Harry swore and yanked his hand out from under the bed. A doxy was clamped onto his forearm, it’s tiny fangs sunk deep into his skin. “Ulgh, get off!” He flicked his arm and the little creature went flying, tumbling back into the shadows. Harry stood up and stepped back. Blood was trickling towards his hand. The doxy’s claws had gouged long lines of scratches down his skin and two tiny tooth punctures were oozing blood freely. He made a face and went to the bathroom to rinse off.

It was a warm August evening and he was at Grimmauld Place, gathering his school things in preparation for the trip back to Hogwarts tomorrow. He rinsed the blood away and grimaced as the cuts stung.

“Okay?” Sirius walked by. He noticed the blood. “Merlin, Harry, what happened?” Sirius came in and Harry showed him the wound.

“Doxy.” He said. “Nasty one.” Harry turned the water off and patted his skin dry with a towel.

“Huh, I thought we got rid of them all.” Sirius mused. “We’ll need more doxycide. There’s healing potion in the kitchen, I think. Take a double dose, that should clear it by tomorrow. You don’t want to start the school year with a gored arm!” Sirius grinned.

“Yeah, okay.” Harry said. It didn’t really hurt yet but it looked gross. The punctures were bigger than he’d first thought and the rows of pink scratches down his skin were six inches of shallow jagged-edged flesh. Harry went down the corridor, past his friends who were sitting in Hermione’s room.

“It’s going to be incredible, Hermione! The Moonshot Silver!” Ron was thrusting a folded magazine showing a photo of the yet-to-be-released quidditch broom, slated to drop later that year. Hermione took the magazine with disinterest, watching a Chudley Cannons player zooming around on the sleek prototype.

“Great.” She said, handing it back.

Harry smiled as he headed down the stairs with the towel pressed to his wounds. He was as excited as Ron about the broom but he was certain it would cost about a billion galleons. He went into the kitchen and opened a cabinet above the counter top.

“Potter.” A slightly slurred voice spoke to him. Harry glanced over and saw Mundungus Fletcher at the table wearing his usual pile of rags, staring over a tankard into the fire. The remnants of a meal were on a plate beside him.

“Hey, Mun, didn’t know you were here.” Harry opened another cabinet, saw nothing but a bowl and a cup, and closed it. Where would the healing potions be? He looked around.

“Jus’ got in.” Mundungus said. A big burlap bag was on the table next to him. “I were off doin’ work for the Order.”

None on that shelf either. Harry knelt down and opened the cabinet under the sink.

“What you lookin’ for?” Mundungus asked.

“Healing potion.” Harry said, his voice muffled in the small space. There was nothing under here but dust and what seemed to be a desiccated rat. Harry stood up and sighed.

“I got some stuff.” Mundungus opened his burlap sack. “Just got me a bunch o’ potions. Got some really good stuff in here.”

“From where?” Harry asked, coming to the table. Mundungus wasn’t exactly known for his ethical sourcing of products. More than likely he’d stolen this bag from someone.

“A fella I know. Good bloke. What you need?”

“Just a healing potion. Got bit by a doxy.”

“Healing potion, you say?” Mundungus dug through the bag, glass vials clinking, and pulled out a faceted crystal cruet stopped with a cork. He popped the cork and sniffed. “Here ya go.” He handed it over to Harry. He took it dubiously. The liquid in the cruet was the same shade of crimson as a healing potion. He sniffed. It had a mild medicinal scent, just like a healing potion.

“Are you certain this is a healing potion, Mundungus?”

“Oh yeah!” Mundungus said. “The bloke I seen, he knows his stuff.” Mundungus belched and drank from the tankard. “It’s on me list here, see?” Mundungus produced a grubby piece of parchment detailing the contents of the bag.

Harry paused. His arm was starting to ache. Doxies were technically venomous but their venom was harmless long-term to humans. Untreated Harry knew his arm would ache something fierce but would heal up on its own in time. He took a small sip and licked his lips. It was pretty bitter, but otherwise tasted mostly like healing potion. He waited a few seconds. He didn’t burst into flames or anything. It was probably fine. Relieved, Harry gulped down the entire contents.

“Thanks, Mung.” Harry said with a grin.

“Eyy, don’t mention it, lad.”

Harry didn’t sleep well that night, tossing fitfully in his sheets. He woke up several times drenched in sweat. At one point he threw off his sodden shirt and dug through his packed trunk to put on another. His head pounded. He dreamed of spidery fingers racing over his body, sinking below the skin and tapping along his nerves. His spine was gripped in a tight cold fist and the muscles in his legs and arms fluttered and cramped. His very veins felt aflame, burning from head to foot. It was impossible to relax. If his headache abated, he was sweating. If the sweat dried, his throat was raw. Around dawn, after sleeping for barely three hours, he gave up and opened the curtains. Pale grey light shadowed the room and Harry sat on the edge of his bed, trembling faintly. What the hell was this?

The floor in the corridor creaked and then Sirius’ soft voice: “Harry?”

He hitched a knee up on the bed as he turned around. “Hey Padfoot.” His voice was hoarse and sullen.

“Are you sick?” Sirius came into the room. Their bedrooms shared a wall and Sirius probably heard the tossing and turning. Little did he know that his godfather barely slept anymore, not since Azkaban.

“I think so.” Harry said.

Sirius sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Harry’s forehead. The cool hand felt so good against his flushed skin. His eyes fluttered closed.

“Merlin’s balls, Harry, you’re burning up! Did you take a healing potion earlier?” Sirius wondered if this was the doxy venom at work. Had this doxy been particularly venomous? Still, Harry shouldn’t be having this kind of reaction to a simple bite.

“Yeah.” Harry said. “Mundungus gave me one.”

Sirius paused. “Mundungus gave you a healing potion?”

“Yeah, he had just bought, er, gotten some potions. He gave me one.”

Sirius didn’t say anything and Harry looked at him in the slowly brightening room. “Did you look in the cabinet for one?”

“I did but I couldn’t find any.”

“You’re sure it was a healing potion he gave you?” Sirius said.

“Yeah! It looked and tasted like a healing potion. My arm stopped hurting.”

This was good enough for Sirius. He stood up. “I’m going downstairs anyway, I’ll make you another dose. Healing potion’s about the only potion I can make decently. Got horrible marks in potions.”

“How come you’re up, Sirius?” Harry asked.

Sirius paused in the doorway. Because I couldn’t sleep from all the nightmares I keep having about Azkaban? Because my mind is always racing a mile a minute? Because I dream that Voldemort is going to kill you and if you died that would end me?

Sirius shrugged. “Not very tired I guess. Lay back down, Harry. Read or something. I’ll bring you another dose in a flash.”

Harry felt much better a few hours later. The healing potion Sirius made him was potent and by the time they were ready to leave for the train station to board the Hogwarts Express, Harry felt completely normal. He bid Sirius goodbye at Grimmauld Place and Ron’s dad escorted them to King’s Cross where they met up with Molly Weasley, Ginny, and the twins. They all hugged the Weasley parents goodbye and boarded.

“Have a good year, kids!” Arthur called.

“Stay out of trouble!” Molly added in a wobbly voice.

“Molly, darling,” Arthur put a hand around her shoulder as the train pulled away. “It never gets easier, does it?”

“No.” She wiped her nose with a handkerchief, watching the train containing most of her children, Harry included, shrinking into the distance.

“They’ll be back for the holidays before you know it. And besides….it’s not so bad to have the house to ourselves, is it?” He had a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Arthur!” She pretended to be scandalized and they giggled as they left the station to return the the empty Burrow.

 

 

Ninety minutes into the journey found Harry yawning. He was in the compartment with Luna, Neville, and his toad, Trevor. Ginny was hanging in the open doorway with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. Ron and Hermione were prefects now and they had to deal with the first years on the train. They were all chatting and catching up from the summer. Harry wanted to join in but he was so tired. He leaned his head against the glass as Neville laughed loudly at something Dean said.

“Harry?” Luna touched his arm. “You okay?”

“M’tired.” He said.

“Were you ill?” She asked, her voice breathy as usual. “Maybe you have a Bulbous Rexcore infestation?”

“Uhhh, doubt it.” Harry said, wondering what on earth a Bulbous Rexcore was. It was hard to articulate what was wrong. His head kind of hurt and he felt both restless and tired. The throat pain had gone away but he was feeling warm again. He was just….off.

“I wonder if Madame Pomfrey knows anything about Bulbous Rexcores?” Luna said to no one in particular.

“I should be fine.” He said, lifting his head off the glass when he heard the familiar, “anything from the trolley, dears?” Harry loaded up on chocolate frogs from the kindly witch, doing his best to ignore his symptoms. He probably just needed a good night’s sleep. A chocolate frog or two wouldn’t hurt either.

He crammed the frog in mouth and looked at the accompanying card. Professor Snape. Harry made a face and dropped it on the floor. The less he saw of Snape this year, the better.

 

 

Harry still wasn’t feeling well by the time they got to Hogwarts. He practically fell asleep during the dinner and sorting. He wasn’t hungry and rather than laugh and shout with his peers, everything seemed just a little too loud and bright. Hagrid’s giant-sized absence didn’t make him feel better and no one had anything good to say about their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dolores Umbridge. When everyone stood up to go to their dorms, Hermione grabbed his arm and steered him away from the crowd.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked. “Dorm’s that way.” He pointed in the direction everyone was heading.

“We’re not going to the dorms. We’re going to Madame Pomfrey. You look awful, Harry!”

“But you’re a prefect now, you have to go—”

“Miss Granger. Mister Potter.” Professor McGonagall’s voice stopped them both. “I know it’s been an entire summer but surely you’ve not forgotten where the Gryffindor common room is?”

“Professor, he’s not well.” Hermione said.

McGonagall looked at Harry over her spectacles. The boy looked positively peaky. “Hm. Right. With me, Potter. Miss Granger, assist your fellow prefect with the students.”

“Yes, Professor.” Hermione gave Harry a final glance and left.

“What are your symptoms, Potter?” McGonagall began walking with Harry.

“Um, headache kinda. My throat hurt yesterday. I didn’t sleep well. Really warm? Like my veins were on fire.”

She gave him a sharp look. He shrugged.

“That’s the best way I can describe it. Nightmares too.”

“About…him?”

“No, not Voldemort.”

They traveled the short distance to the hospital wing where Madame Pomfrey was getting settled in her office post-feast. McGonagall knocked on her door.

“Minerva, nice to see you again.”

“Hello Poppy, I’m afraid I have an ill student.”

“Already? Starting early this year.” She came out of her office and laid eyes on Harry. A thin sheen of sweat was on his face and his eyes were ringed in dark, tired circles. “Goodness, Mr. Potter.” She said. “To bed!”

He didn’t argue. He was definitely ill.

Harry wandered over to a bed and Madame Pomfry turned to McGonagall, “thank you, Minerva, I can take it from here.”

She left and Madame Pomfrey gave Harry a fresh set of hospital trousers and a buttoned shirt. He knew the drill. He had spent enough time in the hospital wing to know that he was to change behind the curtain and come straight to bed. He changed quickly, feeling woozy, and got into the hospital bed. No sooner was he settled than a thermometer thrust itself into his mouth. Madame Pomfrey put two fingers on his wrist, checking his pulse. Harry stayed still until she set his hand down. She took the thermometer.

“Oof, Harry, you’ve a fever.”

He laid back on the pillow, sweating and chilled.

“When did this start?” She asked.

Harry detailed everything from the doxy to the moment he drank the potion to his arriving at Hogwarts.

“Harry, I’m going to do an assessment and a blood draw.”

“Okay.” He said.

She summoned a needle, vial, and some tubes from a cabinet. She cast a quick numbing charm on the crook of his elbow, cleaned his skin, and drew a vial of blood. She brought it to her office and came back, murmuring the words needed for the full assessment. It was a simple, invaluable spell. She held her wand over various points of the patient’s body, casting an invisible net of sorts that would glean information about metabolism, blood type, allergies, recent food eaten, and most importantly in this case: the contents of the most recent potions he’d consumed. She finished the spell, leaving a hair-thin network of criss-crossing soft blue lines hovering a foot or so above Harry’s body. 

“Have you had a healing potion?” She asked.

“Yeah. Two this morning.”

“Oh, that’s enough then. No potions since?”

“No.”

“Alright love, just you rest now. We’ll have that assessment soon. If anything funny turns up we’ll ask Professor Snape.”

Snape was the last person Harry wanted involved in his illness.

“Would you like a calming draught?”

“I think I’ll be okay…” he thought of the nightmares and their spidery fingers. “Maybe the dreamless sleep?”

“Sure.” She reached into her apron. She often carried vials of healing potion, calming draughts, dreamless sleep, and the like. In a place like Hogwarts it was wise to be prepared.

Harry’s assessment turned up an odd mixture of ingredients running through his system, the likes of which Poppy Pomfrey had never seen. This disturbed her. She was an expert potions witch, regularly putting together various calming, healing, and medicinal mixtures. She could cure the flu, guess the exact dosage of skele-grow a patient required just by looking at them, soothe teenage skin conditions, provide a plethora of premenstrual syndrome panaceas, fix a cold, and much more. She knew just about every potion that could safely go through a young magical body and had devised several bespoke potions herself.

This though…this was beyond her. Whatever Potter had consumed, it certainly wasn’t just a healing potion. Sure, the ingredients for a healing potion were present—Bubotuber pus, dittany, wormwood, etc—this was expected. There was also asphodel, which was common enough, but definitely not found in healing potions. The assessments also turned up dragon claw ooze, Granian hair, and something called Anjelica. She wasn’t sure if Anjelica was a plant, person, or animal.

She went to Harry’s bedside the next morning with a breakfast tray once he was awake.

“How do you feel, Harry?” She asked.

“The same.” He said. He still had dark circles around his eyes despite the night’s solid rest. “My head kinda hurts again. My fingers and toes are tingling.”

“Are you hungry?” She asked.

He shrugged.

“Try, anyway.” She set the tray down on a table and wheeled it towards him.

“Madame Pomfrey, what did the assessment show?”

She paused and Harry sprinkled some sugar on his porridge.

“Well, Harry, you did take a healing potion.”

“Yeah.” He said, bringing a spoonful of porridge to his mouth.

“However, there’s something else in your system.”

He put his spoon down. “What?”

“I don’t exactly know.” She said. “Many of the ingredients aren’t typically in any sort of potion used for medicine.”

Harry’s face was pinched. “Do you think those other ingredients are what’s making me sick?”

“Most likely. When Professor Snape returns, we can ask him. He’s our resident potions expert, after all!”

Harry’s appetite was throughly gone now.

Seeing his dejected look, she continued. “There’s no reason to think you can’t be cured, my boy. If whatever potion you took was going to kill you, it likely would have by now!” She was trying to be positive but Harry found this even more depressing.

“Thanks, Madame Pomfrey.” He said. “When can I leave? I have class…” He hated the idea of starting the school year behind. Fifth year was supposed to be hard enough.

“I’ll check your symptoms after lunch.” She said. “If you’re feeling better, you can go to class.” She didn’t like that answer but she could hardly keep the boy here if he felt well enough to attend classes.

Harry leaned back in the pillows and chewed his bottom lip. This was probably nothing. It was most likely a bug he’d picked up. There was always something going around. He’d take a few potions and be good as new in a couple days.

Harry spent the morning alternating between dozing fitfully and being bored out of his mind and was thrilled when Ron and Hermione showed up before lunch.

“We all have a study period.” She explained. She handed Harry his schedule for the year and he glanced it over. Double Potions with the Slytherins first thing in the morning, bloody hell. Then History of Magic, a study period, lunch. Charms and Transfiguration and Herbology. The three of them were taking some different classes this year so Harry knew their schedules would vary from each other’s and they wouldn’t all be together everyday for every class.

“Neville accidentally turned Flitwick into a bullfrog in Charms.” Ron said with a grin. He had Charms class in the morning. “It was brilliant. McGonagall had to come fix it.”

They each sat at his bed side. Ron gave Harry a few get-well cards people had made, as well as a load of candies and sweets. Fred and George had passed along a toy Hungarian Horntail that, when activated with the right words, would fly around the room and shoot real fire. “Wicked.” Harry said as it sailed around the ceiling. “Tell them thanks.”

Hermione had a massive book clutched to her chest.

“Day one and you’re already doing some light reading?” Harry joked.

“Very funny. I looked up your symptoms.” She opened the book.

“Is that the polyjuice book?” Harry asked, remembering the dusty, gold-embossed cover of “Most Potente Potions” from their second year. “That’s in the restricted section!”

“They’re more lenient with prefects…” Hermione said absently as she turned the pages.

“There’s another librarian now.” Ron added. “A Ravenclaw seventh year. Guess she’s working in the library for pocket money. She doesn’t really care what anyone does…not like ol’ Pince…”

Hermione found the page she was looking for and pointed to a list of symptoms. Ron leaned back in his chair beside her, looking at the page. “Harry,” she said, “you said you had an intermittent headache?”

“Yeah it comes and goes.”

“Night sweats? Chills?”

“Yeah.”

She dragged her finger down the page, reading off the symptoms.

“Fever?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Tingling?”

“In my fingers mostly.”

“Hermione, it could be so many things.” Ron said.

“I’m not finished. Nightmares?”

“Yes…”

“What was in the nightmares?”

“Um, it felt like there were, like, spiders in my body, or like fingers going under my skin and poking my nerves.”

Ron and Hermione were silent. Harry continued. “There was a lot of pressure in my spine and my muscles got really tense. My veins got really hot?” He added. “I don’t remember if I dreamed that or if it was real.”

“Blimey.” Ron was still looking at the page.

“What?” Harry said. “What’s the potion?”

“Here.” Hermione put the huge book in his lap and he read:


“If Nox rubrum is administered correctly, the host will experience a variety of symptoms. The most common are: Intermittent headache, night sweats and/or chills, fever, nightmares, tingling sensations in the body, and a sore throat. The few accounts collected detail the nightmares in a similar way. Those who experience nightmares state they dreamed of a sensation under their skin not unlike heat or fire in their veins. Some reported a whimsical sensation of “fingers” or “spiders walking.” Hosts also reported back pain and muscle tension.”


Harry looked at them, surprise evident on his face. “I mean, yeah my symptoms match this but like Ron said, this could be a lot of things. What is this anyway?” Harry flipped the page back and read, “Nox rubrum.”

“Never heard of it.” Ron said.

Hermione gestured for the book and Harry handed it over.

“I remember reading about this back when we checked this book out to make the polyjuice potion, so I looked it up again,” she said. “Nox rubrum is one half of a two-part potion. It’s really weird and complicated.” She looked worried. She closed the book and pulled another one from her bag. This one was much thinner and smaller. She opened it up to a marked page in the middle. “Here, listen:


“Draught of Asphodel. Also known as Servi amicus or Geminos essentia, this is one of the most rare, difficult to create, and unique potions in the world. It is a dark potion with a shadowy past rooted in enslavement and imprisonment. Great caution is to be exercised when exploring this potion.

Draught of Asphodel is unique in that it contains two potions in one: Nox rubrum and Solis argenti.

The potion is thought to have been created around 2500 BC but the true date is unknown. It has been altered and advanced over the centuries, usually to decrease potency, for the true dosage of Nox rubrum is long lasting and over time may even kill its host.

Draught of Asphodel was originally designed as a method to keep slaves and servants obedient. The process works as thus: The servant drinks Nox rubrum while the sun is set. The master drinks Solis argenti while the sun is risen. The servant, upon disobedience to their master, will experience a series of unpleasant painful attacks that may last anywhere from a few seconds to an attack that is ongoing and unrelenting. These attacks will increase in potency and frequency until the master disciplines the servant. If brewed correctly, the pain will vanish and the cycle begins anew upon the servant ’s next transgression.”


Hermione paused and looked up at Harry, who was staring at the little book, jaw agape, with a look of complete shock on his face. Ron was looking at him too, his face pinched in sympathy.

“I’m going to bloody kill Mundungus.” Harry hissed.

“There’s more.” Hermione said grimly.


“The two hosts must be in proximity to each other for DoA to function. The true distance is unknown at the time of this volume’s publication but it is thought to be anywhere from several hundred feet to several miles. This guesstimate is taken from the personal account of the servant Jeremiah Forte who was dosed with this potion by his employer. Forte stated, ‘I cannot leave the property without feeling as though roots of lightning are taking up residence in my limbs. I beseech Merlin that my master not feed me another dose for I cannot visit my ailing mother two counties over. Smithe was dosed as I and is able to perambulate to the local town with nary a symptom.’

Once the aforementioned attacks, begin, the servant ’s best course of action is to seek out their master for discipline. The discipline meted out by the host who has Solis argenti running through their veins will immediately halt Nox rubrum’s attacks. If done correctly, only upon the servant’s next transgression will the cycle will start anew. Individuals who have taken Nox rubrum are advised not to attempt to take healing, calming, etc potions or the like as the Nox rubrum will render them ineffective until discipline has been administered. The following disciplinary measures are known methods of halting Nox rubrum’s cruel cycle:

-Beating the servant with an open hand or implement such as a belt, paddle, or similar,

-Removal of limbs,

-Branding with a hot iron. ”


She paused.

“What else?” Harry said. His face had gone pale. “What else is listed under discipline?”

“Harry, that’s all that’s listed.” She said sadly. She read some more.


“It is unknown how exactly DoA functions, nor how Nox rubrum is able to detect alleged rebellion or disobedience in its host. It’s likely a complicated neurological effect, however, this potion has been little studied. While Nox rubrum may be consumed by anyone of any age, the accompanying Solis argenti, the ‘master’ part of DoA, has more fickle host requirements. For Solis argenti to function properly the host must be:

1) over the age of thirty,

2) able to remain within proximity of the servant for extended lengths of time,

3) optional, but highly encouraged, someone who is adept at potion-making, for the master needs to take weekly doses of Solis argenti, less it leaves their system and they inadvertently kill their servant.

Caution: Anyone who consumes Nox rubrum must find a host for the Solis argenti within ten days or else the Nox rubrum will kill its own host."


Hermione leaned back. They all sat in silence for a few moments.

“So,” Harry began, trying not to tremble, “if this is what I drank, this Nox-whatever, I have this potion in me that makes me a servant. I need someone who’s old, can stay nearby, and knows a lot about potions to play at being my ‘master.’ Any time I disobey the master, I get attacked by this Nox-thing until that person hits me, or whatever, to make the attacks stop?”

“Basically?” Hermione said.

“That’s barmy.” Ron shook his head. “That’s messed up.”

Harry’s breathing got faster and his face flushed.

“Harry,” Hermione said, “we don’t know if this is what you took.”

“Fucking Mundungus!” Harry grabbed his empty porridge bowl and flung it across the room. It shattered against a wall. The dragon, still puttering around the ceiling, came crashing down. Madam Pomfrey popped out of her office. “What was that?”

“Sorry, we had an accident.” Ron said. Hermione pulled the ancient tome to her chest protectively and slid it into her bag. Ron continued, sounding apologetic, “Harry dropped his bowl.” They all stared at the shards, some twelve feet from Harry’s bed.

“Dropped?” Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and waved her wand. The mess vanished. “Control yourself, Mister Potter. This is a hospital, not a troll’s cave.” She went back to her office.

“We should go talk to McGonagall.” Hermione said to Ron as she stood, “figure out what this is.”

“Wait!” Harry said as they stood. “It’s probably not that potion, the, the,” Harry waved at the book, “draught of daffodil? Right?”

“Asphodel.” Hermione hissed. “And I don’t know, Harry, you have a lot of the symptoms.” She and Ron exchanged a look.

“C’mon,” Harry said, trying not to freak out, “you really think Mundungus would get his hands on a nasty potion like that?”

She and Ron exchanged a look.

“Mundungus Fletcher.” Harry repeated. “in London?!”

Hermione conceded this and nodded. “Okay, it’s really unlikely but either way, we need to get to the bottom of this.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Madam Pomfrey said I could leave if I don’t have symptoms. Let me, just—Madam Pomfrey?” He called.

She came to him.

“Can I go?” Harry asked.

She sighed and summoned the thermometer. It pushed itself into his mouth and they waited.

“Well,” she read the gauge, “your fever has abated. Do you feel okay?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Bit tired but yeah?”

She stared at him for a moment. “Alright, I suppose. But if you feel ill at all, come straight back here.”

“I will, I will.” Harry threw off the covers. If this was Draught of Asphodel and he had taken Nox rubrum he only had a few more days until he would die. They had to figure this out before then.

Hermione knocked on McGonagall’s office door. It was lunchtime and the trio hoped she was in her office. They could have waited until tonight but she would probably want to hear about this as soon as possible. Harry, changed back into his school robes, hung back, his hands jammed in his pockets. Ron had been trying and failing to make Harry laugh the entire way over here from the hospital wing. Harry was too worried to laugh. What if this really was Nox rubrum and he’d die in ten days? Not even ten, closer to eight days now.

“What’s this?” McGonagall answered, clearly surprised to see Ron and Hermione at her door. “Shouldn’t you be at lunch?” She saw Harry lingering behind the pair. “Feeling better, Potter?”

“No.” He muttered.

“Please, Professor.” Hermione said, holding her book. “It’s about Harry and his being sick. I think you should hear this.”

“Oh, well, come in then.” She stepped aside. Her office was spacious. The tall windows let in loads of sun and the edges of the lake could be seen down below, glittering. She gestured to her sofa and the three of them sat, Hermione in the middle. McGonagall waved her wand absently and four cups of tea and a tray of sandwiches appeared on the table in front of them. McGonagall sat in an armchair, tea in hand, and waited patiently. Hermione took a deep breath and filled her in, recounting nearly every word she’d read aloud back in the hospital wing. Ron picked up a sandwich while she spoke and chewed quietly, thinking.

“Are we certain this is the potion Potter has consumed?” McGonagall asked when she was done, glancing at Harry. He was staring off the side, his elbow propped on the sofa arm, his fist pressed up against his mouth.

Harry sighed. “My symptoms match exactly with what the book says. I have the tingling and, and I had the nightmares.” He shrugged.

“Professor,” Hermione said, “if no one drinks the Solis argenti, Harry will die.”

McGonagall pursed her lips. “We don’t know for sure this is Nox rubrum…” she glanced at each of them, taking in their concerned expressions. “But I take your point. Remind me, what were the requirements for the ‘master’s potion’ in this situation? The, ah, Solis argenti?”

“Over thirty.” Ron said, swallowing his sandwich.

“Able to maintain relatively close physical proximity.” Hermione said.

“Good at potions.” Harry finished in a dull tone.

“Well,” McGonagall said. “There’s only one man I can think of that meets all three criteria.”

They all said at the same time, “Professor Snape.”



Professor Snape was not in the best of tempers. Playing at being on both Voldemort’s and Dumbledore’s side was exhausting and the trip he had just come back from had lasted far longer than he wanted. His plan was to get back to Hogwarts well before the start of term so he would have ample time to prepare his lessons. So much for that. He’d been informed his classes were being taught by Remus Lupin. In terms of substitute teachers, it could be far worse.

He’d dropped his things in his quarters and tossed his damp travel cloak across a chair to dry by the fire. Now he was sitting in his office in his comfortable desk chair with a couple fingers of firewhisky spiked with a relaxation potion. Already a stack of worksheets waited to be graded and Lupin had confiscated some kind of silly joke device from a group of first years. He was glad to be back at Hogwarts, however, and looked forward to staying put in the castle for the time being. Voldemort was as content as he could be expected to be and Snape was looking forward to a nice easy first week to get back in the swing of things. No surprises, no more long trips, just routine.

*Knock-knock!*

A sharp rap on the door. He took a deep breath, wondering vaguely what fresh hell this was, and went to open it.

“Minerva.” He said neutrally.

“Severus, I apologize for the sudden call. I know you’ve just returned.”

The door opened further and Snape’s sallow face appeared. Harry exchanged a look with his friends. None of them wanted to talk to Snape.

“We’re in a bit of a pickle, potion-wise.” McGonagall said. “Do you have a moment? It’s urgent.”

Snape saw Hermione, Ron, and Harry and his lip curled. “What now?” He opened the door further. “What did they do?”

The four of them piled in. Snape’s dungeon office was similar in size to McGonagall’s, though lacked the windows overlooking the lake. A fire crackled on the far side of the space, taking the edge off the dungeon’s persistent chill. Hermione simply opened the thin book that detailed the Draught of Asphodel, handed it to him, and showed him where the passage was. She wisely figured Snape would want to take in the information himself and not hear it from her secondhand.

They were quiet as he read through it, his brows rising ever higher. He went back to his desk and sat.

“Sounds like a nasty potion.” He said. “Why are you showing this to me?”

Hermione fidgeted and handed him the other book. He glanced it over. “Sir,” she said, “because we think Harry drank the Nox rubrum.”

Snape blinked at her, shocked, and looked at McGonagall, a silent ‘explain’ on his face. McGonagall recounted escorting Harry to the hospital wing. Harry jumped in and explained how had taken a potion at his blasted godfather’s and experienced all sorts of unpleasant symptoms, which Miss Granger so conveniently showed him in the two tomes she’d borrowed from the library. When Snape was all up to speed, he paused, thinking.

“This is a very dark potion.” He said after a moment. “Servi amicus means “servant’s friend” and Geminos essentia, Twin essence.” He glanced back at the thin book. “The suggestion of ‘master and slave’ indicates it could possibly have ties to the Imperius curse. For this potion, this Nox rubrum, to infiltrate a person’s body so thoroughly to the point where it can detect transgression—read the host’s mind, in a sense—and then unleash a sort of physical warning system, one that then responds to external physical stimuli…that’s incredibly complex and unusual on it’s own.”

He picked up his tumbler of firewhisky and tilted the glass in a slow circle, staring at it absently as he spoke. The amber red liquid flashed in the firelight. “The existence of the second half of this potion, the Solis argenti, adds another layer of complexity. The Nox rubrum, while inside a live body, senses the presence of the Solis argenti in another live body. Somehow. It recognizes its other half and together both potions have some symbiotic connection. How they sense each other I can’t even begin to guess. The Nox rubrum produces unpleasant sensations until it detects that the host who has consumed Solis argenti has appropriately ‘punished’ its own host.” He paused. Dark as it was, it was utterly fascinating. All potions were interesting but this was a whole other animal, one he’d not encountered before.

He looked at Harry, who seemed like he was going to faint. “Did you see Madame Pomfrey?”

Harry nodded.

“What did she say?”

“She ran an assessment. The ingredients she found were weird.”

“Excellent.” Snape said. He set his tumbler down with a thump and glanced down at the library book, open on his desk. “I’ll need those results.”

“Severus,” McGonagall said, “do you really think he consumed Nox rubrum?”

“Potter, remind me.” He said after a moment, “where did you get this potion?”

“Mundungus Fletcher.”

“Mundungus Fletcher.” Snape repeated. “What possessed you to drink anything that man offered?”

“He said it was a healing potion!” Harry snapped. “It looked like a healing potion, it tasted like a healing potion…mostly.”

“Mostly?” Snape repeated.

“It was more bitter than usual.”

“Because it probably wasn’t a healing potion!” Irritated, Snape flipped pages in the book until he found the Solis argenti, complete with ingredients list and instructions. He laughed mirthlessly. “Well Potter, you certainly know how to pick a potion.”

“I wouldn’t have—!”

“—The chances that you actually consumed Nox rubrum are astronomically slim, but, not impossible. Where did Mundungus acquire it?”

“I don’t know. He had a bunch if potions in a bag and he gave me one.” Harry snapped his mouth shut and his ears went hot. It sounded really stupid when he said it out loud.

Snape rubbed his temples and wished for strength for himself and a brain for Potter. “If this is Draught of Asphodel and if you actually consumed Nox rubrum, you need a host for the Solis argenti, lest you die. How long has it been since you wisely drank this mystery potion out of a bag that may or may not be Nox rubrum?”

“It’s been almost three days.” Harry said a dull tone.

“So you need a companion host in a week or we shall be having ourselves a Potter funeral.”

“Severus, is there anything you can do?” McGonagall asked.

“The Solis argenti is simple enough.” Snape said, looking at the book. “It’s listed right here. I have all the ingredients in my stores now.” He ran his finger down the ingredients list and glanced over the directions. “It has to sit overnight. Bit fiddly to brew, looks like.”

McGonagall exhaled. “Are there side effects?”

“None.” Snape said, reading some more. “These ingredients are basic. Anyone who consumes Solis argenti even without the presence of the Nox rubrum wouldn’t have any untoward side effects.”

“Then how does it work?” Harry asked, his voice nervous and tight. “If it’s so common, how does it…speak, or whatever, to the Noxer bum, uh…”

“Nox rubrum.” Snape corrected, “and…I don’t know.” He looked at them. “It’s possible there’s something unusual in the Nox rubrum that can communicate to one of the basic ingredients in the Solis argenti. Or it could be that some of the ingredients in the Nox rubrum when combined, create an entirely different compound that on it’s own can ‘speak’ to the Solis argenti…” He glanced up at them. The students looked lost and Minerva’s mouth was in a thin, worried line. Snape changed course. “There’s not enough information here.” He said finally. “I would need to do more research and without knowing the ingredients of the Nox rubrum, it’s impossible to make any conjectures. This is a unique and rare potion and we are going to have questions for a while yet. I need that assessment from Poppy.”

McGonagall looked troubled. “Then you shall receive it. If Harry has taken this potion, he needs a companion host, correct?”

Snape sighed, seeing precisely where this was going. He’d read the host requirements for the ‘master’ half of this problem.

“Yes.” He said, burdened.

McGonagall stared at him. “Are you going to make me ask?”

Snape sighed. “I could do it?” He said through grit teeth. He looked at Harry. “If Potter has witlessly consumed Nox rubrum—and that is a big if—then…I will be Potter’s master.”

“Does it have to be that word?” Harry said weakly. This couldn’t be happening. This was a nightmare. This was the worst day of his fucked up life.

“Harry.” McGonagall said. “Do you accept Professor Snape to assume the ‘master’ role?”

Harry opened his mouth, paused, then said, “is there no one else?!”

“Who, Potter?” Snape snarled. He surged to his feet. Harry stepped back.

Harry thought quickly. Dumbledore? He was busy. McGonagall? She wasn’t a potions specialist. Lupin? Also not a potions specialist. There really was no one else. His thoughts went to Sirius but Sirius was not only all the way in London, Harry remembered him saying he got horrible marks in potions. One of the Weasleys?! No, that wouldn’t work. Fuck.

“Fine.” He sighed.

“How about a ‘thank you, Professor Snape, for taking time out of your busy schedule to deal with the mess I made?’”

“I’m not saying that.” Harry said.

“Excellent start, this.” McGonagall muttered under her breath.

“I shall brew the Solis argenti at once.” Snape said to her.

“Oh, brilliant!” McGonagall was beaming. Ron and Hermione smiled. Everyone looked relieved except Snape and Harry, who were glaring at each other.

“Potter, a word.” Snape growled through grit teeth.

“Come on you two, lunch is almost over. Harry, take as long as you need with Severus and then go to class.”

“Yeah...” Harry said. There was a loud buzzing ringing high in his ears as McGonagall and Ron and Hermione left. Soon, it was just Harry and Snape.

“Potter, come back here tomorrow before classes start. The book states that you and I must be in close proximity when I drink this potion. Let’s not chance it with you being on the opposite side of the castle, or doing Merlin knows what in the Forbidden Forest or such.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry said miserably. “Do you really think this is Draught of Asphodel?”

“I don’t know, Potter.” Snape said. “But the best course of action is to assume it is until proven otherwise, given our timetable to your death.”

Harry nodded.

“Off with you.”

Harry dragged himself to his feet and left.

He was to be Snape’s servant. Snape was going to be his master. This was worse than stuff of his nightmares. His nightmares weren’t even this twisted.

Snape brewed the Solis argenti, a silvery grey concoction that shimmered, and Harry watched him drink it by the full light of morning.

“Feel anything?” Harry asked.

“Not a thing.”

“How will we know if it worked? If it…bound to the one I had.”

“I don’t know. Are you experiencing any side effects?”

Harry did a mental scan of his body. He still felt ill. Whether it was from this whole unpleasant situation or something else, he had no idea. “No?”

“Then we’ll find out if this worked when you inevitably disobey me.”

Harry sighed.

“Chin up, Potter. I’m sure you’ll break a rule in the next day or so. That’s rather your standard operating procedure, no?” Snape smirked.

“What then?” Harry blurted.

Snape narrowed his eyes.

“When—if—I disobey you and upset you or whatever the transgression is, what…what will you do?”

Snape stared at him. “When you disobey me I shall bend you across my knee and spank you.”

Harry’s eyes widened. His face flushed and he looked away. His stomach lurched. “I don’t break that many rules.” He muttered.

“I beg to differ.”

Snape still doubted this was Draught of Asphodel, but if it was it would be grand to finally drag Potter over his knee and give him some much-deserved discipline. The boy had been running wild since he’d first arrived at Hogwarts and attempted to defeat that damn troll. Potter, protected by his celebrity ‘Boy who Lived’ persona and his general arrogance, had been dancing around his comeuppance for long enough. Snape would have no qualms about putting the brat in his place.

Harry grabbed up his bag and turned to go, muttering a good-bye as he practically fled from the office. A horrible knot of anxiety and anger was forming in his chest. He didn’t want to think about Snape spanking him. Did it even have to be a spanking? He thought back to what was consequences were listed in the book: branding, removal of limb, getting hit with a hand or paddle. Harry sighed. He refused to be branded with iron or amputated. No one had even considered those as viable options, fortunately. As much as he hated to admit it, spanking did make the most sense. It’s not like Snape could repeatedly slap him across the face or punch him.

Still though. It would be horribly embarrassing and the git would probably do it in front of everyone just to spite him. Also? He was bloody fifteen! He was almost of age and he was supposed to submit to a spanking? What the hell. Harry envisioned himself getting dragged to the Slytherin common room to be bent over a table and smacked. He shuddered. It sounded humiliating. He’d never been spanked before. The Dursleys paid as little attention to him as possible. Any sins he committed were punished by getting locked in the cupboard or bedroom, shoved aside, ignored. Forgotten. They never bothered to take him in hand or properly discipline him, or hell, even buy him a pair of sodding new socks. They didn’t care and he expected nothing from them but neglect.

Harry frowned. Maybe he had to think about this differently. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Sure getting whacked by Snape would be just awful but a spanking was a child’s punishment, no? Of the listed punishments in the book, a spanking sounded the most harmless when put against branding or limb removal. Lean over a table, a few smacks. If an actual small child could handle it, so could he. He was fifteen—he’d won the Triwizard Tournament. He’d beaten a dragon! He’d faced Voldemort twice in his life and won each time! After dealing with that, he was sure a simple child’s punishment would be easy to deal with, even if it was delivered by Snape.



Harry had wondered if he would upset Snape anytime soon. He needn’t have worried. This term they had a double period of potions with the Slytherins: always a recipe for potential disaster.

Snape set them with a really tedious potion: the Draught of Peace. Harry was determined to get this right. He wasn’t going to give Snape any reason to be upset with him and activate the Nox rubrum. Harry prepared his ingredients, carefully keeping all the powdered unicorn horn, porcupine quills, and moonstone separate and labeled. He had a strong start, adding the moonstone until the potion turned green, stirring, then adding more moonstone, stirring until it turned pink, and so on. Hermione and Ron worked on either side of him, equally as focused. At one point Ron dumped too much moonstone in and swore as his potion started to spit green sparks. Snape was patrolling the room like a great vulture and he simply rolled his eyes at Ron’s mistake.

“Hey, Potter…” Draco said while Snape was on the other side of the room. He sidled over to Harry’s workspace. “Heard you were in the hospital wing already. Did widdle Potty have a tummy ache?”

“Shut the hell up, Malfoy.” Harry said, bringing down the fire so his potion could simmer.

“Such a clever comeback!” Draco pretended to be offended and scandalized. “You’re such a pussy, Potter, how many times do you think you’ll end up in the hospital this year? We have a bet going, see…”

“Not as many times as you if you don’t leave me the hell alone.” Harry said, reading the next step.

Seamus laughed loudly and Malfoy scowled. Harry wasn’t sure where it happened but with Malfoy’s distraction he must have added the wrong thing to his cauldron. His potion went from a light pink to a deep angry bruised color and began spewing bubbles that smelled of moldy cheese.

“No, no!” Harry wailed.

“Looks like you messed up again, Potter!” Draco laughed and Harry had just about enough. He didn’t think about the Nox rubrum. He didn’t think to reach for his wand. Instead, he shoved Draco as hard as he could. The boy stumbled back and tripped over a chair, sprawling to the ground.

Snape turned around just in time to see Harry put hands on Draco and send him to the floor.

“Potter!” He snapped, striding towards him. “I will not tolerate fighting in my class! Twenty points from Gryffindor!”

The Gryffindors erupted in protests. Many of them hadn’t even seen what happened. Harry, incensed from Draco’s taunting and the ruined potion, shouted, “You didn’t even fucking see what happened, you git! He started it!”

The entire room gasped. Draco got to his feet and hurried back to his cauldron. Snape had a terrible expression on his face. Harry gulped as Snape swooped over to him, his jaw tight with rage. Harry stepped back, bumping into the table behind him. Snape got up in Harry’s face, looking down his long nose at the boy. Hermione cast a worried look at Ron.

Snape spoke in a near-whisper. “You do not speak to me that way, Potter. Another twenty points off Gryffindor.”

The Gryffindors murmured amongst each other, angry. Harry swallowed his rage, trying his best not to shout in Snape’s face. A stinging sensation erupted in his arms and legs. He hissed and clenched his hands into fists. He looked at his fingers, wondering if the potion would show physical signs of his discomfort. It didn’t appear so. It felt like little needles were poking into his flesh in waves.

Oh no.

Was this the Nox rubrum at work or did his arm and legs spontaneously fall into a deep painful sleep? He scowled. He’d insulted Snape, his ‘master,’ and his body was responding just like the book said it would.

No, no, no.

Unfortunately his class work was a lost cause. Snape glanced down at the cauldron. What was going to be the Draught of Peace had boiled down to a brown sludge. Snape flicked his wand and vanished it.

“I think you can take a zero for the day, Potter.” He said silkily.

Harry was so angry he could barely think. His hands were stinging like mad and the sensation was creeping up his shoulders and it bloody well hurt. It was like a thousand ants were biting him. Fortunately class was almost over and Snape directed everyone to bottle and label their potions and turn them in. Everyone had something to turn in, even Neville, whose potion looked like cement. His classmates gathered their things. Harry slammed his bag on the table and jammed his book inside. He chucked the quill on top just as the bell rang. He hoisted the bag onto his shoulder and turned to go—

“—Mr. Potter, stay behind.”

Ron left with the other students but Hermione gave him an encouraging glance. Harry let his bag slide off his shoulder to his hand. He stood there, completely still, his hands and arms stinging and aching. The pain built to crescendo before gradually fading into a dull background discomfort. Harry fumed until the room was empty save for him and Snape.

“What the hell was that?” Harry whirled around to face his teacher. “Why did you give me a zero?”

Snape looked surprised at Harry’s show of temper. “You disrespectful brat. You’re going to fix your attitude right now.”

“Draco started it! He was bothering me. I got distracted and messed up because of him!”

“And did he make you shove him to the floor and insult me?”

“Well, no, but…”

“You lost twenty points for fighting and another twenty for insulting me. Honestly, Potter! With this potion you took do you really think it wise to insult me? Was this incident worth it?”

Harry wanted to punch his stupid face. He hated him. He really, truly did.

“I wouldn’t have insulted you if you didn’t take off twenty points.”

“And I wouldn’t have taken off twenty points if you didn’t shove Malfoy to the floor.”

Snape had an answer for everything. Harry stood there fuming.

“Control yourself, Potter.” Snape said, “or this will be a very long year for both of us.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have shoved him but he still started it.” Harry grumbled. “I don’t deserve that zero—ow…” He flexed his hand. The stinging was building again, biting and burning his fingers and crawling up his arms. It was building again.

“Are you experiencing an attack?”

Harry nodded and rubbed his hand.

“Then let’s get this over with.”

Harry closed his eyes. It was all completely unfair but there was nothing for it. The Nox rubrum was cruel and didn’t care about fairness. All it knew was that Harry had angered his other half and must atone for it. Snape dropped his hand on Harry’s scruff and steered him into his office. He shut the door with a wand flick. Butterflies erupted in Harry’s belly and he stamped them down. Why was he nervous? A spanking was a kid’s punishment!

Yeah but it’s Snape. A little inner voice started to argue with himself.

This would be easy.

No it won ’t. Because it’s Snape.

He had nothing to be worried about.

Liar.

“Let’s see once and for all if you really did take Nox rubrum.” Snape said, delighted that the boy was finally about to have some consequences. Harry felt little tendrils of fear tickling his guts as he watched Snape unbutton his right cuff and roll the sleeve up in quick movements, revealing a forearm that was rather more muscular than Harry would prefer. Snape grabbed a chair from in front of his desk, spun it around, and sat. He adjusted his cloak and took Harry’s bicep in a firm grip. He dragged the boy between his knees and then down over his left leg—

“—no, no, no,” Harry pulled back with a soft protest. “Why over your leg?”

Snape raised his brow. “I always spank students over my knee.” He said this like it was a sane answer that Harry was supposed to accept.

“You hit students?” Harry had heard rumors. There weren’t rules against using corporal punishment at Hogwarts but the administration’s stance was officially a vague “not recommended.” Some teachers, particularly the Heads of House, still favored the old methods. He knew for a fact that McGonagall had a cane somewhere. He’d heard Fred and George mention it with hushed, fearful tones. It didn’t surprise Harry in the least that Snape was another believer.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Potter, you are running out of time.”

Suddenly this didn’t seem like such a good idea.

“Isn’t there another way?”

“Would you rather be branded or lose a limb?”

Harry shook his head and, slightly shocked, allowed himself to be bent over Snape’s left leg. The man’s other leg crossed over both of his, a large, warm hand wrapped around his waist and then Harry was truly trapped as if caught in Devil’s Snare. This was all happening so fast. Snape fumbled with Harry’s school robes, flipping them up to expose his trouser-clad bottom. Harry gulped. “Wait!”

“What?”

He didn’t know what. This was all moving far too quickly for his liking. Harry was staring at the stone floor and he put a tentative clammy hand out to brace himself. His eyes were wide and his heart pounding. Surely Snape could feel it. This was already worse than he’d thought and nothing had even happened yet. He’d never been this close to Snape before. His leg was warm and sturdy under Harry’s hips and he could smell a spicy, earthy mix of potion ingredients, cauldron smoke and a hint of whatever soap the man used. It was weirdly intimate and Harry didn’t want to know what his professor smelled like.

“If you have something to say, Potter, say it!”

Oh Merlin, he sounded angry. Harry didn’t like him sounding like that in class, much less when he was about to whack him.

“This is so unfair!” He babbled. “It was Malfoy’s fault, not mine, and I didn’t deserve that zero!”

“This potion isn’t fair, Potter. It doesn’t care if you’re right or wrong, it can only react to your transgressions and my Solis argenti. Upset me at your peril, boy.”

Harry knew he was right but that didn’t mean had to accept it well. “He should be getting spanked too!”

“Hm, and yet you are the one over my knee.” Snape mused. His voice hardened to iron. “I will deal with Malfoy. Now stop wasting time, Potter.”

The first smack landed hard on his right buttock, scattering Harry’s struggling thoughts. The second smack landed on the left side, harder still. Snape continued, alternating sides in a horrible rhythm. Harry jerked on each whack as Snape smacked his bum and after only a few whacks Harry’s backside was aching and sore. His mouth fell open in shock. He grabbed a fistful of Snape’s trousers. This hurt! This properly hurt! This wasn’t a child’s punishment at all! He squirmed, trying to pull away from that falling hand. Snape was wise to such tricks. He paused and readjusted him.

“Hold still, Potter.” Smack! Smack! Smack!

Oh no, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He was only supposed to lean over, get a few smacks, and he’d be on his way. This nonsense of being bent and trapped into position was awful. It was horrible and formal and painful.

“Ow!” He yelped. “Stop! That’s enough!”

“It’s enough when I say it’s enough.” Snape said. He sounded amused.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

This couldn’t be happening. Harry kept hoping to wake up in his four-poster bed—or back at Grimmauld Place. Maybe the doxy venom was making him hallucinate this whole horrible thing.

After a few more hard smacks, Snape spoke. “I’m punishing you now because you called me, so eloquently, a git.”

Smack! Smack! Smack!

“However, you’ve had this coming for a long, long time, boy.”

Smack!

“What? Ow! Why?”

“Hm, let’s think. Going after that ruddy troll in your first year?”

Smack! Smack!

“Ow, stop, ow!” Tears filled his eyes and he arched his back.

“Crashing a car into the Whomping Willow? Almost exposing our,”

Smack!

“entire,”

Smack!

“world?”

Smack!

“Ow!” Harry twisted over Snape’s knee but the man held him fast. He was bloody strong!

“You should have been caned for that stunt!”

Tears dripped from Harry’s eyes. It hurt, yes, but the shock of it all was making his emotions run high. Combined with the stress of having taken the potion, the horror of being bent and smacked, Snape scolding him, and the burning pain of it all, well it wasn’t a surprise that he was crying. His backside would probably never be the same. He had no idea Snape would spank him this hard or long. He never would have dreamed it would hurt so badly or go on for so long. He was thoroughly trapped over Snape’s firm leg as if the man had him in a body bind. Harry had both hands braced on the man’s thigh, his back arched painfully. No one had ever, ever taken him to task like this.

“Answer my question!”

“What?” Harry yelped.

“What the blazes were you thinking?”

“W-weren’t thinking!” He didn’t even know what Snape had asked. The pain was filling his entire world, rendering his senses useless.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

“Ow! AH!” Harry twisted his hips. When would this end? Surely Snape didn’t mean to spank the potion right out of him? “Ow! I’m sorry!” Harry shouted. “I’m sorry for all of it! The tree and troll and whatever else you said! I’m sorry for everything! Let me up!”

Finally, Snape stopped. They were both silent, panting. Harry mopped his face with his sleeve. He hadn’t thought he’d cry. How mortifying. He didn’t know Snape would hit him this hard. The utter bastard! He didn’t know it was possible for his backside to hurt this much. Owwwww… He was reeling.

“Up. That should do it.” Snape lifted his arms and leaned back in the chair. Harry staggered to feet clumsily before gaining his balance. He fixed his school robes and scuttled a few feet away, looking at Snape in horror.

Snape stood up and pulled his cuff back down, smoothing the fabric into place, regarding Potter who was angrily wiping his eyes.

“If I were you I would seriously consider how to keep my temper in check going forward.” He refastened the buttons on his sleeve in quick twists of his fingers. “Otherwise, this will be repeated many more times this year. Did the attack stop?”

Harry paused. That awful electrifying sensation had vanished without a trace, leaving his arms and hands pain-free. Unfortunately the same could not be said for his bum.

Harry nodded, shocked, and managed a weepy, “yes sir.” He grabbed his school bag before he slammed out of the man’s office without being dismissed. Snape stood there for a few moments, listening as his next class filled into the room. He felt absolutely no remorse. If anything he’d gone easy. Finally the Potter brat had gotten his licks.



Harry ducked into the boy’s toilets and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked pitiful. He splashed water on his face and scrubbed damp hands through his hair, trying to cool down. That had been shockingly awful. Snape had spanked him—and it hurt terribly! He unfastened his clothes and pushed down, turning to look at the damage. He expected welts, bruises, blood. The red dusting over his slightly swollen buttocks was disappointing. How could it hurt so bad and leave so little evidence? He wished he had some cooling cream, anything. He fixed his clothes and flexed his hands. The awful stinging tingling sensation in his arms and hands truly had stopped. He leaned over the sink and tried not to pass out. So this was in fact the Draught of Asphodel. He’d had doubts, a wild hope that this wasn’t in fact Nox rubrum, that Mundungus had given him some poorly-made healing potion and experienced a bunch of coincidental side effects. He’d experienced the gnawing pain in his hands and arms until Snape and only Snape brought an entirely different kind of pain to his rear end. He was exchanging one pain in the arse for another. He stared at himself in the mirror. Until they found an antidote, this was going to be a long year indeed.

Harry drank some water from cupped hands, made himself as presentable as possible, and headed for class. He snuck into History of Magic. Barely anyone glanced up. Binns had the room in a trance of boredom and the sleepy tone of this room was a stark contrast to the anger that had happened just a couple floors away. Harry slipped into a seat in front of Hermione. Ron was one row over, seated behind her.

“You okay?” Hermione asked.

Harry nodded but said nothing. These chairs were solid wood, because of course they were. His backside ached, more now that it was pressed into a chair. How the hell was he going to sit still for the next forty five minutes? He pulled out a quill and parchment, hoping that taking notes would distract him enough from his discomfort. It was no good. Binns was so dull he could bore a stump. Harry shifted in his seat, still shocked at how terrible a simple child’s punishment had been. There was nothing simple about what had happened. It was awful and horrid, painful and humiliating. He doodled on the paper—the logo of the new Moonshot Silver broom. Even thoughts of the new broom weren’t enough to distract him. Damn that bastard and his hard hand!

“Harry!” Hermione whispered behind him. He held still and tilted his head back. “Did he give you anything for the pain?”

“No.” Harry huffed.

Hermione paused. “I’m going to try something.” She waved her wand carefully and immediately the hardness of the chair faded. Harry felt like he was sitting on a big fluffy cloud.

He grinned and turned around.

“Did it work?” She whispered. Behind her, Ron was watching their smiling faces, a scowl on his own.

Harry nodded. “Thanks, Hermione!”

She smiled and patted his shoulder with a couple fingers. Neither of them saw Ron’s irritated face, scowling at them when Hermione patted Harry’s shoulder.



“Ah, Severus.” Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, gesturing for his Potions Professor to sit before his desk. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“It’s no trouble, Albus.” Snape sat rigidly in the comfortable chair, waiting for whatever Dumbledore had to say.

“I heard about your situation with dear Harry.” Dumbledore said.

Dear. Snape suppressed a snort. “Yes, it was an unfortunate that he consumed such an unpleasant potion.”

“Are there any long-term side effects of this, ah, Draught of Asphodel?” Dumbledore asked.

“Well,” Snape sighed, “I don’t know.” He hated saying that. “This is a rare, dark potion. As far as I can tell it’s not been written about much. I’ve asked Madame Pince to locate some titles on it and have them sent to Hogwarts. It’s been well over a week since Potter took the Nox rubrum and he is still hale and hearty. The ingredients in his assessment were odd. I’m certain though that they are the ingredients contained in the recipe for Nox rubrum, which we’ve not yet found. I have no reason to believe there would be any long-term negative effects of this potion…other than a perpetually sore arse.” He added in a lower tone.

He didn’t add that he thought he was precisely the person to instill some regular discipline and structure in Potter. He wouldn’t say he was looking forward to it but he wasn’t not looking forward to it. He wasn’t exactly gleeful about his new responsibilities but he had thought Potter needed some regular discipline ever since that Halloween night when he waltzed into the loo and battled a troll and hadn’t received anything resembling a proper punishment for it. Then the following year the willow tree, then stealing off to Hogsmeade with Black on the loose…the list was endless really. If Potter had been sorted into Slytherin the boy’s backside would have met Snape’s hand within the first six months of his first year.

In this case he had no choice. Albus could squawk all he wanted about how awful the potion was, and ‘poor Harry this and poor Harry that.’ The potion demanded physical chastisement from him specifically. Potter’s next disobedient foray wouldn’t result in a rubbish slap on the wrist writing lines followed up by a conciliatory trip to McGonagall’s tin of ginger newts. With him in charge of the boy’s discipline in his own classroom Potter’s empty promises to improve behavior would certainly stop now. Pity they couldn’t dole Nox rubrum out to all the school’s troublemakers.

Dumbledore was staring at him with a small smile on his face like he knew exactly what Snape was thinking.

“How is Harry faring with this arrangement?”

“He hates it. To be expected. The boy’s never had much discipline.”

Dumbledore sighed. “There’s no reason you need to be ‘the bad guy,’ Severus. This potion is ‘the bad guy’ and it affects you both, for better or for worse. You’re a strict man, and invaluable to this school, but try to see this as an opportunity to….loosen up, if you’d like.”

Loosen up? Snape had never loosened up in his life. “Are you suggesting I not follow the requirements of the Nox rubrum? Potter will likely die if I do nothing.”

“Do what you need to do to keep Harry alive and well, Severus. But remember that the real villain here is the potion, not you. Once you and Harry realize that then this entire dilemma will be easier on both of you.”

Snape sensed the conversation coming to an end and glanced at the clock.

“Start of term is busy and I shan’t keep you.” Dumbledore said, a twinkle in his eye. “Consider my words, Severus. Harry needs you now like never before.”

What a horrifying thought. He bid Dumbledore farewell and went back to his dungeons.



Everything was fine for the next several days. Harry was catching up with his old dorm mates, Neville and Seamus and Dean. If felt good to be back in his wonderfully soft four poster bed surrounded by friends instead of trapped with the Dursleys. Angelina, Captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, was already talking about tryouts and practices and Harry couldn’t wait to get back up on his Firebolt and get some good flying in. Playing quidditch was one of his favorite things about being at Hogwarts. With all the rubbish that was usually going in his life, being up in the air with nothing but the roaring wind rushing past his ears gave him a sense of peace and calm nothing else could match. Harry figured he could just keep his head down this year, hang out with his friends and study for the O.W.Ls. He was thinking of becoming an Auror and per Hermione, he needed good marks in his classes. As for the Draught of Asphodel, he was just going to ignore it. He had absolutely no desire to get another spanking so he’d keep out of Snape’s greasy hair and with any luck the stupid Nox rubrum would wear off and everything would go back to normal.

Saturday morning was chilly and cloudy and Harry vowed to do some homework. As much as he hated to admit it, Hermione was right. The winter holidays were imminent and their O.W.Ls were approaching on swift wings. If he had any hope of getting decent marks, he had to study…and catch up on last week’s homework….and this week’s too if was being honest….

“Have you done any homework in the past two weeks?” Hermione asked as Harry pulled out book after book. They were in the common room early, hoping to get some good work in before everyone else woke up and the weather turned decent this afternoon. They’d invited Ron last night, but he’d given a wishy-washy answer. Harry was pretty sure he wouldn’t show. Ron had been distant since Halloween, leaving Harry and Hermione alone and occasionally throwing a glare in Harry’s direction. Harry had no idea why Ron was upset with him and that really hurt. Dealing with this potion was stressful and Harry wished his other best friend was at his side.

“Er, not as such…”

“Oh Harry, why? Fifth year is—”

“—We’ve had a lot of extra quidditch practices and not to mention I’ve been a bit preoccupied with the whole ‘I drank a potion that makes me Snape’s slave’ thing, Hermione! Get off me, I’m trying my best.”

She went silent and opened her ink pot.

“Sorry.” Harry muttered. “There’s just a lot going on. I don’t mean to be a such a bell end.”

“It’s okay.” She said, meaning it. “I know you’re having a hard time.”

Harry started with Herbology. He drew a satisfactory approximation of a Bouncing Bulb and labeled all the parts. McGonagall had assigned them an essay on the difficulties of turning lifeless objects into living things and vice versa, in this case, of turning candlesticks into mice. Harry ignored that for now. He started outlining one of the assigned Potions essays that further explored the Draught of Peace—which he had gotten a bleeding zero on thanks to stupid Malfoy and stupid Snape. He wanted to do well on the essay as he had no desire to irritate Snape further. He had most of it down when Ron stumbled into the room, sleepy, hair tousled.

“Hey Ron.” Hermione said from the table.

“Hi.” Ron came over to them. “Get much done?” He asked after a few minutes.

“Yes.” Harry said, not looking at him.

“Come work with us.” Hermione said.

“No way, it’s Saturday.”

“Maybe before lunch we can go to the library,” Hermione said to Harry, “look up some of those ingredients in the Nox rubrum. Maybe we can find something that mentions the Draught or the antidote. Snape gave you a copy of the list, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry said dully. His assessment from Pomfrey had turned up a list of the ingredients found in Nox rubrum. Snape had shown him the list, (“well Potter, you sure put your foot in it deep”) and the ingredients were either rare, weird, or expensive.

“That way we can be finished for the day and enjoy ourselves this afternoon.” Hermione said.

“You mean you don’t want to spend the whole day doing work?” Harry said. “Are you sure you’re Hermione?”

“Shut up. It’s supposed to get sunny later and I want to enjoy it while I can.”

“Yeah, I want to fly today.”

Harry looked up at Ron to ask if he wanted to join him, but he was already stomping back up the steps.

Harry sighed. “Maybe Fred and George or Ginny will want to fly.”



Harry and Hermione had a quick breakfast in the Great Hall and headed for the library. They walked in, past the front desk that was occupied by the Ravenclaw student librarian. A nameplate on the desk read Zoe Bannister.

“Hermione.” She called as they passed. “Harry. Come here, have something for you.”

Curious, they came back. “Professor Snape ordered a bunch of books from other libraries. He said you might come in here looking for information on a special potion project?” She looked between Harry and Hermione, searching for recognition. She pushed some of her long dark hair behind on ear. “He was being weird about it.”

“He’s weird about everything.” Harry muttered.

Zoe smiled. “He snaps and snarls like an old dog but as long as you do what he says he’s not too bad. I have him for an independent study in Advanced Potions II this year.”

Harry couldn’t believe it. He’d never heard anyone defend Snape.

“Yeah!” Hermione said. “Yeah, that project…right, it’s like an extra credit thing.”

“Wicked.” Zoe went to a shelf behind the desk and brought three books to them. “He said you could read these in the library if you want, but don’t take them because he’s going to come get them.”

“Okay.” Hermione said. “Thanks, Zoe.”

They took the tomes to a table. They had the place to themselves for the most part. No one came to the library on a Saturday morning. Harry laid the list of ingredients out and they each took a book.

“What language is this?” Harry asked, staring at the swirling letters.

Hermione looked at it. “Could be Arabic? I’m going to try something, hold still.” She waved her wand, “babel lingua!” Harry stared at the words. Nothing happened. Then—

“Hey, the letters are changing!” Harry said. The ink was shifting and morphing into English words right on the page. “How’d you do that?”

“It’s an illusionary translation spell.” She said. “The words aren’t actually changing but to you they are.”

Harry hunkered down and read. It was dry going. The book was written more like an ancient textbook and Harry was soon flipping pages at random.

“Check the index or the contents table.” Hermione said, jotting some notes. “Look the ingredients up by name.”

Harry did so, scanning the index. “Dragon claw ooze!” He flipped to the page and read: “Difficult to acquire…only the claws of the Persian Sand Dragon contain the subtype of venom needed for potion-making…shy and secretive dragon thought to be located in the Nuristan region, aggressive when confronted, ah, it’s cry can make a person deaf!”

“Lovely creature.” Hermione said, jotting more notes.

“Ulgh, Hermione!” Harry tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. “This is getting more and more hopeless.”

“Well then it’s a good thing we’re in a school surrounded by teachers who know their stuff.” She countered. “And, as much of a prat as Snape is, he’s one of the cleverest teachers in the school and he knows his stuff about potions. Everyone wants this fixed, you’re not alone.”

“Yeah but I’m the only one getting beat on.” He muttered.



They stayed in the library for an hour before the sunshine drew them outside. It was one of the rare decent-weather days that occasionally popped up amidst the usual dreary, wet, coldness of northern Scotland in early winter. The air was cool and brisk and Harry threw his red striped Gryffindor scarf on.

“It’s a perfect day to fly, come on!” He’d found Fred Weasley, who suggested a quidditch match. Harry agreed and they found Ginny and George, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson and all were soon soaring around the quidditch pitch. It was glorious to feel the wind rushing past his ears, nothing but bright blue sky above and all his Snape-shaped problems far below deep in the dungeons. His stress from the last week melted away. He wished he could just fly on his Firebolt forever.

His stomach had other ideas and after a game of quidditch that was less a game and more informally tossing quaffles to each other with Harry occasionally zooming for the snitch, they piled into the Great Hall for lunch. That evening, Harry wrote to Sirius. He told him about his fun Saturday. He also mentioned the Draught of Asphodel and asked him if he could get Mundungus to give him any more information.

It ’s rough, Snuffles. Believe it or not it made the most sense for Snape of all people to take the other potion. The rules say he has to punish me anytime I disobey or otherwise I could die and since I hate him it’s not been the easiest thing. My arse was sore for ages. We got this new teacher…

Harry left out the worst of the horrible details about the spanking and told him about Umbridge instead.

She ’s a hag. The ministry brought her in. Her class is boring and we just read…

He sent the letter off with Hedwig. Overall it It was a great day. Harry just wished Ron had been around to enjoy it with them.



Sirius Black was lounged in an armchair in his sitting room in front of the fire, reading about ways to strengthen the protection wards up on the building for the Order. He glanced up when he heard a noise at the window and leaped to his feet when his godson’s snowy white owl appeared. The book thumped to the floor.

“Hedwig!” He opened the window and the owl hooted a hello. She hopped to the perch Sirius had set up and drank from a small bowl of water.

Sirius freed the letter and read. Harry had a nice Saturday, that was good. Sirius was glad Harry was having fun with his friends. He got to the bit about the potion and froze. He read closer: …the rules say he has to punish me anytime I disobey or otherwise I could die and my arse was sore for ages.

“What the fuck?” He muttered. Potion? Snape was hitting him? Beating him? Did Dumbledore know?! Sirius stomped down to the kitchen where Mundungus was asleep by the hearth. He kicked the door open with his foot and stormed over to the little man.

“Wha?” Mundungus lifted his head. “Sirius, what are you—?”

Sirius grabbed Mundungus by the collar and hauled him to his feet. “What did you give him?!” He shouted.

“What are you on about?” Mundungus rubbed his eyes. He smelled of alcohol.

“What the hell did you give Harry?”

“I ain’t seen Harry in ages!”

Sirius released his collar. “Before he left for school,” Sirius held the letter to his face, “he said you gave him a potion. He was bitten by a doxy and came down to get healing potion.”

“Oh yeah.” Mundungus said, rubbing his stubbled chin. “It were a healing potion.”

“No it wasn’t.”

Mundungus paled. He went to the corner of the kitchen where he kept the pile of junk that he claimed was his business and found the sack of potions. Sirius grabbed it from him and dumped them all out on the table.

“Careful! I still need to fence, er, honorably sell those.”

“Count them.” Sirius pointed at the potions. “Tell me exactly what’s here and what’s missing.”

“Alright, alright, y’highness.” Mundungus adjusted his rumpled shirt. “Can I get his majesty a wee tray of bikkies too?” Mundungus grumbled to himself as he sorted through the potions, checking them against the grubby piece of parchment. Sirius stood there, stone faced, arms crossed, Harry’s letter still clenched in his fist.

“Uh-oh.” Mundungus checked the list, then looked at the scattered potions. “Oh no!”

“What?” Sirius barked.

“It’s missing!”

“Which one?”

“The Nox rubrum! I got the Solis argenti here but the rubrum’s gone!” Mundungus put his hands on his face. “Argh! That was worth so much money!”

“Who cares about the money?!”

“Me!”

“Give me the antidote, you moron. Harry drank the Nox rubrum! You gave it to him!”

“I don’t got no antidote!”

Sirius swore loudly about what Mundungus could do to himself and where. “Where did you get these?”

“A guy.”

“Any more info on that?”

“Guy I meet in Knockturn. Gets me good stuff, as you can see! Solid bloke. I trust him.”

“That tells me all I need to know…” Sirius mumbled. “I should kick your arse out onto the street!”

“Now hold on,” Mundungus held up his hands, placating. “I provide a unique service to the Order.”

“Yeah, you’re the one who fucks up!”

Sirius stomped back up the stairs. He had no idea what kind of ‘punishment’ Snivellus was forcing upon Harry, but he was not going to sit on his arse while Snape tortured his godson at school. He grabbed a quill and wrote Snape a scathing letter that promised he would unleash hell upon the Potions master if he heard so much of a whiff of trouble from Harry. He demanded Snape put his brain to use for once and find the antidote. He thought of making it a howler but decided against it. Sirius attached the letter to Hedwig. “Bring it to Snape, okay? Not Harry.”

She hooted in understanding and took off into the night.

Sirius paced back and forth, feeling like a mutt locked in a kennel. He really couldn’t do anything to Snape, not when he couldn’t leave this hovel. He felt useless and he hoped Harry would be okay.



Defense Against the Dark Arts, previously one of Harry’s favorite subjects, was awful now. Umbridge was their new teacher and she seemed to be laboring under the impression that Voldemort wasn’t back. Also, all she ever let them do was read. The students had hoped that the reading would only last a few days, that maybe their new teacher was easing them into the school year with some easy stuff. Not so. The only thing they’d done the entire first term was read the dull, dry, ministry-approved textbook that, based on the style of writing, was geared for second years that grappled with comprehension. Harry had been cultivating a growing dislike for Umbridge, her stupid decrees, and her sweet, girlish voice all year and when she straight up told the class again that Voldemort wasn’t back, Harry couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“I saw him.” Harry declared in the middle of class.

“You saw no such thing, Mr. Potter.” She said primly.

Harry shot to his feet. “He killed Cedric!”

“Harry!” Hermione poked his arm.

“Do not lie to me, young man! You saw nothing! Now, sit down or I shall give you detention.”

Harry stood there, fists clenched, fuming. He slowly sank down.

“Wise choice, Mr. Potter.” She said.

“I’m not lying.” Harry growled, so angry he could barely speak.

“Mr. Potter, would you like me to take fifty points from Gryffindor? Because I shall.”

“Shut the hell up.” Ron growled at him, uncharacteristic in his anger.

Harry kept his mouth shut. He couldn’t do that to his fellow Gryffindors, not after the gobs of points Snape had taken already. He sat down.

Umbridge looked pleased. “Now then, open up your books to chapter five and read. There will be no need to talk.”

Detention for telling the truth. Harry hated her. He was glad she hadn’t taken the Solis argenti or he’d never sit down again.

Mr. Weasley was going to be alright. They all visited him in St. Mungo’s over the holiday break and Molly and Arthur were so grateful to Harry that he felt guilty. He hadn’t told them that he was the cause of Mr. Weasley’s injuries, that he had been the snake itself.

“I don’t know what we would do without you, Harry.” Mrs. Weasley pulled him to her bosom in a hug when they were in Arthur’s room, visiting. “Arthur would be dead if not for you. How can we ever repay you?”

The whole Weasley family were gathered around Arthur’s bed, and they looked at Harry in relief. Harry went pink at the attention.

“Uh, just…stay away from snakes, Mr. Weasley.”

He laughed.

-

Mr. Weasley had to stay in the hospital for a while so it was decided that Harry and the rest of the family would spend their Christmas at Grimmauld Place. Sirius didn’t say it but Harry knew he was thrilled to have so many people around. Their trunks and school things were sent over and Harry was looking forward to a relaxing holiday filled with good food, good sleep, good company, and no homework.

Harry was in the bedroom he and Ron usually shared, unpacking, when a tentative knock on the door jamb made him look up. Ron was standing there, looking sheepish.

“Hey.” Harry said in a cool voice.

Ron wrung his hands together and stared at Harry’s bedspread. Suddenly he spoke quickly, “I’ve been a prick. I’m sorry.”

Harry sat on his bed and Ron sat on the bed across from him.

“Why weren’t you talking to me?” Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. “Don’t laugh, but…I was jealous.”

“Jealous of what?” Harry thought back to what the last term had been like for him. “What were you jealous of? Getting spanked by Snape? Trying to avoid Umbridge? Dealing with figuring out this horrible potion on top of quidditch and O.W.Ls all the other homework we have?”

Ron looked mortified by this list but he pressed on and said, “I…like Hermione.” He closed his eyes and his ears turned red.

“Well I like her too.” Harry said, shrugging, “she’s our friend, she—ooohhh, you like her.” Harry smiled.

“Shut up! Don’t laugh!”

“I’m not laughing.” Harry said. “Okay, I’m laughing a little.”

“You guys were just spending so much time together.” Ron got up and walked over to the dresser. He picked up Harry’s snitch and squeezed it absently. “It made me angry.”

“Ron.” Harry was exasperated. “I don’t have feelings like that for Hermione! She’s my friend. Only my friend. Like you are! The only reason we’ve been spending so much time together is because she’s helping me figure out this potion. It’s bloody awful. I…I could really use you next term, mate. We haven’t found an antidote yet.”

Ron huffed and put the snitch down, looking dejected and guilty. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a shit friend.”

“It’s okay. Let’s just forget it, yeah? No more fighting.”

“No more fighting.” Ron agreed. He sat back on the bed. “There’s something else I want to tell you.”

“Yeah.”

“I was thinking of trying out for the quidditch team.”

“Oh, brilliant!” Harry said.

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

One of the Gryffindor players had quit the team mid-season, saying he couldn’t keep up his marks and attend practice twice a week. Angelina had said she would set up some emergency tryouts early next term. She was pushing them hard this year and they’d won more games than they’d lost. Oliver Wood would be proud.

“I’ve been practicing.” Ron said, relieved. “I practiced a lot last term.”

“That’s wicked, mate, I hope you get it.”

Ron grinned. “Thanks.” He sobered and said “and, thanks too, you know, for what you did for dad.”

“You’re welcome.” Harry said, feeling like those words weren’t even remotely adequate. “Your dad has always been great to me, your mum too. If either of them died…” Harry let that thought fade into the empty air.

Ron glanced up at him and said a low voice. “Did Snape really spank you?”

“Yes. Twice.” Harry shrugged. He didn’t mind telling Ron. Hermione knew but they never talked about it. She supported him with cushioning charms and patient homework tutoring rather than chats about punishment details. Harry doubted she’d ever been punished much by her parents. He really doubted they’d ever smacked her. He’d met them briefly in Diagon Alley once and they seemed bookish and pleasant and very unlikely to ever raise their voices to their daughter, much less a hand.

Ron’s parents, on the other hand, used corporal punishment. Harry had noticed that wizards and witches, despite having magic, were a bit more old fashioned than muggles. Hogwarts still allowed corporal punishment. He knew McGonagall had a cane and Snape had straight up told him that he spanks the Slytherins. Harry could only assume Professors Sprout and Flitwick smacked students too. Harry had learned that many magical families had no issues with using corporal discipline at home. While muggle parenting literature touted the negative effects of it, wizards and witches had no such beliefs and any child who did something barmy could expect to have their backsides warmed at home or at school. Harry shrugged. As wonderful as magic was, it could be deadly, so maybe a tougher approach to rule-enforcing was needed. The Dursleys would never raise a hand to Dudley or his friends. Harry had a fleeting, humorous thought of Dudley meeting Snape’s hard hand. He smothered a grin. Ron had more than once been on the receiving end of his dad’s hand or his mum’s spoon so it wasn’t as mortifying to tell him about it.

“That’s bloody awful.” Ron said.

“Yeah, it is, and it’ll keep happening because he’s such a prat, so help me find the antidote. We’re all looking for it. Snape is talking to other wizards about it, Hermione and I have been going through the library books, trying to find some mention of it. It’s a really old and gross potion. It’s dark magic and there’s not much out there about it.”

Ron nodded. “I can help. I want to help.”

-

The holidays went by fast. They always did. Harry made a point to thoroughly enjoy himself. They stayed up too late playing Exploding Snap and chess. They tried out loads of Fred and George’s products and more than once lost control of a work-in-progress ZanyZippyZapper firework that went spiraling wildly through the house. Harry nearly cried with laughter when it almost set Sirius’ mother’s portrait on fire. Mrs. Weasley and Sirius kept the food flowing and everyone stuffed themselves everyday.

“And don’t forget,” Ginny said brightly, “there’s a Hogsmeade weekend in a couple months so that’s something to look forward to once school starts.”

A few days before they were due back at school, Harry had a visitor.

“Professor Dumbledore?” Harry blurted, amazed at the sight of the Hogwarts Headmaster in the front parlor. His enthusiasm dampened when he saw Snape was with him.

“Harry, dear boy!” Dumbledore beamed at him “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, sir.” He said.

They sat at the small table in the parlor and Sirius made cups of tea appear for everyone. Harry shifted nervously in his seat. He was glad Sirius was put together today. On occasion Harry had noticed his godfather would get lost in his own mind, drink a bit more than was healthy, and slip into these nervous habits where he’d pace around the house and mutter to himself. Harry hated these episodes but he understood that twelve years in Azkaban had done a number on his mental health. Remus Lupin, who was staying at Grimmauld Place over the holidays, ensured Harry that Sirius was working on it and would be okay, eventually. Having people around in the old house seemed to be helping.

Sirius sat beside him, calm and focused, while Snape was across the table beside Dumbledore. Harry chewed the inside of his cheek. What did Dumbledore, Snape, and Sirius want with him? Was it to do with the Draught of Asphodel? Maybe there had been some horrible new development like there was no antidote and Snape was going to be his master forever.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, “I would like you begin Occlumency next term.”

“Occlumency.” Harry repeated. “What is that?”

Snape spoke. "The magical defense of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one."

“You see, Harry,” Dumbledore said, “you can learn to close your mind against outside antagonists. We think Voldemort may have broken into your mind the night you saw Arthur Weasley attacked. Whether this was on purpose or not, we don’t know. But Occlumency is a kind of magic that, if you master it, will protect you from these kinds of attacks.”

“Sounds interesting.” Harry said, glancing at Sirius. He nodded, encouraging. “But isn’t it useful for me to, well, ‘see’ what Voldemort’s doing?”

“No.” Snape said. “the Dark Lord is, as far as we know, unaware of the connection between you. If he is made aware of this connection he will use your mind against you. He will control it. He will unhinge it. The Dark Lord would often torture his victims by showing them images and scenes designed to drive them into madness. He would torture them until they were on the brink of insanity and only then would he kill them.”

Harry stared at Snape, horrified at what this connection really meant.

“We don’t want to endanger you or anyone else.” Dumbledore added.

“Who, who will teach me?” He looked hopefully at Dumbledore.

“Alas, though I am a skilled Legilimens, I should not be the person to teach you. Voldemort, using his connection to you, may somehow take advantage of that and see something we don’t want him to. No, no, our connection would be too great a risk. You will instead be taught by Professor Snape.”

“What?” Harry blurted. He glanced at Snape. The man was glaring at Harry.

“Um, Professor Dumbledore,” Sirius said. “They’re already dealing with that potion. Do you really think—”

“That shouldn’t affect this.” Dumbledore said, waving away Sirius’ concerns. “Professor Snape is a highly accomplished Legilimens himself. I have no doubt of his skill.”

“It’s not his skill I’m concerned about.” Harry said, glancing up at Sirius. It’s his ruddy hard hand.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore stood up.

“Uh, Albus.” Sirius said, standing as well. “Is there really no one else? McGonagall, maybe?”

“Ah, Minerva lacks this particular skill I’m afraid. It’ll go well, Sirius, no need to worry…” Sirius escorted Dumbledore to the door, politely trying to tell him that this was a terrible plan. Moments later, when Dumbledore had gone, Sirius strode back into the parlor.

He pointed at Snape, “if you use this bloody training as an excuse to hit him—”

“I don’t decide when I hit him.” Snape said coldly. He nodded to Harry. “Potter does.”

Sirius looked at Harry, confused. Harry sighed. He badly did not want to talk about this. “He only has to hit me when I upset him.” He slid his eyes to Snape, “which happens a lot. Too much, if you ask me. When I upset him the Nox rubrum attacks me and it’ll only stop when he hits me. If I don’t get hit the Nox rubrum’s attacks will kill me.”

“So you see, Black,” Snape said, smirking, “it’s all on your godson.”

They both looked down at Harry. Harry clenched his jaw. He wanted to shout at Snape. To scream at him, but he didn’t. Upsetting Snape would mean a spanking and he was not about to get spanked by the man at Grimmauld Place, with the Weasleys and Sirius here.

Snape stood up. “Goodbye, Potter. Our lessons will be held Monday nights in my office. Eight pm. Do NOT be late.”

Harry closed his eyes. Snape left out the front door. Sirius didn’t bother escorting him.

“Is there really no way around him spanking you, Harry?” Sirius said in low voice. He seemed to respect that Harry didn’t want this little fact broadcast to the whole household.

“No?” Harry frowned. “Like he said, branding and loss of limb are the other two options. He doesn’t need to hit, er, hit my backside,” Merlin it was awkward to talk about this, “but he does need to whack me to satisfy the potion.” Harry shrugged. “He can’t exactly hit my head or punch my back or anything…”

Sirius frowned. “Has he caned you?”

“No.” Harry said.

“Good. The cane is awful. I was caned a few times at Hogwarts.” He smiled a bit, then sobered. “My father would also….well.” He shook his head. “You don’t want the cane, Harry. Do your utmost to avoid it. Hurts like blazes and leaves bruises and marks for days.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Days? “Yeah, no, he’s just used his hand. That hurts like blazes.” His encounters with Snape were already horrible, he couldn’t imagine being caned by the man and he promised himself he would do his utmost to never, ever earn it.

“Don’t upset him, Harry. I know it’s hard with him of all people, but do your best, yeah?”

Harry nodded fast.

“Bloody hell.” Sirius dragged his hand through his hair. “What a wretched potion.”

“Yeah.”

-

The first Occlumency lesson was an unmitigated disaster. Harry dreaded the lesson all day long, hoping and wishing that either he or Snape would get lost in a vanishing cabinet and never heard from again before eight tonight.

Alas.

Harry knocked on Snape’s office door at eight o’clock sharp.

“Enter!” He called.

Harry slipped in.

Snape had one of the armless chairs in the middle of the room. Harry gulped. He hated those chairs.

“Have a seat, Potter.” Snape said, gesturing to the chair.

Harry sat. Snape pulled out his wand. “Focus. I want you to clear your mind. Take a breath.”

Harry took a deep breath in and out. He did his best to empty his mind of all thoughts, though he kept thinking of his friends upstairs having fun without him. They didn’t have to do stupid Occlumency.

“Clear your mind!” Snape pointed his wand at Harry and he braced himself. “Legilimens!”

Images of Grimmauld Place and the Burrow popped up—him and Ron fighting—him and Hermione in the library—gliding through the air on his broom—Dudley making him stand in the toilet—Dudley and his friends chasing a crying Harry up a tree—the snake attacking Mr. Weasley—his scar aching, aching ACHING—

“Ah!” Harry shouted out and Snape stepped back.

“You have to clear your mind, Potter.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder! Once more. Clear your mind—Legilimens!”

And so it went. After the tenth time, both of them were frustrated and to Harry’s dismay, that horrible gnawing stinging sensation was radiating up his arms and legs. By failing to successfully shield his mind, he’d been disobeying Snape’s commands telling him to do just that. The Nox rubrum found this to be gross disobedience even though Harry was genuinely trying to block Snape. Worse than that, Snape had seen some stuff Harry never wanted anyone to know about. His aunt and uncle laughing at him, him getting bullied in school, him laying in bed, hungry and forgotten. Harry absolutely hated that Snape of all people was privy to his most private, embarrassing moments.

“Wait! Wait.” Harry panted before Snape could have another go at him. How long had they been at this? Minutes? Hours? “I just need a moment.”

“The Dark Lord won’t give you a moment!”

“I need to rest!” Harry shouted.

“You’re never going to survive him if you don’t try.”

“I am trying!”

Snape shook his head. “Not hard enough. I’m not going to make concessions for you.”

“The Nox rubrum is already attacking me, haven’t you tortured me enough?”

“You don’t know what torture is!” Snape snarled. He was as tired as Harry. As difficult as it was to block an intruder to your mind, it was just as difficult to attempt to break in. He was forcing himself to invade a child’s mind over and over again. He felt more than a little gross about doing that. “Bespoke private lessons are not torture, Potter.”

“I’m not doing more until I’ve had a break.”

Snape shook his head. “Stubborn. Arrogant. Just like your father.”

“My father was a great man.”

Something raged up in Snape at the defense of the horrible man and he grit his teeth. He didn’t care that both of them could use a break. If he’d stopped to think he’d realize that continually pushing both himself and Potter like this was getting them nowhere. They were both frustrated and tired and that was hardly conducive to a clear, focused mind. Snape was too deep in his own anger to pause and certainly conversation about Harry’s oaf of a father wasn’t helping.

“Your father was a swine!” Snape snarled. “Legilimens!” The spell was shouted like a whip crack. Harry actually winced as Snape brutally forced himself into his mind. Harry, sweating and exhausted, couldn’t focus on anything. He was thinking of his father, of his mother. He thought of Sirius and the Weasleys who when all mashed together were sort of like his parents now. His arms and legs ached and burned and that made him think of the spankings Snape had given him. It was awful to relive that pain and anger, knowing the man was right there with him and seeing it from his point of view.

Snape backed out of his head.

“This is useless. You can’t clear your mind if the Nox rubrum has already started affecting you. Come here.” Snape started pulling his sleeve up.

“No!” Harry gasped. He swiped the back of his hand across his damp forehead. “I can do it. I can push past it.”

Snape didn’t look convinced, but he held up his wand again anyway. “Legilimens!” He shouted.

“Protego!” Harry shot back.

Snape was obviously surprised by this, as Harry immediately had access to his thoughts and memories. Harry saw a lonely boy without friends who lived in a household dominated by an abusive father. He saw a boy the students laughed at. For the first time he saw Snape how his own father had seen him: a victim. Harry watched in horror as Sirius attempted to trick Snape into going into the Shrieking Shack when Lupin, a dangerous werewolf and not the gentle DADA teacher, was crazed on the night of a full moon. Harry saw his father, accompanied by Sirius, cast a spell on Snape by the Hogwarts Lake, hanging him upside down in the air while everyone laughed—

In an instant Harry was back in Snape’s office, covered in fresh sweat, dismayed by what he’d seen. His dad was a bully? Sirius too? Why was his father a bully? Snape stalked towards him, furious, and fisted his hand in Harry’s shirt.

“How DARE you!” He hissed.

“I didn’t see anything!” Harry said, trying to break out of the man’s grasp. He pushed weakly at Snape’s hands.

“You’re lying!” Snape shouted. His eyes were coal black and his rage was terrifying.

“I’m sorry!” Harry said, trying not to cry.

“Oh you will be.”

Snape grabbed his arm and sat in the chair.

“No!” Harry shouted. He tried to pull away but it was like trying to pull his arm out of a steel trap. Snape was strong as a dragon. He threw Harry over his left knee, pinned him down, and started spanking him as hard as he could.

“You’re as bad as your father.” Snape said, his voice tight and cold. “Arrogant,”

Smack!

“stubborn,”

Smack!

“rude,”

Smack!

“insolent,”

Smack!

Harry could only hang there over his leg, horrified, bracing himself as best he could as Snape landed slap after hard slap. Harry was already so worn out and stressed from the Occlumency that he didn’t even try to fight the tears.

“Stop, ow! Stop! OW!” Harry grit his teeth as Snape unleashed his wrath on his poor bottom. The pain ratcheted up until Harry was curled over his leg, his fist clutching the leg of the chair and the other grabbing a handful of Snape’s trousers. His bottom and thighs were blazing, throbbing, aching as Snape pummeled him. Snape grunted and lifted Harry to his feet. He was shaking and he mopped his face, unable to see for his tears. Snape grabbed the waistband of his sweatpants and yanked them and his underpants down in one go.

“No!” Harry whacked Snape’s hand away and reached for his clothes.

“Shut up, Potter.” Snape grabbed his arm and gave him a painful shake that rattled Harry’s teeth. “Take your punishment.” Snape threw him back down over his knee so hard Harry almost toppled onto the floor. His ribs ached from slamming into Snape’s knee. He was too stunned and tired to fight back.

“If you hadn’t taken this potion,”

Smack!

“this wouldn’t be happening. This is your fault, now be still and take what’s coming to you.”

Smack!

“It was an accident!” Harry said, trying to defend himself. “I didn’t mean to take it!”

“Accio paddle!” Snape commanded.

“No, not a paddle!” Harry panicked and threw his hand back, trying to cover himself. A few jars on the shelves behind them rattled as Harry’s magic reacted his panic. A constructed skeleton of a rat fell to the floor and splintered. He watched the pieces skitter across the floor. He hadn’t had an accidental magic slip in years. Snape grabbed his wrist and pushed it up to the small of his back. Harry tried to wriggle away, to escape, anything. Snape was too strong. Harry couldn’t move. “I’m sorry!” He didn’t know what else to say. Snape was so furious that Harry wondered if he was even hearing him.

“Your blessed father deserved discipline like this.” Snape snarled. He whacked the paddle against Harry’s bottom, hard. Oh, that hurt. He thought Snape’s hand had hurt. The solid wood of the paddle was entirely different to a warm hand. Thwack! “He was an awful child who grew into an arrogant,” Thwack! “prideful man.”

Thwack!

Thwack!

Thwack!

“What do you think of your great father now, Potter?” Thwack! “Of that mutt of a godfather?” Thwack! “They tried to kill me.” Thwack!

Harry was sobbing, barely listening to Snape. All the fight had gone out of him and Snape shoved him off his lap. Harry thudded to the cold stone floor and scooted back from the enraged Potions Master.

“Get out of my sight, dirty boy.” Snape bellowed. He grabbed a jar of cockroaches off his shelf and chucked it. Harry yelped dove to the side. He yanked his trousers up over his raw backside and took off out of the office, through the classroom, and into the corridor, up some stairs, and into another corridor. He didn’t pay attention to where he was going, he simply ran to put as much distance as possible between himself and the dungeons.

He rounded a corner and almost ran right into Dolores Umbridge.

He gasped and whirled around, furiously wiping tears from his eyes. This night was sliding from awful into absolutely terrible.

“Mr. Potter.” She said, her voice sweet and concerned. “Whatever is the matter?”

“N-nothing.”

“My dear boy, you’re crying.”

“Uh, just tired is all.” He finished wiping his eyes. His backside roared in pain. His whole world was tiling out of control. He had never seen Snape lose it like that. The man was always so controlled and in command. His rage had been terrifying and shocking. Harry’s backside still burned and throbbed and Umbridge was the cherry on top of the rotten sundae this evening had been.

“Young boys like you need their sleep. What are you doing out of bed so late?”

Something in Harry told him not to tell her about the Occlumency. And he’d be damned if he told her about the Nox rubrum.

“Uh, I was getting extra potions lessons.”

“Oh. Still?” She cupped his face. Her hands were cold. “Was Professor Snape too hard on you?”

“Uh...”

Yes he was but my father was a prick and I maybe deserved it?

“Aw, I know Professor Snape’s methods may be medieval, but you’ll thank him one day.” She kept her hand on his face, rubbing her thumb gently over the tears tracks on his cheek. She was staring at him just a little too closely for comfort. Her grin was a little too happy, like she was glad to see him cry.

“I’d better be off to bed.” He said, stepping away from her.

“Yes. You wouldn’t want to get punished for being out after curfew, Mr. Potter.” She smiled sweetly at him and he walked away as quickly as he could, trying not to shiver.

He turned another corner and reached a boy’s bathroom. He took a few moments to lean on the sink and breathe and get himself under control. His hands were shaking. His face felt slimy from where she’d touched him. His backside still throbbed. He splashed some water on his face, trying to scrub off where she’d touched him. A shower was in order tonight. If nothing else it would relax him enough to sleep. He carefully lowered his sweats to inspect the damage. His butt was bright red and he could see darker marks lower down from where the paddle had landed. He would bruise, he was certain of it.

He sagged against the sink. He couldn’t keep this up. He could take the pain of it. A sore backside wasn’t the issue. Harry knew how to deal with physical pain but Snape’s anger was wearing him thin. He’d spanked harry the first time for a bunch of stuff that had happened years ago, and the second time he was ice cold and nearly threatened to chop off his fingers. His was bullying Harry just like Harry’s father had bullied him in school. Harry stared at his red eyes in the mirror and wondered if he deserved this. Harry’s dad beat on Snape so now Snape got to beat on him. It was justified in a sick way.

“Dammit, dad.” He muttered. His father had been a real prick. And Sirius had been there too, egging his dad on. Harry shook his head, ashamed at both of them. Harry would never bully another student like that. The only student he regularly got into it with was Malfoy and he was different, somehow. Malfoy was a wealthy prat with loads of friends and parents who could get him things. He wasn’t an obvious target the way Snape had been at his age.

Harry went back out into the corridor and made his way up to the tower. Hermione was in the common room, curled on the sofa with a book. She did a double take when she saw him. He tried to sneak past her—

“—Harry!” She pushed her book aside and went to him. He turned away from her. He didn’t want her to see his tear-streaked face.

“Hermione, I really just want to go to bed.”

“Okay,” she nodded, immediately gathering that Harry had a horrible lesson, “but let me give you something.” She went to her bag and retrieved a potion vial. She handed it to him.

“What’s this?”

“I made healing potion for you. It has some other ingredients too, to relax you.”

“Aw, Hermione.” He closed his fist around the potion and looked into her eyes. She gave him a sympathetic smile when she saw his red, puffy face. “When did you do this?” He sniffed.

“I’ve been brewing them on the fire here at night.” She gestured to the common room fire.

“What? Where do you get the ingredients?”

“Oh, I’ve been stealing from Snape.” She said this in the same tone someone would use when chatting about what they ate for breakfast.

“What?!”

“From the stores in the classroom. When we go to get our ingredients for class I just take what I need.” She folded her arms. Harry stared at her in impressed amazement, then let out a fast, hysterical laugh.

“He deserves to be stolen from! He’s hurting you.”

“No argument here.” He gave her a quick hug. “Thanks, Hermione. This will be great.”

She nodded. “You’re welcome.”

He took a quick shower and went to his bed. It was nearly eleven and he was exhausted.

“Hey, Harry.” Ron said. Him and Seamus were playing wizard chess quietly on Ron’s bed.

“Hi Ron. Seamus.” Harry got into bed, feeling cold.

They murmured hellos, each focused on the game. That was fine by Harry. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

Harry pulled his curtains half closed and knocked back Hermione’s potion. He buried himself under the blankets, hoping he could fall asleep…

When he opened his eyes, it was because Ron was shaking him awake the next morning.

“Hey, why are you still asleep? We have breakfast.” He gestured with his thumb towards the door. Harry could hear the other boys thundering out of the dorm and down the steps. He glanced up. Ron was in his uniform and robes.

“I don’t feel so good.”

“Oh. Okay. Did you have another, you know, vision thing?”

“No. I’m just really tired. And, uh, my stomach hurts.” It didn’t but he didn’t want to tell Ron that he just couldn’t face anything today.

“Feel better, then.” Ron said. He disappeared and Harry fell back into a doze in the silence. It was true, he didn’t feel well. He didn’t want to see anyone, not yet. He really didn’t want to see Snape today and anyway, Hermione would just bring him whatever homework he was missing.

He must have slept longer than he thought because when he woke up next, Hermione was sitting beside his bed, reading. Ron was chucking a miniature stuffed quaffle ball into the air and catching it. A cup of tea and a banana were on Harry’s bedside table.

“Hermione.” He muttered. “Ron.” He scooted up into a sitting position and winced when his backside stung-throbbed.

“Drink this.” She said, giving him the tea. “There’s a healing potion in it.”

Harry gulped gratefully. “Thanks, guys. Uh, shouldn’t you be in History of Magic by now?”

“Oh, we skived off early.” Hermione waved her hand dismissively.

Ron beamed and dropped a kiss on her head. “It was her idea.”

Harry grinned, pleased at her spate of rule-breaking.

“Binns didn’t even notice us leave.” Hermione said. “But never mind that, how was Occlumency?” She asked. Harry had the feeling she may have already guessed it was wretched.

He told them everything.

“That’s not on, mate.” Ron said. He sat at the end of Harry’s bed, quaffle forgotten.

“I mean, my dad was awful to him. Maybe I deserve it…” Harry hadn’t gone into the details of the vision, but skirted around it, saying that his father and Sirius had been a couple of pricks. He hadn’t even told them everything about the spanking, leaving out the bit where Snape, in his fury, had paddled him bare. That was too humiliating to admit.

“No, Harry.” Hermione said. “You do not deserve what he did to you. At all. He’s your teacher. He’s not just another student here who you get into fights with. He has power over you, even more so now with the Draught of Asphodel. He abused that power last night.”

“It’s not as bad as all that. If he doesn’t hit me I could die!”

“Harry,” Hermione said gently. “It sounds like yesterday was really bad. He was calling you names. Look at you! You’re missing class because of this. Are you bruised?”

His silence answered her question. He wasn’t about to say how colorful his bum was.

She crossed her arms. “I think you should go to Dumbledore.”

“No way, Dumbledore okayed this.”

“Then go to McGonagall.” Ron said.

“I don’t want to.”

“Harry, he went too far.” Her voice was firm. “He called you names, he hit you too hard. He threw glass at you! He wasn’t in control.”

“Rich of him, considering what you were there to study.” Ron muttered.

Hermione took a quick breath. “If you don’t tell McGonagall, I will!”

Harry groaned and stared at the ceiling. “Fine. I’ll go today. But I don’t know what she’s going to tell me. There’s no antidote yet. It’s not like she can make it stop.”

Minerva McGonagall was having a very long week and it was still only Tuesday morning. The students had come back last weekend from the winter holiday and the whole castle was abuzz with activity again. Lessons had started yesterday and she had gone to bed exhausted from a full day of being back with students who were having trouble focusing after two weeks away. Her thoughts strayed, as they had been often this past term, to Harry. She hoped the lad had a good holiday. After that frightful business with the vision of the snake and then being whisked away to Black’s, not to mention the potion he was enduring with Severus, she sincerely hoped Harry had a quiet and relaxing break. No one would ever accuse Severus Snape of being nice. He wasn’t nice. He was strict and he was firm and he could be a right arse to his students. She hadn’t been exactly thrilled when it was decided that he was to be the ‘master’ half of Potter’s potion problem. Snape and Harry had never got on and it was unfortunate for both that they’d been thrown together like they had. Minerva wished they got on better. In some ways, each reminded her of the other.

Both of them came from muggle families who had a less than appreciative view of magic. They were both only children, hadn’t grown up with indulgences and, like many children, both of them found Hogwarts to be a safe haven, a place where odd, unusual, or strange children could finally be ‘me.’ They had the same dry wit and spoke fluent sarcasm. Severus harbored a lot of bitterness about many things but she knew that he had it in him to be a patient and, well, useful teacher. She knew firsthand that when he was relaxed and feeling confident some of his sharp exterior would fall away and he would actually be pleasant company. He kept that side hidden well. If he would lighten up around Harry and not treat the boy like a thorn in his side she thought they could get along like a castle on fire.

Harry was a, loyal, kind boy but he was a rule breaker. He could find mischief blindfolded with both hands tied behind his back. Severus could be exactly what Harry needed if he would just be willing to sweeten up some of the bitterness and provide much-needed guidance and structure. As Harry’s Head of House, she had tried to provide that for him and to an extent she did, but she just didn’t feel they had made a strong enough connection. He respected her, sure, but he didn’t look up to her. The rules continued to snap in half, year after year. Severus and Harry could be a perfect pair if they could each sand off some of their more bristly edges—Severus especially.

During her free period that afternoon, during which she’d meant to get a jump ahead on grading, a knock sounded at her door. She opened it, expecting a student with questions about the classwork and assignments. To her surprise it wasn’t a current student, but a former one: Severus Snape.

“Severus.” She said, mildly surprised. His eyes were downcast and he looked tense and troubled and in bad need of a stiff drink. She supposed her grading could wait. “Come in.” She stepped aside. “Would you like some tea?” She didn’t wait for a response. She had been about to magic up a cup for herself, so she simply made two. Snape wasn’t especially friendly with anyone, but they sat together at meals and would rib each other fondly about quidditch and now and then would run into each other in the corridors and catch up. They ranted about the school governors, troublesome students, and lately, Dolores Umbridge. No one liked Umbridge. Mutual dislike of Umbridge had united the school in a way it had ever been before. When Severus was a student him and Minerva had a good relationship as well. He’d been a brilliant boy and while Transfiguration wasn’t his strongest subject, he’d applied himself and tried and that was all she ever could ask.

She gestured to her sofa and he went and sat with her, each of them with a cup of tea. She knew something was wrong and she knew if she just started talking that eventually he’d come out with it.

“It’s nice to have the students back but you know how it is with lessons and getting into the swing of it all again. Today in class I had to confiscate two nose-biting teacups and one student managed to turn themselves into a canary!” She sipped her tea. “That was a pretty good bit of magic, really. I wasn’t too upset. It was fascinating the way the canary was the same size as a human….rather scary, actually. I wonder where he got that spell?”

“I made a mistake.” Snape said. Those words tasted gross in his mouth.

“Oh, well how good of you to join the rest of us.” She put her cup in the saucer with a clatter. “You’re not immune to making mistakes, Severus.”

He glanced at her. She saw the sullen light in his eyes. He certainly hadn’t slept well.

She set the saucer and cup down on the low table. “What happened?”

“Potter.” He muttered.

“How is that going?” She asked. She’d been keeping a distant eye on Harry this term. He seemed alright. More subdued than normal, but alright. Him and Hermione were sticking close so McGonagall wasn’t too worried. That girl had a good head on her shoulders.

“I think I went too far.” He admitted.

“Oh?” She said.

Snape recounted what had transpired the previous night, from the way he and Harry were both losing patience, to Harry breaking into his mind and seeing a terrible memory, to him losing it on the lad and beating him mercilessly before chucking a heavy glass jar at him. His neck was flushed pink by then end, embarrassed. “I completely lost control. I was lecturing him about control and clearing his mind and I lost my own head, just like my father would do with me—” His voice cracked and he went silent. He had called Harry a ‘dirty boy.’ His father had called him that and hearing those words slip out of his mouth had been a sickening combination of mortifying and disappointing.

She squeezed his hand. She knew a bit about Tobias from Severus’ student years. What she knew didn’t impress her. He was a muggle, he was a mean drunk, and he took his problems out on his wife and son. That was enough to be going on. “You’re not your father.”

“I know.” He stared at her coffee table, lost in thought. “I don’t want to become him.”

“You won’t. You’re admitting you don’t want to, which sounds like more than he ever did, so you won’t. So now, you’ve admitted you made a mistake. What can you do to fix it?” She asked.

“Fix it?” He stared at her. “How can I ever be allowed in the same room with him again? I’m lucky if Dumbledore doesn’t sack me! I attacked a student.”

“Severus. Albus will not sack you. Go to Harry, tell him you’re sorry. Properly apologize. Teachers can make mistakes too. And teachers can apologize, yes, even you can apologize to Harry. You say he saw a memory of yours. Was it about his father?”

Snape looked at her, surprised, and nodded.

“I remember how they were. A bunch of little gits, and all in my house!” She rolled her eyes. “I did hear about some of the awful ways they tormented you and I did cane them for a few of those occasions. James and Sirius especially.”

Snape hadn’t know that. She had also caned him once or twice for the ways he’d retaliated against his tormentors and he had trusted her enough to do so. Snape gave as good as he got and he had never been a wilting flower. Tactfully, neither of them mentioned those occasions.

“But isn’t it time to move past some of those memories?” She asked. “It was twenty years ago for pity’s sake! Everyone’s an immature git when they’re fourteen. Let it go for your own peace of mind. End this grudge against Harry for actions that he’s innocent of. None of what his father did to you is his fault. Tell me, when he saw this memory, how did he react?”

“He was upset. Though that might have been because of me…”

“Did he laugh? Did he seem proud of his father?”

“No.”

McGonagall put her hand on his knee soothingly. “You may have hated his father, but you loved his mother.”

Snape froze. Her words slammed into him like the Hogwarts Express and he felt sick. What would Lily say if she could see how her former best friend was treating her boy? He looked down, feeling like a bully being called out on his childish behavior. He was a bully being called out on his childish behavior. He was ashamed. He had to do better by Harry. He couldn’t tarnish Lily’s memory by making her boy terrified of him.

“He’s only fifteen, Severus. You are the adult in this situation. You are the teacher. Harry is rather in a bind here. He has to see you for punishments even if he’s done nothing that would warrant physical chastisement. Do you still spank your Slytherins?”

“If the little brats deserve it.”

“Yes, if they deserve it. Harry may mouth off in class or break a rule here and there but those don’t warrant physical punishment. He doesn’t deserve this and he’s getting it anyway. Be mindful of that.”

He rubbed his hand over his face. “You’re right. Merlin, you’re right.” He asked in a quiet voice, “what if he doesn’t accept an apology?”

“Well,” she patted his knee. “Then you’ll have to accept that.”

He nodded.

“Oh, and Severus?”

He looked at her. She raised a brow, disappointed and stern.

“Don’t let something like this happen again, hm?”

“Never.” He said, feeling like a he was twelve and being scolded for forgetting his Transfiguration homework. “Never. I did come here for other reasons too.”

“Oh?”

“The potion may get stronger.” Snape said. He cast a quick warming spell on the tea and it was soon piping hot again. “The Nox rubrum contains Agrippa, which when combined with Anjelica—as it is in this case—causes the potency to rise.”

McGonagall braced herself. “So what would that mean?”

“If I am correct…this is conjecture, but, he may need stronger reprimands to appease the Nox rubrum.”

McGonagall rubbed her temple and muttered something unpleasant under her breath.

“Likely,” Snape continued, “I’ll probably just need to hit for longer periods of time. Or harder. Like I said, conjecture, but, I think as his Head of House you should know and perhaps prepare Potter.”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll speak to Harry.” She said.

“I’ve been in touch with several colleagues since last term.” Snape said. “The good news is an antidote does exist.”

McGonagall perked up. “Oh that’s excellent Severus!”

He nodded. “As to the nature of it, we don’t know. It may be something else to drink, it may be a ritual, it may be…” he shrugged. “It’ll likely be another potion to consume but realistically it could be anything.”

“Well, keep trying. As ever if I can do anything…”

He set the teacup down and stood, preparing to go. “Thank you for the tea, and, and everything.”

“You’re welcome.” She squeezed his hand. “You could be exactly what Harry needs, Severus. If you could move past whatever vendetta you have against the boy, you could be exactly what each other need.”

“What do you mean?” Snape asked.

“Well, face it. Harry is a chronic rule-breaker and you have something of a reputation for, ah,” how to be delicate about Snape’s iron control over his classes and students? “maintaining structure.”

“So?”

“So I think that you and Harry could be good for each other, assuming he accepts your apology. If, once this mess is mended,” she gave him the raised eyebrow again, “you were willing to take a more active role in Harry’s life—”

Snape scoffed. “He doesn’t need me. He wouldn’t want me—I’m the biggest bastard on the staff!”

“No, you’re not. Umbridge is.” McGonagall said. “Just consider it.”

Snape paused. “Consider what?”

“Being a positive male figure in Harry’s life!”

Snape stared at her. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Did you forget what I just told you? Harry disliked me before this potion and after last night, he definitely hates me.”

She rolled her eyes at the dramatics. “Harry will forgive you. He’s a kind boy. He has a good heart. He won’t want to hold this grudge. Did it ever occur to you that maybe he’s disrespectful to you because you started your relationship by being disrespectful to him?”

Snape frowned.

“As long as you are sincere in your apology, he will forgive you.”

“Minerva…”

“I’ve known that child for five years, Severus. I am right about this!” She snipped.

“Fine.” He said. He wasn’t going to win this. “I will apologize, and let’s say for the sake of argument that he forgives me. He is NOT going to want me as a ‘positive male figure’ in his life. It’s me. Me.”

“Now you are just being difficult. You are not nearly the bastard you claim to be.”

Snape huffed. “He has plenty of positive male figures! Albus—”

“Is a busy man who runs a large school and is often away from said school.”

“Fine, Lupin—”

“Is a werewolf who is dealing with his own issues.”

“Alright,” Snape threw his hands up. “He likes Hagrid.”

“Everyone likes Hagrid. But Hagrid, bless him, does not have the ability to handle Harry’s needs.”

“Arthur Weasley.” Snape shot back.

“Has seven children and works full time.” Minerva added.

“Black?” Snape said, desperate.

“Was recently released from Azkaban after twelve years of false imprisonment! The man is still learning to take care of himself. Foisting a teenager upon him, godfather or not, would be cruel.”

“He has an uncle.” Snape said weakly.

McGonagall stayed silent and simply raised an eyebrow at that. “Would you want a better relationship with Harry? With Lily’s boy?”

“Harry and I have too much history.”

“A masterful avoidance of the question.”

“I don’t know.” He said, teeth grit. “I doubt Potter wants anything to do with me after yesterday. I will apologize and go from there.”

She nodded, satisfied. “Be patient with him and keep your more biting witticisms to yourself.”

He thanked her again and bid her farewell before she could scold him more. She closed the door behind him sat at her desk, pleased and a touch misty-eyed. Just because her students grew up didn’t mean they stopped needing her.

-

Harry took a deep breath and knocked on Professor McGonagall’s office door Tuesday evening. She had an open policy for her Gryffindors to come and see her about anything, day or night. Her door was always open, so to speak. She had official office hours—all the teachers had to—and this post-dinner visit was very much outside of them. He wanted to get this off his chest while it was still fresh. Harry fidgeted as he waited for a response. Ron and Hermione had offered to come with him but he’d said no. He appreciated their support but wanted to do this part himself. It would be embarrassing enough.

The door opened. “Mr. Potter.” She said, peering at him over the tops of her glasses. She didn’t seem surprised to see him at all. “Come in, lad.”

He moved for the chair in front of her desk, but she gestured him towards the sofa. Harry hesitated. She only had people on the sofa when there was An Issue. He wondered if he was somehow in trouble with her. He sat stiffly and watched Professor McGonagall sit down beside him. Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure what to say or where to start. It was all so awful. This potion was making his life hell and Snape was making it a thousand times worse and he should be able to handle this, shouldn’t he? He was The Chosen One, or whatever. It was just a little pain, but it was—

“Harry.” McGonagall’s cool hand touched his, which he realized now was clenched in his school robes, the knuckles white. He angrily wiped his eyes. Why the hell was he even crying? So stupid.

“Harry, it will be alright.” She said. “Take a breath…there you go.”

She waved her wand and a glass of water appeared. He took it and drank.

“There we are.” She said. “Now, what is troubling you?”

Harry stumbled over the first few words, but then it all poured out. How he felt stupid for taking the potion, how he’d been fighting with Ron, how he hated the spankings, how last night had been horrible, how Snape hated him and he hated Snape and how awful this entire thing was. “It’s really not the pain of it.” He said, fidgeting. “I can deal with that. I can deal with getting hit…like, I understand that’s how the potion works. He’s just awful about it. He hates me! I’m not doing Occlumency with him anymore. I don’t care.” He folded his arms and shook his head. “I won’t. Not with him.” Then, “is there a way someone else can take the Solis argenti?” He asked. Then in a small voice, “could you?” He figured he could take whatever McGonagall handed out. She at least wouldn’t call him names while she smacked him.

McGonagall had listened carefully the whole time he spoke and she sighed. She didn’t know he’d been fighting with Ronald for most of first term. That was unfortunate timing.

“It’s not that simple, Harry. Now that Professor Snape has taken the Solis argenti, it ‘matched’ with your Nox rubrum. According to the potion rules, that can’t be overcome.”

Harry nodded. She was right, he knew she was.

“Professor Snape feels great remorse for last night.” She said.

Harry scoffed. “I doubt that.”

“He does, Harry. Truly.”

“I never want to see him again.”

“If he apologized, would that change your mind?”

Harry laughed. “Snape will never apologize to me for anything.”

She let out an exasperated breath. “But if he did.”

Harry shrugged. “If he meant it, yeah I guess.” When he was eleven he’d found out the magical world existed, with unicorns and dragons and wands and spells and flying brooms and all things wild and wonderful that he could have never, ever dreamed of. Somehow though, Snape apologizing to anyone, least of all him, seemed like the stuff of myth. “If he apologizes,” Harry growled, “he can never say that to me again.” His voice was cold and he rose to his feet, pacing back and forth. “He can, like, hit me or whatever. Whatever needs to happen for the potion, fine, I can take it. But he can’t talk to me that way. He can’t call me names and he can’t lose control and take whatever problems he has out on my arse and chuck things at me!”

“I agree.”

“He can’t be cross with me over something my father did.” He practically spat the word.

“I agree.”

Harry stopped pacing and threw his hands up. “I didn’t do any of that stuff that I saw in his memory. It’s shit that it happened to him, but it’s not my fault!”

“I agree.”

He stopped pacing and stared at her.

“Did you expect me to disagree with you?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“How are you now?” She asked.

He shrugged. “Alright.”

“Would you permit me to see the damage?”

He paused. His first reaction was hell no but a vindictive part of him wanted her to see the marks. He wanted her to know that Snape had messed up. He wanted her to be disgusted by the man’s behavior.

He came over and fumbled with his trousers. He turned around and pushed them down to just below his backside before yanking at his robe. She helped him hike it up and her mouth pursed into a thin line at the red marks and dull bruises. “Merlin’s beard.” She muttered.

“Professor,” Harry said quietly. “Do I deserve it?”

“Gracious, Potter, no.”

“That’s what Hermione said. But I saw a memory, Snape’s memory, and in it my dad was being awful to him. Since my dad was awful to him, can’t Snape be awful to me?”

She dropped the robe. Harry fixed his clothes. “Mr. Potter.” Her voice was stern. “It doesn’t work that way. No one gets to punish you now for wrongs committed twenty years ago by your relative. Your father may have bullied Professor Snape when they were children, but Severus was hardly helpless! He gave back as good as he got and then some. Your father and Sirius never got on with Professor Snape and he never got on with them, much like yourself and Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry made a face and finished zipping and buttoning. They both sat back down, Harry very carefully.

“Are you in need of the hospital?” She asked.

“No. I took some potions.”

She waved her wand and floated the tin of biscuits over. Harry took one and crunched.

“You don’t deserve this Draught of Asphodel. Neither of you do,” she added. “I understand that you may hate him right now and may never want to speak to him again, but if you can, please give Professor Snape another chance, Harry. He made a mistake. He lost control and said unpleasant things to you and hit you far too hard, and that wasn’t right. Let him apologize, can you give him that?”

“I don’t know. I mean, do you really think he’ll apologize? To me? ME?”

“You might be surprised,” she mumbled. “And Harry, please keep me informed. I care about you. This potion is ridiculously unfair and you’re not alone in dealing with it, alright?”

He nodded. “Okay. I will, and I know I don’t deserve the potion or Snape’s temper.” Hermione had said the same thing. Her and McGonagall were two of the smartest people he knew. He wasn’t going to argue.

She nodded. “Yes. If something like what happened yesterday with Professor Snape happens again, if he goes too far again—which I’m sure he won’t—you have my permission to disarm him and come to me immediately, even if it’s past curfew, even if I am in the middle of teaching. We’ll deal with it. But I think you’ll be okay now.”

“I, I appreciate you being willing to help with this.”

“Of course, Mr. Potter.” She squeezed his hand. Harry nodded. He felt better, he really did. He was glad he’d come and talked to her. There was a plan now and he was glad she knew and was on his side.

“Okay.” He stood up. “Thanks, Professor.”

“Take another biscuit, Potter.”

He grabbed a chocolate one.

“You can always come talk to me about anything.” She said as they made their way to the door. She paused, then added. “Keep me updated on this. I want to know what’s going on.” On the off chance this didn’t go smoothly, if Harry rejected the apology or if Severus did a half-arsed job of it, this whole situation would be hellish moving forward. That was a problem for another day though.

He nodded. “I know. Thank you.”

“Go on now before curfew.”

She watched him leave and closed her door. She hadn’t gotten much grading done today but that didn’t mean she wasn’t productive.

-

Harry was feeling better the next day and he went to class. His first period was Potions and he was glad he was going to get seeing Snape out of the way early in the day. He made it through the whole class without incident. He sat up straight. He didn’t talk out of turn with Hermione and Ron. He didn’t pass a note. He didn’t raise his hand. He didn’t do anything to draw attention to himself at all and at no point did Snape even make eye contact with him. When the bell rang, he let out a relieved breath. He was packing his stuff up into his bag when a shadow fell over the table. He looked up into Snape’s dark eyes.

“Mr. Potter, please see me.”

It was impossible to discern anything from his tone. “Yes, sir.” He said in a tight voice. Snape swept up to his desk at the front of the room and Harry swore under his breath.

“It’s probably nothing.” Hermione said.

“Yeah, he wasn’t pissed off at all with you today.” Ron added.

They walked out the door, leaving Harry alone with the Professor.

Harry hoisted his bag. He dragged his feet to the front of the room. He stood stiffly before Snape’s desk. What was he going to do now? Grab the paddle and finish what he started? Find another jar of something horrible to chuck at him?

“Harry,” his voice lacked the usual bite. “Would you meet with me during my office hours this morning?”

I don’t want to. I never want to see your ugly face again. “Yes, sir.” He said.

Snape regarded him for a moment.

“Thank you. Dismissed.”

Harry left and wondered what all this was about. He wondered through History of Magic until his free period before lunch. He paced before the Potions classroom door until the class let out and Snape’s office hours would begin. The bell rang and the students, third years, streamed out. When they’d cleared away, he took a few minutes to steel himself, entered the empty room, and found the office door open. Snape saw him coming and Harry didn’t need to knock. He paused though and wiped his sweaty hand on his robes before stepping back into the dragon’s den.

The room was as it always was, tidy, devoid of broken glass or busted animal skeletons. “Have a seat.” Snape said, gesturing with his red-ink quill to the armless chair in front of his desk. Harry slumped into the seat, then thought better of it and fixed his posture and sat up straight. He touched his tie, ensuring it wasn’t askew, and tugged his robes to arrange them. He didn’t want to provoke anything. Snape slashed over the unfortunate student’s essay a few times (Harry had seen plenty of those slashes over his own essays in the past) and put the quill aside. He folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward.

“Harry.” He paused and looked down at his hands, thinking, before he looked up at the boy. “On Monday night during our lesson, I went too far. I lost control of myself and I was upset that you viewed that particular memory. I took my anger for your father’s childish behavior out on you. It was unfair of me and I humiliated and hurt you and you didn’t deserve that.”

Harry stared at him, his mouth open in shock. Was Snape under the Imperius curse?

Snape paused and said, through teeth that were only a little bit grit, “I apologize.” His teeth grit a little tighter. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Oh he was definitely under the Imperius curse. Or maybe someone who had never met Snape had used polyjuice potion and this was an imposter. Harry still stared at him. Snape raised his brows. “Are you alright?”

Harry snapped his mouth closed. “Ye-yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Sir. I…wasn’t expecting an apology.”

“I went too far.” Snape admitted. He leaned back in his chair, seemingly more relaxed now that he’d apologized. “I wasn’t smacking you to appease the potion but to satisfy my own anger. It was completely unfair of me given your already unfair situation with this potion…” He paused, then found himself saying to his hands, “my own father was a hard man. A very hard man. Abusive, even.” As Snape said it, he realized he was admitting it to himself as well as Harry. He’d never said this out loud before and weirdly he felt much better for doing so. “It’s hardly an excuse…but…this situation you and I are in is, difficult, for me. The longer it goes on, the more, ah, difficult it becomes.”

Harry gulped. He hadn’t known that about Snape. The man going mental on him like his own father would have made a little more sense now. Somehow knowing that Snape had been abused, that his father would go mental like Uncle Vernon sometimes went mental, made it a lot easier to forgive him. “I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled. “You shouldn’t have been abused.” He felt he should share something of his own. “My relatives basically neglected me my whole life. Though, you saw some of that. My friends say it was abuse, but the muggles never, like, hit me or anything. They, they hated magic. My uncle especially.”

“Yes.” Snape said, thinking of Tobias, slightly drunk and armed with a cane. “I know the type. Petunia’s always hated it.”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “Wait. How do you know that?”

“I was good friends with your mother when we were children. Petunia hated me because I was magical like her sister.”

Harry’s eyes went round as the moon and he leaned back in the chair. “What? You knew my mother?”

Snape stared at Harry. Minerva’s words still bounced around his head: you could be exactly what each other need. He was surprised with himself for sharing that much. He rarely talking about his childhood with anyone, much less students.

“Yes. We were good friends.”

“What was she like?”

“Kind, thoughtful. Accepting. Extraordinary.”

Harry still looked stunned.

Minerva’s words, You may have hated his father but you loved his mother, popped back into Snape’s head. He would do better, for Lily’s sake. He had to.

“Your relatives were wrong to neglect you, magic or not. In any case, I cannot excuse my actions,” Snape said. “I’m not my father.”

“Neither am I.” Harry said desperately. “I didn’t know what I would see. I wasn’t trying to see anything in your head. I was trying to defend myself!”

“Which is exactly what you should have been doing.” Snape nodded. “I was attacking your mind and you pushed back. That was an excellent reflex.” Snape paused, then said very quietly. “Do you accept my apology?”

Harry nodded. “Yes. But…you can’t do that again!” It felt weird to be telling a Professor—Snape of all people—what he could and couldn’t do.

Snape hesitated. “The potion dictates…”

“Whatever needs to be done for the potion, fine. Hit me with a paddle, whatever. I can take it. But you can’t be upset with me for things my father or Sirius did. You can’t call me names, and like, scream that I’m insolent and arrogant and chuck things at me!” He stood up. “Look at what you did.” He shoved his clothes down and turned. He was glad to see the pained wince that crossed Snape’s face. The man physically flinched back, like Harry had just clapped his hands loudly in his face.

“That will never happen again.” He said in a serious voice as Harry fixed his clothes. “I promise you, Harry.” Snape sounded as somber as Harry had ever heard him. “I understand. You’re right.”

“They were pricks to you, and I don’t know, maybe you were a prick to them, but none of what happened was my fault.”

“You’re right.” He said. “It won’t happen again.”

Harry nodded. “Then I accept your apology.”

“Good. Th-thank you.” Snape said.

Harry stared at him again in shock. Snape had said ‘thank you’ to him. To him!

Snape rolled his eyes and stood. He went over to a cabinet and Harry gulped. He returned a second later with a little pot of salve. “Put that on the bruises. They’ll fade overnight.”

Harry took the little peace offering and nodded. “Okay. Er, thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” He waved his hand. “Go on, Potter. Stay out of trouble.”

“Yessir.” Harry grabbed his bag and hurried from the room.

He told Ron and Hermione what happened. He glossed over the bit where him and Snape had chatted about their childhoods—that was still making his own head spin—but he told them about the apology and the pot of salve.

“Wow.” Ron said, eyes wide. “He really said he was sorry?”

“Yup.” Harry was surprised by how much better he felt. He stared at the carved wooden pot. Snape was still an arse, but he’d apologized and he’d given him stuff for his bruises and that wasn’t nothing.

Harry was in the corridor a couple days later, moving to Herbology. The corridor was packed with students. He fell into step with Fred and George.

“Hey, Harry.” Fred put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “We’re making some really wicked spells with the money you gave us.”

“Oh, brilliant!” Harry said. “I saw you testing some stuff out. Did you ever figure out how to get rid of the boils?”

“Er, still working on it. But hey,” Fred nodded to where Ginny was standing near an alcove, chatting with friends, unaware of the twins and Harry passing by, “look at this other one we got. Watch.”

Fred pointed his wand at Ginny, “tinctura capillus!” Immediately her hair morphed into an eye watering shade of neon green. Fred and George howled with laughter. Ginny touched her hair and brought a handful of it before her face. Her eyes widened at the sight and she looked up, ready to kill someone. Fred and George, and now Harry, laughed even harder.

“You!” She waded into the crowd and aimed her wand at Fred.

Fred sobered immediately. “Oh shit.” He ducked and her bat-bogey hex hit a passing second year full in the face. The second year’s older sister took offense and flung a hex at George that made his feet swell to four times their normal size. Fred shouted and shot a jinx that arced out of his wand in a rainbow and ended in a pot filled not with gold, but with rotted eggs that launched themselves into the air.

After that, things got hazy. Harry was aware of ducking a petrification jinx and shooting a stinging hex off over his shoulder. Someone shouted out in pain and out of nowhere a deluge of ice water drenched his head and shoulders. Some students were laughing, some—mostly the younger years who didn’t yet have the full grasp of magic—were crying. Jinxes and hexes and cursed charms were flying around everywhere. Magic burst in the air in showers of crimson and cobalt. A window broke. A statue of a gargoyle leaped off its pedestal. Suits of armor started marching. A portrait exploded in a ball of fire, it’s owners—a group of women dancing in a circle—leaping into the portrait of a startled unicorn beside them. Peeves showed up, delighted at the chaos, and started shooting stink pellets at random out of a blow gun.

“This is more like it!” George crowed, shouting, “unguem!” at a Slytherin fourth year. The boy’s fingernails grew out fast, curling around his hands.

The voices of shouting teachers soon waded into the fray. McGonagall’s shrill shout of, “Owens get off that gargoyle!” echoed along with Flitwick’s higher voice shouting the incantation to lower a group of shrieking first years who were pinned to the ceiling. Harry and the twins ducked behind a huge marble vase and cackled among themselves. They all had tears on their faces from the laughter and Fred and George gave each other a high-five.

“There y’go, Harry.” George wheezed, “since you’ve been moping so much lately.”

A Hufflepuff girl zinged a hex towards them. They ducked. The hex hit the vase’s handle and it popped off and crashed to the floor. The corridor was emptying out as the teachers restored order and people continued on to class. Harry shot up from his hiding place, determined not to let their Hufflepuff attacker go free.

“Creo cornibus!” He shouted, aiming his wand at the girl. She dove behind the nearest cover.

Unfortunately that cover was Professor Snape, distracted by a screaming first year who was getting converged upon by translucent nibblers.

The jinx hit Snape full in the back and he staggered forward. Color drained from Harry’s face as a pair of fuzzy pink antlers sprouted from the man’s head. He whirled around to search for his attacker. Behind the remains of the vase, Fred and George were laughing hard, doubled over, their faces red.

“POTTER!” Snape shouted. None of the remaining students laughed at Snape’s predicament. They all fled. Harry took a step back, horrified at his mistake. The Nox rubrum wasted no time, sending stinging, sparkling pain up his arms and legs. “Owww…” he hissed.

Peeves chortled in mid-air, rolling over and over, “I’m dying up here! Get it?Dying!”

Without looking, Snape aimed his wand over his shoulder and blasted a hex at Peeves. He screeched and vanished. Snape drew nearer to Harry, his black robes billowing and the antlers—already starting to shrink and vanish—making him look like some kind of mythological spirit out for vengeance. It would have been funny if Harry wasn’t so scared. Rather than wait for Snape and accept the inevitable, Harry turned on his heel and tore down the corridor with the remaining students.

“Mr. Potter!” McGonagall called. She was coaxing the gargoyle back up onto its pedestal. “Slow down before you fall!” He ignored her and ran like his life depended on it. Sure, Snape had apologized a few days ago, but the fear and pain of the last spanking was in the front of his mind. He didn’t trust the apology to be truly genuine. Not yet, anyway. He had never heard Snape apologize for a thing, especially not to him, and they were now treading in uncharted waters. Harry didn’t want a repeat of that awful evening and Snape had looked mighty upset by the antlers. On some level he realized how childish he was being, running away from Snape like an errant toddler in a shop. Had he paused to think he would also realize that the Nox rubrum was only going to attack him harder until he sought Snape out. He didn’t pause to think though. He ran out the door and to his Herbology class, which he was only about ten minutes late for.

Harry slipped into Greenhouse 3 and found the class all standing at work benches, harvesting pods. It smelled damp and fresh and the humid air clung to his skin.

“Sorry, Professor Sprout.” He said, going to stand beside Ron and Hermione. “There was an incident in the corridor.”

“I see.” She said. “Well, join the others. They’ll get you up to speed. And Harry? Don’t make being late to my class a habit.” She held a pair of gloves out for him.

“Yes, Professor, sorry.”

He slipped the gloves on and joined Ron and Hermione. Neville was behind them, working with Seamus. Everyone’s gloves were covered in goo.

“Where’ve you been?” Ron asked as Harry came up to their work bench.

Harry explained quickly about the hexes in the corridor.

“You were there for that?” Ron sounded jealous. “Ginny told me about it on the way here. She was right pissed off at first but admitted the hair color spell was pretty good. She managed to get it mostly back to normal but it’s still a bit green. I told her she’s ready for Halloween and she kicked me.”

Harry told them how he hexed a pair of antlers onto Snape and everyone in hearing range laughed.

“And yet you live?” Hermione smiled.

“Are you nuts? I ran for it.”

“Less talking, more shelling!” Sprout announced. Harry grabbed a pod and started popping out the syrupy brown seeds.

There was nothing for it. His whole body was aching by the end of class. In fact, the pain of it seemed to be worse. Last term the attacks didn’t hurt this bad. Last term it had been stinging and tingling but now he was aching, his limbs feeling heavy and sore. McGonagall had told him after Transfiguration that his potion was evolving and he would start to get worse attacks so long as he irritated Snape. And if he ignored it forever, it would attack his heart and kill him. The last person Harry wanted to face was Snape but he had no choice. The potion was cruel and didn’t understand nor care about Harry’s feelings towards the person doing the smacking. Harry had to wait until Snape’s schedule had an opening, enduring the pain of the potion for another hour before he set off for the office.

He headed off to the dungeons, trying not to feel miserable and wishing he could take a healing potion, when he heard a sweet, girlish voice a few paces behind him the drafty corridor.

“Mr. Potter!”

He froze. Umbridge. Fuuuuuuck. Why?

“Mr. Potter. Where are you headed off to?”

“Uh, I have to see Snape—Professor Snape.”

“For what?”

“Um, remedial potions?”

“Goodness. Professor Snape must not be a very good teacher if students need this much help outside of class.”

“No, er, no, he’s good. I’m just really bad at brewing potions!” He smiled and shrugged, trying to play this off as his own idiocy. The Nox rubrum bit into his body and he laughed to hide the groan. She stared at him, suspicious.

“I think you’re lying, Mr. Potter. I don’t think you’ve been seeing Professor Snape for remedial lessons at all.”

“No. I’m not lying. Professor Snape is expecting me.” He shrugged. It wasn’t a lie. Not completely. Snape really was expecting him in his office at some point. Of course it wasn’t for a potions lesson…

“Hm.” She still looked suspicious. “Well, I’m concerned about your education at this institute, Mr. Potter. I’d like to sit in on this remedial lesson.”

Harry’s bones turned to sand. He was sure he was going to pass out.

“Oh! No, that’s not necessary!” Harry said. “No, you’ll be really bored.”

“On the contrary,” she grinned. “I’ve yet to see Professor Snape one-on-one with a student. I think it would be most enlightening.”

Harry really wished a Death Eater would pop out of the suit of armor over there and kill him right now.

“Uh…”

“Lead the way.” She smiled primly and clasped her hands, waiting for him to start walking. He gulped.

“Sure.” His voice cracked softly and he headed for the dungeons. His mind spun. How was he going to get out of this? He couldn’t tell her to bugger off. He couldn’t tell her anything without drawing even more suspicion. Butterflies, no, thestrals flipped around in his stomach. Snape was going to spank him and Umbridge would bloody watch. This was going to be worse than the Occlumency lesson.

The Potions classroom was empty and Harry opened the door. He really hoped Snape was here or his whole plan, such as it was, would go to pot. Snape must be expecting him. Surely he knew after all this time how this potion went. He knew Harry would be seeking him out eventually.

Harry knocked on the office door.

“Enter!”

Harry closed his eyes briefly, steeled himself, and pushed open the door. “I’m here for my remedial lesson!” He said loudly before Snape could say anything.

Snape had a large book open on his desk. He was standing, leaned over it and reading. The antlers were gone. He looked up at Harry, his expression inscrutable, before his gaze flicked behind him.

“Professor Umbridge.” He said in a silky, dangerous voice. “What a, ah, pleasant surprise.” He glanced back at Harry. If Harry didn’t know him as well as he did, he wouldn’t have noticed anything. However, after spending all this time together this year he was able to detect an expression that promised Harry was going to be explaining all of this later.

“Hello, Professor Snape. I’m here to observe your lesson with young Harry, here. Since he has been receiving so very many remedial potions lessons, I can’t help but wonder if your teaching methods may be remiss.”

Harry closed his eyes and wished for death. She was insulting Snape’s teaching abilities. He was never going to sit again.

Snape stared at Harry and closed his book. If it was possible to close a book dangerously, Snape had just done it. He gave Umbridge a barely-there smile. “Of course you may observe. Anything for the ministry. Potter,” he said in a tight voice, “set up your usual cauldron. I’ll be with you shortly.”

Harry charged into the classroom. Umbridge followed serenely. Harry hoped Snape was retrieving his wand so he could Avada Kedavra him into oblivion. Umbridge sat down at Snape’s desk at the front of the room and took a little notebook out of her pocket. Harry picked up a cauldron. It slipped out of his clammy hands and crashed to the ground with a massive clang. He crouched behind the table under the pretense of picking it up again and grimaced at the attack currently slamming through his body. He rubbed his aching, burning arm even though rubbing never really helped.

Why hadn’t he just said he had to go to the hospital wing? He could have said he was feeling and ill—which was true. He could make up some story for Madame Pomfrey about a stomach ache and take a nap in the beds down there. He could have made up some story about how he needed to see Snape and then she could have summoned him and everything would be fine. Stupid!

Snape came out of his office with a few jars of ingredients. He set them on the table. When he saw Umbridge at his desk, his jaw clenched and the muscles there twitched. “As before, Potter, I think we’ll do something easy again.” Snape said in a cool tone. “Given that you botched it last time.”

Harry stared at him. Snape knew damn well there hadn’t been a ‘last time!’ Was he actually playing along with this lie? Snape was lying? To another professor?!

“Sorry, sir,” Harry stared him in the eye. “I’ll do my best to improve on my previous lesson.”

“I want you to make a simple healing potion.” Snape picked something he knew the boy would know. Healing potion was one of the first things students learned. He stood beside Harry. Umbridge watched with interest, making notes. Snape folded his arms, his cloak making him look like a huge bat, and stared down at Harry in full Imposing Potions Master mode. “Let’s see if my teaching abilities really are remiss.” His voice was icy.

Harry frowned. So he was upset about Umbridge’s comment. He was probably pissed off about the antler thing too. This was going to be the most important potion Harry ever brewed. Fortunately, he could brew a healing potion in his sleep.

“Isn’t a healing potion a bit easy, Professor?” Umbridge asked. “He’s in his fifth year.”

“And I’m just awful at potions!” Harry said to her with a hysterical little shrug before Snape could answer. “Which is why I’ve been having so very many of these remedial lessons.” He glanced at Snape. “You usually shout at me a whole lot and that’s why I leave your office crying sometimes.”

Snape watched Harry speak to Umbridge and tried not to laugh at Harry’s pathetic attempt at a lie. The boy was terrible at lying. He rolled his eyes instead. “Yeah. Something like that.”

He shifted around to the front of the table, blocking Umbridge’s line of sight to Harry. He dropped a note beside the cauldron. Harry reached out, subtle, and pulled the paper closer.

If you can push through the attacks, do so. Nod if you need me to get rid of her.

Harry, still nervous and hysterical, bit back a giggle. Who the hell was this? The Snape he knew would beat him in front of Umbridge just because he could but this Snape, this Snape was really lying for him. Honestly, it was kinda fun. The man was such a grouch and a stickler for the rules. To hear him so brazenly and comfortably lie—and to be lying to Umbridge—was hilarious. Another attack wrenched Harry’s body, making him squeak and drop the bottle of dittany on the table top.

“Careful, boy.” Snape leaned over to pick up the bottle. Umbridge couldn’t see him and Harry scrunched his face up and clenched his fists, riding out the stifling agony.

“Yes, sir.” He managed. He nodded furiously and picked up a spoon to measure out the dittany.

“Keep going. I forgot something in my office.” Snape swept the note up and disappeared into his office.

“Mr. Potter, what other potions have you made?”

“Uh, the Draught of Peace.”

“Did you find that difficult?”

Not really but Snape was a git and vanished it before I could find out if it was correct. Although it was pretty much ruined by then…

“It was tedious and took me a long time to brew.” That was the truth.

Snape returned after a moment. A fresh ink stain was on his finger. Snape and Umbridge both watched Harry bring the water in the cauldron to a simmer and carefully begin adding ingredients. Harry realized he was doing too well to be believable that he was hopeless at making potions and he asked Snape, “do I stir counter-clockwise after the dittany?”

“No. Clockwise. As I’ve told you in every one of these remedial lessons...of which there have been many.”

Snape said it completely straight-faced and Harry had to fight back a laugh. The nerves were making him punchy.

He brewed the rest of the potion, stirring it slowly and bringing it down to a simmer.

“Do you remember how long it has to simmer?” Snape asked.

“Er, ten minutes. No, twenty? No, wait. I sure am a dolt…”

Dobby popped into the room. He bowed and presented a note to Dolores Umbridge.

“Dumbledore? What does that old coot want now?” She mumbled, reading it. “I thought he was still away.” She folded the note and hummed, addressing Dobby. “Tell Professor Dumbledore that I shall be there at once.”

The elf bowed again and vanished.

Harry stared at the bubbling cauldron.

“Did I do it right, sir?” He asked. They both knew the healing potion was up to even St. Mungo’s standards.

“Probably not. I shall check once it’s cooled. I hope you didn’t botch this one like you did the others in all the remedial potions lessons we’ve had in the past.”

Harry couldn’t help it. He let out a loud laugh before quickly covering it with a fake coughing fit.

Dolores Umbridge cast a glare at both of them, her eyes narrowing to suspicious little slits, before she took her leave and left the classroom. The moment the door shut Harry sagged to his knees and groaned.

“Snape…” He muttered. He was immobilized by the roar of the attack before it vanished as quickly as it arrived.

“Come on.” Snape hauled him up. His hand was a vice around Harry’s bicep as he darkened the fire under the cauldron and pointed the boy into his office.

“I’m sorry.” Harry said as he entered the room. “I didn’t mean to hex you before. I really wasn’t aiming at you. I was aiming at that Hufflepuff girl…”

He fell silent and looked at Snape. The man had sat in the armless chair and was simply watching him.

Harry stood in front of his teacher, worrying at his fingertips with his other hand. “Are you angry with me?” He ventured.

“I’m certainly not happy with you, hence the attacks you’re currently experiencing. You did attack me. Not to mention you ran away. Hexing a teacher is grounds for expulsion.”

Harry’s eyes went wide and Snape bit back a smirk.

“Well…I mean, I cast the hex. I didn’t mean for it to hit you! And I only ran because I didn’t want to get smacked…”

“I know. You’re not getting expelled. But you were still involved. You still broke several rules. You know there’s no dueling allowed in corridors.”

Harry couldn’t argue with that.

“Are you ready?” Snape asked.

The thestrals flapped in Harry’s stomach and he inhaled sharply. His heart was starting to pound.

Snape rolled his right sleeve up. Harry watched him with a slightly sick expression. He didn’t want to be spanked. What if Snape’s apology had been rubbish and he was about to go mental again? Although, he didn’t look like he was going to go mental. Last time there had been shouting and raging but now Snape looked really calm, actually.

“Harry.” He said, forcing himself to be patient. What would his father have done when faced with a nervous teenage boy he was about to hit? Snape would just do the opposite.

Harry steeled himself. He pulled his robes off, trying not to quake. He draped the robe over the chair and approached Snape on slow feet. He took Harry’s arm and pulled him between his knees. Harry couldn’t help tensing up. Thoughts of the last horrible spanking flew through his head. Harry remembered crying and shouting, Snape calling him names, comparing him to his father, pulling his clothes down. He shivered.

“Hey, look at me.” Snape’s voice was softer than Harry had ever heard it. Harry did.

“Do you trust me?”

“No, but I want to.”

That was a fair answer. Snape guided him down and Harry went over his left leg. He was so tense he could barely get into position and he held himself stiffly, more bent over than actually laying.

“Harry.” Snape’s voice was stern but not angry. A big warm hand rested on his back. “Go on.”

Harry dropped onto his leg, tilting forward to touch the cold floor with his fingertips. Snape left his hand on Harry’s back, smoothing his palm over his shirt. The hand moved up and firm fingers pressed into the knots in the base of his neck. That felt rather nice. Harry hung his head further and felt his shoulders open a bit. He could smell the fireplace and the smoky potion-spice scent of Snape’s clothes.

“Calm down, Harry.” Snape purposely lowered his voice into a soothing pitch. Harry hadn’t been aware Snape was capable of speaking like this. “This won’t be like last time...for which I am truly sorry. I’m going to spank you, yes it will hurt but it will be over quickly and your attacks will stop.”

“Yessir.” Harry said. His body relaxed slowly.

“Ah, good, uh, good lad.” He said, trying at being encouraging. “Are you all healed?”

“Um, I have some bruises kinda low. That stuff you gave me in the jar helped though.”

“Here?” Snape touched the spot where backside met thigh. He’d paddled him there, wanting to make it hurt.

“Yeah.” Harry said.

“Then that area will be avoided.”

The hand moved off his neck and wrapped around his waist. Harry grit his teeth as Snape raised his arm and he winced when several spanks landed briskly over his bottom. It hurt. It always hurt. Every time he forgot how much it hurt and then once it started again he regretted upsetting the man and landing himself in this position. The hexing had been brilliant though. A quick smile at the memory of Ginny flinging a bat-bogey hex and then Snape landed a particularly hard smack, scattering it. Harry clenched his eyes shut and tried to stay as still as he could. The smacks landed in a stinging, throbbing, aching rhythm. Harry growled, hoping it would be over soon.

Pain shot up his arms and legs and he gasped. Tears popped into his eyes.

“What?” Snape lifted both hands.

“Ow…it’s still happening….”

Snape made an exasperated sound. “Harry,” he put his hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to use the paddle again. I think the potion is evolving.”

“Yeah, McGongall said something about that.” He sounded completely dejected.

“Yes, good. So stopping the attacks may require harsher methods. Two of the ingredients in the Nox rubrum, the agrippa and the anjelica, when combined they can increase in potency over time.” It was actually far more complicated than that but for Harry’s purposes this would do.

“Oh my god.” Harry muttered. Anger heated his face. “I don’t want to get a hand chopped off because of this fucking potion!”

“It won’t come to that.” Snape told him, ignoring the language. “If anything you’ll just lose a toe or two.”

“Oh, ha ha.” Harry grumbled.

“Accio paddle.”

It zoomed into his hand. Harry groaned.

“Steel yourself with good news: there is in fact an antidote.”

“Really?!” Harry looked up over his shoulder. “Ow!” The potion was getting angrier and Harry lost feeling in his legs for a few seconds.

“Brace yourself.” Snape warned.

Harry did. He shouted out when the paddle crashed into his backside. Snape wasted no time. The paddle rose and fell five more times fast before he stopped.

Harry was crying quietly. His shoulders shook and shuddered and Snape felt terrible.

“Hush.” Snape patted his back. “Hush…” He looked at the clock as usual, timing how long it would take until another attack was due. “Accio handkerchief,” he muttered. He could feel the boy’s shudders as he cried, his deep gasping inhales. Harry took the handkerchief gratefully and wiped his face.

“Anything?” Snape asked.

“No.”

Harry hung there for a few more moments, composing himself. Snape rested his hand on Harry’s back, idly rubbing his shoulders and attempting to offer comfort. More tension bled out of him and Harry shifted to get his feet under him.

A hand slide under his chest and then Snape was hoisting him up to his feet. All the blood rushed from Harry’s head and he tilted dangerously. He didn’t fall though as Snape was holding him solidly steady. Harry blinked a few times and stepped away. He didn’t even feel ashamed about rubbing his backside. He slipped his robes back on and watched Snape go to his desk and put the paddle—a dark red wooden thing, rectangular and drilled with holes—in a drawer.

“How did you manage to get Dolores Umbridge involved in today’s unpleasantness?”

“Oh, um, I’ve run into her a couple times after…after we’ve met up, and she would ask me why I was so near the dungeons. I was still crying after that, that night—after last time.”

When I lost control like my father and beat you way too hard? Snape thought bitterly.

“I had to think of something so I told her I was coming from a remedial potions lesson.” Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. His backside was throbbing. “I think she suspects something. She keeps running into me like she’s trying to find me.” Harry looked up at him. “She might suspect you too now.”

Snape scoffed. “Like I care. Did you tell her I was being unbearably cruel to you?”

“Actually she added that part herself.” Harry cleaned his glasses on his sleeve.

Snape sighed.

“Thank you, though, for getting her out of here. I thought you’d want to smack me in front of her.”

“Why did you think that?” Snape asked. He sounded genuinely curious. “I told you that public humiliation never taught anyone a thing.”

“I don’t know—today is like one of the only times you’ve been decent to me! You apologized and you were, like, not an arse today. I don’t know what to think anymore. I thought you’d take any chance you could to make this even more horrible.”

Snape let out an exasperated sigh. “Harry, I don’t like this situation any more than you do. I wouldn’t spank you in front of another student or professor and if someone else wanted to observe they would need a damn good reason.”

Harry rubbed the kerchief across his nose and remembered Snape’s bad memory. It made sense why he’d feel that way about public humiliation.

“Okay, that’s fair.” Harry said. “What did you do to get her out of here?”

“Sent a note to Minerva asking her to tell Umbridge that Albus wants to meet with her on the opposite side of the lake.” He opened his desk drawer as Harry howled with laughter. “He’s not even at Hogwarts this week. Take this.” He held out a piece of candy wrapped in pink foil.

Harry composed himself and took it, frowning. “What the hell is this?” Harry asked, looking at it like it was dung.

“Manners, boy.” Snape growled. “Do you want to go over my knee again?”

It was an empty threat and they both knew it but Harry closed his mouth and turned the crinkly ball over. “Relaxing Rum Raspberry?” Harry frowned.

“It will…calm you down. Ease the discomfort.”

Harry stared at him. Snape was giving him candy? Were the planets flying out of alignment? “Are you under the Imperius curse? Is this poisoned or something?”

Snape slammed the drawer closed. “I’m not bloody cursed and it’s not poisoned, foolish child! Just eat it!” He paused and schooled his voice. “It’s infused with a relaxation potion. I also want you to take that healing potion you made. I should have offered you a healing potion a long time ago.”

Harry unwrapped the candy and popped it into his mouth, half expecting to spit blood or to have his teeth dissolve or something. He hummed, pleasantly surprised. Within moments a soothing warmth eased his limbs. The worst of the ache in his arse faded edged off into a steady throb. The candy itself was berry-flavored and a touch effervescent.

“This’s good, Professor.” He said, trying not to slobber.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Happy it meets your standards. Take this too.” Snape handed him a little wooden pot. Harry opened it, revealing a pale blue cream.

“Chilling cream.” Snape said by way of explanation. “You can apply it to any sore areas. It will cool the skin and offer comfort.”

Harry’s eyes widened. What on earth was happening? Was the galaxy rending in twain? Snape was being accommodating. What the hell? “Thanks, Professor!”

“It has a very short shelf life. That batch will go bad in forty-eight hours so don’t lose it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry slid the pot into his pocket. Wow, Snape really was sorry for losing it on him.

“Here.” Snape handed him a list. “The antidote.”

“Oh!” Harry read through the list quickly, barely taking in the words, and glanced around the office. “Well where is it?”

“What?”

“The antidote!”

Snape stared at him. “It’s not made yet, imbecile!”

“What are you waiting for?” Harry said, hoping he didn’t sounds as whiny as he thought he did.

“Read the ingredients!” Snape told him.

Harry did. “Asphodel, figures. That’s in all the parts of this…Petrified Unicorn Scales? An eyeball? Milk from a three headed goat drawn by the light of a crescent moon?!” Harry threw the page down. “You made this up!” He shouted. “That last one’s not even real!”

“I did no such thing, Harry, and I assure you it is indeed very real. DO NOT shout at me.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Once all the ingredients are collected it has to brew for several days. It requires precise stirring, a delicate environment, and round the clock attending. You see how complicated this is? This won’t happen in a hurry.”

“Damn. I was hoping it would be easy.”

“Nothing about this has been easy.”

“Yeah, why start now?” Harry muttered. They were both quiet for a moment. “Thanks for…well, the candy and the cream, and…everything, I suppose sir.” Harry said. “I’ll grab my healing potion on the way out.” Harry left before Snape could say anything. The corner of Snape’s mouth went up as Potter ran off.

Harry felt elated as he went out to the classroom and ladled the warm potion into a few vials. He smiled, despite everything. That experience hadn’t been completely terrible! Snape had given him sweets and cream! He’d been a decent human being and patted his back! He’d done that thing with his thumbs and made his neck feel better! He hadn’t beaten him in front of that complete hag Umbridge! And, there was an antidote! Harry grinned as he gulped the fresh potion. It raced through his limbs, soothing and melting away the aches. He felt better than he had in a long time. Snape wasn’t as much of a prat anymore and Harry felt like the man was actually on his side for once. Maybe he would survive the Draught of Asphodel after all.

Harry was exhausted that night. He ate a big dinner and dragged himself up to the common room. The potions and candy Snape had given him worked and he barely felt any pain in his backside now. Hermione unloaded her bag on the table. “Come do homework with me.” She said. Ron groaned and grabbed his bag before upturning it on the table across from her.

Harry made a face. “I’m really tired, I’ll do homework tomorrow.”

Hermione gave him a searching look. “Okay.”

Harry turned away, feeling a bit guilty. He wasn’t entirely on top of all his studies. He reasoned he deserved a bit of a break. Getting whacked by Snape qualified him for an extra summer vacation as far as he was concerned. He had everything he needed to do written down and besides, it was almost the weekend and he could just catch up then. He wanted to save his energy for quidditch practice tomorrow.

Harry was about to go up to his dorm but then Fred and George showed up and started loudly reenacting the hex mess from earlier for anyone who had missed it, complete with impressions and sound effects. Harry completely forgot about how tired he was, instead staying up late with his fellow Gryffindors.

The weekend came all too soon and Harry forced himself to take his backpack to the library after breakfast. Hermione happily came along and a very reluctant Ron followed.

“Are you almost done with McGonagall’s essay?” Hermione asked Ron.

“Yeah, I just need about two more inches.”

Harry frowned and slowly emptied his bag. McGonagall assigned us an essay?

“I have to catch up on the History of Magic reading.” Hermione shook her head. “I hope I can remember everything for the test.”

There’s a test in History of Magic? Harry gulped.

“Did you start that chart thing for Herbology?” Ron asked Harry.

“No, not yet.” He said. That he remembered. They were supposed to chart the growth of the Syrup Seed pods they’d harvested.

They worked together for a couple hours. Harry got a start on his Herbology chart, but he’d completely forgotten about the Divination predictions.

“Just make it up.” Ron suggested.

“Yeah. Maybe I dreamt that I ran into a troll in Diagon Alley. What would that mean?”

“You’re gonna meet a really ugly bloke outside Flourish and Blott’s.” Ron said.

“Oh yeah, that’s a good one…” Harry jotted notes down, doing the bare minimum of work to fill the parchment space. He meant to do the History of Magic reading. He meant to start McGonagall’s essay. But when Ginny came into the library looking for them and suggested a game of quidditch, his focus vanished under the siren song pull of his broomstick. Also, Ginny looked really cute today. The trio packed up. Ron and Harry were going to play. Ron wanted to get in as much practice as possible before the looming tryouts. Hermione was going to finish reading in the bleachers. She read as they walked in the sunshine.

“Does anyone know anyone who got the new Moonshot?” Ginny asked.

Ron moaned softly. “It’s so pretty…”

“No.” Harry said.

“Wish I could get one.” Ron said.

Ginny scoffed. “Mum and dad would have to sell Percy to afford it.”

Ron brightened. “I could live with that.”

Harry grinned. “Think Angelina could convince Dumbledore to outfit all the teams?” He smiled as he said it so they’d know he was kidding.

“Psh!” Ron shoved him. “Dream on! I’ll have to settle for visiting the one in Hogsmeade.”

“There’s one in Hogsmeade?” Harry said.

“Yeah. They’re gonna allow test flights!”

Harry couldn’t wait for the Hogsmeade weekend. Amidst homework and studying and dealing with Umbridge’s decrees and the horrible situation with Snape, the Hogsmeade weekend was a shining beacon in the distance.

They went to the pitch and Harry retrieved his Firebolt, still in the changing room from yesterday’s practice. The Firebolt was perfectly good. There was nothing wrong with it at all but the Moonshot was so much faster. He wished he could get his hands on one before their match with the Slytherins in a few weeks. He’d love to rub Malfoy’s annoying face in a new broom. A few of the other Gryffindors were around but not George and Fred.

“Where are they?” Ron asked.

Katie Bell shrugged. “Haven’t seen them.”

Harry only meant to play for a bit before joining Hermione on the bleachers, he really did, but the sun was so warm and the cold air felt amazing on his face. Why would he do homework when he could play quidditch? He still had tomorrow to finish everything up anyway. Hermione ended up going back to the castle after a while, saying she was cold. They played until dinner, where Harry loaded up on shepherd’s pie and hot cocoa and nearly passed out in front of the fire in the common room. Another stellar Saturday.

He woke up early Sunday and dragged all his books to the table in the common room. For real this time, he was going to do some homework. He decided to make a list of all the things he still had to do. He could tell Hermione about it later and she’d be so pleased with him. He checked his notes and made a big ‘To Do’ list on a piece of parchment. He added McGonagall’s essay, the Herbology chart (that he was nearly done with), the Divination predictions he’d started, the History of Magic reading, the DADA reading. He checked his notes some more. Oh right, there were two essays for Transfiguration, not one, plus some reading and answering questions. He had three short essays for Potions. Trelawny wanted them to, in addition to the predictions, make a star chart. Right, he’d forgotten all about that and it was already past due. He saw his notes for History of Magic and genuine panic zinged through his chest. He thought he only had to read fifty pages, but he actually had to read one hundred fifty since he’d been blowing it off. He rubbed his hands through his hair when he realized he also had to do a Herbology write-up in addition to the chart….damn. He had a lot more work than he’d thought. He shoved down the sensation of being completely overwhelmed before starting on the star chart. It was already overdue, and he could bullshit his way through it.

Two hours later, Hermione had joined him. Ron had gone to breakfast with Ginny, promising to bring them food back. “Harry.” she said when they were alone. “Ron and I were talking, and…”

Oh Merlin, what now? Harry gripped his quill very tight and braced himself.

“He said he has feelings for me.” She bit her lip and looked at him.

Harry realized she was waiting for a response and he said, “I know.”

“Oh! I didn’t know he said anything to you!”

“Are you guys dating now?” Harry asked.

She blushed and nodded.

Harry grinned. “Good for you both. I’m happy for you.” He truly was.

“You’re not upset?”

“Will this change our friendship?”

“No!”

“Then why would I be upset?”

Hermione relaxed. “Oh Harry, I didn’t know what you’d say, if things would be weird.”

“No, no. But, uh…” he glanced around. They were alone. “Can I tell you something? You have to promise not to tell anyone, even Ron.”

“Okay…” She said.

“I have a crush on Ginny.”

Hermione put her hands on her mouth in delighted shock. “Harry! For how long?”

“Not too long.” He shrugged. “She’s just, really funny and smart. She’s cute.”

“You guys would be really good together.”

“Thanks. I don’t know how she feels about me.”

Hermione shrugged, but inside she was screeching. Ginny had just said the other day how handsome Harry looked up on his broom in his quidditch gear. Hermione shrugged, nonchalant. “Ask her out.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Harry turned back to his homework. “If I don’t get buried under this mountain of homework first…”

Ron and Ginny came back, laden with food, and Harry and Hermione exchanged a grin.

“Oof!” Ron dropped the napkins stuffed with food onto the table and began pulling pastries out of his pockets. Ginny followed suit and Harry and Hermione dug in.

“What’cha working on?” Ginny said through a mouthful of banana.

“Star charts for Divination.” Harry said. “It’s taking longer than I thought.”

Hermione gave Ron a quick kiss and his ears went red.

“They both know.” Hermione said.

“Congratulations.” Harry said.

Ron beamed.



On Monday, Defense Against the Dark Arts started bad and got worse. Umbridge made a comment about how Voldemort was gone and Harry couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“He killed Cedric!” He said hotly.

“Mr. Potter, enough foolishness! Do you want detention?”

“I want everyone to know the truth.” He said.

“The truth, Mr. Potter, is that you-know-who has not returned.”

“I saw him.” Harry growled. “He tried to kill me!”

She chortled. “If he wanted you dead, boy, you’d be dead.”

“Well he’s failed before!” Harry reminded her.

“Mr. Potter if you don’t sit down and be quiet, I shall be forced to give you detention. Now, did you see him return?”

The whole class was silent, glancing between Harry and Umbridge.

“Yes.” He hissed.

“Detention, then. Five days, I think.”

The class let out cries of dismay.

“Five days?” Harry breathed.

“Five days of detention, starting tonight.”

“There’s quidditch tryouts tomorrow.” He said.

“You should have thought of that before you lied to me and your classmates. Sit.”

Harry sat, feeling numb. Hermione patted his arm. Umbridge set them with more reading and Harry stared at his book, too angry to take in the dry text.

He told Angelina that afternoon in the common room that he wouldn’t be able to make the evening’s final practice before tryouts.

“You’re the seeker! How are we supposed to practice without our seeker?”

“I’m sorry, Angelina. You know how Umbridge is.”

“Ulgh! Harry! Control your temper around her. The team needs you!”

“It’s not like I want to spend my evenings with that hag!” He said hotly. “I’d much rather play quidditch with you lot!”

She scoffed but then softened. “Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend or do you have detention that day too?” She asked, changing the subject.

“I’m going.”

“Good. I wanted to tell you, Spintwitches has the new Moonshot.”

“Yeah, I know. They’re allowing test flights.” Harry added.

“Right. I managed to book a few time slots.”

Harry’s jaw dropped.

“They made some special allowance for the teams so we can all get a go. You should try it out. Here.”

Harry was already nodding halfway through her sentence and he grabbed the small piece of parchment she’d held out to him. It was a timeslot reservation to ride the new Moonshot Silver.

“Thanks Angelina, you’re a star!”

“Yeah, well, make it up to me by not missing more practice, yeah?”

“Angelina!” Fred was calling her from the other side of the room.

“Don’t piss off more teachers.” Angelina walked away.

Harry was excited. He was actually going to fly on the Moonshot! Excitement bubbled in his chest. Who cared about five nights of detention with the hag? He was going to fly the Moonshot! He wondered what she’d have him do. The trophies were all nice and polished. Cleaning bed pans? Dusting off furniture? Something horrible, no doubt.

He stepped into her office that evening, stuffed with chicken and potatoes and pudding from dinner. The room was shocking in it’s pink glory. Every surface was pink or flowered. Her desk chair was an ugly awful rose color. The desk itself was a pale pink. Decorative dishes lined the walls, each one bearing an image of a squeaking kitten. Fussy floral curtains covered the windows. Even the walls in here were pink.

She’s mental. Harry tried to find something to look at that wasn’t awful and came up empty.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter.” She said sweetly.

“Professor Umbridge.” He said with a nod.

“Have a seat.” She nodded to a small table holding a sheet of parchment, an ugly doily, and a black and red quill. “I’m going to have you write some lines.”

Lines. Lines were dull but as far as detentions went, it was a simple punishment. He half expected the old toad to make him do something really foul like scrub all the Hogwarts toilets by hand. He went to the table and sat. He picked up the quill. “What should I write?”

“I must not tell lies.” She said.

Harry wanted to refuse out of spite but better sense prevailed and he picked up the quill. It was heavier than a normal quill and the tip was very sharp.

“How many times?” He asked.

“As long as it take for the message to sink in.”

That was strange, but okay.

“You haven’t given me any ink.” He said to her.

“Oh, you won’t need any.” She gave him a smile that could almost be called motherly. Harry didn’t know what she was on about, but he put the quill’s tip to the parchment and wrote: I must not tell lies. No ink flowed onto the page and he thought this whole thing was a joke until the back of his left hand seared in pain. He looked at the skin that was morphing into an angry red-pink color and saw the words he’d just written in his own handwriting carve themselves into his flesh. He watched, eyes wide, as the sentence formed on his hand. His own glistening red blood appeared on the paper and the cuts faded away and left a patch of clear skin behind.

He looked up at her, horrified. She smiled at him. “Something you want to say, Mr. Potter?”

You ’re a bloody barmy sadist!

“Nothing.” He said. He turned his attention to the page and wrote again. She flipped an hourglass that was on her desk and the sand (also pink) slowly trickled down. For hours he carved those words into his own skin and each time it hurt badly. From his position next the office window, he could just barely see the quidditch pitch. He saw the flashes of Gryffindor red darting around. Ron was out there trying to make the team and Harry hated that he wasn’t out there with him and was angry all over again that he had this stupid detention. The sand in the glass ran out when it was pitch black outside.

“You may stop, Mr. Potter. Return tomorrow at the same time and we’ll pick up where we left off.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry stood up, grabbed his bag, and left. He waited until he was far away from her office to cradle his hand. It was healing up slowly but the words were still visible, thin and slowly fading. His entire hand ached from fingertip to wrist. The bruise cream was unfortunately gone but he still had some of the chilling cream Snape gave him and he knew that would help alleviate the soreness. He got back to the common room and found Hermione and Ron at the table. It was pushing eleven at night.

“Harry, there you are!” Hermione said. “Was it awful?”

“It wasn’t fun.” He said dryly. He looked to Ron. “Did you make it? On the team?”

Ron grinned and nodded.

“Yes!” Harry slapped his back. “Well done, mate. It’ll be great having you.”

Ron grinned. “I can’t wait. Everyone else was really crap so Angelina had no choice but to pick me. Hey, what’s this?” Ron asked, noticing Harry tucking his hand into his sleeve. “What do you have?”

“Nothing.”

Hermione glanced at his hand and her eyes bulged. “You’re bleeding!”

She took his arm and looked. Harry sighed.

“Oh, Harry.” She said sadly. Ron came over and saw the cut skin, the red blood.

“That’s not on, mate.” He shook his head. “That’s fucked. Go to Dumbledore.”

“No way that’s exactly what she wants me to do.”

“What a bitch.” Hermione said. “Did she carve it herself?”

Harry told them about the quill.

“Those are illegal!” Hermione said.

“Yeah, tell her that. I have some stuff to put on it. It’ll be fine, it heals on its own.” Harry went upstairs and wondered how he was going to do four more nights of this.



Harry dutifully showed up to Umbridge’s office for the next three nights. Each night she greeted him in that high, sweet voice of hers before instructing him to sit and write. Harry said nothing beyond “Good evening, Professor,” and, “Good night, Professor.” Sometimes she’d sit at her desk, grading papers with a pink quill. Other times she’d stand behind him, watching I must not tell lies carve into his skin again, and again, and again. Harry hated when she watched him. He could feel her eyes boring into him. One time he swore he heard her giggle as his flesh ripped open. After three nights of this treatment, his skin was having trouble healing up properly. The first night the skin had knit together by morning without a trace of the quill’s tender touch. On the morning after the second night, the words were still there, thin and red and scabbed.

“Fuck.” Harry muttered as Hermione pulled away the bowl of Essence of Murtlap to change out the water. She’d taken more supplies from Snape’s cabinet during their class today and had made more healing potion for him in addition to the Essence of Murtlap. The water in the bowl was pleasantly warm and it caused the scabs to run, staining the water pink. “That’s not helping it go away.” Harry said, frustrated.

“Go to Dumbledore, Harry.” Hermione said sadly.

“No. Not yet. I still have that cream from Snape that might help.” Harry went to his trunk and pulled out the pot of chilling cream. He’d gone to Snape yesterday and asked for more and the man had rolled his eyes and given him a fresh container. That was nearly empty because Harry had been smearing the stuff across his inflamed hand all the time. Harry spread the last of it on the back of his hand. It cooled the skin but the cuts remained. Harry stared at his hand, his mouth twisted into a worried frown. What if it never healed? What if this would be scarred onto his flesh forever? He had enough unwanted scars, thanks. He went back downstairs to have another go with the Murtlap Essence. Maybe the cream plus Hermione’s treatments would help.



Harry, Ron, and Hermione darted into the Potions classroom. Snape glanced up as they crossed the threshold just as the bell tolled and he shook his head. They dropped to their usual table and Harry began taking out his notes and a quill.

“Everyone, pass your essays to the end of your table and then up to the front.” Snape commanded.

Harry looked up, shocked, as everyone else rummaged in their bags.

“Essay?” He said, looking at Ron and Hermione.

His stomach dropped straight through the floor when he saw them each produce four feet of parchment filled with dense writing.

“What?!” He breathed.

“Harry, did you do it?” Hermione asked.

Harry’s eyes were wide. “No—what essay is this?” He looked at the title of Ron’s, called: An Analytical Approach to the Rights of Werewolves: Can their symptoms really be controlled with potions?

“What the hell?” Harry said.

“Hermione came up with the title…” Ron said, almost defensively.

“I don’t even remember him assigning this. When did you guys do it?”

“A couple days ago?” Hermione said, thinking. “This whole last week.” Harry glanced at her parchment. Hers looked to be about giants and calming potions.

“Ooohhh,” Ron said, realization dawning. “We did them while you were in detention.” Ron’s face was pinched with guilt.

“Quickly!” Snape barked at the room in general. “We have lots to do today!” Pages shuffled.

“Oh great!” Harry hissed.

“Take mine!” Ron said.

Harry said, “What?” at the same time Hermione hissed, “Ron, no!”

“Yeah!” Ron insisted. “Put your name on mine. If you don’t turn something in, you’ll catch it from him, right?” Ron nodded at Snape.

“Well, yeah.”

“Harry, no!” Hermione whispered. “It’s cheating!”

“So?” Ron said to her, “you wrote like half of mine. Here, Harry.” Ron vanished his name at the top of the parchment and wrote Harry’s in its place. He passed the essay up to the front before anyone could stop him. Hermione was shaking her head.

“But, Ron, now you don’t have one.” Harry said, feeling uneasy.

“So?” He shrugged. “I won’t get smacked if I don’t turn one in. You will.”

Ron had a point. Harry didn’t like the point, but what was he to do? Ron had insisted. He’d put his name on the essay before Harry could say a thing and turned it in.

“Thanks, mate.” Harry said with a relieved grin. “I owe you.”

Ron laughed before Snape silenced the room with one of his glares.

After class, Harry shouldered his bag and went up to the front of the room to talk to Snape.

“Harry.” He said, brows up.

“Um, do you have any more of that chilling cream?”

Snape blinked. “Again? Are you still sore?” He looked worried. “That was over a week ago.”

“Er, uh, yeah! You hit me really hard.” He was not going to tell Snape what Umbridge was doing. The man would probably get his own evil quill to employ in his own detentions. Even as Harry thought that, a little voice suggested that Snape would never do such a thing. Snape was many things but he wasn’t a sadist like Umbridge. Harry knew that as painful as his encounters with Snape had been, they could be much, much worse. Snape had actually been really nice about it all ever since he apologized. Harry found that he hardly minded spending the time with him. Sure he didn’t like the spankings, but Snape had been calm and encouraging the last time, even giving him sweets and the cream and the handkerchief. It had been nice of him. And it had been great fun to lie to Umbridge. If Umbridge had taken the Solis argenti and had to discipline him Harry was certain he’d be limping and missing limbs. He certainly wouldn’t be going to her for cooling cream and sweets. He was suddenly very grateful for Snape and the way he’d been handling this.

“Wait here.” Snape swept into his office and Harry fidgeted. He’d lied. It was just a white lie though. He was truly in pain and it’s not like he was doing anything dangerous with the cream. He really did need it, just not for his backside.

“Here.” Snape handed him another little pot. “Take this too.”

It was another raspberry relaxation candy. Snape laid his hand on Harry’s shoulder, concerned. “If it still hurts in a day or two, find me. It shouldn’t be hurting this long.” He actually looked guilty and Harry felt like a terrible person.

“Oh, okay. Thanks!” He left the room, trying not to die of guilt. Snape watched him go and sank back to his desk. What a monster he was. Harry was still sore some eight days after the last punishment. Snape had thought he was being careful, all things considered. Had he given the boy some kind of permanent damage? Was it even possible to get permanent damage from a paddle? Snape frowned. That wasn’t right. He’d paddled students before and never was anyone sore for over a week…Although he’d hit Potter much longer than what was usual or normal. He swallowed. As a boy he’d felt various implements on many occasions, usually the cane or a fist. He’d never had permanent damage from it though. Physically, anyway. He rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath before straightening up. He couldn’t dwell on this now. He had a class coming in.



Harry and Ron were coming out of Transfiguration at the end of the day when a second year ran up to Harry and gave him a note.

“Thanks…” Harry said as the boy scampered off. He opened it up and angled it so Ron could read it too.

Potter, both you and Weasley get your backsides to my office as soon as you get this.
-Professor Snape

They exchanged an uneasy look and moved for the Potions classroom. “What is this about?” Ron asked.

“The essay?” Harry suggested.

“Do you think he’ll whack us? I don’t want to get whacked!” Ron wailed.

“Me neither! He won’t touch you. It’s my arse on the line. Maybe it’s not the essay?”

“What else would it be?”

Harry thought. “Hermione’s been nicking potion ingredients.”

“Hermione’s name isn’t on this!” Ron waved the paper, his voice taking on a high, desperate note.

“Well I don’t know!”

They went down to the classroom and ventured up to Snape’s office door. Harry knocked, feeling ill.

“Enter!”

Harry looked at Ron. Ron nodded. Harry opened the door.

“Ah.” Snape was at his bookshelf. He slapped the book he was reading closed, put it back, and stood behind his desk. He waved his hand and the office door swung shut with a slam that sounded more ominous than usual. “Sit.” He pointed at the armless chairs and both boys sat. Ron fidgeted and cringed, clearly uncomfortable with being in the Potions Master’s dungeon office. Harry slumped into his chair like it was a recliner. This office was practically his home away from home now.

“It’s strange.” Snape said, regarding the pile of essays on his desk. He picked one up. Ron’s. “This essay is written entirely in your hand, Weasley, yet your name is on it, Potter.” He tossed the essay across the desk so it faced both of them.

Both boys shifted. Snape leaned over his desk, looming over them.

“Curious, would you agree?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry said. “Very.”

Snape stared at Harry, then slid his gaze to Ron. Last year this situation would have frightened Harry, but after enduring several spankings from the man he found he wasn’t nearly as uneasy as he should have been. He was used to Snape looming and snarling. Ron, meanwhile, couldn’t sit still under Snape’s glare. He squirmed and stared at his knees.

“Weasley!” Snape barked.

Ron jumped and looked up at him.

“Did Potter put his name on your essay?”

“I, um, well…”

“Yes.” Harry said, sparing his friend. “Ron wrote it and I put my name on it.”

“Weasley, is this true?”

“No!” Ron said.

Harry looked at him like he was spouting gibberish.

“No.” Ron repeated, glancing between Harry and Snape. “I put Harry’s name on it. I insisted!”

Snape was getting steadily more annoyed. Pain laced up Harry’s legs, a deep throb in his bones. He hissed and cringed. Snape looked at him, glancing him over with a flash of concern in his eyes.

“Ron wrote the essay.” Harry said, rubbing his knee. “I didn’t. I forgot about it. Ron changed his name to mine and turned it in.”

“Stupid Gryffindor bravado.” Snape hissed to him. “Did you think you would get away with this?” Snape asked Ron in a soft, deadly voice.

“I’d hoped so.” Harry said honestly. “Ron offered his essay so you wouldn’t get angry with me for not turning one in and smack me. We didn’t think.” Harry said.

“Shut it, Potter.” Snape turned his glare onto the redhead and Harry huffed.

“We didn’t think.” Ron squeaked.

Snape turned to Harry, who was squirming now. His legs were throbbing. “You know what this means.” Snape said to him.

“No.” Ron whimpered. “Don’t, don’t hit him…”

“Do you know about our arrangement?” Snape asked Ron.

“Yes and I think it’s bollocks.” Ron said bravely. “It’s not fair! I’ll, I’ll take it for him!”

Both Snape and Harry said at the same time, “it doesn’t work that way.”

Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder. “Appreciate it, mate, but no. Can’t.”

Snape rolled his eyes, muttering something unsavory about misplaced Gryffindor nobility.

“Weasley,” he said briskly, “I can certainly give you a taste of what Potter experiences.”

“No, sir.” Ron said.

“Detention, then. Friday at eight. You’re going to lose a letter grade off of this essay. And ten points from Gryffindor. Each. Get out.”

Ron got up, gave Harry a look he hoped was encouraging, and left the office.

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice?” Snape sat in his chair.

Harry noted that Snape had completely lost the overbearing, intimidating professor act when Ron left the room. He was talking to Harry in a normal tone.

“No. I don’t know. I figured you’d be pissed off with me anyway so I may as well get a grade for the essay. It was stupid.” Harry scrubbed his hand through his hair.

“Harry.” Snape said, irritated. “I wouldn’t have been upset if you didn’t turn in an essay. I would have asked you about it and had you told me the truth I’d give you an extension.”

“Really? You never give extensions!”

“Wrong. I’ve never had a student who has consumed half the Draught of Asphodel and is probably having a harder than usual school year!” He rolled his eyes. “This was completely avoidable!”

“Ulgh!” Harry stared at the ceiling. “I didn’t even think to ask.”

“I do give extensions if the circumstances warrant it, though it is a rare, rare occurrence. All the teachers do. Think next time.”

Both of them were silent.

“Do you need it?” Snape asked.

Harry did. The pain had taken up residence in both knees and he knew it would only get worse.

“No.” He said. He stood.

“Really?” Snape sounded suspicious.

“It’s not that bad.” Harry said. “If it gets worse I’ll come find you.”

“I’m not the local corner shop, Harry. I’m not open all night.”

“It’s really not bad.” Harry pushed. He didn’t know why he was being so stubborn. It’s not like he could ignore this forever. Sooner rather than later he was going to have to accept that he was going over the man’s hard knee today. Right now, ‘later’ sounded like a much better plan. Little did Harry know, he would come to greatly regret that decision.

Snape waved his hand. ”If you want to suffer then don’t let me get in your way. Out with you. Go to dinner.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry shouldered his bag and left the office. He didn’t know why he didn’t just get it over with. He shook his head, angry. He didn’t want to be bloody smacked! He just wanted to serve a normal detention like Ron! He was so sick of this terrible, unfair potion!

“Hey.” Ron was lingering in the corridor. “You okay?” He glanced over his friend.

“Yeah. He didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, brilliant!” Ron perked up.

Harry smiled but he didn’t feel it.



After dinner he had his fourth night of detention with Umbridge.

Harry could hardly sit still in Umbridge’s office. He felt like he’d been stepped on by a troll after getting kicked by a hippogriff. He squirmed in his seat and glanced out the window, too distracted to focus.

I must not tell lies.

His head was starting to pound. He closed his eyes for a few moments to get his bearings and wrote again.

I must not tell lies.

His fingers were tingling and it was hard to hold the quill. He put the quill down and shook his hand, knowing it would do nothing.

I must not tell lies.

“Mr. Potter.” She said. “It seems you are unable to concentrate tonight.”

“Er, sorry.” He said. The blood on the back of his hand glistened in the firelight. The skin was red and angry. Spots of blood dotted the foul doily. She grabbed his sore hand and Harry stared at her ugly rings.

“Mr. Potter, what precisely are doing with Professor Snape?”

Oh shit.

“What do you mean?” He hissed as she began rubbing his hand, the metal from her gaudy rings digging into his knuckles.

“I don’t believe for a second that you’re doing remedial potions with him!” She hissed.

“Why? Professor Snape is a demanding teacher.” Harry said. “He has very high standards and it’s my O.W.L year. I need to do well.” He wanted to pull his hand away. She wasn’t touching the cut skin, instead focusing on digging her fingertips into the meat of his thumb. It hurt deep in his hand.

“I don’t think you’re telling me the whole story.” Umbridge said. “I have high standards in my class and yet here you are in detention, insolent as ever.” She released his aching hand and leaned down, looking him in the eye. “Does he cane you if you make a mistake?”

“No.” Harry said honestly. Thank Merlin.

She stared at him and rose. “I think you’re lying to me, Mr. Potter.”

“I’m not.”

“Get up.” She commanded.

He got to his feet. Quickly, she pushed him over the desk and smacked his backside twice with her hand.

Harry froze, surprised. Several thoughts popped into his head. Hey, only Snape can do that! Followed by She really bloody spanked me! Ending with a hysterical little, You call THAT a spanking?

Harry tried to jerk upright, more shocked and annoyed than anything. She pushed on his back, pinning him to the desk. He’d barely felt her little hand over the layers of robes and clothes.

“You are lying to me, young man!”

“I’m not.” He clenched his fists. A few dishes on the wall rattled as his magic reacted to his anger. He didn’t usually have a problem controlling his magic. In fact, children over the age of about eight subconsciously kept it managed. It was only small kids that usually lost control, small kids and people going through strong, usually-unpleasant emotional experiences. Harry growled at her, “Voldemort is back and Snape and I have meetings about potions.”

“Tut, tut, Mr. Potter.” She shook her head.

Smack, smack. Her excuse for a spanking was bloody pathetic, it really was. It was like someone was gently lobbing pygmy puffs at his arse.

“Still lying. I would have thought the message had sunk in by now!”

“It’s sunk in plenty!” He said, trying not to sound too desperate.

She regarded him for a few seconds. “I think another few days of detention will do you good. Perhaps this coming Saturday and Sunday. Perhaps with a good dose of the cane?”

“Professor, that’s the Hogsmeade weekend!” Harry said, forgetting not to shout. More plates rattled, louder.

“How dare you raise your voice to me.” She smacked his backside twice again. Maybe the cane wouldn’t be so bad if it was this pathetic.

She realized the smacks were having no effect on him and she pushed him down into the chair. “Detention, Mr. Potter. Saturday and Sunday.”

Harry was shaking his head.

“This office at noon.”

“No!” Harry got to his feet so fast the chair fell over. A dish crashed to the floor and shattered. He slammed his hands on the table. “No!”

“Sit down!” She snapped.

Harry’s chest heaved. He was so angry. “You can’t cane students! You can’t take Hogsmeade away! I’m not lying!” No Hogsmeade and whacks with a cane instead? He wanted to cry. He wanted to break every horrible kitten dish in this room.

“I certainly can. Now sit and finish!”

Harry fumed. A sort of whoosh billowed through the room, like a shadow passing over the sun. She glanced around, alarmed.

“Control your magic!” She scolded, her voice taut. His hands clenched into fists again. A fresh sheen of blood oozed forth. He felt the warm red liquid run over his knuckles and plat onto the floor. Without thinking, he grabbed his wand and pointed it at the blank parchment. It went up in flames and took the ugly doily with it.

She shouted out in surprise and fell back in her desk chair. Harry rounded on the wall of ugly kitten dishes and pointed his wand at a particularly large and sugary-looking platter. He swung his wand and the whole row exploded in a shower of shards, clattering to the stone floor. Harry grinned and blasted another row. Shards of ceramic flew everywhere. The kittens were hissing now, backs arched and claws out. Harry laughed. He jabbed his wand at the fussy curtains. A swarm of moths erupted from the end of the wand and converged on the fabric, chewing it to ribbons. Umbridge shrieked. Harry spun towards the floral-patterned armchair near the window and it went up in emerald flames.

Umbridge shrieked again and covered her head as moths danced about her hair. “Get out! Get out, horrible boy!”

Harry couldn’t resist. He blew up the hourglass and sand poofed up everywhere, coating her in a layer of fine pink dust. Harry threw the door open and took off into the corridor.

He ran towards the Gryffindor common room but stopped before he got there, panting. He had to hide. He wished for his invisibility cloak, safe in his trunk. He couldn’t even Accio it, as his trunk was locked. If he hid down here somewhere and she went up the tower that could buy him more time. To do what with he didn’t know, but he knew he had to hide somewhere. The Room of Requirement was floors away, as were the dungeons. He was nowhere near any of the secret spots on the Marauder’s Map. He ducked into the nearest bathroom. He was shaking. He paced back and forth in the empty room, his footsteps echoing. He looked at his hand. It was a red ragged mess and it wasn’t healing up like it had before. She had promised him the cane and taken away Hogsmeade, the complete and utter cow. He had never hated her more than he did right now.

He went to the sink and turned the tap. The gravity of what he’d done was starting to weigh down. He’d lost it on Umbridge. He slipped his hand under the warm water and hissed as the fresh cuts stung. He’d destroyed her office. Those rancid kitten plates had crumbled like dust. It had felt so good to destroy all that stuff, but now what? What would happen? No doubt she would inform McGonagall. Would he be suspended? He gulped. Expelled? He leaned heavily against the wall. He couldn’t be expelled. He imagined trudging up the Dursley’s walkway in disgrace. They’d laugh at him and then they actually would find a school for incurably insane children and ship him off. His heart pounded. No more Hogwarts, no more magic. What had he been thinking? He destroyed a teacher’s office!

He heard noises in the corridor. Voices, female voices. One sounded like McGonagall’s rough Scottish brogue and the other, Umbridge’s voice two octaves higher than normal. Neither one of them sounded very pleased. Harry froze when the bathroom door flew open and McGonagall was standing there. He stared at her, certain he looked as panicked as he felt. She was as startled as him for a moment before she pursed her lips, casting an annoyed, stern look at him. She stared into his eyes and called back to Umbridge, “he’s not in here!”

Harry blinked. His lips parted and he stepped back. What?

McGonagall narrowed her eyes. She pointed at him and and mouthed “stay.”

He nodded and she shut the door. Harry pushed his hands through his hair, exhaling. She was the second teacher to have lied for him. Harry heard exclaiming further down the hall and he crept over to the door, pushing it open ever so slightly. What he wouldn’t give for an extendable ear…

“He destroyed my office, Minerva!” Her voice echoed around the empty corridor. “Out of nowhere!”

Out of nowhere? Bullshit! She provoked me!

“Dolores, please stop shouting. What on earth happened?” McGonagall sounded supremely annoyed.

“I want that horrible boy expelled! The Ministry will be informed, Minerva, oh yes they will…” Their voices receded towards the tower. Umbridge probably thought he was in the common room and it seemed McGonagall wasn’t correcting her. All the more reason not to go there. Harry arched his back and stifled a shout, crashing to his knees when the Nox rubrum attacked his system. He’d actually forgotten about it, still activated from the stupid essay trick he and Ron had tried and utterly failed to pull off. Merlin, why hadn’t he just accepted the smacks earlier today? He could still hear their voices, very faint now as they echoed off the tower walls.
His chest seared with pain. That was new. He gulped. Was the potion attacking his heart now? Had it advanced to that degree already? This was bad. He had to see Snape but the dungeons were so many floors away. There was no way he’d make it there without collapsing and hurting himself. There was nothing for it. The common room was closest and then he could floo right to Snape’s office. His hand was bleeding again. He dug in his pocket for a spare tissue and came up with Snape’s handkerchief. He tied it around his hand, knotting it over the broken skin.

Umbridge’s voice again, coming closer. She must not have found him the common room.

“—couldn’t have gone far! Maybe he left the building—he’s a rule breaker!”

“Dolores, use sense.” McGonagall sighed. “It’s nearing midnight.”

“He’s a coward and a liar! He probably went outside to see that half-oaf Hagrid.”

“Then go check!” McGonagall’s shrill voice was touched with sarcasm.

Harry nodded. Yes, go outside. Go into the Forest and get yourself eaten.

Harry peered through the crack in the door as McGonagall approached alone. Her tartan dressing gown swirled in a good imitation of Snape’s billowing cloak.

Harry limped out of the bathroom, rubbing his chest.

“Potter!” She blurted. “What the bloody hell happened?”

“I need to see Professor Snape.” He heard himself beg. Tears leaked down his face. “Please, I’ll explain about Umbridge, but I need to see him first. My, my chest, my heart won’t stop racing.”

She nodded, thankfully, and he followed her to her office nearby. He collapsed on the sofa and she threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace and stuck her head in. He heard her voice, muffled, saying something about “Potter” and “chest pains…racing heart” and then within a minute Snape was stepping out of the fireplace. Despite the late hour he was still dressed in the same clothes Harry had seen him in this morning. Did he ever sleep? Who cares? Harry had never been so relieved to see him.

He saw Harry on the sofa, his face ashen and covered in tears. He pulled two potions out of his pocket and knelt down beside him.

“Drink.” He popped open a vial of brown liquid and gave it to Harry. He downed it in one go, making a face at the bitter taste. “Another.” Snape handed him a slightly larger vial of something oily and yellow. Harry drank this one too and almost gagged.

“Good lad.” Snape sounded impressed. “Those are nasty.” Snape put the empty vials back in his pocket and rested two fingers on Harry’s carotid artery, taking his pulse. It fluttered wildly under his fingertips and gradually slowed as the potions reacted. After a moment, he said, “how do you feel?”

“A little better.”

Harry sat up and Snape dropped to the sofa beside him, adjusting his robes. He pushed his sleeve up. McGonagall discreetly left the pair alone. There was no more she could do. Harry sniffed and rubbed his eyes. He was so tired. He was so tired of this potion and of Umbridge and her stupid painful detentions and these stupid painful spankings.

“Come.” Snape’s took him gently by the forearm and started to guide him towards his knee. He paused. “Are you crying because of the Nox rubrum or something else?”

“It’s fine.” Harry said in a hoarse voice.

Snape sighed. “Are you still sore from the last spanking or did that finally clear up? I need to know where to hit you to cause the least amount of damage.”

He sounded tired and Harry felt bad. Snape had been off probably doing important stuff for class or the Order or something and now he had to waste time on him. Harry scrubbed his uninjured hand across his eyes.

“It’s fine. Let’s just get this over with.” Harry muttered. He was so worn out.

Snape wanted to find out what was actually wrong, but they needed to take care of this. “Take your trousers down.” Snape said.

Harry was still in his school things, having fled from detention. He threw his robe to the floor and unfastened his uniform trousers. “It’s getting worse.” Harry said with a helpless shrug.

They’d done this enough now that Harry knew exactly what position to get in. He left his underpants on and got over Snape’s knee, sighing in frustration that he had to do this yet again. Snape summoned a textbook off McGonagall’s shelf and wandlessly transfigured it into a paddle.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and huffed. His top half was supported by the sofa cushion so that made things more comfortable. Small mercies, he supposed. He pulled his glasses off and buried his face in folded arms.

Snape wasted no time. He raised the paddle and brought it down hard on Harry’s right buttock. He jumped. Snape smacked the left side, then right, then left. It didn’t take long for Harry to start kicking involuntarily. His cries were stifled into his arms and after about a dozen smarting whacks Snape paused. “Here.” He pulled a fresh kerchief from his pocket. Harry took it with shaking fingers and wiped his face. His chest felt much looser now and his knees no longer ached.

Snape opened his mouth, closed it, then spoke. “For what it’s worth, Harry, you’ve been dealing with this whole mess admirably.” He rubbed his hand up and down Harry’s back. “Most adults would struggle. You’ve done very well,” he added in a softer voice. He squeezed Harry’s shoulder.

“Thanks.” Harry said. “You’ve, er, you’ve been good about it too, I mean, all things considered. You don’t, like, hit me in front of people. I thought you’d be a real arsehole about it all. The first couple times really sucked but….it’s okay now. Oh, ah!” More pain sparkled through his body.

“What?” Snape asked.

“Keep going.” Harry moaned.

“Harry, get up.”

“What? Why? It’s still happening.”

“I want you to go over the chair. I can, ah, be more effective if I’m standing.”

“No!” Harry didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to be in a position that would remove him from Snape’s lap. This physical contact, such as it was, was comforting and Harry hated to admit that being over the man’s warm leg and getting pulled to his side in a near embrace helped him deal with all this. The physical closeness was comforting.

“What? Why not?”

“I want to stay like this, just keep going!”

“Alright.” Snape shrugged and raised the paddle high. He whacked Harry a few more times, concerned when the Nox rubrum still wasn’t letting up. Snape transfigured the paddle into a wooden hairbrush. He cast a mild stinging hex on it, hoping that the heavier implement and sharper pain of being smacked bare would end the attacks faster.

“I need to take your pants down.” He said.

Harry was buried in his arms and made no movement.

Taking that as an “okay” he tugged Harry’s pants down, baring his backside. Snape hissed. He was awfully red and it looked so sore. Snape was disgusted with himself. This wasn’t discipline. When he spanked the unruly Slytherins it was well-earned whacks over his knee with the paddle. The students stayed fully clothed and his hand never touched bare flesh. He’d decided long ago that leaving clothing in place and making his methods of correction very clear to parents and their unruly brats would remove potential complications that could arise. He never wanted to be accused of any kind of abuse. This situation right now with Potter was exactly the kind of thing he strove to avoid. He was beating the boy. Potter’s essay lie had warranted detention and a lost grade, not a long, hard paddling. Why the hell hadn’t Harry just let him take care of it after Weasley left the office? He should have insisted. He felt like a monster, but he corrected himself. It wasn’t him, it was the potion. He was only doing this because of the potion.

He swore under his breath and said, “I’m sorry, Harry.”

Harry tightened his arms around his head. Snape smacked the hexed brush against his rear with a horrible loud pop! The skin under the brush head turned white before fading to an angry crimson.

Harry jolted. His legs flew up but trapped as they were under Snape’s, he succeeded in only kicking the man hard. Snape grunted and, wanting to get this ordeal over with, peppered the backside in hard, fast slaps.

Harry sobbed and kicked and Snape stopped after six whacks. His bum looked incredibly painful.

He rested his hand on Harry’s back and smoothed over the tense muscles. He couldn’t see a clock from here so he simply waited, absently rubbing Harry’s back, bringing his hand up to his neck to rub the tight shoulders. He slipped his fingers around to Harry’s hot throat and felt his pulse. Fast, to be expected, but not like it had been earlier. Harry’s sobs slowed and stopped and he mopped his face with his damp sleeve.

“Anything?” Snape asked. He pulled Harry’s underpants back up.

“No.” He said, his voice thick with tears. “Think s’gone.”

Snape shifted and reached into the pocket of his robes. He produced a small tub and popped it open. “I have more cream. Do you want to put it on or shall I?”

Harry’s shifted and lifted his head. “I’ll do it. Gimme a sec….”

Snape nodded. “This one is the cooling cream I gave you before but with a numbing agent added.”

Harry got himself upright and hissed. Both hands rubbed his sore flesh and he closed his eyes, riding the sting.

“Here.” Snape got up and pushed the cream into his hands. He turned his back to Harry to give him some privacy and also to take a few breaths to center himself. He heard the scuffle of cloth and the faint pop of the tub opening. Harry hissed and swore colorfully as he smeared the cream on. When every inch of sore flesh was coated he grunted and pulled his clothes back into place.

Snape put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You did well.” He said sincerely.

“Thanks.” Harry wiped some tears from his face.

“Here.” Snape produced a healing potion from his pocket. Harry gulped it down.

“What were those potions you gave me before?” Harry asked.

Snape let out a small sigh. “They were to help your heart. I wasn’t sure if they’d work, given that the Draught of Asphodel expressly states that attempts to heal the pain before punishments given are useless until after the discipline. Now that I know the ingredients in the Nox rubrum, and have studied them extensively, I knew to add Adder’s Fork and Mallowsweet to a basic cardiac potion to hopefully bypass the Manticore mucus in the Nox rubrum that makes the healing potions ineffective. I learned from a colleague that Nox rubrum may attack the heart so I brewed these several weeks ago on the off chance you would do something foolish like not seek me out when you began getting attacks.”

“Oh.” Harry’s eyes were starting to glaze over as Snape explained. “Thank you.” He said. “You probably saved my life tonight.”

“Possibly.” Snape pulled a candy from his pocket and handed it over. It was similar to the raspberry one but this was lemon flavored. Harry popped it into his mouth and some tension seemed to drain from his shoulders. He felt a lot better now. The pain of the spanking was fading fast. He turned away from Snape and pulled his robes back on. He sniffled and rubbed his sleeve over his face. Fresh tears sprang from his eyes. He couldn’t stop crying.

“What is it?” Snape asked.

Harry shook his head.

Snape suddenly felt very, very tired. He transfigured the brush back into the book and focused on tamping down on his own annoyance.

“Harry,” Snape said after a few moments of Harry’s shaking shoulders and silent sobs. “It’s after midnight. I’m tired. You’re tired. Why are you crying? Somehow I don’t think it’s only because of that beating I just gave you.”

Harry pressed his sleeve against his mouth. His glasses were all foggy. He liked when Snape called him Harry instead of Potter or even Mr. Potter. It gave him the sort of warm feeling as when the Professor praised him or put his hand on his shoulder. Things had changed between him and Snape and Harry no longer saw him as just ‘the great bat bastard of the dungeons.’ Snape’s presence now reassured him, made him feel like everything would be fine.

Snape leaned against Minerva’s desk, watching the boy fumble for words.

“Harry.” Snape’s tone was as gentle as Harry had ever heard it.

“She hurts me.” He blurted.

“Who?”

“Umbridge.” He whispered.

“Hurts you…?”

“In detention.”

Snape paused. This is not what he was expecting. He folded his arms and regarded the boy.

“How does she hurt you?” He asked, his voice concerned. Harry had no idea Snape was capable of that tone.

“She cuts me. Her quill does.”

“Show me.” Snape said in a cold voice.

Harry pushed his left hand out of his sleeve. Snape saw his own handkerchief tied around Harry’s hand, the cotton rusty with dried blood. Icy rage gripped him. He clenched his jaw and unfolded his arms. He beckoned and Harry offered the hand. Snape untied the kerchief and his eyes widened at the blood-smeared skin. “What does that say?” He asked, unable to make out the words amidst the ragged flesh.

“I must not tell lies.” Harry said. Snape was silent, still holding Harry’s hand in his own. “She has this quill that when I write on a piece of paper, it cuts whatever I write into my hand. She gave me seven nights’ detention writing lines.” Harry shook his head, looking worried. Fresh tears filled his eyes. “It used to heal up on its own but after yesterday it won’t go away.”

“Blood quill. How many times have you written this?” Snape nodded at his hand and tilted it, eying the marks from a different angle. Gone was the gentle tone. Snape sounded as upset as Harry had ever heard him. It was only by the soft way Snape held his palm that Harry knew he wasn’t upset with him. Harry shrugged and said a number. Snape swore loudly.

“She took away Hogsmeade too.” Tears leaked from his eyes. “This is the first time I can properly go because Sirius signed my form, and, I know it’s just Hogsmeade but I’ve been looking forward to it so much and I’ve had such a shit year. I mean, this potion has been bad enough but Ron and I were fighting and I have the stupid O.W.L.s coming up and I haven’t studied at all and I have so much homework I thought I was more on top of everything but I made a list and, like, I may as well just jump off the astronomy tower because all the homework will kill me anyway and then I lied to you because I was freaked out about that essay because it sounded important and honestly it never occurred to me that you’d give me an extension so Ron offered his and I’m probably going to fail everything anyway because fuck my life.”

Snape stared at him, mouth slightly agape at the sudden deluge. “Anything else?” He asked.

“I was using the chilling cream on my hand. That’s why I needed so much. You didn’t hit me too hard last time. I lied so I could get more cream.”

Snape was relieved, then immediately annoyed. “You lied to me?”

“I’m sorry!” Harry wailed.

“Merlin, child! I thought I’d given you nerve damage!”

“Please don’t be upset. I can’t take any more whacks!”

Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath to get his annoyance under control. Potter was right. Any more smacks would surely bruise or draw blood.

Harry babbled. “I really was using it because I was hurt, just not for my bum. It helped, kind of. I am sorry for making you think it was my backside but I couldn’t tell anyone the truth. I was too embarrassed.”

“Fine.” Snape took another deep, composing breath. He abhorred lying. Potter’s case was rather unique though and if he truly had been using the cream for an injury then Snape supposed he could let this slide. “It’s fine.” He said. “I’m not upset. I’ll let this one slide given everything, but if you ever lie to me again about anything you will absolutely get spanked.”

Harry shook his head fast and Snape pushed the confession from his mind. The last thing that needed to happen right now was another bloody beating. “Anything else?” He asked, dreading the answer.

“Hermione’s been nicking supplies from the potions cabinet.” Harry blurted. He clapped his hands over his mouth, horrified at what he’d just admitted.

“Granger.” Snape growled and clenched his fist. “I knew someone was getting at my supplies.”

“But please don’t be cross with her, she was doing it to make me healing potions and calming draughts and she made me Essence of Murtlap for my hand.”

Snape glanced down at Harry’s ravaged hand, looking a bit sad. He shook his head. “Let me see again.”

Harry obediently offered his hand and Snape tilted it towards the light, examining the cut skin closely. “I may be able to fix this. Murtlap certainly will help reduce inflammation and soothe the irritation, but it won’t do anything for the cuts. Same with that cream. If you had come to me I could have given you something that would actually have helped.” Snape saw Harry nervously picking at his cuticle.

“Dare I ask if there’s more?” Snape’s brows were sky high. He hadn’t meant for this evening to turn into a confessional but when in Rome…

“Um.” Harry fiddled with his fingers. “Okay, don’t get upset.”

“I’m promising no such thing. What else?”

“I, uh, may have destroyed Umbridge’s office?” Harry flicked his gaze up to Snape’s and away again. “Though in my defense, she spanked me in detention and she kept calling me a liar—”

“What?!” Snape bellowed, pushing himself off the desk.

“Don’t get upset!” Harry held his hands up, placating, “I’ve been in so much trouble today already!”

“I’m not upset with you, I’m upset with her. She spanked you? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“She barely touched me! Honestly.”

Snape opened his mouth, closed it, then with a tight jerk began pacing the length of the windows, lost in thought.

“Snape, sir, really, I hardly felt it. I had my robes on. She used her hand. Though she did say she’d cane me this weekend in detention…”

Snape scoffed like that was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard.

Harry watched, nervous, trying to figure out what Snape would do next.

“Alright.” Snape muttered after a few moments. He took a deep breath and pushed some hair away from his face. He strode towards Harry. A few months ago Harry would have cringed and cowered from a furious Snape swooping towards him. Now though, it didn’t bother him. He was very familiar with how the man acted when he was upset and Harry knew it wasn’t him he was upset with. Snape got into the boy’s space and Harry smelled his potion-spice, smoky scent again. Weirdly, it relaxed him. At what point did his body start equating the unique smell of the man with relaxation and the sense that all would be well? “You,” Snape pointed at him, his tone low and deadly, “are not going to have detention with that….woman, anymore. Understand?”

Harry nodded. He had the feeling Snape wanted to use a very different word than ‘woman.’

“Furthermore, you will go to Hogsmeade even if I have to drag you there myself. You will spend your money frivolously and eat rubbish all day with your little friends.”

Harry nodded again, unable to speak. Snape sounded and looked so very angry but he was saying wonderful things.

“Why did you destroy the office?”

“Um, because she was being horrible and she spanked me, kind of, and wanted me to write more lines with the blood quill and she keeps saying I’m lying about Voldemort’s return,”

Snape winced,

“and she said I’m lying about the remedial potions and she took away Hogsmeade and said she’d cane me.”

“And you’d had enough.” Snape said.

Harry nodded.

Snape straightened up and smoothed his shirt.

“What’s going to happen? Am I expelled?”

“No.” Snape pulled his wand out. “Hold up your hand.”

Harry did. “What will happen to me for this? For what I did?”

“Nothing at all if I have anything to say about it.” Snape sounded supremely irritated.

Harry untied the stained handkerchief and held his hand up. Snape gripped Harry’s wrist and pointed his wand at the wounds and muttered a long incantation under his breath. The wand tip glowed white and tendrils of something shimmery reached for Harry’s hand. The skin stung and pulled and Harry winced. He couldn’t help trying to pull his hand away but Snape held tight. Harry clenched his eyes closed. When Snape released him, Harry looked. The skin was clean of smeared blood. The edges were less ragged and the cuts themselves looked smaller.

Harry smiled. “Oh! Thanks, Professor.”

“You’re welcome. How many more days of detention do you have?”

“Well it was supposed to just be ‘til Friday but then she extended it so I’d miss Hogsmeade.”

“And we’ve already established that you are not missing Hogsmeade, thus you will finish off the next three days of detention with me.”

“Oh…with you? Er, why?” Harry had hoped that Snape would just cancel it. Maybe he couldn’t?

“Harry, do you trust me?”

Harry stared at him for a few seconds. “Yes.”

“Three days. Starting tomorrow evening at seven.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry said.

“Bring your school work. All of it.”

“Alright.”

“Anything else?” Snape asked, trying to sound encouraging and pretty sure he was failing. This evening had not gone where he imagined and he’d hoped to be asleep ages ago.

“No, sir.” Harry said. “Er, thanks. I’ll go back to my dorm.” He headed for the door.

“Here.” Snape went to the fireplace. “This is faster.” He flung a handful of powder in and announced the destination. Harry walked into the fireplace and was gone.

Snape rubbed his hand over his face. That boy would be the death of him. His relationship with Harry had changed wildly this year. He honestly wanted Harry to be, well, happy was a strong word but he wanted him content and confident. He liked that the boy no longer cringed and cowered before him like the other students did. To Snape’s surprise, Harry could be funny. They shared a dry, sarcastic sense of humor. Harry also stood up to him now and he found himself rather impressed by it. So few students had the stones to snap back at him when he was grouchy. He found that he would actually miss the boy’s company once Harry took the antidote and they put this awful potion behind them. How strange. He was proud of Harry for enduring this potion as well as he had been and he wished he could give the boy something other than a ‘good job.’ He deserved it after this terrible year.

He leaned off the desk. He had to talk to Minerva and Dumbledore if he was around before exhaustion felled him and then he was putting this foul day behind him.
Actions

“She needs to go, Albus.” Snape had both palms planted on Dumbledore’s desk as he leaned over and stared the older man down. Students never failed to quail at this move, but Dumbledore, of course, was hardly a nervous first year.

“My options are limited, my boy.” Dumbledore shrugged with one shoulder. “She was appointed by Minister Fudge himself.”

“Bollocks! You’re one of the most powerful wizards alive. Don’t sit there and tell me you can do nothing.”

Dumbledore regarded Snape over his half moon spectacles. His long fingers were pressed together at the tips.

“Why now?” He asked.

“What?”

“Why the sudden interest in removing Dolores from her post?”

Snape leaned off the desk and brushed some hair from his face. “She tortures the students in detention.”

Dumbledore said nothing.

“What? No response? Does that not bother you?”

“I’m more interested in why it bothers you. You’re not one to, ah, bend over backwards with concern for the students.”

“I’m an uncaring bastard, you mean.” Snape suggested.

“Many of your students may say so. Would Harry?”

Snape frowned. “Harry. You mean Potter?”

Albus raised his brows.

Snape shrugged. “Most likely. It’s not for me to say what goes through the boy’s brain.”

“Harry recently served detention with Dolores, did he not?” Dumbledore said.

“Yes.” Snape hissed. “She used a blood quill on him. Repeatedly. His hand is ravaged!”

“Poor lad.”

Snape spluttered. “Poor l—you should see the marks. It’s disgusting what she’s allowed to do. Know what? I’ll show you.”

Snape marched to the fireplace and chucked a handful of floo powder into the flames. He yelled for the Gryffindor common room and stuck his head in.

“Potter!” He snapped.

On the other side of the fireplace, Harry almost jumped out of his skin when he heard Snape’s fire-muffled voice shouting his name. He was in the middle of a game of exploding snap with Ron and Dean and Ginny and the small explosion of cards singed his fingers. He hissed and put his fingertips in his mouth.

“Potter!” Snape yelled again.

“Yeah—hang on, what sir?” Harry turned around and spoke to Snape’s scowling fire-shaped head.

“Come through. Now.” He vanished.

“What happened?” Ron asked.

“No bloody idea. Play without me, who knows how long this’ll take.” Harry went through the fireplace and stepped not into Snape’s office, but Dumbledore’s. He glanced between Snape’s angry face and Dumbledore’s kind one before Snape tilted his head towards the large desk.

“Show him your hand.” Snape commanded.

Harry approached the Headmaster. He pulled at the knot on the handkerchief. “Hullo, sir.” He said quietly.

“Good morning, Harry. I trust you’re spending your free hours studying diligently for the O.W.L exams?”

“Er, yeah, I...”

“Potter,” Snape said, “you have soot on your face from an exploding snap game.”

“Dammit.” Harry muttered, furiously rubbing at his cheek.

Snape noticed his own handkerchief once again tied around Harry’s hand. “We have proper bandages too, you know.” Snape scolded him without heat as Harry tugged the kerchief knot free.

“This works.” Harry said.

Dumbledore smiled and Harry offered his hand.

“Look.” Snape strode over and grabbed Harry’s wrist, guiding it under Dumbledore’s long nose. “He’s cut! He’s wounded! She did this to him and who knows how many other students! He doesn’t need to deal with this on top of the beatings I’ve been giving him.” Snape turned to Harry. “Did you find that ointment this morning?”

A pot of medicated ointment had appeared on Harry’s bedside shelf this morning with instructions to rub the medicine on twice a day.

“Yes.”

“Did you put it on?”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Don’t give me that look.” Snape chided.

“Then stop fussing at me. You think I want these cuts? Of course I put it on.”

Dumbledore had to bite back a laugh at the expression on Snape’s face.

“I’m not fussing, let me see.” Snape grabbed Harry’s wrist and pointed his wand at the carved words and muttered the same incantation he used the previous night. The shimmery tendrils of white light swirled into his cuts, stinging, and Harry’s face scrunched up in pain. Snape finished and Harry looked. The cuts were shrinking by the day. This incantation and the medicine were certainly helping but there was an excellent chance there’d be a scar. Blood quills were dark objects.

“Thank you.” Harry said. He wrapped the kerchief around his hand again.

“It’s the least I can do after all the required beatings.”

“Sir, it’s for the potion.” Harry said to him quietly. “You’re not beating me.”

“Rubbish. Potion or not, what you’re getting from me is not normal discipline.”

Dumbledore raised his brows. How different Severus’ attitude was compared to their last little chat in his office. Last time Severus had been eager to smack the boy. He saw it as a duty, one he’d happily accept.

“It’s the potion, it’s not you.” Harry pushed.

“Yes, Severus. It certainly sounds like the potion is the bad guy in this particular instance.” Dumbledore purposely echoed his earlier words and Snape rolled his eyes, remembering their last meeting.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I’m the one doling it out.” Snape told Harry.

“Would you be hitting me if I hadn’t taken the Nox rubrum?”

“If you deserve it, Potter, I have no problem giving out a well-earned spanking.”

Harry huffed. “Would you be hitting me as much as you are if I hadn’t taken the Nox rubrum?”

“No.”

“Do you want me dead?” Harry snapped. “Because that’ll happen if you don’t hit me.”

Now Snape huffed. He folded his arms, looking away from the boy. “I don’t want you dead, you fool. You know that.”

Dumbledore grinned behind his steepled fingers.

“Is Umbridge getting sacked?” Harry asked bluntly.

“Apparently not!” Snape hissed to Dumbledore.

“This school exists because the Ministry of Magic allows it.” Dumbledore said. “Madame Umbridge is Cornelius’ undersecretary. There’s no higher position in the Ministry save the Minister himself. Or herself, I suppose.”

“So she can just fillet the students as she feels like it.” Snape said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Got it. Understood. Harry, go back to your common room.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry glanced between Snape and Dumbledore and flooed away. Snape gave Dumbledore a fake bow and said, “by your leave,” before he turned and strode for the door.

“Severus, she wasn’t fired, however, plans are in motion to get her removed.”

Snape scoffed and left.




Harry was walking to Herbology later that day. Well, he was running to Herbology. He had been talking with Ginny and lost track of time and was sure Sprout would give him detention if he was late again.

“Mr. Potter!” A sweet, girlish voice called from the classroom he flew past.

Fuckin’ hell, Umbridge.

“Stop running this instant!”

“Can’t!” He shouted back her. He kept running and then he was hitting the ground hard, skidding over the marble floor. His bag flew over his shoulder and he couldn’t move anything below the waist.

“When I give an order, Mr. Potter, you follow it.” She said, coming to stand over him with her wand drawn. She stared down at him with a prim little smile on her face.

“Let me up.” He growled.

“Promise me you’ll walk.”

“I’m not promising you anything!” Harry hissed.

“Naughty boy, Harry.” She said. She levitated him to his feet and unlocked his legs. At the other end of the corridor behind her, two figures came into view. It was Snape and McGonagall and it seemed they were having an animated discussion by the way McGonagall was waving her hands. She looked annoyed by whatever she was talking about. Snape glanced up and saw Harry and Umbridge. His expression morphed from amusement at whatever McGonagall was saying to rage when he saw Umbridge scolding Harry. He started jogging towards them. Harry forced himself to look at Umbridge’s ugly pink ruffled hat and ignore a furious Snape billowing up behind her.

“You owe me more detentions,” she jabbed her finger at him, “not to mention that caning I promised you. I know you tried to get Professor Snape to weasel you out of it. Well, that’s certainly not going to happen!”

“You’re not allowed to—”

“Silence!” She raised her hand. Harry ducked his head down and the slap meant for his face crashed into his shoulder. Harry lurched to the side, clutching his arm.

Snape ran the last few yards and and swooped in front of Umbridge. His dark cloak flew gracefully about his legs and he put a hand out behind him to gently push Harry back.

“What are you doing?!” He bellowed at her.

“That foul boy attacked me!” She said, surprised to see him.

“No I didn’t!” Harry stepped out from behind Snape. “She used the leg lock jinx on me!”

“What’s going on?” McGonagall strode up to them and looked at Harry. “What happened, Harry?”

“I was going to class and she attacked me.” Harry said.

“This boy is allowed to get away with far too much!” Umbridge snapped. “He must be punished since he is a foul little liar.”

“But Professor, don’t you remember?” Harry growled. “I must not tell lies.”

Umbridge’s face turned puce with rage and she lunged towards Harry. He hopped back.

“You horrible, wretched old toad!” Harry shouted. He clenched his fists. He wanted to lunge back at her, to attack her with his bare hands.

“Dolores you will control yourself!” Snape commanded in a hard, angry voice. She stopped advancing. Snape laid his hand softly on Harry’s shoulder.

“Dolores,” McGonagall stepped in Umbridge’s space. “I think we at this school have had quite enough of you. As Deputy Headmistress I am officially dismissing you from your position as Defense against the Dark Arts teacher. You may pack your bags at once.”

Snape folded his arms in an angry, defensive way, silently daring her to argue.

“But Minerva, maybe you have forgotten,” Umbridge said sweetly, “I was appointed by the Minister of Magic himself.”

“Yes I think we have all learned something about Cornelius’ taste—or lack thereof—in staff. I know Griselda Marchbanks would love to hear about what’s been going on at Hogwarts this year. The W.E.A is awfully particular about how well our fifth years do on their Ordinary Wizarding Level exams. It would be a shame for our students to fail their Defense exam and for Hogwarts to lose its fine standing among the world’s magical schools. You, as undersecretary, know how much Cornelius values Griselda’s opinion. I’m certain he would love to hear about just why all the fifth years failed their Defense exams.”

“I, I—“ Umbridge stuttered. Her face had gone pale. That only seemed to give McGonagall more fuel. She stepped forward again, forcing Umbridge to step back.

“I do believe that should our students do poorly on the DADA portion of the exams, the blame would fall squarely on you!” Her voice rose to a shrill octave. Harry had more than once been on the receiving end of one of these lectures. McGongall could make a person feel about two inches tall and Harry was delighted to see Umbridge getting it. “You have done this entire school, and especially Harry, a huge disservice. Now go!” She pointed towards the exit.

Umbridge stared at her for a few moments, looking like she wanted to say something, before she turned on her heel and strode away.

McGonagall straightened her robe, adjusted her hat, and turned to face Harry and Snape.

“That was bloody wicked, Professor.” Harry said with a grin.

“Thank you for that assessment, Mr. Potter. Now maybe you can salvage what remains of your class period?”

He nodded and picked up his bag. Snape handed him an excuse note for Professor Sprout and Harry hurried off.

“Oh, that felt good.” McGonagall said to Snape. “I cannot wait until I tell Griselda about this when we have tea next week.”

Snape laughed.

Harry told Hermione and Ron all about what happened as they walked from Herbology to Defense against the Dark Arts.

“I wish you could have seen it. McGonagall was brilliant!” Harry said, delighted. “She told her that this witch named, like, Griselda something would be really upset if we failed our exams and she was all ‘what would Fudge say’ and then Umbridge looked like she was going to faint. McGonagall really tore her a new one.”

“Oh…” Hermione nodded in understanding. “The W.E.A would be upset if too many students failed.”

“What is that?” Harry asked.

“Wizarding Examination Authority.” Ron said. “They’re in charge of the O.W.Ls and the N.E.W.Ts. What?” He said to Harry’s surprised face. “Dad works at the ministry! The W.E.A is part of the ministry, kind of. Dad’s said Fudge is scared of them. If all of us come off as really thick on the exams then the W.E.A can push to get Fudge replaced because if Hogwarts starts to look a bit shit it reflects badly on the Ministry. I don’t really get how it all works.”

“Griselda Marchbanks is the Head of the W.E.A.” Hermione added.

“Huh. Okay. So if McGonagall’s sacked Umbridge, who’s going to be teaching us Defense now?”




The three of them entered the DADA classroom. “Professor Lupin!” Harry crowed.

“Hello Harry!” He said, grinning.

Other students were filing in, curious at the change in teacher.

“Are you teaching this class now?” Harry asked.

“I am.” He said.

“Yes!” Ron clenched his fist.

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me ‘til the end of term. I understand the fifth years are a bit behind.”

“You have no idea.”

Harry hoped that Snape and McGonagall teamed up and chucked Umbridge out a window. He could dream.

Lupin spent most of the class time figuring out what they had been learning (which was nothing) and what they needed to be working on for the O.W.L (which was a lot). Lupin didn’t look overwhelmed at all by the amount of work remaining before they had to take their O.W.L exams. He actually looked excited. The class flew by and they all took a turn with practicing defensive spells, which was a welcome change from all the sitting quietly and reading. At the end of the period everyone left the class in a good mood.

A third year came up to Harry with a note. He opened it and glanced it over before crumpling it up.

“What’s up?” Ron asked as they set their bags down on a study table.

“I have detention with Snape and he changed the time tonight from seven to eight.”

He remembered how much he’d been crying last night when he told Snape about Umbridge and felt stupid. How could he have cried so much in front of Snape? The man probably thought he was totally mental.

“Detention? Rough luck!” Ron said.

“What happened?” Hermione asked.

“He said he wants me to finish off Umbridge’s assigned detentions with him. I have three more nights. He was pretty pissed off at her.”

“You’re still going to to Hogsmeade, right?”

“Yes.” Harry said, relieved. “She took it away from me, but Snape gave it back.”

“Decent of him.” Ron said, opening his book. No more was said about it. They quizzed each other on example O.W.L Transfiguration questions and by the time the study period ended, Harry felt like he was in a good place to take the Transfiguration part of the test.

Evening came all too soon and Harry loaded up his bag with all his school work as Snape instructed. “If you get back early enough, Harry,” Hermione said, “we’ll probably still be studying for the O.W.Ls in the common room.”

“I’ll join you if I’m not too worn out.” Harry said. He took himself to Snape’s office. The door was already open when he arrived. He knocked on the jamb. “Hello, sir.” He looked around, a bit apprehensive, wondering what awful task Snape would have him do.

“Harry.” Snape said by way of greeting. He pointed his quill at the small table in the far corner. Harry had sat there many a time serving line-writing detentions. He dropped his bag beside the chair and sat, exhaling a deep breath.

“You’re hardly on your way to the gallows so you can get that look off your face.” Snape sounded amused. “You brought your school work?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Do it. You should be able to make a dent by the end of tonight.”

Harry stared at him. “You’re letting me do homework?”

“Of course. Why else do you think I had you bring your books?”

Oh.

“Thank you, sir!” He grabbed his Herbology textbook and a quill and got going. It was much easier to concentrate down here in Snape’s office. There was nothing to distract him. The common room had Ron and Hermione, Fred and George, stuff from Zonko’s, a chess board, comfortable furniture, sweets and snacks. Snape’s office had Snape, a table and a chair. Harry quickly got into the groove of working and finished his Herbology and Divination in under an hour and a half. He had just pulled out his Transfiguration when Snape stood up from his desk and put his quill aside. He stretched his back and wandered over to Harry, walking slowly behind him to look over his shoulder in that teacher way of his. The sense of Umbridge behind him had made his skin crawl but Harry found he didn’t mind at all when Snape stood behind him while he was working.

“What are you working on?” He asked.

“Transfiguration. I have a couple essays. I’m gonna try outlining what I want to say for them before I begin actually writing. Hermione said that’s what she does and she always gets good marks on her essays.”

Snape hummed in approval. “That’s a good plan.”

“Will you let me do that essay I missed?” Harry asked, boosted by the praise.

“I suppose. You’ll get points off though for that asinine stunt you pulled with Weasley.”

“Okay. I mean, I haven’t started it at all. I don’t even have an idea.”

“Don’t worry about that. Focus on what’s due first now, then what’s going to take the longest. Focus on your O.W.Ls too.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

Snape laid an encouraging hand on his shoulder and went back to his desk. Harry cracked his neck and began outlining the first Transfiguration essay, jotting a few bullet points. He’d started on the second when he heard the bell toll outside. It was eleven o’clock.

Harry sat back in his chair. He’d been in here for three hours. He glanced at Snape. He was at his desk, reading. He wasn’t even working.

“Uh, Snape?”

“Hm?”

“How long is my detention?”

“How much time do you need? You’re coming back tomorrow and Friday too.”

“Uh….I think I can stop here. I got a bunch done.”

“Good. Go on to your dorm, then. Take the floo.”

“Okay.” Harry packed up his stuff and levitated his bag towards the fireplace. “‘Night, sir. Thanks.”




Harry came back the following night and like before, Snape had him doing homework. Harry knocked out both Transfiguration essays in under two hours. Harry finished the rest of his Divination star chart, his Potions work, and got through the entirety of his History of Magic reading. The bell tolled outside but Harry didn’t care. He wasn’t tired at all. He read a section of his Transfiguration book and answered the end of chapter questions. He was cracking open his DADA textbook when Snape said, “Harry?”

He looked up.

“Are you nearly finished?”

“I wanted to do more reading. I’m on a roll, Snape. I don’t want to stop.”

Snape pursed his lips.

“You can go.” Harry said. “I’ll be fine in here. Just another hour-ish.”

Snape didn’t say anything. He didn’t fancy a student unattended in his office but at the same time he knew Harry wouldn’t do anything. It was in his backside’s best interest to not break any rules.

“An hour, I swear.”

“Fine.” Snape pointed at him. “But if if get the slightest hint you were snooping…”

“You won’t! God, you think I would dare? I don’t want to get pummeled again.”

Harry went back to his book. Snape stood. “Don’t be up too late.” He went through a door on the opposite side of the office and Harry was alone. He caught up on all his DADA reading and decided to push himself and do some more O.W.L studying. The tests were in two weeks and every fifth year in the school was cramming as much knowledge into their brains as they could. The office fire burned lower.

The bell outside tolled two a.m. and exhaustion came over Harry like a wave. He stood up and moved to the sofa hidden around the corner behind a shelf and laid down on it. He’d have a power nap and then go back to his reading. Just a few minutes….

“Harry. Harry! Potter!”

He woke up at Snape’s biting voice. He sat up without thinking, confused for a moment before remembering. Detention. Snape. Sofa. He was in Snape’s office. Snape was in front of him, throwing his black cloak on over his clothes.

“Don’t be late for your first class.” Snape said. “The teacher’s a real bastard.”

Harry stared at him and Snape gave him the barest hint of a smile.

“You made a joke. I’ve never heard you make a joke before.”

“The joke will be on you if you’re late for my class. Breakfast is almost done.”

“Shit.” He stood up and came around the corner. Sunlight was shining through the office door. He glanced at the clock. It was after eight.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep in here.” Harry said, jamming his books in his bag. He was expecting the Nox rubrum to roar to life. It didn’t. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Snape said with a small shrug. He didn’t seem upset at all. Oh.

Harry crammed his quill into a pocket.

“Did you get a lot done?” Snape asked.

“Oh yeah. Loads. Thanks for letting me stay.”

“You’re welcome, Harry. Don’t be too late.”

“Jeez, alright, I’ll be on time to your class.” Harry said, sounding harassed as he towards the door.

“I meant for breakfast.” Snape said. “Use the floo!”

Harry did, and tumbled into the common room. His bag rolled across the floor and he left it there, galloping up to his dorm. He slipped into the room. Ron was in there, changing.

“There you are! Where’ve you been!

“With Snape.” He threw off his wrinkled robes and started to change.

“This whole time?!”

“I fell asleep.”

“In detention?” Ron looked really confused.

“It’s not really detention. I’ll tell you at breakfast.”

Ron seemed okay with this and Harry finished changing his clothes.

At breakfast he told them about how Snape was letting him do homework in detention.

“Blimey.” Ron said. “He’s being nice to you.”

“I think he feels bad about everything.” Harry said with a shrug. “He’s not a wanker when it’s just the two of us. He’s, like, a normal person. Not like in class.”

“I’m glad you’re getting all your work done.” Hermione said. She was immensely grateful to Professor Snape. Harry had looked so wretched the night of Umbridge’s last detention. Since that evening and then spending two nights of detention with Snape Harry had been calmer and more steady. He was able to focus on studying for the O.W.L exams with them all. The tension had drained from his shoulders and whatever Snape was doing was helping more than her Essence of Murtlap and healing potions.

In Potions class that morning, Snape had them making Fire Protection Potions.

“There’s plenty of time to complete this.” Snape said, striding around the room as the students prepared ingredients. “Read the instructions and then read them again. I don’t want to see idiotic mistakes.”

Hermione made her Fire Protection Potion in twenty minutes and it turned out perfectly. It was a deep orange-red.

“You’re done?” Ron said. “Why is mine black?”

Harry snickered and added the Wartcap powder to his, stirring as the liquid deepened from lime green to ruby red. Snape was standing near their table, arms folded, glowering at the room. Harry realized Ron had probably gotten nervous and messed up because of Snape’s proximity. Months ago, he too would have messed up, intimidated by the frowning man. Now though? Snape really didn’t scare him anymore.

“Did you add the salamander blood?” Harry asked.

“Yes!”

“Did you stir it counter-clockwise?”

Ron reread the instructions. “Bloody hell. Stirred it wrong.”

“Redo it.” Harry said, glancing at Snape, who didn’t seem to paying an ounce of attention to them. “It doesn’t take long. Here, use the rest of my Wartcap powder.”

Ron paused. “Okay.” He trotted off to the supply cabinet.

“Harry, that looks great.” Hermione said, eying his cauldron.

“Thanks.” He said. He glanced at Snape. The man looked at him and then glanced at his cauldron. He gave Harry a barely perceptible shrug and raised brow that Harry took to mean, it’s not an awful attempt, Potter.

Snape came over to them and Harry and Hermione snapped their mouths shut. “Miss Granger, please see me after class.”

She nodded. “Yes, Professor.”

Snape moved away, drawn by a small explosion at the other end of the room.

“What does he want?” She asked.

Harry shrugged before remembering. He grit his teeth in sympathy.

“Oh, um…I may have accidentally told him you were taking supplies from the potions cabinet.”

“What?! Harry! I was doing that to help you!”

“I know, I know!” Harry said. “I’m sorry. I told him not to be upset with you.”

She huffed and ignored him for the rest of the class. Harry felt terrible.

The moment the bell rang Harry ran up to Snape. “Professor, please don’t shout at Hermione.” He said, pleading.

Snape stared at him, affronted. “I’ll shout at whoever I want.”

Harry groaned. “Please don’t be upset with her!”

Hermione was coming up behind him, looking nervous. She was never asked to stay after class. “She was doing it to help me!” Harry told him.

“Go to class, Potter, this doesn’t concern you.”

Harry looked at her. “I am sorry.” He left the room.

“Miss Granger.” Snape began when it was just the two of them. “You are not in trouble.”

“Oh.” She said, relieved.

“I know you’ve been assisting Potter throughout this…ordeal and I wanted to tell you that I appreciate the…thought, you’ve been showing him.”

“Thank you, sir.” She nodded.

“However.” Snape hardened his voice. “If you ever steal from me again, you will be very sorry.”

Her eyes widened.

“You are a prefect and you are supposed to be a role model for the other students. Stealing from a professor is not good form.”

She stared at her feet. Her neck heated with shame and embarrassment. She hated getting scolded.

“In the future Miss Granger, notify me about what you need and I will do my best to supply it. Assuming the cause is benign. I’ll not be aiding another Polyjuice adventure.”

She nodded quickly and her face went red.

“You’re a very capable witch.” Snape said. “Mr. Potter is lucky to have a friend in you.”

“Th-thank you, Professor. I had something I wanted to say to you too.”

His brows went up, silently requesting that she continue.

“Thank you for what you’ve been doing for Harry. I don’t mean the hitting him part, but…the detentions I suppose. He was really stressed out this term and he’s been so much better the last few days.”

Snape nodded. “Go on to class.”

Hermione nodded and left the room.

“What’d he say?” Harry asked. Ron was with him and they looked concerned. “Did you get detention?”

“No. He just told me not to steal supplies.”

Both boys relaxed.

“Come on.” Hermione grabbed Ron’s hand. “Let’s not be late.”



Detention that night was a breeze. Harry finished up the last of his work. To his delight, Snape let him redo the Draught of Peace potion that had been destroyed earlier in the term. Harry set up a cauldron out in the classroom and gathered ingredients. He was making it step by step under Snape’s watchful gaze. It didn’t bother Harry at all. Long gone were the days when Snape would loom over his cauldron, causing Harry to miscount the number of stirs needed or do something stupid like add bicorn horn instead of unicorn. Harry added the porcupine quills one at a time, keeping a watchful eye on the potion as it morphed from orange to turquoise.

“Excellent.” Snape said. “Most people add the quills too fast and miss the window where the color changes. You’re doing it perfectly.”

Harry’s whole body warmed at the praise. He turned the heat down so the potion could simmer and got his powdered unicorn horn ready. Snape hummed. “There’s still some large chunks in the powder.” He said. “Grind it up a bit more.”

“Okay.” Harry got the mortar and pestle and mashed until it was all a fine ivory dust. He poured a steady stream of it into the bubbling liquid, watching for the color to change to pink.

“You’re doing well.” Snape laid a hand on the base of his neck and again Harry warmed at the praise. This rare one-on-one attention was wonderful and a part of him that had been neglected his entire life was rolling joyfully in the sensation of having someone take the time to care. He wished Snape was like this in class, though he understood that the Professor couldn’t stand behind him alone and ignore everyone else. Harry was almost disappointed when he finished the potion and turned off the flames.

“Don’t bother bottling it.” Snape said. “I’ll test it straight from the cauldron but I’m sure it’s correct.”

Harry nodded.

“Your mother was good at making potions.” Snape said. “The detail of it suited her.”

“Really? I didn’t know she was good at potions.”

“It runs a bit in your family.” Snape said. “Your….grandfather, I think it was, invented Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion.”

“What?!” Harry blurted.

“I think it was your grandfather. Some relative. I’m sure you could find out for sure. Maybe Black knows.”

Harry was dumbfounded. He vowed to find out more about this.

“Your mother was a good student. Very smart. She could have excelled in any area she devoted herself to.” Snape eyed the clock. “It’s getting late. You should get some sleep. Hogsmeade is tomorrow.”

“Yes!” Harry couldn’t help the wide smile on his face at the thought of riding the new broom. “I’ve been looking forward to it for months. Spintwitches has the new Moonshot broom and it looks so brilliant, and…” Harry stopped himself. Snape didn’t care about the new broom. He wasn’t going to gush about it like a child. “Well….anyway. Thank you for giving Hogsmeade back.” He added.

“You’re welcome. Go.”

“Good night!”

Harry trotted out of the room. Snape suddenly had an idea. It was an absurd idea, but still, it was something he would consider.




Hogsmeade was brilliant. The weather was warming and no one wore coats or hats or scarves. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he was so happy, walking off to the little magical village with his fellow Gryffindors, talking and laughing and excited. His homework was done, Snape wasn’t a dick, Umbridge was gone, and he felt ready to take the O.W.Ls.

“Harry, Ron, don’t forget your Moonshot timeslots.” Angelina reminded them. Ron, now a member of the team, had been assigned a timeslot at Spintwitches.

“As if I would!” Harry waved the small yellow parchment bearing his name and the time he was going to fly.

“We’re all meeting outside Spintwitches at two.”

“Okay, we’ll be there.” Harry said.

They hit a packed Honeydukes first and loaded up on chocolate frogs, fizzing whizzbees, and coconut ice. Hermione got some sherbet balls and Ron grabbed a mixed bag of Every Flavor Beans. They all split the cost of a slab of Honeydukes’ homemade fudge and left the shop with bags of sweets.

“What time is it?” Ron asked through a mouthful of double-chocolate fudge.

“Only twelve.” Harry said, digging his hand into Ron’s bag of beans.

“I want to go to Scrivenshaft’s.” Hermione said, eating some of Harry’s pink coconut ice. “I want some new quills for our O.W.L.s” Her breath fogged in front of her face.

Ron made a face at the mention of the tests and they went into the writing store. Hermione grabbed a few standard quills and a fresh ink pot. She paused at the sight of an assignment organizer, bound beautifully in green dragon hide. It had tabs to keep the user’s subjects separate and pockets built in.

“Oh, I’ve been looking for an organizer this size!” She said, picking it up. “This would fit perfectly in my bag.” She saw the price and hesitated.

“I want to buy it for you.” Harry said.

“What? No, Harry.”

“Please.”

“Why?”

“You’ve helped me a lot this year.” Harry said. “You made me potions and Murtlap and looked up the Draught of Asphodel up in the library and all that.”

“Oh, Harry, you don’t have to buy me anything for doing that.”

“I really want to though.” He laughed. “You stole from Snape for me! I owe you for that alone.” He pulled the planner gently from her hands. “Please. Just this. You buy the quills.”

She sighed and gave him a small smile and he went up to the counter to pay.

“Here you go.” He said, handing her the bag once they’d left the store.

“Thank you, Harry!” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. He flushed slightly and grinned.

“That was good of you.” Ron said quietly when they were outside.

“She deserves it.” Harry said. “She did a lot for me this year.”

They got to Spintwitches early and watched the other people who’d signed up to fly the broom taking their turns. The shop had set up a small arena in a field north of the village and had even supplied quidditch balls. Two Moonshot Silvers were provided so people could fly in pairs and toss the quaffle around. The broom had a black handle and the tail, a handsomely curved set of dark maple, mahogany, and cherry twigs, was attached with a ring of silver. The shape of the thing evoked a comet streaking into the sky. Harry watched, more and more excited, as Angelina took a turn with Katie Bell. He was next and he was going to fly with Fred Weasley.

Angelina landed and passed the broom off to the Spintwitches employee. She sighed, nearly swooning as she walked past Harry. “It’s a dream to fly,” she said.

Harry could barely contain himself as the employee handed him the broom and explained the borders of the arena. Up close, the broom handle was not just black, but it had streaks of a shimmering dark bronze wood mixed in. The employee stepped aside, Harry mounted, kicked off, and all his problems vanished.

The Moonshot was truly incredible. It responded to his movement with barely any effort, almost like it was reading his mind. He’d thought his Firebolt was perfect but compared to this, it was a clunky old block. It was light as air underneath him and if he closed his eyes and let go of the handle, he fancied he wasn’t on a broom at all, but just soaring through the air on his own.

“Amazing!” Fred called.

Harry opened his eyes and caught the quaffle Fred lobbed him. He chucked it back and they played catch for a couple minutes, throwing the ball over their shoulders and doing flips and twists.

“Harry!” Angelina called. “Here’s the snitch!” She opened her palm and Harry watched the little golden ball hover before darting away. He immediately began looking for it and he found it seconds later, hovering above a patch of wildflowers in the grass. He darted down, swearing the broom actually whistled as he shot towards the snitch and snagged it. There was applause and he let it go, watching again and darting after it. The broom was utterly perfect and he lost track of time completely until he heard the shrill whistle from the employee calling them back. He landed and regretfully handed the broom off.

“How was it?” The man asked.

“Incredible.” Harry said, eying the Moonshot lustily. He watched Ron have his turn and they met up with the quidditch team and screeched and gushed about how fantastic the broom was. They went into the Spintwitches shop, high on joy, and a few of them loaded up on supplies. Harry didn’t need anything and instead he stared at the Moonshot Silver displayed in the window.

“I wish I could buy one.” Ron said at his side.

“So do I.” Harry said. “Then I could fly it too! Maybe Spintwitches’ll do more flights like this.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

They stared at the broom, glowing under the strategically placed spotlights above it.

They hit the Three Broomsticks for a late lunch and headed back to the castle. Hermione hugged her organizer to her chest, patiently listening to Ron and Harry and the group go on and on about the broom.

“We have practice on Tuesday!” Angelina reminded them when they parted ways in the Great Hall. A few of them, Hermione included, were going back up to the common room. “We’re gonna kick Slytherin arse!” Angelina shouted. The rest of the team cheered and Harry turned, running right into Draco who was standing there flanked, as usual, by Crabbe and Goyle.

He sneered. “Your team sucks this year. You don’t stand a chance with Ron playing! Gryffindor won’t win against us!”

Harry grit his teeth. They had lost against Slytherin last time.

“We’re going to annihilate Slytherin!” Harry growled.

“Dream on, Potter. My father is buying Moonshot Silvers for the whole Slytherin team. You may as well forfeit now.” He smiled in a sleazy way and sauntered off.

Harry’s stomach dropped as they walked away.

“He’s right.” Ron said.

“No, he’s not. You’ve gotten loads better since you first started playing. And it won’t just be you out there. The whole team will work together to destroy them.”

“Yeah!” Ron said, but he still didn’t seem convinced.

“You’ll do just fine, Ron. Just try not to get nervous.”

“D’you really think Malfoy’s dad got them all new brooms?”

“I hope not. It would sure be nice if someone on the Gryffindor team had one though.”

They went back up to the common room to spend the rest of the day studying.

Harry slept late on Sunday morning. They weren’t going to go to Hogsmeade today as there was really no reason. They couldn’t fly again. The Great Hall had a longer breakfast period on Sundays, on account of many students using the morning to relax, do homework, or sleep. Harry stumbled into the Hall at half ten and found Hermione and Ron at one of the long Gryffindor tables. Ron was eating and watching Hermione, who was engrossed in her new planner, writing notes in it and adding study guides to the tabbed sections.

“Hey.” Harry sat beside Ron.

“Morning, Harry.” He said through a mouthful of toast.

There weren’t many students in the Great Hall. Snape and Lupin were at the teacher’s table, leaned back in their chairs and holding mugs, chatting. Flitwick was talking to Professor Sprout. Harry pulled a platter of sausages and toast towards himself and added some to his plate.

Movement from the ceiling caught his eye and he saw Hedwig. She and a few school owls were carrying a long, rectangular crate.

“What the hell?” Harry said, watching dumbly as the owls came nearer.

“Make space!” Hermione said.

Harry and Ron moved their plates and Hermione the planner as the owls landed hard on the table and released a package that was longer than Harry was tall. The school owls flew off but Hedwig perched on the handle of an empty fruit bowl and stole a crust off Harry’s plate.

“What did you order?” Ron asked, staring at the long, wrapped box in puzzlement.

“Nothing.” Harry said.

“Well, are you going to open it?” Hermione asked.

Harry took his butter knife and slipped it under the crate’s fastenings. He pulled open the top and made a sort of gasping gulping sound.

The logo for the Moonshot Silver was stamped on the outside of the crate.

“What?” He breathed. He ripped open the rest of the box, revealing the beautiful broom.

“What!” Ron grabbed him and started to jump up and down with joy. “What the fuck, Harry?!”

Harry was shocked, staring at the amazing broom. The silver logo glinted in the morning light. The handle glittered. The tail was a handsome twist of deep red and black twigs. He was too stunned to think until Ron hooted and pumped his fist. A smile broke over Harry’s face and he cheered, drawing the attention of other students.

“Harry!” Fred Weasley clapped him on the back and leaned over his shoulder, eying the broom like a starving man would a steak. “Where’d you get this?”

“It just came in the mail! I don’t know!” He couldn’t stop smiling. He put his hands in his hair in disbelief. Who had sent this?

“Wicked!” George ran a reverent finger over the black-bronze handle.

Ron and the twins were chattering and Hermione cleared her throat, getting Harry’s attention. She handed him a note that had fallen out of the packaging. Her eyebrows were up and she didn’t look entirely thrilled as she handed the note to him. Harry unfolded it and read.


Tell them it’s from Black.

-Professor Snape


Harry’s jaw dropped and he stared at Hermione as he folded the note back up and slipped it quietly into his pocket. He turned and looked at the teacher’s table. Lupin waved to him. Snape was completely inscrutable, watching him, sipping from his mug.

Harry couldn’t think much more about it as the rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team showed up and joyfully mobbed him, knocking him onto the floor.




The present members of the quidditch team ran down to the pitch for an impromptu practice. Harry took a turn around the pitch on the broom first. It was even better than it had been the previous day, light under his hands and as responsive as his own soul. He could stay up in the sky for days with it. He landed after a few minutes and let the others take turns having a go. He was glad to share. He could fly it whenever he wanted and he knew that letting everyone have a ride would shoot team morale straight through the stars.

Angelina was as happy as if she’d gotten her own Moonshot Silver.

“We’re gonna kill Slytherin!” She said happily. “Harry’s gonna see the snitch in the first five minutes and with this beauty? He’ll move faster than light! We’re gonna win, I can feel it!”

They spent most of the day flying until the weather started to turn. They went back to the castle before dinner and the team parted ways, congratulating Harry, praising Sirius for being a brilliant godfather, and promising to see each other at the next practice.

“I need to find him.” Harry told Hermione. He passed the broom to Ron, who promised solemnly on pain of death to bring it safely to Gryffindor tower. No one besides Hermione and Ron knew the broom was from Snape and Harry intended on keeping it that way.

“It’s blatant favoritism.” Hermione chided. “Tell him you can’t accept.”

“Like hell!” Ron said. “Keep it! He was even more of a prat this year than usual!”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Harry went along the empty corridor towards the dungeons, pleased when he turned the corner and found Snape walking towards him from the other direction, reading something from a small book.

“Harry.” He nodded in greeting.

Harry couldn’t help himself. “Oh my god, thank you!” He wrapped his arms around his professor’s torso tight, his face mashed into the buttons going up his black shirt. Snape froze, arms raised.

“You have no idea what this means to me.” Harry said, his voice muffled in his shirt. Snape’s back was hot under his hands. The man was like a furnace, truly. No wonder he was comfortable in the icy dungeons.

“Harry.” Snape sounded slightly annoyed as he extracted himself gently from Harry’s hug and waved his hand, opening the door to an empty classroom nearby. They both went in and Snape shut the door.

Harry was pacing and babbling a stream of consciousness. Had he really hugged Snape?! What the hell was the matter with him? “This is incredible, sir, really, it’s amazing—I can’t believe you did that. Merlin that had to be expensive, you must be loaded? I can pay you back? It feels so good after this bullshit year to finally have something nice happen…” He trailed off and stopped pacing. Snape hadn’t said a word, simply watching him pace and babble.

“Why did you get it for me?” Harry asked finally.

“Because you had a supremely difficult year. What you went through with me was bad enough. Umbridge certainly didn’t help. And no, this broom is a gift. I don’t want or expect you to pay me back. You’ve done well, Harry. You’ve earned it.” He paused for a moment as if trying to convince himself to keep talking. “I’m proud of you.” He said it quickly, awkwardly as if the words weren’t familiar to him.

To Harry’s horror, Snape’s praise made his eyes fill. No one had ever told him they were proud of him before. Why did he always end up crying when he was with Snape? Harry rubbed his eyes. “Thank you.” He murmured. He was still in disbelief. Snape had said he was proud of him. Snape had bought him a broom.

“I’ve been a real bastard to you this year.” Snape picked at the binding of his book, “and I…wanted to make it up to you.”

“Sir…” Harry scrubbed his hand through his hair. “It’s so much, though. And teachers aren’t supposed to—wait you’re the Head of Slytherin!”

“Observant of you.”

“I’m playing you guys—I’m Gryffindor—I’m like, the enemy!”

“No house is ‘the enemy’ of another house. You’re all students at Hogwarts. The broom can be our secret and besides,” he scoffed, “even if you told everyone it was from me no one would believe you.”

“That’s true.” Harry said thoughtfully. “Ron and Hermione know.”

“Naturally. Give your godfather the credit. However,” Snape’s voice hardened and stepped towards Harry slowly, “I don’t want you using that broom as a reason for not doing your homework.”

Harry nodded fast.

“You have O.W.Ls coming and I don’t want to see you flying when you should be studying, understand?”

“Yes. Yes, sir.”

Snape came to a stop in front of him. “If I see you slacking off because of that broom I will take it away.”

“Yes, sir! I mean, no, sir. I, I’ll study hard.”

“Good.” Snape put his arm around Harry’s shoulder and pulled him to his side in a hug. Harry looked down as his neck flushed, basking in the hug.

“Thank you again. I…” He went silent, at a loss for words.

Snape shook his head and suppressed an eye roll, glad he’d made the right choice. “You’re welcome, Harry.”

Harry was heading for the common room when he ran into Draco.

“What are you doing here?” Draco sneered as they passed on the stairs that lead to the potions classroom. The classroom wasn’t too far from the Slytherin common room, and unless anyone was going to class, seeing Snape, or going to the Slytherin common room, there was really no reason to be over in this part of the castle.

“None of your bloody business.” Harry pushed past him and walked.

“Hey! Rumor has it you got a Moonshot Silver.”

Harry grinned. “Rumors are true.”

Draco looked stunned.

“What with your father outfitting the entire Slytherin team with Moonshots—”

Draco looked away and Harry had the idea that Malfoy may have been all talk.

“—now it’s a bit more even. We’re really going to wipe the floor with you on Wednesday.” Harry walked away and Draco, for once, had nothing to say.

Wednesday afternoon was cloudy and cool, threatening rain. The whole school was at the pitch, ready to watch the game between the Gryffindors and Slytherins—none of whom had a Moonshot Silver. The Moonshot felt great in Harry’s gloved hand and he couldn’t wait to fly it in front of the whole school. He felt smug as hell surrounded by all these Slytherins while secretly knowing that Snape had given him and only him the best broom in existence. Madame Hooch blew the whistle and the teams took off. Harry indulged himself in the simple joy of being airborne on such a fine broom for exactly three seconds before he started looking for the snitch. The cheering crowd was a din of background noise. He heard Luna’s roaring Gryffindor hat and smiled. A bludger came flying towards him and he did a lazy spin, easily dodging it.

Lee Jordan was commenting, talking mostly about Harry’s broom.

“—what a beaut the Moonshot Silver is. Looks great out there on the pitch, maybe the rest of the Gryffindors can get their hands one too, hmmm?”

“Jordan! Focus!” McGonagall’s muffled voice could be heard and the boy hastily shifted into commenting on what he was seeing.

“A nice pass there from George Weasley and OH! That was a close call with that bludger, Katie! Good thing Fred was there to beat off. Beat IT off, I mean!”

“LEE JORDAN!”

“Slip of the tongue, Professor, won’t happen again!”

The clouds gathered, turning grey and angry. Any moment now it would start to pour.

Each team scored and Harry hadn’t seen a whiff of the snitch. He had seen Malfoy’s face though. He looked angry and jealous every time he caught sight of Harry mounted on the sleek broom.

“What happened, Malfoy?” Harry said, unable to resist a taunt. “Daddy didn’t come through with the brooms?”

His face turned red. “You’re dead, Potter!”

Harry zoomed off and Malfoy was unable to keep up. Harry caught a glimpse of gold but it vanished as soon as he saw it. Damn. A few raindrops fell from the sky. Harry muttered the impervious incantation Hermione taught him so the water wouldn’t stick to his glasses.

He saw a bludger go flying from George’s bat right towards Malfoy. He ducked at the last second and it soared past him. The crowd let out a “ooohhh!”

Malfoy flew up to George and shouted something. George responded. Malfoy yelled something else and Harry glided towards them.

“Fuck off, Malfoy!” George yelled. He looked upset.

“Your whole family is a bunch of pathetic, poor, lowlifes!” Malfoy yelled. George, annoyed, flew off, putting distance between them.

“Malfoy, even if you did see the snitch, there’s no way you could catch it on that snail you’re riding!” Harry yelled.

George threw his head back, laughing.

Draco snarled and Harry sailed off, delighted, light as a feather and fast as a cheetah.

The snitch!

He dove, zooming to the ground at speed. He was vaguely aware of Lee Jordan’s excited screaming voice and the rise in volume from the crowd. The snitch vanished and Harry pulled up.

“DID HE GET IT, FOLKS?” Lee bellowed.

Harry gave two thumbs down and half the crowd groaned while the other half cheered.

“The Moonshot Silver that Potter’s currently flying is a stunning little number of a broom, just released a few weeks ago in fact.” Lee added.

“Jordan, enough with the broom!” McGonagall shouted behind him. “The game!”

“Oh look at that, Slytherin just scored.”

Cheers and groans once again erupted.

“Hey Weasley!” Draco yelled over the sheeting rain. “You’re useless and your whole team is useless—just like your useless loser of a father!”

Harry slowed. His blood began to boil.

“You little arsehole!” George shouted. He dove for Malfoy but he darted off, laughing. Harry’s heart was pounding but he pushed the enraged feeling aside. He’d been getting better at controlling his angry feelings this year and much of that was thanks in part to Snape’s ministrations, as much as he hated to admit it. Also destroying Umbridge’s office had released a lot of tension. He still couldn’t believe he hadn’t been expelled for that.

Harry looked for the snitch. It was elusive this game and the rain that was pouring now certainly wasn’t helping. Was that it? No.

He heard Draco shouting again at George. Harry rolled his eyes. This was getting ridiculous. The words, “stinking hovel” and “ugly mother” reached Harry’s ears.

“Hey Potter! Your mum was a mudblood, maybe that’s why you like hanging out with lowlifes like the Weasleys!” Harry’s temper exploded. Harry zoomed towards Draco, George beside him, completely forgetting that they were in the middle of a quidditch game. Draco caught a beater’s bat his teammate tossed him. A bludger followed and Draco whacked it hard towards Harry. He ducked, heard a snapping crunching sound, and then suddenly everything was spinning and the wet grass was getting close fast. The crowd gasped and Harry managed to keep his body above his broom, grateful now that Oliver Wood had insisted so long ago that they all practiced how to fall properly. The Moonshot wobbled dangerously and listed to the side. He drifted into George who already had his hands on Malfoy and the three of them crashed to the muddy ground in a tangled heap of broomsticks.

The crowd was going nuts.

“C’mere, ya little shit head!” George shouted. He leaped to his feet and threw himself on Malfoy. Malfoy kneed George in the ribs and Harry pounced on Draco, landing a satisfying punch to his face.

“Nice!” George growled. They all slipped in the mud and fell.

They ignored Madame Hooch, screaming at them to stop fighting. None of them saw the teachers running across the field. Madame Hooch shot a spell at them and missed.

Draco scrambled to his feet and swung his fist, connecting with George. Harry jumped on him. Malfoy ducked and swung blindly, getting a lucky shot when he hit Harry in the side of the face. He saw stars. Harry shook his head and shoved him to the mud and George straddled him. George landed a punch and Malfoy covered his muddy, bloody face.

“Punch him again!” Harry screamed.

A very familiar heavy hand wrapped around his arm like a band of iron. “Stop it, Potter!” Snape’s voice was behind him, shouting to be heard over the rain.

“I’m gonna kill him!”

“You will not!”

Harry twisted and yanked his arm out of Snape’s grasp. It hurt when he broke free and the crowd let out a low, awed “oooohhhh!” at Harry’s boldness as he blatantly, publicly disobeyed the strictest teacher in the school. Both of them almost fell into the mud. Snape swore.

“He insulted Ron’s dad!” Harry shouted, advancing again on a cowering Malfoy. “He called my mum mudblood!” He really wanted to land another punch to Malfoy’s ugly mug. It felt good to get angry and let it out on Malfoy’s face.

And if he was going to get it from Snape, he may as well make it worth it.

Two heavy hands landed on both his biceps and Snape hauled him backwards. Harry didn’t need to see his face to know he was pissed off.

McGonagall cast a stinging hex that hit George in the leg and Draco in the ribs and they finally broke apart, hissing in pain. Madame Hooch yanked George away from Malfoy. Draco stood up, shaken. Blood was dripping from his mouth and nose.

Something about seeing Malfoy’s blood made Harry want to punch him more. He jerked his arm, trying to get out of Snape’s grip again.

“Harry!” Snape growled. He very nearly smacked him on the backside before remembering that most of the school was watching. “What has gotten into you!?”

Harry bared his teeth. Snape gave him a little shake and leaned down, speaking in his ear. “You are three seconds away from getting smacked in front of the whole school. Would you like a spanking right now? Right here? Because I will.”

The threat of the spanking took some of the fight out of the boy and Harry relaxed.

“No.” He answered Snape. “No. Okay I won’t punch him again. Let me go.”

“I will not.” Snape scoffed. He clamped his hand on Harry’s scruff and spun him around, marching him towards the castle. He followed McGonagall who was leading a very angry George and Malfoy.

Harry glanced back. His Moonshot was laying pathetically in the wet grass, a chunk of the splintered tail broken off and twisted.

Being on the receiving end of one of McGonagall’s heated lectures was bad. Receiving a dressing down from Snape delivered in a ice-cold tone was also bad. Getting scolded by both of them together? That was just cruel.

Harry, George, and Draco were stood in front of her desk. Harry’s arm was still sore from where he’d ripped himself away from Snape. The side of his face hurt from where Draco had slugged him. His glasses had broken and were already repaired and back on his nose and his left eye was swelling and warm. George had a bloody nose and an impressive bruise on his jaw. Draco, outnumbered, looked the worst. He had a bruised eye, a nose that had finally stopped bleeding, and a split lip. All of them were rumpled and muddy and all of them had watery eyes. Not from the fight, but because Snape had picked them apart without raising his razor-sharp voice above the volume of a normal conversation, chastising them dearly about respect and maturity. He brought all three boys to the brink of tears before handing the reins to McGonagall.

She was reprimanding them now far more voluminously than Snape had. “Brawling like trolls in front of the entire school!” McGonagall chided. “You three have muddied the name of this institution with your disrespectful display of violence!” Snape was beside her, arms crossed so the folds of his cloak made him look like a great bat, glaring at each miscreant in turn. George and Harry held their heads high. Draco was staring at the floor. Harry didn’t care what happened. He was not going to stand by while someone insulted the Weasleys or his mother even if it meant a spanking.

“What do you have to say for yourselves?” She snarled.

“Draco insulted my dad.” George said.

“He got what was coming to him.” Harry added.

“Draco, why did you insult Mr. Weasley?” Snape asked.

“I was just ragging on them, Professor.” Draco said to him. “Like at any other game. These two went mental!”

“You haven’t seen mental, dickhead.” George snapped.

“George!” McGonagall shouted. “Language!”

“He was saying terrible things about my mum and their mum and their whole family.” Harry said to McGonagall. “He broke my broom on purpose with the bludger.” He said this to Snape.

“No, I didn’t.” Draco said, unconvincing.

“Malfoy,” Snape said, “did you break the broom tail on purpose?”

Draco nodded pathetically and hung his head again.

“Malfoy, I’m disappointed in you.” Snape said. He looked at Harry and said, “I’m disappointed in all of you.”

Harry’s insides tensed up at those words and he looked away, his neck heating in shame. Since when did he care what Snape thought about him? Who cares if the man was disappointed in him? When had that changed? Right around the time he apologized and started being decent to me.

“I don’t regret what I did.” Harry said boldly.

“Me neither.” George added.

McGonagall shook her head. “Your loyalty is admirable, Mr. Potter, but you all still broke the rules and will be punished.”

“With me, Malfoy.” Snape said. “We will continue our discussion in my office.”

Harry knew that tone. Draco wouldn’t be sitting comfortably today. And neither would he, for that matter. He could already feel the Nox rubrum coming to life, making his entire body ache.

Snape swept out of McGonagall’s office. Draco followed dejectedly and Harry almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, both of you will serve detention with me and twenty points will be lost. Both of you will have detention tomorrow night. Report to the library at seven.”

“Yes, Professor,” they both said.

“Mr. Weasley, go to Madame Pomfrey and get cleaned up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” George turned and left the office, leaving McGonagall and Harry alone.

“Do you need Severus’ attention?”

“I will. I don’t get attacks as often as I did last term but the ones I do get are really bad.”

She nodded. “Head down to the dungeons then. Do you need Madam Pomfrey?”

“Once he’s through with me I will.” Harry muttered. He turned to leave.

“Harry, before you go, is everything alright with Severus now?”

Harry nodded. “He apologized. Um, he’s been really good about it, actually. He’s, well, he’s decent about it all. He gives me healing potions and numbing stuff.”

“Excellent.” She nodded, relieved. Good job, Severus, she thought to herself. “Alright, go on, quick. You rather did earn this one I’m afraid.”




As much as Harry hated the prospect of a spanking, this time, it felt worth it. He had landed good punches on Draco and felt fortified to take whatever Snape did to him. He would cry and it would hurt, but nothing beat the satisfaction of having drawn that annoying little git’s pure blood out onto his fists.

Sharp lances of pain shot through his torso as he approached Snape’s office and he hoped the man was done with Draco. The rest of the school was returning to the castle. Harry vaguely wondered which team won. Angelina would have put the subs in. The office door was open. Snape saw him coming and waved him inside. Harry entered and pushed the door closed. He leaned back on it.

“Thought you’d come down.” Snape said. “Learned your lesson about waiting last time, hm?

“Yessir.”

Harry noticed the paddle on the desk and wondered if that was for him or if Draco had become acquainted with it.

“What did you do to Draco?” He asked.

“That is none of your concern.” Snape said.

Harry gasped and dropped into a crouch by the door. His whole body buzzed with pain.

Snape came over to him and helped him get to his feet.

“I’m guessing you need to ‘see me?’” Snape asked.

“Yes.”

“Honestly, Potter, what were you thinking?”

Potter?

“Draco insulted the Weasleys!” Harry snapped, stung by the use of his surname instead of the more informal first name basis Snape had slipped into. “He called my mum a mudblood! I wasn’t going to let that fly.”

“Wrong as he was, that’s no excuse for pummeling him. I almost smacked you on the pitch! I had to repeatedly pull you off of him.”

Harry shrugged and Snape’s temper flared.

“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

“So what?” Harry said, annoyed. “Yes, that’s my excuse. It’s not a good one but Draco was being an arsehole and I don’t regret punching him. Also? He broke the broom! On purpose! Because he was jealous!”

Snape stood there with tight folded arms and a stern expression on his face. “Do not shout at me.”

“Sorry.”

“That broom can be fixed.” Snape said.

“Malfoy can be fixed too.” Harry muttered.

Snape pointed to the armless chair and Harry went over to it. He frowned. “What should I…?”

“Put your hands on the seat of the chair.”

Harry’s stomach dropped. “You’re not going to sit?”

“Not this time, Potter.”

There it was again. Potter. Why did Snape call him Potter? What happened to ‘Harry’ when it was just the two of them? He liked when Snape called him by his first name. And why wouldn’t Snape put him over his knee? He preferred being over the man’s knee. The whole ordeal was easier to take when he was held snug and tight over Snape’s sturdy leg.

It was just nice to have an adult in his life who seemed to give a damn. He wondered if this was what having parents felt like. Someone who knew things who would encourage you and defend you and tell you when you screwed up. He never in a million years though it would be Snape that he’d feel anything positive towards, but given everything that had happened this year he supposed it made a weird kind of sense. Him and the self-proclaimed ‘bastard’ had developed a strange relationship born in a painful crucible. Harry genuinely respected the man now and valued his opinion and even companionship. As far as he could tell, Snape at least somewhat returned that sentiment. He’d given him all that detention time to finish homework in his office and he made Umbridge leave him alone and he gave him sweets and let him redo the peace potion and he’d gifted him the broom! The beautiful Moonshot with its tail now shattered. Harry didn’t want to lose whatever that fledgling relationship was between him and Snape but he didn’t know how to further strengthen and preserve it either. He respected Snape now, possibly more than any other teacher. He actively wanted to do right by him.

Harry grit his teeth and bent down, placing his leather-clad hands on the chair seat. He still had his quidditch gear on. The way it was designed, it wasn’t possible to take just the trousers down without removing half the clothes so over fabric it would be. It didn’t much matter. The trouser fabric was thin. Snape picked up the paddle, transfigured it into the heavier wooden hairbrush, and came to his side. He pushed aside the long red cape of the quidditch uniform to reveal Harry’s backside.

“Brace yourself, Potter.” Snape brought the brush down hard and tears that had nothing to do with the physical pain of the smack immediately fell from Harry’s eyes. Another smack, then another. Harry stared at the seat of the chair, wishing he was over the man’s leg. His backside hurt, of course it did, but the distance hurt more. Snape didn’t want to touch him, just like his relatives never wanted to touch him. Snape probably hated him now because Harry kept screwing up and forcing the man to waste his time on him. Harry assumed Snape was upset that the broom was broken. He would probably take the expensive gift away. Vernon had told Harry loads of times that ‘freaks don’t deserve nice things’ and it looked like it was true. Harry hadn’t even owned the broom a week before he managed to break it.

It was like all the progress they’d been making since the apology was unraveling with every distant smack. This unusual pseudo-mentorship was slipping like sand through his fingers and Harry hated it. A sob escaped his mouth and he reached up to wipe his eyes, the leather glove rough on his skin. More tears fell and he hung his head, his shoulders heaving with his cries.

Snape paused, listening to the boy sob. Potter’s reaction seemed odd. He didn’t normally cry this hard this early on in a punishment. He’d only smacked him three times. He shrugged and chalked it up to the fight and the epic scolding in McGonagall’s office. He knew how awful it was to be scolded and he and Minerva had laid into them hard, wanting to impart just how foolish they’d all looked.

Harry tensed up and gasped and Snape knew another jolt had just wracked his body. He enchanted the stinging hex onto the smooth wood.

“A few more, Potter.”

Harry glanced back at the hated brush. He nodded and Snape snapped the hard-backed brush all over his bottom. Harry choked on a cry and Snape’s heart, an organ he never paid much attention to, cracked. He ignored it and brought the brush down several more times quickly with the intention of ending the attacks as fast as possible. He paused and put his hand on Harry’s back, doing his best to ignore the cries as he watched the ticking clock.

Harry’s body convulsed as another attack wracked his muscles. He put his hand on his chest and coughed. The brush wasn’t stopping the attacks. Snape took a deep breath and transfigured the brush into a cane. Could he? He’d never held a cane in his life, much less whacked someone with it. The thin stick of wood was light in his hand. How could something so light and thin hurt so badly?


“Unnatural, dirty little freak.” Tobias’ words seared forever into Severus’ head as the man hefted a cane over his trembling son. “I’ll whip that magic shit right out of you.”


“Snape!” Harry shuddered, rubbing his chest.

Before he could think any more about it, Snape raised the cane and slammed it smartly across Harry’s backside. Harry was silent, shocked for a moment before he gasped raggedly as the pain bit. Snape, not wanting Harry to have a heart attack and die—he had no more modified cardiac potions—swung again, this time a bit wildly. He caught Harry diagonally and the tip of the cane cut into his hip.

Harry sank into a kneeling position, his head ducked into his folded arms on the chair. He was sobbing harder than ever with one hand pressed against his backside and Snape felt like the world’s worst person. He imagined how this would look to another teacher: him standing over the cowering boy, wielding a cane while the child curled on the floor in a puddle of red and gold fabric, wailing his heart out. Snape closed his eyes. He had become his own father. Harry’s inflamed eye and bruised face certainly didn’t help and the tableau was disturbingly familiar to Snape. It was never ever one he wanted to see repeated with himself in the position of the domineering, abusive arsehole.

He rubbed his hand over his face, surprised to find his cheeks were damp. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d cried since coming of age. Harry had now been present during two of those times.

Logic started kicking in. He wasn’t prone to allowing his emotions to run off without him. He realized on some level that his beating Potter truly wasn’t the same thing as his father having a go at him. He remembered Harry’s voice in Albus’ office a few days ago saying, “you’re not beating me…it’s the potion, not you.”

He shook his head. Harry was right. It was the potion. He hated what it made him become.

He went to Harry’s side and laid his hand softly on his dark head, offering comfort. A sudden thought that he never had anyone to do this for him after his father had finished entered his head. Rather than breaking him that thought somehow gave him strength. He would be the kind of adult for Harry that he needed when he was a child. Snape blinked a few times, getting his own emotions finally in check, and looked at the clock to count the seconds. After all these horrible beatings, how could Harry ever look at him again? How could they ever be in the same room together? Once Harry had taken the antidote, he would never want to speak to him again.

“Anything?” Snape asked. He cleared his throat.

Harry shook his head. Snape turned the cane back into the paddle and sent it over to his desk.

Harry dragged himself to his feet and Snape steadied him. Harry paused to rub his backside for a few seconds. His eyes were red and his face flushed and wet. He had a blank look on his face like he had just received terrible news. He turned to leave the office.

“Potter.” Snape said.

Harry shook his head and walked away.

“Harry!”

Harry froze, almost turned around, but kept walking.

Snape watched him go. Something was different. This wasn’t like the other times and Snape couldn’t figure out why. He sat at his desk and rubbed his temples, unable to shake the feeling that something was truly wrong.




Gryffindor won the quidditch game after Angelina put the subs in. The team was happy but the win was still tarnished by the fight. Harry was sullen after visiting Madame Pomfrey to fix his face and nothing Ron or Hermione did could snap him out of it. His bum still hurt. He felt bad about what he’d had and then lost with Snape. He felt bad about the broom too. It wouldn’t fly without an intact tail.

“Man, fuck Malfoy for destroying it on purpose.” Ron said over breakfast the next day.

Harry said nothing as he stared at his plate, containing half a piece of toast and a chunk of melon. He’d been thinking about the broom and Snape since leaving Snape’s office. Tubs of bruisewort balm, healing potion, and a few of the relaxation candies had been delivered to his bedside shelf the day of the match. The sight of them made the corner of his mouth go up before he realized Snape was just doing what had become a habitual duty, providing soothers for the pain. He’d applied the medicine and his arse felt loads better even despite the cane.

He’d been avoiding Snape as well as he could. He was as silent as a grave in class and never made eye contact. Snape was back to his usual snappish self, docking ludicrous points. Yesterday he took five points from his own house because Pansy Parkinson’s shoe was untied and ten from Neville because he dropped his paring knife.

“Can Sirius send the broom for repairs?” Hermione asked after taking a bite of eggs. She was reading through her dragon hide planner, chock full of study notes.

“Maybe.” Harry said. Or he’ll just take it away from me. He didn’t offer any more and Hermione and Ron exchanged a worried look. Ginny came over and sat down with them. Harry sat up straighter and grinned at her.

“Hey, Harry.” She said. “Was McGonagall’s detention awful?” She tactfully avoided the disastrous game. George had announced to the rest of his siblings that Harry was his new favorite non-twin brother because he’d defended their parents and endured McGonagall’s wrath alongside him.

“No.” Harry told her. “She put us in the library organizing some dusty old archives. It was boring.” He shrugged and ripped his toast in half. He didn’t say that the student librarian, Zoe, had been working last night and had helped them. They’d finished early and all sat around talking until Zoe made herself scarce when McGonagall came and collected them.

The first of the O.W.Ls were starting the following Monday and the fifth years were all nervous wrecks.

Harry’s Friday dragged by. He attended his classes, paying attention to the teachers emphasizing the exams and taking notes. Snape was still in a foul mood in Potions and he seemed to glare at Harry several times. He snarled at Malfoy and took points away because the boy had asked Crabbe for a spare quill, he’d also docked ten points for a disrespectful face Ron had supposedly made and when Snape asked Harry to stay behind after class, he almost didn’t out of spite.

Harry dragged himself up the desk at the front of the room once everyone else cleared out.

“Could you come to my office hours today?” He asked Harry.

“Sure, sir.”

“Thank you.” Snape glanced at him, searching. “Are you well, Potter?” He’d barely eaten at breakfast and seemed rather subdued.

“Fine, sir. I’ll see you in your office hours.”

Snape nodded and watched Harry leave. He shook his head as he stacked and adjusted some pages. The boy hated him and for good reason. Their arrangement was draining and painful in every way. He’d bought the broom for Harry as if that could make up for a year of beatings required by a simple mistake. He’d apparently been getting cut up by Umbridge too, plus studying for the O.W.Ls. No wonder the lad was sullen. Snape had some good news to offer him, so hopefully that would improve Potter’s mood.

Harry knocked on Snape’s door a few hours later. He wasn’t getting attacks, nor had he disobeyed or otherwise upset the man. Harry wondered what Snape wanted with him.

“Enter!”

Harry came inside.

“Ah, Harry.” Snape put his quill down and stood.

“Hello, Professor.”

“Thank you for meeting with me. I have good news.”

“Oh?”

“Two things. I sent your broom in for repairs. The warranty lasts a year. You should be getting it back within the week.”

“Thank you, sir!” Harry said. His eyes lit up with joy.

Snape nodded. “Also, I want to show you something. Follow me.” The man moved for the door at the top of the small staircase to the left of his desk. Harry had always assumed this was the entrance to a torture chamber. Snape went up the steps and unlocked the door. The big round room was flooded with warmth and sunlight. It was startling after the dark chill of the rest of the dungeons. Harry stepped into the space, his mouth agape. There were hundreds of plants in here. Vines and ivies curled over the walls. He saw pots of aconite and dittany, a dark tank of gillyweed, big pink puffapods, spleenwort, orange marigolds, pure white asphodel, common roses in every hue, and loads of others he didn’t recognize. The air was fresh and humid and the windows offered a beautiful view of the lake and countryside. There was a tiny pond on the opposite side of the room and in it were lotuses and water lilies. Some bizarre fanged fish were swimming in the depths. Harry looked at Snape.

“What is this room?”

“It’s for potion supplies.” Snape said offhandedly, like every teacher had their own greenhouse. “I can grow and harvest a good portion of what I need for my classes. Saves me time if I need something in a hurry. I was able to brew the Solis argenti so quickly because I had plenty of the ingredients in this room.”

Harry nodded. This space was so different from the chilled dungeons. It was like stepping from Snape’s office onto another planet. Snape allowed him to look around for a few more moments.

“I had no idea this room was here.”

“Of course you didn’t. I don’t allow students in here. Come.” Snape beckoned him and showed him to the tiniest cauldron Harry had ever seen bubbling over a small fire on a table. The mug-sized cauldron was made of silver and an aquamarine potion was emitting shimmering green steam.

“Do you know what this is?”

Harry blinked. It didn’t look like anything they’d covered in the last year.

“Er, no?”

“It’s the antidote.”

Harry gasped. “When will it be ready?”

“Several days yet.” Snape said. “Right around the time you finish your O.W.Ls”

They both stared at each other. Neither said anything for a moment.

“You did it.” Harry murmured. “You found all the ingredients? Even the milk from that weird goat?”

“That was lucky. A fellow in Ireland had one and was willing to trade.”

Harry stared down at the little cauldron. He didn’t know what to say. Emotions were surging through him. He was finally going to be rid of this stupid, painful, horrible curse of a potion…which meant he wasn’t going to be spending as much time with Snape...which was good because most of their time spent together involved Snape whacking his backside…but Harry would miss Snape. He wouldn’t miss the backside whacking but he would miss the surly professor. Snape really wasn’t bad. When he wasn’t shouting in class or hitting him Harry found his company not just tolerable but agreeable. He was actually a decent teacher when he wanted to be. Harry had brewed that Draught of Peace perfectly with Snape’s tutelage and Harry wished badly that he could recapture that tranquil moment between them.

He liked Snape’s solid, strong ‘don’t fuck with me’ presence. He had a firm hand and strict rules but all that grounded Harry somehow. Harry absolutely believed that no matter how bad things got, Snape could fix whatever the problem was. Snape gave a damn about him and that was more than most other adults had given him. Snape was smart and could be thoughtful and Harry was shocked to find he was comforted by being near the man.

Who knew? All of this was a revelation to Harry, but, seeing as Snape couldn’t stand to touch him or even call him by his first name anymore, the feeling was obviously not mutual. And anyway, what did Snape want with an orphan fifth year? He had loads of students. Harry wasn’t special.

“I won’t have to deal with this anymore.” Harry said. “Imagine, I can upset you in class and not get spanked for it!” He grinned mischievously, curious to see how the man would react.

Snape stared at him with a stern expression but Harry could see a touch of humor underneath. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

Harry’s mouth twisted into a bitten back smile. “This is great, sir.” Harry said, staring at the potion in wonder. “Thank you for doing it. For working on it.”

“I’m glad to.”

There was an awkward silence. Harry felt like he should say more, tell the Professor how much he had actually helped him this year. Snape kept him safe when the potion was trying to kill him and he had actually been nice to Harry for the first time ever. He’d protected him and supported him and all of that consistently coming from an adult was new and lovely. He wanted to tell Snape that he desired their little bond to flourish. He didn’t though. What he said was,

“I’d better get to lunch.”

Snape nodded. “Yes, off with you. I’ll find you when it’s ready.”

Harry nodded and left. Snape watched him go and felt bereft. Just a few more days and then Potter would be out of his hair. He wouldn’t have to waste time paddling the boy for every stupid infraction. They’d been waiting for this all term, so….why was he not looking forward to it more?

The fifth years finished their O.W.Ls.

Harry was certain Hermione did amazing, even though she was a nervous wreck the whole time. Harry thought he’d done decently. He’d known more answers than he hadn’t and overall the exams weren’t as bad as he’d been expecting. It was a testament to Lupin’s teaching ability that every fifth year Harry spoke with had felt confident on the DADA test. He had known most of the answers and on the questions he didn’t know, he had enough tangential knowledge to get close and score some points. The practical had been a breeze and it was the most fun Harry ever had on a test.

Harry did his absolute best to stay out of trouble for the last two weeks. He focused on his tests and read his notes in his spare time. After his second-to-last O.W.L, when Harry had more time, Snape had taken him aside and they’d worked on the essay Harry had missed when he’d turned in Ron’s. Under Snape’s guidance Harry had a good start and topic and he knew he’d be able to finish it. He was getting a letter grade off regardless of the finished product (“for being a dunderhead”) but at this point in the year he didn’t even care.

There was a carnival atmosphere about the school as the year wrapped up. Teachers and students were having trouble focusing and Harry worked on his essay as fast as he could. He wanted to throw it together and be done but Snape was watching and checking in regularly. He wouldn’t let Harry slack.

Harry was in Snape’s office during his morning hours one day, working on the final parts of the essay. He shifted in his chair, squirmed, looked around, and generally wasted time. This was his last bit of homework and he was seriously checked out.

“Harry.” Snape called to him from the top of the greenhouse steps. He’d been in there for an hour working on the last of the potion. The fire was off now and it steamed, filling the air with an anise-scented mist as it cooled. Snape had been keeping an eye on Harry since he’d come to the office. Harry was certainly better than he’d been after that disastrous quidditch match but Snape could tell something was still ‘off’ between them. Harry was much more guarded around him, keeping his distance, skittish, and stiffening when Snape approached.

Snape wasn’t surprised. He’d beaten the hell out of Harry all year. He still couldn’t believe he’d put the cane to him. He was still a bit horrified with himself because of it. He was impressed Harry was willing to spend time in his office at all anymore, not that he minded. He would never admit this but Harry had become one of his favorite students.

“Concentrate on your work. You only have a couple inches left. Just write your conclusion paragraph.”

“I can’t think anymore! The O.W.Ls broke my brain!”

“Would you like me to stand next to you while holding a paddle?” His voice deceptively light. “That way I can whack you whenever your mind wanders away.” He had no intention of doing this but Harry didn’t need to know that.

“No!” Harry said, horrified. “Come on, it’s the end of the year. You wouldn’t whack anyone with summer break starting tomorrow.”

“No?” Snape raised a brow. “I spanked a seventh year the day before graduation.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “Seventh? Wha—that’s just mean!”

Snape gave him a vague grin. “No one sets off fireworks in my common room and sits comfortably after.”

Harry frowned. “Jeez. Alright, I’ll finish!”

“Good choice.” Snape vanished back into the greenhouse tower.

Harry wrote for six more minutes before spacing out again. When Snape next glanced down the steps, Harry was leaning back in the chair on two legs, trying to balance while staring at the ceiling.

Snape picked up an empty watering can and transfigured it. He strode down the steps. Harry let the chair fall back onto the ground and his eyes bugged out at the sight of a stern Snape walking towards him armed with a wooden paddle that was much bigger than the one he kept in his desk.

“No! No, god, no! I’ll finish! I’ll finish!” Harry grabbed his quill and immediately started writing. Snape hid a smile. He had no intention of smacking him again. He set the paddle down on the edge of the desk right where Harry could see it.

“No more wasting time.” He said in his sternest teacher voice.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll finish.” Harry promised.

He worked diligently for twenty more minutes before finally putting the quill down.

“I’m done!” He called. He made a face at the paddle.

“Put it on my desk and come in here.” Snape responded from the greenhouse.

A strange mix of excitement and anxiety mixed in his belly as Harry ascended the steps. Snape was standing by the tiny cauldron. The fire was off and the potion was steaming.

“It’s ready.” Snape said.

Harry gulped and watched Snape pour the entire contents of the tiny cauldron into a cup.

“Drink it all.” Snape instructed. “All in one go, if you can.”

“What are the side effects?”

“Exhaustion is the most reported effect. Granted, I could find very little literature on it.” Snape said. “You may sleep on the sofa. You’ve already been excused from classes this afternoon.”

Harry nodded.

He held the cup, staring at the the liquid that had faded from a bright aqua to a pale blue. He tilted it to his mouth and gulped it down. It wasn’t a bad taste, but it certainly wasn’t good. Creamy and bitter with a hint of peppermint and licorice and the medicinal tang of a healing potion. Harry drank it all and then blinked a few times.

“Anything?” Snape asked, taking the cup from him.

“No, not yet.”

“Go on to the sofa.”

Harry turned to the stairs and immediately felt dizzy. He grabbed for the edge of the table, missed, and would have crashed to the stone floor if Snape hadn’t lunged forward and caught him. Snape staggered as the full weight of a fifteen year old filled his arms and he eased him to the floor. He muttered several words that would put Harry in detention for a month if he had spoken them.

“Snape…” Harry rubbed his forehead. “I feel weird.”

“I would imagine so. Are you in pain?”

“…no…”

Snape tried to guide him up but Harry’s feet weren’t working.

“I’m so dizzy and sleepy….”

With a grunt Snape managed to hoist him into his arms and carry him down the stairs and to the sofa. He placed Potter on the squashy cushions and the boy was instantly asleep.

He slept the entire day. Snape would pop in after his classes and check on him. He had used the assessment incantation to keep track of Harry’s vitals and a softly glowing blue net hovered in the air over his sleeping body. Had Snape known Harry would instantly pass out into a deep sleep he’d have given him the potion in the infirmary on a bed. He thought of notifying Poppy Pomfrey but per the assessment web everything was normal and there was no cause for concern. In the afternoon, Snape sent for a glass of water and a bowl of broth. He set the broth on a low stool beside the sofa and charmed the bowl to stay warm.

Harry woke up in the late afternoon. It took him a moment to process where he was. His sleep had been deep, like he had chugged a triple dose of Dreamless Sleep. He blinked a few times, then sat up, wide awake. The antidote. Had it worked? Where was Snape?

He saw the steaming bowl of broth. His mouth salivated and he eagerly picked up the ceramic bowl, forgoing the spoon to tilt the salty, hearty broth right into his mouth. He drank it all down and drained the glass of water. Much more awake now, he stood and poked his head around the corner. Snape wasn’t at his desk. The greenhouse at the top of the steps was closed. Harry went to the door that lead out to the classroom and put his ear against it, listening. Snape was talking, probably teaching.

Harry wandered around the space. He looked over the gross things in jars and made a face before moving on. Harry went to the man’s desk and looked at the strewn papers. Snape was generally pretty tidy but the desk surface was in slight disarray. Harry saw his name on a document and couldn’t help himself. He leaned over and read.

“Potter…antidote ingredients…” There were a bunch of wizard and witch names listed, some of which had ingredients bullet-pointed underneath, followed by best times to contact, methods, and what Snape had spoken about with them. There were at least a dozen names here. These were the people Snape had contacted in search of an antidote. Snape’s notes were mostly in English but a few paragraphs were in Snape’s hand in French. Snape knew French? Harry moved the page and looked at the stack underneath.

Some people had provided ingredients, some had told him where to procure ingredients, some had provided general information about the ingredients and side effects, or in some cases, they’d given information on the Draught of Asphodel itself. He read, learning that the Nox rubrum would likely wear off on its own about a year after administration. So by the start of the next school year, he would have been rid of it regardless of whether he’d taken an antidote. He frowned. Why had Snape bothered? It was already practically June. Harry kept reading. Some contacts had offered an ingredients trade. Harry supposed it made sense. Just as there were potion ingredients unique to other parts of the world, Britain must have it’s own share hard to get elsewhere. Another page was just a list of books jotted in Snape’s flourished scrawl, some of which Harry recognized from the library.

He sank into the man’s comfortable desk chair, overwhelmed. Snape had spent a ton of time on this. He’d really been devoting himself to finding a solution and antidote and Harry didn’t fully appreciate that until now. How could ever thank him, especially now when it was clear Snape was disgusted with him?

“See anything interesting?” Snape’s hard tone from the doorway startled Harry. He shot to his feet. He hadn’t heard the door open.

“Uh, n-no. I mean yes, I mean, I was just walking around and…”

“Decided to go through my desk?” Snape walked over to the desk and put a textbook and a few notebooks down. Harry hurried away.

“Did it work?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know. I suppose we’re going to find out since I’m none too pleased.” He pointed at the armless chair. “Sit.”

Harry sat without thinking. “I’m sorry, I saw my name a page there and I…”

“Decided to read it even though it’s not yours.” Snape sat down and gave Harry a stern look.

“It’s my name.” Harry said in a small voice.

“It’s my desk. Did you eat?” Snape asked. He pulled some folders out of the stack of his teaching stuff.

“Yeah. Thanks for the soup.”

Snape nodded. “Any attacks?”

Harry did a mental scan of his body. Nothing.

“No?” He took a deep breath. Could it be?

“Stand up.” Snape commanded.

Harry started to but stopped himself. “No.” He said.

“Potter.” Snape’s voice had a hard edge to it, one Harry was familiar with. “Get up!”

“No!” Harry shot back.

Snape shook his head. “I don’t actually care if you stand or not so it may not react. What else…” Snape trailed off, trying to think of a way to get genuinely annoyed by Harry. When had that become difficult?

Harry stood up and grabbed a rack of empty potions vials off a shelf. He threw it to the stone floor and bits of glass scattered everywhere.

“Hey!” Snape said.

Harry grabbed a copy of the textbook on the desk and ripped a handful of pages out.

“Stop that!” Snape got up and grabbed the boy. He all but threw him into the chair in front of his desk.

Harry froze, waiting for the familiar stabbing pain. When no attacks came, he couldn’t help a tentative smile. “Nothing.” He said.

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah!” Harry stood up. “Before, last time, it wasn’t as bad but I was getting all tight and sore before my chest started to hurt…now there’s nothing! There’s no pain or anything!”

He giggled. He jumped to his feet. “It’s gone!” He shouted.

Snape watched him, amused as Harry actually did a little jig.

“I don’t have to listen to you anymore!” Harry said in a teasing voice. Snape was tempted to smack him on the backside just to prove him wrong but instead he waved his wand and repaired everything, sending the vials flying back up to the shelves and the book pages back to the binding.

“So that’s it?” Harry said.

Snape looked amused. “Do you have any side effects from the antidote?” He summoned the readout from the assessment web and found all signs were normal.

“No?” Harry said. “I was expecting something more dramatic. Boils and sores, or something.”

“Well, the Draught of Asphodel was originally developed as a way to keep servants obedient. It would make sense, I suppose, that once the servant is released from their work the master would no have no interest in them anymore. There’s no reason for the antidote to have any untoward effects.”

Harry nodded, giddy and thrilled. “I’m really happy it worked.”

“As am I.”

“And, look, I know it wasn’t easy.” Harry said. “You spent a load of time finding out about this and I really appreciate it.”

The bell tolled for dinner but neither of them moved.

“But now,” Harry continued, “you don’t have to spend half your time hitting me and talking to loads of people about this.” He shrugged. “I won’t be a bother to you anymore. Honestly, sir, thank you.”

He turned to go.

“You never were, Harry.” Snape’s words stopped him.

Harry.

He turned around. “Were what?”

“You were never a bother.”

“Really?” He blurted. “You had to take the time, your office time, to deal with me. You had to talk to all those other wizards and witches and brew the antidote. I was useless about this. It was all on you.”

“Stop.” Snape commanded. “Give yourself some credit, Potter.”

The boy’s face fell and he looked down. He looked sad. Snape wondered what that was about. He kept talking. “You endured several rounds of beatings. I spank the Slytherins when they deserve it but I’ve never punished a student like I did you and I never would in a normal situation.”

“Because the potion would kill me if I didn’t come to you.” Harry said. Didn’t Snape see? It wasn’t bravery, it was self preservation.

“Still.” Snape said. “You sought me out and endured it. That’s not nothing. I wasn’t easy on you.”

Harry still didn’t think that bending over and crying were noteworthy but he was lapping up the praise. He was embarrassed by how much a few kind words and a pat on the shoulder did for him, especially coming from Snape. He would miss that. To his absolute horror he felt his eyes fill and he hastily turned away.

“What’s wrong, Potter?” Snape had that gentle tone again and it did nothing to make the tears stop.

“Harry.” He muttered.

“What?”

“Sometimes you call me ‘Harry’ and sometimes you call me ‘Potter.’ Why?”

Snape was lost. “Explain, please.”

Harry spoke to the floor. “You only call me Potter when you’re upset with me and you call me Harry when everything’s fine but then you made me bend over the chair like you hated me and you called me Potter and before that you were calling me Harry.”

Now Snape was really lost.

“Sit.” He pointed at the chair. Dinner was probably almost over but neither of them were going to leave this room until everything was sorted. “Repeat what you said.” Snape told him.

“No, it’s stupid.” Harry spoke to his knees.

Merlin’s beard.

“Harry. You prefer being called Harry?” He clarified.

“When you’re not pissed off at me, yeah. Because otherwise I don’t know if you are.”

“Alright. Harry. Talk.”

“It’s stupid.” Harry repeated, shifting in his chair.

“Say it anyway.” Snape said, getting annoyed. “And look up when you’re speaking to me.”

Harry lifted his head and began addressing the fireplace. “When you would hit me you would always put me over your leg and at first I hated that because I’d never been spanked before—”

Snape’s eyes went wide at this.

“—but then after a while I felt better about it because it was like, you were like, holding me or something and that made it all easier and sometimes you’d call me Harry and, like, touch my back and that was nice and it made all this shit bearable but then, then when you hit me before, after quidditch you made me bend over the chair and I hated that and you caned me and called me Potter and I figured you hated me and thought I was weak and pathetic and to be fair, I am being pathetic but,” his face went pink, “you helped me a lot this year and I missed it. And you.” He glanced at Snape and looked away quickly. “You were hitting me hard and you weren’t even touching me. See I told you it was stupid!”

Harry shut his mouth. At the last moment, he added, “please don’t take the broom away.” He could have kept going but he figured he embarrassed himself enough. Snape would laugh at him and that would be that. Snape was silent. Harry glanced over at him. The man’s eyes were closed and he was rubbing both his temples in a slow, meditative motion. He looked up, opened his mouth, closed his mouth, then got up and came around the desk and sat in the other armless chair.

“Alright.” Snape said. Harry had said a lot of things and he felt wildly out of his depth. He put his hand on Harry’s knee. McGonagall would do that when she was attempting to offer comfort. It usually worked. “First, I don’t hate you. Second, I’m not taking the broom away. Third, I don’t think you’re weak or pathetic. Didn’t I just say how admirably you’ve handled everything?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. It’s true. I didn’t know any of this.” Snape said. “I didn’t know that my using your first name or surname mattered. And, I didn’t have you bend over the chair because I was upset or bothered by you. I did it because the Nox rubrum almost killed you last time. I was out of the cardiac potions and I didn’t think having you over my knee would be good enough anymore. I can hit harder while standing.” He said. He added softly, “that’s why I caned you too.”

Harry took a deep breath, remembering the hot biting jolt of the cane. It had only been two strokes but the pain had been breathtaking.

“I didn’t want to cane you but more than that, I didn’t want you dead.”

Harry was quiet, looking at his fingers in his lap. After a moment he said, “you don’t want me dead?”

“Wha—of course I don’t want you dead!” Snape growled.

“I don’t know!” Harry shot back. “You’ve hated me for five years! The first time you spanked me you seemed to actually enjoy it!”

Snape let out a quick breath. “In your first year, we got off on the wrong foot and that was largely my fault.”

“Thank you.” Harry said quietly.

“Doesn’t help that you always faff about in my class.”

“Potions is hard!” Harry countered.

“Which is why you should take care to pay attention.” Snape said through grit teeth.

Harry slumped back in the chair.

“The first time I spanked you, I thought you deserved it. Truly, Harry, you have gotten away with a great deal of rule breaking.”

“I’ve been punished plenty. I get detentions.”

“Yes, and you continue to break the school rules. I assure you, if I was in charge of your discipline you would have received far fewer detentions and far more smacks with the paddle.”

Harry scowled.

“My opinion of you has certainly changed, Harry.” Snape said quietly. “I treated you unfairly your first few years here but I will strive to do better from now on.”

Harry nodded. “I believe it. And, er, mine too.” He said. “I mean, my opinion of you.”

“Have you recovered from our last encounter?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “That cream stuff you sent up that night helped a lot.”

“Good.” Snape leaned back in his chair and thought. The boy’s behavior in Minerva’s office—that night he’d blown up Umbridge’s office—when he didn’t want Snape to stand up made more sense now. Harry apparently saw the distance itself as a punishment.

Snape glanced at the clock. They had nine minutes left of dinner. If it was any other night he’d say hell with it and try to encourage Harry to talk more. Snape had questions. As Head of Slytherin though, he had to go to the feast because after the meal Dumbledore would announce who won the cup. It probably wasn’t them, he’d been pissed off all week about having to cane Harry and docking points like a mad man.

“There’s more I want to say to you,” he said, “and I think there’s more I should hear, but I don’t want you to miss dinner. Can you come back here after?”

Harry nodded fast. “Yeah. I will.”

“Alright, then. You okay?”

Harry nodded again, relieved. “Yeah.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

They went through the teacher’s entrance because that was faster and Snape finally made it to the staff table. He yanked his chair out and dropped down beside Minerva.

“There you are!”

“These children will drive me into an early grave.” He growled. He immediately reached for his wine glass.

Professor Flitwick nodded knowingly and passed him a bowl of rolls. Most people were done eating and the Great Hall was noisier than usual.

“Which one this time?” McGonagall asked.

“Same one it’s been all term.” He said, slicing into the prime rib. They both looked at the Gryffindor table, where Harry was loading up a plate and laughing with his friends. Snape gave her a very abbreviated version of what had happened in his office.

“Oh, and he’s cured.”

“That’s wonderful news!” She touched his shoulder. “Harry must be thrilled. He’s a sensitive lad.” She said sadly. “His muggle relatives are a poor substitute for a real family. Bunch of nutters.” She shrugged and put her hands out. “Teachers are some of the only consistent authority figures in his life.”

“I gathered.” Snape said, sipping more wine.

“He so badly wants to be close to you, Severus!” She patted his arm. “Especially after the rubbish term he had.”

Snape wondered if she’d had a little end-of-year tipple with Professor Sprout before the meal. She wasn’t usually so touchy feely. “Do you think?”

“Yes. Face it, the relationship you have has changed.”

Snape knew this, but he had no idea how much it really had changed.

After dinner, Harry and Snape went back to his office and he called up cups of herbal tea. Snape transfigured the armless chairs into more comfortable armchairs and they sat before the fire rather than Snape’s desk.

“What is your relationship with your muggle relatives?” Snape asked, sipping.

Harry took a deep breath and looked at the cup in his hands. “My aunt and uncle don’t really give a shit about me. They ignore me as much as they can and my cousin beats me up every chance he gets. Well, not so much anymore, but he did when I was younger. Well, you saw.”

Snape nodded. He remembered what he’d seen in the boy’s memories. “What do you do for fun there?” Snape asked.

“I write my friends and hope they write back. Maybe walk around the neighborhood. It’s kinda boring though…I don’t really have a lot of time for fun.”

“Why not?”

“They make me do chores…” Harry said. He looked like he might say more but instead he drank some tea.

Snape changed the subject. “Do you have any contact with the magical world other than your friends?”

“No.”

“What do your relatives do when you break a rule?”

Harry bit his lip. “When they’re upset they lock me in my room for days, maybe shove food under the door if they remember.”

Snape clenched his fist. “Do they talk to you? Do they ask about school?”

Harry laughed. “No, not at all. They hate this ‘freak school.’ They like me to make no noise and pretend I’m not there.”

“Why did you think I’d take the broom away?”

Harry colored and looked down. “Freaks don’t deserve nice things.”

Snape grit his teeth. This was no living situation for any child, especially one as bright as Harry. Even his own parents had paid attention to him. His mother moreso than his horrible father. Minerva was right. Harry lacked any kind of parental figure in his life besides the teachers. No wonder the boy had no discipline or regard for his own safety. He didn’t regard his own because no one regarded his.

“Are you spending the whole summer with them?” Snape asked.

“Yeah.” He said in a dull voice. “I might go to Ron’s at some point. It can be hard to set something up because my aunt and uncle don’t want any of ‘my kind’ coming round the house. They hate the owls.”

The first curfew bell tolled. It was ten minutes to nine.

“Next term,” Snape said seriously, “you and I can spend more time together if you’d like. I’ll give you my schedule again and if you want, you can come to my office hours whenever you want and for whatever reason.”

Harry nodded, looking relieved. “I’d like that.” He stood up and Snape followed.

“Here.” Snape handed him a sealed envelope.

“What’s this?”

“That’s to be read when your relatives are being horrible to you.” He laid his hand on Harry’s back and escorted him to the door.

Harry clutched it tight like a lifeline.

“Thanks, Professor, for everything.”

“You’re welcome, Harry. Now go on and pack.”



The dorms were a flurry of activity the next morning. Some students had packed already but everyone in Harry’s dorm was busy jamming things into trunks, double-checking behind shelves, and promising to write and meet over summer. Harry left his trunk at the end of his bed along with his Moonshot and Hedwig in her cage. It would all get vanished to the train with the other trunks and items.

The platform in Hogsmeade was a madhouse. Owls hooted, kids cried and hugged. Teachers bid students farewell. Ron and Hermione were doing their prefect duties and directing the younger students around and generally keeping order as the train boarded and arguments over compartments broke out. Hagrid enveloped Harry in a bear hug as huge tears rolled into his beard. McGonagall gave Harry a quick hug.

“Have a good summer, Harry. You deserve it.”

He smiled. “Thanks, Professor. Thanks for your help this year.”

“You’re very welcome, Harry.” She squeezed his hand.

Harry glanced around, sort of hoping to see Snape. He didn’t though. Harry wondered if Snape ever came to these farewell boardings. He had never looked for him before. The train whistle blew a warning. Harry and Neville hopped on and found a compartment in the back with Luna and Ginny. The train pulled out of the station and Hermione and Ron appeared and dropped into the empty seats.

“Whinging little shrimps!” Ron muttered, taking off his prefect badge and stuffing it in his pocket. “I swear I was not that tiny or annoying.”

“I remember differently” Hermione said in a dry tone beside him.

“Oy!” Ron nudged her and Hermione kissed his nose.

The train chugged off into wild countryside and after a few hours, as the sun was starting to set and the trolley-witch had been by, Harry’s curiosity got the better of him. Snape’s letter was metaphorically burning a hole in his pocket and Harry wondered what on earth it said. Snape had said for him to read it when the Dursleys were being awful (which wouldn’t take long at all) but Harry was curious now. He glanced around the compartment. Hermione and Ron were talking to Ginny. Luna was reading. No one was paying attention to him. He slipped the envelope from his pocket and read the short letter:



Dear Harry,

If you are in need of anything at all over the break or simply want to chat, send a message with your owl. You ’re not alone and there are people who want to help you and want you to succeed. I am one of them. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Professor Snape



There was another, smaller piece of paper included in the envelope and Harry’s eyes widened. Snape’s address, and underneath, the words For emergencies. I trust you will not share this with anyone.

Harry tucked both pages reverently back into the envelope and slipped it into his pocket. He would suffer through the summer with his relatives as he had been doing for the last fifteen years but it was a relief to know he had an out this time. It had been a strange year for a number of reasons. He never thought when he came to Hogwarts last fall that he would leave for summer holidays with a fragile relationship with Snape of all people. Of all the things he’d gained this year, a friendship with an adult who cared was easily the most valuable.



The End