Harry tried to breathe carefully, not wanting to collapse into sobs.

"Twenty-eight," Snape counted.

Harry dug his fingers into the wooden leg of the chair and Snape's trouser leg.

"Almost there," Snape told him calmly.

"Just do it," Harry snapped, pushing back tears.

"Temper," Snape warned.

Whack! The hairbrush hit him again, and a groan escaped Harry's clenched teeth.

"Twenty-nine," Snape said. "Last one."

WHACK! The last swat was impressive, and Harry felt his sweaty, aching fingers slip a little.

It had been so humiliating, having to bend over Snape's lap for his discipline. As the man sat down and gestured for Harry to come closer, Harry realized that he hadn't been over Snape's knee since the summer, when he had grabbed Snape's wand and blown up a wall in the manor.

That punishment had not been as severe, just a dozen or so swats to remind him not to cross Snape and to behave. And to stop blowing things up, but that was impossible, of course.

None of his memories had helped to distract him from his predicament, and Harry had hesitated next to Snape's side, gazing fearfully at the hairbrush in Snape's right hand.

"Not too hard," Harry had urged. "I mean, I know you have to be firm, you know, but there's no reason to overdo it. I know what I'm supposed to learn from this, and then it will be over, but just a little easier than last time, please. I only lied to protect someone else, sort of."

"Lying is lying," Snape had told him. "Over my lap."

Harry had huffed and shifted and rolled his eyes, but then he stepped forward and began to bend forward. He had been ten inches from Snape's lap when he had leaned back up to add,

"And really I already cried so you don't have to make me. Well, you don't make me cry, and I know I don't have to cry though I do, but all the same, I'd rather not. Hard enough I can feel it, but not enough to break me into pieces, you know."

"Oh, hush,' Snape had growled, pulling him forward. "This is supposed to be your discipline, not a negotiation."

"Hmph!" Harry had sulked and then the hairbrush had started.

By now it was over, and he had not cried. Snape held him down over his lap, and Harry panicked,

"I'm sorry, I didn't cry - I don't know why."

"It's all right," Snape assured. He helped Harry stand as he continued, "I know you feel bad about what you did - you usually cry because you're dealing with all the guilt from disobeying me. But you got most of that out before."

"Didn't stop you from laying into me," Harry grumbled. He reached back to rub out the sting. "I don't see why you had to follow through. Yes, I know you're just showing me that you keep your word, so you don't have to start all that again."

He snapped the last bit, showing his wounded ego and smarting feelings along with his hurting backside. Snape did not reply; he stood and put the hairbrush aside. Then he stepped forward, opening his arms.

Harry stepped warily. "What are you doing?"

"I guess you didn't listen to my whole conversation with McGonagall. She told me that at the end of our little talks, I should hug you. So that's what I'm doing."

If Snape had simply hugged him, Harry would not have minded, and he would have accepted the embrace, maybe even felt grateful for it. But now, knowing that McGonagall had told Snape to do it and the man was doing only because she told him to, Harry shook his head.

"I don't want to."

"Harry," Snape frowned as he held out his arms insistently, "you will come and be hugged right this second."

"No, I don't want to be hugged," Harry argued, backing up even farther.

"You will be hugged and you will enjoy it or I use the hairbrush again," Snape threatened.

Scowling, Harry stalked towards Snape and stood stiffly, waiting.

Snape pulled Harry into an embrace, hugging his arms around the boy's shoulders. Harry stayed stiff as a poker.

"Hug me back," Snape ordered. "Right now, hands up, around me. No, don't just lay them on my back - tighten them into a hug. Harry, Harry, stop!"

Harry, in all his naughtiness, had squeezed Snape once and then let his whole body go limp. Snape found himself with an armful of deadweight as Harry sagged like a doll.

"Ugh," Harry groaned tragically. "He killed me. He made me hug him, and it killed me. I'm - I'm dead now."

"Enough foolishness," Snape scolded. "Stand up - I will drop you if you don't stop."

Harry straightened, trying not to grin too broadly. Snape reached out to tousle his unruly hair before saying,

"All right, I guess that will do you for now. Why don't you study for a while?"

The thought of sitting on a hard chair was not appealing, and Harry countered, "Can't I go flying instead?"

"You've caught up with all your homework?" Snape raised his eyebrows.

"Su-u-ure," Harry looked away.

"We just went over not lying," Snape protested.

"Fine, I'll do homework," Harry gave a martyred sigh and began to trudge towards the door.

"Good. Oh, and Harry? Since it seems that you have so much time to get into trouble, we will be increasing your training. I spoke earlier about starting Occlumency, and we'll practice in your break time every morning. You have a free period in the mornings, yes?"

"Yes," Harry admitted reluctantly. "But you know how much I hate Occlumency."

"That, dear boy," Snape smirked, "is just an added bonus."

"Cruel git," Harry muttered.

"And keep your weekends free," Snape sat down in his armchair and picked up a book.

"Why?" Harry came back to stand in the middle of the room.

"I want to take you to Hogsmeads one weekend."

The idea of going to Hogsmeads filled Harry with excitement, especially if it was not a weekend for students go. But he refused to let himself show his eagerness - Snape needed to learn lessons as well.

"That's rude, too, you know," Harry pointed out.

"Excuse me?" Snape closed his book to look right at his son.

"It's polite to ask me first," Harry explained. "I mean, the training is one thing, but with the weekends, you should ask if I have plans."

"You don't have any plans," Snape scoffed.

"I know, but it's the principle of the matter. I am sixteen after all. I get tired of always being treated like a child, going and doing whatever you say whenever you have a whim for me to do something."

Snape looked at the teenager in front of him, green eyes under the mop of dark hair, the way Harry leaned on one leg and never knew what to do with his arms. Snape wanted to snap at him that whatever he said they would do, but . . .

"Harry, do you have any free time on Saturdays?" Snape asked politely.

"Yes, sir, I can spare some time," Harry replied, also polite. "Did you need me for something?"

"I wanted to train longer with you in the dungeons," Snape told him.

"Hey! You said Hogsmeads," Harry objected.

"That was before you annoyed me," Snape returned.

"Snape!" Harry protested.

"And another thing - I'm tired of you calling me Snape. I've called you by your first name for weeks now."

"Fine, Severus," Harry emphasized the name.

"I don't like that," Snape decided.

"We did this before," Harry huffed. "I even asked Dumbledore. Can I just call you Dad when we're alone and call you Snape when I'm mad at you? Oh, and I'll call you Professor Snape when we're around other people."

"I will be glad when the whole war is done and we don't have to hide the adoption anymore," Snape said. "Of course, then, it won't really matter."

Much later, Harry would remember Snape's words and wonder exactly what the man had meant at that moment. Much later, Harry would ponder Snape's intentions and if his adopted father understood the choices he was prepared to make. And much later, Harry would curse his own stupidity at not recognizing the importance behind Snape's words.

But since he could not look ahead to the future, Harry just nodded and said, "Yeah, me, too. Keeping secrets is hard after a while, Dad."

"Indeed, it is," Snape agreed.

------

The next morning, Harry sat through his first classes, dreading his free period when they would start Occlumency lessons. He was so distracted he completely missed McGonagall asking him a question, and when she repeated it, he couldn't even hazard a guess. She frowned and told him to pay attention before moving on to Hermione who knew the answer.

And after the class was over, Harry sighed and began to trudge back down to the dungeons. He hoped for something, anything, to hinder him going down. He even pushed a Slytherin student a bit harder than he had to in order to get by. But instead of starting a fight, the Slytherin told him no hard feelings and kept walking. Harry considered yelling out names, but he knew Snape might accept the fight excuse if another student attacked Harry but not if Harry started the fight himself.

Snape was waiting for him in his office. "All right, Harry, let's -"

"Just a second," Harry said as he bent down to tie his shoe. He purposely tied it a little loose and then had to retie it. He straightened slowly and said, "Let me stretch out first."

He took a few seconds to lean to one side and then the other, touch his toes, swing his arms in circles, and lean his head back and forth. Snape waited, half-indulgent, half-impatient. When Harry started bending his hands back and forth to loose them up, Snape lost patience with him.

Taking out his wand, Snape bellowed, "Legilimens!"

"Wait! I'm not ready -" Harry's words were lost as his mind seemed to explode and he found himself in the middle of memories. They flashed in front of him until Snape slowed down to observe one.

Unfortunately, that certain memory happened to be the time Harry snuck out to Hogsmeade in his third year and his head was spotted by Draco. Helplessly, Harry watched himself consulting the Marauders' Map, collecting his Cloak, and sneaking out. Harry tried to turn away and found Snape standing right beside him. Snape was watching the thirteen-year-old Harry with a dour expression.

"That was three year ago," Harry protested. "Why do you want to come here?"

"Just wanted to see you being naughty," Snape answered.

"This was nothing. I did things loads worse than sneaking . . ." Harry trailed off as Snape turned to look at him, the man's face ominous. "I mean, you know - shouldn't I be trying to push you out of my head?"

"Yes," Snape nodded, "but while I'm here, let's take a look at your worst memory, shall we? What's the worst thing you've ever done?"

Harry tried to make his mind go blank, but it was too late. He found himself watching himself flying over trees on his broomstick, pushing himself faster and faster.

"Where are you going?" Snape asked as they watched the flying Harry settle down on the ground.

"Malfoy Manor," Harry groaned. "Oh, don't do it - turn back, you idiot. I‘m about to cross the barrier."

"You're drinking a potion to make yourself look different," Snape observed. "That's right - you stole from me, too."

He reached over to whack Harry on the back of the head.

"Ow," Harry rubbed his head. "That was months ago. And why does it hurt when you hit me? Aren't we in my head?"

"It hurts because you expect it to hurt," Snape replied.

"Really? So if I don't expect it to hurt, it won't? Try it again and I'll pretend you aren't -"

Snape smacked him again on the same place. Harry winced and rubbed his head once more.

"So my theory didn't work. But last year, we weren't in my head together like this. We saw my memories, but not standing together."

"It's the adoption," Snape explained. "We're bonded now."

"That sounds gay," Harry smirked.

He ducked, avoiding another smack aimed at the back of the head.

"Watch yourself," Snape admonished.

"This is boring," Harry gestured to Malfoy Manor where the potion-altered version of himself was walking up the front steps. "I go in and talk to Narcissa and you come and catch me. And I don't want to see myself wailing from seeing Sirius. Let's go somewhere else."

Harry closed his eyes and stood very still.

"What are you doing?" Snape demanded.

"I'm imagining we're in a pastry shop, and I'm eating chocolate cake stuffed with pudding."

"This isn't a dream - you can't get things you want by imagining them," Snape snarled. "You're supposed to be learning, not thinking about pudding."

"Fine, enough about me. Let's get in your mind," Harry turned to face Snape. "What's your worst memory, Snape?"

Snape froze just for a second, fear on his face, and then they were surrounded by Death Eaters, masks and hooded cloaks. It was midnight, in the middle of the woods, and the Death Eaters were gathered around a blazing fire that had iron pokers stuck into it.

"What's happening?" Harry whispered, forgetting they could not see or hear him.

"I'm about to become a Death Eater," Snape replied calmly. "It's the night I get the Dark Mark."

Harry could feel the air prickle with evil, and he blanched as Voldemort, still human, stepped forward. Voldemort reached for one of the poker and held up the red-tipped iron.

"Severus Snape," Voldemort hissed.

A Death Eater stepped up and removed his mask and his hood. Harry found himself staring at a younger Snape, not even in his twenties yet, but with the same dark hair and hooked nose. The younger Snape's eyes were blazing with fury and revenge as he stalked up to Voldemort, baring his left arm and thrusting it forward.

Voldemort smiled evilly and drew the poker back, ready to plunge it into Snape's pale skin.

"Ugh," Harry looked away, "I want to leave."

"Wait," Snape ordered, but Harry was not listening.

Closing his eyes, Harry concentrated on pushing Snape out of his mind, on closing himself off from the man, on separating himself. A second later, Harry stumbled backwards on the floor of Snape's office, barely catching himself from falling back.

"I told you to wait," Snape lectured.

"No," Harry shook his head, "I wasn't going to watch him brand you."

"You need to face your fears," Snape said crossly.

"And I will face my fears," Harry replied. "But there are some things I should never have to see. That wasn't your worst memory, but it would have been mine."

Snape seemed at loss for words for a moment. "I - you can't - why do you think that wasn't my worst memory?"

"You're a skilled occlumentist," Harry pointed out. "You wouldn't ever let me into your mind to see your worst memory, but you would give me a bad memory, just to throw me off."

"You already saw my worst memory last year," Snape snapped. "Remember the Pensieve?"

"Being bullied by a bunch of teenagers was your worst memory?" Harry challenged. "You were a Death Eater, a spy. You have to have awful memories from that."

"You're getting really too clever for your own good," Snape decided as he turned away.

"I'm learning," Harry answered smugly.

------

They did not make it to Hogsmeade until the first weekend in October. By then the last of the warm summer had disappeared, and the autumn air had a chill to it. Before they left to go to the village, Snape insisted Harry wear a hoodie though his son insisted he would be warm enough from walking. Snape won, of course, and by eleven o'clock they were entering the village. Harry had taken an altering potion that turned his hair light brown and rearranged his face along with covering his scar. He felt a little smaller, too.

"Why do I always have to change my looks?" Harry grumbled as they walked down the street. "Why can't you change yours?"

"Because people would recognize you and wonder why you were hanging about some strange man," Snape retorted. "Besides, I think you look simple adorable like that."

"I look like a twelve-year-old," Harry hissed as he caught his reflection in a nearby window.

"Eleven," Snape corrected. "They may give me some thick spell books for you to sit on so you can reach the table."

"And the Daily Prophet will read ‘Potions Professor Found Strangled in Hogsmeade'," Harry muttered grimly as he trudged along.

It was not quite so bad as Harry feared - they found seats at the Three Broomsticks and Madame Rosmerta came over to take their orders.

"Nice young guest you have there, Mr. Snape," she smiled at him and Harry.

"Yes," Snape said dourly. "Two butterbeers."

"Right away," Rosmerta turned to fetch them.

Harry glanced around the pub and smiled briefly at Snape before dropping his gaze to the menu.

"What?" Snape asked coldly.

"Nothing," Harry shrugged. "It's just - I've never really gone out to a pub."

"You've been here before," Snape retorted.

"Oh, yeah, for a butterbeer with Ron and Hermione, but not to really eat, and never with - you know, an adult. Can I have anything on the menu?"

"No," Snape replied, "the fire whiskey is off limits."

"I know that," Harry protested. "I meant food. Is there a - a limit with price?"

"Just order something," Snape growled. "And no sugar until afterwards. You'd have only ice cream if I let you."

"Pudding," Harry corrected. "I just wanted to know if I could - oh, what's she doing here?"

Madame Moretta had walked in and was looking around the pub.

Harry slouched down in his seat. "Maybe she won't see us. Nosy bint - ow, that hurt!"

Snape pretended like he had not kicked Harry under the table and gave Moretta a brief smile as she came to their table.

She ignored Harry and quietly said, "Two o'clock."

"Good," Snape said.

She turned and walked out of the pub without another word.

"What was that all about?" Harry huffed, a little put off by being ignored. He looked different, of course, but she could have at least said hello.

"Never mind," Snape told him. "Decide what you want to eat."

They had a very filling meal, perhaps too filling, Harry reflected as they walked out. He wanted to sit down or lie down and just enjoy the rest of the Saturday, but Snape had other plans. He went into several shops, insisting that Harry come with him and pretend to be interested in boring stuff like cauldrons and potion supplies. Harry wanted to get a bag full of sweets, but Snape declared they didn't have room to carry it around.

"I'll carry it," Harry objected as they went out.

"No, you won't. It's almost two - let's go."

"Where?" Harry wondered out loud.

Snape said nothing as they walked swiftly down the room. Hogsmeade disappeared behind them, and the road wound between trees.

"I've been talking to Madame Moretta," Snape said. "She thinks you're ready to start field training. Ironically, in an actual field."

"I'm going to train in a field?" Harry repeated. "What if someone sees me?"

"It's charmed," Snape replied. "This will help you to use your reflects and skills that we've been working on."

"Am I going to fight a Death Eater?"

"No," Snape walked up to a tree and tapped it with his wand. The trees along the side of the road began to fade. "You're fighting a dragon."

"I've already done that, Dad," Harry replied before he could think.

"Yes," Snape stepped into a wide field, the trees completely gone, "but now you'll be fighting three dragons."

Harry following his father's gaze, and at the edge of the field, his eyes widened at sight of three dragons - a Hungarian horntail, a Norwegian ridgeback, and a Peruvian vipertooth.