"Ow, ow, ow," Harry hissed under his breath.

"I haven't even touched you yet!' Snape said crossly

Harry tried to look up at him. It was awkward as he laid facedown in only a pair of dark boxers on a small, padded table that Snape had transformed from a chair. "I know," Harry replied. "I'm just getting ready for it."

"Potter," Snape was exasperated, "I've done this before."

"Right, but last time I was drugged to my eyeballs with potions," Harry objected. "I was asleep, too - now I'll probably be screaming."

Snape crossed his arms impatiently as he stood over Harry. "You can endure all the physical torment you went through the last five years, but now you're worried that stretching your muscles will hurt?"

"It's different with you," Harry groused, wriggling his body back and forth on the table. "You know how to really hurt me."

"Oh, I do?"

"Yeah," Harry did not look up at Snape but he could not help squirming again, "you do. I don't want you to start stretching me - it doesn't sound fun, and anything that doesn't sound fun normally, it's a million times worse with you. Like classes or detention or homework or - ooooooh," Harry gave a relaxing sigh.

Snape kept massaging the back of his neck, his finger pressing down and seeming to find every tight nerve in Harry's neck. "Pull your hands up to the edge of the table," Snape directed. "It will stretch out your back."

Harry tried to pull his arms up, but once he got his hands even with his head, it hurt too much. "I can't," Harry complained, his mouth half smushed against the table.

Without comment, Snape took his left arm and began pulling it out straight, massaging the muscles and joints of the arm as he did so. Snape did the same to his other arm, and Harry found himself holding on to the front of the table without his arms hurting at all.

Snape put one hand on the back of Harry's neck, and then he placed the other hand in the small of Harry's back and began rotating his back to straighten his spine. His back cracked and popped, but Harry could not move. He had never felt so relaxed in his life; he wondered if he would start to drool from his slack mouth, but he couldn't help it because he could not move to save his life.

Snape was moving to his shoulders, pressing down and kneading, and Harry wanted to purr with contentment. He couldn't keep his eyes open, and he wondered if Snape would just let him lie there forever in absolute bliss with his thoughts gently spinning around his head without a concern in the world.

"Potter?"

"Potter!"

"Uh?" Harry opened his eyes.

"Come on, sit up," Snape pulled on his arms until Harry was sitting up straight.

"Uh? What?' Harry blinked. "What's going on? When did I turn over?"

"You fell asleep," Snape told him dryly. "I'm surprised you weren't screaming, your muscles were so tight and cramped. I been working on you for over an hour, but you didn't move once you fell asleep."

"That's nice," Harry waved him away. "Let me go back to sleep."

"You need to go downstairs and get some food into you," Snape told him. "You can have an early bedtime. Come on and get dressed."

Harry looked down and realized he was still in his boxers. He tried to rouse himself and experimentally raised his arms up. Nothing hurt; he felt fine. "My word," Harry stood up and held onto the padded table for support, "where did you learn to do that?"

"Just something I picked up," Snape handed him his trouser and a shirt along with socks and shoes. "It's all about pressure points and nerve endings. Without magic, just physical touch, you can learn to hurt someone or heal them."

"Can you do that to anyone?" Harry began to dress, stepping into the trousers slowly.

Snape shrugged. "I guess. Man, woman, child - it's usually about the same."

"You could do that to a woman?" Harry looked up, his fingers frozen on the buttons of his shirt. "How are you still single?"

"Potter -"

"No, really, you do that to a woman - I'm thinking she'd say yes to about anything you ask her to do, if you know what I mean," he gave Snape a rakish look and a wink.

"If you'll lift your mind out of the gutter long enough," Snape frowned, "we can go down to eat. But I want you to -"

"Take it easy," Harry nodded. "I know, Snape." Fully dressed, he straightened and grinned. "All right, can I walk by myself or do you want to carry me?"

That was the great thing about being sick - he could say almost anything to Snape, and though the man would frown and glower and look extremely stern, he rarely reprimanded Harry.

But to Harry's surprise, the walk downstairs did tire him, and by the time he reached his chair, he was glad to sit down and be still.

A good meal and a day of rest did wonders, though, and by a late supper that night, Harry felt that he had completely recovered.

"Come on, Snape," he urged at the table. "Let me go outside for a while and watch for falling stars - I hate staying in."

"No," Snape told him for the third time that evening, "not tonight."

Draco sat quiet, eating with only looking up every now and then. Harry did not understand why he looked so crestfallen - Snape did not seem particularly angry at him, and Harry thought that even the pain from the punishment that morning should have diminished for the most part. Maybe Draco liked to sulk.

After supper, Snape parked Harry in a large, comfy armchair and handed him a book with a look telling him to stay still and quiet.

Harry read for a while as did Snape, but Draco seemed unable to settle down. The blond pretended to read, but he fidgeted and dropped his book twice before going to the chessboard to play by himself. When the clock struck nine and Snape closed his book, Harry wondered if he were about to sent up to bed.

A house elf brought the tea tray with only two cups, Snape poured tea in Harry's cup and handed it to him before saying, "Draco, please go upstairs and get ready for bed."

Harry tried not to look too pleased as he sipped the hot, sweet tea. So Draco was being sent up early. Ha-ha, Harry got to have tea with Snape while Draco had to go to bed. Just brilliant.

"Stop smirking and drink your tea," Snape told him shortly.

"What? I can't enjoy someone else's misery? You smirk every time I do something wrong," Harry retorted.

"Yes, as I've said before, I'm the miserable, old potions master. It fits me."

"It does not," Harry shot back. "And you're not old. You're one of the youngest teachers at Hogwarts. You were a year behind my parents, right? You can't be more than - what? 37? 38? That's not old."

"When did you get so fresh?" Snape grumbled over his tea. "I liked it better when you hated me."

"No, you didn't," Harry replied. He felt an enormous surge of satisfaction when Snape only glared at him. Feeling almost light-headed with his own daring, Harry decided to press the issue just a little further. "Admit it, you like me."

"I most certainly do not," Snape stated.

"Oh, but you do," Harry grinned. "You like having me here to ruin your summer. You could be sitting here all alone, but I came to catch fire and blow up the house and nearly die, and you've had all your time filled with lecturing and punishing and repairing. And you wanted to replace the potions store anyway. Admit it."

Snape looked torn between spitting nails or smile. He did neither and said only, "Drink your tea, Potter."

Harry took a sip and then began to cough. He kept coughing, making wheezing sounds as he tried to catch his breath. "Snape," he choked out.

"Harry!" Snape jumped to his feet about to rush over to help him.

Harry stopped coughing and grinned again. "Got you!"

Snape stared outraged for a moment. Then he sat down, still staring at Harry. "Are you looking for me to tan your hide?"

"No."

"Then stop your foolishness before I take you over my knee."

"All right . . . Dad," Harry slyly added.

This time it was Snape that choked on his tea. "Wha-at?" Snape coughed violently.

"Father?" Harry tried. "Uncle? Cousin Severus - oh, I like that one. We have to come up with something besides Snape and Potter. Maybe that was fine at the beginning of summer, but it's August now, and we've developed, evolved, progressed past the old names."

"More regressed," Snape muttered, pouring himself some more tea.

"I have to call you something more than Snape," Harry insisted.

"Professor?" Snape said a little louder than he needed to, considering Harry was sitting right there.

"Ah, but as you've reminded me time and time again, we're not professor and student here," Harry said cheekily. "Here you're my guardian so we should find a new title. I think Uncle Severus - it had has a nice ring to it."

Snape glowered at Harry, looking like he wanted to light into Harry right then and there, but he said only, "You should be thankful you're sick."

"O-oh," Harry put a hand tragically to his forehead as he leaned back, trying to look overly pathetic. "I'm feeling very ill, Uncle Severus. Hold my hand, hold my arm, just hold me."

Snape stood up. "I'm going up to check on Draco. When I come back, you better have finished your tea and be ready to go up to bed."

"Then fare thee well," Harry continued to slump back in the chair, holding one limp hand out in Snape's direction.

As Snape walked away, Harry could hear him mutter, "Silly children . . . never get a moment's peace."

Harry couldn't stop smiling, and he leaned up to get another biscuit.

"No more sugar for you," Snape ordered as he climbed the stairs.

Harry stuffed the biscuit in his mouth and nodded though Snape couldn't see him. Then a thought hit Harry, and he suddenly felt nervous, his palms a little sweaty. He had only been teasing Snape, but maybe that teasing had hit a bit too close to home. He had not meant to do anything other than needle Snape with some light-hearted barbs, but maybe it was unkind to remind Snape that he had no family. Maybe Snape had not meant to end up unmarried, alone with no kids, no one around.

Harry knew what it felt like to feel all alone - he remembered those awful days before Hogwarts and other lonely summers. The time he had been locked in his room, afraid he would never get see any of his friends again. Now, at sixteen, he knew that he would have never been allowed to stay like that; someone would have come after him when he did not show up at school. But at twelve, Harry had not been so sure.

But Snape was alone most of the time - always feeling guilty about sins of the past. Maybe he was snarky and cold and sneering a lot, but when times got tight, Snape was always there, doing what he should. Though he did not show it, Snape must have known what was going to happen for the rest of the summer when Harry came rolling out of his fireplace. Well, maybe not everything that happened - Harry thought guiltily, remembering how his own poor choices had affected a few things - but still Snape had done the right thing. If their roles had been reversed, if Snape had barged in on Harry and needed to stay the summer, Harry would have wanted (if not demanded) that Snape leave. That was a nice, selfish way to treat people.

Harry flushed hotly, feeling his stomach sink. He knew it was not the plants anymore - this was feeling bad for how he had treated Snape. And how had he thanked Snape? By fighting with Draco? Complaining about Draco?

Harry felt his face grow redder, but he stood up resolutely. Blast his overly sensitive conscience! But he was going to make sure there were no hard feelings. Snape was going to see that Harry was appreciative, that Harry knew how to thank someone for their kindness, that Harry wasn't a spoiled little prince who expected everything offered to him on a silver platter.

Harry went up the stairs. Yes, Snape would probably chide him for running about when he had been ill (though Harry wasn't really running, just walking quickly), but Harry would apologize for that as well.

Harry had just reached the hallway leading to his room when he heard someone howling. As he got closer, the howls grew louder accompanied with a sharp smacking sound. A few more steps, and Harry could make out words.

"Ow! Snape, I said I was sorry! Ow, no, stop! You can't do this to me."

"Au contraire," Snape replied, the smacking noise never stopping. "I told you last night if you didn't change your attitude, I would be spanking you before bed. You were very eager to help with Harry, but this morning I finished your punishment, and what did you call me?"

"Nothing!"

"Draco!"

"Fine! Ow, ouch, too hard! All right, I said you were a stupid, slimy, ugly old bat who no one cared about and you could rot in your dungeons alone and -"

"That's not true!" Harry banged open the door and stomped into the room.

The sight would have been ludicrous any other time, and Harry would have started snickering before bursting into wild laughter. Draco was flung over Snape left knee, his legs trapped under Snape's right leg. Snape was pressing down on Draco's back, but the blond kept trying to rear up and get away.

Harry was sure he had seen something like this the night before, but being so high on the sleeping plants, Harry could not remember.

Draco turned to look at Harry in horror, and surprised by the sudden intrusion, Snape paused, his hand still in the air holding the wooden hairbrush that usually sat on the dresser.

"It's not true," Harry insisted to Draco, crossing his arms adamantly. "People do too care about him. Maybe he doesn't march around Hogwarts, bragging about his father and being a Pure Blood, but that does not mean he's going to rot alone. And he's not slimy - if you spent all your time brewing potions to help people, you'd probably look the same way."

"Potter," Snape said sternly, but Harry ignored him, intent on setting Draco straight.

"When was the last time you did anything to help anyone, Malfoy? If I remember right, the last thing you did was to nearly kill me."

Draco was squirming, trying to get off Snape's knee, but the man would not let his go.

"So go on, Snape," Harry ordered, "give what he deserves, the little snit. Cry like the baby you are, Malfoy."

"Are you quite finished?" Snape asked calmly.

"He shouldn't get to say -" Harry began, but Snape cut him off.

"Then please go outside and wait until I am finished."

"Right," Harry headed for the door, but paused to say, "don't let him say anything else, Snape."

"Just go," Snape said starting to sound impatient.

Harry went into the hallway and closed the door almost all the way, leaving it open a crack.

He leaned against the wall and waited. The smacking began again, and Draco's cries seemed even louder. Harry stared up at the brass chandelier in the hallway, watching the flames of the candles flicker. It was funny how candlelight in a wizard's house was as bright as electric lights in a muggle's. Harry wondered how the radio at the Weasleys had run without electricity. Did Snape have a radio? It would be nice to listen to some music at night.

Harry snapped his thoughts back to the present as Draco's howls grew louder. Good grief, Draco's voice could go up high. The windows would be breaking soon. Harry blushed again. Was that how he himself sounded when Snape punished him, all hysterical and screeching?

"Please, Snape, please stop," Draco begged. "I know I'm awful, I know I don't deserve to live, I know everyone hates me. That's why Father beats me - please Snape."

Barely breathing, Harry waited. He waited for Snape to assure Draco that he was not awful, for Snape to tell Draco that he was talking nonsense, to make Draco feel better. But Harry only heard the hairbrush come down again and then again and then again, and Harry couldn't just stand there. He went back into the bedroom.

"Tell him that's not true," he ordered Snape.

Snape looked up, impatient and infuriated. "Potter, I don't know when you decided that you get to have a say in how I manage Draco's behavior, but I'll remind you that we are not co-parents here. I will handle Draco in the way I see best fit as I do with you."

"But he said -" Harry began.

Snape growled and pulled Draco off his lap. He turned Draco to face Harry, saying sternly, "Draco, tell Mr. Potter here when was the last time I spanked you before you came here?"

Draco turned red and tried to move away, but Snape held him still, hands on his upper arms. "Tell him."

"In the spring," Draco whispered.

"And which spring?" Snape prodded.

"This spring," Draco's voice was barely audible.

Harry's eyes went wide, but he said nothing as he stared at Draco.

"And why did I punish you?" Snape pressed on, relentless.

"Because I kept talking back to you, and I wouldn't do what you told me," Draco looked miserable, his eyes red-rimmed and his bottom lip trembling.

"And when I spanked you, what did you say?"

"I said that I hated you," Draco confessed. "That I was going to tell everyone how awful you were."

"And when I didn't stop, what did you say?"

Draco was squirming, but he admitted, "I said you liked to hurt me, that everyone wanted to hurt me. I didn't deserve to live, and everyone wanted me to die."

Harry suddenly felt that he no longer wanted to be in the room. He wished he had stayed in the hallway, good and quiet. Snape must have sensed his discomfort, but the man continued,

"And that is not the first time Draco has tried to make me feel sorry for him. Your tactic, Potter, may be to bear your punishment stoically or as best you can while Draco's is to try to talk me out of punishing him. You respond more to words than he does so I don't waste my breath talking to him during it. Afterwards, we talk when he can really hear me. This has nothing to do with his father, this has nothing to do with you defending him or me, this has nothing to do with you at all. I'm going to finish talking to Draco, but you go into the bathroom and do not come out until I call for you."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied and hurried away.

Once in the bathroom, he turned the bath water on, hoping to drown out any other noise. Whether Draco got spanked more or whether they just talked, Harry did not want Snape to think he was eavesdropping. And since the water was running, Harry went ahead and took a bath, washing his hair too. Teeth brushed and in pajamas, Harry sat down on the closed toilet lid to dry his hair with the towel until Snape called him. Looking in the mirror, Harry tried to comb his damp hair down with his fingers. It was a losing battle, but at least he looked a little better with most of it neat.

"Harry?" he heard a quiet voice called.

Harry went to the door and stepped out. The bedroom was dark, and Draco was already in bed.

"Come into the hall," Snape directed.

"I'm sorry about barging in," Harry said as soon as the bedroom door was shut behind them. "I know I'm impulsive - it's just that I don't like to hear him -"

Snape held up a hand. "Don't apologize for your hero complex. I'm beginning to think it's too late to change that. You will rush into bloody everything, regardless of what you're told."

Harry smiled, surprised to hear Snape swear. "Sorry."

"You are not, but it doesn't matter," Snape shook his head. "You and that big, golden heart of yours, wanting to rescue everyone."

"Stop it," Harry said, still smiling.

"Hhmm," Snape sniffed. He reached out to feel Harry's forehead. "You fell fine. Are you dizzy? Lightheaded? You know, you should have told me you felt dizzy last night. You kept insisting that you were fine -"

"I was high on those plants! Everything felt good."

"But no dizziness now?"

"None, and that's the truth," Harry assured him. "I'm a little tired, but -"

"Well, it's past ten so good to bed," Snape directed.

Harry was suddenly overcome with a need to hug Snape. He knew Snape would not like it, but Harry didn't just want to leave without showing Snape that he was glad to be there. With one hand, Harry reached out and patted Snape on the shoulder very firmly, kind of the same way Snape patted him in bed at night.

"See you tomorrow," Harry turned away towards the bedroom.

And for once Snape had nothing to say to him.

-------

"I hate when it rains here," Draco complained, watching the window.

"It's been dry this summer," Harry objected. "We were bound for some rain sooner or later."

"Where's Snape?" Draco huffed, turning from the window.

"He said he had to write some letters," Harry glanced back to his book.

They had started the day as if nothing had happened over the last few days. They did not mention bleeding fingers, sleeping plants, punishments, or nosy young wizards. In Harry's opinion, they were doing an excellent job of acting as if the three of them had always lived there in peacefully harmony.

"So we're just supposed to sit here and read?" Draco gave the edge of the carpet a spiteful kick.

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "What do you do at home?"

"I have my own things there," Draco said loftily, as if Harry did not understand how a regular wizard lived.

"Well, I'm sure your dolls miss you," Harry ducked to hide his grin behind his book.

"My dolls do not miss - I don't have dolls, Potter!"

"Of course you don't," Harry said in a voice that implied he did not believe Draco.

"You have dolls," Draco muttered.

"And the current score in smart comebacks - Potter 4, Draco a resounding zero!" Harry quipped in his best Quidditch announcing voice.

"Ha-ha," Draco grumbled. He stared morosely out the window, watching the raindrops roll down the glass panes.

Harry sighed and slipped his bookmark into his book before closing it and placing it on the side table. "All right, let's do something."

"What?" Draco looked up, still bored but curious.

"Well, we could play a game. Grab the chess pieces and throw them at - at," Harry glanced around and snatched up a silver vase with a wide mouth, "at this and try to get them in. Here, I'll hold the vase out, and you stand at the other end of the room and throw them."

"Are you going to move around?" Draco asked, getting up and going to the chessboard.

"I could, but I'll probably have to move the vase just to catch the pieces. It's harder than it looks from that distance.

About twenty feet apart, they faced each other, Draco with the chess pieces and Harry with vase.

"Ready?" Harry angled the vase towards him. "Go!"

"Are we keeping score?"

"Sure," Harry agreed. "We'll see how many you can get in, and then I'll throw. But you have to help the other person, not yank the vase away. Throw, and I'll show you."

Draco lobbed a piece in the air, and Harry had to take a step forward to catch the flying piece in the vase. "One for you," Harry nodded.

It was a very simplistic game, but they made the rules harder as they went along. The pawn could been thrown any style, but the castles had to be thrown under-handed, the knights over-handed, the bishops with the left hand, the queen while hopping on one foot, and with the king, you had to spin around three times and say the name of a potions ingredient backwards before throwing or it didn't count. The score got developed along the way too - pawns 1 point, knights and castles 2, bishops 3, queens 4, and if done exactly right, the king got 10 points.

At first, Harry thought Draco might try to cheat to win, and Draco did try to get more points when it was his turn to hold the vase by not moving it to help Harry score. After a brief argument in which Draco stomped his foot and threatened to break the vase, they both finally agreed to follow Harry's suggestion: if the person holding the vase helped the thrower get the piece in the vase, then the vase holder got a half a point.

The score was Harry 327, Draco 296 mainly because Draco got dizzy spinning around and couldn't say bat wing backward as gniw tab when Harry had a thought.

"Wouldn't it be brilliant if we could enchant the pieces? To move or fly around?"

"Like Snitches?" Draco said snidely.

Harry ignored the quip. He knew Draco was always touchy when it came to Quidditch, especially since Harry had been chosen to play his first year while Draco had to wait until his second. "Still, we should be able to do something to the pieces. Like light them on fire."

"We don't have our wands," Draco tossed up the black king and caught him again.

"We don't need wands," Harry disagreed. "We could wrap the pieces in something and - and," he ran over to a nearby table and grabbed up a lit candlestick. "We could wrap the pieces in paper, maybe."

"Newspaper!" Draco ran over to the corner where old copies of the Daily Prophet were stacked up. "We wrap them in newspaper and tie them with . . .?"

"Twine!" Harry opened a drawer to rifle through it, sure he could find some.

Fine minutes later, they tied the last pawn up in newspaper and twine. They divided the paper-covered piece up, eight pieces for each to throw.

"You go first," Draco grabbed up the vase and ran to the other side of the room.

Harry picked up one piece and approached the burning candle. "How should I do this?"

"Hold the bottom end," Draco advised, "and just light the top. Once it's half-burning, chuck over. I'll catch it and blow it out once it's in the vase."

"All right," Harry held the piece over the flame. The newspaper began to burn, and Harry flung it towards Draco. It was like watching a small ball of fire streak through the air, orange and glowing.

------

"He's being completely unreasonable," Harry said, running his eyes over the paint chips.

"It wasn't even that big a fire," Draco agreed, his voice sounding odd as it bounced off two walls. "He put it out in a second with his wand."

"And that rug was a hundred years old," Harry added. "A spark from the candles would have burnt it to ashes anyway."

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Harry knew Snape was watching from the doorway so Harry hushed and stood still. Across the room, he knew Draco was also standing in his corner, trying to look innocent.

Snape coughed loudly and then walked away.

"I still don't see why we have to stand here and think about why it's wrong to play with fire," Draco grumbled. "We're wizards. For us, playing with fire is like . . . like . . ."

"Watching the telly?" Harry supplied.

"Huh?"

"Never mind," Harry shifted. His legs were getting tired, but it had probably been only ten or twelve minutes.

"We are going to get Snape back for this," Draco decided.

Harry nearly turned around to look at Draco. After a furious Snape had put out the fire that was a bit out of hand, Harry would admit, he had lectured them both on their foolishness before sending them to stand in opposite corners for a half an hour. Harry was expecting Draco to accuse him of starting it, tattling to Snape that it was all Harry's fault. But Draco had said nothing.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked slowly.

"There has to be a way to pay him back," Draco insisted. "Come on - it's one thing to have all these babyish rules - really, who goes to bed at ten o'clock? And the way he punishes us, and now we're standing in the corner? Are we four?"

"No!" Harry emphatically agreed.

"And does he really think we're going to let him treat us like this over and over again?"

"No!"

"And are we going to just go along with it?"

"Never!"

Draco snickered. "Snape is going to rue the day the day he put the two of us in a room together. We are going to fix him so bad, and he'll never see it coming."

Harry grinned, but they both fell quiet as Snape returned to check on them, hrumphed sternly deep in his throat, and then walked away.

Harry tried not to snicker himself. He wanted Snape to feel like he was part of a family, and every family had its share of petty revenge among its included members. Snape was about to feel very included.