Harry lay with his cheek smashed against the top of the table.  He had removed his hand from under his head long ago and now sat slumped on the stool, staring absently at the uneven pattern of the stone wall.  The boy barely noticed the slight warmth that radiated through his bottom after the mild prickling had subsided, for the hollow ache in his stomach was much more profound. 

Stabbing pangs of anger and embarrassment throbbed throughout Harry’s insides, as well as a feeling he couldn’t quite explain.  However, he was aware of the heaviness it produced.  Harry was almost exhausted by the clashing emotions.  He didn’t want to sit here for another moment basking in the humiliation.  And to be honest, Harry could have cared less about slinking through the dungeon corridors in his invisibility cloak tonight.  The boy wanted nothing more than to hide in some forgotten corner of the castle, bury his head in his arms, and scream at the top of his lungs until he was hoarse.

Alone.  Isolated and forgotten where no one could give him strange looks and whisper about the Heir of Slytherin…or patronize him by forcing him to take potions and then swatting him like a child.  A place that was so dark and muffled that nothing—not even chilling whispers—could be heard.  Where Harry could rip off the mask of bravery and just be frightened.  And it didn’t matter because no one could see him.  Maybe the churning in his stomach would eventually stop.  And perhaps he could forget about the fact that the school and students were in increasing danger and simply worry about whether Ron would forget about his pride for once and accept a brand new Wizards’ Chess set from Harry for Christmas.

But Harry knew that reality couldn’t be smothered so nonchalantly.  Not for him.  And there was no one to confide in.  Dumbledore was oblivious.  McGonagall refused to listen to reason.  And Snape…

The bastard…Harry thought angrily, swallowing so thickly that he felt his temple press against the flat surface.

Snape obviously wanted “nothing to do” with Harry. 

Or at least that’s what he said before forcing me to put my head down like some sort of two-year-old…

However, somewhere in the splintered depths of Harry’s conscience, he knew that he sort of deserved those wallops and the following admonishment.  After all, Snape had warned him, hadn’t he?

Even so, remaining angry at Snape—forcing Harry to focus on one emotion—kept the tears behind his eyes.  But they continued to burn hotly.

And his stomach still twinged painfully.

Suddenly, Harry felt a shadow looming over him as dark robes encompassed his peripheral vision.

Resting his head heavily on the table, Harry struggled not to wrench his eyes upward.  He kept them stubbornly fixed upon the wall as his hands, which were pressed against the tops of his thighs, clenched the fabric of his trousers.

“Head up, Mr. Potter,” Snape ordered, keeping his tone of voice clear and commanding rather than menacing. 

Taking a bit longer than necessary, Harry lifted his head, feeling the skin of his cheek peel away from the surface.  He tried to maintain a defiant glare but found he had a hard time even making eye contact. 

Perhaps his resentment wouldn’t sustain him.

“I am only going to say this once, Potter,” Snape began, silkily as ever, “Eyes up when I am addressing you!” the man asserted his authority a bit more harshly with this second imperative statement.

Harry gritted his teeth as he snapped his head up.

Snape was in closer proximity than Harry thought.  The man was leaning forward, gripping the edge of the desk with the heels of his hands.

“I am not an idiot.  You are clearly up to something, Potter,” Snape informed the boy quietly, “and you are doing a poor job of hiding it.  Your countenance is easier to read than a first-year Hufflepuff’s.”  The man couldn’t suppress a smirk at the last.

Breathing shallowly, Harry was torn between shouting an obscenity at his tormenting professor and bolting from the room.  But he knew that he’d do neither.

“As such,” Snape continued, leaning even closer, “I would advise you to either come clean right now or cease whatever scheme you are plotting, because I promise you Potter, I will find out one way or another.”

Harry tried hard not to squirm under the penetrating glare.  There was no way in the nine circles of hell that the boy could give himself up and betray his friends again.  And besides, Harry knew—he just knew that Snape would pummel his arse either way. 

No…Harry would do what he always did—work it out on his own.  He was the one with an invisibility cloak, and obviously the only one who cared enough to take risks for the good of Hogwarts.  Besides, he had Ron and Hermione to stand beside him.  Harry didn’t need anyone else.

The boy suddenly felt a stream of confidence surge through his veins, and he hardened his eyes.

“It’s as simple as that, is it?” Harry retorted softly. 

Snape straightened up and narrowed his own gaze.

“Mind your cheek, Potter.”

Harry’s heart hammered in anger and exasperation, but he said nothing.

“Very well.  Consider yourself warned,” Snape said coldly as he turned and stalked over to the supply cupboard in the back of the room. 

Wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers, Harry listened to the blood thrumming thickly against his eardrums, barely conscious of the clanging noises and quite apathetic toward whatever Snape was gathering. 

Strolling briskly to the front of the room, Snape surprised Harry by slamming a slightly rusted cauldron in front of him, along with an old set of scales and a few other ingredients.

“Before officially beginning your detention for the night, you will spend the next hour rebrewing the deflating antidote that you so thoroughly destroyed this afternoon,” Snape exclaimed, the iciness in his voice still evident around the edge, “If you are able to bottle an acceptable potion by the end of the hour, you will receive half-credit for the day’s work.”

What is he playing at? Harry wondered, bewildered.  One minute, Snape was scowling and smacking, and the next he was offering up some sort of make-up assignment.  Since when did he ever do that?

“Er…I don’t really—“

“Whatever your about to say, Potter, spare me,” Snape snarled, his back turned as he waved his wand at the chalkboard for the second time that day, “You do not have a choice in this matter.  I suggest you begin.”

Harry briefly wondered what would happen if he refused to brew the potion—better yet if he just took the zero.  It was his grade, wasn’t it?  If he wanted to fail, he had that choice.  Snape was already taking control of too much in Harry’s life.  If the git thought he was going to start monitoring Harry’s academic progress, well—

“Unless you’d like to sit here all night on that stool, you will begin now,” Snape stated firmly, imperiously, jerking Harry out of his thoughts.

“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled, reaching over the top of the cauldron to pick up a knotted clump of ginger root.

Slicing the root carefully so he would not have to start over, Harry began working on the potion.  Maybe he didn’t have any control over this situation.  But he did, however, have the power to do whatever he wanted when Snape wasn’t watching him.  And tonight, that included taking Malfoy down if the slime ball happened to spill his guts in the dormitory. 

No one but Harry possessed the means to uncover the Slytherin’s secret, and regardless whether he wanted to go through with this, Harry felt obligated.

If everything went as planned, Harry would have no problem getting into the common room undetected.  He just knew it.  And once he got the information he needed, Harry would cool it for a while—stay out of trouble, he decided as he peeled and sliced another ginger root. 

Glancing miserably over at the three glimmering buckets filled to the brim with slimy toads, Harry also decided at that moment that he would concentrate as hard as he could on completing his work.  He didn’t want to spend a second longer than necessary in the gloomy dungeons. 

He couldn’t risk any mistakes tonight.  Not when so much depended on this plan, whether or not anyone would realize it...or even appreciate it. 

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

A few minutes past 9:30, Harry clambered into the Gryffindor common room only to have his wadded invisibility cloak thrown towards him.  Just missing the cloak by centimeters, it hit him in the face and rolled down his torso.

“Hey!” Harry exclaimed, slightly indignant.

“Oh, Sorry!” Hermione cried as she moved forward to retrieve the crumpled cloak, “I thought you would catch it.”

Hermione’s face was flushed with excitement, and she was uncharacteristically hyper.  That could only mean one thing…

“I did it, Harry!” the girl whispered enthusiastically, “You should have seen the look on Malfoy’s face at dinner…all sly and secretive.  He definitely knows something.”

Harry tried to match her excitement.  He really did.  But he was still a bit nauseous from the fumes of dead toads, not to mention, he was still smarting mildly from Snape’s cold indifference over the past few hours.  Harry had brewed a nearly perfect deflating antidote, and as he brought the labeled vial up to Snape’s desk, he was rewarded with nothing more than a Get to work on the toads, Mr. Potter. 

But Harry didn’t care really.  It’s not like it was uncommon for Snape to ignore Harry’s accomplishments.  He just thought that maybe…

No…I don’t care, Harry told himself firmly. 

The only thing he needed to worry about now was his upcoming return to the dungeons. 

Harry moved over to the empty long table surrounded by several chairs and hoisted himself up to sit on top of it.

“So what did you write in that letter anyway?” Harry asked, swinging his legs as forced his mind to focus on the present. 

“Oh, just something about sharing important Slytherin knowledge with dependable comrades,” Hermione answered, walking over to stand by Harry, “I added the words ‘midnight’ and ‘dormitory’ near the bottom of the note to try and give Draco a clue.  I figure that even if it causes a bit of confusion, some sort of conversation will have to take place, won’t it?” the girl added as she bit her lip uncertainly.

Harry shrugged.  Who even knows…

“Sure,” he told his friend, attempting to reassure her.  Besides, there was no turning back now...no need to harp on all of the details.  “Hey, what about Malfoy’s owl? Harry suddenly remembered, “How’d you get it to give you the package?”

Hermione smiled and leaned against the back of an armchair, “Calming draught,” she replied simply, “I mixed it in some bread crumbs.  At first, I thought of a sleeping draught, but then I thought that Malfoy might get suspicious if his package were delivered by a school owl instead of his own.”

“Good thinking,” Harry said genuinely.  Why couldn’t he think as quickly and carefully as Hermione?

“Well,” she exclaimed with a sigh, “All we have to do now is wait for Ron.”

“Where is he?”

“He should be coming back from the Great Hall.  Percy stopped us on our way through—he was spending time with Penelope before curfew,” Hermione informed him.

“He’s still dating that Ravenclaw?” Harry wondered outloud.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “She’s a girl, Harry, not just a Ravenclaw.  Who cares who he dates…”

“No, I know,” Harry retorted quickly, not really in the mood for one of Hermione’s lectures, “I just meant that—“

But the boy paused mid-sentence as he watched the common room entrance swing open and emit an annoyed redhead. 

“Sometimes I think Mum and Dad just found Percy as a baby one day in Diagon Alley,” Ron said with a scowl, “He’s such a prat…there’s no way he can be my brother.”

Hermione fixed Ron with a scowl of her own, “Oh, that’s really kind, Ronald,” the girl scoffed sarcastically, “but if you’re going by prat-factor—“

“So are we ready then?” Harry interrupted before the two erupted into an argument.  He slipped off of the table and shook out his invisibility cloak.

“Whoah, mate, hold up a minute,” Ron exclaimed, “We have to wait until at least eleven when all the Slytherins will be going back for curfew.”

Harry sighed.  He was getting restless already and just wanted to begin the whole ordeal so they could finish. 

“I need to go down in the dungeons anyway and follow someone to the common room.  It’s got to be close to Snape’s office.  I know where that is,” Harry muttered, not wanting to go into detail about that.

“Still,” Hermione added, “It’s barely ten o’clock.  It’ll be a good half-hour before anyone heads down there.  Ron’s right.”

The tall boy smiled in thanks while Harry frowned and rolled his eyes.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Hermione inquired suddenly, “You seem a bit on-edge.”

Harry knew that was most likely an understatement, as the boy was fidgeting and cracking his knuckles profusely.

“I’m fine,” he lied easily, “Just anxious to get down there, you know?”

Yeah…down and back…and away from Snape, Harry thought.  It was ridiculous how quickly his confidence was waning.  One minute he was completely poised, and the next, he wanted to climb under his covers and forget the whole thing.

But Hermione simply nodded, and Harry was grateful.

“Well,” Hermione continued, “I think the two of you should get into your pajamas before you get under the cloak.”

“What for?” Ron wondered as he narrowed his eyes and claimed Harry’s spot on the tabletop. 

“Because, Ronald, if either of you are caught, you could pretend that you’ve been sleep walking or something,” Hermione explained a bit impatiently. 

Ron chortled under his breath.  “Very smooth.”

“Oh, shut up, Ron!  At least one of us is thinking about these things!” Hermione nearly shouted as she pushed herself angrily up from the back of the chair.

“She’s right.”

Ron looked at Harry, the boy’s mouth open to retort.

“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione replied with a nod, clearly satisfied. 

Unlike Harry, Ron didn’t even attempt to stave off a vulgar gesture.  But Hermione had turned her back and didn’t catch it. 

“Go get changed, you two,” Hermione ordered, as she stooped to pick up her books, “I’m going to go read in my room.  It’ll look less suspicious.”  Hermione began to make her way toward the stairs, “Harry,” she added, pausing at the door, “be careful.  You too, Ron.” 

“We will,” Harry answered quietly.

“Good.  But if you’re not back by midnight, just know that I’ll be sitting up here in the dormitory, very nervous,” Hermione exclaimed as she started climbing the stairs, “So hurry!” the girl called over her shoulder.

Ron shook his head after they watched Hermione climb to the top, “She’s completely mental.”

“In a good way, though,” Harry answered, continuing to stare at the empty stairs.

“Whatever you say, mate,” Ron said with a sigh.

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

Severus reclined in the leather arm chair that sat across from the fireplace in his study.  He sipped at the bourbon he had poured only minutes before, delighting in the potency and burn of the light drink as it ran warmly down his throat. 

Friday night after lessons was the only time of the week that Severus allowed himself a finger-full of firewhiskey to wind down from the stress of teaching so many classes full of incompetent dunderheads. 

And if that weren’t enough, now the Potter brat was making his day.  A part of Severus longed to simply fall back into a comfortable, apathetic pattern when it came to dealing with the boy.  The more time he spent with Potter, the more he became aware of the child’s stubborn aloofness.  But although the boy had a knack for causing Severus distress, his outright defiance tonight had been slightly startling.  However, Severus forced himself to remain quite composed, delivering the two smacks as a mere warning, even though he felt like giving the boy a thorough lesson on respecting authority.  But deep down, the professor knew there was something…off about the boy.  There was a vast rigidness in Potter’s face, and entire body for that matter, that spoke of a different kind of distress…

Suddenly a crash-like noise reverberated off of the walls outside of his Severus’s study.  

Replacing the barely drunk bourbon on a side table, the man stood up quickly but quietly, listening for any further noise. 

It was well past eleven o’clock.  Even though he didn’t expect his Slytherins to be asleep this early on a Friday night, he knew they should all be pent-up in the common room.  And the odd, clanking crash hadn’t come from that direction. 

The only Slytherin that Severus had caught out of bed lately was Draco Malfoy, and that incident had occurred almost a year ago.  McGonagall’s look of smug triumph as she dragged the small blonde by his ear to Severus’s office was quite disgusting, the man had decided.  Needless to say, Draco wasn’t foolish enough to shame his head of house twice.  The boy had learned his lesson the first time—Severus made sure of it.  The arrogant child remained subdued for an entire week, appearing grave even around Crabbe and Goyle…

Another clang.

Begrudgingly, Severus threw on his outer robes over his dark shirt and trousers and marched briskly to the door of his study.

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

Harry froze at the sound of the crash.

The distinct clanking could only have come from the suit of armor that Ron was crouching behind at the far end of the corridor. 

For the past ten minutes, he had been kneeling in front of the sealed common room, desperately tugging at the edge of his cloak that was wedged between the tightly closed entrance. 

Harry had waited impatiently against the stone wall until the very last Slytherin came barreling down the corridor.  Malfoy had been one of the first to return, a determined look plastered on his face as he walked quickly—alone. 

Carefully, Harry followed Adrien Pucey as closely as he dared, the straggling Slytherin moving swiftly as it was only a minute or two until curfew. 

The common room was only a half-corridor’s length from Snape’s office.  Harry was right. 

“Pureblood,” the chestnut-haired Chaser spoke clearly as the portrait swung open to reveal the room laced with green and silver.  He stepped through.

And the door was swinging shut already—much faster than the portrait of the Fat Lady—and Harry peeled himself away from the wall, almost jogging. 

But almost as if the door could sense a stranger, it snapped closed before Harry could even slip through the crack. 

“Damn!” Harry whispered. 

I’m such an idiot!  Why didn’t I follow closer?

The boy tried to move away, before he suddenly realized that his invisibility cloak had gotten caught.

“Oh no…” Harry groaned as he stooped in an attempt to free it.

He was stuck.  And Harry couldn’t risk ripping the cloak. 

After waiting fruitlessly for a while in hope of another Slytherin, Harry finally sat back on his heels and did the only thing he could think of:

“Pureblood,” he whispered.

Nothing happened.  Harry was beginning to sweat.

He tried again, louder this time, but still, the portrait remained tightly shut.

A crash from down the corridor caused him to jolt madly, and Harry froze in tingly fear. 

Another sharp noise, and Harry bolted into action.

“Pureblood!” he cried loudly.  And when the portrait had swung open only an inch, the boy swept his cloak out of the way and dashed down the corridor, seeming to forget that with only two steps forward, he would have been in the Slytherin common room.

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

Harry ran.  He didn’t care if his ankles were peeking out from underneath the cloak as it swept behind him. 

The sudden glitch in the plan coupled with the crashing noises had caused Harry to panic.  If Ron was caught, it was all his fault. 

Thinking only of his friend, who didn’t have the luxury of concealing himself under an invisibility cloak, Harry dashed around the corner.

As the boy flew past Snape’s office, an icy whisper penetrated through the stone walls to Harry’s brain, louder than ever before. 

Chills ran up and down the boy’s body as he stood in place, turning around wildly, searching for the source of the noise.

Kill…Kill…

Harry felt dizzy, and he couldn’t suppress a small, sob-like noise from escaping his lips. 

He made to run again, almost reaching Ron’s hiding place.

 Ripping…Tearing…Blood… 

Harry stumbled and banged his knee painfully on the stone floor, skidding a few inches as his invisibility cloak flew over him.  The boy buried his head in his arms as he lay on his stomach. 

Just make it go away…please, Harry thought desperately. 

“Potter!”

Harry didn’t move. 

Oh, god…

The boy felt strong hands grasp him underneath his arms—none too gently—and set him roughly on his feet.  His invisibility cloak was gone. 

Snape grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him sternly.

“I knew it!” the man spat, his face slightly contorted in the moonlight.  He tightened his fingers around Harry’s upper arm and dragged the trembling boy back down the corridor to his study.

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

When they reached Snape’s quarters, Harry expected to be shoved roughly into the office as he was the last time Snape had hauled him down the corridor.  However, the man only stood Harry next the fireplace as he moved behind his desk to retrieve the chair that was pushed underneath it. 

One of the legs of the armless chair smashed into the desk as Snape pulled it out and plunked it in the middle of the rug. 

Harry unconsciously backed up a few steps.  He knew what was going to happen.

“Don’t you dare move!” Snape barked, causing Harry’s stomach to shrivel from the harsh tone.

The professor reached out and grabbed Harry around the shoulders with both hands, yanking him forward.  But before Snape sat down, Harry began writhing in his grasp.

“Don’t!...” Harry yelled as he struggled, his own voice sounding foreign in his ears, “Get off of me!”

But as always, Harry’s exertion was pointless.  Snape held him firmly until he stopped squirming.

“Please don’t…” Harry finally croaked, feeling exhausted and jittery and close to tears, as he stood stiffly.

“Potter,” Snape spoke quietly, “You were warned what would happen, were you not?”

Harry stared into the fire and barely nodded.  He half-expected Snape to grab his chin again and force him to make eye-contact.  And if that were the case, Harry might explode. 

But he didn’t.

“Then there is nothing to debate.” 

Snape sat down, now holding onto Harry’s wrist. 

“Bend over,” Snape commanded instead of pushing the boy across his lap.  He figured that the less forceful he had to be, the more Potter would realize that he, and no one else, had gotten himself into trouble. 

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, his heart hammering so loudly he was sure it could be seen.  The boy knew he should be mortified…twelve and about to receive his first spanking…but Harry couldn’t stop trembling.  He was scared.

“Go on, Potter,” Snape nodded, slightly surprised at the state of the boy. 

Rigidly, Harry leaned over until he felt a hand pressing down in the middle of his back.  Was he just supposed to hang there?  He didn’t know.  But the pressure on his back told him to continue lowering his torso. 

Snape adjusted the boy before wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him.  It was clearly obvious that Potter had never been spanked before.  The child was clenching every muscle in his body.

Pushing Harry's sweatshirt out of the way, Snape raised his hand and smacked the thinly-covered bottom before him. 

Harry jerked over the man’s lap and held his breath as the sting began to blossom.  He silently cursed Hermione for the pajamas suggestion.  He wished he were wearing jeans.

The boy held his breath as the next several smacks fell low and hard.  He couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been tonight.  It was as if every burning smack went straight to his brain, punctuating the memory of each idiotic thing Harry had done this week. 

Trying not to squirm from the concentrated, methodical ache, Harry squeezed his shut and grabbed two handfuls of whatever material was before him. 

 Why didn’t he just tell Snape?...It couldn’t have been worse than right now…And then there was the noise…and how chilling it was…and Harry couldn’t take any more funny looks from his classmates…and now they’d never know about Malfoy…and more people would be petrified…and Harry should have told someone…anyone…and god, it stings…and he wondered if there was a potion that would take the twinge out of his bum…the way the sock potion cleared his sinuses…and the twisting in his chest…and oh no, Harry…don’t cry…don’t!... 

And suddenly Snape felt a heaving pressure on his knees.  He knew the boy was crying.  Not loudly, but deep, almost silent sobs.  The stiffness of Harry's limbs had diminished.  Snape stopped the spanking.  He’d barely delivered a good twenty smacks, and the boy was weeping, his body wracking each time he inhaled. 

Flabbergasted, Snape place his hands under the boy’s arms to lift him.  The man’s robes were still tightly clenched in his small fists.

“Let go, Potter,” Snape ordered, almost gently, and slowly, Harry’s fingers released the wrinkled material. 

As he stood, Snape moved over to the sofa and sat the boy down on one of the cushions to compose himself. 

Harry immediately brought one hand up to cover his eyes, pushing his glasses up to rest on his forehead.  The twelve-year-old was still crying quietly, as he sat, hunched over.

Tentitively, Snape took a seat on the sofa next to Harry.  He slowly reached out and removed the boy’s glasses from the top of his head, as they threatened to come toppling down. 

“I hope you have learned your lesson, Mr. Potter,” Snape stated awkwardly.  He wasn’t exactly sure whether to console the boy or lecture him. 

Harry didn’t even nod.  His face was scrunched up tightly behind his palm.

Something was wrong with this boy.  No one cried this heart-brokenly over a spanking.

Snape moved closer.

“Potter…” he tried again.

But as soon as the word left the professor’s mouth, Harry removed his hand, and without warning, dropped his head heavily on Severus’s shoulder.  The boy didn’t attempt to put his arms around the man; he simply rested his forehead, his breath coming in hitches. 

Completely taken aback, Severus stared down at the child.  Potter looked pathetic.  The man was almost half-tempted to shrug him off.  But he didn’t.  Instead, he slowly reached his arm around, lacing his fingers through the boy’s untidy hair and held the back of the his head.  Snape’s hand itched from delivering the sharp smacks, and Potter’s hair felt prickly to the touch, but he retained his hold.

Snape said nothing for several long moments, listening only to the crackling of the fire and an occasional hiccoughing sob.

Finally, he found his tongue but struggled with the words:

“What is it, Potter?” Snape inquired simply, bewildered. 

And receiving no response, Snape gave the boy’s head a fleeting squeeze and waited patiently, watching as the tears bled through the fabric and soaked the shoulder of his robes.