He’d addressed the boy by his given name. 

It hadn’t been deliberate; Severus rarely extended such courtesy even to his Slytherins.  However, Potter had obeyed.  And although Severus would like to convince himself that the boy had been startled into submission by his harsh, yet important tone, the staggered, almost vulnerable gleam in the wide, green eyes spoke of something different. 

To Severus’s amazement, Potter had simply nodded as if that one small gesture had allowed the child to finally understand after several tedious minutes of adult-explanation.  Perhaps Potter had understood the severity of the situation.  Perhaps not.  But the rawness in the boy’s expression flashed repeatedly in Severus’s mind. 

It took almost the entire trip through the small, hidden stone corridor that led from Severus’s classroom to Dumbledore’s office before the potions master could avert his thoughts to the upcoming banter with the headmaster—and the diary.  

Reaching the end of the passageway, Severus ran the tip of his wand along a rigid groove in the back of a large portrait.  Slowly, the entrance creaked open, emitting a small cloud of dust around the ancient hinges.  Stepping through, Severus strolled briskly forward towards the elaborate stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore’s chambers. 

“I wish to speak with the headmaster,” Severus determinedly informed the gargoyle. 

“Password?”

Severus inwardly growled in disgust.  There was nothing he despised more than reciting the old man’s ridiculous passwords. 

“It is urgent,” Severus said, still holding fast to his ebony wand.  One small flick and he could easily hex the stone menace into a pile of glittering dust. 

“No admittance without the password,” the ugly statue snarled, “Heightened security…”

Severus sighed heavily in frustration.  “Very well.  Pumpkin pasties,” the man enunciated sardonically, glaring at the gargoyle as he carefully pocketed his wand.  He simply was not in the mood to play games with a giant, hideous mass of rock. 

The statue grinned evilly.  “Pity…the headmaster has gone to the Ministry of Magic and will return at dinner.”

Closing his eyes and swearing under his breath, Severus reached inside of his robes and fingered the small, round pocket watch.  He glanced at the gold face.

It was almost four-fifteen in the afternoon. 

The headmaster often informed Severus of his whereabouts before a lengthy departure.  However, the old man sporadically, and sparingly, left the castle for only hours at a time, in which he solely notified the deputy headmistress and the guard to his chambers.   Inwardly steeling himself, the potions master refused to reveal his distress over the headmaster’s absence.  In situations such as these, aside from his usual duties, Potter was his priority.  Severus knew it, as did Dumbledore. 

And nothing more needed to be said. 

Returning his watch to its proper place, Severus wordlessly swept away from the intricate entrance to the headmaster’s chambers.  He was unquestionably grateful for his own refusal in allowing Potter to accompany him.  The last thing Severus needed was a fidgety, adolescent nuisance trailing along side him, regardless how much of an asset the child was in the current situation. 

And won’t the headmaster be pleased to find that, once again, the golden boy possesses the knowledge and skill to save the day.   Severus smirked in disgust.  However, not more than a second later, he nearly froze in shock when he realized that this time he wasn’t disgusted with the boy.  Rather, his mind had immediately directed the scornful thought towards the headmaster. 

The man who merely patted Potter on the head for nearly getting himself killed last year. 

Running a hand over his face, Severus forced himself to shake the unfamiliar sensation.  And pulling his robes more snuggly over his left shoulder, the potions master continued swiftly down the dim, narrow corridor. 

**************

Edging closer to the sneering Slytherin, every ounce of Harry’s being was engulfed in a frightening, unfamiliar rage.  His arms felt disconnected as he unsteadily raised his wand.  The wood seemed to tremble in Harry’s hand and was almost uncomfortably hot against his cold palm.

However, as Harry watched the egotism literally drain from Malfoy’s pale, narrow face as he approached, he felt an odd strength surge through his limbs.  Clenching his teeth almost painfully, Harry stilled only a few feet from Malfoy’s face.  The blonde boy was panicking as he grabbed blindly for the wand tucked inside his robes. 

“Don’t move,” Harry seethed, “I swear to god, Malfoy, I’ll pummel your arse.” 

Malfoy froze.  Harry could tell he hadn’t yet taken hold of his wand. 

“You would be the one to duel like a coward, wouldn’t you, Potter?” Malfoy squeaked, his voice cracking on every word.  “If you want to do this properly…”

“What…are you out of stones to throw?” Harry growled.  He could feel lips twitching from the adrenaline pumping wildly through his veins, but he held tight to his wand.  “Don’t have any parchment handy?  Who’s the coward, you sodding bastard…”

Just one Petrificus Totalus, Harry thought.  A simple spell.  He’d seen Hermione do it.  It would only take a flick of his wrist and the Slytherin would be petrified.

“Sticking up for your girlfriend, are you?” Malfoy said weakly, his eyes locked on Harry’s wand.  He licked his dry lips.

“Yeah, I am.”

Stupefy…  It had been in the back of the book.  Would knock Malfoy flat on his arse. 

Harry breathed harshly. 

“You’ll be expelled, Potter,” Malfoy spat, contorting his face hatefully.  “What would Dumbledore think of his precious Half-Blood then?” 

Blood pounded in Harry’s ears.  He knew Malfoy was trying to make him back down the only way he knew how—by taunting him.  However, every word that escaped the Slytherin fueled the fire that was burning hatefully in Harry’s stomach. 

But what could he do?  There was no way he could use a spell against Malfoy.  It was daylight; they were in the dungeons.  And in a way, Malfoy was right: only one of them was armed.  It wasn’t a fair fight. 

“Go ahead, Potter.  Do it,” Malfoy taunted. 

Swallowing thickly, Harry stared venomously at the blonde boy.  Hexing Malfoy wouldn’t make him any better than the pathetic rat.   Deep down, he knew he couldn’t do it.  As much as he hated Malfoy, hurting him wouldn’t solve anything.

Stiffly, Harry lowered his wand. 

Malfoy sniffed in amusement, straightening up with his usual air of superiority.  “Coward,” he scoffed.   

But before Harry could retort, the sharp ring of the afternoon bell resounded throughout the corridor, causing the boy to start slightly and glance over his shoulder unconsciously.  In that brief moment, Malfoy snatched his wand from the inside of his robes and pointed it straight at Harry.  Muttering an unfamiliar incantation, a jet of red sparks shot out of the end of the Slytherin’s wand. 

Heart jumping in his throat, Harry narrowly dodged the sparks.  He had jerked out of the way just in time, nearly tripping over his robes. 

Smirking in satisfaction, yet poised for retaliation, Malfoy backed up a few steps.

Furious heat boiled inside Harry as he gripped his wand so tightly it hurt.  Without thinking—his vision nearly blurred—Harry suddenly shot forward, emitting an indistinguishable, throaty cry. 

Eyes wide, Malfoy hastily edged back at the animal-like noise.

Of all the spells he’d read about, nothing—not a single one—came to Harry’s mind.  But it didn’t matter; Malfoy was going to get a taste of the schoolyard, muggle tradition.  

However, as Malfoy turned to flee, Harry began to run down the corridor, his wand-arm flailing, when suddenly, a burst of powerful, blinding light flew out of Harry’s wand.  Stunned, the boy slowed down as his eyes followed the stream of sparks.  They were heading directly for the back of Malfoy’s head. 

“Watch out!” Harry screamed.  

Whipping around, Malfoy ducked out of the way just in time. 

Instantly, the jet of light collided with a corner of the stone scrollwork near the ceiling.  Both Harry and Malfoy crouched and covered their heads as the stone exploded, showering a small section of the corridor with sharp bits of dust and rock.

***************

Severus halted.  At merely thirty or forty feet away, he’d seen the jet of light smash into the top of a stone column before he’d heard the sickening explosion. 

And he knew immediately that someone had just cast Confringo—the blasting curse.  A frantic voice echoed from around the corner:

“Son of a bitch, Potter!” 

Immediately recognizing the voice, Severus reached for his wand with a practiced hand and bolted forward.

**************

Shaking uncontrollably, Harry tried to stand.  He had no idea what had just happened or how he’d cast a spell he didn’t know.  He hadn’t even spoken an incantation. 

Malfoy lay huddled on the ground.  He looked terrified. 

“I don’t know what I just did…” Harry croaked, as he gazed at the dust-covered Slytherin.  “I mean, I didn’t—I couldn’t…”

And then Harry’s world began to spin as Snape came into view around the corner. 

 How? Harry thought, his hands icy, his heart thudding.   He’s supposed to be with Dumbledore!  

Wand in hand, the professor’s eyes wildly scanned the scene.  Feeling the bile rise in his throat, Harry began to back up.  Snape glared wrathfully at both boys, but to Harry, it seemed as if the dark eyes were impaling only him. 

“What in Merlin’s name is going on?!”

“Professor, I swear I didn’t mean to…” Harry began, holding his hands up as if to prove his innocence.  But the wand was clearly visible between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Don’t move, Potter!” Snape growled. 

Draco glanced up at Snape from the floor.  “He tried to curse me, Professor!”

“That’s a lie!” Harry gasped.  “He cursed me first…he threw a bloody rock at my head!”

“Potter’s the liar!”

“Enough!” Snape shouted, causing both boys to flinch.  His tone commanded absolute obedience.   Snape turned to Harry and glared at him sternly.  “Put your wand away, Potter—immediately.” 

“But I don’t even know how it—“

“Now, Potter!  Do not make me repeat myself,” the man said harshly.  Keeping his finger extended in Harry’s direction, Snape spun around briefly toward Draco.  “To your dormitory, Malfoy,” he ordered, “Do not even think of disobeying.” 

Pale and somber, Malfoy pushed himself off of the ground and walked swiftly toward the dormitory. 

Snape turned back toward Harry and stalked forward.  “Come with me, Potter.”

Oh no no no no…  Harry gave the man a pleading look as he backed up even further. 

“I didn’t cast that on purpose!  Please just listen to me!” Harry cried. 

But Snape was quick in his advancement and instantly caught the boy around his waist, pulling him close and holding the child tightly in the crook of his arm.  He spoke over Harry’s shoulder in a gruff whisper.

“I am not hallucinating, Potter,” Snape said through gritted teeth, “I saw you.  Are you to tell me that your wand was not aimed at Malfoy?”

Harry pushed desperately against the arm that encircled him.  “Well…kind of…But not when I was chasing him!” the boy explained breathlessly, “I don’t know any spells like that.  I don’t know how that happened!”

“Then explain to me, Potter, what precisely was your intention in running after Mr. Malfoy?

Harry stopped struggling.  What had he meant to do?  “I…erm…”

Snape spun him around and glared sternly.  “Obviously, Mr. Potter, you cannot be left alone for more than five minutes without getting into trouble.”

“Yes, I can!” Harry insisted.  “And it wasn’t my fault…”

“I do not care who started it,” Snape replied firmly.  Grasping the boy by the arm, Snape marched him down the dusty, dim corridor.  “Perhaps you should have simply ended it.”

“I didn’t use any of those spells in the book!  Not one!” Harry cried out, twisting his arm around to loosen Snape’s fingers.

“Stop.”

“No…this is ridiculous!” Harry said angrily.  “What was I supposed to do?  Just let Malfoy get away with acting like a git?!”

“Indeed,” Snape said woodenly, gazing straight ahead as they neared the man’s chambers.  You know better, Potter.”

“I don’t know anything,” Harry argued weakly.  But it was clear that Snape was finished listening to him. Pushing open the door to his chambers, the man took hold of both of the boy’s shoulders this time as he steered him forward. 

**************

Harry burrowed his face into the corner of the sofa, keeping his eyes screwed shut against the warm leather, now wet with his tears. 

The punishment had been swift and immediate. 

From the first sting of Snape’s palm smacking against his bottom to the moment when Harry felt his clothing slipped back up, the whole ordeal had barely lasted thirty seconds.   But to the mortified twelve-year-old, it was catastrophic. 

No matter how long he held his breath, Harry couldn’t stem the flow of his hot tears.  Miserable as ever, the boy stiffened his shoulders in order to keep them from jumping in time with his hitched breathing.  But it wasn’t working.

He was so ashamed.  He’d given in to Malfoy’s taunting—exactly what the stupid Slytherin wanted.  But it was more than that.  Harry was furious with himself for crying again…for acting like such a baby…for lacking self-control. 

You know better, Potter.   Snape’s words echoed repeatedly in the boy’s head.  But why did Harry have to be the one to end it?   

Tucking his hands further between the cushions, Harry tried hard to breathe normally.  He wasn’t sure what he was waiting on, but unless he was bodily removed, Harry wasn’t lifting his face from the darkness of the cushions for anything.  Snape had already seen him cry several weeks ago.  And once was more than enough.   

“Mr. Potter…”

“Leave me alone,” Harry mumbled, a sharp sniffle breaking in the middle of his insistency.  His voice was muffled among the sofa-cocoon and a bit raspy from the tears. 

Snape exhaled in frustration.  “Then get off of me.  Twice now, I have given you permission to rise, Potter.” 

However, as soon as the words left his lips, Severus regretted them.  He watched as Potter buried his head even further, his shoes squeaking against the leather cushion as he did so.  His small back jerked with another silent sob.  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Severus reached over with his right hand and pulled the child’s school shoes away from his heels without untying them.  He let the black lace-ups fall to the floor with a dual thud.  No need to ruin the upholstery…

Leaning back, Snape glanced over at the boy.  “This was well-deserved, Potter, and you know it.”

Snape received no response. 

Attempting a different approach, the man tapped the child once on the shoulder with the back of his hand, vaguely demanding the boy’s attention.

“If you believe yourself old enough to brandish your wand in such a manner, then you should be prepared to accept your punishment,” Snape admonished, yet he’d lowered his voice considerably. 

But still, the child remained silent. 

Closing his eyes against the absurdity of it all, Snape growled under his breath before bundling up Harry’s legs in one arm and lifting them slightly to free himself from under the Boy Who Would Not Budge. 

Harry let his legs flop absently back down on the sofa as Snape stood up.

Severus realized the child was embarrassed.  But he refused to allow Potter to curl up in silence.  Crouching down, he leaned in close and spoke calmly.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Potter.  We’ve spoken countless times about the importance of self-discipline, yet you continue to ignore the subject.”

Snape heard a messy sniffle.

“I didn’t even touch him,” Harry muttered. 

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Snape placed a hand on the arm of the sofa.  “You allowed your emotions to supersede your rationality.  And although it was not intentional, you cast a wordless spell that could have ricocheted off a number of surfaces, injuring either one of you.  In Defense, you do not—“

“I know…” Harry interrupted, shifting a bit on his stomach as he reached around and rubbed at his dripping nose with his knuckles. 

“Is that so, Mr. Potter?” Snape challenged, his tone sharpening, “I believe…”

But suddenly, Snape paused, gazing at the pitiful mass of distraught adolescent.  The child had squeezed his hands into fists, wiggling around every so often to try to relieve the discomfort instead of just reaching back for a good rub.  Obviously, Potter wasn’t listening to the lecture. 

This was not working. 

“Your glasses will be ruined if you keep this up,” Snape informed the boy.  Oddly, it was the first thing that had come to his mind. 

“They’re rubbish anyway,” Harry replied in a small voice, but he had pulled his face away from the back of the sofa an inch or two.  Still, he wouldn’t turn his head. 

For the severity of the situation, Snape simply couldn’t allow the boy to ignore him.  However, he also realized that Potter had just been punished.  He was, after all, twelve years old and therefore earned the right to sulk after such chastisement.  Several of his Slytherins certainly had in the past.  But none of them had retreated into the crevice of his sofa like this. 

Inwardly groaning, Severus knew what needed to happen.  Pausing only a few seconds longer, he slowly reached over and rested his palm in the middle of the boy’s back.   The effect was almost immediate.  Harry stopped squirming, drew in a shaky breath, and exhaled through his nose in a defeated manner. 

Snape kept his hand still, feeling the gentle pressure of the boy’s breathing against his palm.  He would not rub Potter’s back.  Severus wasn’t accustomed to it, and the child didn’t deserve it. 

But Snape simply continued to watch him, almost mesmerized by the silent, steady hiccoughs that jostled Potter’s shoulders.  After a while, the man instinctively began patting in between the small hitched breaths—his fingers rising and falling in an awkward, spaced-out rhythm.  The light, hollow thunk of Severus’s fingers against the small back visibly relaxed the boy.  He stopped sniffling. 

“By all means, you have a right to be angry with Mr. Malfoy,” Severus suddenly spoke up, sustaining the rhythm.  The longer he kept it up, the more natural it felt.  “However, you should know very well by now that no amount of wand-waving and ridiculous revenge tactics are going to bring either of you to justice.”

Giving his nose one last swipe with his hand, Harry gingerly turned his face away from the cushions. 

Severus stilled his hand as he gazed at the splotchy red cheeks and untidy hair—the boy’s fringe damp with the salt-water that now plastered the corner of Severus’s sofa, no doubt. 

“It’s not fair,” Harry said weakly, his nose now considerably stuffy.   “How can you let him say all those things about Ron and Ginny and Mr. Weasley?  Why am I the one who always gets in trouble?  He starts everything.”

“I have told you not to concern yourself with Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said firmly, “As always, he will be dealt with accordingly.  It is none of your business.”

Gritting his teeth and choking back a retort, Harry stared into the flames licking the stone walls of the fireplace.  Harry didn’t have the strength to argue anymore.  His lids were swollen and his eyes were glassy.  And as he watched, his eyes became gritty and heavy. 

Severus resisted the urge to snort.  In his opinion, Potter had been the lucky one.  He didn’t have to wait for his punishment.  And usually, he didn’t make his Slytherins wait either.  However, for Malfoy, a little apprehension and dread would work wonders on the child’s arrogant disposition.   

“You and I have much to discuss, Mr. Potter,” Severus announced as he stood up.  “However, it will have to wait.”  As he spoke, he moved behind the sofa and retrieved the knobby, dark green afghan that he’d folded and stored after the last time Potter had wrapped it around his shoulders.  Shaking it out briskly, Severus draped it over the motionless boy, leaving it up to Potter’s discretion of whether or not he wanted it any higher than his waist.  However, Severus made sure to cover the child’s sock-clad feet before moving back to stand in front of the arm of the sofa. 

Harry blinked lazily. 

“I will return shortly,” Severus said, “You are to remain in my chambers until then.  Is that understood?”

The boy nodded listlessly against the cushion. 

Severus shook his head as he surveyed Potter’s abrupt shift in demeanor.  He wasn’t about to dissect the cause of it.  However, the child had finally uncoiled.  Glancing once more at the droopy lids, Severus levitated a small log from the pile next to the fireplace and settled it within the flames.  The fire blazed brightly as the crackling grew louder. 

Silently accio’ing a sturdy, wooden ruler from a nearby drawer, Severus exited quietly, making his way toward the Slytherin common room.