Harry stared at Snape, bewildered. A family? What in the world did Harry know about a family? But then the thought of Snape being his father made Harry angry, furious in the space of two seconds when his confusion turned to rage.

"No," Harry said defiantly. "No, you're not my father."

"Is it so unimaginable?" Snape sneered. "Is it so inconceivable that I, Severus Snape, could have been your father?"

"Yes!" Harry squeaked, his voice high pitched and frantic. "My dad wasn't you - my dad would never have been you."

Snape's eyes glittered dangerously, and Harry knew he had pushed another one of Snape's buttons, something small that he said to send Snape into a fit of temper.

"My dad was good," Harry went on, not even knowing why he kept talking. "My dad was a hero. You're just a - a bully!"

Snape laughed, an ugly short sound in his throat. "I'm the bully? I'm the bully? Oh, poor Potter, how horribly naïve you are, so completely stupid. You really know nothing, do you? Dumbledore's kept you so hidden away, clueless, his precious child all alone in the dark."

"What?" Harry blinked. "Dumbledore hasn't hidden me - he let me go to Hogwarts."

"Let you go?" Snape laughed again. "As if anything could have kept you from going."

"My aunt and uncle tried," Harry persisted. "We even moved, went to an island, but Hagrid found me. He told me about my parents, what happened to them."

"And did he tell what your father was like?" Snape's voice was icy. "Did he tell you what your father did, the cruelty he inflicted?"

"My dad wasn't cruel," Harry insisted. "He was good. He loved my mum, and he - he -" Harry broke into another fit of coughing.

Snape watched him coldly and then reached out to clap him smartly on the back. Harry managed to stop coughing, and Snape pushed him back against the pillows, shaking his head.

"Stop these hysterics. We're a family now, and that's the end of it."

Chest aching, Harry looked up at Snape and tried to think. There must be someway he could outsmart Snape. He was already playing Snape's games better than he was; how bad would it be if he just went along with this game?

The talk about Dumbledore had calmed his fears somewhat. Remembering what had happened last year, Harry was sure Dumbledore would do something if Harry didn't show up for school. But that was so long away . . .

"The looks on your face are idiotic," Snape sneered. "It appears that you really are quite stupid."

Harry snapped his gaze up to Snape. "You can't call me that."

"What did you say?" Snape hissed.

"If we're playing the family game, you have to call me by my first name," Harry pointed out.

"I have to do no such thing."

"If you want me to think it's real, you do," Harry stood his ground. "No father calls his son by someone else's last name. That's dumb. You have to call me Harry."

"I do not," Snape crossed his arms.

"Fine," Harry crossed his own arms, "but when you call out Potter, you'll look at me and you'll know I think you're playing the game all wrong and that I don't believe it for a second."

Snape raised his hand, and Harry flinched, hoping he was not about to get slapped. But then Snape lowered his hand and growled,

"Very well, Harry. But I better not see any obstinate looks on your face from now on. We play the game my way. No," Snape realized what he had said, "we're not playing a game at all - we are a family now. And what do you say to me?"

Harry swallowed, knowing exactly what Snape wanted. "Y-Yes, Father."

He expected Snape to smirk cruelly, to delight in Harry's breaking, but Snape only replied, "That's right. It's Father to you, young man."

So the game had started. Harry weighed his options, whether he should keep resting or keep talking or what. How did sons talk to their fathers? He tried to remember Dudley's yelling at Uncle Vernon for more toys or food or to change the telly, but Harry didn't think that Snape would be that kind of father.

It hit Harry suddenly - not all fathers were the same, were they? He couldn't just shrug and say one father was the same as the next if they were all different. Should he ask Snape what kind of father he would pretend to be? Harry already knew the response to that: a coldly raised eyebrow and "What kind do you think?"

"Roll over on your stomach," Snape ordered.

Harry immediately felt fear, but he knew better than to disobey by this point. Slowly, he turned over, clutching his pillow with both hands. "Please don't spank me . . . Father," Harry whispered.

It seemed in keeping with the game - wouldn't real sons beg not to be punished? As he waited anxiously, Harry wished he had asked his schoolmates more about their fathers. Ron's dad, or Hermione's, even Dean Thomas's - some information would be nice right now. If he knew, Harry could protest that fathers didn't punish sons when they did nothing wrong, but since Harry did not really know, he could do nothing but hold onto the pillow and hope Snape would not wallop him.

He felt Snape's fingers at the back of his neck, drawing back the covers. But Snape dropped them at the small of Harry's back, baring only his nightshirt-covered back. Then Snape began to tug up his nightshirt.

Harry wanted to protest; Snape had already seen him naked and helped into the underwear that Harry was wearing right now, but Harry was almost twelve and he didn't see why Snape thought he could undress him anytime he wanted. However, Harry stayed quiet, and Snape only pulled the nightshirt up to his shoulders, baring Harry's back.

An image of a Muggle movie suddenly came to Harry, one of those movies about ships and sailors and he remembered that sailors got whipped across their backs, usually with pieces of braided leather or something scary called the cat o' nine tails. The movie had frightened Harry; he was only six and Uncle Vernon had laughed and said they should send him to sea to straighten him out. Surely Snape would not whip him across the back, he wouldn't - that wouldn't be keeping within the game! They weren't playing sailors.

Snape laid his hand on Harry's back, and Harry jerked, barely able to keep from pulling away.

"Your hands are cold," he squealed before he could stop himself.

"Hold still," Snape told him.

Snape's hand felt like ice, and they were moving so slowly up his bare skin - Harry buried his face in the pillows and held on, his shoulder shaking as he tried to stay still and not burst into wild laughter as the ticklish touch.

"Stop that," Snape ordered. When Harry did not, Snape smacked his bottom, but with the covers piled up, it didn't really hurt. "If you don't stop moving, I can't heal you. I mean it, I want you to stay - oh, fine, have it your way."

Something hot and heavy landed on the middle of his back. Harry raised his face, gasping from the pain that rushed on him suddenly, burning his skin. But then the pain disappeared, and he felt his eyelids grow too heavy, and he slumped forward towards the pillow. He never did hit the pillow as his world went completely black.

Snape stood over the bed for a few moments, watching the slumbering boy. Then Snape removed the warm stone from where it lay on the middle of Harry's back. The boy would sleep for the rest of the day and the night, awakening in the morning nearly healed. That was the power of the healing stone, but it could not be used until the patient was on the road to recovery.

Snape pulled down the nightshirt over Harry's back; there was a red blotch on the pale skin where the stone had been, but Snape knew that would disappear in minutes.

"Come," he said to Vampyr, "let's go contemplate new tortures for my son."

The dog whined, turning his huge head towards the bed.

"Then stay and chew him to pieces," Snape snarled. He stormed out of the room, leaving the dog alone with the sleeping boy.

A few minutes, Snape came back in the room and stalked to the bed. He yanked the covers off Harry, roughly turned him onto his back, and flung the covers over him again. The boy needed to be on his back to breathe properly, though Snape was sure he did not care if the brat healed or not. Harry did not wake, and Snape stooped to pick up all the figurines, setting all five figurines on the bedside stand. Snape glanced at Harry whose flushed cheeks had began to cool, his dark lashes resting peacefully, his lips together, a darling little angel, Snape sneered.

Grabbing the iron dragon, Snape snapped the wings off in one vicious motion. The toy dragon tried to bite his finger, but Snape set it down by the others, tossing the broken wings beside it. He considered mutilating the other figurines - how awful to wake up and find all his toys broken! - but Snape did not.

He stopped to sneer at his dog who gave a short bark, and then Snape disappeared from the room.

------

Harry yawned as he woke up, rubbing at his eyes. He felt so much better, a bit stiff and very hungry and thirsty, but not sick anymore. He reached for his glasses and felt the figurines. Hastily putting on his glasses, Harry grabbed the figurines but found the dragon with its wings broken off. Dismayed, Harry took the dragon in one hand and the wings in his other.

The dragon looked up at him sorrowfully, and Harry said, "How did your wings get broken off? Did -" Harry looked at Vampyr.

The dog gave a short bark, shaking its muzzle back and forth.

"Evil bat," Harry muttered as he glared at his open doorway, feeling very sorry for the dragon that could no longer pretend to fly. Struck by an idea, Harry held the two snapped-off wings between his thumb and forefinger and moved his hand up at down.

"Look, it's a bat," he told the dragon. "An evil, ugly bat. Eat the bat - kill the bat," he brought his hand towards the dragon, and the dragon started snapping and growling at his make-believe bat.

"Destroy the bat," Harry cheered. "Rip him to pieces -"

"A-hem!" Snape coughed loudly from the doorway.

Startled, Harry dropped the wings and bit his lip as Snape approached the bed.

"Are we still in bed . . . Harry?"

Snape seemed to have trouble with the name, but at least Harry knew they were playing the game right.

"Sorry, Father," he muttered.

"Get dressed and come down to breakfast," Snape ordered. "Those are your new clothes."

As Snape went out, Harry crawled out of bed and went into the bathroom to wash up. When he came out, he went to examine his new clothes. He hoped it wasn't anything too awful, but then again he doubted that any outfit could be worse than the schoolboy costume with the heavy shoes. These clothes were not too bad: dark trousers, a thin collared shirt that buttoned down the front, and dark socks and shoes. Harry had put the trousers on and reached for the shirt when he saw the suspenders. Black suspenders with button ends, two lengths going over his shoulder to met in the back.

Harry rolled his eyes. No one wore suspenders anymore; what was wrong with Snape? Why couldn't the man do anything normal? Even robes would have been better than stupid suspenders.

"Got to make me miserable somehow," Harry sighed as he buttoned the suspenders in the holes of the trousers. The strips kept twisting, and even once Harry got them on, he could feel the twist in the back. Oh, well, maybe Snape wouldn't notice.

After putting on the shoes, Harry started for the door, but Vampyr growled at him.

"What?" Harry asked. "I'm all dressed, and I brushed my teeth, too."

The dog barked at the hairbrush lying on the end of the stand. Harry made a face at it, remembering how he had been trapped over the window sill while the hairbrush paddled him.

"Don't remind me," he told the dog, but Vampyr grabbed the handle of the brush in his mouth and came towards Harry. When the dog raised itself up with the brush, Harry realized the dog meant to brush his hair, and he protested,

"Okay, I'll brush my hair. Give it to me - no, I'm not letting a dog brush my own hair, that would be so stupid."

Thankfully, Vampyr let him have the brush, and Harry took it into the bathroom where he could see in the small mirror. His hair was still very short, but not quite as awful as it had been that night when Snape cut it with a razor. Harry brushed his hair as neatly as he could, but still it stood up in all directions.

"It doesn't get any neater than this," Harry tried to tell Vampyr when the dog blocked his way to the hall. "I've tried before, and it stands up. Can I please go down to breakfast before the bat comes back up?"

Vampyr moved, but trotted beside him the whole way down. Breakfast was the same as the other morning, eggs and toast for both of them. Harry barely tasted the food as he wolfed it down, swallowing his glass of milk in thirsty gulps.

"Little pig," Snape commented, but he did not insist that Harry use better manners.

Once his plate was empty, Harry reached forward to serve himself more eggs, but then hesitated. Did sons get to serve themselves or did they have to ask their fathers for more food? Catching Snape's eyes, Harry motioned to the eggs and then pointed to himself and then Snape, trying to convey the question without actually asking it.

"What?" Snape watched him, bewildered.

"Mmmm," Harry pointed to the eggs. "M M m m-m, m m m m m m-m?" he made an m-sound for every syllable in the question Can I serve myself or do you as my father? Technically, he wasn't ruining the game by asking the actual words, but hopefully Snape would catch his meaning and respond with "As your father, I serve you" or "As my son, you may serve yourself," thus keeping the game going without any interruption.

But Snape wasn't smart to figure it out, and he kept watching Harry in confusion.

Harry tired again, making his M's louder, "M M m m-m, m -"

"Stop it, Potter," Snape roared, banging his fork on the table. "You're making no sense."

"I was trying to ask if I could serve myself more food," Harry responded hotly. "If I said it, it wouldn't be right, but you keep ruining the game!"

"I am not ruining the game, you're ruing the - no, there is no game, Potter!"

"Did it again," Harry pointed out. "I bet you didn't have any friends ever, because you can't play at all."

Snape seemed to swell with fury, and a second later he grabbed Harry by the ear and marched him to stand against the only blank wall in the kitchen.

"You'll stand in the corner until I say you can leave," Snape snarled.

"It's not even a corner - it's a wall," Harry protested without turning around.

"Potter," Snape warned behind him.

"If you want me to stand in the corner, then you should keep a corner free," Harry decided as he stared at the plain wood of the wall. He had read books before where naughty children had been sent to the corner, and he knew he was right and Snape was wrong. "No one says ‘Go stand by the wall.' They say the corner because you're supposed to stand in the corner!"

"Fine!" Snape bellowed.

From the edge of his vision, Harry could see Snape stomp to one of the corners and began to clear it. Several small crates were stacked up there and pans hung on one of the walls, but Snape dragged the crates out and took down the pans. The moment the corner was empty, Snape pointed a finger at it.

"Go stand in the corner," he ordered.

"Thank you," Harry said haughtily as he stalked to the free space. He wasn't sure how close in he should go, so he stood several inches back from the two walls. After a few minutes, Harry wished he had let the whole thing go and stayed by the wall. The thing about standing in the corner was that he couldn't see anything other than the two intersecting walls; at least against the one wall, he could see things from both sides.

Snape was moving around behind him, cleaning up, and Harry wished he could ask for the last bite of the eggs, but he guessed he wasn't supposed to talk while in the corner.

As the moments dragged by, Harry reflected that the game wasn't nearly as bad as he thought it would be. Compared to the other ones, Harry wasn't being made to work or learn useless lessons or locked up in the cold. If he hadn't shouted at Snape, he would not be in the corner, and standing there, though boring, wasn't nearly as bad as being spanked. As for pretending Snape was his father - Harry still did not like the idea, but it was not as bad as it could be. Besides, Harry had never called anyone Father before, so the name did not bother him as much as it probably should have.

Had Snape made Harry call him Dad, Harry would have flatly refused - that was the name he reserved for his own dad, his real dad, and he would never call the slimy bat of a potions master Dad. Never, not in a million years -

"Harry!" Snape snapped behind him. "Turn around."

Harry did so and found Snape watching him.

"What do you say?" Snape prompted.

Harry thought quickly. What did sons say to their fathers in situations like these?

"I'm sorry, Father?" he tried, very unsure of himself.

"I know you are," Snape nodded. "Hopefully in the future you'll behave yourself better. I would hate to have to punish you more severely."

I bet you would, Harry thought sarcastically, but he said nothing.

"It's time to do the dishes," Snape pointed to the table. "I'll wash, and you dry. And you better not break any dishes."

"Will it be coming out of my allowance if I do?" Harry asked before he could think. It seemed like a question a son would ask, but Snape blanched, taken aback.

"I - what makes you think you're getting an allowance?"

Harry did not expect Snape to ever let him see a single Sickle, but he wanted to sound authentic so as he began to carry the dishes, Harry remarked, "Am I ever going to get my allowance back? I haven't got any money in months."

When Snape did not respond, Harry went on,

"I guess that's what I get for stealing your broom," Harry decided as he put the dishes in the wash bin and went to pump water. "And riding it at night. And crashing it into a tree. And then trying to hide it."

That was a fun idea - he had done all that and Snape had taken his allowance away for three months. Harry had begged for him not to, but Snape had said no arguing, and Harry had to go along with it or suffer a worse punishment, something awful with a switch from outside, Snape had hinted. And Harry would have to go cut the switch himself and bring it back, and he hated being switched so he agreed to the no allowance which was awful because he was saving up to buy something really fun and that put him back even further because -

"Good grief, boy," Snape interrupted his thoughts. "Do you ever stop? Muttering your ideas under your breath, making up these stories. You really are stupid."

"Yes," Harry nodded solemnly, "I take after my father."

"Yes, you do," Snape agreed fervently, "that rotten, spoiled little -"

Harry smirked the tiniest bit, and Snape realized what he meant, which father he was referring to.

"Back to the corner," Snape ordered.

Sighing heavily, Harry left the pump and returned to the empty corner. He realized as he stood there that it meant Snape had to do the dishes all by himself.

------

Snape was much better at playing the other games than he was with the whole father/son bit. He kept forgetting and calling Harry Potter, and Snape seemed to have no clue what fathers did during the day with their sons. They did a few chores around the house once Harry was allowed out of the corner, but it was all rather lame, Harry thought, and he found himself frustrated by lunchtime with Snape's lack of imagination.

"This is rubbish!" Harry declared as they sat down to sandwiches and cups of cold water. "Why can't you do this better? You were so mean all these days, and now you can't remember how to do anything. I know you're not doing it right, but I don't remember my father - do you remember yours?"

Snape froze, his face paler than usual. "Yes," he whispered.

"What was he like? Can you be like that?"

"Certainly," Snape said coldly. "I can be exactly like him." He took a deep breath. "You worthless piece of dung, you magical freak, I should beat you to death, you and your cow of a mother."

Harry's eyes grew big and horrified at the venom in Snape's voice.

"I wish you could stay at the school forever so I don't have to see your ugly face, so you don't come back here and lay around like the useless lump you are. I hate your hair, your nose, your nasty teeth. Why don't you do us all a favor and just die?"

Snape jumped up from his seat and went out of the kitchen, seething.

Harry sat still in his seat, barely moving. Had Snape's father actually said those things? Harry knew they were not about him, but still they hurt, stinging and making the corners of his eyes prick.

Harry sat all alone in the kitchen for a moment, and then he made a decision. He stood up, walked out the kitchen door into the garden, and headed for the huge tree. Vampyr was nowhere to be seen, and Harry began to climb the tree.

He had gotten high enough to see over the garden wall, and he could see the other houses, exactly like Snape's but most looking abandoned. Harry began to crawl out on a limb that would allow him to drop down on the other side of the wall.

He turned his body to let himself hang by his arms before he jumped, but as he moved, his twisted suspenders snagged on the edge of a broken branch.

Harry found himself hanging in mid-air with his suspenders pulled tight against his chest and his trousers, refusing to let him fall. Harry squirmed, hoping to pull himself free, but his suspenders only drew farther down the branch, keeping him up in the air.

Harry tried to reach back, but he couldn't get his fingers far enough to touch the back of the suspenders.

Hedwig came into sight, flying down in front of him and hooting at him.

"I'm trying," Harry protested.

He suddenly reached to the front of his trousers and began unbuttoning the front of the suspenders. They were pulling very tight, and he wiggled back and forth to loosen them.

Then something truly awful happened. The front suspenders came free, but the back was still caught the tree. Harry flipped forward, falling head first towards the ground. He yelled, but then something caught him. His trousers were pulled off, but caught around his ankles.

Harry found himself hanging upside down, his shirt sliding down to bunch under his chin, his boxers giving him the last bit of dignity as he hung with his trousers holding his ankles up.

Harry was sure he would fall any moment, and then he hoped he would because from his position he could see the top half of the kitchen door to Snape's house.

And the door was opening slowly as Harry swayed from the tree branch.