"You’re up," Snape noted quietly.

"Brilliant observation," Harry shot back. He always felt grouchy and short-tempered after napping during the day. Part of him wanted to crawl back in bed, and the other part wanted to slug Snape right across the face.

Snape merely raised an eyebrow. "Well, we are cranky this afternoon. Would you care for some food or a walk through the gardens or should I send you back up to bed until you can act civilly?"

Harry scowled but nodded, "I want to go outside."

"It’s bit chilly out there, and it looks like rain," Snape led the way to a cloakroom where he handed Harry a green cape with cream lining. "Keep this on at all times."

Slytherin colors – wonderful. Harry grudgingly slipped the cape over his shoulder and closed the clasp that (surprise, surprise) was in the shape of a snake. "What about my cloak?" he remembered suddenly.

"This cape will be warm enough," Snape opened the side door.

"No, my invis- my other cloak," Harry corrected himself just in time.

"I’ve put that away for the time being."

"It’s not yours, and this isn’t Hogwarts where you can confiscate ours things," Harry protested, feeling a flush of anger rise to his cheeks. "It’s mine, my father left it for me!"

A sneer contorted Snape’s lips at the reminder of the father of the boy standing in front of him. Harry knew that Snape was relishing the fact that he had James Potter’s only son at Snapdragon Manor, completely at his mercy. Harry could do notiong to stop the potions master, not while Snape was bigger than he was and had a wand.

"Don’t argue with me, Potter," Snape said sharply. "This manor may look harmless, but there are certain rooms here that would like nothing more than to swallow you whole. I don’t want you sneaking around invisible and undetected and getting trapped somewhere for weeks."

"But –"

"I know you’ll say you won’t, you’ll even promise not to wear it, but at the first sign of trouble, you’ll put on that cloak and find mischief, and I’ll have to tear the house apart trying to find you. No, you may not have the cloak."

Harry huffed in frustration, but he could see the logic in Snape’s argument even though he didn’t want to. The Invisibility Cloak was a temptation even with the noblest of intentions not to use it. And he didn't want to be trapped in some corner of the manor invisible and helpless.

"Well, can I at least have my wand?"

"I don’t see why you need it," Snape crossed his arms firmly. "You’re underage - you can’t use it until school starts. The last thing I want is for the Ministry of Magic to send another letter, dragging you back to a hearing."

"But if the house is going to attack me –"

"The house will only attack you if you’re up to no good. As long as you stay out of mischief and do as you’re told, you should have no problems with Snapdragon Manor."

That was hardly comforting seeing as how Harry planned to search every inch of the manor for timeturners, but he dare didn’t tell Snape that.

"Now, out into the garden with you," Snape opened the door, letting the cold July light into the dim cloakroom. "You can roam as far as you like in the garden, but do not try to climb over the wall."

Snape shut the door after Harry walked out into the spacious grounds. There were beds of plants that seemed to stretch for miles. Harry recognized some of the neatly grown plants from Herbology. Several large trees grew over the grounds, and there was a bench a few hundred feet down the path.

Harry strolled forward, but he found himself growing tired. As soon as he reached the bench, he sat down and stared at the plants. He must still be groggy from his nap. He didn’t see why Snape made him take one in the first place – just one more way the man liked to torment him.

A bee was buzzing around the flowers; Harry watched it zoom up and down the petal, sniffing for nectar. He tried to remember what bees stung and died as a result and what bees stung and lived. Not that it matter.

The garden kept going past the bench. Harry wondered if it ever ended or simply curved around the manor. He glanced back at the house. It was sober and dark, looming over the garden like an ill-boding guardian. Unlike the Weasleys’ home, Snapdragon Manor seemed built at one time, an enormous planning of towers and awnings and empty windows.

Harry glanced up at the high wall behind the bench. He was certain he could climb it – it was only about seven feet high and made of crooked stones that were sure to lend plenty of holds and foot grips. By for now, he just leaned back against the arm of the bench, contend to rest for a while. He wished he had brought a book to read. He didn’t consider himself a great reader – that was Hermione and her exhaustive memory. Harry wondered at times if she had a photographic memory, the books she read fell so nimbly off her tongue. It wasn’t fair . . .

He felt something hard against his side, and Harry reached into the pocket of the cape. He removed a little book from the pocket, not any bigger than his hand with the words Gorgon in the Garden written on the front. Harry considered stuffing it back in his pocket, but of course, as always his curiosity won out, and he opened it.

The pages were tiny, but the printing was large enough was Harry to start reading. It was another fairytale about a price and princess who lived in a garden and tried to get out to see the rest of the world, but were guarded by a fierce monster with two heads.

The book couldn’t have had more than twenty pages in it; yet every time Harry turned the page he found another page added on at the end. But the book would not let him flip to the end or go back. Obviously, this was the kind of book that made skimmers and re-readers go straight through without stopping.

It was getting dark by the time he finished the story. He saw the side door open and heard an insistent "Potter, inside now!"

As Harry trudged towards the manor, he couldn’t help but think that all he had done today was sleep, eat bland food, and read fairytales. Yet, as he hung up the cape and followed Snape to the washroom, he felt himself hoping that Snape would let him go to bed early tonight; the thought of the warm bed with its soft pillows was very comforting. This was ridiculous – even toddlers didn’t sleep this much.

"Well, what mischief did you find in the garden?" Snape turned on the hot water from the iron spout and handed Harry a bar of tan soap.

Harry plunged his hands into the hot water, enjoying the feeling of the fresh soap and the heat. "I didn’t do anything. I just read the book in my pocket on the bench."

Snape seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, then motioned for Harry to hurry up. He flung Harry a towel to dry off his hands.

For supper that night, Snape had butter-lemon salmon, crisp greens, seasoned rice, pudding, and dark red wine. Harry was given a bowl of plain, white rice and a plate full of saltine crackers with a glass of water. He took one look at his food and demanded, "What are you playing at? What’s wrong with me?"

"Mr. Potter, to begin to categorize what is wrong with you would take me well into the new school year. Why don’t we leave that exciting list for later? Just eat your food."

"I feel fine," Harry was having trouble speaking calmly. Something was really wrong with him, and Snape knew it. Harry reached a hand into his pocket for his wand until he remembered that Snape has hidden it. Maybe he could do wandless magic. After all, he had made something work without a wand like blowing up Aunt Marge and the snake incident at the zoo years ago. Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Legilimens," he whispered, concentrating very hard.

He didn’t really expect to see anything – after all Snape was very accomplished at Occlumency. But the man must have had his guard lowered the smallest bit because Harry suddenly saw a table filled with potions and ingredients, most of which Harry did not recognize. And Snape’s hands were working over them furiously. He kept looking a large book propped up against a barrel of something dead and slimy. Harry tried to go in for a closer look –

Then he felt himself being flung against the back of his chair. Snape stood, his wand pointed out at Harry. "What do you think you’re doing, Potter?" he roared.

"Nothing, I was just –"

"You were using Occlumency on me! Without my permission or even telling me, you decided to invade my thoughts and see what you could find!"

"You wouldn’t tell me," Harry protested. "I though maybe something was really wrong with me and –"

"So you decided you knew better than I did, and you were going to find out at all costs!" Snape thundered. "What did I tell you about snooping around in my personal matters?"

"Not to, but –"

Harry was cut off as Snape grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of his seat. Harry found himself bent over the dining room table, nose nearly touching the cream-colored tablecloth. One strong hand held him down on the small of his back, and then Harry felt fire lash across his backside. He hissed sharply. This hurt more than Snape’s hand had the previous night. Another stroke – Harry yelped and realized that Snape was using his wand to soundly smack his houseguest’s squirming bottom. This could not be happening again, not so soon after the first one.

"Stop!" Harry managed in between yelps. "I promise I won’t ow! snoop any more. Ah! Snape, come on!"

"That’s Professor Snape to you," Snape growled, not relenting in his determination the least bit. He pressed down a little harder on Harry’s back to keep him down and delivered another set of sharp whacks. "You should know by now that when people keep things from you, it’s probably for your own good. But no, you insist on finding out everything. Knowledge can be very, very dangerous for your well-being, you could be killed for knowing too much too soon. So when I say stay out of my business, I mean everything both physically and mentally."

"I will, I will," Harry cried.

"I mean it, Potter, you better learn to mind me, or you’ll find yourself in this position again."

Snape gave him one last tremendous smack and then pushed him back into his chair. Harry gritted his teeth as he fell on the hard chair that minutes ago had felt nice anf comfortable. This was completely unfair. He had a right to know about himself and if anything was wrong with him. The whole bloody wizarding world was so fond of secrets and sneaking around. The throbbing in his backside told him not share his opinion with the potions master.

Snape took his seat as calmly as if nothing had happened. "Eat, Potter. Don’t make me tell you again."

Blinking back tears, Harry looked at his food. If he had to be honest (which he really hated having to be at this moment) he would admit that he was surprised Snape ended his spanking so soon. The man had barely delivered a dozen good smacks. Compared to the thrashing he had handed out the night before, Snape had gone easy; the man was not in favor of telling Harry to do or not to do something twice.

It must be because Snape knew something was wrong with Harry. He was going easy on Harry because Harry was sick, or dying, or cursed, or –

"Potter, if I have tell you one more time to eat, I will give you another dose of the discipline you so obviously need," Snape threatened.

Harry took a deep breath and picked up his fork. The rice was hot and lightly salted, but it stuck to the top of Harry’s mouth and he had difficulty swallowing it. He took two more bites before laying his fork down with frustration.

"At least drink all the water," Snape nodded towards the glass.

The water was not cold, just about room temperature, but Harry started gulping it down, praying he would not burst into tears. He could feel his eyes prickle at the corners, but he refused to cry in front of Snape again.

The meal continued in silence, and Harry tried not to squirm too much on his aching backside. Two spankings in two days – even naughty little children probably didn’t get spanking that often. Harry had hoped that last night was just a fluke, something Snape had to get out of his system before he could deal with Harry properly. Harry had not liked it, not one little bit, but it had felt good emotionally just to get everything off his chest and have a good cry. But he had hoped the punishment was a one-time thing, never to be used again. He had expected Snape to threaten him with a spanking, just to keep him in line, but actually doing it . . .

Harry shifting, wondering why the chairs had to be so bloody hard. He was wrong for trying to use Occlumency on the potions master. Snape at least had given him warning when he invaded Harry’s mind, and then it had been a lesson, not sitting at the dinner table and doing it because you were nosy. Besides, what if he discovered something horrible?

Snape had been a Death Eater, he had been at more than one of Voldemort’s gatherings, he had done evil, awful things to other people, and he had been ready to die for the wrong side. And like it or not, there was a lot Harry didn’t know about the wizarding world. It seemed that each year he discovered more and more just how ignorant he was, having grown up as a Muggle for eleven years. He hated to admit it, but Snape was probably more aware of the danger than Harry would ever be.

"Whatever you’re thinking, Potter," Snape cut through his pondering, "I don’t expect it to affect your behavior. You may sit there as long as you like, pouting and sulking, but you will obey me as long as you stay under this roof."

Cheeks flushing even redder, Harry looked away.

That night Harry went to bed with much less fuss than the night before. Though he approached the bathroom with caution, armed with a pair of pajamas and a wooden hairbrush, nothing unusual happened. All cleaning instruments stayed in their places, and Harry brushed his teeth without any help.

Snape was searching though his black bag when Harry entered the bedroom. Harry rolled his eyes, but got on the bed and opened his mouth for the thermometer.

"How high?" he asked a few minutes later when Snape removed it.

"100.2," Snape replied.

Harry shrugged. "So maybe I have a cold or a slight fever. Everyone gets sick."

"When was the last time you were sick?" Snape demanded, pulling out an even bigger vial of the dark medicine.

Harry tried to think. It had been a while. For that matter, had he ever been sick at Hogwarts? "It happens," he insisted though with less conviction. "And how do you know its not one of the side effects from that gross potion? Sometimes, the side effects of medicine are worst than the disease, like they say on television."

"And sometimes," Snape sneered, "you know less about potions than I ever thought possible. For once and for all, medicine does not equal potions and vice versa."

"Let me go tonight without the potion," Harry coaxed, eyeing the mixture with disgust. It would take at least five swallows to get it all down.

Snape opened his mouth to say something, but he hesitated and say instead, "Just take it, Potter and stop wasting my time."

Harry raised the vial to his lips and tried to gulp it down as quickly as he could. He swore it was getting nastier ever time he took it. At this rate, he would be swallowing gallons of this stuff by the end of week. He thrust it back at Snape with a snarl and rolled over into bed, pulling the covers over himself. He just wanted Snape to leave so Harry could lie in the darkness and worry.

"This self-pity is so attractive on you," Snape observed as he began putting out the lights. "You are acting like the spoiled brat that I always knew you were, expecting the whole world to line up just right for you and pamper your every request."

"Oh, just shut up!" Harry snapped.

He expected Snape to deliver a hard wallop to his sore backside for his insolence, but the potions master only turned off the last bit of light before saying, "Manners, Mr. Potter. I doubt you want another session with my hand or wand so soon. Tomorrow you’ll be writing an essay on how to respect and obey one’s elders. Three feet long along with a list of appropriate punishments for disrespect and disobedience. Being such arrogant know-it-all, I’m sure you can come up with plenty of fitting punishments for stepping out of line."

Harry growled between clenched teeth, but said nothing. Snape was the evilest, lowest, cruelest, meanest, worstest man to have ever walked the face of the earth. Even Voldemort was in favor of short torturing and quick death, not this slow prolonged torment that wore on Harry’s nerves.

"Now, go to sleep, and no getting out of bed until morning," Snape ordered.

Harry could hear Snape moving around the room for a few minutes, but Harry refused to say again else. He was quite content to lie in the darkness and hate the potions master.

He was half-asleep, feeling like dead weight, when something turned him over onto his back. Harry could hear words being spoken, something like a spell, but they were all jumbled and made no sense.

He was dreaming, dreaming something completely ridiculous. Harry rolled back on his side and fell right back into a sound sleep.

The next morning, Harry could barely open his eyes they felt so heavy. "Snape," he whispered.

The potions master was at his side in seconds, a wet cloth in his hand. "Good morning, Mr. Potter. No, don’t get up. You’re going to stay in bed for a little while today." He placed the cool washcloth on Harry’s forehead and reached for the black bag that Harry now hated.

Harry swallowed, trying to calm his panic rising from his hazy state. "Please, what’s wrong with me? I promise I’ll stay here, good and quiet, if you just tell me."

Snape frowned, then reached for the thermometer. "All right, open up." Harry took in the thermometer, and Snape reached for his wrist to check his pulse. "Have you ever traveled by Floo powder before?"

"Yesch, sev’al tims," Harry said around the thermometer.

"Well, my father thought it was a ridiculous way to travel. Popping in and out of people’s fireplace, no sense of propriety or privacy, my father would say. He refused to let any of us travel that way from this house."

"But whad dus dat –"

"Quiet, Potter, you promised," Snape made sure the thermometer was under Harry’s tongue before continuing. "Around twenty years ago, my father removed this house from the Floo network. He said anyone who wanted to talk to us could Apparate to our front door and knock. However, about two years ago, seeing as how he’d been dead five years, I put one of the fireplaces back in the network."

"Yeah," Harry nodded, though careful to keep the thermometer in his mouth "dat’s ‘ow I godd ‘ere."

"No, the fireplace on the network in my study five doors down. The fireplace you came through is not in the network, is not connected to anything. It hasn’t been used since my father shut it down."

Harry’s eyes bugged out. "But ‘ow –"

"That is the question, Potter. If anyone tried to use it, I assumed that they would be spit out of their own fireplace. But I know of only one person who succeeded in getting though since it was closed. I’m sure you can guess who it was."

Harry’s eyes grew as big as they could. "Val-di-mord? ‘E cam ‘ere? But dat mens –"

Snape reached for the thermometer, but Harry pulled it out first. "102," he read, looking up at Snape nervously. "That’s really high, isn’t it? Shouldn’t I be getting chills and – and . . ."

"Do you feel anything other than tired?" Snape asked, taking the thermometer from Harry.

"No, no, I just feel like I’ve run a long race or had a rough Quidditch practice, and all I want to do now is curl up in bed. But I haven’t done anything, nothing," Harry tried to breath calmly, but panic was gnawing at the edges of his senses.

"I’ll have the house elves bring you up something to drink," Snape pushed Harry back on the pillows. "For now, I think it best that you say still and rest."

"But what does this mean?" Harry bit his lip nervously. "Did Voldemort curse the fireplace? If it wasn’t on the map, how did I get through? Why didn’t it just take me to your study?"

"Because my study is listed as Snape Study, not Snapdragon Manor. And I did not think that the Dark Lord cursed it – he used it once sixteen years ago. We’re just going to have to let this play out in its own time. Now, you promised me if I told the truth you would be, what did you say? ‘Good and quiet?’ Show me that Gryffindors pretend to keep their word, and relax."

That was easy for Snape to say, Harry thought furiously as he leaned back on the pillows and tried to digest all the information he had just been given. It was frightening to think that he may have been cursed by Voldemort unintentionally. Or had the fireplace cursed him? Harry had never heard about the elder Mr. Snape, but considering the somber, almost bitter look on Snape’s face when he talked about his father, Harry could image that the older man probably did curse the fireplace.

Harry was sure he did not doze off, but the next thing he knew, a hand was behind his neck and a rim of a cup was pressed against his lips. It was that nasty potion, but the glass pushed insistently as his mouth.

"Drink it, Potter," Snape’s voice came from a haze of darkness. "There we go, a little more. Almost done."

The hand let him fall back against the pillow gently, and Harry returned to sleep immediately. The next time he woke up, he knew something bad was going to happen. His whole body was tingling all over, little needles of excitement pricking at every inch of him. He tried to breathe evenly, but something was rushing through his body, spiking his senses and making his heart hammer with anticipation.

Snape stood in the corner of the room, slowly running a finger along the edges of his thin lips. He was watching Harry with an intensity that made Harry feel twice as scared. The man barely blinked once as his eyes roved up and down Harry’s body, searching for something.

Harry hated it. He hated being an object of interest that people stared at, hated the whispers as he walked by, hated being different than his friends, hated everything about being the wretched Boy-Who-Lived, hate being here stuck with Snape for who knew how long. He felt angry, furious beyond the point of reason or good sense.

His whole body was getting hot. He flung off the covers and just lay there in his pajamas. This day was going to be horrible. He wasn’t allowed out of bed, and when he was, Snape would make him write that stupid essay.

"I hate you!" he suddenly yelled at Snape. "I really hate you."

Snape rose slowly to his feet, and Harry feared for a second that he might be getting another painful punishment from the stern potions master. Then Harry didn’t care anymore – he welcomed anything that might keep him from feeling so helpless and weak.

"Potter," Snape said hoarsely, his eyes wide.

Harry followed the direction of Snape’s gaze. Then Harry nearly screamed as he saw a flicker of fire coming from his stomach, just over his navel. Without warning, Harry’s chest burst into flames. Then his entire body was engulfed in fire, every bit of him suddenly a frenzied inferno.