Harry stopped breathing, stopped moving, did nothing but stare at Lucius Malfoy, waiting for the explosion. Lucius would see him, would see the future savior of the wizarding world sitting in the window seat of a sworn Death Eater. Lucius would realize that Snape was a spy with loyalties to the other side. Lucius would run back to Voldemort with the news, and the Dark Lord would torture Snape for days, maybe weeks before killing him. Harry felt cold sweat run down his back. What could he do? What was Snape going to do? Maybe the potions master would stun or Obliviate Lucius, and Harry could run away with Snape to Hogwarts where Dumbledore would protect them, but this would mean the beginning of the war and more people would die . . .

"Really, Lucius," Snape frowned, shaking his head. "Do you ever knock or do you find pleasure in Apparating into my house whenever you choose? I know I said my door is always open to you, but I would enjoy a bit more notice before I see you standing in my family room."

"Ah, Severus," Lucius smiled, a cold smile that showed all his white teeth. "Still as cheerful as usual. I see you’ve put up more wards than before, tying Snapdragon Manor so tight no one can hope to get through. They tried to keep me out, nearly flung me back into Malfoy Manor, but I persisted. And those awful alarms ringing – enough to make a man go deaf. But I suppose after last week you’re justified in setting up precautions. Goyle said after the Dark Lord was through with you – well, I’m surprised your head did not crack from all that screaming."

"I’m so glad you enjoyed hearing about it," Snape said dryly.

Neither man was looking at Harry. They both acted as if Harry were not there, as if he were not sitting in the family room of Snapdragon Manor. Could Lucius even see him? Or hear him? And the ringing of the doorbell – had that been the alarms going off?

"And may I ask what you are doing out and about?" Snape asked with just a faint sneer around his mouth. "Last I heard, you were enjoying the pleasures of Azkaban and making friends with black cloaked spirits. Did you overstay your welcome or did you make an impromptu escape? Shall I see dementors swarming around here any moment?"

Harry gasped sharply. He did not mean to make a sound, but the idea of those fiends lurking around the manor terrified him. Neither Snape nor Lucius took any notice of his involuntary gasp, and Harry tired to make himself relax, pushing the image of dementors out of his head as best he could.

"So droll, as ever," Lucius’s eyes glinted. "There was a time not so long ago when you were hanging on my every word, eager for my pure blood connections and allegiance to the Dark Lord to assist you in your path to greatness. You had such potential, Severus – such drive to conquer and ravage for him, ready to destroy anyone who stood in your path to glory. Now, all I see is a rundown spy for the Dark Lord who teaches little brats under the guidance of that idiot Dumbledore."

Harry bristled, but Snape did not seem offended.

"Perhaps, Lucius, but you were once an important player in the wizarding world, going to be the next Minister of Magic. Now, all I see is an escapee from prison."

Lucius raised his head, looking down arrogantly. "Power and pure blood are not what they used to be. Azkaban has taught me that. My name and money could only get me a tower room with the most unaccommodating situation imaginable. Cold rooms, bad food, no light other than daylight, and I have to bribe those cursed dementors for the smallest things, such as reading or news from the wizarding world. I was there a month, and I had to promise them half my fortune for a twenty-four hour release to visit my own family and other acquaintances. The Ministry even has a dementor at my home to ensure my parole."

A dementor was at Malfoy Manor, just a few miles from Snape’s home. Harry tried not to think about it, but he could picture the cold feeling creeping over him and those long, bony hands reaching out. Still, one dementors miles away was better than a hoard swarming around Snapdragon Manor.

"So for your few precious hours of freedom, you came to see me?" Snape said with a blank expression. "I am flattered. You have not been to see the Dark Lord first?"

"Great Merlin, no!" Lucius exclaimed. "After what I did at the Ministry – no, I don’t want to spent my few hours of freedom in excruciating pain, being tortured with the Cruciatus until I break and have to be sent to St. Mungo’s like those Longbottom idiots."

Snape’s face tightened. "Don’t talk about them."

Lucius smiled cruelly. "Who? Alice Longbottom? That poor lump who now sits in a room, humming to herself and waving her hands through the air as if she’s painting a picture? Your one true love who never looked at you twice?"

Snape set his teeth, his lips almost bared in a snarl. "Tell me, Lucius, who will protect your wife while you’re gone? You locked up again, and Narcissa at the mercy of any man who knocks on her door? I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. After all, she is the most loyal, chaste of all wives, is she not?"

An ugly flush stained Lucius’s cheeks. He looked humiliated and angry, but he obviously did not want to bait Snape anymore. "I have not come to discuss trifles with you. It’s Draco I wish to speak about."

"I have no idea where he is," Snape said mildly.

"Oh, he was rambling about the countryside like some Muggle when I found him this morning. I brought him home, and he’s probably sulking in his room. I won’t have him lollying about while I’m in prison. I told him he’s not to leave my estate until school starts. He threw a fine fit, even threatened not to go back to school at all. I hexed him a few times, promised him he wouldn’t like it if he tried to leave the manor, and then sent him away to think about how he’s disgraced the family."

"What a loving father," Snape commented.

"I would have taken my cane to him, but my wife was there, making all sorts of emotional pleas and begging me to be kind. She’s been acting strange. She keeps insisting that she saw or talked to someone last week, but she can’t remember whom. I think living alone in the manor has driven her half-crazy. I told Draco it was his duty to look after his mother while I was gone, and I’m confident he won’t try to leave again. The problem is the first week in August Narcissa is going to visit some distant cousins in Rome, and I will not have Draco going with her. Some of the very distant cousins, third or fourth I believe, are half-blood, maybe even a mudblood mixed in there. I will not have Draco meeting them and thinking it’s acceptable in our family to marry non-pure bloods."

"Can’t have that," Snape’s face was still impassive.

"So I was hoping he might stay here for a week. He won’t be any trouble, I promise you that, or he’ll have me to answer to. He just needs a place to stay until my wife returns."

"Yes, I’ll take him in. It will be no problem," Snape agreed without any enthusiasm. "Just as long as he doesn’t get in my way. Come into my study for a drink so we can discuss it before you leave."

Both men walked to the door and went into the hall. Harry waited for a few seconds before creeping after them. He was fairly certain Lucius could not see him or the man would have made so sort of comment about his being there. And Harry thought it likely that Snape could see him, but was pretending not to. It was an odd feeling. He was used to be ignored at the Dursleys’ or when he was waering his Invisibility Cloak, but to be sitting ordinary and plain in a room and have people act as if he were not there – a little spooky.

He tried to walk quietly after the men, afraid that though he could not see him, Lucius could hear him if he were too loud. Their voices were down the hall, Lucius sneering at Snape’s lack of decorating: "Really, Severus, these hall rugs are worn to pieces. Don’t you ever replace anything? Or does it all rot like those potions you keep in the basement?"

Snape and Lucius had entered the study, but before Harry could go in, Snape shut the door in his face. Harry stood still, blinking up at the closed door. What should he do now? If he opened the door, Lucius was sure to notice. Even in a wizarding house, doors that opened by themselves were not ordinary, especially since Snape did not have a poltergeist. But what if Snape was telling Lucius something that Harry should know about?

And no matter what, Draco could not come and stay for a week in August. Spy, not a spy, reformed Death Eater – whatever Snape was, he could not have the imprisoned Death Eater’s son discover that Severus Snape was housing the Boy-Who-Lived for a summer without said Boy being offered to the Dark Lord for killing. No, it would take Draco all of about two seconds to realize what side Snape was on, and then the little weasel would run and squeal to Crabbe Sr. or Goyle Sr. and the jig would be up.

How could Snape agree to Lucius in the first place? Just "Yes, I’ll take him in," like it was the most natural thing in the world, as if he didn’t already have a very important guest. Not even a moment’s thought, no "Let me think about it, and once I decide, I’ll send an owl to Azkaban with my answer." Just snap out an answer without a second’s thought.

Harry crossed his arms. So, he couldn’t leave the premises, couldn’t even visit Malfoy Manor without Snape having a hissy fit, but Snape could jeopardize everything anytime he wanted to. Yeah, that was fair. And where did Snape get off yelling at Harry for every little thing? The last few days, Harry had not gone out of Snape’s sight, obeying orders to the letter, even stupid ones like going to bed at eight-thirty each night. Honestly, who went to bed at eight-thirty? No one past the age of eight, that was for certain.

Harry tried to remember what time he had gone to bed when he was little. Most nights, in his cupboard, he waited until his aunt and uncle had gone up to bed – the boards of the stairs creaking above his head – and he would scamper out to look for food. Sometimes, he would pretend he was a mouse or a cat, sneaking through the dark room, but mostly he just got what food he could and went back to the cupboard.

But the Dursleys were much easier to fool than Snape. If anything odd arose, they wanted to pretend nothing had happened, to tell Harry to go away so they didn’t had to see him. Quite different from Snape who insisted on revisiting Harry’s every move and then asking him why he had misbehaved before giving him a horrible punishment.

Would you rather go back to your relatives? Snape’s question rang through Harry’s mind.

No, he would not rather, thank you very much, Mr. Snarky Potions Master who Insisted on Knowing Everything!

"Would you like to come into my office, or would you prefer to stand in the hallway making faces?"

Snape’s real voice made Harry jump. He had not heard Snape open the door.

"What? Oh, I’m not making faces. I was thinking. Where’s Lucius?"

"Mr. Malfoy has left my humble abode to visit a few other people before returning to prison," Snape pushed the door back so Harry could enter.

"Are you really taking in Draco for a whole week?" Harry took his usual chair against the wall. "But he’ll see me here. And then he’ll tell them I’m here. And why should Lucius care where his son goes? It’s not like either Malfoy has to worry about what people think of them. I mean, really, a father in prison doesn’t seem like the height of good breeding or pure blood," Harry imitated the distasteful arrogance Lucius had worn. "I wish he could have seen me. I’d like to see a shocked look on his face – something he can’t sneer at for once."

"I gather you figured out that wards make you invisible to intruders," Snape noted, taking a seat at his desk. "By your own shocked expression when he entered, I feared you might never puzzle it out."

"But how come Dobby can see me?" Harry asked, choosing to ignore Snape’s remark. "He saw me at my relatives’ as well, right before my second year."

"I am not sure about his visit back then," Snape admitted. "But this time he received a letter from you, and he may have asked the headmaster where you were. Or it may be simply that because you set him free, he can always find you."

"Yeah, that was a fine day," Harry grinned. "Not the basilisk or Voldemort’s old diary or Ginny nearly dying, but the look on Lucius’s face when he realized I had gotten him to set Dobby free. Wonderful."

"Pleasure from someone else’s pain?" Snape observed. "How very callous of you."

"I see now why you’re a spy," Harry went on. "That was some quick thinking, because he couldn’t see me, but you could see me and he could see you. So if you seemed to see something, like me, he would have known something was wrong. He didn’t suspect a thing. For a Death Eater, not too bright. But you – if you were a Muggle, you could be on the stage with that kind of acting. Live in London, have adoring fans, always play the villain."

"Potter –"

"But no, forget all that. Draco can’t stay here. Unless . . . are you planning to act like I’m not here the whole time? That would be brilliant. I could prank him the whole week – chuck stuff at him, poke him when he’s asleep, make him a nervous wreck."

"Potter –"

"It would serve him right, after how nasty he’s been to Ron and Hermione. Picking at Ron because his family’s poor or sneering at Hermione because she’s got Muggle parents. I don’t care how bad his father is – he’s got no right to hassle my friends. Besides –"

"No!" Snape bellowed, banging his fist on the desk. "No besides, no unless, just be quiet. You’re enough to make a man want to go deaf, and blind so he doesn’t have to see your mouth moving up and down."

Harry glared at him, but was determined not to go into a tantrum.

"And," Snape continued, "while I will admit that you talk plenty in my class, including talking back to me and holding private discussions with your friends, I do not think you talk nearly as excessively there as you do here."

"You know," Harry retorted, "anyone else would have said ‘You talk too much, and it’s getting on my nerves.’ But Snape has to wrap every sentence in an insult first. Well, fine! I do talk a lot now. No one talks to me here, except you, and I have no one else to talk to. I guess I could write some more letters to my friends, but sometimes I want to stop the roar of silence."

"Draco is coming to stay," Snape announced decisively. "We will cross that bridge when we come to it. Until lunch, I want you to sit there and read."

"I left my books in the other room," Harry smiled pettishly.

Snape grabbed a thick volume off a shelf and hurled towards his ward. Harry managed to catch it before it hit him in the face. He opened it and with one last mean look at Snape settled down to read.

His eyes ran over each letter in each word on each page for a good fifty pages, but Harry was oblivious to what he read. He kept trying to picture Draco living at Snapdragon Manor. No matter how the scenario went, he knew one thing crystal clear: he did not want to live for a week with Draco Malfoy.

------

Supper was over, and Harry was attacking his pudding bowl with usual gusto (honestly, who didn’t love chilled chocolate pudding with a dollop of whipped cream on top? How could Snape sit there, sipping coffee and not being salivating after the dessert?) Once the bowl was empty, Harry tried to scrap the last bit out with his spoon.

"Would you like to climb in the bowl and lick your way out?" Snape asked sardonically.

"Yes, and I’d like a whole tub of this, so I could stick my whole face in it," Harry returned. "Don’t you like chocolate pudding?"

"It’s all right."

"All right? That’s like saying Quidditch is an all right sport or Dumbledore is an all right wizard. Chocolate pudding is the only dessert worth having."

"Better than all that junk at Honeydukes in Hogsmead?" Snape lifted his eyebrows.

"Trade them all for a bowl of pudding." Harry licked his spoon one last time and reluctantly set it down. He would have liked to run his finger inside the bowl and lick his fingers, but he doubted that Snape would look fondly on it and would probably start lecturing on table manners.

"Good to know," Snape took another sip of coffee. "Next time you misbehave, I’ll take away your pudding for a punishment. No, leave the empty bowl alone. There is not the least bit of pudding left."

"There’s some under the edge where it curves down," Harry protested, though he left the bowl alone. "And what do you mean next time? I don’t plan on misbehaving again. I’ve been good two whole days –"

"A new track record for you."

"And I can go on being good as long as you like," Harry answered breezily.

"Well, see if you can be good tonight on your own," Snape stood up from the table.

Harry immediately snapped to attention. "What? You’re going out?"

"I have to go somewhere for a little while, but I’ll probably be back by midnight. I hope I can trust you to amuse yourself for a while and then go to bed on time."

"Is it a Death Eater meeting?" Harry jumped up from the table.

"Potter –"

"Is it a Death Eater meeting?" Harry demanded, his heartbeat speeding up.

"It is not starting as a Death Eater meeting," Snape told him calmly. "But it very easily could turn into one. But don’t worry about it. I’ll be back in on piece."

"I heard what Lucius said," Harry objected. "He said you screamed from the pain, that Voldemort tortured you."

"Mr. Malfoy heard that from another Death Eater who tends to exaggerate. It is very unlikely I will experience any pain tonight."

"But it’s still possible?"

"Of course it’s possible. I became a Death Eater knowing full-well what might happen if I failed in my attempts to do the Dark Lord’s bidding. It’s the price I have to pay for my decision."

"Why Snape?" Harry finally asked the question that had been nagging him so long. "Why did you become a Death Eater? You knew it would bring this, all this pain – the Longbottoms, my parents’ death, the Dark Mark, all this torture. What, so Voldemort can rule the world and you can watch him do it? Did he promise to let you become king of a part of it? Were you supposed to rich and immortal and have all the women, or what? Why would you do it?"

A pensive look fell over Snape’s face as if he were searching for dreams of the past. "When you believe that greatness is your destiny – when you want recognition and power – when you can taste victory . . . how can one refuse the promise of fame?" He met Harry’s eyes straight-forward.

"I don’t care about fame, I don’t," Harry protested. "I just don’t want anyone else to be hurt. I hate it when people get hurt. They get hurt, badly hurt, and sometimes they die. No, I won’t let it happen to you, not again."

"I thought we already went over this. You’re not responsible for anyone except yourself, remember?"

"I don’t care," Harry stated. "You wouldn’t let me suffer for Sirius and Cedric, and you shouldn’t suffer for your past mistakes. You can’t go."

"Potter," Snape’s voice grew stern, "I have to go."

Harry planted himself in the doorway, arms against the opposite door posts. "I’m not letting you."

Snape pulled out his wand. "Potter, I don’t want to have to threaten you so please move –"

"Look!" Harry pointed to behind Snape. "Lucius is back."

Startled, Snape glanced behind him.

Harry used that moment to rush forward. He grabbed Snape’s wand and pulled away before stepping back, wand pointed at the potions master.

Annoyed at being tricked when Lucius did not appear, Snape became furious when he saw the Harry had his wand. "Potter, give that back this instant."

"You’re not going to the Death Eater meeting," Harry kept the wand trained on his guardian.

"You give me back my wand, Harry. I mean it!" Snape bellowed, his face flushing hotly. "Don’t you ever try something so foolish again. Give me my wand, and you can go to bed, and we’ll forget any of this ever happened."

Harry searched through his mind for a spell. Obliviate was his first choice, but Harry did not know how erasing Snape’s memory would help. Even without a memory of recent events, Snape would still see the wand in Harry’s hand and would start to ask awkward questions.

"I’m warning you," Snape took a menacing step forward. "Give me my wand, or so help me –"

"Immobulus!" Harry shouted.

He expected the spell to shoot into Snape and the man would fall backwards and stare at the ceiling. Instead, the wand hissed angrily. Harry felt heat explode in his hands, as if he were trying to hold a ball of fire. He dropped the wand, which felt like a rod of white-hot iron, but not before a giant rush of blue sparks shot out at Snape.

Snape, with his usual agility, stepped out of the way. The huge spell blazed across the room and exploded against the far wall where many china plates hung on the wall around a large, brass-framed mirror.

Harry stared at it, forgetting to blink, forgetting to move, forgetting to breathe. He prayed nothing would happen. Maybe the spell was absorbed or deflected by the mirror.

And then the plates dropped. One by one, like harsh notes in a musical clip, until all fifteen plates lay broken in a hundred pieces on the wooden floor.

"Well," Harry said in a very small voice, "it’s just a few plates."

Two seconds of silence, and then the mirror fell. It fell straight to the floor and flopped forward. Harry heard the glass of the mirror shatter underneath the frame.

"And a mirror," Harry barely whispered.

Five seconds of quiet. And the whole wall fell backwards.

The entire wall fell back into the room behind it. Even through the haze of dust, Harry could see the wall lying in chunks on the floor of – oh, no, Snape’s study. The wall had fallen into Snape’s study, Snape’s sodding study!

"Oh, come on!" Harry yelled at the wall, hoping that might make the wall spring back into place.

Snape said nothing, his lips pressed together as he surveyed the mess.

Harry gently reached down and picked up the wand. It did not burn him, but he offered it back to Snape tentatively.

Snape snatched back the wand. "Thank you, Mr. Potter. I see that your ‘Not misbehaving again’ couldn’t last seventy-two hours. Once again, you have managed to destroy part of my home."

Harry said nothing. There was nothing worth saying now, nothing to deny Snape’s accusation. Harry had, in all honesty, screwed up big time, and he waited for Snape’s fury to descend.