Severus took a moment to take stock and work on controlling his temper. His hand wrapped completely around Harry's wrist, to the point that his thumb overlapped his fingers, and the boy's aunt had already hurt him that way. He would not be another adult who dragged, pushed, or threw the boy around. Especially not today. Though, come to think of it, he really wasn't struggling that badly, at the moment. Not nearly as badly as even five minutes ago. His brief anger had burned out and now he mostly just felt - tired. Tired, frustrated, and dreading this, but not particularly angry. Certainly not tempted to hurt his son.

It was a very short walk back to his quarters, and he put his hand up to let the magic read his palm. A soft 'click' let him know that the wards had opened for him and the door unlocked. Harry would not have been able to get back in on his own, he realized. Tilly could, but Harry could not, and Tilly could not apparate in with Harry. The boy would've been trapped in the dungeon corridor for anyone to find. That did start to kindle his temper. Harry had not been in his chambers when he'd come back from speaking to Albus. Instead, he'd been locked out in the dungeons of the castle. Harry Potter, wandering around the Slytherin section of Hogwarts, alone but for Tilly. Severus could've throttled the both of them. My fault, Severus realized grimly. Again.

Whoever thought it a good idea to give him care of a child- but he cut off the thought. No-one had decided that but him. The boy had been his responsibility from his conception. It was Severus' problem if he hadn't found someone better to care for him before the idiot boy had decided to bond.

But he was the last person he'd have chosen to take care of Lily's son. He, too, had thought the Dursley's better, until the very last minute.

Best to get this done. The door from the hallway opened directly into his living room, and Severus headed straight for the dark leather couch. Sitting down, he stood Harry up in front of him to look him in the eyes. For a moment, he didn't know what to say, and just studied the boy. Harry lost the eye contact quickly, and Severus noticed for the first time how upset he already was. This was not going to be easy.

“Harry, what were you thinking?” he asked his son.

Harry sniffed...and shrugged.

“Harry,” Severus chided.

Harry looked up quickly, eyes widening. “Sorry!” he said. “I'm sorry!”

Like the damned house-elf. The boy was thoroughly spooked. “Shh,” Severus found himself saying softly. Damn his temper. He wasn't even all that angry anymore, and the boy was frightened.

Severus frowned, pulled off track. He couldn't punish the boy like this. He would punish him, but he wasn't even sure that was what the boy was afraid of. By now, the boy was pretty used to that, and he'd never reacted like this.

“Harry, what's wrong?” he found himself asking. He almost startled at the words, like he'd heard someone else say them. He'd never heard his voice sound like that – certainly not since Lily had died. Was it really the first time, or had he just not noticed? It was odd, having his two lives suddenly clash so vividly; talking to Harry from a spot on his own couch at Hogwarts where he was a spy and a potions master and the scariest teacher in the school. The Bat of the Dungeons could not possibly have a son of his own, and yet here he was. It was...terrifying. How had he gotten to this point? What was he going to do, now? Could any of his old life survive, with Harry here?

“I'm sorry,” Harry told him for the third – no, fourth – time.

Severus focused back on Harry as the boy spoke up, and frowned more deeply. From the boy's demeanor, you'd think Harry had murdered someone. But he hadn't answered the question, and Severus was too much the spy to miss it.

“Harry,” he asked again, a little more firmly. “What is wrong?”

Harry gave him a confused look. “You're mad at me,” the boy told him. As if that was wholly sufficient. Which it would be, if the boy weren't suddenly acting actually afraid of him. Surely his aunt's actions couldn't have scared him this badly, this fast? Or was it Severus' actions that had somehow frightened him? But he hadn't even really snarled at the boy. But you did snarl at Tilly, he reminded himself. The boy's not stupid.

“Quite,” Severus confirmed. “What is wrong?”

“W-what are you going to do?” the boy asked him.

Do? Surely the boy knew? “What do you think I'm going to do?” he asked in return.

Harry started a shrug, then gave Severus a leery look and aborted the shrug mid-motion. “I don't know,” Harry told him softly.

Oddly enough, that sounded like the truth. But how could the boy not know? Surely they'd done this dance often enough before?

But finally, the boy seemed to screw up his courage, and spoke again. “P-please don't take me back,” he said to his knees, so quiet Severus could hardly hear him. “I'll be good, I promise! I didn't mean to disobey!”

That was a logical inconsistency, Severus realized. One could not honestly promise not to disobey if one's behavior was not within one's own full control.

Which was not at all relevant or helpful to the situation.

Please don't take me back. Of course. Of course that was what the boy feared. Severus should've predicted it. The fact that he hadn't proved just how off his game Severus really was at the moment. Thank goodness he didn't need to meet with any 'colleagues' tonight. Though I do still have to face Albus again, he remembered. Ugh.

Please don't take me back.

I know you don't want me, Severus remembered. Please don't go away. And now another. Damn.

Gently, Severus put out a hand, lifting Harry's face to look at him. Almost immediately, Harry started to cry. Severus looked at him for a long moment, hesitant, then finally shook his head and pulled the boy into a hug. But he was sitting down on the couch, and the boy was standing, which was uncomfortable for both of them. Grimacing, Severus instead maneuvered the boy into his lap. Apparently Harry didn't find this nearly as awkward as Severus did. His only reaction was to turn his head and bury his face in Severus' neck. After a moment Severus adjusted his arms around the boy to hold him close, doing his best to manage his own awkwardness as he felt the boy's tears leaking down his neck. Damnit. Not again. What was wrong with him that his son cried so damned much? And how the hell did he fix it?

Minerva, he thought again. He didn't look forward to that conversation, but it was nearly as vital as the one he'd had with Albus. He'd need Albus' help to protect the boy, but he'd need Minerva's to help fix the damage he'd done. As usual, and yet another set of unpleasant confessions to make. He did not fear Minerva's reaction as he'd feared Albus', but nonetheless it wasn't going to be a good time.

For now, though, he just needed to answer Harry's anxiety. He could answer all of Harry's questions with touch – he was quite sure Harry would accept it happily – but it wouldn't answer the boy's very rational fears when Severus wasn't immediately there to reassure him. The boy needed something to remember and answer the fears with.

“You are not going anywhere, Harry,” he told the boy. “You are staying with me. Being angry with you will not change that.” But his own words reminded him suddenly of different words - words that he'd been clinging to for twenty years and more, even as he barely believed them.

As disdainfully as he usually regarded this kind of maudlin sentimentality, it was the best idea he had. “You are mine, now,” he told Harry. “You will not – can not – drive me away from you. I will never, ever tell you to leave, or leave myself, or deny you. No matter what you have done. You cannot do anything to make me write you off, or want rid of you.”

Harry had evidently noticed the oddness of his tone, as he'd pulled his face out of Severus' neck and was looking questioningly up at Severus' face. Severus met his eyes, and self-consciously returned to his own wording. “You are my son, Harry,” he told him, fighting to find words that were both honest and reassuring. “You are correct that I chose not to acknowledge that, before, but you are mine just as much as your horrible cousin belongs to your aunt and uncle. You're not going anywhere, ever. No matter how badly you behave or how angry I get. I will not harm you, and I will never take you back to your aunt and uncle. If it is up to me, you will never see them again. I promise, Harry.”

Harry's eyes widened and fixed on his as he spoke. “B-but I'm a horrible son,” he protested.

Oddly, that kindled Severus' temper again, and he found his words coming out sharp. “You're nothing of the sort,” he contradicted. “You're a perfectly adequate son. It is I who have failed you, and not the opposite. I should never have let them take you to your aunt when your parents died.”

He regretted the words as soon as he said them, for a moment convinced he had broken his convictions and lied to his son. The next moment, though, he realized quite suddenly that he'd meant them. If he could, he'd go back in time, quit his spying as soon as Voldemort was destroyed, and take his son as an infant.

But that required him to go back in time, knowing the things he knew now. The man he'd been then would've never considered it – hadn't considered it. He'd taken the trouble to ensure that Dumbledore had a workable plan for what to do with the boy, and considered his responsibility fulfilled. Just checking in on the toddling, babbling infant had felt an imposition, a ridiculous risk and a waste of time he could've better spent on his potions and his spying.

And yet, somehow, he'd found himself doing it...and then letting the Dursleys know he was doing it, and that the boy belonged to him...And then rescuing his son from on top of school buildings, and permitting him to call him 'Father'. Somehow, the more he'd done, the less adequate that attention had felt, until here he was, trying to convince a son whom he really had not wanted that he actually did...without lying. He was aware that most fathers looked down on their sons and felt joy, pride...good things. He hoped he could some day get there. For now, he mostly felt guilt, and anxiety. The desperate need to keep the boy alive and healthy when he'd already done so much damage.

But he could truthfully tell his son that he regretted his neglect. That much, he could do. Harry was still looking up at him, openly anxious and confused.

“We'll figure it out,” Severus told him. “For now, just try to believe me that none of this is your fault.” He hesitated, feeling ridiculous. Was he really going to try to explain this to a nine-year-old? But how else could the boy ever understand what had gone wrong? “It is me that needs to change, Harry,” Severus told him. “I don't know any better how to be a father than you know how to be a son. All I can promise is that I will try.”

“...okay,” Harry said softly.

He still didn't sound happy, and Severus finally sighed, and just repeated the main point. “At any rate, you belong to me now,” he told the boy again. “This is your home. I will not send you away.”

“...even if I'm horrible?” Harry asked him.

“You're not,” Severus retorted sharply. “You are occasionally disobedient – and I am going to punish you – but I certainly do not expect you to earn my regard through perfect behavior. I told you, you are my son, and nothing you can do will change that. Did you think I was lying?”

There was a distinct pause, before Harry decided on his answer. “...no?” he said meekly.

Severus snorted. “Is that the truth?” he asked his son.

Harry squirmed. He knew that lying got him in serious trouble, usually, but Severus was mostly ….teasing. He was teasing. He wasn't sure he'd ever done that before. Harry didn't seem to quite know what to make of it, either, and finally Severus let him off the hook.

“I didn't think so,” he told Harry more seriously. “You don't believe me, yet. Have I ever lied to you before?”

Harry frowned. “No,” he answered. He continued a little more quietly, and Severus could hear the continued hurt and a new bitterness in his words. “You didn't mean for Aunt Petunia to take my plane, either.”

But the plane was still gone, Severus finished for him. And Severus had promised. He still intended to keep that promise, but he didn't want to get Harry's hopes up.

“True,” he said instead. “Do you think it likely that I could 'accidentally' take you back to Privet Drive, then?”

Harry looked up at him, evidently surprised. “...no,” he said.

“So then, I would have to deliberately choose to break my promise, would I not?” Severus pushed.

“...yes,” Harry admitted hesitantly.

“Do you think I am likely to do that?” Severus asked him next. “And be careful,” he warned as Harry opened his mouth. “Think before you answer that.”

Harry closed his mouth, and frowned. “...no?” he finally said.

Severus smiled just slightly. “But you're not really sure,” Severus finished for him. “People have lied to you before, and I have not lied to you but I also have not been very reliable. You don't quite know what I'll do.”

Harry looked startled, for just a moment, but then he looked down, and Severus could see the anger on his face. It was almost a relief to see it. The boy should be angry with him. If he continued to think that Severus was perfect, he'd also continue to think that he was somehow an inadequate son.

But that was as much of this conversation as Severus had the stomach for, and eventually the boy needed to go to bed. Time for a change of subject. Gripping Harry's wrist again, Severus put the boy off his lap and set him back in front of him where he'd been before.

“Now tell me why you disobeyed me,” he told him quietly.

That time, Harry's anxiety was a much more familiar type, and Harry pulled slightly away from him to hunch his shoulders and look at his feet.

“I dunno...” he told him.

Terrible diction. Severus ignored it. “No, you do not want to tell me,” Severus corrected. “That is not the same thing. Answer my question, please.”

Harry squirmed, but finally answered. “I just wanted to look at the armor,” he said softly.

Yes, Severus thought sarcastically. He'd just wanted to look at the armor, which he'd somehow spotted through the four-inch-thick solid wooden dungeon door.

“Hmm,” he told his son, restraining the sarcasm. “I believe the misbehavior started quite a bit before that, did it not?”

Harry pursed his lips, but didn't answer, his gaze fixed on his fingers as they picked at the hem of his shirt.

Severus was tired of looking at the top of his head. “Look at me, Harry,” he demanded.

Harry looked up very briefly, then down again, his shoulders hunching miserably. The movement sparked a memory of the last time Harry had been in quite this much trouble, and a new insight came swiftly on the heels of the memory. Last time, Severus had been gone for an unusually long time and Harry had put himself in immediate danger in order to force Severus to come back. Today, Severus had brought Harry here, dropped him off with Tilly, and disappeared, telling Tilly to come find him if the boy disobeyed. And Harry had almost immediately disobeyed. He really shouldn't have been surprised.

The last time, Severus really had been furious – and for similar reasons. It was not safe for Harry to be disobeying like this, especially right now when he didn't have the measures set up to protect him yet. The boy had reason to think Severus would be furious. But he'd also evidently decided it worth the risk.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps Severus had simply underestimated how hard it would be for Harry to be left alone, even for an hour. after coming to Hogwarts for the first time and after the day he'd had. Severus hadn't even found something to distract the boy with. So Harry had found something, himself. In the way of ten-year-olds everywhere, it wasn't a good something.

Either way, he'd disobeyed – thoroughly – immediately after being brought home with Severus for the very first time. And the boy knew how this went when he was with the Dursleys, but now he was here, and evidently sending him right back was on the list of possibilities for how this could turn out. Perhaps even the first entry on that list, as far as Harry knew.

Harry wasn't looking at him as Severus had asked, or actually answering any of his questions. Which Severus was usually strict about, but he couldn't seem to bring any sharpness into his tone at the moment.

“You meet my eyes and answer me when I ask you something,” he reminded the boy. “I asked why you disobeyed me.”

Harry didn't quite meet his eyes, but he did look up, and his answer was soft but definite. “I don't know,” he said. “I wanted to know where I was. I was just going to look, but then there was the armor, and the painting...”

Oh. Remembering his own first time flooing, Severus nearly winced. Of course the boy would want to know what lay outside of the room they were in. He hadn't even told the boy where he was.

“You're in the dungeons of a castle,” he said, momentarily distracted. “Or, these days, the basement of a school for magic. The rooms in here are all mine, but out in the corridor may as well be a blind alleyway in a bad part of town.”

Harry stared at him. “Really?” he asked. “A dungeon?”

Severus frowned. Was the boy really that distractible? “A very dangerous dungeon,” he told Harry seriously. “Which is why I forbid you from going out there.”

“...oh,” Harry said.

“Oh,” Severus agreed. “Do I need to explain why, to get you to obey me?”

“...no?” Harry answered hesitantly. He finally looked up, at that, and gave Severus a theatrical grimace – one that said, approximately I-know-I-was-bad-but-I'm-really-sorry-and-aren't-I-cute? Apparently, someone in the boy's life was susceptible to being buttered up. Probably his homeroom teacher. Unfortunately for him, Severus knew manipulation when he saw it, and he didn't appreciate it, either.

“No,” he told Harry more sharply. “Nor do I have to entertain you, or tell you where it is I am leaving you. I will try to do so, but you are to obey me whether or not I explain anything at all. And I gave you very explicit instructions. Harry look at me,” he ordered.

Harry had been looking at the floor, again, but snapped his head up, really meeting Severus' eyes for the first time.

“Did I, or did I not, tell you to stay in here?” Severus demanded. He could hear his own anger in his tone – the words came out slow and precise, almost cold.

Harry swallowed, but spoke up promptly. “Yes, sir,” he said softly. The big-eyed stare were much more honest, that time – not intentionally trying to be cute or butter him up, but genuinely very nervous.

Temper, Severus reminded himself, taking a breath. But the more he scolded the boy, the less he'd need to spank him to make an impression. “I also told you to obey Tilly as you would me,” Severus told his son. “Did I not?”

Harry's head sank a little bit down between his shoulders, again, but he didn't look away this time. “Y-yes, sir,” Harry told him.

“Do you have any excuse other than that you were anxious and did not want to obey me?” Severus asked. He doubted it, but Harry had surprised him before.

Harry bit his lip, and shook his head. “N-no, sir,” he said. There was a pause, but Harry seemed to realize he didn't plan on asking anything else and spoke up again quickly. “But I'm really sorry!” Harry told him. “I just wanted to see! I was going to come right back but then the painting lady started talking to me!”

“Yes,” Severus told him severely, “as did Tilly, as I understand it. You managed to ignore her, somehow, and it was Tilly I told you to listen to and obey. And you are merely sorry you were out long enough to get caught.You had no business being out in that corridor in the first place. You should not have even opened the door. You were locked out as soon as the door closed behind you.”

“But-” Harry started, but Severus held up a hand to stop him.

“Enough, Harry,” he said cuttingly. “The facts are very clear. Unless something else happened to compel you out into that corridor, I cannot come up with any explanation other than simple disobedience on your part because you were bored and anxious in my absence. You were locked out, you could very easily have become lost, and some of the people you would meet in these corridors would make your cousin's friend Dennis seem like your best bosom buddy. I do not give instructions for no reason, Mr. Potter, and I expect to be obeyed. Is that understood?”

The last words were nearly bitten off as Severus' temper sharpened, and Harry's eyes were wide on his for a moment before the boy looked down, shuffling his feet. “Y-yes, sir,” he said softly, his voice hitching.

“Good,” Severus told him softly, temper falling as quickly as it had risen. “But this is the second time you've disobeyed me today. I realize that you just wanted to call me this morning, but your good intentions would not have prevented you from falling. You could have thought for a moment and brought a written sign for me, or simply sat up there waving your arms. I would've understood. You chose instead to risk breaking your neck. I have talked to you repeatedly about putting yourself in a situation I would need to rescue you from.”

Which was all absolutely true, and, unfortunately, convinced Severus that his relative lack of temper did not make this any less a serious incident. Sighing, he stood up and strode out of the room to fetch the hairbrush from his bedroom. He wasn't convinced that he was going to use it, just yet – the boy had been very disobedient, but he'd also had a truly horrible day – but just seeing it would have an impression, he thought.

It did. Harry twisted to watch him come in, and his eyes widened when he saw why Severus had left. He bit his lip again, and gave Severus a look that was absolutely imploring. Apparently, the boy really did think that Severus would respond to the so-called 'sad puppy eyes' his colleagues so frequently referenced.

Trouble was, he was almost tempted to, this time. He wasn't convinced he was going to use the brush, and Harry's very genuinely anxious big eyes were making him want to reassure him that he wouldn't. But whether he did or not would depend largely on Harry's behavior now.

So far, Harry was standing stock still, exactly where Severus had left him. But then, he would stay where he was put, now.

There was really no point to extending the conversation. Harry knew exactly what he'd done wrong. He'd known it before he'd even touched the door out of Severus' quarters. He'd deliberately chosen to ignore Severus' instructions.

Severus returned to his spot in front of Harry on the couch, and took hold of the boy's waistband to pull down his trousers, ignoring Harry's gasp. Then he just as silently moved Harry to his right side, and took his wrist – this time the injured one, though he made sure to grip well above the small bruise – to encourage him to bend over his lap. Harry cooperated well, and Severus found himself speaking up.

“Good boy,” he said gently.

He'd never yet been less angry when punishing his son, he realized. Maybe the damned puppy eyes had worked.

(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)

The first swat came quickly, and Harry gave a small gasp at the sting. Oh, no. No, no no. It was far, far too late now, but Harry couldn't help one last protest. Not an argument, exactly but – a complaint. “Father!”

“Do not whine,” his father told him, swatting him sharply.

“B-but-” Harry protested. Another swat. They really weren't very hard, but they stung, anyway, and he just –hated- this somehow. Would've probably hated it even if it didn't hurt. Especially when his father had already spoken to him so sharply.

“Don't bother,” his father told him. “You deserve this, you know you deserve this, and if you'd thought about it for two seconds you'd've expected it. You have no rational reason to complain now.”

“I'm sorry,” he told his father again. He was, now.

There was a pause, so slight Harry wasn't quite sure it had actually happened, but then Father just swatted again...and again.

He was only just getting started, and already Harry wanted it to end. He didn't want to be spanked, and now the situation was totally out of his control.

“F-father!” he protested. “I'll be good!”

It didn't even delay the next swat, but his father did respond. “You'd better be,” he told him. And swatted him again.

It stung. He wanted it to stop. Now, not when his father decided. But nothing he said seemed to help.

“I'm sorry,” he told the man again.

Swat. That one landed low, just above his thighs, and Harry discovered that the spot was especially sensitive. “Father!” he protested again. And squirmed.

“Be still,” his father told him sternly.

But it stung! Father couldn't seriously expect him to just...lie there and take it? He squirmed again, and the next swat landed harder, right in the same place as the last. Apparently, his father really did mean stay still. He stilled.

“Better,” Father told him. “Don't push me. I do still have the hairbrush.”

Harry sniffed. The swats weren't that hard, really, but he still really didn't like them. And that last one had been hard. He didn't want to be spanked!

Covering himself had not gone well last time, he remembered. Somehow he didn't think fighting or kicking would, either. Nor would that have helped. He didn't want to fight, he wanted...like when his father held him, or petted his hair. He wanted...that. Desperately.

And his father was angry, but – maybe?

“F-father,” he tried. “P-please?”

(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)

Severus paused, unable not to at his son's quiet plea. He had one hand draped over the boy's back as he swatted with the other. The boy's butt was faintly pink, but he was not close to done, and the boy had to know it. But there was meaning in the boy's words somewhere. Something other than just 'stop'.

He could actually guess what it was the boy wanted, but he hesitated to give it. If he'd wanted Harry comfortable and enjoying himself, he wouldn't be spanking him. But the fact that his son had asked – and Harry had been offered so little comfort in his life.

Severus picked up his left hand, and rubbed Harry's back gently for a couple seconds. Harry whimpered, the same sound he'd made when Severus had hugged him that morning, then relaxed, tension in his back easing at the brief touch.

“Good boy,” Severus told him. “Stay still.”

This time, when he put his left hand down, he instead placed it on his son's upper back, anchoring him gently over his lap as he resumed swatting him. Harry tensed but held carefully still, and didn't complain further beyond his increasingly hitched breathing.

He wasn't smacking particularly hard, this time, so he didn't count the swats. He just watched Harry. Who was being...still, exactly as asked. It would've been easier if the boy gave him trouble.

The boy's bum reddened under his hand, and Harry eventually buried his face in his arms, sniffing, but apparently still determined not to squirm. He was behaving himself, really amazingly well. But that did not make up for wandering the dungeon corridors when he'd been explicitly ordered to stay put. There were at least a couple of the sixth-and-seventh-year Slytherins that Severus did not want him to encounter.

Severus paused, and eyed the hairbrush, really not wanting to use it. But he really didn't like idle threats, either. It was perilously close to a lie, or a broken promise, and he knew what those felt like. A compromise, then.

Harry had unburied his head from his arms at the pause, and was looking at him over his shoulder, and his eyes fixed on the brush as soon as Severus picked it up. Then he looked at Severus himself, and his eyes were once again huge.

“Just two,” Severus told him.

(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)

Harry saw his father pick up the brush, and couldn't help but give him another pleading look. He wasn't really crying, this time, but the simple hairbrush suddenly looked huge. Terrifying.

But - “Just two,” his father told him. And brought the brush down with a quick flick of his wrist that made a sharp 'snap' against Harry's skin. For half a second, it didn't hurt, but then it was like a whole nest of bees decided to sting him all at once and Harry yipped and jumped, throwing a hand back to belatedly protect his assaulted bottom. He did not like that!

“Harry,” his father said sternly.

Quickly, Harry snatched the hand away, and immediately received the second horrible swat with the hairbrush.

The two were probably worse than the whole rest combined, and Harry found his breath catching in his throat. And then his father gathered him up, and fixed his clothing for him like he was a toddler before tucking him back onto his lap like before. As soon as Harry got there, the tears came, and he found himself pushing his face into his father's neck, desperate not exactly for the comfort but for the reassurance that the man wasn't still angry with him. That brush hurt.

(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)(HPSS)

Harry...clung. Tucked his face into Severus' neck and gripped his robes in both hands and clung. And started to cry. This day was never. going. to end.

But he was starting to know what to do, and Severus just tightened his arms, holding Harry as close as the boy evidently wanted to be, and surprisingly quickly the crying stopped, and Harry relaxed in his arms. But it was very shortly after that point that the boy spoke up, his voice muffled.

“Are you still mad?”

“No,” Severus told him truthfully. He couldn't have been if he'd wanted to, he realized ruefully. There was something...very pleasant...about having the boy that close to him. Holding him close and feeling his body heat and the trust that was so evident in the boy's relaxed muscles and sleepy voice.

A moment later, the boy spoke up again, and this time he was both more awake and a lot bolder. “I don't like that,” he accused.

Since the spanking had happened before, Severus had to assume he was talking about the brush. “I did not imagine you would,” he answered, gently moving Harry off him and starting to get up. “You more than deserved it. And now you're going to bed.”

“It's already nine thirty?” Harry asked, surprise evident in his tone.

Severus nearly smiled, oddly satisfied to hear that his son knew his bedtime. Such a small thing, and so...ordinary, but it was something Harry had not had before.

“No,” Severus answered. “But you've had a long day and you're tired.” And he still had nowhere to put the boy, Severus realized suddenly. And Albus had wanted to meet him.

“Ti – no. Wrigley.”

The elf popped up in front of him a shade faster than Tilly would've, almost startling him. “Master Severus, sir?” he asked, bowing low. “Wrigley is at your service, sir.”

Severus nearly winced. Apparently, his treatment of Tilly had impressed Wrigley, too. As head of the house-elves at Hogwarts, he should not have been quite that respectful. Or at least, he hadn't been, before. “Was I overly harsh, Wrigley?” he asked the elf abruptly.

The elf gave him wide eyes. “Sir?”

“To Tilly, Elf,” he said impatiently. “Was I overly harsh, in ordering her away?”

The elf gave another bow. “It is not being Wrigley's place-”

“Answer the question, please,” Severus ordered him.

Again, the elf bowed, but avoided his gaze when he stood, still obviously reluctant to answer. “Tilly is being very upset, Master Severus, sir,” he said.

“I realize that,” Severus told him, still impatient. The propensity of elves and children to make him ask the same question six times to get a meaningful answer was irritating beyond words. “Will she be alright or was I too harsh?”

Wrigley grimaced, a distinctly un-house-elfish expression, and answered. “Tilly is knowing she is being a bad elf, Master Severus, sir. Neither Wrigley nor Tilly is blaming Master Severus for punishing Tilly. Wrigley should not be having sympathy for such a bad elf as Tilly is being, sir.”

“But?” Severus demanded.

Wrigley winced, and continued. “Tilly is most likely deserving to be treated harshly by Master Severus, sir, but she is being a very young elf, and Wrigley is not liking to see her frightened. She is usually being very happy with Master Severus, sir.” Finally, the elf's nerve failed, and he looked down at his hands. “Please be forgiving Tilly, sir.”

There was an answer in there, somewhere, Severus figured. Perhaps not an actual opinion of what Wrigley thought he should do, but certainly a request for what Wrigley wanted him to do. “You're dismissed, Wrigley,” he said shortly. “Tilly!”

Tilly apparated into the room faster than Wrigley managed to leave it, which gave Wrigley the opportunity to bow deeply to Severus before he apparated out. It was, definitely, the fastest Tilly had ever responded. Her eyes were large and red and wet, and she was practically holding her breath in front of him, her back so straight he half expected her to salute.

“I'm still not pleased, Tilly,” he told the top of her head, “but I have changed my mind as to your punishment. If you would make up a bed on the couch for tonight, then see about organizing a group of elves to add a room to my chambers for Harry to sleep in tomorrow. Somewhat similar to the Slytherin dorm rooms, if you please, but with a desk.”

He paused, then, but Tilly was familiar with him, and simply waited for him to finish. He thought a bit more before answering. “Please see if you can find a small food-preservation box, to fit into one of the walls,” he told her finally. “I may have seen one in the Room of Requirement's hiding place.”

She didn't even look up at him, but gave a deep bow. “Yes, Master Snape, sir,” she said. Tentatively, she paused in front of him, staring at the floor. “Master Snape is forgiving Tilly, sir?” she asked him hopefully.

Severus grimaced. Maybe there existed someone who deserved this kind of adoration, but it was surely not Severus Snape. “Do not disobey me again, Tilly,” he told her. “...but yes, you are forgiven for this incident. Usually, I am very pleased with your service.”

Tilly looked up at him, then, studying his face, and slowly hers brightened. “Yes, Master Snape, sir!” she told him. “Thank you, Master Snape, sir!” This time, she popped out without waiting for him to speak again. Presumably, she was getting bedding from somewhere.

There was a pause, but finally Harry spoke up. “W-what's wrong with her?” he asked softly.

Severus took a breath, stalling. “She is not...abnormal...for her species, Harry,” he explained finally. “House elves exist to serve wizards. There are theories why, but none of them fully substantiated. Once an elf has chosen a wizard to serve, his loyalty is nearly unshakable. Not taking advantage of their mindless devotion and dedication to service can be difficult.”

“Y-you were mean to her,” Harry accused softly.

That...hurt. Surprisingly. Why should he care what a nine-year-old thought of him? “It...is a difficult situation,” he explained anyway. “I cannot allow her to disobey me. I do not wish to be unkind to her, and she may leave any time she likes, but if she wishes to stay, I must be sure that she will obey me and keep her mouth shut. Perhaps I should not have an elf at all, but Tilly wished to serve me.”

“...oh,” Harry said. He didn't seem exactly satisfied by the answer, but he fell silent anyway, and a moment later Tilly popped back in, walking sideways to see around a pile of blankets and pillows taller than she was. She had the good sense not to bow, but made her way directly to the couch. When she'd put the blankets down, she turned back to him.

“Is Master Severus wanting Tilly to transfigure the couch?” she asked tentatively.

Oh. He was an idiot. Exactly how long had it been since he'd lived in the muggle world? And yet in his distracted state he'd still thought of sleeping on the couch like a muggle. Unbelievable. How had he survived as a spy all these years, when he was capable of forgetting about magic?

“Yes, please, Tilly,” he told her. He'd not been looking forward to sleeping on the couch when he needed sleep as badly as he did right now.

What else did he have left to do? Floo me when you're ready. And Albus had wanted to meet Harry. But Harry needed to go to bed. And right now he was so tired that even that small conflict was turning his stomach. But for once in his miserable life he could do what Harry needed, even if it risked angering Albus.

“Bring Harry the necessary supplies for the night, please,” he told the elf.

Which reminded him of what else he absolutely had to do tonight. He wanted to groan, but kept it off his face. “...and a coffee, please.”

“Yes, Master Snape,” Tilly told him.

She wasn't in the least surprised, she noticed. Equally, he knew that the coffee would be prepared exactly how he wanted it, and very likely accompanied by some sort of light food. The elf really was an asset – not only loyal, but smart, and capable of using her own judgement to determine what he needed at exactly the right time. Like not interrupting difficult meetings with Albus Dumbledore, he realized. She'd been right that the interruption would've been hard on him. But she had stepped over the line, that time. He didn't mind her doing things in addition to what he asked her to do, but she'd actually disobeyed. There was a difference. She'd known it, too.

“Thank you, Tilly,” he told her. “That's all for now.”