Rubbish.

"No! I want my bloody magic back and I want you to leave me the hell alone!" Whatever bonds had been forged between Harry and his guardian in the wee hours of the morning, were not standing the true test of daylight and full rest. The dream about the poisoned tree seemed insanely stupid by light of day and Harry couldn't believe he had let it effect him so strongly. Not only that, but had huddled into the great greasy git like some two year old, let him hug him! Harry was so overhwelmed with rage that he swept his untouched plate from the table and smashed it on the floor at his feet, sending a triumphant look at Snape.


Inky black eyes surveyed the mess of scrambled eggs, sausages and fresh fruit amidst shards of broken pottery, then he looked back up to Harry. "You have two choices here, Mr. Potter. You can clean that up with a dustpan and broom, or you can use your tongue." Harry blinked in shock, then scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. "Yar, right. Like you'd really make me clean the floor with my tongue. Not even you are that cruel, Snape." The chilly smile that touched Snape's lips sent a tremor of fear down Harry's spine and he remembered something that his guardian had said the night before...


...and at times you will hate me....


Severus pointed his wand at Harry and murmured calmly. "Imperius Minimalis." Harry felt strange, invisible bonds wrap about his limbs, and suddenly he found himself kneeling, watched in horror as he leaned forward and began to lick the cooling eggs off the kitchen floor. "If you learn nothing else from our time together, Mr. Potter, you must at least learn that there is nothing I will not do to you if I have to. And that includes my own special versions of the Unforgivables. Do you understand?" He lifted his wand lightly and the bonds loosened enough for Harry to nod a little, then he felt the bonds lift utterly. He fell on his side, hugging himself and sobbing quietly, spitting bits of egg from his mouth.


"The dustbin and the broom are in the pantry. I expect this mess to be cleaned up and this..." Snape flicked his wand and another plate identical to the first appeared at Harry's place. "...to be eaten. After that, you will go outside for at least an hour and a half, I don't care what you do out there. Any questions?" Harry managed to push himself up to his feet, the tears having stopped and his breath swiftly returning to normal. "No, Sir." Snape nodded and then turned to head back through the house to his office to work on his paper.


Once he had closed the door, he collapsed into the chair behind his desk and bent forward to press his forehead to the cool wooden desktop, shuddering violently but refusing to allow so much as a whimper to escape his throat. When the attack of nerves passed, he straightened and stared up at the portrait over his fireplace, studying the lovely face, bright green eyes and auburn hair of Lily Evans. "I can do this, Lily. I can do this for him, but...please, help him not to hate me too much? And...help me not to hate myself for what I may eventually have to do."


~~:~~


Harry rushed outside after cleaning up and choking down his meal, running to the rear-most boundary of the property and flopping down amidst the overgrown grass and wildflowers, breathing deeply of the clean scent as he shuddered from what Snape had done earlier. 'Why, Dumbledore? Anyone in the whole entire wizarding world and you chose the one person who probably hates me more than Voldemort ever did. Is this some joke, or just more of your wierd trust thing? I know he's not evil, but he sure isn't kind, not after making me lick the kitchen floor.' Harry spat again, the actual act not nearly as mortifying as watching himself doing it and not being able to do anything but observe.


He breathed in deep again and sighed, swallowing the thick lump in his throat. 'This is even worse than the Dursley's. At least they didn't have magic.' Rapidly Harry was beginning to believe that everything that had happened early that morning was part of the dream he'd had with the black tree, and Snape never hugged him or pretended to be nice at all. 'Just wishful thinking, is what that is.' He winced at the thought that he'd become so pathetic that he was now having dreams about Snape comforting him. 'Uhg. I really should have died in that duel.'


Harry found himself drowsing off, lulled by the buzzing of chubby bees, the lemony sunshine and the sweet scent of grass and flowers. He woke a while later and shivered, feeling a shadow lying across him, robbing him of the warmth from the sun. "Mr. Potter, it is lunch time and I do not plan to wait for you forever.' Harry blinked up at Snape and squinted at his dark-robed form backlit by the sun, then climbed to his feet to follow his guardian into the house.


Lunch passed in uncomfortable silence, Harry nudging his food about on his plate, all appetite he might have had destroyed by his guardian's presence. "Eat your food, Mr. Potter, do not toy with it." Harry felt another of those rages welling up and welcomed it, urged it on and swept to his feet, kicking his chair into the wall so hard that it broke apart in several pieces. "Why won't you let me just bloody die!? No one wants me alive anyway and anyone I might have possibly cared about is dead, ground up for fodder in the Chosen One's death mill! I'm the fucking poisoned tree, you imbecile. I kill everyone who comes in contact with me. Maybe once upon a time I had a purpose, but in case you haven't noticed I haven't been The-Boy-Who-Lived for a while now, ever since Voldemort died, I've been The-Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die!"


Snape sat calmly listening to Harry scream and then tilted his head, lifting his tea to take a sip as Harry stared at him, panting and clenching his fists. When the expressionless black eyes finally turned to him, Harry nearly flinched, wishing he had thought of what had happened that morning before giving into his anger. "Mr. Potter, if you are going to insist upon breaking my things every time you throw a temper tantrum, I am going to have to start finding ways for you to pay me back. Hoever, for now I think a more traditional punishment is in order." He stood and grabbed Harry's upper arm, pointing his wand at his throat with his free hand, dragging the boy back into the bedroom with a determined expression on his face.


He threw Harry down on his bed and glowered at him, flicking the tip of his wand. "Strip." Harry's eyes widened, suddenly unable to breathe or even think. "Shall we have a repeat of this morning, Mr. Potter?" The idea of being forced to strip the way he'd been forced to lick the floor made Harry's stomach turn over and he shook his head, forcing his chin up in defiance as he removed every last item of clothing, except his boxers. "Those as well." Snape pointed his wand at the shorts and Harry quelled the urge to beg, to plead with Snape not to make him do this, and instead shoved them down and stepped out. "On the bed, hands and knees."


Harry's heart began to pound wildly and he felt tears burst to his eyes, but he blinked furiously to try and keep from breaking down completely. Every fiber of his being seemed focused on hating Snape, wishing him dead so strongly that he was surprised Snape didn't fall right over. Snape slipped from his robes and draped them neatly across his own bed, then reached down to slide his leather belt free of his pants. "You can do this the easy way, or you can do it the Gryffindor way, Mr. Potter. Either way you're going to be on your hands and knees, except your way you'll end up with twenty more lashes than I had planned."


Harry remained silent and still, scowling at Snape, then suddenly he sneered. "Why don't you just rape me while you're at it, Snape? It's not like I could turn you in." To his absolute horror, Snape seemed to mull this over before shaking his head and pointing his wand at Harry. "Not today, Mr. Potter. Now, how are we going to do this." Harry felt ice-water flow into his veins and he turned, climbing up on the bed and burying his face in his arms, wondering if he had died and this was hell.


Snape studied Harry's smooth backside and gripped the belt tighter in his fist, forcing steel into his spine as he strode over and began to whip his ward across his buttocks and thighs. He turned after twenty lashes, leaving a bottle of Asclepios on the bedside table, then rushing from the room and into his office. He barely got the door shut before collapsing to the floor and curling in on himself, pressing his face to his knees in the fetal position, shaking violently but not crying. Snape hadn't cried for 15 years, the last tears he had shed were for Lily, and he refused to sully that memory by giving into them in self-indulgence now.


Harry stayed in position until the pain backed off from a stinging fire in his bones to merely an agony of needles in his muscles. Then he flopped down and reached for the bottle Snape had left on the nightstand, hoping it was poison and knowing he wasn't that lucky. He downed the mentholated elixir and was surprised to feel the pain slowly fading until all that remained was a tingling in his skin where the welts had been, and he sighed, rolling over on his back as he drew his covers in around himself. Despite his long nap, the troubling events of the day soon had him drifting into a place where no cruel guardians waited...though as he dozed off he remembered more from his conversation with Snape the night before...


Some of the things I have to do will seem cruel, and certainly painful...Will you trust me to help you...?...Yes...help me...