The boy’s shining eyes told him that yes, it had been him. Before he could curse himself or obliviate the boy, Harry’s body had rocketed into his, grabbing him about the waist. The entirely unexpected force of the boy’s small but solid body knocked the wind out of Snape, and it was a moment before he could actually speak… Or at least that’s what he fiercely told himself.

“Yes, all right, all right,” he said testily, patting the brat gingerly on the shoulder. Were all children this… childish?

“Do you really mean it?” Harry looked up at him, but maintained his tight hold around Snape’s middle. This had the effect of digging the brat’s pointy little chin into his solar plexus, and made Severus’ words come out a tinge more breathlessly than usual – well, that’s how he explained it to himself.

“I said it, didn’t I?” he snapped. “Are you accusing me of mere insincerity or outright deceit?”

“No, no!” Harry protested, eyes widening with horror. “I just meant – I didn’t think –“

“Obviously.” Snape glared down at him. Somehow his hands were still around the little monster’s shoulders, despite his very clear intention to have pushed him away well before now.

Harry ducked his head and buried his head in Snape’s robes, further jolting the man’s midriff and forcing out a grunt.

“Thank you,” the brat mumbled into his robes.

“You’re welcome,” he replied gruffly. Merlin – what have I done? Now how will I get rid of the brat?

“Am I doing this right?” Harry asked uncertainly, still holding onto Snape as if he were never going to let go.

“Doing what right?” Snape demanded irritably. Now what was the little horror on about? Was this how it was going to be? Never ending questions? The need for constant reassurance? He himself had never been this needy! …You never had anyone to whom you could express your need, a traitorous voice at the back of his mind pointed out.

“Hugging.” Harry looked up again worriedly. “I only did it once before, when Mrs Weasley said goodbye to me and Ron at the station. She hugged him first and then she hugged me. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. Ron pulled away, but that seemed rude, so I didn’t, but I didn’t know if I was supposed to do something else instead.”

That effectively ended any questions Snape might have had about how the Muggles treated the boy.

“Right.” His homicidal fury, unable to be unleashed at the proper targets, found outlet in another direction. He pulled the boy off and set him back on the couch, pinning him with his eyes. “You and I need to have a little talk.”

Harry immediately flinched back, eyes darkening with panic. Stupid! Uncle Vernon had had these “talks” with him before. He mentally kicked himself. How could he have been such an idiot? He knew better than to try to hug someone – he’d been slapped around enough times for trying it with his relatives – and just because the professor was nice enough to help him avoid the orphanage didn’t mean that he wanted to be touched by a freak like Harry. As soon as Snape agreed to be his guardian, Harry had gone and grabbed him. No wonder he was going to catch it; he could only hope the professor wouldn’t change his mind about everything else. “I’m really sorry,” he gabbled. “I won’t do it again. I just got excited. I won’t touch you again. Honest.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. So the precious little Gryffindor didn’t want to touch the nasty Slytherin? “And just what is wrong with me that you dare not soil yourself with my touch?” he demanded menacingly. If the little brat thought that he was going to be able to insult him with impunity…

Harry’s face clouded with confusion. “It’s not you. It’s me. I know I’m not supposed to touch normal people.” Then he really panicked at Snape’s expression. “I’m sorry!” he cried out, cringing back before the inevitable blow.

“Potter!” Snape forced his fury down. He was so going to enjoy visiting those Muggles. “Stop cowering and apologizing!”

“Sor –“ Harry caught himself. He watched Snape with frightened eyes. He couldn’t understand why, given the man’s obvious rage, he hadn’t yet struck Harry. What was he waiting for?

The professor took a deep breath and used all of his occlumency skills to calm himself. “Potter,” he said, in much more measured tones. “Who, precisely, do you consider ‘normal’ people?”

Harry blinked. “Um, you know. People who aren’t freaks.”

“And who exactly is a freak?”

“Me,” Harry spoke with an utter lack of self-consciousness. He could have been discussing the color of his hair.

Snape ground his teeth. Those Muggles would pay for this. “And why are you a freak?”

“Um, well, because I’m different. You know, from normal people.” Harry studied his professor with confusion. Why was he asking such simple, basic questions? He might as well ask why the sun was hot.

“Normal people being your relatives?” Snape spat.

Harry nodded.

“Then you are considered a freak for being different to the Muggles?” Another nod. “For being a Wizard?” Another nod. “Then obviously you consider me to be a freak as well.”

Panicked, Harry started to shake his head. No, no! He hadn’t meant to insult Professor Snape!

“And therefore you need not avoid touching me, as we are both freaks together,” Snape continued inexorably, so caught up in his rage at the Dursleys that he was oblivious to the fact that he had just given the boy permission to hug him. “In fact, you can hug anyone in the Wizarding world, which includes everyone here at Hogwarts except Filch, and I cannot conceive of even you being desperate enough to hug that squib.” Harry was staring at him, mouth agape. “However, if you ever so much as contemplate hugging that walrus of an uncle of yours or any of the rest of those despicable Dursleys, I will have Madame Pomfrey confine you to the Infirmary until the mind-healers from St Mungo’s can collect you.” Snape glowered at him. “You idiotic child, how dare you imagine that you are the freak? Have you not yet realized that your horrible relatives are the unnatural monsters? Every word they spoke to you was either a deliberate misstatement or a blatant lie. The next time you quote them, I should wash out your mouth with soap. Their lies are filthier than any expletive could be.”

Harry blinked, stunned by this chain of logic. Yes, he’d known that his relatives hadn’t been honest with him from the moment that Hagrid walked in – well, blew in – the door, but he still hadn’t quite realized how all-encompassing their lies had been. It wasn’t until Snape laid it out like that that he realized his entire view of the world might be somewhat … off.

“Do you remember those despicable Muggles’ rules?” Snape demanded. Harry gulped and nodded. “Right. You are to forget them. Entirely.” Harry goggled at him.

Snape glared. The boy looked adenoidal with his mouth hanging open like that. “What is so difficult to understand, Potter. I am now your guardian, and you will have a new set of rules.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry managed to stammer. That made sense, at least.

“You will naturally attend classes as previously arranged and live in your dorm with your Housemates. However, I will arrange with the Headmaster for another room to be added to my quarters for you so that –“

“A room? A whole room? For me?” Harry couldn’t help himself; it just burst out.

Snape rolled his eyes. Merlin save him from idiot Gryffindors. Why couldn’t the boy at least have been a Ravenclaw? “Yes, Potter. A room. For you. Where else would you sleep? A cupboard?” To his astonishment, Harry merely nodded. An awful suspicion took root in Snape’s mind.

“Potter, where exactly did you live in those bastard Muggles’ home?”

“Like it said on my Hogwarts letter,” Harry explained, wondering why this was news to the professor. “The cupboard under the stairs.”

Snape hadn’t wanted to hex something this badly since Harry’s father and godfather had tried to sabotage his NEWTS potion. “And what exactly was a typical day like in that house?”

Harry bit his lower lip, wondering why Snape was so curious. Then it dawned on him. He probably wanted to know what kind of chores Harry was good at, so he could assign him his new tasks. Harry sat up – hopefully he could impress Snape with all the things he could do. The man wouldn’t mind having adopted him once he realized how useful Harry could make himself.

“I’d get up first and make breakfast for everyone,” he began obediently. “Then after serving everyone and cleaning the kitchen, I’d do my morning chores. If it wasn’t a school day, then I’d usually do the garden first, then the house, and on Sundays I always washed the car. After making lunch I usually got to have a sandwich or some leftovers before starting on my afternoon chores. If Aunt Petunia had her garden club or bridge club or book club or something coming over, then I’d get the living room all set for them before making tea. I’d usually finish any outside chores before making dinner – Uncle Vernon liked me to repaint the garden shed and fence anytime they looked dingy, so I did that a lot. After my relatives finished dinner, if I was allowed to eat, I’d do that before cleaning the kitchen and washing the floor, and then I’d go to sleep.” He paused, thinking. “Oh, and I’m a good cook. Even the bridge club ladies said so. And I can paint things really well, without drip marks or anything. I’ve done a lot of gardening, from planting things to mowing the lawns to weeding to pruning the hedges. And I can clean the bathroom really quickly, so I don’t get in the way. I know to be careful about fingerprints and stuff, so you don’t have to worry.”

Snape was staring at him. That idiotic old coot had turned Harry into The Boy Who Lived To Be A House Elf For Muggles. Even Snape’s own father, for all his brutality, hadn’t expected such a level of servitude. What had Dumbledore been thinking to allow those hideous Muggles to mistreat this child so badly? “Do you really imagine I agreed to be your guardian because I am in need of a house elf?” At Harry’s blank look, Snape remembered that the boy was new to all things magical. “A slave.”

Harry frowned. “How else am I going to earn my food, sir?”

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. This was getting thoroughly depressing. “Let me guess. Another rule at the Dursleys was no work, no food.”

Harry nodded. “If I don’t do a good job, I don’t deserve to eat, and I get punished.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Punished how? In addition to starvation, I mean,” he added sarcastically.

Harry’s eyes dropped. He guessed it was only fair that his new guardian knew how his relatives had punished him, but he really hoped that the professor might not be quite as strict as Uncle Vernon. Of course, he reminded himself consolingly, while he was attending Hogwarts, there were three meals a day, so whatever other punishments he got, he probably wouldn’t go without food. …Unless the professor decided to order him to skip meals.

“Well?” Snape’s harsh voice broke in on his musing, and Harry hurried to answer.

“Mostly just a slap or a smacking and being locked up in my cupboard,” Harry explained. “But if I got in real trouble, like at school or for doing – “ he shot a quick glance at the professor “- freaky stuff, then I’d get the belt.”

“What about restriction of privileges? Withholding treats or toys? Extra chores?” At Harry’s blank look, Snape rolled his eyes. Of course the boy would be puzzled. How could you withhold privileges or toys from a child who never got any in the first place? And it sounded like there were no extra chores for the boy to do, because he was already doing them all.

“Out of curiosity, Potter, how did they punish that whale of a cousin of yours? Did they strike him as well?”

“Dudley?” Harry asked in surprise. “I don’t think they ever punished Dudley.”

“And you see nothing wrong with such an inequitable situation?”

Harry guessed what “inequitable” meant. “Well, they wanted him. They were just stuck with me.”

“Potter, you will drive me mad with your lack of insight,” Snape scolded. “You were a child. You are a child. It is an adult’s responsibility to treat any child in their care appropriately. Children are to be fed and housed and clothed and protected from harm. They are -”

Harry looked over at Snape worriedly. That sounded like a lot of work. What if the professor decided Harry would be too much trouble? “Please, sir, I’ll be good. I won’t be any bother, and I’ll do whatever work you want me to do, and …”

Snape interrupted this pathetic litany before his blood pressure could rise any higher. “Shut up, Potter. I’ve already agreed; you need not try to convince me further.”

Harry relaxed with a sigh of relief. The professor was really nice. Maybe he wasn’t going to be hit for the hug after all. Maybe this “talk” was to be just that.

Snape scowled. He really didn’t want to open this next topic, but he knew he had to do it. “Potter, in the infirmary, you said you didn’t understand why my actions to you at your detention were inappropriate. You thought my treatment of you was justified.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It was not. Faculty at Hogwarts do not strike students. What is more, my blow was excessively harsh. No child should be treated in that fashion.” He paused. “That is a rule.”

Harry tried hard to understand what the professor was saying. “But, if teachers don’t punish students like that,” he said slowly, thinking it out, “then why did you hit me?”

Snape fought not to squirm. Trust the irritating brat to ask the one question he really didn’t want to answer. But he owed the little monster the truth. “I wasn’t hitting you, Potter,” he retorted. At Harry’s look of complete bewilderment, he forced himself to elaborate. “Yes, of course, I hit you, but I wasn’t really aiming at you. I – “ he broke off in frustration and decided to try a different approach. “You… strongly resemble your father, Potter,” he began. The boy sat up straighter at his words.

“I do?”

Snape glared at him. “Of course you do. Haven’t you seen pictures?” Oh. Of course not. Not in that household.

Even as the thought occurred to him, Harry shook his head. “My aunt and uncle said they didn’t want to have any pictures of ‘worthless drunks’ in the house. I haven’t seen any pictures of my parents, and I – “ he colored, as if confessing a grievous sin “- I don’t really remember them.”

Snape fought back pity. “Naturally you don’t, you foolish brat. You were little more than a year old when they were killed.” Should he? Shouldn’t he? In the end, he said what he knew Lily would have wanted. “I have some pictures of your mother. I’ll show them to you at some point.”

For a moment he thought the brat would hurl himself at him again, and he braced for the onslaught of the bony little frame, but Harry restrained himself, though his glowing expression of gratitude spoke volumes.

Snape cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I suspect there will also be pictures of your father somewhere around the school. He was always attracting attention to himself,” he spat. “I will speak with the other faculty and see if they have any photos that could be copied.”

“Thank you,” Harry managed to gulp out around the enormous lump in his throat. Snape might call him names and snap at him, but the man’s kind actions belied his snarky tone.

“Hmf.” Snape huffed, highly uncomfortable with both the boy’s thanks and the worshipful look that was growing on Potter’s countenance.

“As I was saying,” he forcibly dragged the conversation back on course. “You resemble your father and –“

Again the boy interrupted him. “Don’t I look like my mum at all?” he asked plaintively.

“You… have her eyes,” Snape admitted reluctantly, then stifled a snort as the boy practically crossed his eyes trying to see his own features. With a glower at the delay, he conjured up a hand mirror and handed it to the troublesome creature. Harry stared at his face as if he had never seen it before, trying to feel some connection with his dead parents.

Snape felt his throat start to tighten in pity, and he hurriedly transformed the mirror back to its original form. “If you are quite done interrupting me,” he snapped at the boy, and Harry meekly nodded. “You are very nearly a carbon copy of your father, as he appeared when I first met him. We… did not get on. During your detention, your appearance made me think of your father and when I misunderstood something you were saying, I –“ Snape felt himself flush “-lost control of my temper. I struck you quite brutally while thinking of your father, and for that I have apologized.”

To his complete shock, Harry leaned forward and patted him on the arm. “I sometimes get confused too,” he whispered confidingly. “Like when my teacher would lean over my desk and I’d think it was Uncle Vernon about to hit me.”

Marvelous. The brat had flashbacks. As if Snape needed further confirmation of how awful Potter’s home life had been. It was amazing the child wasn’t catatonic, and yet Albus thought Snape was the best person to look after this broken, damaged child? The Headmaster really was delusional. Perhaps he and Potter could get a group rate at the mind-healers.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yes, well, those memories will likely start to fade now that you are away from that dreadful environment,” he explained, “and since you will no longer be treated in that fashion.”

Harry stared at him. “You mean I’m not going to get hit? At all?” This was sounding perilously close to the meaningless words the other teachers had mouthed. He gave Snape a distrustful look.

“You will not be hit by your instructors,” Snape replied, relieved that they were getting away from the specifics of his own transgressions and into more general topics. “That is against school policy. If anyone were to try to harm you, I expect you to defend yourself.”

Harry looked as if he had suddenly started to spout gibberish, and he supposed that, to the boy, he had. “Potter, when your uncle struck you, you were obliged to remain still and silent, correct?” The boy nodded. “Those were his rules.” Harry nodded. “And what did I tell you about those rules?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You said to forget them. Then you mean, I – I don’t have to hold still?”

“Didn’t I just explicitly tell you not to do that?” Snape demanded.

“Yes, but…” Harry trailed off. He hadn’t really thought the man was serious.

“When I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it!” Snape admonished him severely. This was much better. He was good at this sort of thing. “Do you imagine I speak merely for my own benefit?”

“No, sir!” Harry shook his head vigorously. “Sorry, sir!”

Snape paused, thinking. How much should he tell the boy? Would it be better to put him on notice now about Voldemort and Death Eaters and the fact that to many in the Wizarding world, Harry was an irresistible target? Should he explain that Harry would require special tutelage in defense and dueling? He looked over to the small boy, so recently released from one form of bondage and slated to another kind of indenture – this time to the entire Wizarding world. He decided not to reveal everything just yet. First Harry had to become accustomed to not being a punching bag. There was plenty of time to explain that he was still a target.

“You are my ward,” Snape decided upon his tack. “As such, your discipline is my responsibility. The other teachers may assign you punishments or dock points, but none of them is to lift a finger to you. If they do – “ he tried hard not to think about Quirrel in particular “- you are to defend yourself and prevent them from harming you. That is also true of your classmates. If any of them seek to harm you, you are to defend yourself. Vigorously.” He was the most hated professor at Hogwarts for good reason, and it wasn’t inconceivable that some of the more foolish students might try to get even with Snape by attacking his ward.

Harry would need to demonstrate that he was far from easy prey in order to dissuade assaults, though hopefully Snape’s position in Slytherin and Harry’s sorting into Gryffindor would reduce the likelihood of such attacks. Assuming the lions and snakes wouldn’t attack him, that only left Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs, and Snape wasn’t all that worried about those Houses. Besides, making Harry an honorary Weasley should provide him with plenty of backup.

“Merlin help you if you start a fight,” he continued, giving Harry a menacing glare, “but if another little dunderhead is foolish enough to try something with my ward, you had better demonstrate that you are well able to protect yourself. I will not have my reputation diminished; do you understand?”

That Harry could understand perfectly. The Dursleys were very concerned about their reputation too. It made sense that Professor Snape wouldn’t want Harry to seem weak or stupid, now that he was going to be responsible for him.

“This is also why I will expect you to succeed academically,” Snape continued firmly. “I will not be embarrassed by poor marks.”

Harry bit his lip. “But I’m not good at school stuff.”

“Who told you that?” Snape demanded.

“My aunt said –“

“And what did I say about your quoting them?” Snape interrupted before Harry had even finished speaking. He was half tempted to make good on his earlier threat.

“Y-you said they were liars and I shouldn’t?” Harry offered nervously, his mind going down on a similar track as Snape’s.

“Exactly. Shall I have you write that five hundred times in order to remember it?” Snape threatened. “Or do you prefer the soap?”

Harry tried to distract the dour man. “But I’ve never gotten good grades, sir. I got in trouble for falling asleep in class and the teachers were always yelling at me.”

“Potter,” Snape managed to gain control of his temper. At this rate he was going to have an ulcer before the week was out. “Do you not see that some of that was due to your relatives’ treatment of you? Can your tiny mind comprehend that being undernourished and overworked impaired your scholastic performance? Your parents were accomplished wizards and excellent students, and I expect no less from you.” It pained him to admit that about Potter, but it was undeniably true.

“But my uncle said that freaks were stupid and my parents were worthless drunks who couldn’t hold down an honest job,” Harry protested. He didn’t want the professor to think that he was smart and be disappointed later. “That’s why I had to learn how to earn my keep by doing chores.”

“Your relatives are appalling creatures who mistreated you since you were a toddler. You are a child. You do not have to ‘earn your keep’. It is the adults who are obligated to care for you, not the other way around. You are obliged to attend your classes and obey the rules. I am responsible for feeding you, clothing you, housing you, caring for your emotional and physical maturation, and otherwise ensuring your welfare and safety. Do you understand?” There. That was clearly stated in small words. Even a Potter should follow that.

Naturally, the boy looked confused. “But Uncle Vernon said –“

That did it. “Five hundred lines, Potter! I told you not to pay attention to that lard-filled balloon.”

Harry flinched at the tone, but couldn’t restrain a giggle at Snape’s description of his uncle. “Yes, sir. I’ll try to get good marks. But I really don’t know very much.”

Snape rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I realize you are your father’s son, Potter, but perhaps you might consider studying or doing homework? Perhaps reading a book once in a while?”

“I’m allowed?” Harry asked cautiously. “I’m not supposed to read or do homework in case I get better grades than Dudley.”

“And who told you that?” Snape asked silkily. He would give the brat another 500 lines and wash his mouth out with soap if he uttered that Muggle’s name, he swore he would.

“Unc –“ Harry caught himself and actually grinned. “Oh. Right.”

Snape glared at him another moment before continuing: “From what you tell me, it is obvious that you will require remedial tutoring. I shall speak with your Head of House. If – as I suspect – Gryffindor is lacking in suitable tutors, you will report to my quarters several times a week until I am satisfied with your performance.” Snape gloomily bade farewell to his peaceful evenings free of horrible, mewling brats. At least Death Eater meetings were adults only.

“So I just have to go to class and follow the rules?” Harry said in tones of dazed happiness. “That’s all?”

“That was too much for your father,” Snape sneered. “I trust you have not inherited his talent for mischief or you will not like the consequences. You will find me, at least, difficult to manipulate.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. He really wanted to hear more about his dad – though Snape’s tone was far from encouraging – but he was more worried about those threatened “consequences”. “I’ll be good, sir!” he promised.

“You’d better be,” Snape retorted, though he wondered what he would do if the boy misbehaved. Well, aside from verbally filleting him. He was reluctant to do anything that smacked of the boy’s previous life, and cleaning cauldrons or being confined to his room were uncomfortably close to what the Dursleys had done. Oh, Harry wouldn’t make it through Hogwarts without having a few detentions with Filch, but Snape wanted such punishments to be related to his student status. It was one thing to be punished the same way as his classmates, another to be treated – again – like a house elf or prisoner by his guardian.

So what did that leave? The boy had no trinkets or hobbies which could be temporarily forbidden. Lines and essays might work, Snape mused, but he would need to make a foray to the toy stores of Diagon Alley to find some things that the child liked. Only in order to withhold them as punishment, he reassured himself hastily. It wasn’t as if he were desperate to make Potter happy, for Merlin’s sake.

Then again, considering how abysmally ignorant the brat was about all of Wizarding society, he probably should take him on regular outings to various Wizard destinations, such as Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Then, when the little monster misbehaved, he could be denied the excursion. That should be worth a few tears. Snape smirked in satisfaction. Never let it be said he couldn’t find ways to torture a Potter, even if it did mean a further curtailment of his own free time.

“Honest, sir!” Harry gulped. “You won’t need to belt me hardly at all.”

“Did you not hear what I said before?” Snape exclaimed angrily. “Irritating child! You will learn to pay attention to me.”

“But – but –“ Harry gazed at him in confusion. “What did I say?”

“I told you that I will not mistreat you.” Again, Snape silently added. “You will not be beaten with a belt, Potter.”

Oddly, Harry did not look reassured. “Please, sir, not the cane.”

Oh, for Merlin’s sake. He really needed to get the boy some adequate spectacles. “Come with me,” Snape ordered, yanking Harry up and pulling him down the corridor to the door into his classroom.

Harry’s heart thudded wildly. Why had he even bothered to ask such a ridiculous thing? After the professor had been nice enough to promise that no one else would hit him, and that he could run and duck and even protect himself from bullies, what had Harry done? Had he thanked Snape? Or promised to make him proud? No, he had sniveled about not wanting to be whacked with the cane. It would serve him right if the professor walloped him for his ingratitude and cheek.

In fact, Harry saw with a sinking feeling, that was precisely what was about to happen. They had come through a hidden door and were now standing in the professor’s classroom, right next to his desk. This was just where Harry had nearly been caned a few nights ago; this time he doubted he’d have the same miraculous escape.

Well, you’ll just have to take it, he told himself stoutly. At least he didn’t have to worry about holding still and keeping quiet anymore. The professor was a lot nicer than Uncle Vernon in that regard.

Snape dug under his workstation and pulled out his polished cedar cauldron stirrer. “Come here, Potter!” he ordered.

Harry forced himself to move forward, trying not to look at the cane clutched in the professor’s hand.

“Do you know what this is?” Snape demanded.

“Yessir,” Harry gulped, eyes averted. “ ‘S a cane, sir.”

“Idiot. Do you think canes have inscriptions on them, commending me for winning the 143rd annual All-Counties Potion Making Competition?” Snape demanded, brandishing the stirrer under the little simpleton’s nose. “This is a charmed cauldron stirrer, Potter. It is both rare and expensive and is not to be abused by bringing it into contact with annoying children’s posteriors.”

Harry blinked and squinted at the stirrer. “But – but – you mean…” He looked up at Snape, an incredulous grin breaking over his face. “You’re not going to hit me with it?”

The professor rolled his eyes. “No, Potter,” Snape drawled sarcastically, “I went to all the trouble of winning this award just so I could break it across your impervious backside.”

Harry snickered. The professor was kind of funny, once you got used to his sense of humor.

Great. Now the little brat thought he was a comedian. “Stop that ridiculous sniggering, Potter. It wasn’t that funny.”

“Yessir,” Harry replied cheerfully.

Snape glowered at him. So with the threat of the cane removed, suddenly the boy was all smiles, was he? It would do him no harm to realize that he wasn’t completely immune to the only form of discipline he’d ever known. “You will find that I have no need to rely on vicious beatings to punish you, Potter.” Since when does any Slytherin worth his salt have to rely on brute force? “But you will feel my hand if you violate my two most important rules.” He paused impressively. “You will not –“ he paused. What was the little wretch supremely unlikely to do? The last thing Snape wanted was to have to carry out the threat he was about to make. He eyed the now-apprehensive child in front of him. “- deliberately disobey me –“ that should work; the boy had been beaten into complete submission by the Muggles. “- or place yourself in jeopardy.” that was another good one. The boy was timid to the point of catatonia; he wasn’t about to put himself in harm’s way. But now Snape had gone on the record as placing a high value on the brat’s life, thereby helping to overcome the decade’s worth of disparagement and undermining from the Dursleys and their penchant for the term “worthless freak”.

Harry’s eyes were wide. “I won’t!” he swore.

No kidding. “See that you don’t,” Snape said darkly, “or your backside will regret it.”

“But those are the only things I’ll get hit for?” Harry asked uncertainly. “Not for other stuff?”

“Such as?”

Harry shrugged. “Not doing well on my homework. Being cheeky. Breaking something. Not listening.”

“You may think I have nothing better to do with my time than obsess over your petty misdeeds, Potter, but I assure you I do,” Snape said austerely. “I have no intention of spending every waking moment stalking you, watching for minor indiscretions, and then striking you for them. I have already told you what actions are sufficiently egregious for me to resort to corporal punishment. See that you avoid those actions and you need not worry.” He pretended not to see the boy’s expression of incredulous joy.

“And if someone tries to hurt me, I can hurt them?” Harry sought clarification.

“You are not only permitted to do so, Potter. I expect you to do so. You are absolutely forbidden from sitting there like a lump waiting for someone else – probably me! – to come rescue you. I have enough to do, thank you very much. If someone is trying to hurt you, then get off your lazy bum and stop them. Need I make it any clearer to you?” Snape’s Slytherin instincts were abuzz. If and when Voldemort returned, he would surely go after this child. By that time, Snape wanted Harry to be completely comfortable with the idea of fighting back – or even launching a preemptive strike.

Harry grinned wolfishly, and Snape was strangely heartened to see a glimpse of his father. Of course, the last time he’d seen that expression, Potter Senior and Black had been stalking him. “What are you thinking?” he asked the child, curious.

“Just that I’d really like to go back and visit my cousin, sir,” Harry replied with a glint in his eye.

“I told you you were not to start anything,” Snape cautioned him, but he was relieved to learn that the boy’s spirit had not been entirely quashed.

“Oh, that’s okay. As soon as he sees me, Dudley would try something,” Harry said confidently. Then his face fell. “But he’d probably have a bunch of his friends with him. He usually did for ‘Harry hunting’.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed at the term, and any thoughts he might have had of sparing the Dursley whelp from his vengeance went out the window. “So they would gang up on you?”

Harry nodded despondently. “There were usually three or four. I couldn’t hope to fight them all at once.”

Dear Lord Voldemort, Snape’s mind busily penned an imaginary letter, I am writing on behalf of the Boy Who Lived. Would you please be kind enough to refrain from sending more than one Death Eater at a time after him? It is quite unsporting of you to gang up on the boy. “Potter,” he said sternly, “you must learn to defend yourself against superior odds. To do anything else is foolishly unrealistic.”

“That’s –“ Harry caught himself.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “What? Easy for me to say?” Harry nodded, shamefaced. “I will have you know, Potter, that when I was a student here, I was routinely set upon by a gang of four bullies, and more often than not I was able to hold my own against them.”

Harry’s eyes were shining. “Really? Could you teach me how?”

Snape preened a bit. “I suppose,” he allowed, with seeming reluctance.

Suddenly Harry’s eyes clouded. “Sir…?”

Snape frowned at the abrupt change in demeanor. “What is it?”

“Sir, was one of the four…” He broke off and tried again. “Was my father – Is that why you didn’t get along? Because my dad was one of the four bullies?” Harry stared anxiously at the professor.

Snape’s shields snapped up, just in time to prevent his shock from showing. Now that had been an impressively quick feat of deduction. But what in Merlin’s name was he supposed to reply? If he told the truth, the boy would likely decide that his dead, sainted father knew best and promptly reject Snape’s guardianship, but to lie was unsupportable. There were too many people around Hogwarts who knew the truth; the boy would learn it sooner or later.

Besides, he scolded himself, why was he acting as if the brat’s renouncing him would be a bad thing? Hadn’t he started this conversation desperate for a way out of the guardianship?

He ignored the sudden hammering of his heart and said, with all the cool disdain he could muster, “Yes, Potter. Your father was one of them.”

The brat’s eyes fell. Here it came – the look of contempt or revulsion. The demand to know what Snape had done to incur the elder Potter’s enmity. The implication – or perhaps explicit statement? – that such feelings must have been deserved, and therefore Snape was obviously an inappropriate guardian for James Potter’s only son.

But instead when they slowly rose, Harry’s eyes were wet with unshed tears. “I’m really sorry, Professor. I’m sorry my dad was a bully. He must have been awful, just like my cousin, to pick on you like that.”

There was a roaring in Snape’s ears. It was incredible. Unbelievable.

If anyone had asked the younger Severus Snape for his fondest wish, it would have been for James Potter and Sirius Black to beg his forgiveness on bended knee. But suddenly Snape saw that for the dross it would have been.

How much better, how much more ineffably sweet, to have the man’s only son apologize on his behalf, repudiating his father in the bargain. Now this was truly a Slytherin’s revenge – and to make matters even better, he hadn’t even had to manipulate the brat to extract it. He had, if anything, taken the moral high road. And still he got his apology. Truly, nothing that could possibly top this moment.

He reveled in the inexpressible satisfaction of the moment, the unutterable sweetness of his revenge, before managing to veil his emotions and nod briefly to the boy. “Apology accepted, Mr Potter.” He even managed to add, “Do not think too harshly of your father; boys do foolish things.”

“You didn’t.”

Snape choked and nearly swallowed his own tongue. “What?”

“You didn’t gang up on anybody when you were at Hogwarts,” Harry said angrily. “You didn’t bully anyone. You don’t have to pretend my father was something better than he was.”

“Potter,” Snape struggled awkwardly for words. Suddenly he didn’t feel so morally superior. He was, after all, the one who allowed some childish bullying to drive him into the arms of the Dark Lord and commit atrocities a thousand times worse than anything Potter and Black had done to him. “We all do foolish things. Some more foolish than others. You just – you just need to try not to harm others by your actions.”

Harry’s eyes held both tears and fierceness. “I would never hurt anyone like that. I’m going to protect people from bullies, not become one.”

Snape felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. And so it begins…