[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent] This is not a slash fic, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you.

Author's notes: regarding the setting for this fic, please see the introductory notes at the beginning of chapter 1.

Chapter 28: Price to Pay

It was a dreary afternoon, endless sheets of rain had swept across the neighborhood for days, leaving everything from the highest branches to the deepest roots thoroughly soaked. Harry had kept himself busy, forced his conflict down low and functioned with as much normality as possible. It was hard to know if he'd succeed in his endeavor to appear nonchalant given the underlying stream of suspicion that Snape was on to him, watching him closely.

When the rain eased up, Harry ventured outside and immersed himself in the dripping aftermath of the storm. Perched upon the weathered log, the former battleground for his pent-up fury with Draco Malfoy, he leaned heavily against the towering oak tree. His back pressed tight against the wet bark as he drew one leg to his chest and let the other hang freely. He pinched his eyes shut, closing out the wet earth around him.

Three days.

Three more days to get his shit together and make a decision.

It needled at him incessantly—knowing he owed it to Ron yet feeling an unexpected sense of loyalty to Snape. Their newfound closeness transformed what should have been a straightforward decision into a daunting hurdle. He wasn't just living with his former professor anymore. No, these days he found himself actively participating in Snape's life in ways he never imagined. They brewed potions together in the afternoons, strolled beneath the protective umbrella during rainy evenings, delved into the intricacies of Harry's experiences during the war, and even broached subjects of Snape's past—matters Harry suspected he typically kept guarded. In the span of a month, he grappled with a burgeoning appreciation for Snape's composed and reassuring presence. Harry relished the sense of being cared for and looked after, even if the admission of such feelings left him slightly embarrassed. The thought of possibly losing that security weighed heavily on his shoulders. Living alone might not be terrible, but it wasn't what he truly wanted, not yet anyway.

It was getting exhausting but familiar— being stuck with a hard choice.

Though he would have preferred to agonize over his decision for longer, much to Harry's great disdain, his three-day window soon snapped shut, leaving him with mere hours in its place.


A symphony of small drips filled the hushed space surrounding Harry as the wet leaves above him rolled off their collection of rainwater. He muttered a soft spell and flicked his wand, watching the wooden tip ignite in a shimmering spark of fire. His emerald eyes danced lazily over the burst of heat while he maneuvered his wand through the cool air. Trailing it up, down, left, right — repeating. The distraction held some of his attention, but his mind was still lost in deep thought, considering the route he had to take.

"Hardly ideal weather to commit arson considering even the log you're sitting upon has succumbed to the relentless assault of rain."

Harry jumped a little, startled by the low-toned quip accompanied by Snape's looming presence.

"Blimey, Snape," Harry breathed, fumbling with his wand. "How long have you been lurking about?"

He pulled his head back to look up at him. Snape was clad in a black sweeping overcoat and a slate gray cable-knit sweater, appearing properly collected despite the disheveled environment surrounding them.

"I approached only moments ago," he replied, raising a brow at the imminent flush trailing up from Harry's neck. "Your hearing needs to be assessed if you failed to catch the unmistakable sound of my footsteps in this pond of a yard."

Harry rolled his eyes and put out the flame hovering above the tip of his wand with a flick.

"I can hear fine. Just, er, thinking is all."

Snape's expression revealed nothing as he inclined his head down to level Harry with a firm gaze.

"Yes, an answer you've supplied for nearly a week now. I'm certain you never did this much thinking in all your years as a student combined."

Frowning, Harry swung his leg down and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Hilarious."

Without realizing it, he had subtly adopted a few of Snape's key phrases. Sporadically he'd swap in an 'indeed' for a 'yes' or interlace his fingers subconsciously during a particularly intense conversation regarding the war. Snape almost smiled at the choice word of 'hilarious,' something he typically reserved for when Harry's cheek had grated on his nerves—dancing the line of his patience. He found those small mirrors in demeanor rather amusing. It was a peculiar acknowledgment of the influence he unknowingly wielded over the boy, a testament to the subtle shifts in their dynamic that neither of them fully grasped.

Snape offered a faint smirk prompting Harry to roll his eyes in a slow and deliberate circle.

"I am merely interrupting your deeply profound moment of contemplation to convey a message on behalf of a certain intrusive redhead who owes me a lantern repair." Snape said, sliding his hands into the velvet lining of his coat pockets.

"Ron?" Harry asked, dropping his hands in tandem with his stomach.

"Indeed. It appears he possesses some capacity for following instructions, considering he dispatched that imbecilic owl my way."

Snape glanced away, out to the shimmering glitter of raindrops gracing the top of his greenhouse.

"He'd like to come by in a few hours and collect you for an evening sure to be filled with questionable decisions."

"He's not supposed to be home yet." Harry groaned, unable to stop the dejection seeping into his tone. He moved his glasses up to briefly pinch the bridge of his nose.

Arching an eyebrow, Snape cast a perplexed gaze down.

"If you'd like, I shall certainly inform Mr. Weasley that you are indisposed for the evening. Sparing you from making precarious decisions induced by liquor laced socializing seems like the sort of thing I ought to be doing."

Harry sighed but composed fast.

Well, that seems suspicious, doesn't it? Acting like you don't want to see your best mate. You have to stop being so obvious—get a grip.

"No, I want to see him. Just didn't realize his trip was cut short is all."

And I didn't get the bloody potions.

Snape surveyed him for a moment. "Very well, if you care to entertain him here, I'll be out of the home for the remainder of the day."

Harry glanced up, forcing his trademark curiosity into his green eyes.

"Meeting some Death Eater friends for tea and biscuits, are you?" He asked, raising his brows and shoving away the distress the earlier sentence had brought him.

Snape arched an eyebrow, his dry tone cutting through the air, "Charming, but no. I shall be tending to their ailing son instead."

"Malfoy?" Harry pushed himself to his feet, moving to stand beside Snape. "What's happened?"

Exasperation gracefully blanketed Snape's expression.

"He was accosted by the common cold and his mother would like to pass the torch of irritation in dealing with it off to me. I've agreed to bring him a few potions for recovery."

"Oh," Harry said, suddenly seeing a small window of opportunity. "So, Draco can ring you up and just get any potions he wants then? A right little privilege that is."

Snape scoffed and side stepped him, moving as smoothly as one could through the slosh of grass, carefully avoiding the syrup like patches of mud.

"You presume too much. They are granted to him only after certain considerations." Snape admitted over his shoulder.

Harry observed Snape's retreat for a moment, his dark hair billowing in the wind, reminiscent of the way his robes used to flow down the school corridors.

Ah, figured as much. Course he's got some potion protocol up his sleeve.

Harry splashed down a few paces to catch up, shooting muddied water in every direction.

"What sort of considerations?" He asked, soon sloshing beside Snape as they made their way to the potions storage.

"His mother's." Snape replied, grimacing down at the water now soaking the hem of his trousers.

Harry tucked his hands into the depths of his pockets and pressed on with his sloppy steps— not noticing the splatter of mud and water coating his trainers. Again, lost in thought.

If Malfoy has to get permission from his mum, there's no way Ron will get away without it. Bloody hell. How am I—

Snape stopped abruptly and gave Harry a dark look of disapproval, effortlessly interrupting his silent slew of thoughts.

"Tell me, is it within your capacity to walk with more grace than a hippogriff? Look at the hems of your trousers, mine as well. "

Harry glanced down.

"What, you're blaming me for the water?" He snorted and splayed his hands wide, motioning to the wet layout of the property.

"Look at it out here, it's a bloody marsh. I'm hardly responsible for that."

"Oh, you most certainly are." Snape said, gesturing between their feet. "I ensured my stride collected no more water than necessary and within mere moments you obliterated my precision with a string of well executed sloshes."

Harry crooked his head, his emerald eyes wandering back up to meet the disapproval. A mischievous glint appeared in his gaze, recalling what Snape had told him on the porch when he hadn't wanted to soak himself in the last rainstorm.

"Too bad we're not wizards." He intoned, hoping to jog Snape's memory. "I imagine they have ways of drying off trousers that are hardly an inconvenience."

Snape's dark stare remained impassive, concealing his mild amusement sparked by Harry's recycled use of his own sarcasm.

"Cleaning charms or not, it doesn't excuse the blatant disregard for our surroundings. Now, come along and kindly refrain from turning our journey into a mud-splattered escapade."

"Fine," Harry said, moving with a little more grace in stride with him, splashing far less water.

Snape briefly considered correcting him for the less-than-respectful agreement but chose to overlook it, avoiding an escalation in the exchange. However, his tolerance collapsed like a house of cards when he caught the next hushed murmur slipping from Harry's lips.

"Journey… we're going five fucking paces not some bloody big mountain."

He uttered it under his breath but swiftly regretted such a choice when Snape came to a halt, turning to cast a sharp look of disapproval upon him.

Oop, too far.

"Wait," Harry gasped when Snape snatched his arm, turned to him to the side and withdrew his wand.

"No, don't go smacking me," Harry pleaded, attempting to shift away and shield himself from the inevitable retribution with his hand.

"I'm sorry!"

A faint chuckle escaped his lips despite his earnest plea, stoking the fire of Snape's growing irritation.

"Oh, indeed, the laughter of regret— a chosen sound of the contrite." Snape narrowed his eyes, swaying his wand in disapproval from its now raised position behind him.

"Hands to your sides."

"Snape!" Harry pulled back again trying to maneuver his arm out of grasp all while bringing his other hand back to block more of his trouser clad backside.

"No, come on— I didn't mean for you to hear it."

"How pitiful for you that I did."

Snape's grip kept him rooted in place.

"Move your hands."

Harry offered a small groan, tilting his head to level him with a pointed look of despair.

"Obey me, you insolent teenager." Snape drawled, tapping his wand on the boy's knuckles. "Or you will face a proper consequence for such an astounding remark."

"Ah, Blimey," Harry grimaced but finally complied, crossing his arms to his chest. "This is rub—oww, ah!"

Snape's wand struck his backside three times in quick succession, the sharp and stinging smacks echoing through the air. Snape rolled his eyes at the melodramatic yelp that followed.

It was a mystery to him that Harry could fall from towering heights during a round of Quidditch and spring up unfazed. Yet, the moment his bum received a reprimanding smack, he turned into a screeching little mandrake.

"You truly have a gift for testing my patience."

Snape released Harry's arm before stowing the wand in his pocket.

"Cheek is one thing but blatant disrespect is another. You ought to be familiar with the line by now."

"Sorry, sir," Harry said, faking a wince as he reached back to rub the spot where Snape's wand had landed.

The smacks stung a bit, but they hadn't truly hurt. He was getting used to those occasional spanks after a week of testing how much cheek Snape would tolerate. It was like a little game; one he couldn't resist playing when he wasn't consumed with guilt over the impending theft.

Harry shot a sheepish grin up as he soothed the prickling sting.

"Got a bit carried away there, didn't I?"

"Indeed." Snape turned on his heel, interlaced his fingers behind his back and began walking again with purposeful strides.

"Which is hardly a surprise," he muttered, shaking his head. "Far be it from me to believe you can restrain your nerve when a cheeky little mood strikes."

Harry scoffed, unable to prevent a small blush from creeping up his face. He soon followed Snape's lead, taking careful steps up the hill and through the sloshy grass to the potions storage.


After collecting the needed vials for Draco, setting a hearty stew on the iron stove to heat and finishing a cup of lavender mint tea, Snape prepared to make his departure.

"When will you be back?" Harry asked, watching Snape collect the umbrella from its resting place by the door.

"Late," he replied, moving to wrap a travel cloak around his shoulders in a smooth sweep of the charcoal fabric. "If you chose to stay here with Mr. Weasley, there's a meal on the stove for this evening."

"Thank you." Harry smiled and propped up against the railing of the staircase. He pulled his hand back to palm his neck without thinking and let out a breathy sigh. His gaze soon went vacant, his emerald eyes staring at the door absentmindedly.

Snape's dark gaze traversed over Harry's stiff frame, locking on to the neck rubbing.

"Tell me," he tucked the umbrella under his arm and interlaced his fingers, bringing them to rest in front of his waist. "What exactly are you up to?"

"Up to?" Harry's body snapped to attention, his eyes instantly refocusing on Snape's. He couldn't stop them from widening ever so slightly as he swiftly removed his hand from the back of his neck.

"Yes." Snape lifted a brow, "You're undoubtedly up to something you shouldn't be."

"No 'm not." Harry shot back, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow. "Why would you think that?"

Oh fuck.

Humming low Snape unclasped the strap on the umbrella and moved to open the front door.

He read my mind— had to have. I knew it. Harry thought, feeling his breath grow shallow.

"Our relationship during your time at Hogwarts may not have been optimal," Snape uttered in a low and deliberate tone, "but rest assured, I always knew when you were up to something."

Harry's stomach tightened but he halted the confession threatening to spill from the tip of his lips — something? Wait, maybe he doesn't know. I would have gotten an earful by now if he knew. Right?

Harry swallowed his nerve and forced out a little chuckle.

"I think you're just missing the double agent days, Snape." He walked a few paces forward to see him out the door and flashed a forced smirk. "I'm a saint now you know, no horcruxes to hunt down or forbidden forests to explore."

Snape raised a brow up at Harry, allowing a small tense silence to build in the stillness.

"Is that so?" he eventually asked after watching the young wizard try to not squirm under the unspoken scrutiny.

Harry gave a nod, stretching his thin frame in the doorway.

"Sure thing. And hey, do me a favor, will you? Tell Malfoy I hope he's stuck with this sickness for ages. Can't have him thinking we're about to be mates just cause we called a truce."

Snape eyed Harry with a sharp gaze which only brought him a cheeky grin in return.

"What a joy it is to have facilitated such lasting camaraderie between you two." he remarked dryly, his tone lipping with sarcasm.

With that, he stepped down off the porch and opened the umbrella, leaving Harry to chuckle at the thinly veiled mockery.

"Behave yourself this evening and be a good little wizard."

Harry scrunched his nose at the childish nickname, something Snape seemed to reserve for sparse moments.

He moved to respond but stopped when Snape paused and said smoothly over his shoulder, "And don't be so foolish as to believe I have never met a saint with a secret, Harry Potter."

He didn't look back, leaving Harry to watch his cloak billow in familiar flicks down the muddied courtyard.

Harry's chest constricted, a swallow breath hitched in his throat. He shut the door and his back hit the wooden frame in a thick thud. Tilting his head against the tall barrier he let out a low groan.

Bloody hell. He's gonna kill me for this.


The gravel path winding up to the base of Malfoy Manor glistened with remnants of the recent downpour. Fresh puddles of rainwater caught the dull light, reflecting dim fragments of the gray skies above the drenched earth.

Snape's meticulous stride crunched through the saturated pebbles, reverberating in the aftermath of the storm. It had been a quiet walk, accompanied only by a familiar trickle of rain striking the umbrella above his head. It was his turn to ponder—become lost in thought, as Harry kept putting it. He could have floo'd to the Manor, Apparated or even twisted in a violent spin through the air, but these days he seemed to prefer the muggle approach to daily tasks, appreciating the way they made him slow down and focus.

Pausing, he drew in a smooth breath. A cold chill brought on by the rain enveloped his lungs in a cleansing rush. He shook off the wet umbrella and collapsed it with a sharp snap. Then, with careful precision, tucked it under his arm and resumed his stride, lingering back in his pace.

Are you sure? Harry's tentative voice replayed in his mind for the third time that hour. Even if I did something awful?

How incriminating that word was— awful. Snape twisted it in his mind, sliding his hands down deep into the pockets of his sweeping black coat.

All week he'd fought off the urge to dig a bit deeper and uncover whatever scheme or mischief Harry had tucked haphazardly up his sleeve. Yet each time he started theorizing— connecting dots— Minerva's firm reminder rang through his hoard of suspicions.

"Now that he's agreed to these summer accommodations, you must do away with this tendency to assume Harry is always seeking out trouble. The war is over now and the boy desperately needs time to convalesce without your overbearing eye of scrutiny."

"Minerva—"

"I am quite serious, Severus Snape." She said, adopting a familiar stern tone, taking a lengthy pause to purse her lips. "You will give him the benefit of the doubt, no assumptions without clear evidence, agreed?"

"Very well." He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Very well."

Snape hummed low and shook his head. The looming silhouette of the Manor gradually sharpened against the wet horizon as he approached. Whether Minerva would want him to look into this, or not, the evidence was building rather naturally in his mind. Harry had withdrawn, but showed no signs of anger. He claimed grief to be the culprit of his shift in demeanor but Snape didn't buy it, not fully, anyway. Harry struggled with misplaced guilt, yes, and did indeed harbor a wave of grief, no doubt, but for a boy that could be read like a book, he was hardly exuding the typical signs of sole disparity. No, he was planning something. He was pensive and jumpy, rubbing his neck or tapping his foot when he thought he wasn't being watched. He was thinking up some mischief, clearly, and whatever it was, he had briefly feared earning the cane for it.

"Troublesome boy." Snape muttered to himself as he neared the Manor.

True, Harry Potter had killed the Dark Lord— followed through with the impossible task to save the Wizarding World and bore the scars to prove it. Though when Snape looked at him, he still saw the same mischievous young boy with a strong will and penchant for trouble. The one whom he'd watched breaking rule after rule at Hogwarts for years without anyone to rein him in or reprimand him for putting his life on the line at every turn. Harry was the same teenager that Minerva, Molly, and every capable adult who had known him growing up still recognized.

Snape contemplated the exhaustive measure to dismiss such obvious signs of insolent antics and disregard his trusted instincts. They had never failed to lead him to the disobedience his students were up to before, and heroic Harry Potter was no exception. Well, save for the time he was convinced the boy was robbing his stores with his little friends to create polyjuice potion only for it to later be revealed as Barty Crouch...

Perhaps I should listen to Minerva. Snape sighed, conflicted again.

He swiftly withdrew his wand and tapped the large black gate to enter the courtyard of the Malfoy Manor. It slowly grated open, the metal creaking in forced submission.

"A saint now, are you?" Snape muttered to himself, sliding his calloused thumb against the cool glass of the potion vial in his pocket. "Hard to fathom, Potter."

No, the boy was indeed up to something.


"Harry!" Ron called, rapping on the wooden door again. "It's bloody ghastly out here."

Finally he heard the unmistakable thuds creaking down the old staircase and Harry's faint, "Coming," ring out from the closed off home.

Ron was exhausted and wet, his shoes were caked in mud and his patience for life was wearing thin.

Harry soon dragged open the front door with a smile that instantly dropped.

"Merlin, mate, what's happened to you?"

"Life's kicked me in the bollocks that's what." Ron snapped back, droplets of rain water drizzling down the streaks of his disheveled red hair.

Harry withdrew his wand to cast a drying spell but Ron was already charging into the house, his sopping wet boots muddying the entryway in five slippery steps.

"The trip was that bad, eh?" Harry frowned, eyeing his exasperated friend from head to toe. "You're back early."

Ron was not only soaked but he looked downright awful. The dark circles under his eyes had grown deeper and his face was a fair bit gaunt. It had only been three weeks, but he looked like he'd lost a bit of weight too. The sight of him made Harry's chest clench, this was all his fault.

"Oi, bad? It was a nightmare."

He gave Harry a quick nod of thanks as the drying spell hit him in a warm flurry, comforting his shivering torso in sappy heat.

"Really?" Harry said, crossing one foot over the other and leaning against the stair railing. "What happened?"

Ron filled him in with every detail imaginable and halfway through Harry wished he'd asked the question sitting down. The poor Weasley family had been through the wringer, starting the trip off strong with a portkey mix up that had landed them in the wrong country, moving into seven long days of sickness that took Ron, Ginny, and George out first, then the rest of the family the following week. By the time they reached the beach where they intended to relax and spend some time processing Fred's passing, magical weather anomalies wreaked havoc on their tents by the pier. Rainbows followed them inside, snowstorms appeared out of thin air and Harry dared not ask Ron for more details about the fish incident, which he had compared to an aquatic uprising that defied even magic itself.

"Blimey, Ron," Harry finally said, pulling him into a hug. "That sounds dreadful. I'm sorry."

Ron returned the embrace and clapped Harry on the back a few times before he pulled away.

"Yeah, well," Ron paused, and despite the black circles under his eyes and pale skin, he couldn't stop the subtle grin drawing up his exhausted features. "George seemed to come 'round though. I reckon that much made it worth it."

"He did?" Harry perked up, feeling a tidal wave of relief flood his chest.

"Oh yeah, I mean some of that stuff felt… well, above magic or rather. Bloody rainbows following Mum all over the place? Snow ruining Dad's horrible breakfast ideas every time he tried to make 'em?"

Harry cracked the widest smile, suddenly feeling a swell of emotion flood his emerald eyes as he let out a little laugh.

"Fred was pulling one over on us— least that's what George said on the last day." Ron cleared his throat and shook his head.

Harry nodded, still smiling. "Course he was."

Ron returned the grin, shoved off his urge to succumb back to grief, and glanced over to the muddied footprints he'd left by the doorway.

"Er, say," he whispered, motioning to the footprints and leaning in close to Harry. "Where is your peachy summer host, hm? Don't imagine he'll care for the mess."

Harry glanced over and chuckled, instantly removing the mud with a flick of his wand. No, Snape wouldn't care for the mess… or what he was about to do either, for that matter.

"He's out," Harry replied through a sigh. His gaze returned to Ron, lingering on the darkness beneath his glossy eyes.

"Come on."

He strode past him in a hurry and motioned for Ron to follow.

"What are we doing?" Ron asked, moving to catch up.

Harry swung open the black door leading to the rain covered yard. A cool breeze enveloped the pair of long time friends as he gazed out at the stone potions storage.

"We're getting you some sleep."

SCENE BREAK

Narcissa's pinpoint heels echoed in sharp clicks up the grand staircase with Snape following closely behind, his heavy clacks ricocheting in tandem with hers.

"Should you find him sleeping," Narcissa glanced over her shoulder, her wine colored lipstick catching the light. "Do let him rest, Severus. I've supplied some reading material by the hearth for you."

Snape shot a brow up at her, suppressing his urge to scoff.

"He is seventeen, Narcissa, not seven. I hardly wish to treat him as the spoiled prince he parades around as due to your frequent pampering."

Narcissa let out a soft, airy laugh.

"Well, imprison me for believing he deserves a bit of attention after the harsh years his father and I put him through. I merely wish for him to get some rest and time with you after the spectacle last week with Harry Potter."

Snape lifted his brows as they reached the top of the marble staircase and turned down the hall.

"Was the outing he accompanied me on in Diagon Alley unsatisfactory?" He asked, maintaining his brisk click-clack stride against the marble flooring.

Narcissa's deep red nails glimmered in the sunlight streaming in from one of the large windows. With a flick, she swept her hair back, the sharp clicks of her high heels resounding off the walls as she continued down to Draco's room.

"Certainly not, though I must admit he was a bit taken back at your hidden devotion to Lily Potter. He seemed to be unwilling to believe you were looking out for the boy all these years... quite the shock."

Snape nodded, his dark eyes briefly reflecting warmth from the pools of afternoon light that bathed the corridor as they walked past.

A subtle smile graced Narcissa's pale skin as she traversed his expression.

"Despite the revelation though, he thoroughly enjoyed the time spent with you. Which is why, in such a poor state, I assumed a visit would bring him some comfort."

"Poor state?" Snape drawled, pausing with Narcissa when they reached Draco's towering door. "Based on the potions you requested I presumed we were dealing with a cold. Has he fallen under a more severe duress?"

"Well," Narcissa paused, tightening her velvet cloak around her thin frame. "I suspect his mentality after all the trauma he has suffered has somehow made the sickness worse. He's fussed quite a bit."

Snape hummed low, "An interesting conclusion to arrive at considering what a rarity it is to hear Draco complain."

"Yes, well… I appreciate that you came," Narcissa responded in a softer tone, leaning over to collect Snape's umbrella from his hand. "You'll be staying for dinner, yes?"

Snape interlaced his fingers and brought them behind his back, he supplied a small nod in her direction.

"Indeed, as I confirmed in my response to your letter."

"Excellent," she reached out, giving his arm a small squeeze. "If you'd like wine or any sort of meal or refreshment, do summon a house elf; they'll fetch you anything to your preference."

"Very well."

Snape then bid her a polite goodbye and reached to clasp Draco's door handle, listening to Narcissa parting words:

"I'll return in a few hours."

Despite the years of hardship, Narcissa Malfoy still managed to possess the same air of sophistication with every step she took. Within moments she'd clicked her way back down the grand staircase, sweeping her velvet cloak in a graceful swirl, ready to meet her errands with her head held high. Disgraced husband or not, she had a life to live— an image to repair.

Smoothly pushing open the door, Snape was greeted with a sight that severely tempted him to retreat back down the stairs and reprimand Narcissa for her excessive tendency to pamper Draco far beyond reason.

He was assaulted first by the faint strumming of an enchanted harp, playing a soothing melody that rang out into the expansive bedroom. Overpowering aromatherapy charms exuded copious amounts of eucalyptus into the humid air prompting Snape to roll his dark eyes. An ornate tissue box hovered next to Draco's bed, preventing him from reaching more than a milliliter to retrieve a tissue. His personal fireplace crackled in a low hush and his black drapes were drawn down, giving the room a shadowed, soothing appearance. The space remained warmed by the flickering candles gracing the marvel shelves.

Moving towards Draco's bed, Snape observed its elegance—a rich black hue with a towering frame adorned with intricate carvings. His gaze fell upon the resting boy beneath the lavish covers, noting a delicate blush on his cheeks and a reddened rim under his nose. He could hear the thick congestion through Draco's faint snores, filling the room with a certain sick hum.

Gently, so as not to wake him, Snape rested his palm to Draco's forehead, feeling for a temperature. He was warm but not overly hot. Not dying as the accommodations in his room suggested. He then slid his hand under the bedding, feeling to assess if the plush comforter held a familiar, expected charm. Confirming his suspicion, Draco's blankets were indeed enchanted to adjust their temperature in accordance with his comfort.

With a small shake of his head Snape strode over to the sitting area in front of the fireplace. He removed his cloak and draped it over the velvet armchair positioned across from the one he soon settled into. He pulled one leg over the other and snatched up the Daily Prophet mixed in with the slew of rare books and aged parchments left by Narcissa on the small oak table. He supposed a moment without Draco's inevitable whining would be worth allowing him to sleep a little longer.

As Snape immersed himself in the newsprint, a subtle shadow crossed his features, a slight unease that refused to be banished by the comforting embrace of solitude. Harry came to mind yet again, lingering like a pin in Snape's thoughts.


"A bit more, Ron."

Harry's stomach scraped across the ledge of the stone window, he huffed, wiggling into the musty potions storage in a nosedive through the small opening.

"Blimey, Harry," Ron hissed after maneuvering him the rest of the way through with a hard shove. "Careful! What if he's got it bugged in there or something?"

Harry stood to his feet and swept off the dark line of rubble left on the center of his verdant green hoodie. While it was no surprise that the front door failed to open under the Alohomora spell, he didn't presume Snape had any other traps set for intrusion. He hadn't even noticed the little window left unlocked from the owl. Besides, none of Snape's stores at school ever had traps, it seemed unlikely that any other barriers were placed.

"Well if it's bugged," Harry whispered, moving quickly to the shelves of glass jars housed with ghastly creatures and ingredients. "Then you'll have to take a potion in my room and hope it gives you a bit of rest while Snape scolds me into the ground for this."

Ron let out a nervous laugh, he felt rather bad asking Harry to do this for him, despite his insistence that it was no big deal. He supposed the theft wasn't all that grand compared to strolling out into the forest to be executed willingly by the Dark Lord. Still though, Snape could be terrifyingly stern, and he wouldn't want to be on his bad side if he found out, especially living with the greasy git.

Darkness seeped into the corners of the musty store, conjuring an eerie atmosphere normally absent when Snape was present. Harry flicked his wand, casting lumos in silence. The soft blue glow radiated from the tip reflecting against the glass jars and bubbling vials that littered the stone shelves.

Harry felt his heart thump, blood pooling up in his face from the rush of adrenaline. He scanned the shelves, fumbling with vials, rummaging through sacks of dried ingredients. Maybe he'll forgive me for this, Harry tried to reason with himself. He'll beat my arse, yeah, but maybe I won't have to move out. Maybe he won't hate me again. Maybe I can make it up to him.

Did he feel terrible breaking Snape's trust? Yes. Undoubtedly. Was he going to sit idly by while Ron suffered miserably after all he'd been through on account of him? No, not a chance. Ron had his loyalty— he would for the rest of his life. If getting him what he needed put Harry in trouble with Snape, then so be it. Bloody hell, it wouldn't be the first time their Potions Master narrowed his piercing gaze and unleashed a tongue-lashing fit for a sinner. He would take the awful strapping, those 'bedtime spankings' too, if it meant Ron could find some much needed relief.

His resolve was solidified but his stomach still coiled, dreading the day he'd face the consequences for such a transgression. He knew it'd be painful, bloody hell—so painful, but he could handle that. It was the thought of disrespecting Snape that seemed to suffocate him, making his chest constrict tight if he lent too much time to the thought. So he didn't, not then anyway.

Finally, after what felt like ages of searching, Harry located a box with familiar looking vials tucked behind a collection of dried fluxweed. The glasses clinked together as he pulled out five containers. He held the potions up to his lit wand, examining their appearance under the iridescent blue glow.

"You get them, mate?" Ron called; his voice clear but hushed.

Harry twisted the shimmering vials in the light of his wand.

"Sleeping draughts are purple, yeah?"

"Yeah." Ron confirmed.

Harry quickly closed the lid of the box and tucked it back into place.

I'm sorry, Snape, he nearly whispered. Shoving off the distress coiling around every corner of his sweating skin.

He moved fast through the shadowed storage, handing over the vials to Ron through the small window, glancing down at them in his friend's pale hands.

"These are them." Ron said with a confidence Harry didn't quite hold.

"You're sure?" Harry pushed, his green eyes narrowing at the potions in the light of day. "They look a bit faint in color, don't they? Sleeping draughts a darker purple, yeah?"

"I don't think so, mate," Ron said, pocketing four in his tattered jeans and pulling the cork off the remaining one in his hand. He sniffed the swirling liquid at the rim of the glass and grimaced. "Blimey, uck, smells right to me. Here."

Harry pulled the vial back from him and took a deep inhale. He was hit with the lavender first, then a faint trail of asphodel petals lingered behind it intermixed with the nauseating scent of flobberworm mucus.

"Alright," Harry corked the potion and attempted to relax the bundle of knots in his stomach. "Just wish they were labeled like the others."

Ron shrugged, "Makes sense they're not. The man's spent his whole bloody life bent over a cauldron, what's he need a label for?"

A nervous chuckle filled the air as Harry tried to swallow his building guilt.

I'm so dead for this. He's going to rake me over the coals. I'll never be able to look him in the eye again.

"Come on, mate," Ron said, extending his hand in through the small window. "I'll pull ya out."

A surge of comfort enveloped Harry, quelling the swell of anxiety building in the pit of his stomach. He grasped Ron's offered hand, pulling himself up to the window. Right, this will help him, Harry thought as he shimmied forward through the tight, dirty window. He needs sleep.

This was Ron, after all—the same mate who had fearlessly fought alongside him in the Battle of Hogwarts, facing down the Dark Lord's forces with an unmatched bravery. The friend who sacrificed himself when they were just children to terrifying chess pieces so Harry could press on. The friend who had rescued him from the Dursleys in his father's stolen car without giving a thought to the consequences he'd face for it.

There was no other mate in the world like Ron Weasley, few possessed such fierce loyalty. If he needed something, Harry would step in and get it, even if it came with a high price to pay.


Author's notes: Hello dear readers, and happy Sunday! Now that my schedule has eased up a bit and I've fulfilled some of my more time-consuming personal obligations, I should be back to updating every week! If there ever comes a time when I can't make an update, please check the last chapter notes on A03 (if you can), where I'll provide an updated comment on my plans for the next one. Or please feel free to PM me here too! Much love to all of you! Thank you as always for your enthusiastic comments and unwavering support; it means the world to me. Hamlet, Guest user, DMLucas, MusicMelis, and Ishmeet, I simply loved reading through each of your thoughts, compliments and commentary over the last few weeks! I wish I had more time this evening to properly respond to each of you, but since I'm posting this in a bit of a time crunch, I'll have to wait till next chapter (rest assured though, I'll have plenty to say! You're all the best and I truly can't express how grateful I am to hear from you).

A little p.s. - I want to assure you that there are no plans for Harry and Snape's relationship to completely deteriorate; rather, it will continue to grow through the challenges. While you may have to hold your breath for a few chapters during the plunge, rest assured that we'll break through the surface again soon. Have a lovely week!