A/N: Assuming you have read the original story in this series, you should be aware of how Snape deals with misbehavior. And (not that I need to tell you this) but he's not coming out with a book on parenting any time soon, so please don't take a leaf from it ;-) On with the chapter!

Chapter 4: Forgotten

Harry sat up slowly and looked around. It didn't take him long to realize that he had no idea where he was.

The empty room was very small, with a rust-stained basin in one corner and an old wooden table and chair in the other. A pile of dirty glass tumblers was being washed by magic in the sink before floating over to the table, leaving a dripping trail of brown water along the dirt-encrusted floor. Harry stared at the drying cups; they looked filthier than before they had been washed.

The walls were bare, except for a hook that held a greasy waist apron and cobwebs that stretched from the corners of the ceiling.

A deep, phlegmy cough came from the next room. Harry's head throbbed with panic. He'd gotten mixed up in the Floo network before, but he had been lucky that time—he'd landed rather close to his destination, even though he had landed in Knockturn Alley. But this was different; the only place near Hagrid's was the school, and Harry was more than certain that the common room Floo hadn't redistributed him there. For all Harry knew, he could be sitting in the middle of a stranger's kitchen.

Pushing himself up with shaky knees, Harry immediately whipped around, searching for a pot of Floo powder.

Nothing. Not even a mantel to set it on. The fireplace was barely more than a square-shaped hole in the wall.

Hot panic swelled in Harry's chest now. He clutched his wand which he'd thrust into his waistband before McGonagall dragged him down the corridor. Reaching into the collar of his shirt, he felt around for his Portkey.

Severus slapped his palms against the thick mantel of the Gryffindor common room fireplace as the last wisp of green flame dissolved like mist.

"Dammit, Potter!" He pounded the stone once more before turning, a hand clamped over his eyes. "Dammit." Whispered this time.

The pattering of quick footsteps grew nearer.

Severus clutched at a clump of hair that had fallen over his nose; he jammed his knuckles against his eyes sockets. And then, clearing the strands from his face, he pulled himself together.

"Severus…" Minerva called out, breathless, as she stepped into the common room. She froze when she glimpsed the professor standing in the middle of the rug. Alone. "Severus, what on Earth?"

Severus pinned her with a withering glare.

Minerva lowered her spectacles to the tip of her nose, her eyes darting around the room. "Where is he?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Minerva…" He moved toward the Floo again, throwing his robes away from his feet, his lips white and thin.

The woman ogled him. "What did you say to him? What did you do—"

"I," Severus barked, "did not say a word to him!" He grabbed the clay container of Floo powder from the edge of the mantel, lifted the lid to peer inside, and smashed it back in place. Severus glowered at her. "I did nothing."

"Calm your temper, Severus," Minerva said quietly, unperturbed by the outburst.

Severus slammed the pot back onto the mantel; turning from her, he rested the heel of his hand against the edge; his shoulders rose and fell with his breathing.

"If I know Mr. Potter," Minerva continued, taking her time as she readjusted her bifocals, "he'll come down from his dormitory when he's ready. However, a bit of coaxing would do no harm—"

"He's not there."

Minerva's arm floated down to her side. "What are you talking about, Severus? Where else would he go?"

Flipping around, Severus glowered at the woman as though she were a first year Potions student. Ignoring her question, he reached for the pot of Floo powder again, leaving the lid on the edge of the mantel. He tossed a handful of tiny grains into the hearth; the emerald flames exploded in front of him, but Severus didn't flinch; he didn't even blink.

"Severus!" Minerva swept forward. "Severus, where could you possibly be going! Where has Harry gone—"

"If I knew, Minerva," Severus hissed suddenly, spinning around to face her, "I would tell you!" His teeth were bared, but his eyes glittered with something other than rage.

Minerva took a small step backward; she blinked, pressing her lips together.

Severus stepped into the roaring Floo without another word.

Minerva stood quietly, watching without seeing. But as Severus enunciated his destination, the woman gasped, springing to attention. "Severus! Hagrid's not connected—" She reached forward as if to stop him, her shout muffled by the great whoosh that permeated the room.

He had taken it for granted—it was invisible, after all. He had worn it for months without giving it a second thought, even though it was too heavy on his chest in the summer, even though it was a bit manky.

And now it was gone.

Tucked away in McGonagall's pocket.

Harry stood stiffly in the middle of the grotesque kitchen, listening to the occasional gruff murmur of voices beyond the moldy green curtain. He figured he must be in some sort of restaurant—maybe even a pub—but he hoped against hope that it wasn't located in Knockturn Alley. Even Hagrid had nearly scolded him for ending up there last summer—Harry could only imagine Snape's reaction…

His limbs felt weighted down, drenched with nauseating fear that threatened to consume him. Not a pinch of Floo powder in sight. No Portkey. Harry didn't know any useful spells; his wand might as well have been a dead tree branch.

Through the curtain was his only escape from this place—wherever he was.

Harry pushed back his sweaty, cinder-streaked fringe, and desperately scanned the room for a cupboard…a shelf on the wall—anything that would hold a container of Floo powder. Apparently, no one had heard him slide out of the fireplace, so perhaps they wouldn't pay any mind to his leaving either.

But there was nothing; not even a place to hide. For the first time in a long while, Harry felt totally alone.

Blinking back hot tears of frustration and serious regret, Harry wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to peek through a thin slit in the curtain.

All of a sudden, the fireplace heaved warm air behind him, ruffling his hair. Harry's shoulders jerked in surprise as he twisted around. He watched a black head of hair duck out of the stone hearth, followed by thick ebony robes…

A tidal wave of relief washed over Harry.

Snape straightened up, his eyes immediately darting around the room. He stopped, dropping his hands to his sides when he caught sight of a splotchy-cheeked Harry planted in the middle of the dirt floor.

Snape stared at him for a short while before expelling the air in his lungs, as though he'd be holding it in.

Harry gawked at Snape's peculiar expression, his mouth half-open; his tongue felt numb; he didn't know what to say. But then again, it didn't matter if Harry would have commenced a five-minute monologue, for hardly a second later, Snape's eyes thinned into glinting gashes, his nostrils flaring.

Instantly, Harry's warm blanket of relief was ripped away. He knew that look…

Finding his tongue, Harry sucked in air to explain, but Snape had already crossed the room. A blur of black wool swept across Harry's vision before he found his upper body wedged into the crook of Snape's elbow, his chin centimeters from a rotted chair top.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tucked his head into his shoulders as Snape drew his arm back and dealt Harry an open-handed thwack across the rear end that would have sent him flying if he weren't being held so tightly.

Harry gripped handfuls of the sleeve across his ribs, groaning a quiet Ow as the familiar sharp sting sailed in and conquered.

Instinctively, Harry struggled against the awkward half nelson, his face already flaming, but Snape only hiked him up a bit, doling out three more equally enthusiastic cracks to the seat of Harry's trousers before hauling him up by the arm.

"Do you have any idea what you just put me through?" Snape growled, giving the thin shoulders a good shake; his face was so close that Harry could smell the man's aftershave. "You are never to use the Floo without permission again, young man! Do you hear me?"

Harry's lids fluttered between flinches at the stern scolding. His throat felt swollen now; his heart was ready to thud out of his chest, and somewhere, beneath his surging adrenalin, his bum just plain ached.

Still, Harry could find nothing to say. He glanced away, blinking the wetness out of his eyes.

"Harry." Snape's voice was quiet but terse.

Biting his lips together, Harry nodded; he was so ashamed. "I hear you," he croaked in a whisper.

The sound of rings sliding along a rusty bar had both of them glancing toward the curtain.

A tall, elderly man stood with one hand clenching the bunched-up drapery and the other against the door frame, fixing them with a fierce, grumpy stare behind his wiry spectacles. "Caught the little thief have you, Severus?"

Snape turned his attention back to Harry, whose eyes had been traveling between the two angry faces. "Mr. Potter has made a grievous error, Aberforth."

Harry averted his eyes from the painful glare.

"I have come to collect him," Snape informed, his tone crinkling Harry's ears. "We were just leaving."

"S'pose you'll need the Floo powder, then…" Aberforth grumbled sourly under his breath as he released the curtain and plodded around the corner into the next room.

"Look at me right now."

Harry's whole face felt stiff, but he looked anyway. And immediately regretted it…

Snape's eyes were terrible as he bent down. He took Harry's chin in his fingers, lifting it even higher. "You know better," he said sternly.

Harry breathed loudly through his nose, trying to keep it together. If only one of the dripping tumblers would fly into his forehead and put him out of his misery…

"Go stand by the Floo," he instructed through tight lips. "Now."

"I'm sorry…" Harry mumbled, startled by the dryness of his own voice.

Without a word, Snape gripped Harry's arm and guided him forward, placing his back against the cracked wall next to the fireplace. Snape's face was even closer this time. "If you so much as move a toe from this spot, I will tan your hide where we stand."

Harry absently scraped at the filmy filth on the floor with the heel of his trainer, but as usual, his scalp prickled at the threat, sending a horrible tingle down his spine. His ears burned hot.

"Eyes up."

Harry obeyed, snapping his gaze up to catch an eyeful of Snape's deeply creased forehead.

"Is that clear?"

"Yes, it's clear."

"Do not move."

"I won't…"

Swallowing against his sore throat, Harry looked away as Snape turned and strode toward the curtain; he knew very well that Snape didn't believe him.

Harry rubbed his forehead as he stood uncertainly in the middle of the hearthrug in Snape's sitting room. His stomach felt like he had eaten needles and razor blades for dinner—beyond horrible.

Seconds later, Snape stepped through the green flames; his eyes were still tilted with fury, but his cheeks looked drawn and sallow, almost haggard.

"Go sit on the sofa," he instructed tightly; Snape turned away without waiting for confirmation of obedience. "Move, Potter."

Very aware of his heart throbbing in his throat, Harry ducked his head a bit, watching warily as Snape strolled over to his adjacent office, threw open the door and stalked inside.

A sharp swish of fabric sounded from behind the wall; Harry flinched. Snape must have torn off his outer robes and thrown them against something.

Harry stepped quietly toward the black leather sofa and sat down on the arm, as though in a daze. He could hear the sound of papers shuffling and drawer items clanking. Snape sighed heavily. And then there was silence.

Picking at an embroidered dimple in the sofa's arm, Harry pressed his teeth together and tried to ignore his hot face…tried to forget the buzzing ache in his behind. Tried to clear his mind of the humiliation that fogged his senses and made his head hurt.

Harry already knew that Snape was determined; not a single word would sway him from whatever he was about to say…or do. And really, by this point, Harry didn't care. Emotions swirled through his entire body like overlapping hurricanes, and he couldn't get a hold on any of them.

It had been so long since Harry had done something like this—even longer since Snape had spoken to him through gritted teeth, in the way that made Harry want to crawl in a hole and never come out.

He could stand the Dursleys being angry with him…hating him even. He could stomach Marge berating him into a corner, threatening to beat him within an inch of his life.

But this was different. Harry couldn't take another second of it.

More shuffling from Snape's office.

Swallowing hard, Harry slid down the arm of the chair onto the sofa cushion and waited. He wracked his brain for an explanation, but nothing made much sense. He'd run away because it was the only thing that seemed logical at the time.

Finally, Harry caught sight of Snape in his peripheral vision. Plucking away at a loose thread on his trousers seemed to be the safest course of action.

"You had better start explaining your bout of idiocy, and fast...."

Harry held his breath; he could feel the heat from Snape's glare. He apparently wasn't fast enough…

"You answer me."

The knives and razor blades twisted and clinked together in Harry's stomach; he slumped further down; the air in the room was smothering.

I don't know why, Harry thought dejectedly. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

His sinuses began to tickle; he set his jaw and studied the faded dirty shoeprints along the fireplace carpet.

"Look at me, Potter. That's the least you can do."

Harry's sticky palms clenched at his trousers; he breathed carefully. Shaking his head with the tiniest of movements, Harry blinked to clear his vision—the dust from the hearth must have been hanging in the air.

"If you think," Snape said dangerously, "that you are able to act as foolishly as you just did this afternoon and escape punishment, you are sadly mistaken, Mr. Potter."

"I didn't say that…"

"Then what is this?"

A stifling pause. Harry swallowed to relieve the choking sensation in his throat, but it hardly helped. Propping his elbow on the arm of the sofa, harry pressed two knuckles against his forehead. I don't know.

"You refuse to tell me?"

Harry rubbed his knuckles over a dull stinging above his eyebrow. He mind suddenly flashed to an image of himself sitting on a cold window ledge in the seventh floor corridor. With Snape and McGonagall…

The knives dug at him stomach again, but this time, Harry ached all over. You said I deserved it.

An oil-soaked wick popped and crackled as its flame licked at the sides of the small glass lantern mounted to the wall.

"Enough of this," Snape hissed from above. "Stand."

Harry's eyes jerked in the man's direction; the fierce glimmer in Snape's black stare had faded, but he looked just as Harry expected him to look—stony. Unwavering. Snape reached into his shirt sleeve, withdrawing a smooth, wooden ruler. "Obey me."

"This isn't fair." Harry's voice cracked on every word. And then, without warning, everything rushed to the surface with sickening speed. Leaning over, Harry jammed his fists against his eyes.

A brief silence from above.

"Unfair, is it, Mr. Potter?"

A sound like rushing wind pounded against Harry's eardrums, muffling Snape's voice.

The floor creaked with advancing footsteps; Harry flattened his palms against his face and curled into himself. Snape had crouched down in front of him.

"Allow me to inform you on what is unfair, young man…" Snape's voice was calm, but sterner than ever. He gave a firm tug to Harry's wrists, but the hands wouldn't budge.

"I gave you a simple order and trusted it to be obeyed," Snape spoke in Harry's ear. "But instead, I had to chase you down the corridor and watch you Floo off to a destination that does not exist. That, Mr. Potter, is anything but fair!"

Harry hunched his shoulder against the goosebumps that sprang underneath his earlobe.

"Don't you ever, ever do anything like that to me again!"

Harry felt his face scrunch up behind his hands; he was done.

Choking on a strangled sob, that sounded more like a cough, he yanked his crooked glasses away from his fringe and tossed them onto the carpet before folding his head into his arms.

Warm tears dripped onto Harry's bare arms and trickled down into the creases of his elbows.

They stayed that way, frozen like gargoyles, for the longest moment while Harry cried out his anguish in deep coughs, dotting the knees of his trousers with salt water.

At some point, he thought he heard Snape mutter his name, but Harry ignored it. He felt warm skin on the back of his neck and promptly nudged it away with his shoulder blade. "She said awful things to me," Harry mumbled into his arms, "and you don't even care!"

A pause.

An audible swallow.

"Who said awful things, Potter?"

But Harry only shook his head against the wet hollows of his elbows. "I'm not going back there." His face crumpled again and the tears began leaking. "I don't care…I won't."

Snape remained silent. It was only when Harry's sobs dwindled down to hitched breaths and involuntary gut clenches that he realized Snape's hand was on his head; the long fingers were caught in Harry's tangles but they didn't hurt. When he noticed Snape's arm was resting against his back, the tears began climbing up his throat again.

They felt different this time.

Still.

Harry used his forearms to mop up the slickness on his cheeks and nose, and then he hid his eyes in his fists again.

"I had a bad day today."

Harry paused mid-sniffle.

The colors bursting behind his lids made him feel weary, but Harry hadn't missed a word of that. It was the first candid thing Snape had ever said to him.

Screwing the backs of his wrists over his swollen eyes, Harry peeked over at his professor. His vision was awfully blurry without his glasses, but he could still make out the lines around Snape's mouth—more than he'd ever noticed them before.

"You did?" Harry's nose was so stuffy he hardly got the words out.

Snape was gazing at the bookshelf. The ruler lay quietly by his feet, forgotten. After a while, he nodded slowly.

Harry rubbed at his itchy eyes. "So did I," he said quietly.

TBC…

End Note: Thanks to everyone who has taken interest and is still reading! Your reviews have been so encouraging! And thanks, Tabitha, for the endless help and support. You guys are all wonderful!