Stupidity didn’t even begin to describe Harry’s latest action.

Really, what had he been thinking? Actually, no, Harry was all too aware that he hadn’t been thinking properly. His brain had a lapse of judgment. He was a teenage male, of course, he was going to have lapses of judgment. It was a given, after all. Everybody knew that stuff.

But, according to the latest information he had just received, it would seem that such brainless, idiotic actions were not simply everyday teenage stupidity, but rather it was hereditary.

It just wasn’t fair. But then again, what part of his life was actually fair? This was just another one of those things to toss onto the pile that was burdened upon Harry’s back. However, this burden was the one to bring him crashing to the ground; everything weighing him down to its full capacity.

Could he pick himself up after this?

Here, after all these years, Harry had thought that his father was a good man. Well, that’s what everyone told him, that is. Everyone sung praises about James Potter. He’d been a Chaser and the Quidditch captain. He’d been exceptionally talented in Transfiguration. All the teachers had nothing but good things to say about the man. After all, he had died a hero, hadn’t he? He had died trying to protect his family, hadn’t he? He had loved his wife and son, hadn’t he?

He was a good man, wasn’t he?

And yet, with the evidence before Harry, he found himself questioning everything. His teachers must’ve been lying to him; that was the only explanation. That or they just were completely blind. Harry was even questioning Sirius, his godfather, and Lupin, his father’s other friend. Their actions had been inexcusable. They had targeted another fellow student – no matter the house rivalry – and had attacked him without provocation.

Their reasoning?

Because they were bored.

Seriously!?

It made Harry sick to call James Potter his father. It made Harry sick to call Sirius Black his godfather. Remus Lupin had been no better, since he did nothing to stop it, though he hadn’t instigated it. He was literally nauseous at the thought of being related to James. He just couldn’t understand. It made no sense and nothing anyone told him could blow it off. This was a serious transgression in Harry’s mind. After all, he’d had personal experience with bullies.

Such cruel actions against another fellow student – even if it had been Snape – was not right. There was no excuse for such behavior and Harry would not stand for it.

How dare they call themselves Gryffindors! They didn’t deserve to be there. Their glorified titles should be stripped from them. They had acted like Harry had always assumed were Slytherin tactics. Of course, that was a mere illusion. Cruelty could dwell anywhere, no matter the color, the house, or the heart – it could dwell anywhere if invited.

How could Harry’s father be someone to invite that? How horrible was that? It made him sick to even look at him. Even his mother had hated him! What had James done to get her to marry her? Harry could only think up terrible, awful scenarios that could’ve brought them together. Somehow, Harry’s very birth felt marred by something bad. If he hadn’t already felt bad about being alive and a target for Voldemort, which had led to the deaths of his parents, now he felt a thousand fold worse.

So much worse.

Unfortunately, he was going to feel even more horrible. It was foolish to dip his head into Snape’s Pensive – extremely foolish. He’d only wanted answers to the secrets he felt that everyone was keeping from him. Now, he didn’t want the answers any more. They were lies anyway. Every adult had told him to sit back and obey, and let the adults do their adult things.

Was this an example of their ‘adult things’?

What the crap was that? They weren’t the ones with a giant target on their forehead. They weren’t the ones who had been hunted by Voldemort not once, but four times. They hadn’t seen Cedric die before their eyes. They hadn’t been sliced on the arm and they hadn’t watched the most evil man the world had ever known rise from a steaming cauldron like a demonic shadow, ready to bring the world down on its knees.

They didn’t have nightmares every night about it. They didn’t feel sick some days and had to rush to a bathroom, only to expel their latest meal. They didn’t fear the night and the darkness it held. They didn’t have Umbridge hating on them like he did. They weren’t having their writing hand sliced open with scarring, condemning words.

What the freaking heck did they know, anyway?!

How dare they claim that he was too young to handle the ‘adult stuff’ when that was what fate kept thrusting into his face and life since the day he’d been born.

At not even two years old, he had been sought after and marked for whatever reason by a madman; thrown to an abusive and hateful family after that; spent years with said family being hated and harmed with verbal and physical abuse; attacked during his first year at Hogwarts by said same madman; bit by a snake – okay, a really big snake –  in second year; nearly had been bitten by a werewolf and nearly had his soul sucked out in third year – quite the eventful year; in fourth year had been spied on by a Death Eater, forced to participate in a stupid, waste of time, idiotic, dangerous tournament that he hadn’t wanted to be a part of – could you tell? – had watched the untimely death of fellow student, and finally, watched the horrific rise of that same madman who had tried to kill him in his infancy and barely escaped the encounter with his life intact.

If anyone attempted to tell Harry that there was no need to get riled up about everything and that he just needed to sit back and be a good boy, he was going to strangle them.

What did they know? They knew nothing.

He had lived for years without a proper, loving guardian. He had spent ten years of his life sleeping in the cupboard like house dog – actually, the dog would’ve been far better cared for than Harry had been. He had spent ten years wondering if he would be fed that day. He had gone for years hearing hateful words. He had gone for years doing endless chores that had been too hard for him as a child. He had gone for years feeling some kind of harsh hand; whether it be across the face, sometimes with a frying pan in the hands of his aunt, or with a belt that was wielded by his uncle.

And he had heard countless lies about his parents.

And somehow, he had endured it all. Because, for some reason, he just didn’t believe the lies about his parents. They just had to be good people. Little Harry had always imagined himself with his mother and father, their loving hands gently caressing him, their soft words encouraging him.

He had to have been loved. That was the only thing that had kept him going. His parents had loved him, no matter what the Dursleys said, his parents had wanted him and had loved him – since Dudley was Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia’s son, and they wanted him. It stood to reason that Harry would be wanted by his own parents.

But now it was all shattered.

All because of one old memory. All because of one horrid name. Snivellus.

How could his father be that terrible? He had picked on someone else for the fun of it, because his best friend was bored. Wasn’t that like how Tom Riddle started out? Hadn’t he been a charismatic young man? Harry has seen a shadow of the sixteen year old in his second year – Tom Riddle was extremely powerful with his words and demeanor. Hadn’t he attacked others because he felt like it; even bragged about killing Moaning Myrtle? James had been no better as a teenager. What made James Potter different than what Tom Riddle had been at sixteen?

“Well… it’s more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean…”

How could anyone think that way about another person, let alone say it out loud!

Thus, that was how every illusion that Harry had held dear to his heart about his parents, every wishful thought that if things had somehow been different, he could’ve been loved – all that had shattered away into tiny, irreparable pieces that were once the images of his parents. All in the matter of a few moments of watching a simple memory. There was nothing left for him to hold onto, there was no hope, no ideal to cling to – it was over.

There was nothing left.

Of course, fate had brilliant timing. Because just at the moment that Harry’s heart had broken, that had to be the exact moment that a terrible hand gripped his underarm with the power a siren had in dragging her victims to their watery deaths.

In this case, Harry would much rather be dragged to a watery death by a siren, instead of being in the presence of the owner of that hand. Especially when that voice spoke in a shaky, yet dangerously calm voice – however, the pure fury and outrage still adorned his face.

Could that siren come and kill him now, please?

“Having… fun?” hissed Snape, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it shouted volumes; the roaring inside Harry’s ears blocking out everything but the man’s frightening voice. “Having a right enjoyable time there, are we, Potter?!”

Harry’s voice was locked away in his absolute fear. The man was downright terrifying at that moment. He tried to stammer his protests, how he hated everything about that memory, how he now understood where Snape had been coming from all these years, and how Harry now fully and completely agreed with him – all this he wanted to say and more. And now, he also wanted to apologize for his father’s terrible actions against Snape.

No one deserved that treatment, not even Malfoy.

But somehow, Harry’s voice couldn’t say any of it. No matter how much he wanted to, it just would not come out.

So, as Harry was pulled out of the depths of the Pensive, he remained morbidly silent through it all. He was frightened out of his wits, yet he couldn’t say anything in his defense. Although, more than likely, anything that he could say would only condemn him further. There was nothing to say in defense of this, both of his own actions and the actions of his awful father.

In fact, he just wanted to cry about this. A lot of people had failed him throughout his life, but to have his dead parents fail him in a final death – well, it was like he had just experienced their deaths for the first time.

They were never coming back.

All anger that Harry had felt through the year was now suddenly and completely gone – vanished away in a single breath. Instead, his chest was filled with utter loss. Nothing mattered any more. Who cared, honestly? Have at him, Voldie. Harry honestly didn’t care any more. Maybe if he gave himself up, then no one else would have to die. He’d been alone all his life, anyway. It didn’t really matter.

Because of the intense amount of emotion that had poured through his chest, Harry didn’t really realize how bad of a situation he was currently in – but that was okay, since he would soon find out, anyway. His ears were barely registering what Snape was furiously muttering darkly. If he had, he might’ve been alarmed.

Once back in Snape’s office, the dark, dull blue colors filling Harry’s eyesight, the man holding his arm didn’t let go. The numb, sorrowing inside Harry’s chest didn’t let up either. He winced, however, when Snape shook him slightly; forcing Harry to look up at the enraged man.

“How dare you go through my things!” hissed Snape, his fierce calm more terrifying than ever. He grabbed Harry by the other shoulder and shook him once more. “And through something you knew was never meant for your eyes.”

Finally, Harry’s voice opened.

“I–I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“You have no respect for any adult, Potter,” spat Snape, his low voice quavering in his anger. “I have watched you flout every rule in the book here in your stay at Hogwarts. I warned the Headmaster. He would never listen and now this is the result of it!”

He seemed to be talking to himself, almost; as if these were words for Dumbledore to hear and not Harry.

“Due to his lax attitude about keeping you in line, it is my things that get violated,” continued Snape, obviously not noticing that he was ranting. Then, he released one of Harry’s shoulders, but he maintained his vice like grip on Harry’s underarm.

Harry felt suddenly nervous by the dark glint inside Snape’s eyes.

“This ends now, however,” said Snape forebodingly, his dark eyes flaring in his fury. “You will learn some respect tonight if it is the last thing I do!”

And before Harry could question its meaning, he was dragged away. Snape threw the door to his office open – the door crashing into the wall with a loud bang – and entered the hallway. Without looking back at the prisoner in his hand – meaning a very confused and nervous Harry – the man dragged him down the corridor, ranting furiously.

“No discipline whatsoever—” Snape was saying in his temper. “—nosy, no boundaries for personal space, no respect for authority, disobedient, over emotional, lazy, foolish—”

Harry felt his ears go red. Some of those, he had to admit, were true. He had gone through Snape’s Pensive without regard for his space. He never dreamed that he would’ve found something so personal. He’d been expecting some secrets that were being kept from him. If he’d known it was to be otherwise, he would never had gone into the Pensive. But even then, Harry knew that he shouldn’t have gone, no matter what – even if he had learned about what was going on with the adults.

And his years with the Dursleys hadn’t exactly helped his feelings towards authority. The only authority over his life had been Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. There was no way that Harry had any respect for them. They hated him and told him in every way possible.

When Snape had shown him that same kind of hate, Harry couldn’t help but show the man the same curtsey that he did for the Dursleys – or, in reality, the same curtsey he wished he could show them without retribution.

“Albus has no say in this now,” muttered Snape, still ever furious, but this sounded more like a statement to himself. “I’m nipping this nonsense immediately. It’s that old coot’s fault that the boy has run rampant throughout the castle like a hooligan; flouting rules, getting into trouble, nearly getting himself killed every time – enough to cause heart failure. If he’d been in Slytherin…”

The man trailed off, still muttering underneath his breath. Harry’s eyes widened. He was shocked by what he had heard in Snape’s furious mutterings. Was Snape really saying all that? His mind whirled with the meanings of Snape’s unaware ranting. ‘Heart failure’ and ‘Slytherin’? Was Snape actually worried about Harry when he got into scrapes? Did that mean Snape actually cared about Harry’s welfare? Did Snape wish that Harry had been in Slytherin to better protect him?

Would it have been better than way? Would everything have been different? Would Snape not have hated Harry on the first day, simply because he was in Slytherin, instead of in Gryffindor – like his father?

Harry had to push back the sob that had suddenly built up in his throat at such a thought. He wanted to go back. He wanted to change everything. He wanted to let the Sorting Hat place him where he belonged. The hat always said he would’ve been great in Slytherin. Was this what that old hat meant? Harry should’ve listened to him. Maybe things could’ve been different. Then, maybe… Maybe Cedric would’ve never died.

One choice. Could simply one choice have led to an entirely different destiny?

Harry’s thoughts never calmed as he was pulled into the darkness of the dungeons. The regret was eating him alive. And all the while, Snape was leading him into a part of the castle he’d never been in before. They descended into deeper depths, until Snape sharply turned down another corridor and came to a stop.

Harry nearly bumped into the man, but he stopped just in time luckily. When he tore his gaze away from the dark man, he looked up to see that they were standing in front of a life size painting. An aged man sat comfortably in a soft, large armchair. The coils of a very large snake could be seen behind him – Harry instantly realized that it had to be the size of a Basilisk.

“Oi, Sev! Got yaself another wayward brat there, have ya?” asked a man in green robes; a Scottish brogue heavy in his accent. Harry squinted slightly, trying to get a good view of the man. He was sharp looking and held a regal posture as he sat in his armchair.

“Shut up, Salazar! Not in the mood,” barked Snape, waving a hand over the portrait. It began to move and slowly swung open. The sharp man, who apparently – to Harry’s surprise – was Salazar Slytherin himself, gave him a wink and an almost pitying glance.

“Good luck there, laddie. Ya’re gonna need it.”

“Huh—?”

Harry didn’t have time to contemplate that statement as he was dragged through the portrait hole. A chill went down Harry’s spine at that moment. There was only one explanation for where he was currently. He was in Professor Snape’s own personal quarters. There was no other explanation for it.

Well, that was it. Harry was dead. Snape was going to cut him up and toss him into a potion. He’d probably make all the Gryffindors drink it in their next class, too – just for the sick thrill of it. If Harry was terrified before, it was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. Snape was going to do something to him, there was no doubt about it and there was no one to rescue Harry. 

Not that he felt he deserved any rescue.

Harry didn’t really have time to take in the décor, since he was dragged through the room – which Harry could at least ascertain was the living area – and once they reached a large, light tan sofa, he was tossed unceremoniously and quite roughly into its contents. Harry landed against the soft, plush back of the couch and quickly readjusted himself, so he could fearfully look up at Snape.

The man crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared down at Harry with great controlled fury; his chest heaving up and down slightly with the effort. Harry couldn’t help but squirm in his seat. He felt extremely guilty and now very nervous, not to mention frightened about what Snape was going to do to him.

“You, Mr. Potter, have quite a bit of brazen impudence,” began Snape in a low voice, his glare never wavering. “Never in all my tenure has a student so violated my privacy as you have – and don’t you dare think about gloating about this, Potter. For this transgression of yours, the consequence will be most severe. You will have no desire to gloat after I’m through with you.”

Harry gulped, fully agreeing with the man – even though gloating hadn’t crossed his mind, ever.

“How dare you go through my personal memories,” continued Snape, his tone rising and his glare intensifying. “You knew that I was removing them for our lessons, in case you broke through – which you have once. Do you not understand the severity of this?”

Harry’s lower lip trembled. For a brief moment, a part of himself wanted growl and snap back at Snape, since the man had done nothing but berate and cruelly invade his mind all these lessons. However, he found that he just couldn’t. There was no anger right now. It honestly all made sense now. No wonder Snape had been so hateful since the first class. Harry reminded the man of his horribly cruel father.

Would Harry have the same feelings if there had been a student like that during his years? Malfoy was an obnoxious jerk, yes, but he never attacked Harry because he was bored. If Harry had been in Snape’s position, would he have acted the same, all because that child had reminded of his tormentor?

What if Voldemort had a son? What would Harry’s feelings be towards that child? Would he think of Voldemort every time he saw him?

It put Snape into a whole new light and somehow Harry just couldn’t blame the man for his actions. No, Snape wasn’t perfect and he probably should’ve been more mature over the matter, but Harry didn’t blame him. He never blamed the Dursleys for their cruelty; he knew he was a burden to them. Now that he had seen the truth, there was no one to blame.

Once again, it was all Harry’s fault.

“Well?!” snapped Snape, obviously furious at Harry’s silence.

Harry could only nod his head in agreement. He knew he was in big trouble for his careless and stupid action. He shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have snooped through Snape’s memories. He was an idiot.

“Nothing to say in your defense, then?” demanded Snape, and this time, Harry shook his head. There was a sharp exhale of breath. “Very well, I will execute your consequence immediately.”

As Snape whirled around, his black robes flaring out ominously, Harry found that his voice trembled out, “What are you going to do to me?”

“Something I should’ve done years ago when I learned you were wandering the castle at night underneath that blasted cloak of your father’s,” growled Snape, grabbing an armless chair – easily a chair used at a kitchen table – and setting it in front of the couch about a foot away from Harry. “On multiple occasions, no less!” he added furiously, pointing at Harry, who winced. “But, no, the Headmaster disagreed with me and he let you have run of the castle. But he had no say this night! You will learn and you are long, long overdue for this.”

Harry should’ve known something different was about to happen, especially when Snape hadn’t gotten a cauldron – or, heck, a kitchen knife. Of course, what the Professor was actually about to do would’ve been far from his mind. He would’ve never guessed. Thus, that was why Harry tilted his head in confusion when Snape sat down in the hard chair placed in front of him. The man then commenced to push his excess robes out of the way of his lap. Finally, the man tugged the collared sleeves of his robes down slightly.

A moment later, a hand reached out and, with a firm, powerful grip, grabbed Harry by the wrist. He was forced to his feet and he had to look down at Snape as the man sat in that chair. The man looked up at him with stern, powerful eyes.

“Prepare yourself, Potter.”

Then, without further ceremony and to Harry’s absolute shock, he was tipped over the man’s knees. His one arm was locked against the man’s torso, while his other arm hung loosely from the position. Harry’s eyes were wide with pure surprise as he felt an arm pull him closer to that black covered torso.

This isn’t what I think it is… is it?

Those hard legs underneath his stomach shifted slightly.

He’s not going to…

Crap! He is!

The first slap to Harry’s seat caused him to jerk in surprise. His whole body went rigid as another fell sharply, a hissing intake of breath passing through his clenched teeth. Thus, it continued, the sounds of his currently being punished backside echoing through the dungeon quarters.

This was really happening. He was over his Professor’s knees, getting walloped like a little child. The man was really spanking him – all for going through his Pensive; that was how angry Snape was about this. He, Harry, wasn’t going to be cut up and made into a potion. No, he was just going to have his backside roasted by the palm of Snape’s hand.

Well, the day honestly hit a whole new low for Harry, now didn’t it?

“I should’ve done this years ago,” said Snape, his hand never stopping. There were a few sharp, hearty swats and Harry couldn’t hold back the yelp that slipped from his mouth; his body jerking. He quickly pursed his lips, hoping to stay stoic through this – honestly, this had to be a step higher than becoming potion ingredients. This was easy to take compared to any curse that Voldemort had thrown at him. What was a few wallops to the backside?

Thus, as Harry struggled with the flood of emotions that were starting to build up in his chest, Snape continued his scathing lecture.

“Maybe if I had, you would’ve thought twice before running head first into dangerous adventures. You foolish boy! Don’t you realize that I may have dangerous memories that could put not only you, but myself and the rest of the Wizarding World in great peril? Do you not think about the repercussions of your choices and actions before you begin them?”

There was a sharp prickle inside Harry’s heart from those words. No, he was too old for this, wasn’t he? Fifteen was far too old to be over the knees of an adult, getting a good old fashioned walloping and being soundly reproached for his mistake. Although, the dark thought entered Harry’s mind that something like this would’ve done James Potter a world of good – and definitely Sirius could’ve used a dose of it, too.

Multiple doses…

Sadly at the moment, the only person it was going to do any good for was Harry Potter – and his seat was definitely beginning to feel its affects. With every merciless smack to his seat, a new flare of fire would burn there. It never stopped; on and on the man’s hand continued to reprove the wayward seat that was draped over his knees.

There was no stopping the sniffles that began.

“You are not to repeat what you saw to a single soul, do you hear me? If you even think about relating it to anyone, a repeat session here will be the least of your worries, but certainly not excluded.”

Relate what he saw? Harry didn’t even want to remember it, let alone tell anyone. Why on earth would he tell anyone that his parents were such horrible people? He was deathly ashamed of them. He didn’t want to be their son. He wanted to be someone else’s son. He wished he were a Weasley, even with the hand-me-down clothes and such. At least there was love in that household and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were upstanding, good people.

“I am terminating your lessons as well,” continued Snape fiercely, the spanking still ongoing as he spoke. The fire was overbearing now in Harry’s seat. Every time a harsh swat made contact with his fiery stinging seat, he hissed and sucked in his breath. Real tears built up inside his eyes and they slowly began to fall to the floor. He kept repeating to himself that he wasn’t going to cry, that he could take this, that he deserved this for everything he ever did, but his body just wasn’t listening to him.

Those tears fell, unimpeded.

“How can I trust that you will avoid temptation next time? You have shown nothing but a lax and lazy attitude over these lessons, and I am finished with it. You could’ve put in a little effort, but you were too stubborn. Such laziness – just like your arrogant father before you.”

Snape fell silent as he continued the punishment. Something inside Harry broke. Heart wrenching sobs tore through the air, their sounds overlapping the echoing smacks to a clothed bottom. There was a small thump as a pair of round, black glasses fell to the floor. Harry sobbed over the man’s lap. He couldn’t stop now. He felt like a knife had torn through his heart at Snape’s last sentence. Never before had someone’s words injured his soul like this.

I don’t want to be like my horrible father.

I don’t want to be anything like him!

There was a brief pause, as if Snape was surprised by the sudden change in Harry. It wasn’t long, however. Harry was sure he was going to be over this man’s knees all night long, getting his seat spanked like a little brat, and sobbing uncontrollably for hours. Finally, in between the gasping sobs and the falling tears, Harry managed to speak the feeling that was most prominent through his soul at that moment.

“I hate them!”

There was a shocked pause.

“Potter?”

“I—” There was a gasping hiccup. “I hate them! I don’t want to be like my horrible father. I hate him!”

Everything stopped. The man no longer continued his onslaught against Harry’s vulnerable seat. Harry just laid there, sagging with little energy over the man’s hard knees; the gasping sobs never stopping. Then, he felt a pair of hands slip beneath his armpits and slowly lift him to his feet. Harry had no strength whatsoever. He was emotionally drained. He was carefully set down to sit on the soft cushion of the couch. The contact was thoroughly excruciating to his stinging backside and Harry couldn’t help the hiss of pain that fell from his lips. He kept his head ducked, his upper body constantly shuddering from his tearful breathing.

“Potter, what—”

“Professor Snape…” interrupted Harry, not really hearing the man; his voice cracking against another sob. His hands, on their accord, lifted to his face to wipe the excess of tears that flooded his face. The only thing he could think about was doing better in his lessons with Snape, just to prove that he wasn’t lazy like him. But he couldn’t do that if there were to be no more lessons. He needed them – he didn’t want one stupid action ruin everything. There was a soft sniffle. “I want to continue our lessons. I don’t want to fail at this. I need to learn Occlumency. Please. Let me continue. I don’t have…”

I don’t have anything left.

Fresh tears flooded through Harry’s eyes as he remembered his father’s actions. He curled his arms around his waist and continued to sniffle, until they quickly tumbled into further deep sobs. The pain too much for his heart now. He was officially alone in the world. There was nothing to base his trust on any more. He couldn’t believe in his parents any more – not even his mother.

He just didn’t understand what to do now. He wasn’t sure if he could continue like this any more. There was no one to depend on.

He knew he should feel embarrassed. He knew he shouldn’t be sobbing his heart out like this – he never cried like this – but it felt like the floodgates had finally broken. All the bottled up emotions that Harry had kept close to heart now poured forth without reserve. He could feel the unstableness of his emotions and he just didn’t know how to control it.

This was not a few tears over getting his backside walloped like a naughty little child. This was something far more.

There was an exasperated sigh.

“Potter, stop with the theatrics.”

“I–I can’t,” sobbed Harry, tightening his arms around his waist.

There was yet another sigh, more tired this time. Harry felt the couch dip in weight, signifying that Snape had taken the seat next to him.

“All this histrionics over a well deserved smacking, you really do baffled the mind, Mr. Potter.”

Only quiet, muffled sobs were the man’s answer. It was all crashing down on him, he just couldn’t stop. He never felt so alone in his entire life.

There a lasting, drawn out sigh once more and then, what Harry felt next stilled him.

A hand rested against his neck. It was weighted. It didn’t move. It just lay there on his skin at the base of his neck. The warmth of that hand flowed through Harry, as if something hot had washed over his entire being. His sobs stopped immediately, although his tears only intensified. They came down his face in deep waves, never ending.

Just like the pain inside his heart.

The incessant stinging, uncomfortable pain in his seat was soon diminishing to a fading, dull throb.

But that heartache wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“Potter, for Merlin’s sake, what had gotten you so worked up? I have witnessed you stoically take a broken arm in a Quidditch game. I have witnessed you face a dragon in that foolish tournament. Surely all these tears aren’t from a few, fleeting slaps applied to your disobedient bottom?”

Even in the tears, Harry found himself blushing at that statement. He quickly hid his face into his hands. All he managed in answer to the man was a deep shake of the head. He hiccupped, causing a furious heat to come to his cheeks. The hand on his neck gently squeezed once. The hiccupping slowly stopped.

“Potter.”

Harry didn’t answer. He now refused that name. He wouldn’t acknowledge it.

“Potter.”

Harry shook his head.

“Potter, what on earth is wrong with—”

“Not Potter,” whispered Harry into his hands. Snape stilled beside him, the hand tensing at his neck.

“What did you say?” breathed Snape.

Power rose inside Harry’s voice. The words of his heart flooded forth. If he’d been of sound mind at a different time, he probably would’ve been horrified at the things he was about to say. But at that moment, all he cared about was never hearing that terrible last name ever again in association to himself.

“I’m not Potter any more!” cried Harry in his hands; shaking his head back and forth. “Don’t ever call me that again. I’m just Harry – Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry! Not Harry Potter. Not the Boy-Who-Lived. I’m just Harry! I refused to acknowledge that name any more. I disown my father’s name. I’m sickened by him. Never again!”

If there was ever a time that Snape was unsettled, it was at that moment.

“The memory…” Snape trailed off.

“How could he be so horrible!?” continued Harry, his voice rising to a hysterical level once again. “How could he do that? He was like that all the time, wasn’t he?” Harry demanded, glancing at Snape. He didn’t wait for a response and the rant resumed, “He was a freaking bully! What kind of person just attacks people for the fun of it? How could he? I can’t even—I don’t even—why?”

Snape took a deep inhale through the nose as Harry stopped to catch his breath. Somehow, through it all, the man’s hand hadn’t left his neck. That made some things just a little better.

“You are having an emotional breakdown over that?”

“I am not having an emotional breakdown!” protested Harry hotly.

“I do believe sobbing cauldrons of water onto my carpet counts as an emotional breakdown, no matter what you say,” said Snape, his thin mouth twitching slightly. Harry merely narrowed his tear filled eyes at the man, ignoring the statement.

“I hate him.”

Something strange entered inside Snape’s dark eyes, as if he couldn’t understand what he was seeing. It was masked, however; hidden behind the shields of his mind.

“I hate him,” continued Harry, and his tone truly meant it. He spoke quickly, the words tumbling from his mouth. “Who attacks someone else like that? How could he do that? How can everyone hail him as a hero when he was a horrible person like that? Was he really a hero? How did he get my mother to even like him, let alone marry him and have a child together?”

Further tears filled inside his eyes.

“Who can hate someone else for the mere fact of existing?” asked Harry, the heartache overflowing in his pleading tone. For the first time, Harry watched Snape’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch. “And do you know the best part of it all? If I’d been a student at the same time as him, he probably would’ve targeted me. Because I’m just one of those types. I shouldn’t exist.”

“Potter—”

“Don’t ever call me that again!” snapped Harry hysterically; glaring at Snape with great ferocity. “I’m not his son any more! I’m no one’s son. It’s nothing new! It’s always been this way.”

Harry dropped his face back into his hands again. He started trembling. He didn’t know what to do now. He was beginning to freak out now. He was about to lose it.

“Pot—” There was violent reaction to this and the man tried to change his tactic. “Harry, listen to me!”

Harry felt something try to pry his hands away from his face. Slowly, he let those long, thin fingers pry his hands away from his face. Another hand touched the edge of his chin and tipped his head upward. Hot beads gathered in Harry’s eyes and they fell down his cheeks in warm streams.

The expression of the man that he was forced to look up at, for once, had emotion whirling those dark eyes. There was a long pause, before Snape spoke up.

“You have your… godfather, do you not?” said Snape, the very words sounding absolutely lame on his lips. Harry’s face scrunched up incredulously.

“My father,” Harry spat darkly as he spoke the word, “attacked you for no reason beyond the fact that Sirius was bored. And Sirius didn’t stop him, but joined him. Yeah, some father figures right there. Absolutely brilliant. Father of the Year material right there.”

“Lupin—”

“Sat there and watched. Didn’t do a dang thing. And don’t even joke about ratboy.”

Snape’s mouth twitched.

“Pott—”

There was a vicious glare and Snape cut off immediately. He put a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes for a moment, sighing deeply again. The man tried again.

“Harry, are you telling me that this is the sole thing that has you all worked up?”

Harry’s expression darken and he looked away. There was a long moment, before he said in a soft, pained whisper, “It’s like they died all over again.”

“Harry,” began Snape, sounding thoroughly uncomfortable; as if he didn’t want to speak about the subject, but continued to do so anyway. “Your mother… she was a good woman.”

Harry scoffed.

“Really? She turned her back on you.”

“I…” Snape swallowed once, actually looking sick. “I called her that unforgivable name. She had every right to—

“No!” cried Harry. “She didn’t! It’s just a word – who cares about it! It’s not like you attacked her. She shouldn’t have turned her back on someone in need. It was obvious that you were stressed out for being picked on. It was like you were expecting to be attacked by them. She should’ve hexed him for it.”

“Po—” Snape quickly clipped his words as Harry startled with yet another bad reaction. The man amended himself. “Harry, your mother had every right to turn her back on me. I treated her poorly. Really, Harry, there’s no reason to get so emotional about this.”

Snape sound as if he couldn’t understand what was going on. Of course, it was strange. Harry Potter was denouncing his very name, his very identity. It was very strange indeed. Everything was just wrong. Harry felt horrible for everything. He wished his father hadn’t treated Snape that way. He wished he hadn’t been so negligent in his studies about Occlumency. He also truly wished he hadn’t gone through Snape’s Pensive.

No, he wasn’t sorry because he had gotten punished – even in a very childish way. Harry knew that he never deserved what the Dursleys dealt him. They were unfair. The contrast between him and Dudley was more than enough evidence to display this fact. So, Harry wasn’t unreasonable to fuss about a deserved punishment. Snape had all the right in the world punish Harry for this. In fact, the man probably had been lenient.

Truly, Harry simply felt bad for what he had done.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” whispered Harry, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry my father and his friends treated you that way. I’m sorry I haven’t been taking your lessons seriously. I’m so sorry for violating your privacy. I’m sorry for everything.”

There was a low sigh mixed with a snort.

“You are only sorry because you were caught and severely punished.”

Harry shook his head, uselessly trying to wipe away the tears on his face. A handkerchief was supplied and Harry gratefully accepted. A moment later, Harry’s face was cleared of all fluids. Finally, he looked up at Snape.

“Professor, I deserve all punishments you give me for my stupid mistake.”

“Of course, you do,” said Snape, but not with any real venom. “My word, Po—Harry, if I had known that simply giving you a few wallops to your backside would’ve produced such obedience and compliance, I would’ve put you over my knee the first day you crossed the threshold of the front gates.”

Harry cracked a smile at that. Snape seemed almost relieved by this reaction, as if a teary eyed Harry was a bit too much for him.

Harry never imagined that he’d have such a moment with this professor, of all people. In fact, he never imagined a softness from the man that was revered as the most scary professor in the school – yes, this was softness. Snape had done this because he felt that Harry had needed it and yet, the man had shown softness afterward.

And Harry had to admit, he had needed it.

This was different than the times his uncle had punished him. His uncle had done it simply to cause pain. He never scolded, just berated. Snape, on the other hand, had punished Harry to teach him a lesson; all so that he might learn from his mistake.

It was almost nice to get all that emotion out. He’d been keeping everything bottled up inside so much that this punishment had been the perfect occasion to let everything out. A burden had lifted from his chest now. Everything just seemed a little better now. There was still much to make up for, however.

Harry sobered.

“As my last action as a Potter—” There was an eyebrow raise at this. “—I wish to offer my sincere apologies for my…”

Harry trailed off, pausing for a moment; trying to grasp for the right word to describe his father. He no longer wished to acknowledge James Potter as such any more. Ancestor sounded too far back. Sire made James sound like a horse – not necessarily a bad thing, though. Then, he remembered Hermione mentioning something… Progenitor.

Harry was going to have to learn some new words after this.

“In the place of my progenitor, I want to apologize. I’m truly sorry for his actions and I’m sickened by them. You don’t have to forgive him, but I still want to say that to you.”

Snape only stared at him. Harry stared back. Well, it was a strange situation, but Harry was sincere.

“You never cease to baffle me,” said Snape after a moment.

“Oh…”

“In this case, I would say it is not a bad thing.” A smile began to lift Harry’s face. “However, I think you are overreacting to what you saw.”

“I don’t want to be like him,” whispered Harry, drawing a knee to his chest; not noticing that he was putting his shoes on the man’s sofa. A hand tapped his knee.

“Take your trainers off,” instructed Snape.

“But—”

“You’ll not be returning to Gryffindor Tower tonight, but will be sleeping on my couch. It is far too late and I don’t need an overemotional Gryffindor getting lost in the castle. I’m also quite sure you do not want any odd inquiries sent in your direction about what has your eyes red and puffy.

Harry flushed deeply, but he was thankful nonetheless. Within a moment, he had removed his shoes; the tips of his feet slipping them off at the heels one at a time. He curled his legs to his chest once done and wrapped his arms around them.

His cheeks were flushed a little at what had happened tonight. He never expected that Snape would do something like taking him over his knees. What a childish punishment! Harry figured that he could put up a fuss about it, but in the end, it wasn’t nearly as bad as being made into potion ingredients. Neither was it as impersonal and defacing as what Umbridge had been doing to him.

Snape also hadn’t made fun of him for crying. He hadn’t been his usual extremely cruel self, either. Sure, he was harsh, stern, and fierce, but that was to be expected now, considering what Harry had done. The man had also been something that Harry was greatly unused to when it came to authority.

He’d been soft afterward.

“I wish I was in Slytherin,” whispered Harry. The man sitting next to him went rigid. “Then, I would be nothing like them. There would be nothing to compare. I would be different.”

Not to mention… You’d be my Head of House. Would you have stopped me from doing all those crazy things I always felt I had to do since no one would listen to me? You’re giving me more attention than all my other teachers combined throughout the years. You’re actually listening to me.

Why?

I wish had tried to figure you out earlier.

The sigh that escaped Snape signified his pure exhaustion on the matter.

“Harry, listen. You realize there is no lost love between me and your father and his friends. However, I cannot deny that your father hated the Dark Lord and the Dark Arts. He fought against the darkness until his dying breath.”

“But what about my mother?” demanded Harry. “She hated him! How could she marry him?”

Snape looked away, his eyes darkening considerably.

“I knew Lily well. She would not have married Potter if… if she had not loved him.”

Harry sat there, taking in that meaning. Snape had called his mother by her first name. There was a softness when he spoke of her, something never heard in the man’s voice before. There had always been a hard edge when he spoke of James Potter. But that edge was not in his words about Lily.

“You… You were friends with her, weren’t you?”

There was a pained pause. Snape closed his eyes.

“For a time.”

“And then, she abandoned you,” said Harry, his feelings hardening once again. How she have done that? How could she abandon her friend?! She should’ve known, she should’ve stood by him no matter what. In the end, she was no better than Lupin. She had walked away when a friend needed her the most.

And these people had been hailed as heroes?

“I had long fallen before that event,” said Snape, speaking quietly.

“Still doesn’t make it all right,” insisted Harry. “She should have never abandoned her friend.”

“Humans are imperfect, Harry.”

The owner of that name gazed into the man’s dark eyes, his body loosening up from its curled position. He realized that Snape stopped slipping up. The man was addressing him by name. Harry found that every time the man did so, a warm glow would fill his heart; as if Snape simply calling him by name also meant that he was acknowledging him for who he truly was.

“You keep calling me Harry.”

There was an amused snort.

“You wouldn’t answer to anything else.”

“I won’t,” said Harry, his heart hardening again. “I’ll only answer to Harry now. I don’t ever want to be called that other name again.”

There was a long moment where Snape merely stared at Harry, puzzlement entering those dark eyes. Finally, there was a shake of the head.

“You’re such a strange child.”

A smile tugged at Harry’s mouth. He rather liked the sound in the man’s tone as he said that. Suddenly, Harry didn’t want the moment to end. For some strange, odd reason, every part of his soul wanted to be near this man. He didn’t want their time to end. He didn’t want the attention to end. It was the first true time an adult had an interest in him – even more than the interest Sirius had shown for him.

This seemed more like the interest a parent gave their child and Harry craved that beyond anything in this world. He wanted that and he didn’t even care if it were Snape offering that. In fact, he found he didn’t mind that this harsh, stern, fierce man fulfilled such a role – because even through all that, there was a softness that existed there.

He had felt it. He was still feeling it. And he wanted to keep feeling it.

“I still want to do our lessons. Please, I’ll do better.”

Snape gave out a long sigh.

“I highly doubt you deserve another chance after what you did. It was inexcusable – no matter your intentions. I can’t safely allow you to continue if you have no regard for secrets that should not fall into the Dark Lord’s hands.”

“Please, Professor,” begged Harry, the words tumbling from his mouth quickly. His legs slipped back down, so that he sat normally on the couch once more. “Even if you have to punish me more, I don’t care – I’ll accept it. Please. I promise to do better. I won’t get into trouble. I’ll obey the rules. So please.”

Snape’s eyebrow seemed to twitch with mild amusement as he raised it.

“Oh, believe me, Harry, from now on if I ever catch wind of you breaking any more school rules – even a single one – you’ll be over my knees again for another lesson you soon won’t forget and faster than you can ever utter the name of that reckless game you call a sport,” said Snape, his dark eyes glinting sharply and severely. “And be rest assured that I will know every infraction you commit the day you commit it. The day will not end without a suitable consequence. No more foolishness will be tolerated by me. I will be watching you.”

For some reason, something warmed inside Harry’s heart – even with a fully loaded threat that would without a doubt be fulfilled should Harry step out of bounds. The man’s words were chilling, however, they also meant something bigger than either of them truly understood at that moment. Snape actually cared; he really and truly cared at that moment. He was going to invest his interest in Harry. That was what all that meant. ‘I will be watching you.’

Just like a parent.

“You promise?” asked Harry, an almost vulnerable, childlike yearning appearing in his expression. Snape sucked in his breath, his eyes widening – his usual impassive nature completely being unveiled. He let out a low breath finally. Then, something truly amazing crossed through the man’s face and it was at that moment, Harry knew the future had changed. He knew in that moment that everything was going to be different.

Even with the past animosity, a new era was about to begin.

Snape leaned forward and picked up something from the floor. Then, he sat back up and took Harry by the hand, placing a pair of round, black glasses into the palm there. Harry only glanced down for a minute, before looking back up at the man. His eyes were not lost behind the glasses. They were in their purity. There was a hard swallow and an Adam’s apple bobbed slightly. Dark eyes softened.

That hand hadn’t withdrawn its soft touch.

“I promise, Harry.”