A/N:

At this point, I can no longer promise weekly updates. Perhaps, every other week. Subscribe to this story, or to me as a user, to be notified when I post a new chapter. In all likelihood, they will be on Saturdays.

A few words regarding this upcoming chapter.

I do not believe in any kind of physical punishment on kids in real life, and this will be reflected in my writing. In my works, I steered away of main characters doing anything that would warrant discipline, in part because I would rather it happen "offscreen" than in the story. (If you are reading "The Unlikely Gryffindor," I do include references to it having happened in the past, because this is canon, while utterly condemning it.)

However, having recently come across some works that incorporate EGREGIOUS forms of physical punishment, I have decided to include a chapter of Harry disobeying, and a reasonable, non-physical, punishment/consequence that he receives as a result.

This will be the only time I describe such an event.

It will also take place from Harry and Severus's POV.

Onto the chapter.

Over a month had passed since their arrival at the castle, and while Harry saw less of his dad than he had at their home, he didn't feel abandoned. He ate breakfast with his dad. His mornings were spent with teachers in lessons, just like his dad spent his teaching. Then, they ate lunch together, and talked about how their mornings had gone. After lunch, Harry had the afternoon--until 3:30--to spend as he pleased. If the weather was nice, he would take his broom outside, and fly along the Quidditch pitch. If it was rainy, though, he would read, or explore the castle, or play with his cat, who he'd named Calla--for the flower. But the hours always went quickly, and he was always back in the sitting room when his dad returned. His guardian would always greet him with a big hug, sometimes lifting Harry into his arms, and the three would sit on the couch together, Calla always on Harry's lap.

Harry loved this part of the day. His dad's work wasn't over--he still had to brew and grade papers and tests--but he was back. Unless either was in the loo, he wouldn't let his guardian out of his sight. Sometimes, after dinner when he brewed, Harry would help out. If the potion was too complicated, he would read or experiment with his own Potions kit. But during the hours before dinner, Severus didn't work, just spent time with Harry. They might walk around the castle, or go outside, or just read together, with Harry in his arms or curled up close to him. It almost didn't matter what they did. He was just happy to be with his guardian.

After dinner, though, his dad did have to work until it was Harry's bedtime. Usually, he marked papers, but sometimes, it was brewing. Harry knew not to interrupt unless it was very important, but he could still be there. Then, at 8:30, it was time for a bath and getting ready for bed. Severus would read to him afterwards, and tuck Harry into bed. Harry knew he continued working afterwards, probably for at least a couple more hours, but always in their quarters, so if Harry woke up from a nightmare--which still happened at least once a week--he would be there immediately.

Harry woke up to his dad pulling off the blankets, wearing the invisibility cloak.

"Dad!" he protested, pulling them back on, giggling.

He knew what would happen next. He could hear his guardian chuckling under the Invisibility cloak. Harry clung to the top of his blankets, so this time, Severus pulled from the bottom. Harry giggled in anticipation, knowing what would come next. Sure enough, the invisible hands came, rolling him over, ticking him along his sides, then under his arms. He squirmed away even as he giggled delightedly. Harry knew this would keep going until he asked him to stop. Then, immediately, the tickling would cease, his dad would set the cloak aside, wrap him into an enormous hug, and they would cuddle together for awhile, until it was truly time for them to get up.

Like today. Harry rolled over and over in bed, as his dad's fingers gently, but persistently, ticked his sides. Not to the point of bringing Harry to tears--that had happened once, and his dad thought it was too much--but where it still reduced him to breathless giggles.

"Stop!" he managed, and immediately, it stopped.

The cloak came off to reveal the smiling face of his dad, wearing his usual brown night shirt and black dressing gown. He plopped down on the bed, then Harry launched into his arms, and felt the warm, secure hug.

"Mmm," Harry murmured, letting his head rest against his dad's shoulders.

Hugs were still rather a new experience, and he loved them even more than treacle tart. Professor McGonagall gave him one at the beginning and end of their lessons. Hers were great, but his dad's were just the best. They were warm, like going inside after being in a rainstorm, and strong without hurting. His dad always smelled good, too, and Harry wished that if he stayed huddled against him long enough, some of the smell might be transferred to him. Occasionally, he thought it did--at least, a little bit. This morning, like all mornings, Severus wrapped the covers around both of them. Harry let out a contented sigh.

"Can we cuddle extra long?" he asked.

"Very well. Five minutes longer than usual," his guardian promised, chuckling.

"Thank you!"

His dad hugged him tightly, and they stayed like that until it was time to get up for real.

"Is it almost the weekend?" Harry asked, once they were eating breakfast. Then, before his dad could answer, he said, "Oh, it's Thursday."

It was hard, sometimes, to keep track of the days. He had lessons five days a week, same as before, but only in the mornings. And while he hadn't been allowed to watch TV before, Dudley would refer to certain shows correspondence to certain days, and they didn't have a Telly here. So, it wasn't as though Harry lost track, but it still felt a bit strange. Especially being so far away from Spinner's End, which was a lot closer to the muggle world than Hogwarts was.

"That's right," Severus answered, stirring his morning cup of tea. "The school will be a bit less crowded this weekend. It's the first Hogsmeade one."

"Oh." Harry took a bite of his porridge. They had already been there, twice, and he still had loads of sweets leftover.

"We'll go again in a few weeks," his dad promised. "If we went this weekend, I'd frighten all the students."

"You're not very scary," Harry protested, lightly.

He chuckled. "I noticed you included 'very' in your assessment."

Harry squirmed in his seat. Deep down, as much as he loved and looked up to his new dad, he found him a little scary. Sometimes. But even Dudley treated his dad a bit differently than his mum, so perhaps this wasn't uncommon.

He ate another bite of oatmeal to avoid having to answer. But it seemed to stick in his throat.

"I don't want you to be afraid of me, Harry."

His guardian's voice was soft, gentle, and Harry made himself look up.

"I'm not. I--even Dudley was sometimes a little afraid of Uncle Vernon," he said, not meeting Severus's eyes.

Severus opened his mouth, then shut it. He stood, walked over to Harry, and hugged him. Harry squeezed him back, and they stayed like that until it didn't hurt to swallow.

Professor Burbage would be teaching him this morning. His dad wanted him to keep learning math and work on his penmanship, so she taught him that, and also the similarities and differences between the two worlds. He generally liked these lessons, and besides, she was very nice, and very pretty, with her long, dark, curly hair.

The morning was chilly, especially so close to the dungeons, so they had a fire, and Harry kept his favorite blanket draped around his shoulders as he worked. Today, Professor Burbage had begun to teach him long division, and for the last half hour, he completed a worksheet.

"Very well done, Harry," she praised, after correcting his work. "You answered all but one correctly, and that was only off by a bit. You see, you put a seven instead of a nine?"

Harry looked over her shoulders to see where he'd gone wrong. It was hard, not being able to use a pencil, because he couldn't erase his work. There were probably charms for that, but his magic wasn't developed enough for that. He only had accidental magic, and it would be too dangerous for him to have a wand. So, in some ways, he was still a muggle, but living in the magical world.

Severus returned a bit later, and he was not quite in a bad mood. Harry knew that was because he taught second year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and then third years from the same house, on Thursday mornings. Aside from his NEWT lessons, classes with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were his favorite.

"How were your lessons, child?" he asked, after giving Harry a hug.

"Pretty good, I think?" Harry asked, looking at the Muggle Studies teacher.

"Very good. We began learning about decimals, and Harry answered every question except one correctly," his teacher said, smiling. "He nearly got that one correct, as well."

Severus smiled at Harry. "Well done, owlet."

Harry beamed. "Thank you, Dad."

The adults talked for a bit, and then, she left. Severus turned back to Harry, and gave him a couple of choices for his lunch. Harry picked chicken noodle soup--and Severus called on one of the elves to deliver it.

After lunch, Harry headed outside, holding his broom securely, while his dad went to teach his afternoon classes. It had warmed up enough for Harry to not need a cloak, which was nice, because it could get a bit tangled up while he flew. But that afternoon was rather warmer than usual, and Harry grinned as he raced over to the pitch.

Flying lessons never started before 3:30, and team practices were held after dinner and on weekends. So, Harry had the field all to himself. Well, all to himself except for any other students who chose to fly, but there was plenty of room for everyone. Right now, everyone was in lessons.

He mounted his broom, and rose as high as the broom would go--nine feet in the air. Three feet higher than his dad's height! He flew as quickly as he could, then made loops and sharp turns for some time. Flying wasn't like being on a playground, where it got a bit dull after awhile, if you were playing all by yourself. He loved the swings and the slide and the monkey bars, and could enjoy them for an hour, maybe two. Perhaps, if Harry had never experienced flying on a broomstick, he would be able to enjoy them for longer--especially the swings. It was just...there wasn't as much you could do. Swings only went up and down, not like a broomstick, which went in all directions. He thought it must be a bit how birds felt, up in the air, only they had wings instead of a piece of magical wood.

Harry lost track of time, up in the air. He was surprised when Madam Hooch appeared, carrying her broomstick in one hand, and using her wand to command twenty or so broomsticks to follow her. Harry giggled. It looked like she was the line leader, the way they'd had them in the early years of primary school, and they were following her lead. She didn't see him, though, just stood near the edge and flicked her wand at the school brooms. Immediately, they formed rows on the grass.

The school brooms weren't very good brooms. They were old, outdated models, useful for teaching the basics of flying, his dad had explained, but dreadful for playing Quidditch. If a student tried out for the team and didn't have their own broomstick, they could use a school broom to practice, but they would have to get their own before the first match.

"Harry!" Madam Hooch called, waving cheerfully at him.

Harry waved back, and flew to the ground. He supposed he should be heading back, as the practice would start in a half hour...

"You're becoming quite good at flying!" she praised. "I spotted you in the air, making those sharp turns. Better than some of my first years, I'd say. And to hear them talk," she added, chuckling, "they've done nothing but fly since infancy."

"Thank you," Harry said, politely.

He was about to leave, when she reached out her hand, putting it briefly on his shoulders. Harry still wasn't used to being touched all of a sudden--with the exception of Severus, of course--and he jolted back, just slightly. The witch's eyes darkened for a second, then turned back to normal.

"Say," Madam Hooch began, glancing down at her feet. No, not at her feet, at the broomsticks by her feet. "How'd you like to try riding one of these?"

Harry knew he should say no thank you. But his eyes, as though acting on their own, looked at the broomsticks.

A small voice told him to say no. That when he was ready for a more advanced broomstick, his dad would give him permission to use a school broom. Or allow him to buy one of his own--his parents had left him money, after all, and Harry knew his father had played Quidditch.

Another voice said that Severus hadn't seen him fly in weeks. He was too busy with teaching lessons to come out to the pitch. And Harry rarely flew during the weekends, because that was when the teams spent hours practicing. Besides, Madam Hooch had just seen him fly, and she had asked. She would know, wouldn't she? She was the Quidditch coach. It would have been as though the coach for football had seen a kid score on his own, and say he ought to be on the team.

Except, Harry wasn't being offered a place on the team or being given a racing broom. Just the chance to use a school broom. While wasn't even a very good one.

But probably better and faster than his own. His broom would only go so high or so fast, and there were other protections to keep Harry from falling off. A school broomstick could probably go at least twice as high and fast...

No. He shouldn't. It was against the rules, after all.

"I--I don't think I'm ready, yet," he answered, evasively.

"Oh, pshaw! You're a better flier than half the first years," Madam Hooch insisted. "Here, this one's a Silver Arrow--go on, try it out."

He could--should--say no. But she looked so eager, and Harry really, really wanted to try it out.

Just a couple of minutes, he thought.

He'd hold on really tight, too.

Harry accepted the broomstick, carefully mounted it, and took off.

The broom flew much faster than he would have expected, and higher, too. Harry gripped it fiercely, not wanting to fall off. Why, he must be at least twenty feet in the air! He felt dizzy, and a bit queasy, but he held on, and steered it so he dove several feet, then stopped when he was closer to his usual height. Okay. Good. He sped across the pitch, then, probably at twice the speed as usual. It was exhilarating, and a little scary. Then, he dove until he was nearly at ground level, and carefully got off.

He still felt queasy.

"Thank you!" he said, forcing a smile. "That was a lot of fun!"

Madam Hooch was all smiles. "You did quite well, Harry! I expect you're ready for the next level, if not a racing broom. But not far off! Why, I wouldn't be surprised if you made the team in your second year, just like your father!"

Harry smiled again, thanked her, and quickly collected his broom. It felt odd in his hands, but he wasn't sure why.

As he left, the realization that he'd disobeyed sank in fully. Harry was allowed to use his broom to fly, but no other. Even when they had visited the Weasley home, Severus had been very clear about that. When Harry was offered a turn on one of the Cleansweeps, his dad had nearly run over, shaking his head, looking almost angry.

"Harry is far too young to use a racing broom!" he had said, not angry, not exactly, but firmly.

Later, Severus had explained to him that, having just learned to fly, he was only allowed to use his broom. The protective charms kept him from any possible accidents. In a year or so, perhaps, he could advance to a more advanced model.

Harry had understood. Really, he'd been a bit relieved. Severus cared about him and his safety. Not like the Dursleys, who would have been glad if he'd broken his neck.

And Harry had promised to obey.

Now, he realized, feeling outright sick, he had broken that promise. He hadn't exactly lied, maybe, but he had disobeyed. And it hadn't even been disobeying over something small, like eating an extra biscuit or sweet. No, he had deliberately flown on a school broomstick, even though he'd known he wasn't allowed to.

Harry swallowed hard. At the Dursleys, he was used to being punished. Well, not used to it, exactly, because he always felt nervous and a bit ill when his magic kicked in--not that he'd been aware of it at the time--and his relatives would inevitably find out. Punishment usually meant being locked in his cupboard, going at least a day without meals. Sometimes, the Dursleys forgot to lock the door properly, and he'd been able to sneak out and take something from the cupboards. If it had been stealing, well, it had been better than going very hungry. Besides, he'd never taken very much. He'd needed to be quick, for one thing, and for another, while Aunt Petunia hadn't kept a very close eye on every bit of food, she would know if they were suddenly out--or even running low--on something overnight. So, Harry had taken what he could, and they never caught on.

He knew that he would have to tell his guardian that he had broken his promise. Even if he would be able to hold it in, and he didn't think he could, Madam Hooch would say something. Not because she wanted to get Harry into trouble, but because if he really had flown well, she'd want him to know. Teachers did that, after all.

What would Severus do? He'd said he would never hit Harry, but that had been before Harry had disobeyed. Besides, adults often said one thing and would change their mind, or forget later. Anyway, since he had disobeyed, and about something important, Harry thought he probably deserved to be hit. Uncle Vernon had given Dudley a spanking, once. Harry remembered it vividly. But it had only been one hit, and Dudley had howled so much, and Aunt Petunia had been so furious at Uncle Vernon, that he had promised never to do it again.

They even took Dudley to the movies and for ice cream afterwards. Aunt Petunia had told Dudley, still crying his crocodile tears at the time, that what his father had done was very, very, very wrong, but he would NEVER do it again, and would Dudley please be a very good boy, and very generous, and forgive him? And grudgingly, Dudley had, but for the next month or so, neither had missed a chance to remind Uncle Vernon about it. Dudley would even cover his behind when his dad got mad, as though it still hurt.

Harry thought that if Severus decided to spank him or hit him, he wouldn't act that way. This wasn't accidental magic, after all. He had misbehaved, and besides, Harry realized, Severus hadn't needed to become Harry's guardian. Now that Harry had misbehaved, really misbehaved, he might think he had made a mistake. So, even after Severus punished him, even if he decided to do something that REALLY hurt, and then lock him up, Harry would have to be extra good...probably forever...so that Severus would continue to be willing to take care of him.

He supposed that Severus would stop reading to him, now, or tuck him in, or wake him up with tickles. Well, that was his fault.

Harry stood outside the door for a minute, wondering if his dad already knew and would make their quarters reject his hand print. But the door opened, and Harry made his way inside.

Severus was already there, and he smiled when he saw Harry.

"Hello, owlet," he said, softly. "Did you enjoy flying?"

He took the broom from Harry, placed it against the wall, and wrapped his arms around him. Harry wanted to savor it, because it might be the last hug Severus ever gave him...

"You're crying," Severus murmured, after Harry let go. "What's wrong, child?"

He guided Harry to the couch, but he was being too nice, and it made his stomach hurt even more. If his dad decided not to let him eat dinner that night, it wouldn't be a punishment.

By the time they were both seated, and Severus even had an arm around Harry, he was sobbing.

"I--I--I d-d-did something b-b-bad," he managed to choke out.

A part of Harry wanted his dad to yell at him, to say that he already knew. Perhaps, that he had seen him fly, and was so angry, so disappointed, because Harry was ungrateful and rotten...

"What did you do?" Severus asked, instead. He removed his hand from around Harry's shoulders, and began to wipe away his tears. "Please, child, don't be afraid to tell me."

"I r-road a sc-school b-b-broom," he said, and his eyes burned as more tears left them.

Severus's face darkened, just for a second. "Harry. Owlet. Clearly, you're very upset, and I can see how bad you feel." Harry nodded vigorously. "I am proud of you for telling me." Harry stared at him, shocked. "Not proud of you for disobeying," he added, almost sharply. But his tone softened. "But I am proud that you were honest and brave enough to confess. Now, owlet, I expect there's a story behind it, so let's have some tea, and you can tell me everything. Can you do that?"

"I'll try," Harry whispered.

Severus hugged him--actually hugged him. "I will be right back with our tea. Unless, you would like to come with me?"

Harry nodded, and Severus hugged him again. Then, they stood, and Harry's guardian wrapped an arm around him as they walked to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, they were back on the couch, drinking from the tea. Severus had put a small amount of a Calming Drought into Harry's, because he was still very upset. He urged Harry to take several deep breaths before telling him what happened, and Harry obeyed. He felt a little better. Severus knew what he had done, and so far, he hadn't hit him.

"I was flying on my broom," he began, "and Madam Hooch came to set up the school brooms for the lesson."

He took a sip of tea, which was warm without being too hot, and tasted really good.

"Go on," Severus urged, softly.

"I-I was still flying, and she saw me. She thought I was good, and then asked if I wanted to try one of the school brooms." Harry frowned, trying to remember what had happened next. "I-I think I said no. But, then, I said yes." He stared at his shoes. The shoes that his dad had bought him. His others had been getting too small, and had been starting to pinch. But these were a perfect fit, as was everything Harry now wore, and so soft and comfortable besides...

"Harry, take a deep breath," Severus said, placing both hands on his shoulders. "Nice and easy. Slow. Good. Again. And again..."

Once Harry stopped crying, at least for now, he went on.

"So, I went on it. And she watched, and said--said that I flew really well," Harry continued. "She said I flew like my father."

Severus didn't yell, but his face darkened just a little before he hugged Harry.

"Your father was a very talented flyer," he said, almost stiffly, "and you have his talent."

"But I was wrong to fly a school broom. Because you said I--that my broom was safer for me," Harry said, in a small voice.

"Yes. I did say that," his dad agreed. After a moment, during which he wrapped both arms around Harry, and Harry suddenly felt so safe, because no matter what his guardian did to punish him, Harry was pretty sure that Severus still loved him..."I must say, Harry, that while I am not pleased that you disobeyed, I can see why you did. Not that it excuses it, of course."

"I know," Harry said, quickly. "A-are you going to hit me?"

"No." Severus said the word with force. "I will never hit you, nor use any form of physical punishment on you. Never, Harry."

"Okay," Harry whispered.

"My father--he regularly hurt me," Severus continued, "so I know, with certainty, that to do anything like that to a child is abominable. There is, in my mind, no real difference between a caning, a thrashing, a beating, or even a spanking. All are utterly despicable forms of punishment." He stared at Harry intently. "Oh, they may teach a child to obey in the short term, but ultimately, they teach a child that an adult can use pain on those who cannot defend themselves." Severus stared at him again, and Harry thought that he seemed to be thinking something he didn't want to say. "All physical forms of punishment are deplorable--inexcusable--and not only will I never use one on you, owlet, if any adult ever does, or even threatens to, I hope you will tell me, and they will be...dealt with."

Harry didn't understand everything that his guardian said--Severus tended to use big words and long sentences--but he got the basics.

He wouldn't be hit.

"Will you ever lock me up?" Harry asked.

"Never." Severus frowned. "Allow me to rephrase that. Never as punishment. But if our safety was at stake, or yours, and it was the only way to protect you, then, yes. But not under any other circumstance."

Harry didn't know why they would be in such danger. Perhaps, if the Dark Lord returned? Then, perhaps.

He nodded.

"Now that this has been established, child, you did disobey, even though you were spurred on by Madam Hooch," Harry's dad said, softly. "I can't allow that to go without some punishment."

He looked at Harry, and Harry nodded. "I know, sir."

"I am not going to ask you what you think your punishment should be," Severus went on, "as your line of thought would place the consequences far outside the scope of what you've done. I dare say, in fact, that you have already worried and bullied yourself sick. Therefore," he concluded, "tomorrow, and only tomorrow, you will not be allowed to fly. Instead, in lieu of my classes, I shall brew in my lab, and you will assist me.

"You will," Severus continued, gently, "do small and rather dull tasks, such as grind up ingredients. This is rather standard for detentions, in which they are given a task which helps the school, instead of doing something of no value, such as lines."

Harry thought this was more than fair. Going a single day without flying wouldn't be fun, but he had used a school broom against his dad's orders. Really, if he had been asked to give himself a punishment related to flying, he would have said at least a month.

As far as helping his dad...yes, grinding up ingredients wasn't fun or interesting, but at least he wouldn't be used as an ingredient. Besides, it wouldn't hurt.

"Yes, sir," he repeated.

His dad looked...well, Harry couldn't tell. "Do you think I am being too harsh for your first instance of misbehavior?"

Harry thought before answering. He wasn't going to lie, of course, but his answer might make his dad increase the punishment.

Well, that would be worth it.

"I think it's not enough," he answered, honestly.

Severus chuckled, then hugged Harry tightly. "Then, it's a good thing you are not in charge of your punishment. Now, shall we have dinner?"

Harry still felt guilty, enough that he couldn't stomach eating dessert. His dad didn't make him, either. Perhaps, that was another punishment? But no, Harry thought he would be sick if he had to make himself eat biscuits or sweets or anything he really liked.

"Can I get ready for bed?" he asked, once they were finished.

"You may," his guardian answered. "Come to the sitting room when you are ready, and I shall read to you and tuck you in."

"I don't deserve a bedtime story," he whispered.

His dad walked over to Harry, and for a minute, Harry thought he would strike him. But he just wrapped Harry in a warm hug.

"You do. But..." Severus studied Harry. "How about extra cuddles, instead?"

Harry felt his breath hitch, but he nodded. He did want, even need, the extra hugs. He wanted to feel his dad's arms around him, holding him tightly, and even his dad reassuring Harry that he would always love him, even when he was bad and didn't deserve it.

"Shh, shh," Severus murmured, still hugging Harry, now rocking him from side to side. "It's all right. I love you, owlet. I will always love you."

"I still feel so guilty," Harry whispered, looking up at him.

Severus stopped rocking Harry, simply held him in his lap so they were face to face.

"You feel guilty because you broke the rules I put in place for your safety," Severus began, gently, "and that's good, Harry. It means you have a conscience."

Harry felt his breath hitch, and his heart race. "I was very naughty, a-and m-maybe you should hit me."

But Severus shook his head. "Hitting a child is never a good way to teach a child."

"B-but neither is feeling so yucky inside," Harry countered.

With one hand, his dad began to rub Harry's back. "What you did was wrong, but you did tell me immediately, and you are accepting the punishment I put in place for your actions. Perhaps, after tomorrow is over and so is your punishment, you will feel better."

Maybe.

"Do you really still love me?" Harry asked, looking away.

"Harry." Severus gently, so gently, moved his face so that they were eye to eye. "I will always, always love you."

He felt a little better. Still, he felt like crying again.

"Go ahead," his guardian soothed, as though reading his mind. "It's all right to cry."

So Harry did, burrowing his face into his dad's robes, and his dad just hugged him and rocked him back and forth and told Harry he loved him, that he was still proud of him, until, finally, Harry fell back asleep.

Severus didn't leave after his child, his little owl, had fallen asleep. He wanted to, at least for an hour or so. Enough time to indulge in a glass of scotch. Severus didn't make it a habit of drinking, since his late father had been a drunkard, and a vile one at that. At the same time, Severus was a man of precision, and knew he could hardly spend his entire life without consuming the stuff in any form. Best to know his limits, and adhere to them scrupulously. He could drink three glasses of scotch without getting outright drunk, two for feeling the more pleasant aspects of the stuff, and one for relaxing after a difficult day.

Today would have been a "one glass" day, or evening, but his child was currently asleep in his arms and, today especially, he would not risk Harry waking up from a nightmare and finding his guardian not there.

The poor child. Severus had known better to expect perfect behavior for the duration of their time together. No one could expect such a thing from even the most well-behaved child, and while Harry's manners were usually very good, he had trauma in his past. A child could not live for nearly seven years without any love and affection without experiencing the aftermath. Nor could Severus, who would be his guardian for the duration of his childhood, and a loving parent for the remainder of his life.

Yet, Harry had expected to be rejected at the first act of disobedience. Severus would never use his Legilmency skills on a child, not directly enter the sanctuary of his mind, but his concerns were so present anyone with a functioning brain could have deduced them. His child expected, or at least feared, being utterly cast out and dismissed from Severus's care. If not, then beaten until he could not sit down for a week. If not THAT, locked up and deprived of food for several days. And, if not that, then forbidden to participate in any recreational activities for an indefinite period of time.

Frankly, Severus thought that even the punishment he had assigned to Harry was, if not exactly unfair, a bit unreasonable for a first offense, especially considering his actions had been spurred on by a teacher.

Severus promised himself to be especially gentle with the child the following day. Harry might be in detention, but he would be treated as though it were a lesson. Moreover, if Harry's hands showed any sign of pain, Severus would find another task for him.

Finally, the day after, he would have words with Madam Hooch. She ought not have interfered, even though it had been well-meaning. But if she truly believed Harry was ready, Severus would allow him to ride the school brooms.

They were hardly racing brooms, even if they might feel like it compared to his child's broom...

Then, there was the task of getting Harry to agree to see a Mind Healer. Merlin knows, the child certainly needed one. But it would do no good if he was unwilling.

Harry rose in the early hours, needing to use the loo. He'd had a nightmare earlier, featuring himself falling from a broomstick, and then, after having broken several bones, Uncle Vernon and Severus whacking him with their own.

Waking in a panic, his dad had been there, holding him, reassuring him. Harry had told him about the nightmare, and his dad had hugged him so tightly it almost hurt, but Harry didn't care, almost wished the hug had been even fiercer. He'd slowly fallen back asleep, and he hadn't dreamt again.

When he returned to his bed, his dad just opened his eyes, and reached out his arms to pull him close to him.

"I love you, Harry," he'd murmured, before Harry had fallen back asleep.

The day passed so slowly, even slower than the long hours Harry had spent in his cupboard. Professor McGonagall was there that morning, and his dad must have told her about what he had done.

She hugged him, and told Harry that she was sure he would be a wonderful flyer one day, but for now, it was best to stick with his child's broom. He was reassured by her words, but he could still hardly concentrate on the lesson. Even when she gave up and offered to read to him, Harry couldn't take in a word. But his favorite professor still hugged him tightly at the end of the lesson, and said that things would look up soon.

In a way, it was almost a relief to be stuck inside that afternoon, serving his first detention. Oh, it went on for ages, but at least he could do something. Harry worked as hard and as carefully as he could, cutting up and mashing ingredients. Even when his dad had him cut dead flobberworms into tiny pieces, which made Harry gag a bit at first, he felt that with every slice, he was helping his dad, and working off the guilt. Then, it was over, and his dad let him wash his hands--Harry scrubbed them hard, because there was flobberworm juice all over--and they went back to their quarters.

His dad hugged him as soon as they were inside. "You worked very hard, and didn't complain once. I believe your actions, and the fact that you told me what you had done immediately, more than make up for what you did."

"Do you forgive me?" Harry asked, tentatively.

Severus smiled. "I forgave you as soon as you told me, child. But the punishment is over, now, and unless you wish to talk to me about it in the future, we can move on."

Harry didn't quite understand all of that, but he reckoned he got the gist of it. At any rate, while he knew he'd deserved the boring day and the hard work, he rather felt as though the work had removed the guilt he felt. Not that he was going to hurry to disobey anytime soon!

It was time for dinner, and for the first time that day, Harry felt like he could actually enjoy what he was eating. Severus let him have dessert, too, and the vanilla ice cream tasted better than he remembered.

After his bath, and their usual bedtime reading, Severus suggested that Harry see a Mind Healer.

"Your aunt and uncle were dreadful to you, Harry, and that sort of thing doesn't just disappear overnight. Moreover," Severus added, "the Mind Healer may be able to help me with taking care of you."

"I think you are doing a great job, Dad," Harry protested, lightly.

"Ah, but there's always room for improvement," Severus said, smoothing back Harry's hair.

Harry felt himself relax under the touch. His dad held him closer, and he let himself relax, finally relax, for the first time that day. Severus had forgiven him, and his punishment was over.

"Okay," he agreed. "I'll see a Mind Healer."

"Thank you, owlet," Severus murmured.

For the second time in as many nights, Harry fell asleep next to his guardian. That night, he had no nightmares.

Author's note: I wanted to show in this chapter the slightly evolving father/son relationship between Severus and Harry, and what Harry breaking the rules might look like. As stated earlier, I find ALL forms of physical punishment on children to be inexcusable, even if it's still allowed in some countries. However, I also wanted to show the effects of breaking the rules, and reasonable consequences. I believe that Harry's excessive guilt and fear stems from the Dursleys, and between a good Mind Healer and a loving and patient Severus, he can overcome this.

Next up:

I'm not sure, but leaning towards a trip to the kitchens, using the invisibility cloak.