Snape reached for the top letter on the stack and opened it.

Harry tried to focus on his own food, but he kept glancing towards Draco. Draco shot him looks that clearly said, “Stop looking at me!” but Harry could not stop.

“I have a letter from your mother,” Snap said once he finished reading the letter. “She writes to say that she would like to stay for another week, and would I mind if you stayed for another week.”

Harry glanced at Draco, then looked away, trying not to look suspicious. Draco kept eating his eggs.

“What?” Snape raised an eyebrow. “No comments from you, Mr. Potter? No whining, no storming away from the table?”

Harry looked up, startled. “Who, me? Oh, it’s fine. Draco can stay.”

Snape looked carefully at Draco who was acting overly casual, and then the man’s eyes narrowed. “All right, what is going on?”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked in a clear, sweet tone.

“Something is going on between you two, and I want to know what it is!”

Draco shrugged, and then Harry shrugged. Draco drank his pumpkin juice, and then Harry drank his pumpkin juice. Snape glared at both of them.

“You two better behave,” Snape warned. He sprinkled salt over his eggs and picked up his fork.

Harry had more trouble staying still as he watched Snape take the first bite.

The man stopped chewing and then made a face. Realization dawned upon him, and he looked up from his food. “Who put sugar in the salt shaker?”

Draco kept his face perfectly straight. “Someone put sugar in the salt shaker? Why would someone do that? Any guesses, Potter?”

Harry did his best to look innocent. “Why, no, Draco. Why would someone do that?”

“The house elves must have made a mistake,” Draco said glibly.

“Yes, the house elves must have –”

“Quiet!” Snape ordered. “Which one of you did it?”

“Well, I was with you all morning, Potter,” Draco kept up the act. “I didn’t see you do it. Did you see me do it?”

“I did not,” Harry continued the game, getting into the fun of things. “And if I didn’t see you do it, and you didn’t see me do it, then –”

“Enough,” Snape said shortly. “Very funny both of you. Finish your breakfast, and then I want both of you to take a walk and work off some of that energy.”

“I don’t know if I’m well enough to take a walk,” Harry turned to Draco. “Do I look well enough to take a walk?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should ask someone else. Snape, does he –”

“He is fine,” Snape decided. “You two can walk around the grounds, and tomorrow, I’m sending both of you on a four mile walk around the property. I also want you to start weeding the gardens again, Potter, and Draco can help you.”

------

“It was a start,” Draco told Harry as they strolled around the grounds. “Not a big start, but I’m thinking we begin small and then get bigger and bigger. It’s all about conditioning, you know. We get him to the point that he can’t get a moment’s rest without worrying about when we’re going to hit him next. Then we end with the biggest prank.”

“Which is?” Harry prodded.

“Not sure yet,” Draco admitted. “But I’m thinking something really sticky, like oil, or glue, or –”

“Paint?’ Harry suggested.

Draco grinned evilly. “Perfect. But you have to keep quiet. You almost gave it away at breakfast.”

“I was nervous,” Harry protested. “It’s hard to keep things from Snape.”

“Liar,” Draco retorted. “You keep secrets from everyone. And you are always playing around in Potions with your two pathetic friends, and then he looks as you, and you put on that innocent cherub face.”

“Ron and Hermione aren’t pathetic,” Harry said crossly. “And I don’t have a cherub face.”

“Yeah, you do,” Draco sniggered. “Go on and do it – your eyes open real big and sometimes you bite your bottom lip and look like a baby.”

“Shut up,” Harry told him, but he did not mind too much. He added, “And if anyone looks like a cherub, it’s you with the silver blond hair. What do you do – dip your head in peroxide every week?”

“I don’t do anything! It’s natural!”

“About as natural as this garden,” Harry replied. He stepped back just in time to keep from getting hit by the squirting water over the stones. Draco wasn’t quick enough, and he got hit right in the face.

“Hey, you little –” Draco took an angry step on the flat stone, and another squirt of water hit him on the back.

“I’ll rip it out of the ground,” he threatened, trying to figure out where the water came from.

Draco scrambled around, searching to find where the water was coming from. Beside the pretty waterfall and shallow pool, Harry stood to the side and watched him with a grin, knowing that Draco would never find it. As Draco grew wetter and angrier, Harry dipped his hand into the pool, watching the bright fish dart away.

A tin bucket lay beside the pool, the bucket Harry had used to water the herb beds after he finished weeding them. Feeling mischievous, Harry plunged the bucket in the pool and drew it up, brimming full of water.

“Well, forget it,” Draco huffed behind him. “I don’t care about that stupid game. Some garden that gets everyone wet! What are you doing, Potter?”

Harry whirled around and threw the bucket of water at Draco.

Caught unaware, Draco gasped as the cold water hit him in the face and soaked his clothes. He turned wide eyes on Harry, his eyelashes all clumped together from the soaking.

Harry grinned and gave him a what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it? look.

“Oh,” Draco spit out a mouthful of water,” you’re going to pay for that, Potter!”

“Got to catch me first,” Harry taunted.

Draco did not need a second invitation. With a growl, he charged at Harry like a mad bull. Well, a blond and very wet bull, but a mad bull all the same.

Harry took off, running around the pool, pasting the squirting water, which caught him on the side of the leg and hit Draco again, making the blond shout out something not at all nice. But Harry kept running, glad to dash around the garden under the warm sunlight with smell of flowers and cut grass in the air. He took a turn and headed for the path that ran beside the lake. The sun shone off the lake, blinding him momentarily as he rounded the bend, but he kept moving. He wasn’t sure what would happen if Draco caught him; Harry didn’t think Draco would hit him, maybe push him around a little or shove him under the squirting water until he was wet as well.

But it didn’t matter. Harry knew he was faster than Draco was. He had to be; after all those years of getting chased by Dudley and running to get to classes and warming up on the pitch to play Quidditch and –

“Oof!” Harry grunted as Draco tackled him. Harry suddenly knew how the American football players he had once seen on the telly must have felt. And they were wearing all those pads and hard helmets. Harry had nothing to protect him as Draco’s weight slammed on him, and they both toppled to the ground.

Harry yelled, and Draco shoved, but they were rolling down the grassy bank, farther and father down until . . .

Splash!

They both fell into the lake.

Harry twisted around, sputtering in the water and trying to keep his glasses from coming off. Draco had let go of him and stood up in the shallow water, looking very victorious.

“Ha-ha,” Draco jeered. “Now we’re both wet.”

Harry scowled, but made no motion to get out of the water. “Snape won’t like it. We were just supposed to walk.”

“And that’s the only reason I’m not holding your head down under the water right now. The water feels good though. I didn’t really how hot it had gotten lately.”

“Yeah, I guess –”

“Boys!” came a very stern voice from the path above.

Harry and Draco both looked up to see Snape standing a few feet above him, a frown on the man’s face.

“He did it,” Harry and Draco said at the same time, pointing at the other accusingly.

“You did it first,” Draco told Harry.

“I got you a little wet,” Harry objected. “You pushed both us into the lake. He did!” Harry gave Snape what he hoped was his cherub face since Draco had pointed it out.

Snape didn’t buy it.

“Out of the water right now. You can swim later, but I wanted you to walk and then work on the garden. Harry, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Harry stood up and followed Draco out of the water, climbing up to the path. “I don’t feel tired or anything bad.”

“Good, you can both start weeding,” Snape placed a heavy hand on each of the boys’ neck and marched them towards the herb garden.

“I don’t want to weed,” Draco complained. “He started it.”

“Who’s the baby now?” Harry challenged.

“Quiet,” Snape let go of them and grabbed up two small trowels. “Harry, show Draco how to start. Half an hour, and I better not hear anymore bickering, or I am sending both of you to bed.”

“Someone’s grouchy this morning,” Draco commented after Snape had walked away in a huff. He knelt by the garden bed.

“The sun’s out, and he’s upset that the world looks cheerful,” Harry said with a snicker. “But come to think of it, it hasn’t been raining here much at all. And the house stays pretty cool, not hot like the Dursleys – no, Draco! Don’t dig that like.”

“Like what?” Draco paused, lifting his trowel out of the damp dirt.

“We’re not digging a hole to the center of the earth,” Harry told him. “We’re weeding the beds. Look for the small, bright green shoots. Those are the weeds. And any vines. See how the plants growing here have only dark purple leaves? Pull out everything except those. Just use the trowel to get out the plants you can’t pull out with your hands.”

“I can’t believe I’m weeding,” Draco groused as he attacked a clump of weeds. “If my father knew what Snape was having me do.”

Draco’s father had proved a touchy subject, and Harry knew that he was not good with touchy subjects. He always said the wrong thing to Snape when Bellatrix or Neville came up in conversation, and he thought that Lucius might proved the same difficulty. But Harry hoped his headstrong way of talking might help here.

“You know,” he said easily as he worked beside Draco, “I can’t figure out what your family wants for you. From the way you talk at Hogwarts about them, the only thing I can see you doing to please them is lying on a sofa while a house elf feeds you strawberries.”

Draco glared at him. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. A golden sofa and chocolate-covered strawberries. Better?”

“I’m not that spoiled,” Draco yanked out a weed, sending little bits of dirt flying through the air. “What about you?”

“Me?” Harry reached for another weed, noting with satisfaction that Draco’s hands were just as dirty as his were.

“Yeah, you’re the golden boy, the little prince, the hero who’s going to save us all someday.”

“Someday,” Harry shrugged carelessly, not wanting to get into who had the harder life with Draco. “But today I’m stuck with you, doing what Snape says.

“But that was good that he saw us fighting,” Draco agreed. “He thinks we’re still arguing – he will never know what we’re really planning. And that bucket gave me an idea.”

------

Harry had to admit that Snape had a rough time the next few days. The man found rocks in his shoes (unfortunately he realized it after he had stuck his feet into the shoes), a snake in his bed, and lastly jam in his trousers’ pockets. Draco had done the first two pranks early in the morning when Snape went to check that Harry had healed completely. Harry was responsible for the last prank, sneaking a jam pot with him out of breakfast and seeing a house elf putting away Snape’s clean clothes. Harry had sneaked into Snape’s room and filled up the pockets of the trousers with jam. The next morning both he and Draco heard Snape’s bellow when he stuck his hands into his pockets to see why they were bulging out oddly.

Snape had stormed into the boys’ room, wearing the trouser, his hands coated with jam. Harry had to clamp his teeth down on his lip to keep from bursting into giggles.

“All right,” Snape glowered, “which one of you did this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco answered while Harry shrugged.

“Boys,” Snape growled.

“Excuse me, sir,” Harry said innocently, “but why are your hands covered with jam? We have napkins at the table, you know.”

“That’s right,” Draco’s voice was strained to keep from laughing. “Remember your table manners.”

Snape had glared at them, then pointed a strawberry jam-covered finger at both of them. “Dangerous close to the edge, dangerously close. Cut it out right now, or it’s going to be trouble for both of you. I mean it.” He gave them a stern look before stalking out.

Then Harry and Draco had both dissolved into fits of laughter. Snape had looked stern throughout breakfast, and then he had sent they both on a hike, wanting to have a few moments to himself.

But all of that had only been preparation for the last greatest prank.

------

“Good,” Draco whispered as he joined Harry in the hallway, “it’s all set.”

Harry glanced up the stairs nervously. “You don’t think he’s going to get hurt, do you?”

“No, and don’t be such a sap, Potter,” Draco told him hotly. “Did you do your part?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “It’s all tied up, and I just have to cut this string,” he motioned to the string tied to the lowered banister.

“All right,” Draco grinned in anticipation. “Now, you cut it when you see him at the top of the stairs.”

“But he’ll see me,” Harry objected.

“Oh, come on. He’s going to know it’s us, no doubt about that. And we can’t hide for this one. I want to see it happen, don’t you?”

“We are going to get it,” Harry sighed, but he stayed where he was, scissors in his hand.

“We got punished last time for hurting each other,” Draco reminded him. “This time, we’re out for him. He never said anything about leaving him alone.”

“He never told me not to jump off the roof,” Harry commented, “ but I’m sure he wouldn’t like it if I did.”

“And they say I’m the one who complains,” Draco shot Harry a disparaging look.

“Well, we probably won’t get, you know,” Harry said.

He hoped he was right. He knew what they were doing was pure naughtiness, just being bad. A part of him wanted to stop, but another part, a bigger part, made him stay where he was. He wondered if this was what it felt like to have a brother, someone with whom to get into trouble and play pranks and talk to late at night. Was this how Fred and George felt all the time? Harry had never really felt that way with Ron, but Ron wasn’t outspoken and aggressive and determined and sneering like Draco. Though they both complained a lot . . .

“Here he comes,” Draco hissed. He backed up from the stairs.

“I swear,” Harry hissed, “if you leave me standing here alone, I’ll –”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Draco replied. “Besides, he’ll know that something so clever had to be thought up by yours truly.”

“Prat,” Harry muttered, but then he turned his attention to the top of the stairs.

Snape walked out onto the balcony, heading for the stairs. As he passed the midpoint on the balcony, his leg hit the tiny, nearly invisible twine that was the tripwire stretched across the balcony. Snape felt it, Harry could tell, because the man looked down.

“What?”

But it was too late. The two huge buckets resting on a high wooden beam and hanging from ropes overhead tipped. Bright blue paint poured down on Snape.

Harry and Draco both watched in silent, terrified, horrified delight.

The paint covered Snape, rolling down his face, clothes, hands, hair – all in thick waves. Snape had the sense to close his eyes when the paint hit him, but he wiped the paint off them quickly to see Harry and Draco standing down at the bottom.

“You two!” Snape roared and thundered towards the stairs.

But he tripped the second stretched twine, and two more buckets of paint on another beam poured down, these two bright red.

As the red came down, it mingled with blue to become a weird sort of purple. Draco found that so irresistibly funny that he began to laugh uncontrollably. Harry felt himself laughing too, but he felt a tendril of fear curl inside him. It was horribly funny, but Snape was going to be so angry.

Snape took one more step, and he was at the top of the stairs.

Harry didn’t want to do it, but he had to do it, had to finish the prank or Draco would never let him live it down.

Harry cut the string.

The looped-over sheet hanging from the last beam unfolded, and handfuls of dry dirt fell down on Snape, turning the paint a dark blue, red, and purple.

It had taken Harry and Draco hours to plan it all out. It had been nearly impossible to find a ladder and climb up so high and hang the paint and dirt. Hours of work, and mere seconds for the prank to play out. And it was worth it.

Snape looked down at the two of them. Draco had fallen to his knees, unable to stop laughing. Harry let the snickers pour out of him, too. Snape looked absolutely ridiculous. If only they had a camera.

------

“I don’t know what I should thank you for more,” Snape said as he walked back and forth slowly. “The fact that you used dirt from my own garden or that you used oil-based paint that after three shower is still in my hair.”

“It least he finally washed it,” Draco turned over his shoulder to whisper to Harry.

“And Mr. Malfoy is now in even worse trouble than Mr. Potter,” Snape observed.

Harry said nothing. He and Draco were back in the opposite chairs in Snape’s study so they couldn’t look at each other.

“Whose idea was it?” Snape asked.

“Mine,” both Harry and Draco answered in unison.

“I can wait here all day,” Snape crossed his arms.

“Well, Draco thought of it,” Harry said, ‘but I came up with the idea of using the dirt.”

“And how did you get the stuff up without the house elves seeing?”

“We took turns distracting them in another room,” Draco said.

“And all this was for?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and Draco squirmed the least bit.

“Did you want me to start wearing paint and dirt over my clothes permanently, or was this just you two being naughty?”

“It was fun seeing the paint turn purple,” Draco muttered.

“Shh!” Harry hissed.

“Well, it was! I didn’t think about it changing colors, and then he was turning purple.”

Snape suddenly walked to window, turning his back on the both of them. “I don’t know what to do with the two of you. If you’re not fighting and slamming doors and trying to kill each other, you’re thinking up absurd pranks just for the fun of it. I should spank both of you and separate you for the rest of Draco’s stay.”

“You said he wouldn’t spank us!” Draco hissed to Harry.

“I said probably,” Harry whispered back.

Snape turned to the window. It was dark outside, and he could see his reflection in the glass. There were still streaks of paint in his black hair, and his eyebrows were slightly colored.

His lips twitched suddenly, but he fought against it. Blast it, those two deserved a good whipping! And he wasn’t about to turn around and have them see him smile. They had been very naughty!

“You were stupid to think of getting revenge,” Harry whispered back to Draco, hoping Snape couldn’t hear him.

“Well, you went along with it,” Draco returned.

“You made me!”

“You’re a prat.”

“And you’re a bigger prat.”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“Boys,” Snape warned. But he still did not turn from window.

“I say we make a run for it,” Draco whispered even softer. “Both of us, run for the door.”

“He’ll catch us,” Harry whispered back.

“Only one of us. The other can get away.”

“You’re the faster runner. He’ll catch me.”

“I know,” Draco hissed. “But I can get away.”

Their whispered conversation was not helping Snape keep serious. He still faced the window, wondering if he would ever be able to turn back. In a horrible way, which he did not like at all, he was starting to feel fond both of them. More and more, they reminded him of little puppies: squirming, hyper, naughty little puppies that got into trouble and wrestled with each other and were usually nuisances and had to be smacked on the nose to keep them in line so they cried and tried to act better for a day. And he was supposed to hate puppies. And kittens and bunnies and anything soft and cuddly because he was the feared potions master and a former Death Eater, and blast it! – Stop smiling!

“All right,” Snape whirled around, his face fearsome. “Both of you, bend over my desk.”

“Awww,” Harry and Draco groaned. Unhappy and forlorn and looking just like naughty puppies, both boys headed towards Snape’s desk.

Draco began to bend over, but Harry hesitated. “We didn’t really hurt anyone, and I didn’t try to blow up the house, and you never said I couldn’t throw paint on you.”

“Potter, bend over,” Snape directed.

“Yeah, and stop being a coward,” Draco said, his lower arms flat on the table.

“I guess after years of getting this from him, you’re used to it,” Harry snapped at Draco.

“Oh, shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Boys!”

They both shut up, and Snape walked around the desk and opened the top drawer. Harry felt his insides plummet as he watched Snape withdraw the ruler.

Harry promised himself right then and there that if he ever had his own house he was not keeping a ruler in there. No ruler, no corner, and no Snape. If he needed to measure something, Harry would just have to guess. The curtains might be crooked, and the rugs might not fit in the halls, and the doors might look lopsided, but he was not keeping a ruler to bring back bad memories.

“Draco, you’re the oldest,” Snape came around behind them. “And I don’t want to hear a word from you.”

Harry felt relieved, but he would rather get his turn over with. More than anything, he did not like waiting.

Whack!

The ruler landed on Draco’s backside, and Draco gasped sharply.

Harry flinched, and his hands raised up to cover his ears. He stopped himself just in time and put his arms back on the desk. No need to look like a coward now; there would plenty of time for that later when it was his turn.

Whack, whack, whack! The ruler landed three more times, and Draco whimpered pitifully. But then there was silence.

Whack!

Harry cried out from surprise as the ruler smacked him. He hated how hard it was and the way it stung, and he hated getting paddled, and he hated Snape. Well, he hated when Snape did that to him, and –

Whack, whack, whack!

Harry waited, sure he was going to hear Draco get smacked again. Snape was going to move back and forth between them, giving them the ruler until they both howled with pain.

Whack!

Draco cried out again.

“That was for the hair remark,” Snape said, and then he stepped back. “Now, both of you go to bed, and if I hear any arguing, both of you will get a real spanking.”

“That was a real spanking,” Draco began as he straightened, but Harry elbowed him to be silent. It may have been the shortest punishment Snape ever handed out, but there was no reason to stand around and remind him.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said quickly, not smiling enough though Snape had paint in his hair, “we will. And we’re both very sorry, right Draco?”

Draco looked like he was going to pout, but he agreed, “Yes, I’m sorry.”

“Off to bed,” Snape pointed towards the door. “And boys? I’m sure you’ll both be very happy to help paint the balcony and walls tomorrow, won’t you?”

Draco opened his mouth, sure to say something about not being a servant or a house elf.

“Yes, we will,” Harry gave Draco a little push with his shoulder. “We’re going upstairs now.”

Draco let himself be pushed into the hallway, but he complained, “I don’t want to paint tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Harry retorted, “then you go back in there and get paddled even more. Either way, we’re both going to be painting tomorrow. You didn’t think that was it, did you? Come on, we dropped paint and dirt all over him. Paint and dirt! On Snape! So just accept it, and let’s go before he decides to give us anymore.”

Draco huffed and sighed and pouted, but he followed Harry upstairs without further complaint.

Snape, who had heard every word, put the ruler back in his desk. Those two would be the end of him. A part of him wished he had sent Draco back to his mother earlier so Snape might get a moment’s peace, but another part of him . . .

Blast! There was that smile again. He would have to make them work to the point of exhaustion to make up for all this inane smiling he was doing lately.