"What happened to you?" Ron demanded the moment he saw Harry turn around the corner of the hallway. "We left you half-dead in the hospital, and now you're walking around like a normal person."

"Thanks," Harry nodded. "I do my best to look normal."

"Not that," Ron replied. "I meant, you're up and around."

"Harry, what happened?" Hermione cut through Ron's stammering.

"I faked the whole thing," Harry said in a low voice. "Madame Moretta wanted me to go with her, and I knew Snape would go through the roof if I did, so I pretended to be sick. I didn't realize it would freak everyone out like that."

"Well, it's you," Hermione pointed out, relieved. "When other people pretend to be sick and have a headache, it's not the end of the world, whereas with you . . ."

"Yeah, I get it," Harry snapped. "I'm different. I'm always different, I can't be normal about anything."

"Do you talk to Snape like that?" Ron wondered out loud. "Because I'm thinking that wouldn't sit with him very well, you know."

"Please tell me you try to show some respect," Hermione added to Ron's thoughts.

Harry wanted to stomp his foot in frustration. "Why are you two always on me? You've always hated Snape, and now you're on his side."

"Don't be daft," Hermione told him.

"You were ready to give Snape a piece of your mind this morning," Harry pointed out. "Then in the hospital, you just went away, and now you're yelling at me about showing him respect."

"No one's yelling at you," Hermione said calmly. "It's just that I saw the change in Snape in the hospital -"

"What change?" Harry demanded.

"He came in completed panicked," Hermione explained. "I've never seen him that worried, and he wouldn't let us talk about Voldemort because it would upset you. That's not the Snape I knew last spring. That Snape would have rolled his eyes and waited impatient while you explained what happened and then probably sneered at your need for attention."

"Yeah, that's right," Ron sided with Hermione. "I kept waiting for him to make comments about your stupid bravery or Gryffindor theatrics, but he was really worried."

"You need to think about that," Hermione lectured. "It's bad enough that you rush around and get into trouble with just us, but now you have a father who worries about you. You have to start thinking about someone other than yourself."

"Other than myself!" Harry felt outraged. "You're accusing me of being selfish? Me?"

"You've been on your own so long, you've forgotten that other people worry about you, people like Ron and me. So if Snape helps you learn to think before you act, then I applaud him. And if he has to employ drastic methods to keep you in line, I won't stand in his way."

Harry felt his face grow warm, and he managed to say, "Thanks, Hermione, nice to know you've got my back."

She shrugged, but Ron stepped in front of her.

"Don't talk to her like," he told Harry. "Yeah, she's a bossy nuisance, but she's our bossy nuisance."

"Thank you, Ronald," Hermione smiled at him, and Ron actually smiled back at her.

Harry felt like a fifth wheel, on the outside of everything, so he threw himself on a stone seat and stared down at the floor. "Fine, you two gang up on me. Maybe I'll go find Draco and talk to him."

"Malfoy!" Ron whirled to face Harry. "Why would you want to talk to that ferret?"

"Snape had him spy on me," Harry grumbled. "What do you think of that?"

"Because you saw Draco over the summer?" Hermione questioned.

Both boys turned to stare at her.

"How do you do that?" Harry shook his head.

"I watch and I listen," Hermione replied. "I know Draco respects Snape, and now Snape had adopted Harry. Draco has not tried anything horrid so far this semester to Harry so I knew that Draco must know about the adoption on some level. Draco would have thrown a fit if he found out here so he must have discovered their new arrangement in the summer. I'm guessing he came to visit Snape and found you there."

"You figured that all out on your own?" Harry was astonished.

"Yes, but I also saw the two of you playing with that silly Snitch this morning."

"You were playing Quidditch with Malfoy?" Ron looked like he would start spitting up slugs.

"Not like that," Harry hastily assured him. "We were just hanging around, you know."

"Since when are you best friends with Malfoy?" Ron crossed his arms.

"We aren't friends," Harry protested. "He tried to kill me over the summer. We fought over and over again. We're sworn enemies."

"Whatever," Ron turned away. "Go find your new friend - I'm out of here."

"Ron, wait," Harry protested. He glanced at Hermione, hoping she would help. She pressed her lips together and returned Harry's look evenly.

"Ron, don't go," Harry called. "Come on, it was just - I mean, okay, I get that - Snape spanks Draco!"

Ron jerked to a stop. Hermione's hand flew up to cover her mouth, her eyes wide.

"What?" Ron came back.

Harry felt guilty for betraying Draco, but Draco had spied on him, and Harry really wanted to make Ron feel better. "Yeah, Snape spanks him."

"Well, don't just say it like that," Ron sat beside Hermione. "Tell us all the ruddy details, don't leave anything out."

"I find it disturbing that you are so fascinated by this," Hermione commented.

"Come on, it's Malfoy," Ron replied. "I'm always glad to see him suffer, the prat. How does Snape do it? Over a chair, his knee, a table? Tell me Malfoy screams - he does, doesn't he? Screams like bloody hell while Snape thrashes the living daylights out of him. Does he beg? In a really high, little-girl voice? Well, mate, does he?"

Harry had an overwhelming urge to give a short hysterical laugh. He knew that Ron disliked Malfoy, but he did not realize just how much Ron wanted the blond to suffer.

"Ron," Hermione put a hand over his, probably to admonish him for being so bloodthirsty, but Ron shook his head.

"No, this is payback for all those times he's called me names, said things about my family. Well, we may be a poor lot of redheads without two Sickles to rub together, but I'm not the one hollering over Snape's knee."

For a brief moment, Harry saw the flash of pain on Ron's face. He remembered all the times Draco had sneered about Ron's family, the time Lucius had insulted Mr. Weasley, the taunts other Slytherins had given Ron. And Draco had never been nice to Hermione.

"Yeah, he screams," Harry leaned against the opposite wall. "Really high, begging Snape to stop. But - er, Snape doesn't listen. He just keeps thwacking him without a word until Draco starts blubbering all over the place."

Ron grinned like an idiot, and Hermione's lips twitched though she did not break into a smile. Harry kept talking, spinning out details of Draco's horrific punishments that steadily grew more and more appalling and vicious as his audience ate it all up.

------

Harry picked over his supper, not really feeling hungry as the evening approached. He did not mind returning to Snape's quarters to get a haircut, but he was not looking forward to the talk about the DA nor the possibility of having an Occlumency lesson. And who knew what kind of training Snape would start him on.

Ron and Hermione knew he was going back to Snape's. As the afternoon wore on, Hermione had found several chances to comment on the positive aspects of having Snape as a father. She kept stressing how much Harry needed a constant authority figure in his life that would not let him get away with wild shenanigans. Harry did not reply to her observations; it was one thing to laugh over Draco's punishments, but Harry did not want to describe his own.

He usually appreciated Hermione's insights, but sometimes he wished she would not notice everything. The whole afternoon he feared she would ask what Snape had done to him for pretending to be sick and worrying everyone. Harry would not have minded talking about how he yelled at Snape (that kind of had a reckless bravado that would amuse Ron and shock Hermione), but he had no intention of telling them about standing in the corner.

"Ron and I are going to the Commons Room to finish our homework," Hermione announced.

"We are?" Ron asked around a mouthful of beans.

"Are you going to be down there long?" Hermione ignored Ron.

"An hour or two," Harry shrugged.

They got up from the table together and were crossing to the door when Hermione accidentally bumped against the corner of the Slytherin's table.

"Sorry," she apologized, and the students sitting did not seem to mind. But Draco was also getting up from the table, and he glared at her.

"Keep your filthy hands off the Pureblood table," he snapped at her.

Harry reached out to grab Ron, expecting him to attack Draco. However, Ron did not move as he watched Draco with calm, cold eyes.

"Careful," Ron said in a quiet voice only Draco, Hermione, and Harry could hear, "wouldn't want Snape taking you over his knee in the Great Hall."

Draco froze.

"I heard your screams could break the windows," Ron smirked. "Huh? Snape's hand too much for your Pureblood skin?"

Draco looked like he wanted to be sick. Then he looked at Harry. Harry tried his best to appear innocent, but he knew he was no good at faking innocence. His guilt must have shown on his face for Draco shouted,

"You're dead, Potter!"

Harry didn't even try to stay and talk it through. He turned and fled towards the doors. He could hear Hermione call his name, but Draco's footsteps hammered after him, and Harry kept running.

He ran faster than he had run in a long time, his breath ragged in his chest, but Draco caught up to him just as Draco had in the summer. Harry felt a hand on the back of his shirt, and then he was tumbling to the ground.

A moment later, Draco stood over him. "Get up, Potter."

Harry rose slowly, wondering if he should to explain or start ducking.

"You told Weasley?" Draco snarled.

"It just slipped out," Harry fumbled for an excuse. "I didn't mean to, and they know that Snape treats me the same way so, you know, we're even."

"Even!" Draco's face twisted with rage. "I don't tell my friends about you and Snape. I know it has to stay a secret, the adoption, but you seem to like blurting things out about me."

"I can explain," Harry began, but Draco was not listening.

"Really? Then explain this!" Draco snatched off Harry's glasses and punched him.

Draco's fist hit Harry right until his left eyes, striking the cheekbone hard. Harry stumbled back in pain, his eyes watering, but apparently that one punch cooled Draco's wrath. He folded Harry's glasses neatly and held them out. Harry took them with his right hand, his left hand pressed over his throbbing face.

"Now consider us even," Draco snapped. He walked away, his shoes clipping on the stones.

Harry gingerly touched his face again. He supposed he deserved to be punched - he had not right to go around blurting out Draco's secrets. Draco may have been an arrogant prat about a whole mess of things, but Harry knew telling his friends about Draco's punishments was a low blow.

Unfolding his glasses, Harry tried to put them on, but the left side of his face hurt so much he could not stand to have the least bit of pressure on it. He folded the glasses up and held them in front of his face so he could see to walk down to the dungeons. It was slow going, and he knew he looked completely ridiculous, but he stumbled along until he reached Snape's quarters.

Snape was reading a potions textbook, but he looked up when Harry's came in. Harry said down at the table, putting down his glasses, and managed a weak smile. "I made it."

"What happened to your face?" Snape demanded.

"Nothing," Harry brushed it off.

"I said, what happened?" Snape's voice grew sharp.

"You want the truth?" Harry looked in his direction. He couldn't really see Snape, just a dark blur in a chair, and with his left eye starting to swell up, Harry doubted he would be able to see anything by the end of the night.

"Yes," the dark blur snapped.

"I walked into someone's fist," Harry replied.

"Harry," Snape began, but Harry shook his head the least bit.

"No, I'm fine. It was my fault, anyway. I couldn't shut up, and Draco said -"

"Draco did this?" the dark blur stood up.

"Yeah, but I was telling Ron and Hermione stuff I shouldn't have," Harry confessed. "I'd have hit me, too, if I were him."

Snape pressed his lips together, obviously wanting to say, but instead he marched over to the corner cabinet. A moment later, he directed, "Open your mouth."

Harry did so, and he felt a spoonful of something gross shoved in. He made a face at the horrendous taste, but already the pain from the punch began to dissipate. A minute later, the swelling disappeared along with the lasting traces of pain.

"Thanks," Harry touched the skin under his eye, grateful when it did not hurt.

"Put on your glasses, and straighten yourself up before I lose my temper," Snape told him.

Harry put his glasses on, bring the room into sharp clarity. "Why are you upset at me? I'm the one who got punched."

"You don't go around blurting out secrets," Snape told him. "I expect you to have more self-control. And you look sloppy and scruffy."

"It's Sunday," Harry objected. "I don't have to wear robes."

"I refuse to have you traipse about like a penniless bum. At this rate, people will think you're Lupin's son, instead of mine. You're getting a haircut, and then I'm throwing away that ratty shirt of yours."

"I like this shirt," Harry crossed his arms over his chest. Of course, he really didn't care about the shirt, but he liked baiting Snape on, especially when Snape let words slip that showed how he felt about Harry now.

"The shirt is going!" Snape stalked to a nearby table and took out a pair of scissors. With a wave of his wand, a sheet rose up out of a bureau and wrapped itself around Harry, pinning him to the chair within its snug confines. A cup of water floated over Harry's head and began to sprinkle down on his head. It felt cold, and he hunched his shoulders up when several large drops rolled down the back of his neck.

"This hair is completely out of control," Snape said as the cup floated back to the table. "It's being unruly and rebellious on purpose."

"Bad hair," Harry agreed. "Bad, bad hair!"

He kept a straight face when Snape scowled down at him. Snape began trimming with the scissors, and little pieces of dark wet hair fell all over the sheet.

"Let's talk about the D.A. meetings," Snape began, and the tone of his voice told Harry they were in for a long discussion.

"What about them?"

"I think they're entirely unnecessary," Snape said, moving to the side to trim above Harry's ear. He paused and took off Harry's glasses. Harry squinted as the room went dim, but as he was tied tightly to the chair, he knew he had to wait it out.

"I'm your Defense teacher," Snape went on. "I don't see why you would need meetings at all when you have a perfectly capable teacher. However, I know you. I know that if I forbid you to have the meetings, you will sneak around behind my back and have them anyway. Then when I find out, which I promise you I will do, I will have to punish you severely for lying and disobeying, and I become the villain and you the poor suffering child with the cruel father."

Harry said nothing, thinking Snape was not far off.

"With that in mind," Snape continued, "I have decided to let you have your meetings. I want a full, detailed report of every single meeting. In those reports, you will include who attended, what spells were taught and/or used, and general problems or questions that arise. You will present these reports on parchment the day after every meeting. Failure to write or present the reports and omission of any kind will result in an immediate reprimand."

"But -"

"Any arguing will also receive reprimand," Snape warned.

"Yes, sir," Harry would have nodded, but he was scared the scissors might cut him.

"In addition, you will sign up the D.A. as an official club which means anyone who is interested in joining may do so."

"Anyone?" Harry said in dismay.

"Including Slytherins."

"But the D.A. is supposed to fight against evil, not invite it in," Harry complained. He felt Snape pull his ear sharply.

"That's enough backtalk. I don't guess that many Slytherins would want to join the D.A., but you have to keep the club open. You may have as many restrictions to join as you like - ‘all new members have to pledge their support to Dumbledore and name every sweet he likes in alphabetical order' or whatever you like - but you cannot exclude students by age, gender, or house."

"I bet if the Slytherins got together and wanted to have club only for Purebloods you wouldn't stop them," Harry grumbled, wishing he could cross his arms under the sheet.

"Yes, I would," Snape replied. "Stop moving your head."

"What if they try to get in just to spy on us?"

"What would it matter? You'll already be reporting to me on everything that happens. You can have rules of conduct for meetings so students cannot come in just to disrupt and cause trouble, but you have to keep the club open."

"We're still meeting in the Room of Requirement," Harry said stubbornly. "That's where it started and I like it in there."

"Fine, but you need to keep the same meeting place to enter the room so everyone can find it. You're not meeting in some hidden corner of Gryffindor Tower where no one can find you."

"How do you think of all this?" Harry asked as Snape began to trim his bangs. "I can't even think of what to teach during our first meeting, and you've already written up all the requirements for a formal club. Should I be charging a due for members?"

"Well, it wouldn't hurt," Snape snipped the unruly dark hair carefully. "If every member paid a small fee every month, you could take planned trips outside the castle or purchase better equipment to train. For some students who can't afford the fee, they could work in other ways such as organizing or cleaning up before and after meetings."

It really was unnerving how Snape knew everything and could think of everything, too. Harry did not see why he needed to write out reports; Snape would probably know every single thing that happened in each meeting, before it even happened.

"There, that will have to do," Snape stepped back to observe his handiwork with a critical eye. Harry wrinkled his nose, blowing up on his face to relieve the itch the falling hair had caused. Snape grabbed what looked like a fine-hair brush that women would use to put on blush or men for soaping before shaving. Snape began dusting off Harry's face and neck with the brush. The tiny, soft hairs of the brush tickled like mad, and Harry jerked his head away from the brush. Snape, being his usual cruel self, smirked and took his time dusting away the loose hair until Harry's face was itching and hypersensitive.

"Get off," Harry insisted. "I'm clean enough."

Snape finally stepped away and the sheet lifted away, freeing Harry at last.

"Now, about your training," Snape said as he put the scissors away.

"What about it - Snape!" Harry caught his reflection in the glass of one cabinet. "You got it too short."

"It will grow out."

"In a month. Come on, I look like a scarecrow. No one wears it this short. It makes me look twelve."

"Does it?" Snape commented, his face blank. "How unfortunate."

"If I find a book in here called Haircuts for Children or something like that, you're going to hear about it," Harry warned.

"And otherwise, you'll stay quiet?" Snape asked. "In that case, don't look on the top bookshelf."

Harry immediately glanced up and saw the title on the red binding of a book - Non-Magical Approaches for Those Who Prefer the Personal Touch: Knitting, Baking, Haircuts, and More.

"You got the one on page twenty-eight," Snape remarked as he flicked his wand at the pieces of hair on the floor. The clippings hopped up into the waste basket, leaving the stone floor bare.

Harry had grabbed the book and flipped to page 26. "This is my haircut," he exploded when he saw the drawings on the page, the step by step approach to cutting a-a -

"A five-year-old's haircut!" Harry yelled.

Snape shrugged. "The book suggested that you take older children to a professional for a proper haircut, so what could I do? It was either that or the little girl's cut, and your hair wasn't long enough to put in pigtails."

Harry slammed the book back on the shelf. "Greasy git," he muttered. "Put your own hair in pigtails."

Snape hid his smile as he said, "If you are through yelling, I want to talk about training."

"Fine," Harry nodded, taking one last look in the mirror. His hair didn't look that bad, just short and no-nonsense, like of like the temperament of the man who adopted him.

"I don't know if you know it," Snape said, "but the castle is so big we don't use every room. I get to have a study and a bedroom along with my classroom down in the dungeons. The room next to me has stood empty for years, last used as storage for some old paintings. After asking Dumbledore, I had Filch clean it out last week, and I've made some changes. Shall we?"

Snape walked to the stone wall at the side of his study. He tapped five different stones, and the wall began to pull itself open, the stones turning out until a doorway appear. The room was dark on the other side, but Snape stepped towards it with Harry right behind him. As soon as Snape stepped past the wall, several high torches flared to life, fire bursting up to light the room.

Harry found himself standing in a large domed room, with a floor of probably fifty feet by forty and twenty feet high. One wall held supplies on shelves: more ropes, glass vases, rolled parchment, wooden boxes, metal disks and balls, crates, and slabs of wood. On the far wall, paper targets outlining humans and animals were hanging. Along the other side of the room were pieces of equipment made of metal, iron, leather, pads, chains, and ropes. A few looked like crude machines, and two or three resembled medieval torture racks.

"Welcome to your new training room," Snape said, his voice echoing in the large room.