Harry looked over his shoulder. He could see Snape's empty seat at the teacher's table, right beside McGonagall.

Many thoughts flashed through Harry's mind as he stood there with Madame Moretta. First and foremost, he knew he could not go with Moretta, not after what had happened. But how could he refuse a teacher? If he shook her head and refused to go, everyone within earshot would be shocked at his arrogant behavior.

If he could get McGonagall's attention, she might fetch Snape, and Snape might come help him out. But how could Snape do it without alerting everyone that he cared about the Boy-Who-Lived when Snape was supposed to be a Death Eater? But no matter what happened, Harry knew one thing absolutely crystal clear - he did not want to be spanked again. If he went the rest of his life with never feeling Snape's heavy hand against his rear - well, that would be just fine with Harry. And he knew if he went with her again, off to some strange place, Snape would be furious.

"Are you all right?" Moretta asked, stepping close to Harry.

And Harry used her suggestion as an escape. He made a gasping, choking sort of noise and fell to his knees.

Immediately, the students near the door went quiet, and across the room Hermione stood up, looking concerned.

Harry decided to keep up the act. He clutched at his forehead, pressing his fingers into his scar and dry heaving, on the floor on his knees and one hand.

"He's possessed," a female student cried from behind him.

"Get away from him!" another student cried. "He's having a fit."

"You-Know-Who is going to attack us!" someone else hollered shrilly. "Every time his scar burns, he attacks."

"We're dead - we're dead!"

Harry thought they were taking it a bit far, and he considered playing down his act, maybe shakily getting to his feet and saying the worst was over. He began to push himself up when an arm assisted him.

"Careful, Mr. Potter," McGonagall kept her arm around him as Harry straightened. "Deep breaths."

"What's wrong with him?" Moretta asked, drawing back a few feet.

"I don't know, but we'll soon find out," McGonagall decided. "I'll take him to the hospital wing right away."

"No,' Harry tried to turn to look at her, "I'm fine now."

"Nonsense, Potter," McGonagall pressed her lips together. "Madame Pomfrey would be furious if I didn't insist you go there, you of all people. You how she worries about you."

As McGonagall spoke, she started marching him towards the stairs, and Harry realized that Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Luna were following them.

"I'm fine, really," Harry tried to whisper to his stern teacher as she kept a firm arm around his waist, giving him support and using her hand on his elbow to guide him along. "Moretta wanted me to go with her and -"

"Professor?" Hermione sounded worried. "Is he all right? This happened last year, when he was possessed by -"

"We won't jump to conclusions until we see Pomfrey," McGonagall interrupted. "Mr. Longbottom, can I trouble you to tell the headmaster that Mr. Potter has been taken ill?"

"Yes, ma'am," Neville turned away, heading for Dumbledore's study.

"Nothing's wrong," Harry protested, but they soon reached the hospital rooms. Madame Pomfrey was seated at a table, reading a book while she ate a light lunch. She saw McGongall, Harry, and the other three students, and she closed her book abruptly.

"Not even a whole week," she shook her head as she hurried to her feet, "and you're here, Mr. Potter. Sit him down on the bed. Mr. Weasley, please open the bottom drawer of that bureau over there - in the right-hand corner I keep a pair of pajamas Mr. Potter's size. I believe in being prepared."

"I'm not sick," Harry tried to tell her, but the nurse already had him sitting on the bed. She unbuttoned his collar and felt his forehead.

"He's very warm," she told the anxious group who were watching Harry as if he would explode at any moment.

"I was running around before lunch," Harry objected. "I playing with a Snitch with Dra- er, somebody, and it's still warm outside."

"I knew I should have looked you over when you first came back," Pomfrey tsked. "But he promised you were healthy, properly looked after for summer, he claimed, which is quite a change from your usual appearance each September. When he agreed at the beginning summer, I told him you must be healthy and somewhat happy or he would have me to deal with. And now look at you."

Harry watched Luna, worried. She was the only person who did not know about Snape and the adoption, but Luna kept staring at Harry with a calm, quite gaze.

"Found ‘em," Ron held up a pair of pajamas as if they were the prize after hours of searching.

"Good, help Mr. Potter into them," Madame Pomfrey began pulling the curtains closed around his bed.

"I don't need -" Harry began, but Pomfrey replied,

"You will get into those pajamas and into bed at once, Mr. Potter, or I will employ some of Professor Snape's techniques myself."

Harry felt his face flame dark red - did everyone know Snape spanked him? - but Ron seemed more concerned with helping Harry into bed than anything else.

"I'm really fine," Harry whispered to him as he slipped the pajama top on. "I just did it to - well, distract -"

"No talking," Pomfrey demanded from the other side of the curtain. "Get into bed."

Harry felt completely ridiculous as he got into bed in the red pajamas in the middle of the day when he was perfectly healthy. He felt even more absurd when Pomfrey started her inspection, taking his temperature, peering into his eyes, and pulling out her wand to do several diagnosis tests of him for physical and magical ailments.

"Well, he's exhausted," the nurse decided halfway through her tests. "Completely worn out."

"I was up late last night," Harry told her, trying to sit up.

She pushed him back against the pillows as she took his pulse. "I have told the whole staff over and over again that he is delicate."

"I am not!"

"Relax, Mr. Potter. All this nonsense, doom and gloom hanging over his head - no wonder he's such a nervous, thin thing, prone to a weak constitution."

Madame Pomfrey probably could have continued in such a vein for hours (she had a captive audience hanging on her every word and the subject of her concern trapped in pajamas in a hospital bed), but loud footsteps sounded in the hallway. Everyone turned to look, and Snape rushed into the room. He looked frantic, completely out of breath, but he glanced around anxiously.

"Where is he?" he demanded breathlessly.

Ron stepped back to reveal Harry sitting in bed, propped against many pillows. Snape started towards him, Hermione glaring at him with her arms crossed.

"What happened?" Snape asked McGonagall as he came to the bed and put a hand on Harry's shoulder to convince himself that Harry was still alive.

"He collapsed in the Great Hall," McGonagall explained. "I brought him straight here, and Pomfrey is trying to see what is the matter."

"He collapsed?" Snape asked, his voice sharp. "Is it his scar? Was he saying things? Was he showing physical ailments or just screaming?"

"He was clutching his scar," Ron pointed towards Harry. "Clutching it and screaming. Is it You-Know-Who again?"

"Quiet," Snape barked at him. "Don't speak about him, not while Harry's like this."

"I'm fine," Harry tired to sit up, but Snape held him down with one hand.

"You stay quiet," he told Harry in a hoarse voice. "Lie back and relax - you're going to be all right. The rest of you children, get out."

Ron huffed indignantly, but Hermione grabbed his arm, her eyes suddenly warm and understanding as she looked at Snape. "Come on, Ron - let's go."

"But he said -"

"Come on, Ron," Hermione insisted, pulling him towards the door. "We need to leave. You too, Luna."

"Severus," McGonagall looked at him as soon as the children were gone, "this isn't as bad as you think. It doesn't mean an attack is coming."

"How would you know?" Snape demanded, his voice strained. "How would you know anything about it?"

Both women turned to frown at him, but Harry impulsively reached out and put a hand on Snape's arm.

"Snape? Can I talk to you for a moment? Alone?"

Snape looked down at him, haggard and tortured, but McGonagall motioned Madame Pomfrey towards the door.

"Upset him and it will be trouble," the nurse warned Snape, but she followed McGonagall out the door.

"It's going to be all right," Snape rushed to assure Harry. "I swore I would keep you safe. I swore it and I mean it, more than I have meant anything in my life."

"Nothing's wrong with me," Harry confined in a whisper. "Really."

"What are you talking about?" Snape looked bewildered.

"Madame Moretta wanted me to go with her, and I knew I shouldn't so I pretended to be sick," Harry told him. "It was just an act. I'm not sick, not even a little."

Snape's dark eyes stared at him, dumb-struck. Then he bellowed, "What!"

"Severus," Pomfrey scolded from the other room, but Snape paid her no attention.

"This was an act?" Snape demanded, his expression making Harry cringed. "You dared to pretend to be possessed or sick or anything besides healthy and sound?"

"Moretta wanted -"

"I was going to the library to find a potions book when I hear students clamoring about one students getting sick in the Great Hall. I thought I should make sure you weren't sick when I hear another student telling her friends that the precious Harry Potter has been possessed once again. I nearly panicked, fearing I was too late. I ran all the way up here, scared to death, only to find that it was an act?"

"Moretta?" Harry asked weakly.

"If you're not sick now, you're about to be," Snape threatened. "You conniving little brat, how could you do that to me? How could you worry me like that? Are you trying to give me a heart-attack?"

"No, I was trying to do what you said and not go off with strangers," Harry said feebly. "I couldn't think of anything else to do. I'm sorry."

Snape drew in a deep breath, and the tension in the room began to grow stronger and stronger. He stared down at Harry, and Harry sank back into the pillows, wishing he could disappear. Snape gazed down at him, those dark eyes pinning him in the bed.

Harry gave a weak cough.

"Don't you dare," Snape warned. He reached out and gave Harry's ear a sharp tug.

Harry winced, but said nothing.

"You stay good and quiet, and I'll get you out of this. Cause any trouble and you'll be going over my knee the moment we return to the dungeons. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied meekly. He hated the fact that Snape towered over him, and Harry simply took it, but he did not dare voice his objections.

Snape stepped into the other room and shut the door, leaving Harry alone in the hospital dorm. He had spent time in this room every year. Between Voldemort and students learning magic and careless teachers, Harry guessed he had slept in nearly every single bed.

Before he had time to grow completely bored, the door opened and Madame Pomfrey bustled back in.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," she said crisply, "I am releasing you into the hands of your new father. He promises to take excellent care of you, and I want your full assurance that he'll have no trouble from you. Along with your tendency for weak health, you have a way of avoiding those who know best about taking care of you. Should I get such a report from Professor Snape, I will have you back in this bed immediately."

Harry cringed at her patronizing words - somehow everyone thought he was a child now that he had an adopted father to look after him.

"You are to rest this afternoon," the nurse continued as she handed Harry back his clothes. "Now, do try to behave, Mr. Potter."

Snape clapped a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder once he finished dressing, and the potions master marched him out of the hospital without a word. McGonagall had already left, for which Harry was glad. He had enough trouble dealing with Snape and McGonagall separately. Together, they became his worst nightmare as he knew he could never get away with what McGonagall would call "mischief" and Snape would deem "disobedience" when they both were watching.

Once to the dungeons, Snape wasted no time in parking Harry in a chair, shutting the door, and starting to vent his displeasure.

"What were you thinking?" Snape said sharply. "When I said for you to avoid going off with new teachers and getting yourself in dangerous situations, I did not mean for you to start faking fits and pretending to be possessed."

"I never said anything about possession," Harry argued. "I just said my scar hurt."

"Thanks to you, we now have a whole school full of children who think the Dark Lord is about to attack at any moment."

"I'm sorry," Harry insisted. "What should I have done? Gone with her?"

"No, you should have asked politely what she wanted and then proceeded only if you felt safe about it."

"How I am I supposed to know if it's safe or not?" Harry demanded.

"You're sixteen," Snape retorted. "You should be old enough to have some kind of discernment about your own safety."

Something snapped in Harry, and he jumped to his feet. "You are impossible," he shouted at Snape. "One minute, I'm old enough to make my own decisions, and the next you spank me like a child, and then you tell me I should be responsible for my own decisions. Would you please Make Up Your OWN DAMN MIND?" his voice rose to roar at the end.

He expected Snape to grab and swat him, maybe pull him over to the sofa and drag him over his knee. Harry was not prepared when Snape yelled back,

"Would you please take better care of yourself so I don't have to treat You Like A DAMN SEVEN-YEAR-OLD?"

"I'm trying," Harry protested, in a much lower voice. "Today, I really thought through this. I stood there and thought ‘What would Snape want me to do?'"

"And you decided to fake being sick? I would not have told you to do that."

"No, you're perfect, and you always know the right answer. Perfect, wonderful Snape, who always knows what to do, whom everybody looks at and says ‘Oh, what a great man because he knows everything and how to do it, and now he's stuck with the stupid Potter boy who makes all the mistakes and worries the perfect Mr. Snape all the time, everyday, for the rest of their lives!'"

Bitter and angry, Harry looked away. His throat hurt, and his eyes hurt, and he hated that Snape was always right.

A short laugh sounded from Snape, and Harry whirled back to stare at the man. Snape gave another short laugh, an ironic laugh.

"Harry," Snape shook his head, "Harry, you must be the most idiotic child I have ever met."

Harry gave a sharp hiss of anger through his teeth, but Snape went on,

"You stand there all upset and frustrated because you think people sympathize with me? Have you not seen me at all these last five years? I'm Severus Snape, the disillusioned potions professor, a former Death Eater whom no one trusts, the ugly bat who frightens little children. You, you're the golden boy, the Boy-Who-Lived, the savior whom people talk about and place their trust in. When I decided to keep you for the summer, I received owls from all the teachers here. Professor McGonagall warned me that she would expect weekly reports about your progress, and when I wrote to her about you blowing up my potions storage, the first thing she asked was were you all right? Then she proceeded to lecture me for being so careless as to keep the door unlocked with you in the house."

Harry blinked, not knowing what to say.

"Madame Pomfrey wrote as well, and I told her that I would see that you stayed healthy over the summer. When I told you went into the room with the Dreamless Sleeping Drought plants, she nearly came to collect you until I swore to her that you were on the mend and would be fine. I did not tell her about the bleeding from your mouth, nose, and eyes, or she would have floo-ed herself there directly. So forgive me for laughing, but most people would sympathize with you having to live with me rather than the other way around."

"Oh," Harry said simply, not knowing anything else to say. He had forgotten about the Snape who had bullied him for years - in his mind, he had only known Snape, the real Snape, since the beginning of summer.

"Are you through yelling at me?" Snape asked calmly.

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "Sorry about that. I don't know why I do it - I don't yell at anyone else, or at least I haven't for a long time. Would you have been angry if I went with Moretta this time?"

"I would have been somewhat displeased if you went off with her without thinking, but not as displeased as last night."

"Why not?" Harry demanded, his voice growing louder. "You keep changing - one night you take a hairbrush to me and the next time you said you would be 'somewhat displeased' for the exact same thing."

"I am not being inconsistent," Snape told him. "Meeting a teacher whom you barely know after curfew, alone at night, wandering the castle - that I considered a punishable offence. Taking a stroll with the same teacher in the middle of the day, in broad daylight, with hundreds of students and teachers about - that is much safer. Don't you agree?"

"Yeah," Harry scowled, "once again - you are perfect and I'm the idiot."

"You're still learning," Snape said. "One of my jobs as your father is to teach you to think about things before you react, to learn to evaluate a situation before you run into it and find yourself in the Ministry of Magic without any other help or with Mr. Weasley in forest full of carnivorous spiders."

"They seemed like good ideas at the time," Harry said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"They always do," Snape replied. "But I want you to start thinking. And I never, ever, want to see you lying in hospital bed again. I never want to hear from another student that you are in the hospital and I have to run all the way there to see if you are still breathing. Do we understand each other?"

"Yeah," Harry said, looking away shamefaced.

Snape grabbed his arm, turned him, and landed a hard swat on Harry's rear.

"Ow!" Harry protested.

"I said do we understand each other?" Snape thundered, his eyes glinting.

"Yes, sir," Harry answered.

"Believe me," Snape said in a stern quiet voice, "if I ever, ever, find that you have gotten hurt due to your own thoughtless negligence, I will stand by your bed until you have sufficiently healed, and then you are going over my knee for the worst spanking until you are the sorriest boy in all of Britain. And then I will dole out a spanking every night for a week along with keeping you busy with chores, never letting you out of my sight, and giving you every single disgusting potion I can think of until I am certain that you have never been more miserable, because I never want to see you in a hospital bed. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said rather hoarsely. His stomach churned at the thought of such a long, awful punishment.

"You may go see your friends for the rest of the afternoon," Snape said in a far easier voice. "Study or wander the grounds, staying in safe distance of the castle. But after supper tonight, you're coming back here."

"For some extra chores?" Harry asked nervously.

"No, I'm going to cut your hair as I promised. And then we are going to sit down and have a long discussion about the DA that you plan to form again."

Harry waited, sure Snape would tell him that he was not allowed to form any such thing. However, Snape continued,

"And then we are going to set up a chart for you to resume Occlumency lessons again."

"Oh, no," Harry complained, "I hate those."

"And next we will set up a plan where I will start training you."

"For what?" Harry felt very nervous.

"If you plan to be the hero for the Wizarding world, then it is only fair that you start training as such, both physically and mentally as well as magically. I will set up the Room of Requirement for twice-weekly lessons. Not only will you train your body, I will also give you scenarios and situations for you to figure out. You will have to calculate how to get out of danger along with completing a mission and saving others - you are done rushing into dangerous situations, and these exercises will help train you to think clearly under stress and in the midst of chaos."

"Brilliant," Harry smiled impulsively at the idea.

"You'll think brilliant when I get finished with you," Snape growled. "If nothing else, this training should keep you busy enough to stay out of trouble. Now go stick your nose in the corner for ten minutes and then you can leave."

"Why?" Harry objected.

"One, for worrying me half to death this afternoon, and another, for yelling at me."

"You yelled at me, too," Harry protested, but he was already heading for the corner.

"Yes, I thought that would be easier and quicker than washing your mouth out with soap," Snape retorted. "You may not understand this, but I do have other things to do beside punish you."

Harry did not answer. Already, he stood facing the corner. It was not such a bad punishment, considering he had so much to think about. As he gazed at the dark stone of the dungeons walls, his mind whirled with possibilities of the DA and this new training idea of Snape. Harry felt no end to his anticipation - maybe Snape would finally tell him what really happened at Death Eater meetings or show him other dark curses and how to fight them.

And surely once he started training, Snape would see how capable he was, how fast and smart and accurate Harry had become. And more than anything else, Snape would know that Harry was meant to be the leader, the savior of the Wizarding world, and Harry could prove himself once and for all to his new father.

It would be a fantastic school year.