The afternoon sun felt warm on the back of Harry’s shirt as he knelt by a row of rosemary plants and began to weed around the green plants. He had shed his cloak an hour ago, and he had no intention of putting it back on, no matter what Snape said. Snape would want him to wear the cloak in the hot sun and then despair that his ward was a helpless idiot when Harry got heatstroke. Let’s face it – Snape was only happy when he was pointing out other people’s faults, preferably Harry’s.

A breeze blew across the garden, ruffling Harry’s hair and setting the little plants trembling. His hands were coated with dirt, and the knees of his trousers were splotched with mud. Oh, well, if Snape wasn’t going to give him proper clothing for gardening, it was not Harry’s fault.

"You missed a spot," a voice said from behind him.

Harry craned his head over his shoulder to see Snape watching him work, arms crossed and face stern as he surveyed his ward’s work.

"I’m not finished yet," Harry protested, returning to weeding. "I’ll get to it all eventually."

"You’ve been out here for two hours, and you’ve only done three beds so far. Are you weeding them with your teeth, or do you enjoy going at a snail’s pace?"

The sneering sarcasm in Snape’s voice made Harry want to fling a handful of dirt at him.

"I’m coming – stop yelling at me," Harry growled, pulling at a particularly vicious weed. It refused to come out, stubbornly clinging to the ground. He grabbed it with both hands and pulled with all his might. The ground finally gave way, and the weed came out, pulling one of the rosemary plants out with it. Harry wiped his face with his hand, leaving a streak of dirty sweat, and waited for Snape’s scathing comment about little brats that insisted on ruining gardens and becoming more trouble than they were worth.

"Easy, Potter," Snape said, mildly. "Some weeds won’t come up at first tug, and you need to be careful so you don’t rip up the other plants."

Harry huffed hotly, tossing the weed into the pile of other weeds that had steadily grown bigger and bigger as the afternoon progressed. "This would be so much easier with a wand. I could do it in a matter of minutes and then do something else instead of grubbing around in the dirt. It’s hot and sweaty, and I’m not getting much done, and nothing looks right."

"Hard work reaps character," Snape said in a patronizing tone as he turned away. "Something you could benefit from tremendously. Long, hard work is what you need, more than anything else. And as a good guardian, I plan to accommodate this important need as often as I can."

Harry couldn’t stop himself. He chucked a clump of dirt at Snape. The dirt hit Snape’s robe, but fell off without leaving a mark. Snape turned slowly back to face Harry.

"Mr. Potter, did you just throw a handful of mud at me because I insisted on telling the truth?"

Harry scowled and reached for the next weed, refusing to give Snape the satisfaction of an answer. Then Harry found himself whizzing through the air, up over the garden beds, and he landed in the lake with a splash. A moment later, his rear end thumped on the bottom of the lake, the cold water coming up to his shoulder. Gasping at the shock of the cold water after the warm sunshine, he struggled to his feet, rushes and vines twining around his arms and making him feel off-balance. When Harry finally got his footing, he whirled around in the knee-deep water to see Snape standing at the edge of the water, smirking.

"My, my, Potter, a swim so earlier in the season? Could you not first change into the proper attire? And I would appreciate if you asked permission from me."

"Ha-ha, you’re so bloody funny," Harry stomped out of the water, flinging droplets of water off him as he moved. "Thanks a whole heaping lot for throwing me in the lake. Now, I can’t weed anymore."

Snape merely raised an eyebrow in question.

"Come on," Harry protested, resisting the urge to rush at Snape and choke him. "I’m soaking. I can’t work like this. I’m cold, too."

"Then put your cloak on," Snape advised with the cool, collected attitude that Harry loathed. "That should warm you up."

"Sodding prat," Harry muttered as he started for the garden bed.

"I think someone needs a nap," Snape observed. "And his mouth washed out with soap before supper. I have a new bar that would fit perfectly in your mouth, lavender and baby’s breath scented, never been used."

Harry paused, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Getting angry would not help him now. "I’m sorry for calling names. And I shouldn’t have thrown dirt at you. Please don’t wash my mouth out with soap."

He knew Snape wouldn’t listen – the man would go ahead and do whatever he wanted regardless of Harry’s requests. It was just the way Snape acted, determined to prove that he wasn’t impressed with anything the Boy-Who-Lived did. Nothing Harry said ever made a difference; even when he was on his best behavior, Snape found something to criticize, some niggling little detail that Harry had neglected.

"Pick up your cloak," Snape instructed. "And go inside and upstairs to change. You can study in the library this afternoon until supper. But if I hear one more bad word out of you, you’re getting your mouth scoured and standing in the corner for an hour."

------

Once in library, Harry set to work on his plan. He began to write a list of things that he needed to do before raiding Malfoy Manor. He would need to know the layout of the manor, where they were most likely to hide valuable or illegal objects. Also, he would need to see a list of people or creatures at the manor. Lucius was still in prison in Azkaban the last Harry had heard, but there was a chance that the vile Death Eater had escaped. Narcissa would probably be there, keeping a low profile after her husband’s disgrace. As for Draco – well, he could be anywhere, traveling, visiting evil friends or relatives, attending Death Eater meetings, or simply sauntering around the manor like a spoiled prince. And the Malfoys most likely had a few more house elves. Considering that Snape had two, Harry would not be surprised if the Malfoys had four or five house elves, even after losing Dobby.

Dobby? Where was he? Maybe he could tell Harry about the manor. Dobby would know everything about the Malfoys even though he had not worked for them for three years. If Harry could just find Dobby and get him to leak some information, Harry would be halfway to finding that stupid Necklace. But knowing the attitudes of house elves, Dobby would be reluctant to say anything and most likely end up hitting himself with the thick library books before he could relay anything valuable. Harry would have to trick him somehow if he could ever find where the little creature was staying. Last thing he heard, Dobby and Winky were in service of Hogwarts, down in the castle’s kitchen.

To get a message to Dobby, Harry would need to send him an owl. To do that, Harry would have to ask Snape for permission and then try to persuade Hedwig to take the letter. When Harry had visited the owlry that morning, Hedwig had flown at him angrily and pecked him very hard around the ears. Still, facing an angry bird would be easier than trying to persuade Snape into letting him send letters out.

Harry groaned as he imagined the barrage of questions Snape would fire at him. Why do you want to send letters? What do you have to say to anyone that can not wait until school starts? You want to send letters only to Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger, correct? Why would you need to send a letter to Hogwarts? A house elf? Potter, stop bothering me and get on with your gardening before I dump you in the lake again.

A very productive conversation. Could Harry perhaps send Hedwig out with a letter without telling Snape? No, the man would have some kind of protection ward around the house that didn’t let any animals in or out without his knowledge.

Harry laid his head down on the table in frustration. He was getting tired of trying to outsmart and outthink Snape. The potions master seemed to be everywhere, seeing everything, and staying one step ahead of Harry the whole time. Was this what it was like to have a parent? Harry had never thought that parents could be that smart.

Not to say that he thought all parents were stupid. But take Ron’s mum and dad. Their seven children were always in trouble or causing pranks or getting away with mischief, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley only caught them half the time. And other people’s parents had no idea what was going on at Hogwarts until it was too late or until the Ministry decided to come clean. Parents were so blind, so caught up in their own concerns that they completely missed what was going on around them until disaster struck.

But Snape – Harry squirmed uncomfortably. Snape would be the worst sort of parent to have. You couldn’t get away with anything around him. He had an eerie way of guessing correctly what you were up to, and he wasn’t hesitant to dole out punishment when he felt you needed it. Snape would make you toe the line, wouldn’t take any back-talk, and would do his best to make sure you knew that he knew exactly what you were doing at all times.

Of course, that could be a good thing. Harry absentmindedly drew sketches of snitches around the edge of the paper as he let his thoughts drift. After a year of no one believing that Voldemort was back, and running around to hide the DA meetings, and dealing with Umbridge and her twisted ideas, it felt good to have an adult take him seriously. That was the nice thing (maybe the only nice thing) about Snape: he was honest. No hiding his feelings, no second-guessing about what Snape meant or didn’t mean, no worrying that Snape might abandon him or change his behavior at the drop of a hat. No, Snape said what he meant, meant what he said, and Potter had better listen to him or else. After years of dealing with two-faced adults and cowards, it felt good to have one person to depend on to stay the same through good and bad, never changing.

"Potter!" Snape’s stern voice rang out in the library. "What are you doing? You’ve been in here almost an hour, and all you’ve done is doodled snitches on one page? This is why you don’t get to go fly today – once you show me you can stick to a task without me standing over you, then I’ll trust you enough to let you out on your own. It’s suppertime, and this evening you’re sitting in my study so I can keep an eye on your work."

Yeah, Harry got to his feet, tucking the paper in the top drawer of the desk, that was Snape all right. Never-changing, always the same mean, grouchy, ill-tempered slave-driver that he had been since Harry had known him. Nothing but rules, punishments, and loads of snide comments. Lucky Harry, stuck with all him all summer.

------

"Can I owl some letters tomorrow?" Harry asked as he buttoned up the top buttons of his pajamas before getting into bed.

Snape nearly rolled his eyes, but said grudging, "Very well, but I get to glance over them before you send them off. I don’t want you sending the Daily Prophet a plea for being rescued from a vampire of a potions master and then having a mob of angry wizards and witches beating at my door."

"I don’t send letters like that to the newspaper," Harry objected. "The only thing I’ve ever given the newspapers is that interview with Rita Skeeter, and that was only because I had to stop Umbridge. The other stuff, like that article you read in class, was stolen information and not true."

"Really?" Snape did not look convinced. "So you weren’t interested in Miss Chang during the Tri-Wizard tournament?"

"Mostly not true," Harry amended, trying to hide his red cheeks from Snape.

Snape made a scoffing noise, but simply pointed to the bed. "Get in, and take your potion."

"In my next interview, I’ll tell them I was drugged all summer," Harry grimaced as he took the vial of dark brown sludge from Snape.

"It’s a vitamin and mineral dose to keep you strong and healthy, not a sleeping draught."

"Ugh," Harry swallowed it and hastily gave the empty vial back to Snape. "It’s awful. Why does it have to be so bad? Muggles give their kids vitamins in colorful pieces of candy or sweet syrup. And no, I don’t want candy or syrup so you can save your scathing comments."

"We are touchy today," Snape couldn’t help smiling the smallest bit. "Care to tell me why you’re in such a cranky mood, or would you rather sulk in bed?"

"I’m not sulking, and I’m not cranky," Harry insisted, flopping back on the pillows. "I’m stuck here with you yelling at me all summer, and I’m expected to be happy about it?"

"Would you be happier with your relatives?"

Harry pushed himself up on his elbows and glared at Snape. "Do you want to know about my relatives? Do you want to know what it was like growing up there, being the youngest and smallest and having everyone pick on me?"

"Please, Potter," Snape pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed, looking as if he were about to hear something very informative, "pray tell me all about your home life so I may know even more about you and your life."

"It was not the pampering, spoiled life you think it was," Harry declared. "I was not given everything I wanted, no one cared about me, and I hated living there. My parents were dead, and my mum’s sister took me in because they were the only family I had left. My uncle hated me, hated everything I did or said or thought just because I was different. He called me freak and a lot of nasty names. My cousin was bigger and stronger than I was, and he and his friends used to chase me around so they could beat me up. I had to live in a cupboard under the stairs and wear my cousin’s clothes which were always too big, and they made me do all this work around the house, and they wouldn’t let me play with anyone else my own age."

Harry took a deep breath. He waited for some sort of reaction from Snape. Part of him hoped Snape would grow angry at such injustice and threaten to hex the Dursleys into wild bars for the rest of their miserable lives. Another part of Harry hoped Snape would feel so bad about the way he had been treated that he would give Harry more leeway and freedom to do whatever he liked the rest of the summer because Harry had so obviously had a terrible childhood.

But Snape’s face remained blank, and he said in a perfectly neutral tone, "Was there anything else, Potter, or are you done?"

"Yeah, there was more," Harry indignantly pushed himself up to a sitting position. "They never gave me any presents, not even at my birthday. Or if they gave me gifts at Christmas, it was a sock or a coat hanger. And they wouldn’t talk about my parents, not even to tell me what they were like. I had to guess how they looked until I got a real picture of them. And my uncle was always threatening to lock me up for good – they did lock me up one summer, and Ron and his brothers had to come rescue me. My aunt was always making me work at something while my cousin sat around and did nothing like a big slug. And they’d lock me in my cupboard when I was ‘bad’ to teach me a lesson."

"And were you bad often?" Snape asked calmly.

Harry flushed and looked away. "That’s not the point. They were terrible to me, and you don’t see anything wrong with the way they treated me. You probably wish they were worse."

"I wish nothing of the kind," Snape was almost severe, his dark eyes fixed on Harry. "Sometimes, people have an awful, frightful childhood, but they grow up to have a fair time as adults. You were mistreated as a child –"

"Horribly mistreated, starved and locked up," Harry interjected.

"But now you’re the hero of the wizarding world," Snape said, ignoring the interruption. "Who’s to say that things haven’t evened themselves out? An unpleasant childhood, fame as a young man? What’s not to like?"

Harry looked around wildly, incredulous that he could not defend himself better than this. "It – it’s not like that! I don’t have it easy now – an enemy trying to kill me, Death Eaters hunting me down, teachers trying to hurt me. How is that evened out?"

"Would you rather be stuck at your relatives, still locked in a cupboard and wearing baggy clothes?"

"No!"

"Then circumstances must have improved somewhat, or you would want to go back. So you must like being the hunted savior destined for greatness more than the nobody in the cupboard. Because you’ve chosen a life of recognition and fame, you are responsible for your behavior as that hero."

"I didn’t choose any of it," Harry insisted, thoroughly bewildered. He had no idea how Snape had lead him to this conclusion.

"But you choose to fight the Dark Lord, going out of your way to rescue others and defeat the evil that has plagued the wizarding community for so long. If you insist on becoming the hero, why should you be surprised when people expect more responsibility and self-control on your part than from everyone else? You cannot have the glory without the burden of accountability. You will have greatness and distinction, but people will expect more of you than your friends. Now, let us have no more whining about your childhood or your hero status tonight," Snape said. He stood up and pushed the chair back against the wall.

"No, I don’t. You – you’re twisting everything around," Harry protested, distraught and confused. "I know how my childhood was – I do! It wasn’t nice. They were mean, and cruel, and Dudley got two tellies and bike that he smashed while I got nothing except a Popsicle at the zoo, and I’m not a hero – wait, let me start over again and tell it right. Then you’ll see."

"It’s too late, time to go to sleep," Snape pushed Harry back on the pillows and pulled the covers over his shoulders. "Quiet down now. You better stay in bed, or I’ll move you back to my room to sleep on the sofa."

Harry wanted to argue, ready to clarify exactly how terrible life at the Dursleys had been and how they had treated him like an unwanted dog and how they had made him feel worthless. But he was tired, and there was no use in reasoning with Snape when the man got in one of his tyrannical moods. Besides, the bed felt soft and comfortable especially after three nights on that narrow sofa. He would have to wait until tomorrow to set Snape straight.

"You’re wrong," Harry whispered as he turned onto his side and closed his eyes.

"I’m sure I am," Snape said dourly as he lowered the last candle, cloaking the room in darkness. "But for tonight, we’ll just have to trust that I know what I’m talking about. Stop worrying and go to sleep."

Harry nodded and drifted off to sleep. All night, he dreamed he was throwing clumps of dirt at his cupboard and sitting in low water to argue with the rushes about his childhood and the cruelty of the Dursleys. But he was mixing up facts, and at one point he thought Uncle Vernon was a Popsicle that Dudley tried to eat while smashing the TV. Harry told the vines in the water that he didn’t want to be a hero, but they just laughed and slithered away like snakes.

Harry woke up in the night to find himself surrounded by pitch black darkness. He thought he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, but by the time he was awake enough reach for it, the hand was gone. Convinced he was still dreaming, Harry dropped back on the pillows and fell asleep immediately.

------

The next morning as Harry got dressed, he resolved to finish the argument with Snape about the hardships of his childhood and win an argument once and for all. Snape had to lose at least one time; the man could not go for the rest of his life winning fights against fifteen-year-old and never losing. It was not right, and it was time for the score to be evened out. Harry had facts on his side – hard, cold, undeniable facts – and Snape had only a quick wit for confusing his opponent and muddling up the argument. That was not going to save him anymore, and he would know that Harry was right, even if Harry died trying.

Dressed and armed with memories to defend himself, Harry strode downstairs, almost stomping into the dining room. Snape was sitting at the table, perusing the morning paper. Harry smiled, targeting his opponent, and set off to confront him.

Without even looking up from the paper, Snape pointed across the room. "Go stand in your corner."

"What?" Harry was outraged. "I haven’t done anything yet!"

Snape gave him a piercing look. "I could hear you storming and stomping all the way downstairs like a herd of hippogriffs. You’re looking for a fight, and you’re already in a hot temper, considering it’s only eight o’clock in the morning. So, go stand in the corner for twenty minutes, and think about what you’re about to say. I don’t want to start the day arguing with you, and I don’t want you to stay in a cross mood. Go put your nose in the corner until you’ve calmed down."

Harry looked murderous for a moment, and he really thought he would have punch Snape and knock the newspaper out of his hands, or Harry would explode. Instead, Harry swallowed his anger, nearly choking with the effort, and went to the corner, banging his shoes on the floor every step of the way. Once at the corner, he stepped into it and stared at the two blank walls, muttering something very unflattering about his potions master.

"Don’t think I won’t wash your mouth out with soap after you leave the corner," Snape coolly reminded him, taking a scone from the basket and reaching for the marmalade pot. "I better not hear a word from you, or I’ll know you aren’t thinking about your behavior."

Harry closed his eyes and imagined turning Snape in a rat and having Crookshanks chase him down the corridors at Hogwarts. He could just hear the frantic squeals as Snape the Rat ran for his life. One way or another, Snape was going to pay.

Though it was only his second time in the corner, Harry was starting to see a pattern emerge. For the first few minutes, he felt livid, ready to tear Snape apart with his bare hands. Then Harry started to reason himself that if he tried to behave, Snape wouldn’t have to punish him again, so it would be wise to obey his guardian and not start fights. Snape was bigger and stronger, and it was his house, and he had a wand, so Harry was rather helpless to fight back. After fifteen minutes of standing there, Harry felt so bored that he would agree to anything so long as he could come out of the corner. His legs got tired, and his shoulders hurt, and he was hungry, and he wanted to sit down, not stare at these stupid walls. When he had his own house, he was going to build round rooms so when someone told him to go stand in the corner, he could reply, "I can’t ‘cause there aren’t any!" Of course, then Snape would tell him to stand against the round wall and be quiet. Well, Snape wasn’t going to be invited into Harry’s house, ever. Harry would put up wards to allow everyone in but Snape, and Snape could just stand outside all alone and cold and friendless while Harry celebrated inside.

"Are you done pouting?" Snape asked from the table in a conversational tone as if he were discussing the weather. He took a sip of tea as if he did not care if Mr. Potter chose to leave the corner at all.

"Yes," Harry immediately stepped out of the corner and went to the table. "I’m not sulky or angry or anything but hungry."

Snape nodded for Harry to sit down, and Harry began eating quickly in case Snape changed his mind and sent him back to the corner for further contemplation. For the time being, it didn’t really matter about finishing a fight– Harry could always argue with Snape later about who was right and who was being a complete arse.

"You have two letters that arrived early this morning," Snape motioned to two sealed envelopes beside Harry’s plate. "One from the youngest Mr. Weasley and the other from Ms. Granger. Were you expecting them?"

Harry shook his head as he picked up both letters. Hermione’s envelope was crisp and straight, and her handwriting looked nearly perfect on the creamy stationary. Ron’s envelope was slightly crumpled on one side, and he had spelled Potter with only one T. Yet, Harry grinned as he opened both letters, ready to hear the voices of two very close friends. He had no doubt that Snape would find a way to read the letters afterwards, but for now he all wanted was to hear familiar voices in a world of uncertainty.