"Ow," Harry protested, "Ow - don't! Come on, that hurts."

"It's supposed to hurt," Snape said grimly. He pulled on the strap, and Harry groaned.

"Ugh! That's enough."

"It most certainly is not," Snape pulled on the strap sharply, and the clasp slid down another inch.

Harry huffed and puffed, but could not do much else from his awkward position. It was Monday evening, their first training night, and Harry had met Snape a little before eight, Harry wearing loose pants, a tee shirt, and sneakers. Snape has instructed him to climb into the first machine, and Harry had to duck under the weights to lie down on the padded long bench, face down. But then Snape had trapped his wrists and ankles to the ends of the bench with leather restraints.

Snape had stepped back and began to turn a hand crank, and Harry found the bench bending into two, forcing his body to fold at the waist. Snape kept cranking until Harry's hands were nearly touching his toes, the bench almost folded in half. Then Snape started tightening other straps around Harry's back and thighs, pulling tighter and tighter until Harry was sure he would never get out.

"And set the weight at a hundred pounds," Snape moved the leveling bar. "That shound do it."

"Do it!" Harry protested, trying to twist his neck enough to see Snape, but Harry could not see any higher than the man's shoes and robe-covered knees. "What am I supposed to flippin' do like this?"

"Now, now," Snape warned. "You're not in a good position to be using any coarse language. This machine will help strengthen your core muscles. You simply have to straighten your body. Pull your arms up and push your feet up. Try it."

Harry had not idea how he would manage that, but he tried. For long moment, he pushed and pulled, but nothing happened.

"Come on, try again," Snape directed. "Take a breath and blow it out as you go flat."

Harry wanted to give Snape a mean look, but instead he concentrated on the exercise. At first, he couldn't budge, but then he felt the bench move with him. Straining and grunting, he finally got his body straight, his arms and legs straining as he held them up.

"Go back, slowly," Snape instructed. "Slowly, slowly - remember to breathe."

Harry returned to the original position, and he let his body go limp, breathing hard with sweat on his forehead.

"There I did it."

"Now do twenty-nine more," Snape told him.

"What?" Harry exploded. "I could barely do one! It's too much weight, and I'm tired. Let me out."

"Is that how you plan to defeat the Dark Lord?" Snape demanded. "Complain until he drops dead from listening to your whining? And I'm telling you right now, Potter, you're going to train, or when the final battle comes, I'll lock you a wardrobe and fight him myself."

Harry bristled, but he snapped, "It's Harry to you," and he straightened his body again, hissing as his muscles protested.

He had suffered under the Cruciatus Curse before, been cut and bled, cracked his kneecaps against the stone floor while struggling against the Imperius Curse, but Harry would have sworn he had never felt such agony before like this. Every muscle in his body burned sharper with each repeat of the exercise, and he wanted to weep when he reached 28 and could not stop shaking.

"Come on," Snape said. "You're almost there. Just two more, and then you'll have done thirty."

Harry wanted to swear, to spit at Snape and call him names. But then he felt a hand on his back, just over his left shoulder blade.

"You can do this," Snape said quietly.

With a loud growl, Harry straightened his body and closed it and then straightened one more time before dropping back down.

"Good boy," Snape remarked, and he stepped over to uncrank the machine.

As the bench straightened, Harry let his whole body go limp. Ah, that felt good. He had survived Snape torture . . . and come out still in one piece. Yay for him.

Once Harry was lying flat, Snape began to loosen the straps until Harry could roll out of the machine. Harry stood bend over, resting his hands on his knees. "That's good," he panted. "Great first practice session."

"Oh, did you think it was over?" Snape raised his eyebrows. "We've barely started."

Harry lifted his head to squint at the man. "Are you mad? I can't move. I'm sore all over."

"I hope so," Snape replied. "Every time we work here, I plan to get your body to the point of exhaustion and then begin to train you. You don't expect to meet the Dark Lord in prim health, hale and well-rested?"

"Sod the Dark Lord," Harry groaned, but he straightened to face Snape. "All right, what next, torturer of mine?"

"Let's see how fast you can run," Snape aimed his wand at the stone floor beneath Harry's feet. "Caucus Repetus!"

Suddenly, the stone floor began to slide back. Harry jumped back, startled as he watched a space of about three feet by five move back with new stones popping out of the ground to keep the space moving, the stone slightly back smooth and together.

"What, like a treadmill?" Harry glanced at Snape.

"Exactly," Snape nodded though he frowned slightly at the mention of Muggle equipment. "Get on it and start walking."

Harry did as he ordered, but it was the oddest feeling ever, walking on the flat floor without going anywhere.

"Faster," Snape said and flicked his wand at the moving stones. Harry found himself breaking into a jog to keep up, and as the pace increased, he had to break into a run.

The two hours crawled along in a blur of pain and aching muscles. Harry kept moving, stumbling along as Snape made him jump over beams protruding from the wall, dodge red bolts that shot at him randomly, and perform jumping jacks while Snape shouted out questions about Defense that Harry had to answer as quick as he could. When Harry finally tripped over his own feet while ducking falling bags of sand and lay stunned on the floor, staring up blankly, Snape called it quits.

"That's good for today," Snape reached his hand down, and Harry grabbed it, letting Snape hoist him to his feet. "Go take and shower and then it's off to bed."

The little shower that Snape pointed to was no more than four narrow sides about six feet high and three feet wide, enclosed together with one side open like a door. A shower nozzle hung over the open space inside. Harry stepped into the square space and shut the door. It locked magically and his clothes disappeared. Hot water came pouring out of the nozzle.

Harry braced himself on two opposing walls and leaned his head down, letting the water fall on his sore neck and shoulders, running down to a small drain at his bare feet. He thought he could fall asleep right there as it pounded down, over and over again on his skin.

Then the water turned cold.

Harry gasped, and he pushed against the wall that had swung open like a door. It would not move. As the water turned colder and colder, Harry began to pound against the door, wanting to get out.

"Stay in the cold water," Snape ordered from the middle of the room. "The hot water and the cold will keep you from being too sore."

"I'll take the soreness!" Harry howled as he tried to avoid the icy spray, cramming his body into a corner, but unable to get out of the cold water.

The spray stopped abruptly, the last of it gurgling down the drain. A towel floated from the open top of the shower, and Harry grabbed at it, trying not to let his teeth chatter. He had just wiped his eyes when hot air blew down, warm and dry. A minute later, he barely needed to dry off, and the second he was dry enough, the door to the shower clicked open.

Harry stepped out, and then realized he was wearing red pajamas and slippers.

"It's after ten," Snape told him. "Go on to bed. You can use the floo in my office."

Harry was too tired to argue, and he followed Snape meekly into the next room. Snape held out the box of green powder, and Harry took a handful. He stepped into the fireplace.

"You did well tonight," Snape told him, his voice low and serious.

Harry dropped his handful of powder, barely able to whisper "Gryffindor Commons Room."

A rush and a drop later, and he ducked out into the Gryffindor Commons Room. Students were still milling about and stared at him in surprise, but Harry was too tired to care.

"Blimey, mate," Ron piped up from the table where he was studying with Hermione. "Where'd you come from?"

"Don't ask," Harry groaned as he started for the stairs. It took every bit of strength he had left to climb the stairs, pull back the covers to his bed, and fall onto the soft mattress. He lay face down, insensible and numb to the world, too exhausted to cover himself up.

He heard footsteps behind him, and then Seamus asked Ron, "What's wrong with him?"

"Dunno," Ron replied. "Harry, Harry - you all right?"

Harry groaned into the mattress, unable to form words.

"You want us to get someone?" Seamus asked uncertainly.

Harry groaned again, but this time he tried to make it sound like a "No."

"You want to sleep?" Ron question.

Harry nodded into the mattress. With great effort, he turned on his side, dragged up his covers with one hand, and sank his head into his pillow.

"Should we do something?" Dean asked from the other side of the room.

"Maybe he's sick," Seamus commented. "We could put a bucket by his bed, just in case, you know."

"You don't think he's possessed again?" Dean came to stand by the other two boys.

"He was screaming when that happened," Seamus reminded him. "He's not screaming now."

"He's not possessed," Ron stated firmly. "He's just - look he's already asleep. Let him lie there, and if he doesn't move in the morning, we'll get someone."

------

Snape had lied.

Lied, lied, lied - the man was a nasty, rotten, horrid lair.

The water did not work, and Harry's whole body ached the next morning like he had been tortured on a rack.

"Which might as well have happened," he snarled as he sat slowly up in bed. "Stupid, ugly, bat-like - oh, no, not so fast. Slow down, Harry - small steps."

Ron and Hermione were waiting for him in the Commons Room when Harry limped down.

"What happened to you?" Hermione demanded. He could tell she wanted to check for fever - her hand kept edging up as if to palm his forehead.

"Snape happened," Harry said in a fierce whisper.

"He spanked you?" Hermione squeaked.

Harry wished he could drop through the floor. No one else was close enough to overhear, but Ron turned red and looked away.

"No," Harry ground out, his own ears turning red. "He started training me, putting me through torture so I'll be ready to - you know."

Hermione paused, stunned. "Snape's training you?" she said, careful to keep her voice low.

"Yeah, ‘physically and mentally' as he said," Harry could not help mocking Snape a little, making a face as he repeated the man's words. "Wants me to be ready to act in stressful moments, running and ducking, and it's all physical right now, mostly, except for those stupid questions."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione turned to him with bright, shining eyes. "Oh . . . Harry."

Both boys turned to stare at her as her lips trembled.

"It's not that bad," Harry hastily assured her. "I'm just sore."

"No," she shook her head quickly, "this is truly the best thing that could have happened to you."

"What?" Ron and Harry demanded at the same time.

"Snape's training you. A true Death Eater who knows everything about Voldemort, knows about the dark side, knows the danger he is training you to fight. Why, even Dumbledore couldn't offer you that sort of training. But Snape can help you, prepare you, get you ready. A teacher, an adult, and a real Death Eater on your side. And whatever he teaches you, you can teach the rest of us."

"That's right," Ron grinned suddenly. "We'll get to learn what he shows you. Wicked, huh?"

"Yeah," Harry began to drag his feet towards the stairs. "Wicked."

------

Sitting on the hard benches for class was the last thing Harry wanted to do, and he wished he could just walk around the grounds at a slow pace until his aching muscles eased up a bit. He couldn't concentrate all morning, and by Madame Moretta's Potions class after lunch, Harry laid his head on the desk and closed his eyes. Hermione elbowed him in the side, and Harry gave a soft grunt, but he didn't move.

As he left the class, he saw Moretta frowning at him, but Harry could not bring himself to care. His stomach muscles hurt all the way up his chest, his shoulders ached, and his legs were prickly.

By evening, he dragged his weary body back to Snape's office, ready to call off the whole training thing. Snape stood by the open door to his office, and when Harry walked in, Snape grabbed him by the arm, turned him around, and landed two sharp slaps on Harry's backside.

"Ow," Harry's free hand went back to rub, "what was that for?"

"Madame Moretta informed me you were sleeping in her class," Snape said sternly as he let go of Harry.

"She's always getting me into trouble," Harry scowled.

"Believe me," Snape said ominously, "if you had had my class today and slept, you'd be experiencing a lot more that two wallops. And if you sleep again in her class or any class, I'll be applying a lot more than my hand."

"I was tired," Harry snapped. He raised his arms to cross, but it was too much effort, and he dropped them loosely by his side. "I was sore, too."

"All day long?" Snape questioned.

"Yeah."

"The entire day?"

"Yeah."

"The whole, entire day?"

"Yes!" Harry wanted to shout. "The whole, entire, blasted day, all day long."

"And you didn't come ask me for something to help with the pain?" Snape pointed out.

"You would have sneered and told me that pain was part of it," Harry retorted. "How can I fight the Dark Lord if I can't take a little pain, you would have said."

"I would have said no such thing," Snape told him. "A little pain that you can easily ignore - fine. So sore you cannot focus, then you find something for the pain." When Harry did not look convinced, Snape went on, "If you were cut in the midst of the battle, and you remembered a spell to stop the bleeding, wouldn't you use it?"

"Yes," Harry muttered, trying not to glare at the man.

"This is no different. There is a spell that could ease the soreness, help you focus a little better."

"Then may I have it?" Harry spread his arms, inviting Snape to hit him with the spell.

"Had you come this afternoon, it would have been a spell," Snape informed him as he walked towards the cabinets, "but since you waited so long and wasted your time as well as your teachers, it's -"

"A potion," Harry sighed as Snape took out a bottle and the blasted large spoon.

"What else?" Snape came towards him, uncorking the bottle.

"You know, you're not Potions Master anymore," Harry hedged. "Should you be giving out potions so freely to students?"

"To students, no," Snape began to pour the thick potion out, and Harry wanted to gag at the sight of it. "But to my son, well, that's my discretion as a father. Open."

Harry took the nasty stuff and swallowed hard, shuddering at the awful taste.

"I put in extra black herbs just for you," Snape, the heartless git, smirked as he recorked the bottle. "Made extra thick, just so you can taste it longer. Delightful, is it not?"

"Prat," Harry growled, but already the potion was easing his pain. His body felt less tight, easier to move and swing his arms and walk around.

"Better?" Snape lifted an eyebrow, wearing his knowing expression that made Harry feel childish and naughty.

"Yeah, it is."

"Then on with the training," Snape walked towards the wall, and Harry trudged along glumly.

In spite of the potion, the second day of training was worse than the first. Snape changed up the order of the exercises and used a new machine (one that had Harry strapped down on his back, lifting weights into the air with his arms and feet), and Harry couldn't wait for it to be over. His one coherent thought as he hobbled to the shower was that he got a night off from training tomorrow because Wednesday evening was the first DA meeting.

------

"I can't believe we're starting again," Hermione hugged her clipboard tight to her chest. "Everyone signed up from last year, and we even have two dozen new people who want to join.

"Mostly first and second years," Ron put in. "They want to do something with the older kids, I guess."

"Yes, Ronald," Hermione snapped at him, "but this is huge. We're really doing something this time. I thought we should all have badges and fees and - Harry? Harry, what are you reading?"

"Something Snape gave me," Harry held up a stack of parchment that he was reading at the table. "We're an official club now so we have to have guidelines about what we can teach."

"We have to follow that?" Ron frowned.

"It's the rules now," Hermione began, but Harry tossed the parchment on the table and stood up.

"Forget the rules, we're having a real DA meeting," Harry announced. "We wait until eight, and then get started. I think we should practice the spells from last year and then move on to more complex stuff, dividing everybody up by ages."

"Sure thing," Ron nodded. "Should we go around and get everyone's ages and write them down?"

"Good idea," Harry nodded, and Hermione went with Ron to start talking with people.

Harry leaned over the table, bracing himself on the edge for a second. He felt very nervous, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He had led the DA last year, but then they had been bound by hatred for Umbridge. Now, they were getting ready to fight Voldemort, but would it be the same when their enemy was far away? When all was said and done, Harry wondered if he could lead the group.

What would Snape say if he were here? Harry closed his eyes and tried to imagine that Snape was in the room. What would he tell him?

Potter, you imbecile, your brainless rushing around like an idiotic -

Harry opened his eyes, frustrated. No, not that Snape. The other Snape, his Snape, the one who had worked him brutally last night and said at the end, "There, that's my boy, ready for anything," and patted him on the shoulder before sending him off to bed.

Harry shut his eyes again, willing himself to hear Snape's voice.

You know, Harry, what you're capable of, what you can do. I have faith in you, and I know you're able to anything you put your mind to, provided you act with integrity and not go about rushing around blindly. You can do this.

Opening his eyes, Harry straightened and turned to face the door.

The students were coming, chatting among themselves. Harry waited until they were all in, and they began to quiet, watching him.

"Go on," Hermione nodded to him, motioning to the clock that read two minutes past eight.

Clearing his throat, Harry approached the students. There were more than last year, but he was ready to teach them, to help them.

"Good evening," he said, his voice echoing slightly in the silent room, "I'm glad you decided to come, I thought I would start by saying -"

Suddenly, the door opened. Harry fell quiet, and all the students turned to see who had come later.

In the open doorway, Draco Malfoy stood awkwardly, shifting slightly, but staring back with defiant eyes.