And the other boy really wasn't big enough yet to do actual damage, even as tiny as Harry was.
Still, he couldn't help but wince, as the other boy put a fist in his son's ribs...and then another. Harry curled into a ball, trying to protect himself and not even attempting to fight back. I need to work on that, he noted. But no, he really wasn't around enough to teach Harry much of anything. Harry would have to figure it out on his own.
A third hit, this time to the kidney...and that was enough. He'd been to hundreds of Death Eater meetings without flinching, but this was his son. He could not just watch, even if the boy did deserve it.
Severus revealed himself and grabbed the larger boy's neck, pulling him off of Harry before he could hit him again.
The boy looked up at him in confusion, then glared resentfully.
Severus looked back at him, noting in his peripheral vision that Harry had scrambled to his feet, obviously shaken but not actually hurt. Good.
What to do with the other boy, though? The Dursley boy's friend was a lot bigger than Harry, but that only made him a big ten-or-eleven-year-old – certainly no match for Severus. He probably shouldn't actually harm him, then. Not that Albus or Minerva would actually know, but he was hiding enough from them, at the moment.
Apparently he'd thought long enough for the idiot to get bored of glaring. “Who're you?” he demanded instead.
“Harry's father,” he told him neutrally. He was vaguely curious how the boy would react to that.
But apparently the child was as rude as he was aggressive. “No you're not,” the boy told him. “Harry doesn't have a father. He lives with Dudley's parents.”
“He lives with the Dursleys because I value him and living with me would be dangerous to him,” Severus informed him, careful to keep his voice soft enough that Harry could not hear. “You might consider what that means for you.”
The boy looked far angrier than frightened. Like Harry's uncle, then – really too stupid to understand what danger looked like in real life.
Very well, then, he wouldn't be quite so nice. Gripping the boy's neck a tad harder, he let some of the anger he was containing slip its leash as he forced the boy to meet his gaze.
“I said I value my son,” he said softly. “This does not make me a nice man.”
Legilimancy was an amazing thing. The boy would have no idea why he was so frightened – Severus hadn't even actually threatened him - but he would feel a very strong aversion to ever crossing Severus again. And the ministry would have no way to detect magic on him at all.
The boy blanched, and finally started to struggle, but Severus was not quite ready to release him yet, and just tightened his grip on the boy's neck, lifting a little to make it clear to the boy that he could not get away. Then he released his grip on the boy's mind, allowing him to calm. It only took a few seconds, and the boy finally stopped squirming and focused back on him.
“You will not harm Harry,” he told him.
The boy nodded, frantically, his more normal fear response kicking in in the aftermath of Severus' assault, but Severus noted with satisfaction that he had not wet himself. Part of Severus wanted to actually harm him, but it was not a part to be encouraged. The boy was obnoxious and violent, but he was also a child. Severus released the boy's neck, and merely stood still as the boy stared up at him for a moment in a daze.
“Leave,” Severus suggested.
Turning on the spot, the boy did just that, and as fast as his legs could carry him.
Now to deal with his son.
Harry watched, stunned, as his father grabbed Dennis by the neck and simply spoke softly to him for a moment before letting him go. And Dennis turned and ran, without a glance back.
His father had come, he realized, relieved. But then the man turned to him, and Harry froze solid at the expression on his face. Suddenly he knew why Dennis had run. Harry only wished he had the same option.
“Come here, Harry,” the man ordered quietly.
Nuh-uh. No way. Not when the man was looking at him like that.
He shook his head frantically, letting his fear show on his face for his father to see.
“Harry,” the man said, voice just as soft as he'd spoken to Dennis. “I am at the very end of my patience. You do not want to cross me right now.”
That didn't help at all.
“F-father-” he protested. Oh, no. Why was the man so mad? He'd provoked Dennis, but- surely that wasn't that bad? His father looked ready to kill him.
He had to approach the man. He knew he did. He didn't want him even madder. Then he might not come back at all, and he certainly wouldn't come back with gentle touches and presents.
Terrified, he looked away from his father's expression and inched forward towards the man, eyes firmly on the ground and shoulders around his ears.
“Better,” the man said shortly. He reached out, and Harry flinched, but his father merely grabbed him by the back of the neck and started pushing him towards the Dursley's house. “Come.”
He kept pushing, and Harry followed the push all the way back to the Dursley's yard and then up the front steps and finally through the door. Petunia was inside, and gasped in outrage at the intrusion.
“You!”
“Me,” his father agreed. Then he shoved firmly and directed Harry further into the house and towards the stairs. “Up.”
Harry suspected that the one-word sentences were not a good sign, and the fact that the man was shoving him towards the relative privacy of the upper floor was ominous. “S-sir-” he started, uncertainly. But his father just kept shoving, and Harry shut up quickly.
Seeing the boy's obvious fear, Severus fought to get his temper in check, and not push hard enough to make his son stumble. He was going to spank the boy, and he was going to do it hard, but he would not harm him, and he knew he had a temper.
He was nearly running out of time. They were at the top of the stairs.
“Which one is yours?” he demanded.
Harry stared at his father, confused. “N-none of them,” he stammered finally. “Mine's downstairs.”
To his surprise, he was abruptly hauled all the way around until he was nearly nose to nose with his suddenly furious father, the grip on his neck nearly tight enough to hurt. “Do not play around with me, Mr. Potter,” the man said slowly. “I know very well there are no bedrooms downstairs.”
But that wasn't fair! “Mine is!” Harry protested. “It's under the stairs!”
That seemed to surprise the man, as he froze, and frowned, no longer looking ready to do murder. “Your bedroom is under the stairs,” he repeated.
“Y-yessir,” Harry said quickly. “It's just kind of small, which is why-” why you didn't know it was there, he was going to say, but his father's expression stopped him. How had he angered him now? What did he do?
“Which bedroom up here is unoccupied, then?” his father asked then, nearly biting the words out in evident fury.
“D-Dudley's second one,” Harry answered, pointing. “There. It's for his toys, so it doesn't have a bed-” Again, he cut off. Somehow, the explanations weren't helping. What had he done so wrong?
“It will,” his father promised darkly. “Now which one is your cousin's first bedroom, then?”
He'd run out of time to control himself, he knew. They were in the damned cousin's absolutely trashed “first” bedroom, and it was time to either release the boy or get started. Harry had gone entirely silent. Severus took a breath, and released him.
Harry turned to face him, but still didn't dare look up, obviously well aware of just how angry Severus was, though he couldn't know that not all of it was actually directed at him. Damned Dursleys. Severus couldn't watch everything, and they obviously knew that. Who knew what else was going on that Harry had not told him about?
But this wasn't helping, and he was far too angry to do this safely. Anger didn't really care who you took it out on, and he could not allow his temper to harm his son. Harry, he reminded himself. This is about Harry. He could deal with the damned Dursleys later, after he'd chastised his son for the latest idiocy.
His anger by itself was being effective, though. The boy was clearly miserable – curled in on himself and staring at the floor, his upset and...fear, that was definitely fear...very clear. The boy was very nearly cringing.
The sight helped Severus' temper to cool a little. He didn't actually want the boy to fear him. Fear his anger, yes, but not fear him.
“Well?” he demanded nonetheless.
Harry bit his lip, and shrugged without looking up.
Once again, Severus fought down his temper. He hated that gesture. “That will not do, Mr. Potter,” he told him. “Look up at me, and explain properly. Now.”
That got him an anxious glance before Harry looked down at him, and the boy finally answered him. “H-how much do you know?” he asked.
Severus grit his teeth. “Look at me, Mr. Potter,” he demanded.
The boy obeyed him – finally – and Severus felt his temper fall just a little bit at the woebegone expression. The boy was not trying to provoke him. He would give the boy a chance to explain his actions, no matter how obvious they seemed to him.
“Why did you provoke that boy into attacking you?”
Provoked...the man had been there for that long?? But if he had, then- then- a feeling of betrayal welled up in him, and Harry found himself answering his father with pure hurt, no longer concerned with the man's anger. “Y-you let him hit me!”
“Yes,” the man said calmly. There was not even a trace of apology in that tone, though some of his anger had evidently calmed at Harry's realization.
“B-but why?” Harry asked, hurt. The man usually protected him! What had changed?
“Because you knew perfectly well what the outcome would be when you took that ball, and I allowed you to feel the consequences of your decisions,” his father told him.
Consequences...? That was way too many words in one sentence for him to try and parse. “Y-you didn't p-protect me,” he repeated. It came out strangled, spoken around the huge lump that had suddenly taken up residence in his throat.
“I did protect you,” his father told him. “I protected you when I allowed you to feel some of what would have happened if I hadn't. What if I had not been here, Harry?”
Oh. Oddly, the primary response Harry could feel from that statement was simple relief. His father was still protecting him. He was just also angry that Harry had provoked Dennis. But the man had asked a question, and he would not be patient waiting for a response. “But you were there!” Harry protested, still upset at the revelation. “You always are!”
To his surprise, his statement brought back the man's earlier anger. “By luck, Mr. Potter,” he snapped. “I cannot possibly watch all the time! How do you think that I missed your sleeping accommodations?”
“B-but,” Harry explained, “my sleeping – my room's not important. You always come for important stuff.”
But the man's scowl only deepened. “Yes,” his father said coldly. “'Important' stuff like taking revenge on your cousin's friends, evidently. I will not be used, Mr. Potter.”
Used? And his father thought it was for revenge?? But – that was a horrible thing to think! “I didn't!” Harry protested, hurt again. “I just wanted to see you!”
There was a pause, and then- “...Excuse me, what?” his father asked him.
Oh. He had not meant to admit that. He knew his father wouldn't like it.
Cheeks burning and abruptly wanting to melt into the floor, Harry looked away and quietly repeated his admission, eyes squeezed shut against a sudden and horrible sense of shame. “I-I just wanted to see you,” he said. If only he could disappear.
“That will not help, Mr. Potter,” his father told him. Oddly, there was some...humor? In his tone? “I know you're still here.”
Huh? Opening his eyes, Harry saw that his clothing – actually no, all of him – had become just a little transparent. He could actually see the floor through his sneakers.
“Oh,” Harry said.
The boy...wanted to see him. That was...new. Children universally hated him. He knew this, and he didn't particularly blame them. He didn't like them, either, and he'd never hidden it.
Except this particular little idiot had just risked getting beat up by a larger boy in order to force him to come rescue him...simply because he wanted to see him. And had evidently learned at some point that that wanting was something to be ashamed of.
Seeing his son turn actually transparent in a moment of embarrassment was amusing, but the reason behind it...not so much.
And that was his fault, as much as the Dursley's, he knew. He had not wanted the boy to become attached, and Harry had evidently picked up on that.
But he needed to get back to the task at hand, regardless.
Angry. He was angry. His little idiot of a son had tried to get himself killed.
“So,” he said, letting the boy hear the anger as it returned. “You purposefully provoked the anger of a child you know to be dangerous to you in order to force me to come and rescue you.”
Which...was still a shock. He was used to Slytherins manipulating a situation to harm their enemies, he was not used to one doing it for...for what? What could he possibly want from Severus? More clothing?
The boy nodded a quiet assent to his assertion.
“I am going to spank you,” Severus told him.
It got him a brief, dismayed look – but no real surprise - before the boy looked down again. So Harry had not really expected differently. And he'd still wanted Severus' presence enough to provoke a bully.
Severus was not actually stupid. He did have an inkling of what a very lonely nine-year-old would want from the only adult who'd ever shown him any care whatsoever. But – certainly he'd never been kind to the boy. He'd protected him, and he'd punished him. The boy had only even seen him for fifteen minutes at a time, months apart, and he knew the child could not have enjoyed it.
He'd bought him some clothing. Once.
The boy had figured out that he was watching, Severus realized. He'd risked a beating on the trust that Severus would be there – and been quite surprised and dismayed at the three blows Severus had let him take. Damnit, boy, I can not be your father.
But Harry evidently knew that. He very clearly knew he had no right to ask his own father for attention.
He had not meant to do that.
But he still could not allow the boy to do this again. There was always the possibility that Severus would somehow miss something, or be unable to come. And his anger had calmed.
“I told you, I believe, about taking risks that required me to rescue you?” he told the boy, pulling out his wand.
Not wanting to give the Dursleys the pleasure of humiliating the boy after he left, he waved his wand around the room, silently spelling it for privacy and locking the door.
“Y-yes, sir,” his son told him.
“Apparently I did not make a strong enough impression,” he said.
It was always a powerful line, and it did not disappoint. Harry gave him wide, dismayed eyes. “N-no, I j-just-”
He'd say pretty much anything, at this point, to try and convince Severus not to spank him. It'd be a waste of time to let him try. Severus sat down on the side of Dudley's rumpled bed. “Come here.”
Oh, no. He'd sort of thought – when he'd initially had the idea of provoking Dennis – that this would be the end result. It was the reason he'd initially decided not to.
And yet here he was, and it was so, so much worse than last time. Last time, his father had just grabbed him. This time – 'come here'. He was supposed to cooperate? When his father was this mad?
“F-father-” he protested.
The man's eyebrows snapped together immediately in a fierce scowl, and Harry flinched, remembering suddenly how his father had dragged him up the stairs.
And he was making everything so much worse, but he just couldn't bring himself to move with the man looking at him like that. Apparently I did not make a strong enough impression. Father was going to kill him. He didn't want killed.
His father didn't help him, either. He just waited for Harry to obey, his gaze steady on Harry's face.
And Harry's feet felt like they were stuck to the floor. “Y-you're so mad,” Harry said finally.
His father's expression didn't soften, but he did finally speak. “I will not harm you,” he said shortly. “Come.”
And Harry believed him, he did, but – I don't want to!
Apparently, though, he'd delayed too long, as quite suddenly his father was up, and then he'd gripped Harry's arm, and there was a pull that Harry didn't dare resist and then he was at the bedside – and his father was sitting – and then he followed the pull one more time and he was lying flat on the bed, his butt face up over his father's lap.
“You do not disobey me, boy,” his father told him.
The words came with a hard swat, and Harry flinched.
Then things got a thousand times worse, as he felt his father's hand grip his waistband.
“N-no – Father-” Harry protested.
But it was far too late for that, and he felt his pants being pulled down – and then tugged further, all the way to his knees. The chill of the air-conditioning was shocking against his bare skin, and he realized suddenly that his boxers were down, too.
Oh, this was no good at all. Not at all at all at all. He was bare! It had stung plenty enough when he was clothed!
“Noo,” he found himself protesting. “Sir – I'll be good! I won't do it again!”
“No, you won't,” his father told him seriously. “You won't dare.”
The hand at his waistband lifted, and Harry buried his face in his arms, not wanting to see.
Not watching it didn't stop it from coming down on his bared backside, and Harry yipped immediately at the sting. That hurt! It hurt a lot worse than last time!
“Nooo!” he protested. “Sir! Not so hard!”
“You're lucky I'm not using an implement,” his father told him bluntly. “I considered it, and after your disobedience it's tempting. You're quite right that I am angry.”
The next swat came down in a new place, just as hard.
Harry flinched and gulped. Oh, no. Already he didn't want even one more, and last time his father had given him many, many more than just two.
“No-one can hear,” his father told him out of nowhere.
Oh. He actually hadn't considered that, but now that he did. “...thank you,” he said softly.
“Thank you.”
The boy said that a lot – oddly courteous for a boy of Harry's background. Certainly his cousin never said it. But Harry...Harry really was a good boy, overall. “Thank you”. For the smallest things, and even in the middle of a spanking.
Irrelevant, and it didn't require a response. He gave the boy his third of...he'd estimate fifteen and adjust as he got there...very firm swats. It made the boy whimper, and twitch just a little, as the skin reddened under Severus' hand. He was going for a sharp correction, and evidently succeeding. Soon -
Yes. There it was. He gave the boy a hard fourth swat, and the hand came back to block him from giving a fifth.
Three options. Grab the hand and pull it away, order Harry to pull it away, or simply swat where the hand wasn't. Or swat the hand, of course, but he wouldn't do that.
The third was the harshest option, and he'd had enough of Harry's resistance. Severus lifted his hand high and landed a very sharp fifth swat at the very top of the boy's bare thighs.
Harry yipped in shock, and pulled the hand away quickly, but Severus was not feeling forgiving. He gave a second swat in the same place, and Harry yipped again. “I'm sorry!” the boy told him quickly. “I won't do it again!”
Message evidently received, Severus resumed spanking the area the boy had tried to cover, and heard the first very quiet sniff.
The boy wasn't even half done. He'd be crying by the end. The next swat was gentler, and Severus cursed himself and made sure the next came down all the sharper for it. If the boy cried, he cried. He deserved it. In fact...perhaps tears were the goal. Harry had deliberately put himself in danger. He should remember this.
But Harry was...squirming. He'd learned not to reach back, but he was clearly very sore and not wanting any more swats, and though he wasn't wiggling enough to actually count as fighting, he was clearly struggling to keep still.
He wasn't angry anymore, Severus realized. He just wanted this done.
There were other ways to induce tears. Especially given that the boy had evidently decided he liked him.
“I am very unhappy with you, Harry,” he told the boy, pausing for just a moment. “You do not get to take risks with your safety, for any reason. Is that understood?”
There was another, quiet sniff, but Harry nodded slightly.
But now was not the time to be gentle. “Answer me, Mr. Potter,” he told him.
The boy's breath hitched. Good. “Yes, sir,” he heard.
“You especially do not get to take risks, and expect me to save you from the consequences. What if I had not come? Or what if you get yourself into a situation that I cannot get you out of?”
Sniff.
But he was looking for tears. “And if I had decided not to come at all, Mr. Potter?” he asked next. “If I had decided to let you take the beating that you'd signed up for?”
A gasp, and Harry looked back at him, eyes wide and imploring.
“I should think you would prefer the spanking, would you not?” he asked.
Harry broke the eye contact quickly, at that, burying his face in his arms.
There had been a nod in there, somewhere, but Severus was not prepared to let it go. “I want an answer, Mr. Potter,” he said coolly.
Harry's shoulders hitched. “Y-yes sir,” Harry told him shakily. “P-please don't go away.”
Oh. “I was not threatening that, Harry,” he told him. “I will always come back to protect you from harm. But I could choose not to protect you from a lesson I think you earned.”
It got him another imploring look, and the boy's eyes were wet. Severus just looked back at him, letting that sink in, and after a moment Harry hid his head again, his shoulders hunched.
Very close. Severus lifted his hand high, and made the next spank particularly hard. The boy froze at the sting and then squirmed again afterward, with a little whimper of protest and an even stronger sniff.
“Are you going to do this again?” he asked the boy, spanking him again.
A frantic head-shake. He swatted him again, just as hard. “Answer me.”
“No!” Harry said quickly.
“No, what?” Severus asked him.
“N-no, sir.” The strain was clear in the boy's voice, but he wasn't quite there.
“Better,” Severus told him. And spanked him hard.
“F-father!” Harry protested, sounding choked, “I won't! I s-said I won't.”
“But you did this time,” Severus told him severely. He gave him an even harder swat that time, and Harry kicked out at the sting. “D-daaaaad!” he protested. “Huuuurts! Please?”
Severus froze. Dad? The boy had called him father, and he'd allowed it, but... Dad? He was not the 'Dad' type.
But the boy was crying, finally. His last protest had ended in a sob and a despairing flop down onto the bed, and now the boy's shoulders were shaking, his head completely buried in his own arms, and his whole body nearly limp.
“It should hurt,” he told the boy's back. “You do not put yourself in danger like that.”
He'd told himself he was going to give the boy extra swats for disobeying. He would not allow Harry to fight him over a punishment.
He didn't want to, and he found himself just looking down at the very distressed small person draped over his lap, unwilling to swat him even once more, or even scold him. The boy was no longer transparent, at least, but he was still the picture of misery, limp and tearful and unwilling to show his face.
Severus had not even gotten to fifteen, he realized. He was considered a strict teacher, and a very strict head-of-house, but apparently he was a pushover as regards his own son.
But he already had swatted the boy for his disobedience. Just the once, and over clothing, but he had. He'd made it clear he disapproved. It would have to be enough – Severus evidently didn't have it in him to make up for the lack.
Harry was manifestly not going to stop crying right away, and his faintly pink bottom was still exposed, which was at least as awkward for Severus as for the boy. Forgoing a spell, he quietly gripped the waistband of Harry's pants, gently pulling the boy's clothing back into place without requiring him to stand.
Harry didn't react. The punishment had been hard – from Harry's perspective, at least - and he knew it would be a bit before Harry managed to calm himself.
Severus was not going to help him. The boy needed to process what had happened and why. Immediately distracting him from his distress would be counter-productive. Still, it was oddly tempting to do so, when the boy was so upset.
Pushover. He would not allow Harry to get himself killed, no matter how tempting it suddenly was to console him. God forbid the boy turn out like his cousin.
Gradually, Harry became aware of something other than his own crying, but the situation did not improve.
He was sore! His whole rear end radiated heat. He wanted to rub, but couldn't bring himself to do it in front of his father. It was just too embarrassing. But he couldn't seem to ignore the warmth and slight sting and the punishment he'd just received.
And worse - if I had decided not to come at all, Mr. Potter? His breath hitched again, just from thinking it. And Father had let Dennis catch him and hit him. And still spanked him. That was awful.
...Apparently, that was what happened when he got his dad mad enough. His father. When he got his father mad enough.
...Had he really called the man Dad?
And he was still draped over the man's lap, though somewhere along the line his pants had come back up. That was some small consolation.
He groaned, and hid his head even further in his arms. He was a mess of tears and snot, still butt-up over his father's lap, sore , and he'd called the man Dad without permission. Could life get worse?
It could, he realized. Last time, his father had assigned him additional punishment even after the spanking. He'd still been angry.
“...I'm sorry,” he said softly, silently begging the man not to be mad at him. Please. Please don't just leave.
But he always left, and Harry knew somehow that he always would. Harry did not get a family like other people. He should be grateful that his father protected him at all. Gifts and gentle touches were...well, he didn't deserve them. And especially not when he'd made his father so angry.
But that didn't stop him from wanting.
And he seemed to want the most when he least deserved. He could hardly bear it, how much he just wanted the man to touch him, and instead...his father was going to leave now. In just a few seconds, or maybe minutes, the man would ask him to get up, and then he'd leave, and Harry would once again have no idea when the man would return.