to bite him. Those that would serve as the best ingredients.

Then the boy moved onto the stage of stirring and adding ingredients at the same time and Severus found himself again surprised at the perfect rhythm Potter adopted to add them as smoothly as possible. Severus found himself mentally tallying the various books the boy had likely read to have picked up various tricks. Of course, that level of precision was almost obscene for a potion that could take as much variance as this one, but the boy did it anyway – turning a process that Severus would give no thought into a delicate work of art.

"Potter!" Severus finally barked, morbidly intent on making the brat slip up – disproving this distasteful theory that James Potter's son could actually be good at potions.

The boy looked up, but he'd evidently learned from his mistake the last time. The hand that was stirring remained smooth and even despite the sudden interruption.

Severus pinched his lips together for a moment, and then began spitting questions at the brat, forcing him to divide his attention. Severus found himself absurdly crushed between annoyance and delight when Potter stuttered through his answers, clearly wracking his brain for a perfect response to each, yet somehow managed to keep flawless count of his strokes. They even remained even and perfectly timed.

The boy wasn't a genius, nor a know-it-all like that Granger chit, Severus deduced while he continued to rattle off questions and sneer at every answer, right or wrong. No, the boy wasn't some kind of prodigy. He was just an eleven-year-old boy who was trying really hard to do well. In potions.

Despite Severus' distractions and biting vitriol.

And something inside Severus cracked just a bit. Potter suddenly looked a bit less like James Potter, and a bit more like a young Severus Snape.

"Finish the potion," he said finally, waving dismissively, his tone simply tired. He was having a really difficult time deciding what to make of this boy. He'd been expecting a miniature James Potter. He'd expected arrogance and cruelty.

He had not been expecting… this. A boy who came into potions looking something between excited, determined, and wary every single class. A boy who took the worst of his insults without ever looking dissuaded. Indeed, he generally seemed to be more determined every time he was derided in front of his class. Even for something utterly ridiculous. Not once had Severus seen a glint of anger in the boy's eyes, even when Severus knew perfectly well that he'd accused the boy falsely. Even when he knew he'd disdained what he should have praised.

When Harry had come for his previous detention, Severus had expected him to balk at being told to do something as mundane and menial as scrubbing cauldrons. Instead of annoyance, frustration, or indignation, the boy had looked… delighted. Though he'd obviously tried to hide it.

Severus had, naturally, assumed that the brat thought he'd found a way to cheat at the task with surreptitious spells or something of that nature. It was the only reason he could imagine someone looking so excited to be told to scrub cauldrons. So he'd kept a very close eye on the boy and he was certain there had been no magic involved. Yet every cauldron had been spotless. And done in considerably less time than he'd expected. And the boy hadn't complained once, not in word, sound, or movement. He'd gone to the task with determination and… As hard as it was for Severus to admit… Experience.

The boy clearly knew what he was about when it came to such a menial task.

And then that cauldron had exploded. Severus had looked up just in time to see Potter, slightly wide-eyed, take a step back, close his eyes, and turn his head. And then the potion had been violently expelled from the cauldron.

Severus had hit him with a cooling charm as quickly as possible, but the boy had been so close and the potion at a high boil. The burns had been bad. Mostly second, some third-degree burns.

Severus had – quite reasonably – expected screaming and writhing. That hadn't happened. Potter had first looked behind him and… ridiculously he'd asked Granger if she was okay. She'd just nodded mutely and Potter had looked relieved. Despite being badly burned. Then he'd begun examining himself. His face, neck, and hands, being unprotected by clothing, had been the worst. Severus had taken in the sight of the boy's hands and assumed he was going into shock to have not yet reacted to the blistered skin all but peeling off his hands. He then reached up and touched his face very gently, wincing as he did.

Then, someone screamed – one of his Slytherins, unfortunately. And that had started the pandemonium. Potter had looked pretty horrifying. He'd have been scarred for life had he had to rely on muggle medicine. The boy's jaw was clenched and his eyes were watering, but he didn't cry out.

Finally, those very green eyes – thankfully protected by those hideous glasses – had risen beyond the pandemonium and met Severus' eyes, calmly asking for instruction without need for words.

Severus generally sent a student to escort anyone injured to the hospital wing, but one glance around the panicked class and he knew that wouldn't work. Every last one of the cretins would need a calming draught before being trusted to manage a walk to their own beds. The only calm one in the room was Potter. Which was ridiculous. An eleven-year-old child should not be accustomed enough to pain to not cry out. He should not be able to look at his mauled hands without panicking.

But he had done it.

The frozen moment passed and Severus set off a series of loud bangs to garner attention, then swiftly ordered Potter to go into his office while he instructed everyone else to read in their books – after vanishing every potion in the room to ensure it was safe to leave them unsupervised.

Confident that Granger was the only one in the room who would actually read the book while he was gone, but not really caring at the moment, he'd followed Potter into his office and floo'd Poppy. Obscenely, the boy was still calm. He was trembling a bit, and his eyes were still watering, but Severus read it as a reaction to pain and adrenaline, not a precursor to shock, so he didn't reach for a calming draught.

The boy met his eyes grimly as Poppy stepped through the floo, and he looked more disappointed and tired than anything.

Severus still couldn't understand that reaction, but he was having some very unwelcome thoughts about how such a young boy could be accustomed enough with pain to handle it like that.

And then the boy had walked into the lab for his detention today looking like he expected a beating.

"Professor?"

A very quiet voice drew him from his thoughts and he lifted his head to find that Potter had completed his potion and was standing next to his station, once again hunched in on himself nervously.

Severus rose smoothly from his desk and stalked over to the workstation. He was not surprised to find a potion that looked utterly perfect. His own Reduction Draughts did not look that good. Of course he could make them that good. He just never bothered, since such precision wasn't necessary for a perfectly effective potion.

He examined it very carefully, but could find not the slightest deficiency with it. Finally, he shook his head very slightly and focused again on the boy who looked ready for anything. He hesitated only a moment before saying, "Well done, Potter."

To his surprise, his comment seemed to shock the boy to his toes. His mouth opened slightly and he stopped breathing for several seconds before he remembered to close his mouth and his lips curled into a faint smile. His eyes though… They shone with pride such as he had never seen in a student. Even his NEWT students had never looked so pleased at a compliment – particularly a compliment that was actually a considerable understatement.

Severus narrowed his eyes slightly as he studied the boy. He knew that he wasn't the only professor to have said those words to the boy, so why would the brat react this way?

Potter seemed to see that and his expression abruptly went completely blank – almost as well as Severus himself could have done, actually. "Thank you, sir," Potter said quietly. Neutrally. "Shall I clean up now?"

Severus only managed to nod before returning to his desk. He watched the boy as he set to clearing up his station with as much precision as he'd used in preparing the ingredients. Everything was carefully cleaned and packed away.

Potter started slightly when Severus sent a rack of vials levitating over to the station. Green eyes rose to Severus questioningly.

"That is good enough to be used in the hospital wing," Severus explained. "Bottle and label it carefully."

Again, he saw the boy swell with pride, but he worked to conceal it this time as he set to the task meticulously.

Severus just watched the boy work, struggling to understand the way that mind worked.

Harry was completely numb when he left the potions lab. Professor Snape's words kept going through his head over and over and over again. Well done. Well done.

He'd repeated those two words in his head so many times by the time he reached the tower that they barely even made sense anymore. Professor Snape thought he'd actually done well. And not only thought that, but told him as much. And he'd really meant it. Harry couldn't imagine the professor lying to him about that, but even if he had, he never would have had him bottle them for the infirmary if he hadn't thought the potion was good.

Harry was sure he'd be dancing on air about this as soon as he could actually wrap his mind around it. For the moment, he was just numb. On overload. It was… too much. He'd figured out pretty quickly to ignore what most people said to him. He was famous. Because of that, he was sure they'd say anything, even if they didn't mean it. But Professor Snape… He didn't like Harry. He'd do anything he could to make Harry feel terrible. So… Obviously, if he'd said that Harry had done well, then he'd done really well.

Harry was vaguely aware of speaking to Ron in the common room, and some other boys. Something about his detention, and they'd said mean things about Professor Snape, of course. Harry had just nodded vaguely and said he was tired.

It wasn't until he was safely ensconced in his bed that his shock began to abate enough for him to smile. Then grin. Professor Snape thought he'd done well. With a silent laugh of jubilation, Harry mentally planned out the next day. Every minute that he wasn't in class or eating, he was going to be in the library. There were a lot more potion books that he hadn't read yet.

There was nothing he wouldn't do to make Professor Snape look at him like that again. He knew that he had other homework, but he'd find enough time to get it done before it was due. He didn't want to risk failing any classes, but he didn't actually care about any of them except for potions. He did need to find a way to protect his cauldron better during class though. He remembered reading in passing about some kind of spell that could be raised around a cauldron to keep out foreign contaminants. He had no idea how hard that spell might be, but he knew that he needed to learn it. He really didn't want to get burned like that again, and he knew Malfoy wouldn't hesitate to do it again despite what had happened. Malfoy was like Dudley. He was mean for no reason at all, and he would take any chance to hurt Harry.

Unlike when he was growing up with Dudley though, Harry had magic now. He just had to learn enough and it wouldn't matter if he was smaller and weaker than Malfoy. It wouldn't even matter if he was outnumbered. Oh, it would take a while to learn enough, he was sure, but he could do it. He was sure that he could do anything if he put his mind to it.

After all, he'd impressed Professor Snape.

A/N: If you're following any of my WIPs, they are NOT abandoned unless I have noted otherwise in the summary. Real Life has not been kind of late, and my muse is rather temperamental. I will, however, get back to them eventually. Promise.

As to this little fic, I may, at some point, write a sequel. I'm not sure yet. As with most of my oneshots, if anyone wants to write a sequel, adopt the idea, or otherwise utilize it for your own purposes, you have my blessing. I ask only that you inform me so that I can direct readers to it (and read it myself) and give me credit in the first chapter. I have far more ideas than I have years left in my life to fully explore (and no, I don't plan on dying any time soon).

As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and please do review. I read every one and will try to answer any questions regardless of how long it has been since a fic was posted/updated.