Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its affiliates belong to J. K. Rowling.

With sincere apologies, I have now included a warning of the corporal punishment this story contains in its synopsis. Thank you to the reviewer who brought this to my attention.

Harry lay back, stunned. Was this some kind of sick joke? He studied the man's face carefully. The sneer was indeed gone, though by the tensing of the muscles about his temple, it cost the other an enormous effort to keep it off. This couldn't be really happening; it was a dream, it must be. It was no poltergeist banging on the wall, just Uncle Vernon trying to wake him up. Draco's sobs were Dudley's, crying over his meagre grapefruit of a breakfast. No, no, it was his imagination. He had almost made himself believe it was all fake when Snape made a small encouraging noise.

"Mmm?"

"Why's Draco here?" was all he managed to get out.

Snape's jaw tightened. "He has nowhere else to go."

"Oh. Right." Harry still couldn't make any meaningful comment; his mind was still racing, trying to find a good reason why Snape was being civil. It stank of a trap, but the man in front was him was pale and upset – it was his Death Eater pal who's dead, after all! – but seemed very much in earnest. This was mind-blowing. He supposed he could agree, much as he hated him, but be doubly on his guard. Who knows what the man would do if he refused, anyhow? It was safer this way. "We can try." He said cautiously.

The man opposite him relaxed. Now, Snape thought, I can get the golem's self off of him. I can take that burden. It might help Pot- Harry trust me. It'll make life a lot easier for me in the process. "Now, Potte- Harry, there is something I have to do. It might not be comfortable, but it will help in the long run."

"What is it?"

"Trust me, Potter."

Harry considered this. Snape had had plenty of chance to kill him or hand him over and not done either. He supposed it would be all right to say yes. "Okay."

"Hold out your right – you are right-handed? – forefinger."

Harry held it out, wondering what on earth Snape could be up to. Did he want to use it in Polyjuice potion? No, it wasn't that, or he would just cut it off, without asking, maybe when he was asleep. The man's face took on a look of intense concentration, like when he had created the golem the night before. It felt like years ago. Harry felt some kind of force flowing out of him through his finger. He started to panic, but Snape said calmly, "Don't push, Pot- Harry, help me." Harry carefully aided the flow, gently, gently, pushing forward. He could feel the presence of the other man's magic pulling from opposite. After about ten minutes of this two-way encouragement, the whatever-it-was that Snape was trying for was pulsing right at the end of his finger.

Snape, not breaking the flow of his concentration for an instant, took a pair of nail scissors out of the air. "The muggle way?" Harry asked, perplexed. Not very Snapelike. Snape frowned slightly, and slowly, as though it was made of granite, cut through his fingernail. Harry felt the effort of the incision, but remained focussed on keeping that weird, pulsing whatever-it-was firmly in his nail. Then Snape detached the nail, slowly. Harry felt as though his arm was being wrenched out and he screamed, but stopped as he realised he wasn't actually in pain. Snape was gasping with the effort of pulling that nail away from his finger. "Help me." He said in a low voice, hoarse with the strain. Harry tried pushing that bit of himself through his nail, there was soon a gap of a foot between the nail and the end of his finger, but it was by no means separate, and both were sweating, concentrating on pushing the pieces apart, pushing and pushing. Finally, when Harry was almost groaning aloud with the effort, the connexion started to give and then snapped. The sudden release of tension was too much an Harry collapsed.

Snape himself reeled after the sudden snap, but collected himself, poured a potion down Harry's throat and left. He would have to save his energy to absorb the force he'd isolated in the nail, or the Dark Lord would catch on that the Potter he had was fake. That would be much more difficult.

Harry continued his explorations. This turned into a fierce battle every other minute with the poltergeist, whose name he found was Clive, over the position of the walls and the candelabra on the ceiling. He was fighting back harder now, and Harry was having to put more and more power behind the mischief-stopper, and each time he was worried he would not be equal to the task the next time. It wasn't that he cared if the thing destroyed the house, but he hated to lose a fight – even wandless and exhausted from the efforts of the earlier spell. He also found his scar ws beginning to trouble him a bit.

For the twelfth time, he shouted "Waddiwasi!" at Clive, as he tried to mangle a door into saying 'Piss off, Potter'. A splinter flew out of the keyhole, trying to lodge itself in the poltergeist's nose, but he put out a hand, pushing hard, and it returned unwillingly to the door. Harry repeated the charm, and this time, Clive somehow deflected it off his hand in such a way that the spell hit the door with a devastating crash.

"Oh." Harry couldn't think what had happened. Poltergeists didn't have this much power; it must somehow have been him. Snape came billowing, bat-like, down the passageway, asking Harry just what he thought he was up to. Dang, that man has an instinct for trouble. "It was Clive – Sir," he said nervously, hands behind his back.

"Potter. Can I not even leave you for one hour without you somehow making a hash of something or other? Do you want Draco to know you're here?"

"I – well, I thought it would be okay just to look around a bit… anyway, why on earth do you keep a poltergeist?"

"That, Potter, is neither here nor there. If you need something, ask for it. If you want a drink, ask me. If you want to explore, ask me. I you're hungry, ask me. Not all parts of this house are safe; Clive isn't the worst thing you'll find." Snape sagged against the wall, he really didn't look good. Harry's scar was seriously starting to bother him, too.

"Sorry, Sir." Harry tried hard to mean it, and almost succeeded. "Would you like me to repair the door?" Wow, he sounded quite polite. Dangerous.

"Can you?"

For answer, Harry went through the now familiar motions of drawing himself out into his hand, pointed a finger and said "Reparo!" The door healed itself beautifully.

"I'll have to get Professor Dumbledore to talk to you about this," said Snape vaguely, and swept painfully away. What was the matter with him?

Three hours later, Harry walked into the front room to ask for lunch, and found it ready on the table. Snape remarked "Draco's had already. I hope you intend to keep out of my mind this meal."

Harry reddened, thinking of the unpardonable breach of Snape's privacy he had conducted that morning. The man opposite him was wincing too – repeatedly. Each time he winced, Harry's scar prickled, and it was getting worse and worse. Something was seriously not right about the whole thing, but he tried to make light of it. "No, I don't think so. Not this time, Sir. Snape?"

The man had slumped in his chair, unconscious. He was on fire! Harry screamed. And screamed again. The noise brought Draco running in, and each boy eyed his archenemy with horror over the flaming body of Severus Snape.