Harry didn’t like the sound of that a bit. He fought the urge to run as far as he could, knowing Snape would find him. Snape didn’t seem especially inclined to get on with it; quite the opposite, he looked to be relishing this awkward silence.

“ Have you anything to say in defense of your atrocious conduct, Potter?”

Harry loathed the way the greasy Potions Master spoke with such icy clarity at times like these. Couldn’t the vampire bat ever try to act like a human?

“ That glowering is not endearing you to me in the slightest. If you have nothing to say, then let us discuss the matter of your punishment.”

The professor walked around the desk and stood directly before the slight boy. Harry’s head came up to the man’s shoulder. He felt very small.

“Go to the Potions classroom and retrieve the switch you selected last night and bring it back.”

“No!” Harry hadn’t exactly meant to protest; it was simply the idea of another switching was simply too intolerable to be borne. It was babyish, and humiliating, and it hurt. He began to say more but was cut off without hesitation by the Greasy Git.

“If I accomplish one thing over these next four years, it is my fondest wish that it be communicating to you the notion that you have no choice in some matters. You may be the Golden Boy, but you are also a child, and naughty children who don’t obey get punished.”

Snape shifted to let the boy by. His teeth were gritted, his hands clichéd into fists. The brat’s temper was appalling. He reached out and caught the back of the child’s shirt in his hand.

“I would hurry, Mr. Potter. Dawdling will get you extra.”

Harry seethed the whole way to the Potions room, which was blessedly deserted. The switch was lying on Snape’s desk, along with his own wand, and he retrieved both. The thing looked deceptively benign, almost innocent. The anger in his stomach roiled and produced a healthy amount of fear as well.

Why had he let Snape goad him into losing his temper? The nasty man had no business prying around his feelings. He had avenged himself by whipping Harry’s arse (bare arse, a voice reminded him; he flushed with shame to remember). Shouldn’t it be over? And now he was Harry’s guardian. What sorts of awful things would he do to him? Could it be worse than the Dursleys?

His legs carried him slowly back to Snape’s office, the fear stone in his stomach growing heavier with each step. He couldn’t believe how much the switch had stung, and for a long time, too. He writhed with trepidation, recalling his shameful cries and pleas. Fussing like a two year old over a spanking, even if it did sting like blazes.

His palms had begun to sweat a little by the time he reached the office and slowly opened the door. Snape was still standing in front of his desk, clearly waiting. He held out his hand at once and Harry, nearly sick with anticipation, handed him the accursed thing and waited.

Snape eyed him a long moment. “That trip, Potter, took you seven minutes. It should have taken you three, which means you dawdled, against my express command. Very well; twenty extra ought to do. Are you ready for your punishment?”

Harry tried to speak and found he couldn’t at first. “Yes, sir” he finally whispered. Snape spun around and walked towards his chair. He pulled it away from the desk and moved it to face Harry. Harry made himself walk to the Potions Master and watched while the man raised the switch and…..threw it into the fire.

“Couldn’t just leave it laying around.”

Snape was having trouble controlling his amusement. Potter had dragged himself through the door like a man expecting to be killed. He had half expected the child to start crying when he took the switch from him. The look on the boy’s face when he threw the thing into the fire had been priceless, a mixture of confusion and hope.

Not that he was getting off scott free. The sooner Potter learned to obey, the better for everyone. He would get himself hurt or killed, and probably his two little friends as well. Had he been Snape’s responsibility from the first, the stunt with the troll would have been the first and last-- he wouldn’t have sat down for a week, and that would have cured him of his troublesome tendency for adventure then and there. Of course, had he been Snape’s responsibility, he would never have gone in the bathroom at all….

“Now, Mr. Potter, your punishment. You will write the headmaster a letter, apologizing for your rudeness to him and promising better behavior in the future. I will be checking it myself, so don’t think you can try something clever. I also expect a two foot essay about why you believe the rules do not apply to you, and fifty lines of “I will treat my elders with respect.” All this by the farewell feast, is that clear?”

Harry’s great relief caused him to nod loosely, his clenched hands relaxing at once. Snape happened to glance down and see where the boy’s nails had dug furrows into his palms. Something was wrong, though he couldn’t initially put a finger on it. He caught Harry’s right hand in his own and flipped it over, meaning to examine it.

The reaction could not have been more violent had Snape tried to break the child‘s thumb. Harry immediately tried to pull away. He took a step back, attempting to twist so the palm was downward. He jerked free and shoved the hand into the pockets of his jeans, glaring savagely at the floor.

“Potter’ Snape’s voice was ice “You will give me your hand this instant. How dare you behave so insolently. This instant, Potter!”

“Like Hell I will. Why don’t you--” And the rest was cut off as Snape’s patience ran out. He pulled the boy over his lap and pinned his wrists. He brought his hand back and hesitated a second. The child was bound to have welts, and Snape had no desire to damage the little monster, deserve it though he might. Shifting his leg, Snape brought his hand down hard on the back of Potter’s thigh. He jerked and yelped quite satisfactorily, and Snape repeated the process a further three times before he was convinced the little tantrum had been avoided. Setting the boy on his feet, he mutely held his out his hand.

Harry was furious and ashamed. He was far too old to be smacked, yet he had gotten himself bent over the Potions Master’s lap twice in the last day alone. He really didn’t want to give the man his hand, but he also didn’t want to get swatted-those smacks on his thighs had hurt a lot.

Snape was amused by the way Potter’s lip was obviously trying not to protrude as the boy sulkily let Snape see his palm. Spoiled little brat-- it would have served him right to get a proper smacking. He was lucky Snape felt generous. If he had ever done such a thing to Tobias… Snape shoved the thought away and gave his attention to the little hand he was holding in his own.

The palm seemed fine, on further inspection, but when he flipped the hand to look at the back, his scowl deepened several degrees. The boy’s first and second knuckles were strangely swollen, badly bruised and clearly uncomfortable. Snape studied them a long moment, and then dropped the hand.

“If I didn’t know any better, Potter, I’d say those knuckles had been broken lately. And mended badly. It wasn’t Quidditch. Did it happen at the Shack?” He gave Potter a very stern look, the one that promised terrible reprisals if he lied.

“No, sir.” Harry’s voice was as carefully neutral as possible. He was still staring at the floor, which Snape found irritating to the extreme. He put a hand beneath the boy’s chin and forced his eyes up.

“So how did it happen, Mr. Potter? And I warn you, boy, if you dare try to lie to me…” Snape leaned forward a little in his chair , making the scrawny boy take a small step back.

“ I um, got upset when Sirius--” Harry couldn’t choke the rest out through the huge lump in his throat, and he took a second to force his tears down and then made himself look at his guardian.

“So you expressed your grief through, what, punching something?”

“The wall.” Snape chanced a look at Potter’s face. The boy looked as though he didn’t know whether to cry or yell; Snape felt a moment of consternation at the abject stupidity of doing such a thing to oneself, mingled with disgust. Had no one noticed this before?

“Go and sit down. No” He stood and walked toward his office “Do not argue, Mr. Potter.”

Miracles of miracles, the child obeyed. Snape went to the Potions store and found something that would take care of the bruises and swelling.

He brought it back, and was pleasantly surprised to find Potter sitting on the couch, staring blankly. His eyes snapped to life when he saw Snape, though he wisely held his tongue. He took the potion without complaint, and the swelling improved at once.

“Who healed you so ineptly, Potter? Was it Granger?”

Potter didn’t answer. His face told the story, and Snape nodded wearily. Of course it was.

“ I asked you a question, boy. Did you not hear me?”

Harry closed his ears and pretended he was stone. If he did this long enough, Snape would get angry and maybe leave him alone. It had always worked on the Dursleys-they would try for a while and then give up, thinking he was merely stupid and stubborn.

Snape threw up his hands. Reckless, horrible, arrogant….

“Fine, Potter. If you’re determined to keep behaving like a baby, I’ll treat you as one. I would have thought last night was enough, but evidently not.” He got a good hold on Harry’s arm and yanked him up.

He conjured a small wooden stool and promptly set it in the corner. Ignoring the boy’s shocked look, he lifted him and plunked him, hard, on the seat. The boy hissed sharply but at least seemed to be staying in place.

“ You’ll stay there until you can behave like an adult.”

Snape went to his desk and waited. Soon, he was confident, it would come.