As an awkward, outcast primary school student sitting in a succession of hot, stifling classrooms, Severus Snape had learnt, out of necessity, to detach from his surroundings. Once books and paper were out on desktops and some dunderhead teacher had settled into her interminable drone for the day, Severus would paste what he hoped was an interested expression on his face and then cut his mind loose like a kite in the wind.

Among his pet fantasies – second only to winning the pools and moving into his own house until he was old enough for Hogwarts – was The Great Dragon Escape. This particular daydream began with an enormous winged dragon appearing suddenly in the sky beyond the classroom window and landing with some ceremony in the play yard outside. The story had gone through innumerable iterations and drafts until he could, within seconds, lose himself completely in it.

The first student to notice the dragon's approach was always Ev Simmons, a particularly whingy little imp that invariably ended up in Severus's class every year. When he cried out – which noise the students at first always mistook for the fire alarm, such was the octave Ev tended to reach when in distress – there was a general stampede and overturning of desks as everyone rushed over to the window bank. As the chorus of did-you-evers and where-did-it-come-froms went on, Severus merely sat back at his desk, arms crossed and a smile of pure anticipation on his countenance.

With one breath from the huge creature, the big oak tree right by the school was set afire. Amid the earsplitting shriek of the alarms, the entire student body rushed outside. Which was typical of idiots like these, of course, Severus always thought. They ran right towards the danger instead of staying inside where they were safe. The girls, who'd screamed all the way out, didn't stop even when they reached the yard, because girls had to be dramatic. The boys all tried to look tough, hoping it would be remembered that they'd kept their cool under fire. Severus, ignoring the teachers yelling after him to come back here right now, young man, took hold of Lily's arm and began to lead her toward the beast. "Your chariot awaits, Milady," he told her with a grin.

"Severus, don't! We'll be killed!" Lily shrieked, pulling back against his grip on her. She'd been one of the few girls not screaming hysterically, but actually approaching a dragon was quite another issue.

"You'll be safe with me, Lily-flower," Severus replied grandly, guiding her ever closer to the massive creature, whose every breath caused a jet of steam to escape its nostrils. Ferocious though the dragon appeared, it only watched patiently as the two children approached, and even crouched to allow them to mount its back, bending one muscular arm where the dragonian equivalent of an elbow would be so as to provide a natural step.

Severus helped Lily climb up the dragon's heaving sides, then took his place in back of her, her shoulder blades delicate as birds' wings pressed against his chest. With a flex of its huge, knotted muscles, the beast lifted off, and all of a sudden, the ground was rushing away from them with ever-increasing speed. The students swarmed about below like so many ants, the school they'd fled the size of a candy bar from this height, the burning tree merely a firefly that couldn't wait for nightfall. It was never clear what their destination was; just getting away from that horrid school with its cadre of idiot students and faculty was enough.

The vision usually ended there, Severus and Lily escaping together, heading off into the sunset. The reality, of course, would not have been quite so romantic. Dragon breeding in England was illegal even in those days, and even if one should have decided to flee Romania and come rescue Severus, he could hardly have expected to carry Lily off – and to where? His castle in Spain? – and have her abandon family and friends in favour of an uncertain future with her eight- or nine-year-old saviour. So the dragon vision, like the one where he came into a huge fortune, was confined to schooltime fantasy.

When he'd first started the dragon story, Severus had seen himself standing by the dragon's side and reading off the names of several select students to accompany him. Everyone would be waiting with bated breath to hear their name called, and when he stopped, there would be a chorus of groans and the weeping would start, possibly even pleading from those who'd been particularly vile bullies toward Severus. In that version of the fantasy, it was sweet revenge to deny them access to his friend the dragon. But he quickly realised that there just weren't that many people he didn't loathe entirely. So it was always Lily alone who accompanied him.

When he'd joined the Death Eaters at sixteen, Severus couldn't help but think that he finally had the means to play the Dragon Game for real . . . only this time, instead of missing out on a dragon ride, his enemies would be tortured and killed. His desire for revenge had only grown more cruel and ruthless over the years, and losing Lily was the last straw. Severus, whose dragon dreams had, upon reaching Hogwarts, been replaced by ones where Potter and his Marauder mates were expelled and forced into exile, suddenly found that it was no longer enough. Nothing but Potter's death would satisfy him now.

And he'd gotten his wish, hadn't he? Unfortunately, it's said that the worst thing that can happen to someone is to have their wishes come true, and Severus would never again doubt the veracity of that statement. For Potter's death had, instead of yielding to Severus his beloved Lily, instead left him alone once again. Worse than alone, since her death had also dissolved his alliance with the Dark Lord. By necessity, of course, but also by choice. Without the Death Eaters, Severus truly had no one. And now, six years later, Potter had come back to haunt him yet again, in the form of a seven-year-old boy whose mission in life seemed to be to drive Severus to drink.

That morning, he had watched in barely-concealed disgust as Potter wolfed down his porridge like a pig at its trough. Nothing affected the little brat, did it? You'd think I'd been making him live on crab shells, Severus thought resentfully. "Stop it!" he snapped. The spoon clinked against the bowl one last time, and Potter sat staring at the remains of the porridge. He wants more, of course. Severus sighed before passing him a plate of toast. As the boy hesitantly took a slice, he couldn't resist adding snidely, "Can I have Noddy braise a bull for you? Or will this be enough?" The brat hadn't answered him, only sat sulking for the remainder of the meal.

After Severus had finished his own breakfast, he ordered Potter to follow him into the library. When he'd seen the clean sheets of parchment and neatly-stacked books, Snape had felt the vein in his temple begin to throb. Even after a night's sleep, the little brat's blatant disobedience, not to mention dishonesty, still made his blood pressure spike skyward whenever he thought of it, and the unsullied study materials only served to remind him. This was, perhaps, what made him speak so caustically to the seven-year-old.

"You will spend today making up the work that you should have completed yesterday," he began. "There will be no playing outside for you today, Potter. When you've finished, you'll stay in your room the rest of the day. You may bring some books upstairs, just don't leave your room until I get back. And heaven help you if I come home to find you've disobeyed me again, young man. You'll think what you got last night was nothing."

Before leaving, Severus approached Noddy in the kitchen. "Noddy, the boy is to stay inside for all of today; don't let him go out into the garden or leave his room after he's done with his schoolwork. And make sure he gets a plain lunch, no cake or anything afterwards. Just soup or a sandwich." Noddy didn't look too pleased at these orders, but Snape was beyond caring what the house-elf thought of his disciplinary measures. Potter had to learn to obey, and why the house-elf should sulk at being asked to inform on the boy was beyond him anyway.

It had been decided that Severus would not take his breakfast or dinner at Hogwarts anymore; Dumbledore felt that it was important for the brat to have "family meals." Personally, Severus wasn't entirely displeased with the arrangement; he had always loathed eating in the crowded Great Hall, and hated having to sit facing the student body. Even the most delicious meals tended to taste like sawdust, as his focus was more on eating neatly and avoiding even the slightest mess on his face. Pasta was the worst for that.

However, despite that extra cushion of time provided by not having to arrive for breakfast, setting Potter up for the day had caused Severus to run ten minutes late to morning classes, and being flustered put him in a particularly foul temper. Had the House point system been the stock market, the average drop that day would have sent the world economy into a tailspin. The House Cup championship, formerly in favour of the Hufflepuffs, was now anyone's guess.

Finally, lunchtime arrived. Severus plopped into his chair at the head table with an aggravated sigh and began piling his plate with chicken and rice. Still recovering from the stress of the morning, he couldn't help feeling satisfied when he imagined Potter back at Spinner's End, partaking of his plain lunch. This, of course, only caused yet another surge of annoyance as he remembered yesterday's events. Ordering my house-elf around, indeed, he thought angrily.

Severus could feel Dumbledore's eyes on him as he arranged his food on his plate. His teeth clenched as he realised that he was about to be interrogated, much like the day before. And this time, of course, he would have to tell the old man that he’d smacked the precious Boy Who Lived. Somehow, Severus doubted that Dumbledore would sympathise with his reasoning.

Finally, Severus laid down his fork with a sigh and turned to face the headmaster. "Yes, Albus?" he asked in rather a snide tone. If he was about to be debriefed, he wasn't going to make it easy.

"And how is your young charge settling in?" Dumbledore inquired, seemingly unaffected by Snape's tone.

"Oh, smashingly," Severus replied bitterly. "Making himself right at home, as I had a feeling he would."

Dumbledore frowned at Snape's tone. "Is something wrong, Severus? Has Harry been misbehaving?"

"He's James Potter's son, Albus. That's all. Arrogant, lazy, and disrespectful." Severus stabbed angrily at a piece of chicken and jammed the whole of it into his mouth at once, hoping to forestall the inevitable conversation.

Albus and Minerva exchanged a look, and out of the corner of his eye, Snape saw the Transfiguration mistress give a barely perceptible roll of her eyes before starting back on her food. Albus, for his part, merely looked appraisingly at Severus over the rim of his goblet as he took a long draught.

Finally, the old man spoke. "After classes today, come and see me in my office, Severus. We'll discuss this then."

Even ten years after he'd ceased to attend Hogwarts as a student, the old man's summons had the effect of making Severus feel like a schoolboy sentenced to detention. His afternoon classes had gone no better than the morning, and more than one student made the decision that day not to continue Potions to the N.E.W.T. level, at least "so long as the classes are going to be taught by a total crackpot."

Taking his frustrations out on the students had at least alleviated the worst of Severus's nerves, so that he was relatively composed as he knocked on Dumbledore's study door promptly after his final class

(escaped)

let out for the day.

"Come in, Severus," the headmaster answered.

Severus entered the study and fell into a seat across from Dumbledore, who was, of course, at his desk, leaning comfortably back in his armchair. "Severus, why don't you tell me what Harry has done to make you so cross," the old man asked easily enough, though he didn't bother with pleasantries.

The lack of accusation in Dumbledore's tone immediately broke through Snape's defenses, which had been up since the moment he sat down to lunch that day. His body relaxed slightly as he began his story. "To begin with, he's nothing but a spoilt brat," Severus said in a rush. "He thinks everything should be run according to his wishes. That first night, when I showed him where he'd be sleeping? Well, it obviously didn't meet with his high standards, because he only mocked me. 'I get the whole room?'" Severus imitated a child's whinge.

Albus frowned at this, but Snape didn't stop. "Then, when I came home yesterday evening, I asked Potter if he'd finished the lessons I set him. He looked me right in the eye and said he had. After we had evening tea and I'd sent him to bed, I went into the library to correct his work, and what do you know? He'd never even touched the books or parchment. Everything was exactly as I'd left it that morning." Severus's hands curled into fists as he remembered that moment. At first, he thought that perhaps Potter had taken his finished work up to his bedroom for some reason; even having known James Potter as he did, Severus still couldn't believe that the boy would disobey so blatantly.

He'd found Noddy in the pantry, industriously arranging the shelves therein. "Noddy, please tell me Potter didn't spend all day outside playing," he snapped.

"Not the whole day, no, Master. He is in here around one o'clock wanting his lunch from Noddy, sir."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "His books and papers don't look disturbed. Did you ever see him working?"

"No, Master, I never saw him at work," Noddy answered promptly. Severus, with his deductions confirmed by Noddy's testimony, had raced upstairs in a rage. Potter, not surprisingly, had tried to lie again. That little brat wouldn't know the truth if it walked up wearing a nameplate.

"My house-elf confirmed that he hadn't been working, Albus. The boy is nothing but a manipulative liar," Severus finished.

"Don't you think you're being a bit too harsh, Severus?"

"Why do you automatically take his side?" Severus exclaimed, leaning forward and slamming his fist against the desk. His abrupt action immediately set the delicate magical instruments to rattling. "You haven't even met the little brat, and yet you just assume that I'm the one who's wrong!" He glared at the old man furiously.

"Now, Severus, don't get upset. I'm merely suggesting that perhaps young Harry didn't mean to cause such trouble. I highly doubt, in fact, that a seven-year-old could be quite so conniving as you make him sound."

"I suppose you think disobeying my instructions and then lying about the same are the actions of a bewildered, innocent babe, is that it?" Severus retorted.

"It seems rather odd to me that the boy would lie and claim he'd completed his work when, as you asseverate, nothing on the desk appeared to have been touched. Harry was at the end of year two in Muggle primary school; he's well aware that homework doesn't go on honour. What on Earth would make him think that you wouldn't ask to look over the work, if only to correct it?"

"All I know is that he looked me straight in the face and answered 'Yes' when I asked if he'd finished all his assignments, yet there was no evidence to show that he'd so much as cracked one book. If he isn't lying, then he's mentally disturbed," Severus replied, shrugging.

"When you came back and confronted him with your findings, what did Harry have to say?" Albus inquired, twirling a quill absently with his fingers.

Severus shifted in his seat. "He didn't say – that is, he again asserted that he had done all his work. He said . . ." The Potions master frowned, trying to remember. "He said he'd worked right up until lunchtime. Which brings me to yet another problem. According to Noddy, the br – the boy had first played outside all day, then ordered him to make lunch." Severus's eyes narrowed as his fury at Potter surged yet again. "Even you, Albus, cannot expect that my household shall be run on the orders of a seven-year-old, fame notwithstanding."

Albus frowned yet again, and Severus thought wryly that the old man probably expected exactly that. But when the headmaster spoke, his tone was more bemused than accusatory. "No, Severus, I'd hardly expect that. And yet . . . and yet I still have trouble believing that any child of that age could act maliciously. Perhaps Harry is merely having trouble adjusting to all the changes he's had to face in such a short time. Children are typically more adaptable than adults, but there are limits."

"Albus, with all due respect, this is hardly behaviour that falls into that category. If he were prone to tantrums or crying fits for no good reason, that I might excuse as nerves. But Potter gave no indication that he was at all disturbed; he simply did what he wanted and then lied to me anyway."

"Severus, I am also speaking with all due respect when I point out that you tend to be rather hard with your students. Harry is only seven, after all. Exactly how much work did you give him?"

"That isn't the point! I didn't punish him for failing to obey me and complete his work. He was punished for lying to my face!" Severus exclaimed before he thought.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, and Severus flinched back a bit. They had come to that, then. "Punished how, exactly?" the old man demanded of him in a suddenly cool tone.

"He . . . I smacked him." Severus didn't like Dumbledore's expression. "We discussed this beforehand, Albus."

"Yes, but I hardly expected you'd look for reasons to exercise your role of disciplinarian quite so quickly. How many times was he 'smacked', Severus?" Dumbledore's voice was flinty.

"Erm . . . ten. A reasonable punishment for lying, I should think," Severus answered, although he actually felt a twinge of sympathy for Potter at that moment. He would have liked, just then, to lie to the headmaster rather than face his wrath.

Dumbledore's expression relaxed slightly. "It isn't cruel, I suppose, although I would have looked for alternative methods of correction," he rejoined. "But why should he lie to you in the first place?" the headmaster continued in a reasoning tone. "As I've pointed out, he must have known he'd be caught."

"Well . . . now that I think on it, Potter did ask me about something in one of the textbooks when we had tea in the evening," Severus answered slowly. "So . . . I imagine he looked at the work I left and got discouraged, but was too embarrassed to say so." With the situation suddenly put in that light, Severus actually felt rather ashamed, but he rushed to his own defence. "Of course, that's no excuse for his lying. But I'll temper his assignments from now on."

Dumbledore nodded. "You'll have to remember that you're dealing with a primary school student, and one who has only had a Muggle education thus far, Severus. I didn't object to spanking – smacking, as you put it – before, but I hope the incidents will be few and far between. You may not be prepared to tolerate dishonesty, but I certainly won't tolerate abuse," he added in a threatening tone.

Severus nodded, but Dumbledore wasn't finished. "I am curious to see him, though, and also to see how he behaves in your care. I believe I'll join you for dinner this evening, if that's acceptable."

As if he'll act the same with company there, Severus thought with another mental eyeroll. "Of course, Albus," he answered cordially. "I'll expect you about half past five, then."

Five minutes later, having safely traveled from Albus's office Floo to the one in his own parlour, Severus immediately went upstairs to Potter's room and opened the door without knocking. The boy, who'd been curled up in the corner chair, jumped about a foot when he entered, his book tumbling to the floor. Potter himself sat gripping the soft chair arms, his eyes flickering to Severus's face before settling on a spot about chest level. Severus could see a faint flush forming on the boy's face.

"Did you finish the work I left you?" Severus demanded without preamble.

Potter nodded, then got up and headed for his chest-of-drawers. From one of the top drawers, he extracted several sheets of parchment which, to Severus's relief, appeared to have a quantity of writing on them. The boy hesitantly approached him, holding out the papers.

Severus took the parchment from Potter's outstretched hand and glanced over the pages before looking back at his student, who was running his finger along the edge of the bureau. "Perhaps I was . . . rather harsh with you," he began. "I'm used to teaching slightly older children, and . . . I imagine the assignments were too much," he offered reluctantly.

The boy was now staring at him openmouthed, and Severus quickly became uncomfortable with those eyes on him, Lily's eyes under that messy mop of Potter hair and wire-rimmed glasses just like his father had worn. "Not that it excuses your behaviour, of course. If you couldn't complete the assignment, you should have told me you were having trouble. We could have worked something out. I will not tolerate dishonesty."

"Sorry," Potter whispered.

"Well, we'll talk about your assignments later. The headmaster of the school where I teach is coming over tonight for dinner, so I want you to change, and quickly." Severus strode to the wardrobe and opened the doors. Other than a few mothballs and a flat duffel bag, it was empty. He turned back to Potter. "Where are all your clothes?"

Potter pointed back at the chest, and Severus walked over and began rifling through the drawers. The top one yielded a few rolled pairs of socks and some ratty pants; the next revealed two pairs of rather well-worn trousers and two dingy t-shirts; the last held only a single rugby shirt which looked big enough to hold three Potters. "Where are the rest of your clothes?" Snape inquired of the boy, beginning to panic. What if Noddy was washing them? They'd never be done in time for Albus's arrival.

"There aren't any. That's all I have." At that point, Severus remembered the lone duffel bag that Potter had brought with him; the boy claimed he didn't have anything else to bring. At the time, Severus hadn't been too concerned with Potter's possessions, or lack thereof. Now, in light of their impending visitor, and considering what he'd seen of the brat's honesty (or, again, lack thereof), that incident took on a whole different meaning.

"A likely story," Severus sneered, feeling that vein in his temple start to throb again. "I suppose you reckoned if you only brought these rags, you'd get a while new wardrobe," he continued, his lips white with fury. He balled up the rugby shirt in his fist and threw it down into the drawer, which he slammed so hard that Potter winced and stepped back.

The little brat tried to protest. "I told you I didn't have any other clothes," he whinged, his voice wobbling as if he would start crying any second, much to Severus's disgust. "Aunt Petunia only ever gave me Dudley's old things, and he's a lot bigger than me."

"Your uncle, unless I've been sorely misled, has a very lucrative job, and you have been living in a very affluent Surrey neighbourhood," Severus shot back. "You expect me to believe that your aunt refused to provide you with decent clothes out of pure spite?" The boy didn't answer, just stared at his ratty shoes. New shoes, too, I imagine, or so he thinks, Severus thought furiously.

He was having a hard time holding onto his temper. The sight of the spoilt child was making him sick. Not too many orphans found themselves in such clover as Potter had living with his relatives. While Severus had never actually been to the Dursley home, all the houses in the neighbourhood were built exactly alike, including those on Wisteria Walk. Arabella Figg, who had married a very successful Muggle jeweler, had a lovely, luxuriant home, so it stood to reason that Number Four, Privet Drive was also. It was a far cry from Spinner's End, that much was certain.

"When I was growing up, there weren't any new clothes, Potter. You think what you have now is bad? How would you like to go to school in clothes that were so old-fashioned and ill-fitting that the other kids thought they were your mother's?" Severus's voice was rising as his anger spilled out. Whether the anger was actually caused by Harry, or whether it was left over from his childhood, was beside the point. "We couldn't even afford a working washing machine, you spoilt little brat! My mother had to wash our clothes in the kitchen sink! Even your play clothes are cleaner and better kept than my best clothes ever were!"

Potter's face was beginning to work, and Severus found that this annoyed him worse than anything. "Don't even think about tears, Potter; they're not going to get you off the hook." Potter scurried out of his way as Snape stormed toward the bedroom door. "I don't make the money that your uncle does, and the sooner you get used to that, the better off you'll be," he bellowed at the sulking child. "I'm going straight to your relatives' house to pick up the rest of your clothes. When the headmaster leaves tonight, you and I are going to have a serious talk about your lying."

It gave him great satisfaction to slam the bedroom door and block out the sight of James Potter's spoilt son. Severus trod heavily on the staircase and stomped back over to the fireplace in the parlour, angrily grabbing more Floo powder than was strictly necessary before snapping out, "Arabella Figg's!" As he stepped into the swirling green flames, Severus thought that even Dumbledore couldn't blame him for feeling furious this time.