Harry winced as Snape's hand came down hard on his thigh. He had to admit, though, the greasy-no, after last night he was Snape, might be Snape for a good long while-had been decent about the whole thing. Given him a choice, even. That was new.

He was beginning to regret having chosen to take the smacking, though, because Snape was walloping him really hard. He hadn't had to go get a switch, because, as Snape said, he hadn't meant to disobey ( more or less), but Snape was determined to make his point.

At least once it was done it was over. His other option had been staying in his room for a few days. Harry knew Snape wouldn't starve him and would let him go to the loo and all that; but Harry had a deeply ingrained hatred for anything resembling a cage, no matter how comfortable it was. So he'd chosen the smacking.

Snape rested his hand on the boy's back. The little brat, he had to admit, was handling it very well. Potter was gasping and sniffling but thus far had refrained from the wailing theatrics of some of the Slytherins Snape had had over his lap in the past twelve odd years.

He had no idea what had possessed him to ask the boy's opinion. He was an autocrat at heart, after all- most Slytherins are. Perhaps the fumes from the potion he'd been making had disrupted his brainwaves. He made a mental note to check the vents at the earliest opportunity.

Harry was having not dissimilar thoughts. When Snape had asked him, Harry had blinked. Once, twice. He eyed his guardian carefully. "Sorry, sir? What did you say?"

Snape repeated himself. He didn't seem to have gone mad. He was watching Harry with what seemed to be real curiosity. Harry felt his skin crawling under the scrutiny. He didn't like being watched, especially by a man who missed nothing.

"May I have some time to think about it, sir?" It did not go unnoticed by Snape that Harry's manners seemed to improve in direct proportion to the amount of trouble he perceived himself to be in. If he could only convince the boy that his guardian was in a constant state of low grade maniacal rage, life would be grand.

"Yes, Potter." Snape pointed to the corner and Harry gave a groan just a little louder than it needed to be before he obediently went and stood with his nose to the wall. Snape was a little pleased despite himself. The brat was taking this seriously, or as seriously as any offspring of James Potter could. He would have expected cheek about having been punished enough ( which he most certainly had not).

Harry gave the matter serious thought. It seemed to him that, were the circumstances reversed, he would be understanding. Accidents happen, after all. And really, it was only a little harmless... No it wasn't. His innate honesty made him admit it wasn't harmless at all.

Snape's remarks about a fate worse than death had not gone unheeded. He had seen Sirius' fate and knew that something almost as unpleasant could befall him at the hands of the wrong wizard; he was vaguely aware that magic had depths and peaks, unplumbed except by a few, where lurked things greater and more terrible than anything he could conceive. Sometimes he felt it in his veins, the raw power of it, and he shivered in the corner, thinking of what that power, in the hands of someone like Lucius Malfoy, could be manipulated into doing.

He was quiet so long Snape rather thought he was asleep on his feet. After the night he'd had, it wouldn't have been a surprise. Snape began to move quietly towards him, intent on giving him a good shake to wake him up.

Potter turned around, so fast they nearly collided. Harry jumped and even Snape started slightly. "Well, Potter ?"

Harry bit his cheek for a moment before he replied. "I still don't know. I'd never really thought about it until now. It's hard, isn't it?"

Snape sighed wearily. "If only you knew, Mr. Potter."

Harry thought of something. He felt scared and curious in equal measures. Drawing a deep breath, he bravely looked his guardian in the eye a moment and said casually "I wonder...what my Mum might have done."

Snape felt as though he'd been punched. He felt the blood drain from his face. Potter noticed; the boy blanched like he thought he'd given Snape a heart attack, which he damned near had. The longer Snape thought about it, though, the longer it seemed a fair question.

"Why do you ask?"

Harry knew he'd made an awful mistake but soldiered ahead. "Because I honestly can't think of what to do. I figured she'd know if she were here."

Snape nodded. "Why Lily and not James?" He had to know, given how the boy idolized his father.

"You said my Mum was the finest witch you ever knew. I guess she'd ...my Dad was...you said..." The boy shrugged helplessly.

"If you mean James was a bullying ass to me, you're correct. However, I have no doubt you loved you very much."

Harry felt a warm glow of pleasure in his stomach for a moment before he pressed on. "Yeah, but the thing with Lupin...at the shack. How could he?"

Snape made himself take a deep breath. "Because teenagers are impulsive, Mr. Potter. Because they didn't think things through. I have an idea that ...incident...was much more Black than your father. James tried to stop it once he realized it wasn't all braggadocio on Black's part. It wasn't his fault it had gone too far."

He gave his head a clearing shake. "All right, Potter, stop trying to weasel out of this by bringing up the past. Would it make it easier if I gave you a choice between two options?"

Harry nodded cautiously and Snape felt a bit better about his prospects. He was learning. Perhaps someday he'd even have a sense of self-preservation and Snape could relax and start reading paperbacks again.. Twelve years of hyper-vigilance are really quite exhausting. He wondered how Mad-Eye did it. Being utterly deranged must help, he concluded, and turned to the matter at hand.

The boy was lying very still. Snape reached into his sleeve and got his wand. ‘Accio hair brush'. Snape felt the child stiffen and he wrapped his arms a little more snuggly about the boy's skinny waist.

"By rights I ought to have switched you, you know. I don't think a few swats with a hair brush is too much compensation compared to what you might have gotten."

Harry was very tempted to argue that ‘a few' is relative to what side of the brush one is on, but wisely held his tongue. He supposed that Snape had a bit of a point.

The hair brush floated towards him and Snape caught it mid-air. Cursing himself as a soft-hearted idiot he cast a very slight, wandless cushioning charm on the brush, just a tiny one. He wanted Potter sore and attentive, not bruised and yowling, after all.

"Ten, Potter. Count them to yourself, that makes it easier."

SMACK! Harry jumped! It really stung! Not as badly as the switch, maybe, but it smarted something awful.

"Why are you being punished, Harry?"

"I went too far and almost f-fell."

SMACK! "T-Two!" Snape tightened his arm even more and shifted the boy slightly upwards.

SMACK! Harry was finding it very hard not to cry. He sniffled hard and tried to breath deeply. Snape wasn't having it. The boy would learn a normal pain response if it killed him.

SMACK SMACK SMACK! Harry couldn't keep it together anymore. The tears began to drip down his cheeks and Snape was strangely heartened to hear him sobbing slightly.

SMACK SMACK SMACK! "Owwww!" Harry felt shame through the burning pain in his backside. He was such a baby, such a stupid...SMACK!

"If I hear that again, Mr. Potter, you'll get ten more before bed tonight, is that understood?" He punctuated it with a swat with his hand and Harry twisted sharply and gave a nod. "I couldn't hear you."

"Y-yes sir!"

SMACK! The last two were on his sit spots and Harry yelped again and then went limp. Snape put the brush down at once and realized he had a lapful of crying teenager.

He began to pat Potter's back gently. "Calm down, Potter. I've given you worse than this. Deep breaths, that's right." He let the boy finish his cry in relative peace and, when he felt his breathing normalize, lifted him to his feet.

Harry was embarrassed that Snape had seen him cry so much in the last few days. Not to mention, that brush stung like hell. He dropped his head and tried to think of something, any thing to say. Snape beat him to it. "Your room until lunch, Potter, and then it's done."

He sulked a little ( just a tiny bit, mind you), although he could admit to himself that it could have been a hundred times worse. Snape called him down and he sat without undue strain, if a little squirming when he thought Snape could not see. As they were doing the dishes they heard footsteps on the porch and, looking out the window, Snape made a noise of dismay and opened the door.