Severus’s nerves were shot even before he landed the final smack of a thorough twenty against the punished skin. When released, the Slytherin immediately scrambled to return his clothing to its original place; his usually sallow face was flushed and wet with angry tears.

Snape had known the Malfoy family for years, and although he considered Lucius’s son to possess several redeeming qualities, the boy was gradually slipping from Severus’s hold. He was young; he was pliable. And with Lucius for a father, Draco was inevitably damned.

Standing and grasping the child’s shoulders firmly, Severus forced him to make eye-contact. As expected, Draco attempted to pull away, but Snape held him solidly.

“Tormenting others does not make you a Slytherin; it makes you weak,” Severus growled sternly, giving the thin shoulders a shake. “Potter is nearly half your size and not your concern.”

The words rolled over Severus’s tongue carefully. The direction of the lecture was unfamiliar and a bit awkward. For the both of them. However, Severus had informed Draco of his growing lack of tolerance over the ridiculous rivalry that existed between the two mule-headed boys. And still, he’d refused to listen.

Draco twisted his shoulders against the strong hands that held him. “I don’t want anything to do with Potter,” the boy huffed, his voice damp with tears and frustration. “My father—“

But as if something was suddenly lodged in the boy’s throat, he stopped speaking. He knew better than to bring up his father’s status at a time like this.

Fixing the youngest Malfoy with a severe look, Severus exhaled determinedly.

He had hoped that the punishment would speak for itself, but judging from the recalcitrant attitude, the man knew that was a far cry from reality. However, Severus had nothing more to say. Nothing that would remain imbedded in the child’s mind. And anything near the truth of the matter would make little sense to anyone but the headmaster—the only man alive that was aware of Severus’s duty to protect The Boy Who Lived. Pulling Draco along with him, Severus sat the blond down heavily on his own dormitory bed. The man attempted his customary, logical approach.

“If one day you face the threat of expulsion for one of your childish, indiscreet stunts involving Dumbledore’s ‘golden boy’, do not expect me to repair the damage,” Severus spat, leaning in close. “I have explained to you numerous times of the danger—“

Severus paused; the child had finally wrenched himself free of the man’s grip and had thrown himself away from his professor. Furiously scrubbing at the remaining tears on his pinched face, Draco refused to listen.

Gazing only a moment at the sour boy, Severus spun around and stalked toward the dormitory exit.

“So be it,” the professor said quietly, throwing open the heavy door. Although vastly differing in motive and delivery, Severus wasn’t in the mood to deal with two temper-tantrums in one day. He heard the crunch of bedsprings as the door swung closed.

As Severus descended the stairs, he twisted around briskly as a heavy clunk resounded against wood. The hinges of the door jerked once from the impact of whatever was thrown against it. Gritting his teeth, Severus briefly considered walking right back into the dormitory and doling out a second dose to the spoiled boy. However, he never gave a child more than twenty with the dense strip of polished wood that he’d currently tucked into his robes. And impossible as Draco could be, he was no exception. Perhaps Malfoy would eventually see reason, as he often did after a good day’s worth of sulking. Perhaps not. But at this very moment, another child resided in his chambers, waiting patiently for the promised discussion…at least Severus hoped that was the case.

Sighing in frustration, the professor continued his trek down the dim, stone staircase. He’d given Potter strict instructions to remain on the sofa. Usually, he wouldn’t put it past the impish Gryffindor to slip out the moment Severus reached the other side of the corridor. But as each day passed, Potter seemed to be proving him wrong on a number of his previous preconceptions of the child…regardless whether or not Severus admitted it…

Two students remained in the common room, and Severus threw them one of his iciest glares as they gawked at their head of house.

Immediately, both Slytherins ducked their heads into their open books. He’d used an elaborate silencing charm on the dormitory, but it was clear that the two fifth-years had most likely pieced the puzzle together by now. Severus smirked in satisfaction at the sight of their hunched shoulders—eyes feverishly scanning their school books—as he swept silently out of the black and silver haven.

As Severus approached his office entrance and turned the handle with a simple click, he suddenly realized that he hadn’t locked the door. However, Severus was hardly surprised as he stared at the small boy, sprawled out and still as he lay, stomach down, on the black leather sofa. The blanket had pooled in an accordion-like heap on the floor.

Allowing the door to swing quietly closed, Severus moved like a cat among the ancient, worn carpet. The drawer squeaked as he opened it slowly. Ruler replaced, Severus glanced briefly at Potter; the boy was breathing deeply, his glasses askew. One of his arms hung limply off of the sofa.

This was the second time Potter had fallen asleep in his presence. Severus closed his eyes as he wearily pinched the bridge of his nose. But after a moment, the man began to welcome the silence. Clearly, Potter wasn’t going to wake anytime soon. And after the chaos of this afternoon, Severus desperately needed a moment’s peace. Moving forward, the professor stooped down and eased the blanket out from underneath the boy’s hand.

***************

Harry squirmed weakly underneath the warmth. Blurred blackness encompassed his vision as he slowly opened his eyes. Still a bit sleepy, Harry inhaled sharply through his nose as he allowed his eyes to wander.

“Go back to sleep,” a deep voice muttered from above him. But Harry knew that would be impossible. When he was up, he was up. Using his palms, he lifted his chest slightly, his warm cheek peeling away from the leather cushion. Harry’s neck felt stiff and rusty as he turned his head.

Blinking several times to relieve the stickiness around his lids, Harry eyed Snape in a nearby armchair, a book turned over his knee to mark his place.

Wait a minute…Harry thought. And then reality blasted him like a cold shower. He’d fallen asleep in Snape’s chambers.

Harry sat up abruptly, throwing the covers off and looking around wildly for his glasses, unconsciously emitting some sort of strange, sleepy noise.

“No, lie back down—“ Snape began. But Harry paid him no mind. Growling and tossing his book on a nearby table, the professor stood.

“My glasses…” Harry mumbled, a scowl forming on his face as he leaned over and felt along the rough carpet.

Suddenly, Harry felt a firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him back against the cushions. “Here,” Snape said, holding Harry’s glasses close to his face, “And calm down, Potter. You’re working yourself up for no good reason.”

Harry snatched his glasses out of Snape’s hand and placed them on his nose carelessly. He propped himself up on his knees, nearly ripping his robes as he yanked them out from under his own weight.

“Sit still!” Snape barked.

Immediately, Harry released his robes and sat back on his heels, staring up at the man with wide eyes and a blank expression. His heart began to thrum loudly from the combination of his recent wake and the harsh command.

“I’m sitting,” Harry insisted, bewildered, “Why are you yelling at me?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed darkly. Although he was a bit startled by the forwardness of the boy’s question, he ignored it. “You merely fell asleep. There is no need to flail about like a mindless idiot, Potter.”

Eyebrows bunched in thought, Harry scratched absently at the hot skin of his cheek. As his fingernails trailed over the indented wrinkles along his jaw-line, Harry wondered how long he’d been lying on Snape’s sofa. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. The last thing he remembered was watching the tiny sparks float up the chimney as they separated from the dancing flames.

“How long was I out?” Harry asked, trying not to sound as embarrassed as he felt.

Snape edged backwards until he reached the armchair he’d just vacated. Taking a seat, he gazed in mild annoyance at the rumpled, messy-haired child. “Half an hour,” Snape replied, lacing his fingers together.

“Oh,” Harry mumbled, eyes traveling around the room briefly before focusing on his professor once more. “So do you still wanna talk to me, or can I go?”

Snape snorted. “Wouldn’t the latter option be blissful…” he commented dryly.

“Huh?”

The man rubbed a hand across his eyes. “I suppose it would be foolish of me to assume that you now see the error of your brash actions, wouldn’t it, Mr. Potter?”

Harry made a face. He could already feel the irritation itching at his stomach. He was never in a good mood when he woke up. Besides, if Snape wasn’t up to a lengthy conversation, then why did Harry have to sit here and deal with the man’s lack of patience?

“I dunno,” he replied quietly. He shrugged, feeling abnormally brave for someone who had just received quite the tanning. “You didn’t exactly give me a chance to explain what happened.”

Snape lowered his hand and raised an eyebrow simultaneously, but Harry continued.

“And I don’t really get why I had to be the one to walk away.” He slipped his feet out from under his seat while he spoke, accustomed to the fact that his toes barely touched the carpet. “I mean, what would you do if someone was having a go at one of your friends just because he could…and then when you ignore him, he throws a bloody stone at your head…”

“Mind your tongue, Potter,” Snape scolded automatically.

Glaring, Harry bounced the back of his head against the vertical cushion. Why did he waste his time explaining things to Snape? But even if the man was ignoring the real issue, Harry refused to back down; he dragged his big toe back and forth across the knobby rug as he waited for his professor to respond.

Leaning into the armchair and tilting his head, Snape appeared to be studying the boy.

“Before I left you alone, what did I say was the basis of learning Defense?”

Harry frowned. “This isn’t about Defense…”

“I did not ask for a flippant answer, Potter,” Snape retorted in a steely voice, “And as I rarely blather on about trivial matters, I expect a decent response from you.”

Stemming the urge to roll his eyes, Harry exhaled noisily. “Self-control…” he muttered.

“Precisely,” Snape replied with a curt nod, “Discipline, Mr. Potter. In other words, knowing when it is appropriate to defend yourself and when it is necessary to simply walk away…to keep your guard up, yet control your temper.”

“I did…”

Snape glared.

“…at first…” Harry admitted, fingers entwined in the edge of his robes, “I really did almost walk away from him. But then he tried to hex me. And it just…I sort of snapped, I guess.”

“A simple shield charm would have sufficed, Mr. Potter,” Snape commented, his tone still rather accusatory and unforgiving.

“How am I supposed to know how to do that?” Harry inquired crossly.

“It is in your book…”

“You told me not to practice any of those spells without you!” Harry was getting angry now. “Besides, that was in the ‘Complex Spells’ section.”

Snape shifted his position in a somewhat haughty way. “I believe a child who managed to produce a wordless blasting charm would be quite knowledgeable in producing a passable Protego.”

“I’m not a child,” Harry said softly, his eyebrows knitted in frustration, “And I already told you: I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a blasting curse. It just happened…”

Snape sniffed lightly but retained eye-contact with the boy. “What exactly are you then, Potter?”

Harry looked away. He began picking at the leather upholstery on the edge of the cushion but stopped after a few seconds. Harry inclined one shoulder into a brief shrug.

Eventually, Snape stood and moved over to his desk slowly. He leaned upon the edge, supporting himself with the heels of his hands as he looked determinedly at the small pre-teen still slumped on his sofa.

“I do not expect you to have known how to produce a shield charm,” Snape said softly. “Perhaps we can look into that for our lesson tomorrow…”

At this, Harry snapped his head in Snape’s direction. He was still having a Defense lesson? Snape was so confusing…

“However, Mr. Potter,” Snape continued, “It is clear that you must learn to restrain your magical power when it is most vital.”

Harry allowed his head to sink into the back of the sofa. He’d had enough of Snape’s lectures to last him a lifetime.

“You produced wordless magic. And although you were not punished for that, specifically, without proper control and intent, wordless magic is dangerous and chaotic. That is mainly why it isn’t taught until your sixth year of study—do you hear me, Potter?”

Yes, Harry had heard. However, he continued to stare at Snape with tired eyes that were full of audacity.

“You pulled my trousers down,” Harry mumbled after a silent moment.

Taken aback by the abrupt change of subject and the child’s challenging glare, Snape pulled his face into an exasperated frown. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Potter…” he began, rubbing his eyes again.

“What? You did…”

Snape removed his hand, fixing the child with a stern look. “I can always count on you to stray from the important matter to focus on the insignificant. But yes, I did. And you deserved it. I have warned you time and again to control that blasted temper of yours…”

“You never told me that would happen,” Harry insisted.

“I didn’t have to,” Snape retorted calmly. “You know generally what to expect for misbehavior, Potter. Perhaps you will think twice next time you decide to dart down the corridor like a raging lunatic…”

Harry squeezed the material of his robes in his hand until he felt his fist shake. He had planned on detailing to his professor just how embarrassing and absurd it was to have been punished like that. But he didn’t know what else to say. As much as he hated it, a tiny part of him knew that Snape was making a logical argument. Eventually, Harry softened his glare. His defiance was no match for his professor’s sternness. However, the thought that had been troubling him since Snape had left the office suddenly floated to the surface and was clawing at his brain.

“Why me?”

Snape stared. “What do you mean, Potter?”

Harry didn’t know exactly where he was going with his statement and the uncertainty of it made his stomach squirm. “I mean, why does it matter? I’m not trying to be smart or anything, but what’s it to you if I learn self-control or not?”

The dark eyes held an unfamiliar expression as they grazed over Harry’s inquisitive face. The boy watched as the muscles in Snape’s throat constricted and released as if he were trying to speak.

But before the man could respond, a soft knock echoed dully throughout the office.

Sparing one more narrowed glance at Harry, Snape strode immediately to the door and wrenched it open.

Harry leaned over on his hip to try and see who it was, raising his eyebrows when he heard Dumbledore’s mild voice.

“Good afternoon, Severus.”

“Headmaster…” Snape returned casually.

“The guard to my chambers notified me of your visit. I believe the gargoyle said it was quite urgent.”

Harry leaned over even further. Dumbledore’s voice sounded muffled behind the heavy door.

“Yes,” Snape replied in a hushed voice as if he were relating important information, “However, having just returned from the Ministry, I suspect you have other duties you must attend to. I will return to your chambers later this evening.”

The door opened a bit more. “Oh, that won’t be necessary, Severus,” Dumbledore assured the dark-haired professor. “Your urgencies are always top priority, my boy. I hope I’m not being too forward to request the present meeting in your chambers?”

Harry nearly panicked. After all, there he sat—half-covered up by an old afghan in his stockings on Professor Snape’s sofa. He might as well be drinking a sodding cup of hot chocolate…

A brief pause.

“Of course not, headmaster,” Snape said. Nodding once he threw open the door and held it open for the headmaster.

Dumbledore’s eyes glazed over in twinkling astonishment at the sight of Harry.

“What a pleasant surprise, Harry,” the headmaster remarked as he stepped into Snape’s office. He immediately began fishing his hand inside the deep, teal pocket of his robes. “I do believe I may have a Sherbet Ball or two left over from my trip to the ministry. I made sure to carry a small handful with me…”

“Er…that’s okay,” Harry said quickly. He unconsciously began pushing away the blanket that still rested partly on his lap.

He must have been giving Dumbledore an odd look, because when Harry braved a glimpse at Snape, the man was piercing him with one of his frigid, warning glares.

Instantly, Harry straightened his expression.

“Alas,” Dumbledore commented amusedly as he stared into his open palm, “A button.”

“Potter, you may leave,” Snape commanded, gesturing toward the open door with a sharp tilt of his head.

He’s got to be joking…

“Why? You’re just telling him about Ginny, aren’t you? I can help.”

Stiffening his upper body, Snape tightened his lips.

Harry pressed his shoulders into the cushion.

“Obey me,” Snape exclaimed humorlessly.

Instantly, Harry felt his cheeks prickle with warmth at the dour order. It was bad enough being scolded and ordered about by Snape when no one was around, but with Dumbledore here…

“Now, now, Severus,” Dumbledore said soothingly, “It sounds as if Harry is only trying to help. Perhaps provide a bit of insight, my boy?” He directed this final statement toward Harry, whose eyes were flickering back and forth between the headmaster and the grim-looking potions master.

Snape smirked in annoyance. “I assure you, Albus, Potter’s presence is rather unnecessary.”

Harry opened his mouth indignantly.

“That’s not true,” he insisted, “I can tell him about the voice in the walls…”

“He knows, Potter.”

Harry froze. Why had Snape kept this from him? He should have been the one to tell Dumbledore.

“You do?” Harry croaked.

Dumbledore glanced briefly at Snape before nodding. “Yes, Harry. Professor Snape notified me of what you’ve been hearing.”

Harry barely acknowledged the headmaster’s affirmation, for in a flash, he’d turned towards Snape with a mingled expression of incredulity and anger.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why would you do that?” Harry demanded. He felt that the small amount of trust he’d built up for Professor Snape was being slowly deflated by the sickening stab of a needle.

“The headmaster needed to know,” Snape replied, his voice poised for the upcoming confrontation. “Besides, Mr. Potter, I am not required to inform you of anything that Professor Dumbledore and I discuss. You are twelve years—“

“I know how old I am!” Harry nearly yelled. He felt the blood rush to his face as the two men stared at him. Harry’s temples pounded hotly. Blindly, he reached for his shoes, grabbing them by the laces and yanking them over to where he sat. Harry wasn’t sure why he felt so angry, but at the moment, he didn’t care.

“Now, Harry…” Dumbledore began, his voice deliberately cool and gentle. But the boy disregarded it. He focused on straightening the tongue of his right shoe and jerking the laces into a hasty knot.

“I’m leaving, all right?” Harry growled, not looking up.

“You will wait outside in the corridor for me, Potter,” Snape instructed. His voice was not gentle.

Harry paused for a second before shoving his heel into his other shoe. “I said I’d leave,” Harry said more quietly and a bit more timidly.

“And you shall. However, you will wait outside of my office. Is that clear?”

Harry sat up, pulling the last corner of the blanket out from underneath his seat. Avoiding Snape’s menacing glare, he nodded slowly.

“Good. Now go.”

Standing stiffly, Harry moved quickly as he walked toward the door, reaching behind him for the handle. He could feel the eyes of both professors penetrating the back of his head, but there was no way Harry would turn around.

He felt like slamming the door, but he didn’t. Instead, Harry tugged at it gently and allowed the door to simply swing closed. Crossing the corridor, Harry leaned heavily against the damp, stone, slamming his heel against the wall as he did so.

Harry winced. He hadn’t paid attention to how tightly he’d laced his shoes. The vicious kick made his whole foot throb. Sliding down the wall on his bum, Harry plopped down on the floor and drew his knees up slightly. The rage that had consumed his chest was ebbing quickly. However, his heart ached with a strange sense of hurt instead. And it was swelling rapidly. Resting his arms against his knees, Harry laid his cheek against his elbow as he waited for the secret conversation to end.