Hermione was – as usual – right. Ron just wasn’t his normal self. He was much too quiet for one thing, and he was actually paying attention to his studies, as if he had suddenly realized what he was there for. Hermione was torn between delight at Ron’s new industry and concern over its unknown cause. Harry was willing to go along with the extra study time, since Snape was continuing to encourage him to spend more time on his classes and less on his corridor-wandering. Now that – thanks to Snape’s tutoring – the material made more sense to him and his grades were improving, Harry found that Hermione wasn’t as strange as he had once thought. It was actually kind of fun to know the answers, and Harry liked trying to stump Snape and the other professors by asking questions about things that weren’t covered in the textbooks. It was nice that Ron was, for once, not complaining about Snape turning Harry into another Hermione or moaning about how much time Harry was spending in the dungeons.

Of course, that didn’t mean that Harry had completely turned over a new leaf. As far as DADA was concerned, Harry would rather drink one of Neville’s potions than spend any time on that idiot Lockhart’s assignments. Particularly now that he was studying the topic with Snape, he saw no reason to waste his time on homework or even in attending class, though in retrospect, that was an unwise move.

Harry had just let himself into Snape’s quarters for their nightly study session, having finally completed the last of the flobberworm-dicing detentions Snape had assigned for his keeping silent about the attack. Even though Harry knew he was technically being punished, he actually hadn’t minded the detentions very much. While the flobberworms were undeniably disgusting, Snape had made a point of being in the dungeon classroom while Harry was working on them and had spent the time talking to him about potion ingredients. It made preparing the ingredients a lot more interesting, especially when he was able to divert Snape into telling horrifying cautionary tales of Potion Masters who had gotten careless once too often or describing the history of various illicit potions that were most decidedly not in the syllabus. With the exception of the night when Harry had gotten so caught up in the stories that he had completely forgotten to keep grinding the cockroach legs into powder – and earned himself a stinging swat as a reminder, which caused him to pout, which promptly earned another swat – the so-called punishment nights were actually quite fun.

Still, he was looking forward to a night that was completely punishment-free. Snape tended to be more formal during detentions, and his threshold for awarding more detention, docking points, or even administering whacks, was a lot lower. Harry wasn’t truly frightened of the man any longer, but he didn’t believe in tempting fate either.

So when his cheerful “H’lo, P’fessor!” was met with a growl, he was more than a little taken aback.

“What?” he asked blankly, dropping his schoolbag on the desk and looking over to where Snape was glowering in his chair. “I finished all the detentions. Why are you glaring at me like that?”

“Because I just received a note from Professor Lockhart expressing his concern over my ward’s continuing convalescence and hoping that you will soon be well enough to rejoin his class.” Harry gulped. “Since you have been out of the Infirmary for a week, I find his concern touching but misplaced. Am I to assume that you have been skipping classes?”

“Only his,” Harry mumbled, staring at the floor. He winced as Snape slapped his hand down on the desktop.

“Only his? As if that is an excuse?” Snape loomed over the boy who peered up at him nervously through his fringe. “The one class in which I have not felt it necessary to supervise you appears to be the one class that you feel free to ignore. How coincidental!” Harry squirmed at the sarcastic tone. “Are you an infant, not to be trusted to take any responsibility for your own life, Potter? Was it too much to expect that you would not require me to oversee every single aspect of your scholastic career?”

Snape’s fingers caught Harry under the chin and tilted the boy’s face up to meet his angry gaze. “I am very disappointed in you, Mr Potter. This lack of responsibility is puerile and self-defeating.”

“But there’s no point in going,” Harry argued, blinking back tears. It had been a while since Snape had had reason to scold him like this, and he’d forgotten how awful it made him feel. Besides, Snape was wrong – it wasn’t as if Lockhart taught anything worthwhile. Harry was better off spending the class time doing other work, like preparing for his DADA lessons with Snape. “He can’t teach me anything.”

The words echoed in Snape’s mind like the cocky pronouncements of another Potter, and Snape’s temper flared. He had long ago realized that Harry was much more like his mother in personality, and that had helped him ignore the fact that the boy resembled a miniature clone of his father, but hearing Harry spout the same kind of arrogant claim that he had heard a thousand times from James – not to mention his sidekick Black – unleashed his wrath.

He seized the boy by the ear, ignoring his gasp of pain, and dragged him over to the desk. “Congratulations, Mr Potter, you have just earned yourself a spanking, not to mention 200 lines of ‘I am not as smart as I think I am.’” Ignoring Harry’s protests, he pushed the brat into the chair and accio’d quill and parchment. “You can begin work on the lines while I review your DADA notes and homework. You’d better hope that your work puts me in a better mood, or you won’t be able to sit in class tomorrow, which you will be attending, if I have to walk you there myself.”

Harry’s blood chilled at the thought of Snape marching him from class to class by the ear, while Draco and the rest of the school watched and snickered. “You wouldn’t!” he gasped, but he knew Snape wouldn’t make idle threats.

“Your notes and homework?” Snape demanded, pushing the bookbag over. Harry flushed as he dug out his notebook. Snape was going to have a stroke – maybe he’d be able to flee while the Potion Master was foaming at the mouth?

Sure enough, it took Snape all of ten seconds to flip through Harry’s notebook and realize it contained nothing but doodles and highly uncomplimentary comments about the DADA professor. “So you and Mr Weasley do nothing in class but write notes to each other insulting your teacher?” Snape asked, his voice menacingly quiet. Harry nodded, quailing in his seat. He wouldn’t have been all that surprised if Snape had pinched his ear again, but the professor merely held out his hand. “Your homework.”

Harry lifted one shoulder while staring fixedly at the desktop. “What is that supposed to mean, Mr Potter?”

“D’n’t do’t.” Harry’s reply was almost inaudible, and he curled his fingers around the chair seat in a feeble effort to avoid being dragged up and turned over Snape’s knee.

“You didn’t do it?” Snape repeated incredulously. “Any of it?” Harry shook his head. “ALL YEAR LONG?”

“Year’s not over yet,” Harry pointed out, then ducked as Snape aimed a clout at the back of his head. Oh yeah, Snape was furious. He only cuffed Harry or snatched him by the ear when he was truly irate, and while there was no real force behind the blows – unlike his spankings – the mere fact that he did so was a clear indication that he was incandescent with rage.

“I’m sorry!” Harry cried, flinching back in his chair.

Snape visibly reined in his temper. After taking and releasing a long breath, he seated himself opposite Harry and said, calmly enough, “We will set the lines aside for now. You will use the parchment in front of you to do your overdue DADA homework. Once that has been done, you –“

“No.”

Snape stared at the brat. Was he channeling James tonight, or had he just been blind to the boy’s arrogant streak? “Excuse me?”

Harry swallowed hard. “I won’t do the homework. I’d rather write lines.”

“I wasn’t aware I was offering you a choice, Mr Potter,” Snape said, his voice brittle with fury. “And you most assuredly will do the homework. The only question is whether you do it with or without a sore backside. But I promise you, before you leave these quarters, the work will have been done.”

“I won’t.” Harry refused to meet his professor’s eye. He was frightened half to death, but he would rather face Snape’s wrath than give Lockhart the satisfaction of having gotten The Boy Who Lived to answer those ridiculous questions.

“Repeat that.”

Harry gulped, but he wasn’t about to back down. “I won’t do that stupid DADA homework, and you can’t make me.” Okay, that wasn’t exactly repeating himself, but it got his point across.

A little too well, it seemed. The next thing he knew, he had been jerked out of his chair and across Snape’s knee. Three hard swats fell in rapid succession, wringing yelps of pain out of him.

“That was for your attitude, Mr Potter,” Snape said coldly. “You will adjust it immediately, or I will adjust it for you. I have no intention of putting up with your arrogant determination of which classes or professors are worthy of your time and attention,” he sneered. “You are a foolish, ill-mannered, and untutored child who should be grateful that your professors are willing to expend their time and effort to teach dunderheaded ingrates like yourself.” He smacked Harry again, hard, and the combined sting of slap and words made the tears spring to Harry’s eyes.

“I’m not ungrateful or arrogant!” Harry protested, his voice rough with unshed tears. “You can’t stand Lockhart eith- ow!”

“That is Professor Lockhart to you,” Snape snarled, bringing his hand down hard on the sensitive undercurve of Harry’s bottom. He paused then smacked him again, in just the same spot, and Harry writhed under the stern blows. “And my relationship with – or opinion of – a colleague has no bearing on the fact that you will treat all your professors with respect!” Two more smacks to the tender area accompanied the last words, and Harry yelled and squirmed.

He lay over Snape’s knee, panting. He hadn’t been walloped this hard in a while, and Snape showed no sign of stopping. Harry gulped – this might well be his first spanking whose effects didn’t fade within the hour. For some reason, Snape wasn’t his usual cool, deliberate self. He was obviously furious with Harry, and somehow Harry doubted that the usual ritual of tea and biscuits would be forthcoming after this punishment.

Then Snape surprised him again, yanking him upright to stand alongside the professor’s chair. Harry’s hands flew to cup his flaming backside, and he prayed there would be no more swats to come.

“All right, Potter. You still have a spanking coming to you for not doing your work and skipping class.” The professor ignored Harry’s exclamation of dismay. “It’s your decision as to whether you want yet another one for continuing to defy me. You will be sitting at that desk for the next several hours doing your DADA homework, the only choice you have is how painful your backside will be while you do it.”

Harry fought back his tears. He wouldn’t cry in front of the greasy git. He wouldn’t. Snape was being totally unfair. He had already walloped him once and promised another one before Harry left, now he was threatening him with a third smacking? And what business of his was it anyway? If Harry didn’t want to do his work, then that was Harry’s decision. Snape had nothing to do with it. It was just like him to stick his big nose into things that didn’t concern him. He didn’t even care that Lockhart was a git – and pretending he wasn’t just showed what a giant hypocrite the man was. It wasn’t as if Snape would even sit near the man at the staff table, yet he had walloped Harry just because he had forgotten to use his title? That was just mean. Snape could whack him until his arse fell off, Harry wasn’t going to do it. He just wasn’t.

Snape watched the emotions flit across Harry’s face and the boy’s jaw set in a mutinous line. He frowned, recognizing that they were about to get into a contest of wills, where he tried to compel obedience with harder and harder whacks under which Harry’s brittle trust in him would shatter. Much of Snape’s ire had been relieved by administering what he admitted were exceptionally sound swats to the boy’s bottom, and he knew Harry was feeling their sting. But along with the pain in his backside, it was clear from Harry’s expression that his heart was hurting too. He was feeling betrayed and angry, not repentant and sorry. This would hardly promote their relationship.

Snape felt irritation with himself. He was a Slytherin, for Merlin’s sake! Since when did he have to rely on brute force to intimidate a child or compel compliance? Besides, thanks to those appalling relatives, Harry had a high pain tolerance. Snape had no intention of leaving both of them with bruises. Better to distract the boy than to continue down this unprofitable path.

“Potter, why on earth are you trying to sabotage yourself in the one class in which you are certain to excel? Even if you were not receiving extra tutelage with me, you have a natural talent for DADA. Why are you making life harder for yourself?” Silence. Snape rolled his eyes. Now Harry was sulking and giving him the silent treatment. “Not doing your assignments is inexcusable. Surely you could have done this homework in your sleep.”

Harry glared at the floor. His bottom really hurt and the last thing he wanted to do was to talk to the ugly bat who had smacked him. And for what? He hadn’t done anything to deserve those whacks, especially not ones that were so hard. He was just being honest and telling Snape the truth. It wasn’t even like he had meant to insult Lockhart, but Snape had still walloped him for it. Well, fine. If he was going to be that way, then Harry might as well keep his mouth shut, since anything he said was going to get him hit.

“Potter.” Silence. “Potter, answer me.”

“Why?” Harry burst out angrily. “You’re just going to hit me anyway.”

“Potter –“ Well, actually, he was. Snape had to acknowledge Harry’s point. It had been foolish of him to remind the boy of the still-remaining punishment. It meant he had lost leverage over the brat. He took a deep breath. “Harry.” As usual, the use of his first name brought the boy’s eyes up, though the expression in them remained hurt and angry. “I am trying to understand your viewpoint. Why would you deliberately seek to fail a class in which you are talented?”

Harry felt a little twinge of pleasure at the compliment, but he was still too upset to be completely mollified. “Why do you care about my viewpoint now?” he muttered. “You already made up your mind that I’m rotten and arrogant and just like my father.”

Snape winced internally. The boy’s flashes of insight never failed to surprise him. He should have known that Harry would pick up on the fact that Snape had reacted not so much to Harry’s words, but to the echo of James that Snape had seen in them. He would not have reacted so violently to any other student saying the same thing – it was his own memory of the elder Potter than had caused his reaction, not Harry’s behavior.

Not that Harry’s behavior didn’t deserve chastisement, but, Snape had to admit, it hadn’t merited the degree of punishment he’d administered. “I admit that your statement reminded me of your father,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “and that made me respond more… forcefully… than I should. That is not to excuse your behavior,” he added quickly, “but you are correct that I should have let you explain yourself first. I apologize.”

Emerald eyes, wide with surprise, flew to meet his. Snape forced himself to meet the gaze steadily, revealing the apology that he sincerely felt. He raised an eyebrow questioningly. Would the boy accept?

His Slytherin instincts were still good. Harry’s shoulders relaxed and a corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Okay,” he allowed.

Wow. An apology. From a professor. And not just any professor, but Snape. Ron would never believe this. Maybe Snape wasn’t such a bastard after all. And it wasn’t like Harry had tried to explain himself either. He’d been pretty stubborn himself, all “NO” and “I WON’T”. Maybe it wasn’t such a surprise that Snape had thought he was being arrogant. And since Harry knew that Snape detested his father and thought he was a bigheaded git, he really should have been careful not to do anything that would make Snape think he was the same way. He was sort of responsible for getting Snape that mad that quickly. And he could have stopped it. If he had told Snape that he was being unfair or punishing his father not him, or even just said that Snape was scaring him, he was quite sure the professor would have stopped dead. Oh, he might have carried out the punishment eventually, but he had made such a point about the fact that “appropriate punishments” do not involve terror-inducing assaults that a request to stop would probably have worked.

But instead, Harry had just gotten angrier and sulkier, and the more Snape yelled and hit, the more righteously indignant Harry had felt. He sighed. Maybe he was every bit as immature as Snape claimed. He certainly hadn’t done much to try to explain himself and avoid the big fight, and while Snape was the adult, it was, after all, Harry’s backside. You’d think he would have been smart enough to try to protect his own skin, even – or perhaps especially – if it meant having to act like an adult.

“As you know, I have a temper,” Snape said after a minute. “I hope that my hasty actions will not damage our relationship.” He had once made a similar statement to Lily after losing his temper with her, and she had laughed and said that if he could do no better than so stilted an apology, then she had better stick around just to interpret for him with the other students. He hoped her son would react in a similar fashion.

Wow! A second apology. From Snape. He must really be feeling guilty. And that meant he must really like Harry. Right? After all, he had just said that he didn’t want to damage their relationship. That meant it was important to him. Right?

Snape relaxed as Harry beamed at him. It was a little unnerving how quickly the boy forgave. Especially to someone like Snape who never forgot a grudge, Harry’s ability to absolve others was nothing short of miraculous. Snape still harbored a grievance against Minerva McGonagall for scolding him during his third year when it had been the idiotic Ravenclaw seated next to him who had been talking in class, not him. It was hard for him to fathom how Harry could pardon harsh words and a harsher spanking even while his bottom still burned from the punishment.

“I’ve got a temper, too, Professor,” Harry offered eagerly. “I’m sorry for getting mad and not even trying to explain.”

“Now that we have both apologized, perhaps you would explain why you have not seen fit to attend DADA classes or do your assignments?” Snape waited, eyebrow raised.

“Well,” Harry bit his lower lip, thinking of the best way to put it, “since I’m studying DADA with you, and you teach it a lot better than Professor Lockhart does,” Harry made sure to use the idiot’s title, and Snape’s lips twitched both at Harry’s caution and the unconscious compliment, “it just seemed like it made more sense to spend the class preparing for our lessons.”

“That is not acceptable, Mr Potter,” Snape said sternly. “You must attend your classes. I am glad that you find our time together helpful, but this material is supplementary to your course syllabus. You will miss out on certain topics if you do not attend.” For a moment he thought Harry was going to argue, but in the end the boy just shrugged in acceptance. Snape realized it was as much of a capitulation as he was going to get and decided not to push the matter any further.

“And your homework?” Harry’s head shot up, his eyes once again guarded, and Snape continued quickly. “I am not going to debate the matter with you, Mr Potter. But before we become enmeshed in argument about doing the homework, why don’t you tell me why you are so adamant in your refusal to complete the work your professor assigns? I am well aware you know the material.”

Harry snorted. “Even you couldn’t answer these questions.”

Snape felt his temper rise again. So the little wretch thought he knew more than both Lockhart and him? Maybe he hadn’t overreacted after all. But the boy was still talking.

“The questions have nothing to do with DADA. They’re just stupid. I’m not going to waste my time looking up answers I don’t know, and neither would you.”

Snape rubbed his jawline. Perhaps this was the way to take the boy down a notch. “Potter, I have a proposal for you. If I can answer your homework, then you will admit that there is DADA material that you don’t yet know and you will do all of your homework, past, present, and future, and you will attend all classes from here on out. And you will publicly apologize to your professor for your attitude.” That last should teach Harry the folly of youthful arrogance.

But oddly enough, those emerald eyes were gleaming with anticipation, not concern. Oh, yes, this boy needed taking down.

“Okay, Professor, but if you can’t answer the questions without looking up the answers, then I don’t have to do the homework or apologize to that g- Professor Lockhart, and I don’t get smacked again or have to do lines.”

Snape inclined his head in agreement. He wasn’t planning on giving the boy anything more than a token spanking anyway, not after such a hard punishment earlier. Even a few light slaps would be painful on the boy’s smarting and tender skin, but Snape wouldn’t go back on his word. Still, if by some weird fluke there was a question or two he couldn’t answer, perhaps he would agree to waive Potter’s remaining punishments in return for his promise to attend classes and do his homework. That would enable the boy to save face while still ensuring he would meet his obligations.

Harry grinned. He was looking forward to this. He handed Snape the course syllabus. “Here, Professor. I don’t care which assignment you do. You can choose.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose. Quite the cocky lad, wasn’t he? Well, he was about to learn why it was foolish to give away any advantage, no matter how slight. Perhaps he would give the brat a few real swats after all, just to ensure that any latent James-like tendencies were curbed.

Snape flipped through the syllabus and found the first homework assignment. He read it and his jaw dropped. Ignoring the snickers he heard from the boy, he quickly flipped on to the next assignment. And the next. And the next. “POTTER!” he shouted, furious. “Stop this nonsense and give me the real assignments!”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. “Those are the real assignments. If you don’t believe me, ask Ron. Or Hermione. Or anyone. Ask Lockhart – I mean, Professor Lockhart – if you want.”

“Don’t be stupid, Potter,” Snape spat out the words. “This isn’t a homework assignment! What color are Gilderoy Lockhart’s eyes? What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite drink? Write a three foot essay describing why Gilderoy Lockhart is the most fascinating wizard of our time.  What is this – this drivel?”

“That’s the homework you walloped me for not doing,” Harry said politely, but there was immense satisfaction in his tone.

“No, I punished you for your attitude,” Snape corrected automatically, still flipping through the syllabus in an increasingly hopeless effort to find something remotely related to DADA.

“Which you thought was arrogant because I refused to do that homework,” Harry pointed out.

Snape barely heard him; he was too busy skimming the lesson content. Nothing on spells, dueling, hexes, Dark Arts. Everything on Gilderoy Lockhart, from his shoe size to his mother’s hometown.

“What happens in his classes?” Snape demanded, turning back to Harry.

“He tells big fat lies about how brilliant he is and how he dueled and defeated all these powerful Dark wizards, and he reads from his press clippings and his autobiographies. And he has us answer his fan mail.” Harry grimaced at the volume of Snape’s outraged “WHAT?!?”

“He does,” Harry protested. “He makes us do it in his detentions too, that’s why I stopped going.” Oops. He hadn’t exactly meant to admit that to Snape. He figured Lockhart hadn’t reported him for skiving off because he didn’t want to get on the bad side of The Boy Who Lived, and here he goes and blurts it out to Snape!

Snape shot him a glare, but it was clear he was too distracted to give Harry the scolding he deserved.

“Has class been like this the whole year?”

“So far,” Harry agreed. This was actually kind of fun. It wasn’t often he saw Snape so furious at someone else.

“Right,” Snape snapped the syllabus down on the table. Only his white knuckled grasp of the document revealed his emotions. “You are not to waste your time on this nonsense. I will speak with the Headmaster and ensure that that idi- Professor Lockhart will immediately adopt a more orthodox syllabus. I will also ensure that another faculty member, perhaps myself, attends his classes –“

Harry choked. No! Not that! “Please, Professor! You can’t. I promise, I’ll go to class. You don’t have to sit in it and guard me!”

Snape snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, you foolish child. It’s not you I’ll be watching, it’s that moron Lockhart. I have no intention of him wasting the time of every student in the school on this narcissistic claptrap.” He paused, looking sternly at Harry. “Why on earth did you not tell me about this earlier?”

Harry’s eyes widened. Was Snape seriously about to blame him for this? “What? What do you mean? What should I have said? He’s an awful teacher?  Binns is an awful teacher too, but no one does anything about him. Why would I think to say anything about Lo- Professor Lockhart? And besides, why is it my fault? Why didn’t one of your Slytherins complain to you?”

“You are my ward – there is a much closer bond between us than between myself and the students in my House,” Snape said impatiently, completely unaware of the shattering impact those few words just had on Harry. “I expect you to tell me everything that impacts on your life – both academic and personal – and particularly if it has the potential to affect your ability to defeat the Dark Lord. Did it not occur to you that having a completely useless DADA teacher and thus losing a year of study would negatively impact your preparations?

“I cannot imagine what the Headmaster was thinking to hire that egomaniac! He might as well hire a vampire or werewolf. We are preparing for war, and he is hiring pretty boy nitwits to teach our children the most important lessons of their lives…” Snape ranted on, but Harry was completely oblivious. He was floating on a happy pink cloud, wrapped in bliss. His bum had stopped hurting, his eventual confrontation with Voldemort didn’t matter. Snape had said that he, Harry, mattered more to him than his little snakes. And everyone knew how much Snape cared about the students in his House. If Snape had climbed onto the staff table in the middle of dinner in the Great Hall and publicly announced his devotion to Harry, it couldn’t have been a more definite pronouncement, and the fact that he had clearly not even thought twice about making it made it even more special. Harry felt like his whole body was filled with a warm light. He hadn’t felt this safe and cared for since his parents died.

“Potter!” A sharp shake to his shoulder brought him back to earth. “Are you done with your daydreaming, you silly child?” Snape’s snarky tones rang in his ears. “Just because you are excused from DADA homework for the moment doesn’t mean you have no work to do. What about that Transfiguration essay? I expect to see at least another six inches before you leave here this evening, and since Dobby will be bringing the tea and biscuits in another hour, I suggest you stop staring off into space and get busy.”

Harry grinned. Yep, this was his Snape all right.

He moved to his bookbag and pulled out his desk chair, only to halt when Snape cleared his throat. The professor looked a bit awkward as he waved his wand and accio’d several large pillows to the hearth in front of the fireplace. “You may find it easier to concentrate lying in front of the fire, rather than sitting at the desk,” he offered uncomfortably. Harry looked at him in delight. Sitting down in that hard chair would have been acutely painful – the sting in his backside had lessened, but it still throbbed, and it would be infinitely more comfortable to lie on his stomach in front of the fire.

“Thanks!” he said, recognizing the offer as the further apology that it was. “And thanks for doing something about Lockhart – I mean, Prof-“

“It’s all right, Harry. You can just call him by his surname,” Snape said, then smirked at Harry’s look of astonishment. “I have had to modify my position on the respect due to all professors.”

Harry lay face-down on the cushions and got out his Transfigurations essay. Snape eyed him for a moment, then reached a decision. “Here.”

Harry looked at the vial Snape was holding out. “What is it?”

“A standard healing potion – as you should be able to recognize by now,” Snape said pointedly. Harry sighed resignedly at the rebuke, but nodded obediently. “If you are still uncomfortable from earlier by the time you are getting ready for bed, take it. It was not my intention to cause you lasting discomfort, and I would be… distressed… if you remained so.”

Harry looked from him to the potion and back again. “Then shouldn’t I just take it now?” he asked mischievously. “Wouldn’t want to cause you any worry.”

Scowling, Snape reached down and smacked his upturned backside, careful to land the light slap in a previously untouched area. “Mind your cheek, Mr Potter, particularly when you are in such a vulnerable position.”

“Ouch,” Harry complained, but he had to duck his head to hide the grin on his face. “Can I at least have extra shortbread tonight?”

“If you make acceptable progress on your essay, that might be arranged,” Snape agreed carelessly, seating himself at the desk and pulling over a stack of homework to be graded.

Harry settled down to his work with a little noise of contentment, and Snape hid a smile of his own. Lily would be pleased.