Harry threw himself back on his bed, smiling with the bed gave a satisfying creak. He could not be ignored forever. He had been here four days now, a total of 96 hours, and they refused to notice him. Well, except when they were shouting orders at him.

He had barely entered the house and set his trunk down when Uncle Vernon told him to put his stuff away and quickly so he could help clean up dinner (that Harry had not eaten).

The next morning Aunt Petunia had woken him up at the crack of dawn to get busy on the garden. June was unseasonable cold, and Harry’s hands had felt numb trying to the weed the garden that had been neglected for months. After that, there was breakfast to fix, and then the dusting and washing of windows. The house had to be repainted in the next two days, and Harry had hurried around the house with a ladder, carefully not to get paint on the woodwork or the windows while Aunt Petunia had walked by every so often and criticized.

And today he had started the painting inside. After supper, which they allowed him to eat a bowl of soup, a slice of bread, and half a cup of tea, Aunt Petunia had looked towards the wooden floor in the hall and mentioned something about waxing. Harry had excused himself, saying he was going to bed. His arms ached, and his throat felt a little sore from staying out in the cold too long without a jumper this morning.

But now at barely eight o’clock at night, he was trapped in his bedroom with nothing to do but stare out the window and watch the sunset across the wide sky. He was bored, and angry and hurt about Sirius, and he hated the idea of being trapped here for two months with nothing to distract him but chores and the occasional owl with a letter.

He reached for his school book - the past year's charms textbook with the cover singed from the many times Neville had blown up a particular object that the class was supposed to be charming. Though Professor Flitwick was a good professor, Harry could not help feeling that Charms was one of the lesser subjects taught at Hogwarts. It had its usefulness to be sure, but levitating objects and casting first year spells seemed weak compared to the edgier subjects like Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration. Those classes had some bite to them; they made him sit up and pay attention because knowledge of their skills could be the very thing that saved his life. He could just imagine meeting Voldemort armed with some dingy charms - watch it, you dark scum lord, see if you like lifting off the ground!

And then there was always potions - Harry looked away from his potion's book with an uneasy feeling. How was he ever going to become an Auror with grades he had received? Nothing less than an O to enter the Auror training, and Snape had given him a E. An E! An A or even a T would have made Harry feel better. One more way that Snape used his power to torture his least favorite student. But an E suggested that Harry was not motivated enough; if he had applied himself a bit more, he might have received the coveted O.

Harry shrugged off his remorse. It was over and done with. If he could not become an Auror, at least he would never have Snape as a teacher again. There was something to say for never having to see the man except at meals and the odd run-in after curfew.

He opened the right pocket of his dress robes. Inside was something he had stolen from Hogwarts when no one else was looking: a small bag full of Floo power. Not much, probably only enough to get him somewhere and back. But he would take his chances. The Dursleys’ fireplace was boarded up, but it was still connected to the Floo Network. Two years ago, the Weasleys had tried to come through and fetch him. Harry grinned as he remembered Mr. Weasley shouting at this children to go back, go back!, before they all got crammed in the fireplace.

Then Harry’s smile disappeared as he remembered that summer. The Quidditch World cup, all excited and ready for adventure. Then the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Then Cedric –

Harry deliberately opened his potions book and stared at the pages, his eyes wide open and intense. If he just kept reading long enough, he would forget. Yes, the Sleeping Draught is a very old and complicated potion. Used to prolong life for those dying of serious illnesses, or to heal those by rest and quiet, the Sleeping draught can be administered three times a day in small quantities, no larger than a teaspoon. It is not recommended for longer than two years.

Two years, Two years? Who would want to sleep for two years? Harry leaned back on his small, lumpy pillow. What if he had been the given the draught at the beginning of the Tri-Wizard Cup and taken it for the next two years? He would be waking up this fall, and Cedric would sitting with his friends in Hufflepuff. Harry would be waking up, and rubbing his eyes, and Sirius might sitting by his bed. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty, two years, and you’ve snored enough to bring the house down. Get up, and do something for a change!"

But no, he had been awake for those years, and they were both gone forever.

Unless . . . Harry snatched up his History of Magic textbook and flipped through it hastily. What had he done to save Sirius in his third year? Gone back in time three hours. What if he went back in time a month? Or better yet a year and a month? Flip that little hour glass over . . . let’s see – make it 400 days to be safe – times 24, 6 carry the 1 - 9600 times? That was a lot of time to turn back. But he could do it. He would find some quiet corner to hide and start flipping that tiny hourglass over and over, until the morning of the third task to save Cedric. Then he would find some way to explain to everyone what had happened. Of course, the other him might not believe him, but he could always knock the younger Harry out and stash him in some corner. He wondered how it might feel to punch himself in the face, and would he feel it later or not?

There was no mention of how to buy timeturners in the History of Magic, Grade 6. Harry reached for a copy of advertisement from Diagon Alley. Hour glasses filled with diamond sand, watches that could predicate the future for the day but were not guaranteed against loss of limb, love, or life, a fake wand that made the clocks turn backwards but did not make time stop, a gold dial that did make time stop, but only for fifteen minute increments, and a pair of watches that you and your sweetheart could wear that would tell where the other person was, very reliable for girls with cheating boyfriends.

Harry flung the magazine into a corner. He picked up his last book, a reference to Dark Arts objects and other harmful thing, half of which had been found in the Malfoys’ home at one time or another. Harry flipped to the Ts.

Teeth-sharper – a file that ground one’s teeth to points that could pierce through a sword, Tied Nooses – ropes that would straggle anyone once you put the noose around their head – Timeturners . . .

Harry sat up and brought the book closer to his face. Timeturners – originated in the day of Merlin, possible roots reaching back to the third Egyptian dynasty. Able to turn back increments of time by rotation. Only five known and regulated in the wizarding ward. Under strict supervision. Of the five, the strongest was found a Snapdragon Manor by Thaddeus Snarpley who was arrested for committing crimes against Muggles then using the timeturner to turn back time to escape. When captured, Snarpley hinted at having more timeturners, even ones capable of turning back months or years at a single turn, hidden in Snapdragon Manor, but none were ever found. The next strongest time turner . . .

Harry scanned down the page to the end. As of the publishing of this book, the five timeturners are under regulation of the Ministry of magic and only released under supervision and deeds of requirement. To request one, please contact . . .

Harry closed the book and stood up. Snapdragon Manor, that was where he was going. He would take his invisibility cloak, his wand, and Floo himself to the Manor. He could search through the house for days under his cloak until he found the strongest timeturner. If anyone discovered him, he could make a run for it or even pretend to have a nervous breakdown. After this spring, no one expected him to act normal, and now the whole wizarding world was on his side, ready to support and believe him.

Not a very logical plan, certainly not well-thought out, Hermione would stand in horror at his foolhardy, rash . . .

Harry flung his cape over one arm and took his wand in the other. Then he marched out of the tiny bedroom and down stairs. The Dursleys were sitting on the sofa, watching some inane sitcom that could barely be heard from the laugh track that was roaring as some guy tripped over a chair and fell into a table full of desserts. The Dursleys looked at Harry, annoyed.

"Whatter you doing out here?" Uncle Vernon asked crossly. "You’re supposed to be upstairs. If you’re too tired to scrub the kitchen floor, then you might as well go to bed. Blimey, what are you doing with that hammer?"

Harry held up the hammer he had taken from his room to ply up the floorboards with and wrenched out the front board hammered to the fireplace.

Aunt Petunia leapt to her feet. "You little brat, you’ll ruin it. The fireplace doesn’t need repairing."

"I’m not repairing it," Harry grunted, working on the second board. "I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back."

Petunia looked at her husband, jerking her head towards Harry as if to suggest that he stop their crazy nephew. Vernon took a step forward and then caught sight of the wand sticking out of Harry’s back pocket. Turning pale under his normal pasty color, Vernon shook his head. "After all," he whispered to his wife, "if he gets lost, it won’t be our fault, and maybe they’ll lock him up for good."

Throwing the hammer aside, Harry shook up and whirled to face them. "I heard that," he said, feeling the old familiar rage sweep over, lighting his nerves on fire. "Well, I’m leaving, and good luck when my parents’ murderer comes looking for you, and I’m not here to save you. I hate it here, I hate all of you, and I’m never coming back because I’m going to save my godfather."

"The one who died?" Vernon managed to ask.

Harry didn’t reply. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it down. Petunia shrieked like a banshee when she saw the green flames.

"Snapdragon Manor!" Harry shouted, and the living room of the Dursleys disappeared. Two thoughts flashed through Harry’s mind as he was whisked away. The first was that Dudley had not given looked up from the TV as Harry was destroying the fireplace and yelling about leaving. The second was that he had forgotten to put on his invisibility cloak before he left the Dursleys, and now wherever he landed, he would be seen. Well, that was just fine. He would put it on, the moment he landed.

He saw the outline of the room, and then something bright and warm. There was a bloody fire in the fireplace, he was going to catch fire, he was going to burn, where was he?

The fireplace shot Harry out over the fire and onto the stone hearth with an explosion of wind and soot, and he rolled over in a tangle of limbs and cape, barely managing to stop in time from breaking his wand in two.

The room seemed quiet and still for a moment, and Harry pushed himself up to a sitting position, straightening his glasses. Then everything stopped, time stood still as if he had one of those gadgets from Diagon Alley.

In a tall armchair, not ten feet away, in long black robes and holding a book as thick as Harry’s arm, was Snape.

Frozen to the spot, Harry could only gulp and try to remember to breathe. Maybe if he stayed very still Snape wouldn’t see him. After all, the cape was over Harry’s legs, maybe Snape would blink, and Harry could wrap the cape over himself real quick, and Snape would just think he was having a hallucination from teaching dunderheads for so many years.

Eyes not wavering, Snape looked straight at Harry. "Mr. Potter, how unexpected."

The cold, slow voice made Harry’s skin crawl. He had to pick himself up off the floor. This was exactly like the Occlumency lessons where Snape kept knocking him down over and over, and Harry had to pick himself up and present his mind again as if he were some book for Snape to flip through at random.

Snape slammed his own book shut, making Harry jump and snap back to the present. Harry pushed off his cloak and stood up, squaring his shoulders, determined not to be intimidated. This wasn’t Hogwarts; there were no points to lose for Gryffindor. "I was trying to get to Snapdragron Manor."

"This is Snapdragon Manor," Snape said in the same cold voice.

"Oh," Harry felt his nerve ebbing away, "well, I thought a Thaddeus . . . Something or other lived here."

"Thaddeus Snarpley lived here three hundred years ago," Snape placed his book to the small table beside the chair, never taking his eyes off Harry.

"Oh, right, well, I didn’t know that."

"Mr. Potter, to catalogue what you don’t know would take a lifetime, and I for one would like to spent my years free from such drivel. I suggest you return from where you came from, and stop butting into other people’s homes and personal lives."

"No," Harry tried to forget why Snape had hated him so much from their last Occlemency’s lesson, "I can’t go home, now."

"Mr. Potter," Snape stood, and Harry stepped back, having forgotten how much taller Snape was than he. "This is my home, and though you may run wild over Hogwarts, you will not enter this house without my permission. Though you may think it’s your right to come and go wherever you please, as your father did –"

"You leave my dad out of this!" Harry yelled. He was not going through Snape’s taunting and baiting again, not after what Snape did to Sirius, not after the way Snape had let Sirius go to his death. "I admit he was a prat to you, but I’m not like that. You don’t know anything about me."

"I suppose we’re at a disadvantage, then, considering that you make it your business to pry into everyone else’s."

"I said I was sorry," Harry protested, balling his hands into fists.

"Yes, you’re always sorry after you cause catastrophe, but that never stops you from thinking before you act," Snape snarled, showing his sharp teeth. "The daring Boy-Who-Lived, our hero, rushing to save everyone from certain death, taking as his right to disregard rules, arrogant, conceited –"

"I’m not!" Harry nearly stomped his foot in frustration. "If everyone would listen to me and believe me, I wouldn’t have to save them! I could follow rules and pay attention in class instead of worrying that I might meet my fate tomorrow and give it all up. Well, I don’t care about rules. I don’t care about what Dumbledore says. I’m not going back to the Durleys to rot in their tiny room. I’m going to find a timeturner or fate changer, or something to bring them back, and you can’t stop me, no one can stop me. You think my father was conceited and headstrong, you haven’t seen anything yet, you slimy git!"

Harry reached in his pocket for more Floo powder when a strong hand and grabbed his arm. Harry felt himself whirled around, and then Snape marched him over to the leather sofa.

"I’m not sitting down," Harry growled, trying to squirm away. But Snape had a very strong grip and wasn’t about to yield an inch.

"No, you’re not sitting, I am," Snape sat on the sofa and yank Harry towards him.

Suddenly, everything was wrong and horrible for Harry felt himself falling forward over Snape’s knees, his nose nearly touching the carpet. The man’s knees were hard and strong beneath him, and Harry felt a powerful hand pull his torso tight into Snape.

"What are you doing?" Harry gasped, the blood rushing into his face.

"What I should have done years ago," Snape said, his voice tight and stern. "The day you went looking for a troll in the girls’ bathroom instead of telling a teacher or at least an older student, you insufferable brat!"

The first smack landed hard on Harry’s bottom. Harry gasped, the pain and shock of his position rendering him powerless to do anything but lie there like a little child. Like a little child over his father’s knee getting spanked. Snape was – no, this was not real.

The second blow erased all doubt, and Snape delivered and third and fourth wallop before speaking.

"This is for looking for that blasted stone your first year, for endangering the lives of your little friends, annoying as they might be. You could have died in Devil’s Snare, or the chess game, or the potion’s test, or against that traitor Quirrell."

"Ow! But we didn’t! Uh, stop!" Harry yelped. The smacks were coming down harder and moving up and down, though concentrated mainly around his sit spot. Oh, this was so embarrassing! His left arm was caught between his side and Snape, but Harry flung back his right arm to try to cover his bottom from the onset of sharp smacks. Snape paused long enough to pin Harry’s wrist in the small of his back before retorting,

"No, you scrapped though by mere luck, the likes of which I have never seen," Snape shifted his legs a bit, raising Harry’s bottom higher for better aim and leverage. Then with nothing to hinder him – Harry’s arms tucked out of the way and his bottom a perfect target - Snape started spanking again. "And the second year, looking for the Slytherian’s monster? Risking your life and Mr. Weasley’s with that idiot Lockhart? Running around the chamber of secrets with a basilisk? Foolish and stupid."

"You can’t do this!" Harry protested. "It’s – it’s wrong."

"Wrong?" Snape bellowed, landing two smacks right in the same place and making Harry yelp. "It’s wrong to discipline an intruder, an unruly student, and a scheming brat? Let me convince you just how wrong you are to argue with me at this moment."

Harry was having trouble keeping quiet. His eyes were burning as was his rear-end, and he didn’t think Snape was about to stop any time soon, not with the energy he was putting behind his spanks and the enthusiasm he had for his lecture.

"As for the third year, an escaped killer on the loose, and you run wild not only through the school but to Hogsmeade and the Shrieking Shack."

"But Black was ow! innocent," Harry, to his horror, found himself starting to sniff pitifully. He tried squirming, but Snape continued to land his smacks exactly where he wanted: on the tender spots that Harry hadn’t even know were vulnerable.

"You didn’t know that, and Peter Pettigrew wasn’t! Then you had the audacity, the gall to stun me in the midst of those hoodlums, and then you ran off to chase a werewolf into the night after I risked my life to protect you and those friends, again!"

The spanking was nearly unbearable now; Harry felt like blowtorch was being applied to his bottom, searing it with fire, and Snape was not letting up a bit. But Harry didn’t care anymore – somehow it was a relief to be punished for transgressions, to get all his anger and frustration to the top and not to fear yelling at Snape because the man couldn’t punish him any worse than he was doing right now.

"As for your fourth year –"

"Ow! No, I didn’t put my n-name in the g-goblet," Harry choked out, realizing with dismay that tears were welling up in his eyes.

"No, but you were just as arrogant and careless. Everyone had to help get you to the end, because you wouldn’t admit that you had no idea of what you were doing. And as for this past year . ."

Harry finally gave in and starting crying for real. Tears sprung up unchecked, and he began sobbing. He stopped squirming, stopped fighting, and just lay there, getting spanked like a naughty little boy.

"You threw that lovely temper tantrum in the summer, wouldn’t shut up around Umbridge so she kept punishing you, and you ran off the ministry without thinking about the consequences of your actions."

Harry couldn’t stop crying; he knew that Snape would bring up Sirius, and Harry would crack into a thousand pieces. He would break, they might as well send him to St. Mungo’s right now for all the good he would be. It was his fault that Sirius had died – he deserved every bit of this punishment.

"And as for snooping around my office," Snape pulled his hand back as far as it would go, "you will never SMACK ever SMACK snoop SMACK around my personal SMACK memories SMACK or my office SMACK again!"

"Yes, I mean no!" Harry bawled, praying it was almost all over. "I won’t snoop, and I’ll obey the rules."

"And be content being a good little boy?" Snape sneered.

"Yes, I’ll be g-good," Harry cried.

"Good," Snape gave him one last awful, almighty slap, then pulled him up to his feet. Harry’s face was streaked with tears and sweat, but he couldn’t stop crying, and all he wanted was to curl up in a corner and sob himself into oblivion and despair.

But Snape plopped him down on the sofa, causing Harry to hiss sharply as his sore bottom hit the leather seat. He couldn’t look at Snape, couldn’t look anywhere but at his shaking hands because he would never live this down, and Snape would let everyone know that he had spanked the Boy-Who-Lived. Really, if the famous savior couldn’t defend himself against a punishment from an irate potions master, what chance did he stand against the most evil wizard to have ever lived and died and come back, and now it was as good as over because –

"Potter, stop it. You’re only working yourself up," Snape snapped. Then he sighed heavily and pulled out a folded white handkerchief and held it out to Harry. "Wipe your eyes, and calm down. Yes, I spanked you, but you deserved it, and I don't think anyone would have disagreed with me, having witnessed your behavior."

"But I’m almost sixteen," Harry tried to hid behind the handkerchief which felt gentle and soft against his swollen eyes.

"I don’t care if you’re almost twenty-six, you will learn to follow the rules. Now, hush."

"But I couldn't save them," Harry tried to wipe away his tears, but they just kept coming. "I tried, I did, but I have to do something to –"

"I said hush," Snape stood. "The only thing you're doing tonight is going to bed."

He pulled Harry up off the sofa, his hand around Harry's upper arm. Harry expected him to throw a handful of Floo powder in fireplace and shove Harry back into it. Instead, Snape dragged him into the hallway, then up a large flight of stairs and down another hall lined with portraits that peered eagerly out from their frames and discussed the new arrival to Snapdragon Manor in hushed whispers. Snape's grip was not painful around Harry’s arm, but tight and commanding as he steered the boy into a dark room.

Snape pointed his wand to the fireplace and a blazing fire sprung upon the logs, warming the cold room. Snape lit the chandelier and a large candelabra before turning to Harry who was still sniffling.

"Mr. Potter, please go into the bathroom and brush your teeth and attend to your other needs. You will find something to change into in there, then come back here. Though I'm sorely tempted to have you take a bath and give you another licking to remind you of your atrocious behavior . . ."

Harry fled to the bathroom before his fearsome potions master could change his mind. The lights on the wall flared up as soon as he opened the door. The bathroom was lofty with marble floor and a huge iron bathtub, but Harry hurried to the mirror to look at his face. He barely recognized himself - his face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed, and tears had streaked with soot down his cheeks. Harry pulled off his dirty clothes and reached for the pair of white pajamas that had suddenly materialized before realizing that he had left his cloak downstairs. What if Snape destroyed it? Harry thought about rushing back in the bedroom and demanding the cloak, but suddenly he felt exhausted. He just wanted to curl up in some dark corner and hide, not start another fight that would probably get his throbbing buttocks coated a deeper shade of red.

Really, who would ever guess that Snape ad such a firm hand? Harry imagined that the potions master would be in for longer, more tortuous punishments such as disemboweling toads or scrubbing caldrons for hours, not something so old-fashion and personal. His bottom was still stinging; Harry hissed as he pulled up the pajama pants and shifted from foot to foot, trying to ease the heat.

Scared Snape might come in if he didn’t hurry, Harry brushed his teeth with the little silver toothbrush and mint toothpaste on the sink and washed his face and hands. Then he carried his dirty clothes back in the bedroom.

Snape frowned at him. "Put the clothes on the chair there, and get in bed."

Harry looked at the large bed where Snape was pulling the covers back. Harry's bed at Hogwarts was not that big, and this one looked so deep and inviting. But what he doing – sleeping at Snape's home? Was he suicidal?

"Now, Potter!"

Harry climbed in the big bed and sat back apprehensively against the pillow. What if the bed was some sort of trap? Like an invisible cage that would crash down from the ceiling, holding him prisoner. Or manacles that would spring out of the headboard and restrain him while Snape produced torture instruments. Well, he wasn't going to sleep, that was for certain.

"Here, drink this," Snape handed him a pale white mug.

Years of scary potions lessons had taught Harry to be wary of drinking anything Snape gave him. Tilting the mug around, Harry gently sloshed the dark liquid inside for some clue as to its contents.

"Potter," Snape warned, his frown back, "do not test my patience tonight. There is no Dumbledore for you to run to and whine."

Throwing caution to the wind, Harry braced himself and took a deep sip of the drink. He nearly choked when he realized that it was not a nasty potion, but steaming hot chocolate, creamy and rich. He drank all of it, not realizing how thirsty he was, and then waited. He expected a bitter aftertaste or change in his body – he might fall unconscious or become immobilized on the bed, helpless for whatever experiments Snape would perform. But nothing happened, and Snape took back the mug with a roll of his eyes at Harry’s expectant expression.

Harry let out a long, shuttering breath, suddenly too tired to care if Snape had poisoned him or not.

"What’s the matter now?" Snape ground on. "You’re always sighing or complaining about over something."

The emotions flooded back, but Harry could not stop them from sweeping over him.

"It was my fault," he whispered, and a single tear rolled down his face. "Sirius died because he came to save me."

"Yes, Potter," sarcasm laced Snape’s voice, "you forced Black to go to the Ministry, you made the Death Eaters come fight, and then you made Bellatrix fire that curse that knocked him into that portal. I see why you are taking responsible for your actions. What could you have done differently?"

"You said I rush into things without thinking," Harry protested. "You said I was impulsive and conceited, and when I feel bad about it, you tell me it’s not my fault."

"You know what I mean," Snape was very stern, crossing his arms over his chest as he towered over Harry. "You are only responsible for your own actions, not everyone else’s. You may think you’re some almighty savior, but you are only a boy with faults and feelings just like the next person, and I will not allow you to act so foolishly."

Harry could think of nothing to say to argue with Snape on that point so he simply let his breath out with a huff.

"Stop fussing," Snape ordered. "And unless you would like to sleep sitting up, lay down like a normal person, or on your stomach if that is more comfortable."

Trying not to huff again, Harry eased on his stomach. And then he knew the battle was lost and over as the soft bed held his tired, sore body in its gentle form. He pulled the pillow, smooth and stuffed with feathers, under his head and clutched it to him. He was about to reach back and pull the covers up when he felt the sheet and blankets moved up over his body to his shoulders. Had Snape just tucked him in? Harry tried to keep his eyes open, but he was fading fast.

"Thank you for following an instruction without complaint for the first time in your life. Glasses?" Snape held out his hand, and Harry handed him his glasses. The room grew even more blurred and distorted.

"Now, Potter," Snape’s voice cut through Harry’s sleepiness, "though you may feel disinclined, I expect you to stay in bed or at least in this room until morning. You have a lavatory, and I will know if you leave this room. So I suggest you relax and sleep. I will not have a repeat of this evening or our last Occlumency lesson."

"No, sir," Harry whispered, fighting to keep his eyes open. He should care about what Snape was saying, but Harry wanted only to curl up tighter and give way to his exhaustion. His bottom still throbbed, but not a sharp pain, just a dull ache to remind him that Snape was quite capable of playing the role of disciplinarian as he was the evil potions master.

"We will deal with where you go from here tomorrow morning, so don't bother trying to write letters or sent owls in attempts of pleading for help from your adoring fans. Your one concern tonight is sleeping. In fact, I'm coming back in five minutes, and if you aren't sound asleep then, I'll make your punishment earlier feel like a few love pats."

Harry was trying to listen, but he could only nod listlessly as his stern teacher lectured.

"Good night, Mr. Potter," Snape extinguished the candles with a flick of his wand, and the only light now came from the bathroom.

"Night," Harry whispered as his heavy-lidded eyes closed shut. He couldn’t remember if he heard Snape leave, the man sounded like he was tidying up the room, but it didn’t really mattered because Harry thought . . . he thought maybe . . . just perhaps . . .

Four minutes later, Snape emerged from the bathroom where he had straightened up towels. He looked over at his unexpected guest who had intruded into his life completely uninvited. The boy was on his side, breathing long and deep, dark lashes against pale cheeks. The cursed mop of dark hair was sticking up in all angles, and Snape vowed that the first thing the boy would get tomorrow would be a haircut. And a bath. And some new clothes and healthy breakfast before Snape had to get rid of him.

Lost within sleep, Harry sighed and snuggled deeper into the bed, holding his pillow even tighter. Snape wanted to roll his eyes again. Really, the boy looked so little and innocent, belying the trouble-making, the insolence, the know-it-all attitude that Snape found so repulsive.

But he had spanked the brat. Really, what had he been thinking? What would Dumbledore say once he heard that his ugly spy had hit the precious savior of the wizarding world? Well, it couldn’t be worse than anything Snape had endured as a Death Eater.

The fire had died down, and Snape turned to it, accio-ing some new logs to help stoke the heat. Sighing, he unfolded the blanket at the end of the bed and pulled it up over the slumbering boy. Well, it wouldn’t do anyone any good if the brat got sick from cold or woke up shivering and decided to explore the manor. No, Mr. Potter was staying in bed tonight even if Snape had to tie him down.

However, Snape resisted the urge to place a binding spell on the bed – people under the spell tended to wake up panicked and hysterical. Snape did not want hear any screaming in his house, even if it was Harry Bloody Potter hollering. Besides the boy had cried enough already tonight – completely over-reacting in Snape’s opinion. The spanking had not even been that hard – Potter had endured worse injuries without making a sound. Snape remembered numerous Quidditch accidents when the boy had swallowed the pain, the whiteness of his lips the only indication that he felt anything. And a few smacks from his potions master opened a dam of tears and sobs?

Snape sighed again. The boy must be stifling the grief over the death of that mangy godfather. Really, Snape would never get a moment’s peace at this rate.

Potter moved a little again, this time drawing into a tighter ball. He made a little sobbing noise in his throat as if not completely though with his grief yet, but his eyes stayed closed, and he didn’t wake.

The next few moments Snape blamed on loss of mental capabilities or subjection to the Imperious Curse for he actually leaned over the bed and tucked the covers tightly around the boy’s shoulders. He felt the boy’s forehead, just to check that he had no fever – there was no telling whether or not Potter took care of himself during the summer, and Snape refused to think of tending a sick Potter. At least that was the excuse he gave as he felt the boy’s cheeks as well. Potter’s forehead was cool, but his cheeks were warm, almost hot to Snape’s cold fingers. Well, he would check the boy out further in the morning. Waking him for an inspection would only turn him into a grumpy, cranky Potter, and Snape wanted no reason to punish him again.

Then, O horrors!, he brushed Potter’s dark hair from his forehead, very softly. He even ran his finger over the famous scar, tracing its rough edge with his finger. Potter did not stir, but Snape straightened and jerked back. Had he just gently touched the brat, the curse of his existence?

Well, the boy would suffer for that tomorrow. Snape stalked from the room. The only sound was Harry’s rhythmic breathing as Snape closed the door.

"Little blighter," Uncle Vernon shook his head as he picked up the discarded hammer, "not a moment of peace with him around. I swear, Petunia –"

"No, Vernon," his wife cut him off. "Don’t start. There’s nothing we can do anyway."

"Think he’s coming back?" Vernon jerked his head towards the fireplace.

Petunia dusted the mantelpiece with a rag, straightening the pictures of Dudley. "Probably not tonight. I imagine we’ll hear where he’s gone tomorrow, or they’ll bring him back."

Vernon swore under his breath, but Petunia looked over at her son. "Enjoying the show, Sweetums?"

"Yes, Mum." Dudley said around a mouthful of gummy bears. "Can I have more chocolate?"

The doorbell rang before she could answer. Petunia and Vernon turned towards the hall slowly.

"Don’t move," he hissed. "Don’t speak. Maybe they’ll think no one’s home."

"Don’t be ridiculous," Petunia threw her rag on the kitchen counter as she walked by. "They know we’re here. I don’t want another screaming letter. You stay with Dudley, and don’t let anything happen to him!"

Vernon opened his large mouth to tell his wife to come back, but she was already down the hall to the door. Steadying herself with a deep breath, she opened the door prepared for the worst.

To her surprise, the person standing on the doorstep was not a freak or anything frightening. Simply, a tall man with long dark hair dressed in a black suit, an impatient look of his face.

"Mrs. Dursley?" he asked crisply.

"Yes," Petunia held on to the door, ready to slam it if trouble arose.

"I’m Professor Severus Snape from your nephew’s school."

"Oh, so you’re a . . ."

"A wizard? Yes, madam, I believe that is the correct term. At the present moment, young Mr. Potter is at my home, asleep. He arrived a couple of hours ago, unexpected and gave me the impression that he was not planning to return to your humble home."

"We did not kick him out," Petunia insisted, aware that her husband was watching from the end of the hall. "He just stormed down and started attacking the fireplace, then disappeared in the green flames."

"Yes, it took him to my house," Snape watched her carefully. "But I take it you are not sorry to see him go?"

Petunia stepped closer, partly closing the door to cut off their conversation from the rest of the house. "I heard what happened – how his godfather died. And how the other boy died last year. I don’t care what anyone thinks, when he was left on our doorstep fourteen years ago, I knew there would be trouble. After my sister and that man she married were killed, I knew it was only a matter of time before their murderer came back."

"That was a wise assumption considering how many people believed that he would never return," Snape noted, his face blank.

"Yes," Petunia crossed her bony arms, her lips tight, " but we did take Harry in, against Vernon’s wishes and my better judgment. Dumbledore thinks I’ve been cruel, but I do have another son to think about. I only have one son and a husband to worry over. And taking into account that everyone who gets close to the boy ends up dead -" Petunia closed her mouth and stared down at the ground with red eyes.

"Quite understood," Snape stepped back. "I’m sorry to have bothered you so late in the evening. Suffice to say Mr. Potter will not be returning tonight or anytime in the near future if I can help it. You have been through a great deal, Mrs. Dursly, and I commend you for persevering. Dumbledore may frown upon your treatment of his favorite student, but you did all you could considering the circumstances. If I could take Mr. Potter’s schoolbooks . . ."

Two and half minutes later, Petunia returned with a backpack full of books. She handed the bag to him.

Snape nodded politely. "Good evening to you and your family."

"Goodbye," Petunia softly closed the door and turned back towards the hallway.

"Well?" Vernon hurried forward, "what did he want? What’s happened to the boy?"

"He’s not coming back for now," Petunia briskly walked to the kitchen, turning her head so he could not see her eyes. "Not for a while. His professor took him. At least, I think it was his professor, maybe I should have made sure, but it’s too late now."

"Ruddy bother," Vernon grumbled. "All this funny business, neighbors sure to see. We should have locked him up the moment he got here."

Petunia said nothing, only reached for the box of chocolates to hand to Dudley.

-----

Harry’s first thought when he woke was that he had never slept so comfortably or woke so well-rested. For the first time in months, he had no sweaty nightmares or the grim reminder of reality sweeping over him. His only desire was to lie there in a tangle of warm sheets and blankets on the soft feather pillow and to fall back asleep. He thought he heard running water in the distance, but the sound only added to pleasantness of his hazy state.

The door on the far wall swung open, and Snape walked out in black robes. Honestly, didn’t the man have any other clothes? Always black robes, sweeping around like a fearsome bat, even in summer –

Snape? Harry sat straight up in bed as the slightest twinge in his backside brought back a torrent of memories from the night before. He felt his face growing crimson.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter," Snape neared the bed.

"Er –" Harry stammered, clutching a handful of covers to his chest.

"Articulate as usual," Snape smirked. "However, by now I should realize that your mental capacities don’t fully arrive until noon if even by then."

"They come before then," Harry protested. "I mean, they don’t come at all. I mean, I always have them so they don’t have to come ‘cause they’re already here." It was hard to find a good comeback this early in the morning.

"I rest my case."

"Uh, sir, what am I doing here?" Harry ventured.

"Oh, that is quite easy to explain, even for your small, if not non-existent, brain. You got in bed last night, and because you didn’t get out to snoop around or explore or sleepwalk, you woke up in the same place that you started in. Fascinating, no?"

Harry ground his teeth in frustration. "I meant, why did I sleep here and not somewhere else?"

"I realized as soon as you arrived and began shouting that you weren’t going back that you could only have two reasons for not returning to your relatives. Quite simply, either they kicked you out or you threw one of your famous tantrums and left. Though I was entitled to think the latter, both choices left us with relatives reluctant to take you back, very wise of them if inconvenient for me. Since searching for someone to take you in would probably last all night, I opted for the lesser evil and decided to let you stay here, though I’m sure your natural disposition will not let me take comfort in my hospitality for long."

There were several insults in Snape’s explanation, Harry was sure of that. But he felt a little groggy from sleep and did not want to defend himself on every point, especially when he wasn’t sure exactly what was a slur or not. He liked it better when Snape was short and clear with his insults. Then it was much easier to put up a good argument.

"Though I am sure that you are used to lounging away the morning, I assure you that I will not indulge you with breakfast in bed. Get up."

Harry flung the covers off and slipped off the bed. The floor felt cold to his bare feet after the warm bed, and he wrapped his arms around his chest protectively.

"Go take a bath and get dressed, then we’ll go down to breakfast," Snape pointed to the door from where he had just come.

"Take a bath, get dressed," Harry muttered as he stomped into the bathroom and closed the door. "Really, I’m not a baby."

The porcelain bathtub was big enough for four people. It was filled with hot water, bubbles frothing on top like whipped cream. A bar of pale soap, a washcloth, and a bathbrush lay on one side, all new and unused.

Harry stripped off his pajamas and got into the bathtub. The hot water felt good to his muscles, still sore from painting. He was afraid that his rear end might ache, especially in so warm a bath, but the water only eased the last twinge from it. Harry was almost disappointed at the lack of any permanent damage to his hind quarters. Considering how his bottom had burned and throbbed after Snape finished with him, Harry was sure he would be sporting livid welts and ugly bruises. And with the way he had cried and carried on, Harry really wanted to show some sign of abuse, proof that Snape had beaten him. Well, not really beaten him, Harry had to admit to himself, if somewhat reluctantly. Snape had been firm, but not violent, more intent on teaching Harry a lesson than trying to hurt him. Nothing that he could use to get Snape into trouble, not that Harry ever planned to tell anyone about this, especially not Ron or Hermione. Hermione would be shocked speechless for once, and Ron would probably turn redder than his bright hair.

Then again, he wondered if any of his schoolmates had ever been spanked. He doubted Hermione’s parents would have punished her in that way – she probably never did anything wrong now or as a little child. Ron – well, Harry knew that the Weasleys had used corporeal punishment on the twins, but Ron usually didn’t doing anything to warrant so harsh a punishment. Neville – he wouldn’t have the nerve to do anything his grandmother disapproved of. Malfoy –

Harry grinned, almost evilly. He could just picture Draco bottom-up, maybe even bare-bottomed, over Lucius Malfoy’s lap, getting smacked good and hard for whatever crime he committed. Of course, after the Ministry of Magic, Harry hated Lucius as much as he hated Draco, but he could put that anger away long enough to imagine the mortifying punishment Draco would get from his father. Harry could hear his howls now, the prat begging Lucius for mercy as Draco’s bottom turned raw. Yes, very satisfying.

"I don’t hear you washing," Snape’s voice cut through the closed door. "Stop playing and wash quickly."

"Make me," Harry muttered, frustrated that his pleasant daydream was interrupted. He never got to relax in a bathtub at the Dursleys. He was limited to three-minute showers, usually after Dudley had used up all the hot water. Whatever was in the bath and bubbles helped ease his tense muscles, and Harry wanted to stay like this, leaning against the warm back of the tub, forever.

With a sigh, he reached for the soap. However, the soap moved down the edge of the tub. Harry reached for it again, but the soap slipped from under his fingers before he could get a god grip. With a growl, he lunged for it with both hands, but the soap escaped again.

Then the washcloth and bathbrush rose up on their own accord and plunged into the hot warm. Harry watched in bewilderment as the cloth and brush rose from the water, and then the soap floated up to meet them, sudsing them up good with bubbles. Then both cleaning instruments attacked Harry.

The washcloth launched at his face, scrubbing hard. He tried to yell, but only got a mouthful of suds. The bathbrush began scouring his shoulder, rubbing so hard that Harry was sure he would have no skin left when it finished.

"Stop it!" he shouted when the cloth and brush left him. But out from the spout in the wall high above poured galleons of hot water, nearly drowning Harry in its fury. He twisted in the water, sputtering and spitting, and tried to claw his way out of the tub. But his ankles were pulled forward, making him side down from the back of the tub. He felt his feet lifted, and the bathbrush began scrubbing at his soles. Harry squirmed in protest, the bristles tickling his vulnerable feet horribly before starting to scrub his legs.

"Snape, make them stop!"

Then he was flipped over in the tub on his stomach, almost immersed underwater. Harry desperately tried to grab the edge of the tub and pull himself out. The brush flipped itself over and delivered three sharp smacks to his bottom with the flat of the handle.

"Ow! You sodding –"

He was pushed under water again while the brush and cloth resumed their assault.

Once the scrubbing was finished, another gust of water roared out of the spout, washing off the soap. All the water drained away down invisible holes, leaving a coughing Harry in the empty tub.

"Snape, (cough) let me out (cough) of here!"

An invisible force lifted him up out of the tub and left him standing on the bath mat, shivering in the cool air. He wiped his eyes and looked up to see three dark shapes floating towards him. For several panicked seconds, Harry thought they were dementors. He didn’t have his glasses to see properly, but he raised both hands to ward them off. As they drew close, Harry realized that they were three brown towels hovering in the air.

He barely had time to draw a breath of relief when the towels latched on to him, rubbing him dry. One towel went for his hair and rubbed so hard he thought it must be pulling out hair by the handful. He swatted the towel away, but another towel wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his side so the other towel could get at his hair without interference.

A chair appeared out of nowhere, and the towel wrapped around him suddenly dragged Harry back and into the chair. A pair of metal scissors floated out of a drawer, and Harry sat very still, watching the scissors open menacingly.

"Snape," he whispered, hoping the potions master might take mercy and come get the scissors before they could snip off his ears. "Don't."

The scissors started trimming his hair, sending little pieces of hair down on the towel. Round and round, the scissors cut until it trimmed all the hair from touching his neck and falling in his eyes. Of all the haircuts Harry had ever received, this was scariest, and he prayed it would be over soon with his hair halfway presentable.

Then the towel flew off, and the scissors dove back in the drawer. Harry brushed the itchy hair off his nose and stood up. Then he saw a bottle of lotion and a shaker of talc powder rise from the countertop.

"No bloody way!" he hollered as they drew near. He grabbed his pajama bottoms and swatted the cosmetics away. "I'm not a girl – I don’t wear lotion or powder – get away!"

He barely had time to close his eyes before a spray of lotion splattered all over him. A new towel wound around him, rubbing in the lotion and wiping away the excess.

"You stupid - no, stop!" a gust of talc powder blew over him, smelling like fresh baby powder.

"Aghh!" he roared and tried to grab the container of powder to break it. The container rose above his grasp, but Harry jumped for it, determined to smash it to dust. He slipped on the damp floor and would have fallen to the hard marble below, but a towel caught him before he could hit the floor. Like a spread hammock, the towel eased him back up and wiped away the loose baby powder, giving his skin a soft, tender feeling.

When the toothbrush sailed across the room, Harry did not even put up a fight. He opened his mouth and held perfectly still as the brush scrubbed at his teeth. Fortunately, he was allowed to rinse before getting dressed. A pair of dark boxers and black trousers opened up for him to step into, and he raised his arms when a dark blue shirt dangled over head. He sat down on the chair to put on his socks and shoes, and lastly his glasses floated over to rest gently on his nose, pulling the bathroom into crystal-clear clarity.

He stood up to walk to the mirror, wondering what he looked like with the new haircut and clothes. But before he could take a step forward, the bathroom door opened, and the bathroom spit him out into the bedroom. The door slammed behind him, and Harry angrily hit it. "Hey, let me back in. I wasn’t finished – you can’t push me out like that!"

"Mr. Potter," a silky voice said from behind him, "please do not hit the door in that barbaric way. This will be the second temper tantrum you've thrown in thirteen hours."

"What was that?" Harry demanded, pointing an accusing finger at the closed door of the bathroom. "It – it attacked me."

"Simply a morning washing spell," Snape said smoothly, "mostly used by busy mothers with too many children."

"I was going to start washing," Harry snapped. "I was barely in there five minutes, before everything jumped at me. The bathbrush hit me, too, three times."

"How very unusual," Snape observed.

"And the towels flew at me, and tied me up so the scissors started cutting. And I don’t use lotion or that powder stuff."

"I must have left that in there by mistake," Snape said, completely unconvincing. "I’m sorry the bath did not meet your prestigious standards. Though I did think you might enjoy it – after all, it allows you too lie back and do nothing, quite suiting for the hero of the wizarding world."

Harry flushed red and clinched his hands into fists, glaring at Snape, too angry to speak. He did feel better after a bath, and the new clothes fit comfortably, not as formal and restricting as his school clothes or baggy and sloppy as Dudley’s hand-me-downs. And it was better to have his hair a little shorter and not falling in his eyes or making the back of his neck itch.

"At least now you look halfway appropriate for Snapdragon Manor and not like a street urchin. Sit down for a moment – breakfast is almost ready," Snape motioned to the made bed.

Harry pulled himself up on the bed, watching Snape warily. There was no telling what the man might do next - he might use any of the dormant objects as a weapon against Harry as he sat there helplessly.

Snape reached into a black leather bag on the nightstand and pulled out a long glass object with knobs at the end.

"Open up," Snape ordered.

Harry eyed the thing. Except for the knobs, it looked like a thermometer, but with Snape you never knew.

"Open your mouth," Snape’s voice grew hard when Harry did not comply. "Believe me, Potter, there’s more than one way to take a temperature. Shall I demonstrate on you?"

Immediately, Harry opened his mouth and took in the thermometer without a second's hesitation. He was afraid it might burn his tongue or glue itself to the roof of his mouth, but it only felt hard and cold like a regular thermometer.

Snape reached in his bag and took out a gold pocket watch.

"Wass dat?" Harry asked around the thermometer.

"Hush," Snape answered as he took Harry's right hand and turned it palm up. Snape place two fingers over Harry's wrist and watched the small clock intently. Obviously, Snape knew how to take a person's pulse.

Without a word, Snape tucked the pocket watch back in the bag and began feeling around Harry's neck and throat for swelling. Snape's hands were cold, and Harry, not used to being touched, never realized how ticklish his neck was. His shoulders hunched up as he tried to keep from giggling.

Snape’s lips curved in a smirk. "Potter, sit still."

Harry tried, but he was very thankful when Snape removed his hands. In a clinical, detached manner that would have made Madam Pomfrey proud, Snape peered into Harry’s eyes and tapped on his cheekbones. Harry felt uncomfortable with Snape so close and – concerned. He liked the man at least a few steps away, looking cold and critical. Satisfied with what he found, Snape removed the thermometer and checked it.

"Hmm, 99.4. A bit high."

"The bath was hot," Harry objected. "And I'm always warm when I wake up."

Snape reached into his bag and removed a small dark vial. "Drink this."

Harry thought about refusing, but then he had a mental image of his mouth being forced open and Snape pouring the potion down along with something else nasty and harmful . . .

Harry gulped down the potion. It tasted awful, especially after the minty toothpaste. "Ugh," he handed the empty vial back. "Yuck."

"I suppose that will do for now," Snape shrugged. "Of course, if your fever rises, we can always try an ice bath. I imagine you'll enjoy spending the afternoon packed down in ice with another potion to keep you from freezing."

Harry stared agape at him, but Snape turned and swept out of the room. Harry scurried off the bed and followed him downstairs.

The dining was large and spacious with seats enough for twelve at the long table. However, only two places were set, the one at the head of the table and the place to its right. Snape sat down at the head and motioned to the other seat. Harry sat down slowly, wondering why Snape didn’t just send him to the kitchen for breakfast.

Two house-elves in neat dish-clothes came out with food. Harry expected to see several dishes to serve from, like a Hogwarts. However, one elf set a plate full of muffins, eggs, sausage, kippers, butter, and marmalade at Snape’s place with a pot of hot tea. The other elf placed in front of Harry a bowl full of porridge with sliced bananas and a smatter of cream and a small plate of wheat toast with a tiny spoonful of jam along with a huge glass of milk.

Snape began cutting into his sausage and smearing butter over a muffin. Harry looked down at his bowl of porridge, thick and lumpy, and tried not to pout. He never thought about food at Hogwarts – it was always tasty and good – and at the Dursleys he was happy for whatever he got. But here, sitting at Snape’s table with a breakfast made for a toddler . . . though Harry probably wouldn’t have minded if Snape had the same breakfast as he did.

"Please start eating, Mr. Potter," Snape ordered, cutting into his eggs. "I know you must be hungry, and your breakfast is getting cold."

Harry picked up his spoon and took a bite of porridge. It was surprising good – hot and slightly sweetened with a hint of cinnamon. The bananas were fresh as was the cream, and he found himself enjoying every bite. The toast wasn’t bad, either – not too dry, and the jam was sweet and tangy. With the cold milk, he couldn’t wish for a better breakfast.

"Glad to see you enjoying the food and not complaining," Snape observed. "I was expecting our renown hero to demand his breakfast fit for a king. I never expected anything found in my miserable kitchen to suit your impeccable taste."

"I’m not that picky," Harry sat up in his chair, refusing the last swallow of milk from the glass just irritate Snape. "Food is food, you know – you eat it."

"Another brilliant observation made by the famous Mr. Potter," Snape said scathingly.

"You know what I mean," Harry insisted. Somehow, he didn’t find himself getting so riled up over Snape’s comments as usual. "I’m not picky because most food is the same after a while."

"Just like a child," Snape shook his head as he poured himself more tea. "Precisely the reason I told Dumbledore not to waste time or money on students’ food – they’d be happy with anything."

Harry wasn’t quite sure if Snape meant that as a compliment or an insult. The man said everything in the same tone, making it impossible to discern his true feelings. Until now, Harry had always found it a safe bet to assume that Snape was in a bad mood. But could someone be in a bad mood all the time, every second of everyday without dying of depression?

"Now, Mr. Potter," Snape set his cup aside with finality, "I might as well tell you that I already went and spoke to your aunt last night."

Harry looked down at the table. He wasn’t sure if he should be concerned or scared or relieved. Knowing Snape, probably all three.

"She was glad too hear that you were safe, but she seemed to think that if you came back, you were likely to run off again." Here, Snape fixed Harry with a stern look, and Harry squirmed slightly. "While I’m sure that would not be the case, I told her for now you would be staying somewhere else until school."

"Where?" Harry asked.

"I imagine Azkaban would be glad to house you, if only for a matter of weeks," Snape shrugged as he stood up.

Harry paled for a moment, thinking of the dementors swarming around a cell, slowing sucking the life out of him as he huddled in darkness.

"Oh, please, Potter," the potions master snapped, "if you are to ever defeat the Dark Lord, you have to stop being so vulnerable and jumpy. Live up to that Gryffindor bravery that you think so highly of."

Harry did scowl at that. He hated when Snape talked about Gryffindor ideals with that sneer. He could jeer all day at Harry, but talking about his friends was going too far.

"Up, Potter," Snape snapped his fingers.

Harry rose reluctantly from the table; he felt safer with a few pieces of wood between himself and the stern potions master.

"Until lunchtime, I want you to stay in the library," he led Harry down the hall with the portraits still whispering, "and keep quiet."

Snape pushed open the door, and Harry stepped into the library. It was huge – two stories high with spiral steps leading up to shelves that stretched to a domed ceiling. It was possibly bigger than the library at Hogwarts. Hermione would have drooled in the doorway.

"You can read any book that will open," Snape gestured to the shelves. "And books that won’t are forbidden. Do not try to force open a book that does not fall open easily. You will not like the end results. But not to worry – most of the books you should not read are on the top shelves beyond your reach. Your schoolbooks are on the table along with a few suitable books – I suggest you start on your homework."

"But I have two months before school starts," Harry objected. "I don’t want to study – I want to know what’s going to happen to me."

"You’ll know when the time is right," Snape told him. "For now, I want you to stay in here and study or read or whatever you have to do to keep still and quiet."

Harry felt the old anger rising up in him. This was just like last summer when he was locked away at the Dursleys, cut off from the wizarding world. Now, he was in a wizard’s house, but he felt more isolated than ever. Snape would not leave any newspapers lying about for him to see, and it was very likely that Snape would search through any letters that Hedwig or any other owl brought. Harry might as well be locked up in Azkaban until school started.

"No, you tell me now," Harry insisted, crossing his arms defiantly. "Or I’ll stand here all day. I have a right to know what’s going to happen to me."

Without a word, Snape reached out and grabbed Harry’s ear in a tight pinch.

"Ow!" Harry tried to pull free, but Snape’s grip was vice-like as if his hand had become a permanent part of Harry’s ear. The man dragged Harry into the library and sat him down at the table.

Harry rubbed his ear, glaring at Snape.

"Now, Mr. Potter, do we understand each other, or do you need further persuasion as I used last night?"

"No, no, sir," Harry answered stiffly, "I’ll stay in here."

Snape walked towards the hall, but paused in the doorway. "I mean it, Potter, behave yourself. Or I’ll put you in a full body bind and hang you from the railing upside-down."

He walked out and shut the door behind him with a decided click.

Harry waited anxiously to hear the lock close. He hated the idea of being locked up, even in a spacious library for a few hours. After a minute or two, he crept to the door and tested the knob. It was not locked.

He went back to the desk and sat down. What should he do now? Had he been locked in, he would have felt justified in yelling or throwing things in the library. But he wasn’t locked in, and he had a feeling that Snape would not be pleased with books mistreated in his library.

With a blush, Harry remembered how he had destroyed Dumbledore’s office the day Sirius died. Breaking things – expensive things – and yelling, screaming like a maniac. What if Snape had been there, watching such behavior? Harry had the uneasy feeling that Snape would not have stood by calmly while Harry raved like a lunatic. One thing was certain: he would not test his theory by having a tantrum.

Harry reached for the top book of a stack on the table: Tales of Treasures: Five Stories about Priceless Possessions based on Magical Myths. He flicked at the cover with a finger. The book fell open, and he found himself reading the first page of some fairytale story about a witch named Emeralda in love with a wizard who went on a long quest in search of a necklace that would give its owner invincibility. At first Harry thought it might be a wizard version of Lord of the Rings, but as he read on, the story turned out to be completely different as the wizard traveled inside the Pits of Darkness to find the necklace.

Harry forgot about Snape, he forgot about studying, he forgot that he was even in a library. All that matter was Timord (the name of wizard) finding the necklace. Fifty pages, a hundred, Harry read on until at last Timord after two years of searching, found the necklace.

There laying in the box, as simple and pure as the morning sunlight was the necklace, made of brightest gold with a tiny hourglass in its center. Timord picked up the necklace and placed it around his neck. He began twirling the hourglass around in his fingers, faster and faster. He thought of his love for the beautiful Emeralda.

And then the walls of the cave faded, and he found himself in the bedroom of his lady. She glanced up with a smile.

"Why darling," she exclaimed, "why are you back so soon?"

"So soon?" he laughed. "I’ve been gone over two years."

"No, she shook her head, sending her hair dancing in the moonlight, "you left this morning. I just bade you farewell."

Timord looked down at the necklace around his neck and touched the hourglass gently.

The story went on to say how Timord married his witch and lived happily ever after, but what really caught Harry’s attention was the footnote at the end of the story.

Though this tale is considered a myth, the Necklace of Timord is an actual timeturner from the days before Merlin. It was last seen in 1598 during witch trial when the witch disappeared while being led to her hanging. The Necklace of Timord is reported not only to take its wearer back in the time, but also to the precise place that the wearer envisions. Also the Necklace renders its wearer impervious to harm, making the Necklace one of the more sought-after Dark Magic objects.

Our next story begins on a dark island where seven shipwrecked sailors stumbled upon a treasure beyond their wildest dreams . . .

Harry put the book down slowly. He had enjoyed the story – a little frilly and fussy for his tastes, obviously written for girls as well as boys – but the Necklace caught his attention completely. Could there be such an object in the world? It had last been sighted over four hundred years ago, but by wizards’ standards, that was not so very long. If he found it, it would not only take him back to save Cedric and Sirius, but to the exact place he needed to be to find them.

Harry grabbed a piece of paper out of his backpack and reached for a quill. Hastily, he wrote down the Necklace of Timord and below scratched Disappeared in 1598 at witch’s trial. He would search the entire library for any information about the Necklace and take notes on everything he found.

As for Snape – well, sooner or later the man had to let him out of the manor, and when he did, Harry would be ready for his quest. But he wouldn’t say a word about this to Snape – the last thing he needed was for the potions master to know that the savior of the wizarding world was going on another heroic journey.

Harry reached as far as he could on the ladder. The red-bound leather book was just beyond his fingertips. He tried to scoot the ladder a little farther, but it was already to the edge. Harry strained a little more.

The red book was at the very edge of the highest shelf of library; the floor seemed miles below, but after years playing Quidditch on broomstick, Harry had a good head for heights.

Where was his broom for that matter? Had Snape left it at the Dursleys? And what about his cape and his wand? Snape must have hidden them.

Snape the kleptomaniac. Harry sniggered. He could just see Snape sitting in a circle discussion group at some rehab – "Hello, I’m Severus Snape, and I steal my students’ things and hide them just to annoy them."

Snickering at the image of Snape being force to share him feelings, Harry stretched his arm out as far as it would go. He had been all over the library looking for books on timeturners. Most books he found opened easily for him. Three had not, but their covers looked dark and dangerous, and one book had tried to bite at his hand.

Holding on the top rung of the ladder, Harry reached out a little father and suddenly felt his footing slip from the ladder. He scrambled to catch a foothold or grip on the ladder, but he was falling backwards, falling . . .

An invisible force caught him mid-air and pushed back up to stand on the balcony. As stood as he felt solid floor beneath his feet, he whirled around and look over the balcony.

"This is a library, Mr. Potter," Snape said, arms crossed with his wand tucked in one hand, "not a Quidditch field. And you can not fly in here without a broom."

"I was reaching for a book," Harry said, trying not to scowl.

"What did I tell you about the books on the highest shelves?" Snape’s voice grew stern.

"You said most of the book I should read are on the highest shelves," Harry replied. "You didn’t say only books I shouldn’t read are only on the highest shelves. Besides, I didn’t try to open anything that wouldn’t open right away."

His tone was not the most respectful, but Snape only frowned at him and motioned for him to come down. "Lunch is ready, so come along." He stopped when he saw the jumble of books on the table that Harry had been searching through. "Mr. Potter, what is this?"

"I was researching," Harry tripped lightly down the circular stairs, hoping Snape wouldn’t catch him in a lie. "A transfiguration essay – for school – this fall."

"Obviously," Snape retorted. "I expect you to put this books back by the end of the day. The house elves are not here to clean up after you. And if you so much as crease one page . . ."

"You’ll what?" Harry challenged, feeling foolishly brave. "Torture me with hot coals?"

"Oh, Potter, I would never use something so mundane and ordinary, not while I have a whole dungeon full of instruments that could have you screaming for weeks," Snape swept out of the library. Harry blinked, not sure if the man was serious of not. Blast that blank expression.

"Move, Potter!" Snape flung over his shoulder as he strode down the hall, and Harry hurried to keep up.

He had not found much useful information about the Necklace of Timord or any other powerful timeturners. Many of the books made references to timeturners in general, but nothing about where those timeturners were except the few that belonged to the Ministry of Magic. Harry was sure that the red book, Bringing Back the Past: The History of Timetravel, might have had something to help him. He would try to get at the book later.

They sat at the same places as they had at breakfast. The two elves came out with separate plates as before. Snape got a huge salad filled with all kinds of good bits – chicken, bacon, dressing, cheese, and cut vegetables along with side crackers and tomato soup. Harry looked at his own plate. He had a big bowl of white soup and white roll on the side.

He tasted the soup: potato with barely any flavor, hot but very bland. And there was no butter on the roll.

"What is this?" Harry demanded.

Snape looked at him slowly. "I’m sorry, Potter, are you complaining about your lunch?"

"Why can’t we have the same thing?" Harry motioned to both of their plates.

"Did you not just say this morning that food was food, all that same after a while?" Snape took a bite of his salad.

"Yes, but –"

"Then I don’t want to hear any complaining." Snape returned to eating as if Harry had not spoken.

Harry ran his spoon through the soup suspiciously. "What did you put in the soup?"

Snape let out his breath with a huff, but turned to one house elf that was waiting by the table anxiously. "Minnonty, please take away my tomato soup and bring me the exact same potato soup that Mr. Potter is having."

"Yes, sir," the house elf squeaked as she took Snape’s bowl and disappeared. A moment later, she reappeared with a bowl full of the white soup that she placed by Snape’s salad.

"Satisfied?" he asked Harry.

"No, I meant . . ." Harry trailed off. Something was not right here. He started eating his soup, watching Snape closely. But the man let nothing show in his emotionless face as he started eating the soup.

Harry started eating the soup. But halfway through he found himself pushing it back. He should be hungry, especially after such a plain breakfast, but he only stirred the soup around with his spoon, slowly going around and around. He felt Snape’s eyes on him, but the man said nothing.

The clock stuck one o’clock as they left the dining. Harry waited, hoping Snape might be a bit more willing to share information with him.

"Follow me, Potter," Snape started upstairs.

Harry followed, glancing at the portraits which looked down at him. One elderly woman shook her head as Harry passed. "I don’t like the look of him, Severus," she called out. "You can clean him up all you like, but he’s going to be trouble."

"Please tell me something I don’t know," Snape snapped at the picture.

Harry glared at the portrait, then stuck his tongue at her. The old woman drew herself up in shock and shook an admonishing finger at him.

Snape led Harry back to the bedroom that Harry had slept in. "Sit on the bed, Potter," Snape reached for his black bag.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I’m not sick – I feel fine."

"Now, Potter!" Snape ordered, his face set.

Harry sulkily pulled himself up on the high bed. "I feel all right. At school, you never cared if I was sick or not. And Madame Pomfrey worried too much. So I ended up in the hospital wing soon or later – everyone does at some time. Dumbledore said that Hogwarts can be a danger –"

Snape shoved the thermometer in Harry’s mouth, shutting off his complaints. Then the man pulled out the pocket watch and took Harry’s pulse. Harry rolled his eyes. This was completely unnecessary. Snape just like to make his uncomfortable. He was deliberately doing these things to make Harry angry and upset.

"See?" Harry said as soon as Snape removed the thermometer, "I’m fine."

"99.9," Snape put the thermometer back in its little case.

"Oh. Well, I just had soup for lunch. That makes my mouth warmer than usual. Madame Pomfrey always took our temperature before we ate, not after. In a hour or two, I’ll be fine."

Snape hesitated for a second and then reached out and placed his hand on Harry’s forehead. Harry resisted the urge to jerk away. He most certainly did not want Snape touching him now or ever after what he had done to Sirius.

"You feel warm," Snape commented.

Harry pulled away. "That’s because your hands are cold from sitting the dark dungeons so long," he snapped.

He expected Snape to reprimand him for his words, but an odd look passed over Snape’s face. For a moment, Harry thought he saw something near concern in the man’s eyes. But the expression passed quickly, and Snape said shortly,

"Would you stop talking, Potter? It’s enough to drive anyone mad. Shut up, and drink this." He thrust out a vial, bigger than the one Harry had taken that morning.

"But I don’t feel bad," Harry objected, grimacing at the dark potion inside. "My scar isn’t even hurting. And the stuff you gave me this morning didn’t make me feel any different."

"Potter!" Snape warned.

With a growl, Harry swallowed the foul potion, shuddering at the nasty taste. It made him want to scour him mouth out to get rid of the lingering aftertaste.

"Now, lay down and rest for a little bit," Snape took back the empty vial.

That was the last straw. "You must be joking," Harry glared at Snape. "I am not some little kid. You can feed me bland food, and keep me in the library, and use washing spells on me, but I am not taking a nap!"

Harry moved to get off the bed, but suddenly Snape hit him with a body-binding hex. Harry felt all his limbs go rigid as if his muscles no longer worked. His upper body fell back on the bed, and Harry found himself staring up at the ceiling. He could blink and move his eyes, but no other muscle followed his command to move.

"Finally, a moment of peace from you," Snape put his wand back in his robes and moved towards the bed. "Just like your father, always making demands and strutting around like you own the place and everyone in it."

Harry could only glare at him as Snape came into view. In desperation, he tried to remember if there were any counter curses for body binds. He couldn’t think of any off hand, and didn’t you need a wand, and he wasn’t very good at nonverbal spells, but he would have to be because he couldn’t move his mouth and . . .

"Calm down," Snape cut through Harry’s tumble of thoughts. "You are probably the only person who can work himself into a panic while in a body bind."

Harry saw Snape’s hand reach out, then he felt Snape’s hands on his shoulder, slowly rolling Harry onto his side. Snape placed a pillow under Harry’s head and then lifted Harry’s feet up onto the bed and began unlacing his shoes.

Harry concentrated on breathing. He really had no control over that either as his body continued to take and let out breaths without his control. But he had to focus on something other than Snape so close and dangerous. Harry felt his shoes being slipped off, and then a soft coverlet was draped over him to the waist.

Snape bent Harry’s arms at the elbows and then tucked them under his chin in the way he had seen the boy sleeping last night. Harry tried to speak with his eyes, to scream silently at Snape to let him go or he would be sorry later. But the potions master only pulled the coverlet up around his shoulders and stepped back from the bed.

"I’m warning you, Potter, I will not put up with your defiance, not in my house. I am more than capable of dealing with spoiled brats so you better learn to behave or you will not find your stay here comfortable. Now, try to get some sleep, and this afternoon I will let you walk around the grounds before supper. You can stare at the wall as long as you like to satisfy your sulky determination, or you can make yourself relax and have a pleasant nap. Either way, you’re going to rest here for the next few hours." Snape pulled out his wand and gave his wrist a flick towards the windows. The drapes closed over the windows, cutting out the light and turning the room dim and sober with the only light coming from the hallway.

With the usual billowing of robes, Snape swept out of the bedroom, and Harry heard the door shut softly. If he had slammed the door and had made the room shake, Harry would have felt better. But the gentle closing made him madder than ever, and all he wanted to do was grab the black bag and knock Snape over the head with it. And then pull out the thermometer and shove it down his throat, the evil ugly git of a bat!

Harry felt tears well up in his eyes, and he blinked furiously. He did not want Snape to come back and see that the famous Boy-Who-Lived had been crying. The comments Snape would undoubtedly make, sighing over the fact that the wizarding world was destined to be saved by a crybaby – Harry wouldn’t be able to control himself. He hated Snape with every single bit of feeling that he had in him, hated him for calling names and being such a mean, evil man that liked to watch other people suffer.

A small voice at the back of Harry’s mind whispered that this was not entirely true. Snape had not called him names last night when Harry’s cried from the punishment. And Snape didn’t like to watch all people suffer all the time because he had stopped Harry from falling in library. And Snape was letting him stay here and not at the Dursleys.

Yeah, Harry would have pouted if he could move his face. Staying here was loads of fun – being bossed around and ordered here and there.

He closed his eyes, not to sleep but because it was dark enough in the room that it didn’t matter if his eyes were open or shut. He would just lay like this and wait for the binding spell to wear off. And later this afternoon when Snape let him go outside, he would find a way to escape.

And he was not sick – no matter, what Snape said. Harry had had a fever as a little child, and he could remember that chilled, restless trembling of his limbs as he curled up and tried to sleep it off. He did not feel like that now. And he wasn’t the least bit tired. He would tell Snape when the man let him up, before conking Snape over the head with the black bag.

Harry felt his closed eyes growing heavy, and his angry thoughts began to numb. What did it all matter right now? He would get Snape back at sometime, but for now just lying here in the warm and quiet bedroom without any concerns . . . felt so . . . nice . . .

------

Snape opened the door quietly and stepped in. He half-expected to see the brat staring right back at him, his eyes fixed and angry. Instead, Snape saw the boy sound asleep on his back, the coverlet wrapped around him like a cocoon. The binding spell was one that loosed only after the person was in a deep sleep.

From the looks of Potter’s loose limbs, he was fast asleep.

Snape pressed his lips together tightly. He had only been gone ten minutes. If everything had been right, if nothing was wrong, than Potter should be still awake and in the body-bind, ready to protest that he didn’t need a nap. And his fever was worsening.

Snape strode out the room and shut the door a bit loudly. He listened carefully, hoping Potter might wake and start fussing. No sound was made.

This was bad. Snape’s walk was even quicker as he made his way downstairs and to his laboratory.

-------

Harry rolled over and yawned. He felt pleasantly drowsy and very comfortable. It seemed like he should be upset over something, but he couldn’t remember what at the moment. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to think about what he should do. Then, he remembered.

Harry sat up and flung the thin coverlet to the side. How dare Snape? What kind of mind games was the dirty git playing at anyway?

Harry pulled his shoes back on, tied them, and headed for the door. He glanced at the clock on the mantle as he left. 3:35, it read. Harry paused for a moment. He had been asleep for two and a half hours? That couldn’t be right, he hadn’t even felt tired. The clocks were probably playing tricks on him, just like everything else in this blasted house.

He met Snape at the bottom of the stairs.

"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.

"I’m on fire!" Harry yelled. "Snape, I’m on fire!"

"I can see that, Mr. Potter," Snape nodded thoughtfully, as if he was observing a potion that had gone wrong with no explanation.

"Snape, my whole body’s on fire."

"Don’t move, Potter. Just stay on the bed. How do you feel?"

"How do I feel?" Harry felt half-crazy as he stared at his teacher with wide eyes. "I’m on fire!"

"If you were really being burned, you would be screaming with pain. You’re not – just panicking. How do you feel?"

"Uh-uh – hot," Harry stared down at his body that was engulfed in orange, crackling flames.

"Do you feel like you’ve touched a hot pot? Or like you’ve stepped in a hothouse with all the hot air and concentrated heat on your skin? Or like you’ve been sunburned? Or slept with too many blankets?"

"The sunburn – the sunburn thing!" Harry cried out. "My skin is hot and itches, and it kinda hurts, but not too much, but I’m on fire. I’m on fire!"

"If anyone were to ever receive an award for making the most inane comments over and over again, it would be you, Potter," Snape sneered. "Just when I think you can’t get any stupider, I find a whole new level of idiocy I never knew existed."

Harry glared at him. "I am not stupid. You’re stupid."

"What I brilliant comeback," Snape smirked. "I would expect better from a four-year-old."

"You’re mean and nasty and cruel and spiteful," Harry shot at him. "No one likes you – no one wants to be around you, ever! And we all hate your clothes and your hair. And – and you’re horrible teacher!"

"Hitting me where it hurts – my teaching skills," Snape mocked at him.

"Yeah," Harry snarled, "I haven’t learned a thing from you in five years. All those hours in that rotting dungeon, a waste of time! And when I become king of the wizarding world or whatever you think I’m trying to be, the first thing that’s going is bloody potions! Anyone that tries to teach or make potions gets a one-way ticket to Azkaban!"

Snape looked like he was trying not to smirk which made Harry even angrier.

"Yeah, and you’re going to Azkaban as soon as I get off this bed and out of this ruddy house. I won’t stop until they lock you away for good, you sodding git!"

"Mr. Potter," Snape’s voice was irritatingly quiet, "you’re not on fire anymore."

Harry glanced down. The fire was gone, and he was lying on the bed in his pajamas as if nothing had happened. The room felt eerily quiet after the loud crackling of flames.

"What happened?" Harry asked in a scared, surprised voice.

"Exactly what I thought would happen," Snape said calmly, "or at least one of two things. I knew either you’d burn out the curse from the fireplace or you’d die."

"Those were the options?" Harry almost yelled.

"You didn’t die – you should be happy. Not to mention thanking me for not letting you burn to death."

Harry gave him a bewildered look.

"The potion, Potter! Really, sometimes I wonder how you manage to survive with such little brainpower. If the Dark Lord knew the idiot he was up against –"

"So the potion kept me from burning?" Harry interrupted, refusing to be called stupid one more time.

"Actually no, it sped up the burning process. I knew you would catch fire eventually because the Dark Lord did when he came through. However, it took him a full week to ignite, and it was not pleasant waiting in the least. I couldn’t imagine dealing with your whining and pleading for that long so I made a potion that would hurry things up while protecting your main organs. So when you caught fire, you’d burn yourself out and not harm yourself. You became more and more tired because the potion was speeding the process along, and your body was trying to keep up."

Harry stared at him uncertainly before managing to say, "Well – well, you should have told me."

"And have you worrying about catching fire for two days? I saw you before each task during the Tri-Wizard Tournament– you don’t do very well under pressure. You’re better flying by the seat of your pants. Worrying and fretting only gets you into mischief, as I’ve noticed many a time."

Snape’s parental tone made Harry cross his arms and glare at the edge of the bed. He hated the way Snape made him sound so childish and impulsive, like a four-year-old that couldn’t sit still for a single second without causing trouble.

"As for your disrespect –"

"I was on fire," Harry protested, looking up in alarm. "Whatever someone says when they’re on fire shouldn’t count."

Snape seemed to waver, and Harry wondered if he would over his teacher’s knees in a moment, being punished for threatening to have Snape tossed in Azkaban.

"Don’t let it happen again," Snape warned.

Harry bit his tongue before he could retort "What? The disrespect or catching fire?" There was no need to test his luck.

"All right," Snape reached for the black bag one last time, but this time removed a green potion, "drink this and see if you can go back to sleep."

"More sleep?" Harry was incredulous as he swallowed the potion. It wasn’t too bad, kind of like peppermint and cinnamon. "I’ve done nothing but sleep since I got here."

"Potter, you just caught fire a few minutes ago. I want you to take it easy until I’m sure you’ve fully recovered. So, lie back against the pillows and stay still." When Harry glared at him, Snape raised an eyebrow. "I can always stun you if you think that will help you mind me better."

"But I’m tired of staying in bed," Harry knew he was whining, but he felt justified in his complaint. It was odd to have someone other than Madame Pomfrey worry about his health. His confusion grew as Snape plumped up the pillows before pushing Harry back on them and feeling his forehead with his palm. Harry felt an odd flutter in his stomach. Was this what it felt like to have a parent fuss over you when you were sick? Snape could be – no, he was creepy and evil and mean, not good parent material at all.

"You’re not warm," Snape announced, his tone implying that Harry had finally done something right. "I daresay your fever broke. Try to relax for a bit, don’t think about anything – go on to sleep. I’ll come up later tonight and stretch your muscles so you don’t get too stiff.

"Yeah, on a torture rack," Harry muttered as he turned on his side.

"As you wish, Mr. Potter," Snape gave a mock bow of his head before closing the curtains again and leaving the room.

Harry lay in the dark, trying to fall asleep, but was really too wound up about what had just taken place. He had burst into flames. Surely, that wasn’t a good thing. And Snape had known all about it the whole time and probably been thinking Hmm, is the Brat-Who-Lived going to die or become a human furnace? Either way, I’m sure to have some fun watching him suffer! Evil prat.

Yet, it was a little relieving to have someone else care about him and look out for his well-being. Harry began mentally checking off the people who had cared for him. The Dursleys – well, that wasn’t really caring, but they had seen that he reached eleven without dying of hunger so that had to count for something. McGonagall – but she had to see to all the members of her house and he was just one of many. Dumbledore – though Harry sometimes wondered if the old wizard only liked him because he was destined to save the world, and after last year being so cold and distant . . .

Harry sniffed suddenly, his eyes hurting. He quickly went on to the next person. Hagrid – now, Hagrid was someone who cared about him. A little rough, definitely not a safe person, but Harry could trust Hagrid as long as the caretaker didn’t have any ferocious animals around. And there was Lupin, who had taught him how to ward off dementors though the teacher had turned into a werewolf later and tried to eat Harry, but that wasn’t really Lupin’s fault. And the Weasleys – though they had seven children of their own and troubles enough to deal with. And lastly Sirius –

Harry swallowed painfully. Sirius had invited him to live with him once the man was cleared, but Harry could not help remembering how distracted and – and unfeeling Sirius had been the whole time Harry had stayed at Grimauld Place. No, wait – Sirius had been busy and Harry had been cleaning, which come to think of it had been completely a waste of his time. Harry had proven himself time and time again in the face of evil only to be locked up at his relatives’ house and then turned into a cleaning house elf? It was so unfair, completely unfair for Sirius to let his only godson suffer.

Holding onto the edge of the covers, Harry waited for anger to sweep over him. He liked the feeling at times – it drove him forward and gave him something to care about instead of feeling empty. But no anger came. Instead, a wave of helplessness coupled with sadness bore down on him, and Harry found himself starting to cry.

What a baby! his mind screamed at him, but his emotions wouldn’t listen. His face scrunched up painfully, and his eyes were burning, and then tears were rolling down his face. He had never felt so miserable and distraught in his whole life.

Get a grip, get a grip! some rational part of him pleaded, but he couldn’t listen. No on cared about him, he was all alone, no one would ever love him, who would want to love him? He was a horrible person, an awful boy that everyone hated.

That’s it, the sensible voice told him. You’re crazy now. You’ve just won a first-class ticket to St. Mungo’s. Room 543 – Mr. Harry James Potter, admitted for hysterical tears and excessive crying. If you’d like to see Mr. Potter, please look through the window where you can see that he is still crying. Four months now, and we have to keep him hydrated or he’ll cry himself to death from lack of water.

Harry sat up in bed, wrapped his arms around his knees, and buried his head in the crook of his right arm. He could feel his tears dampen the sleeve of his pajama shirt, and his whole body shook with sobs. He remembered a Muggle book where the girl had enlarged herself, cried, then gotten shrunken, and nearly drowned in a sea of her own tears. Harry hoped that would happen to him so he might put an end to it all. No one cared about him anyway. He nearly choked with the force of his wails.

"I thought I told you not to think and to go to sleep!" a tight voice sounded from the doorway.

Harry looked up, and from a glaze of tears he could see a black form coming towards him. Maybe it was a dementor who would suck out his soul, which wouldn’t be much of a treat for the dementor because Harry was such a low-down, horrible, pathetic, miserable, little person.

Harry felt a hand grip the back of his neck, and then a cloth swiped over his face, wiping his tears away with a little more force than Harry would like.

"Blow," Snape instructed, holding the handkerchief over Harry’s nose. Harry did so, and Snape wiped briskly.

"What’s h-happening to me?" Harry wailed, completely and utterly despondent. He gestured wildly to the tears that continued to stream down his cheeks.

"Just what I expected," Snape said, still dabbing tears away in a professional manner as if he were accustomed to drying teenager’s tears on a regular basis. "The potion I gave you works faster with your emotions. I made you angry while you were on fire so you burned it quicker. However, most of your anger burnt out as well, leaving you feeling vulnerable and upset. I was hoping that you might fall asleep before you had an absolute breakdown, but that didn’t work." He sighed in resignation.

This new information did nothing to cheer Harry up; if anything, it made him feel more miserable than ever. He was just a lost little boy in a big scary world where everyone wanted to hurt him, and he couldn’t protect himself.

"Now, Potter," Snape pushed him back on the pillows. "Why don’t you try to think of something a bit – happy," Snape seemed to have trouble with the last word.

Harry blinked. "Like what?" How could he ever think of anything pleasant with Snape standing over him and his feelings running haywire?

Snape rolled his eyes. "Come on, Potter, there must be something that make you feel good, that you enjoy."

"Fl-flying," Harry sniffed, trying to stop the tears still leaking out.

For a moment, Snape looked like he was going to make a snide comment, but he merely swallowed and said, "All right, you like to fly. Some people aren’t good at it, but you are, not surprising considering your fath – but no, you like flying. I suppose you mean at Quidditch."

Harry nodded, biting his lip to stifle a sob. "Y-yes, but other times, too. It helps me relax. You’re up high, you-you know, and everything looks so small. If it’s that small, it can’t be such a big deal."

"Interesting perception. What else do you like?"

Harry considered. He wanted to keep crying, but he could not think and cry at the same time. "I like hanging out with Ron and Hermione, I like talking to them at night in the common room where we’re not in class or around a lot of people."

"All right, that’s sounds fun," Snape had trouble saying that word as well. "So flying and friends - lovely. I think you also like those chocolate frogs that leap around and are general nuisances."

"I like wizard candy," Harry nodded. The tears had stopped coming, but he still felt lonely and empty.

Snape reached into his robes, but Harry didn’t see him pull anything out. The man rubbed his hands together quickly before asking, "Now, let’s talk about things you don’t like exactly, but you’re glad when you succeed."

"Huh?" Harry squinted in confusion.

"Like studying for a class you don’t enjoy, but you’re happy when you receive a high grade."

Harry nodded again. "Sometimes, I like having to work for stuff. If everything came easy, I wouldn’t like it."

Harry felt something warm pressed against his own cold hand. For a moment, he wanted to jerk away, but the warmth soon spread over his hand and up his arm. He enjoyed the soothing sensation and held the warm thing even tighter.

"You like reading," Snape continued, oblivious to Harry’s new feeling.

"Yeah, but not as much as Hermione. She remembers everything, and she reads faster than I do." Harry picked up the warm object in one hand. He admired the look of it before feeling it with both hands. Yes, skin covering muscle and bone.

"She is quite the know-it-all," Snape observed.

Harry frowned a little as he traced a blood vein over the object with his finger. "She’s helped me in a lot of classes. Funny though, you would have thought we’d be in the same boat, neither of us knowing anything about magic before we came to Hogwarts. But she knows everything. Ron doesn’t, and they fight, but they always make up."

"Do they?"

Feeling very relaxed, Harry turned the hand over and looked at the nails. They were short and clean though slightly stained with potions. How did you get potions off your hands? Were they like Easter egg dye, which wore off after time?

"They must make up," Harry decided finally, "because they were friends when I left school. Fights are so stupid most of the time, you know? You call names and chuck things, but at the end, you’re still mates."

"Quite the philosophizer today," Snape commented.

Harry held the hand up to his – the other hand was bigger than his own hand. Harry tried stretching out his fingers as far as they would go, but they did not reach the tips of the man’s hand.

"I’m so short," Harry complained.

"That’s not unusual. Usually boys grow later in life," Snape said, not a hint of emotion in his tone.

"I hope I grow taller," Harry placed the hand palm down on his chest, enjoying the warm feeling that pulsating through it. He was beginning to get tired though he was supposed to be upset about something. What was he so sad about? Well, it didn’t matter for now. He yawned. Snape was still beside him.

"Just close your eyes and keep talking," the potions master advised. "I’m still listening to your mindless chatter."

"Mindless chatter," Harry repeated as his eyes fluttered closed. "Mindless chatter, bindless patter – hey, they rhyme. Hindless smatter, timeless clatter, shineless . . ."

He drifted off, a faint smile playing around his lips.

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. He removed his hand from Harry’s chest, hoping the last bit of calming lotion had rubbed into Potter’s hands. Really the boy must be quite distraught if he didn’t realize he was holding his hated professor’s hand while he blathered on and on about his friends. Stupid boy.

Snape pulled the covers up, careful not wake the brat and start other sob-session. If it was not one thing, it was another with Potter. Must he always cause trouble, on the lookout for mischief all the time?

Snape pursed his lips together tightly. A perfect summer wasted. He was looking forward to two months of peace and quiet, long days spent reading and brewing without any children to disturb him, and now Potter, the very worst boy he could have imagined spending the summer with, was left on his hands. All the teachers he had owled agreed that Potter should stay where he was, and Dumbledore – short-sighted fool – had urged him to take advantage of the situation.

"Really, Severus," Dumbledore’s face had said from the fire in Snape’s office, "knowing what you do about the curses of Snapdragon Manor, Harry is much safer in your hands than anyone else’s. I’ll check back in a few days to see how you’re getting along. This would be an excellent time to get to know the boy. After all that has happened to him, I think that you are the best person –"

Snape had ended the conversation then and set his fireplace back to right.

And now he was stuck with a distraught, upset, thoroughly-disobedient Potter whose entire being promised defiance and trouble for likely the whole summer.

Snape let out his breath in a huff. He should have let the boy to cry himself to sleep.

Harry twitched in his sleep and mumbled something incoherent. Snape felt the boy’s forehead and cheeks again. They were cool – still no sign of fever. Well, that was one blessing in a torrent of misfortunes. Really, Potter never did anything halfway, did he?

Once sure that the brat would not wake again, Snape left the room and headed down to his study. He loved the somber brown walls, the tidy shelves lined with books, and the huge desk where he could design new potions without interruption. This was his retreat, his solace from the world, and he loved to spend hours here, all alone with a strong drink and pleasant reading. Here, it would have been easy to ignore the fact that he had an irritating houseguest asleep upstairs with no place to go. Snape could have buried himself in a book, and let the evening drag on for Potter would probably sleep until the morning now that he had been properly bedded.

However, Snape pulled out a parchment and a charmed pen and nodded to the pen. It sprung upright as rushed to the parchment and scribbled out the words Potter’s Hourly Schedule. Perhaps that was a bit severe. The words disappeared to be replaced with Harry Potter’s Daily Schedule. That should do nicely though Dumbledore would probably preferred Precious Harry’s Suggested Schedule, Not to Be Taken too Seriously and Open to Any Changes or some other nonsense.

Snape leaned back in his chair, considering for a moment. Potter needed something constructive – there was no doubt about that, but if the boy was kept on too rigid a task, Snape was sure to hear sighing, complaining, and tears along with pathetic pouting and loud tantrums. Fine, a balance would be important.

Thirty-five minutes later, Snape read over the final draft of the schedule

7:00 – Wake up, bathe, dress, tidy up

8:00 – Breakfast

8:30 – Brisk walk around the garden (other exercising as well?)

10:30 – Studying quietly in library

12:30 – Lunch

1:00 – Playing outside (perhaps flying under strict guidelines?)

3:00 – Resting or reading on bed for a quiet time

4:30 – Free time as long as there’s no noise

6:30 – Supper

7:30 – Studying or reading

9:00 – Getting ready for bed

10:00 – Lights out

A lovely, tidy schedule with neatness and preciseness. Potter would not make it through one day. By lunchtime, he would be chopping at the bit to explore the manor, climb over the stone wall, pound up and down the stairs, and shout in that loud voice that made Snape want to cut out his tongue. He could just see the brat’s indignant look at having his time managed. "Resting on my bed? You’re out of your mind. And I’m not going to bed at ten. I don’t start my nightly wanderings until one or two in the morning. Study? It’s summertime!"

Maybe there was some incentive he could use to get Potter to mind. "Boy, if you don’t do every last thing I tell you, you won’t leave your room for a month and I’ll burn your broomstick." No, too harsh. Potter would be sobbing in seconds. "Harry dearest, follow our little schedule, and it will be all lemondrops and lollipops at mealtimes for our sweetest boy." Snape thought he would be sick. "Now, Potter, I know you’re used to floundering around all summer, but I’m getting you on a good schedule so you don’t idle away your days. This is a good outline to start with, and if it needs changing, I will adjust it as I see fit. Your job is to stick to it as best you can without arguing or complaining. And I mean it." Yes, that was the right tone for the boy.

And it wasn’t as if he were asking a lot from the boy. After all, Potter would probably be doing those things anyway without a schedule, but having an outline gave order to the day and didn’t leave the boy a lot of time to wander aimless and find any naughtiness to get into.

Of course, Potter would make mistakes. As McGonagall, Dumbledore, and every other blasted professor in the school reminded him, children do make mistakes in spite of Snape’s firm objection for leniency. Perhaps there should be a little breathing room for the summer. Too tight a control, and you crush the life right out of them, though Snape though the brat could do with a little crushing. Checks and balances would be the thing he needed. A way to tell if Potter was simply being human (yes, Snape did admit that the Boy-Who-Insisted-On-Living-And-Causing-Trouble was human after all). And he wouldn’t expect Potter to act perfect. Knowing Potter, there were sure to be a few skipped meals in favorite of flying, late bedtimes, and excessive noise in general. But blatant disobedience could not be tolerated, either. Potter needed guidelines and disciplines. Between his worthless relatives and indulgent godfather, Potter had not had a lot of regularity in his life, no one to depend on through the good times and the bad, to keep him on task, and to see that he didn’t get himself into too much trouble.

That meant that Snape had to be that person.

The potions master grimaced, thinking he would rather teach a whole year of Neville Longbottoms than becoming Potter’s blasted rock of stability. Really, was there anyone else who would like to take the role? Anyone at all?

And what about punishments? Should he keep threatening to spank the boy? Time-outs? Pulling his ears? No supper, go straight to bed? Maybe creative things, like no talking for a day or hanging Potter from the ceiling by his ankles? Most likely, Snape would have to find a balance in punishments as well, seeing that Potter knew he had done wrong and showed the right amount of regret without absolutely loss of spirit.

Snape let out his breath in frustration as he leaned back in his chair. It was going to be a very long summer.

Harry looked down at the field from high atop his broomstick with the wind blowing through his hair. He spied someone far down on the ground, waving at him. Without a second thought, Harry plunged down towards the ground as fast as he could. Usually, he could slow down at the last moment, but now he was going too fast, the ground was speeding up to him.

"Umph!" Harry hit the ground and rolled a few times before ending in a sprawl of limbs and broomstick. "Ow," he groaned sitting.

"What was that?" he heard a chuckle behind him. "You’ve got to stop being so clumsy, son, or you’ll break your neck. Your mother already thinks Quidditch is too dangerous."

Harry felt strong hands grip him and pull him to his feet. Harry turned around and found himself looking into the grinning face of his father, James. The man’s dark hair was blowing in the wind, and Harry couldn’t help but grin back, knowing his own hair looked just as messy.

"Dad, what are you doing here? You’ve come to school in the middle of the semester?"

"Just checking up on you," James draped an arm over Harry’s shoulders and pulled his son roughly against his chest in a playful manner. "Seeing that you’re my son, I expect you to be up to all sorts of trouble."

"You sound like Snape," Harry grimaced teasingly.

James gave him a light smack upside the head. "Don’t insult your father!"

Harry grinned again. They walked in silence for a few seconds, enjoying the warm sunlight. Harry began to feel stiff from his fall and rubbed his arm.

"What’s wrong?" James was concerned.

"I’m kind of achy from practice," Harry shrugged. "Nothing bad – just sore, I guess." They had reached one of the practice tents, and James pulled him inside.

"All right, son, sit down, and let me see your arms," James helped Harry take off his arm guards.

As Harry sat down, James began massaging his son’s arm, stretching it from the shoulder until Harry sighed with relief and comfort as the stiffness eased away. Then James moved on to the other arm, commenting,

"I’m not sure I liked the way you went after the Snitch in the last match. You need to stop getting distracted by the other players, and pay attention to catching the Snitch. It’s the other players’ job to keep anything from hitting you. Nice save on that dive, though. You had the whole stadium holding their breath."

Harry tried to reply, but he couldn’t seem to speak. The tent was getting very dark, and Harry no longer was sitting in a chair, but lying on some kind of cot. James was continuing to stretch his muscles, moving on to Harry’s knees and ankles, pulling and twisting. It felt so good, but Harry couldn’t open his eyes or muster the will to move. In a tired hazy, he lay there as James pushed his knees to one side and stretched out his back before pulling his limbs straight again. Lastly, James pulled the covers up over him, and Harry rolled on his side, very warm and comfortable.

"Thanks, Dad," he mumbled before falling asleep again.

Snape froze at the end of the bed and looked back at the slumbering brat. What had Potter just called him? The boy must really be out of it – lost in some pathetic dream where his father was fawning all over him.

The boy had not seemed to wake up at all while Snape had stretched his muscles, and that was the way Snape wanted it. He didn’t really want to touch James Potter’s son in the first place, but he couldn’t imagine listening to the boy’s whining about stiff muscles tomorrow. Yes, Potter was dreaming because the boy wouldn’t dare call him that wretched name awake, would he?

Well, hopefully the brat wouldn’t remember it in the morning. Any of it.

------

The light in the room woke Harry up the next morning. For a few moments, he blinked uncertainly, wondering where he was. He felt great, better than he had felt in a long time. The last few days seemed a blur, and he tried to collect his thoughts together. He had been so tired then, and had – had caught fire? That sounded stupid, but he remembered being on fire and yelling at Snape, but Snape had helped him someway. Then Harry had been sad, or upset – he couldn’t remember. The most vivid thing he could remember was his dream with his father. It was almost enough to make him try to fall back asleep just to hear James’ voice again, to remember the way he had hugged Harry, and tried to relieve his son’s discomfort.

"Mr. Potter," a tiny voice sat from the floor.

Harry looked down off the high bed and saw a house elf peering up at him.

"Mr. Potter," the house elf repeated, "Master Snape is asking that you takes a bath and gets ready and goes down from breakfast right away. I is to make sure you obeys."

Harry scowled, but got out of bed. So much for returning to his dreams. "Tell him I’ll be down as soon as I can. But the bathroom – it’s not going to attack me, is it? Because if it is, I’m not going in there, and you can tell Master Snape that."

The house elf looked appalled at Harry’s gumption, but nodded understanding. "No, bathroom will not attack Mr. Potter at all. He will go in, yes?"

Harry approached the bathroom cautiously. He grabbed the broad, wooden hairbrush from the bureau on the way in and held the brush up like a cricket bat. If anything so much as twitched, he would smash it to pieces. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary so Harry turned on the faucets and undressed, keeping the brush ready in one hand in case of trouble.

Once in the bath, Harry kept an eye on the soap and bathbrush as he reached for the washcloth. Nothing moved, and Harry finally relaxed in the tub. Twenty minutes later, dressed in the clothes that had been laid out on the made bed and unscathed by the bathroom, Harry ran a hand through his hair in attempts to make it lie flat. The haircut he had received two days helped his hair look a bit tidier, but it still stuck up.

Harry hurried down to the dining room, ignoring the portraits that yelled at him to stop running and to brush his hair. Snape was already seated at the table and frowned as Harry rushed in.

"Mr. Potter, I do not allow running inside the manor. Next time you will enter a room quietly. Please have a seat as your breakfast is getting cold."

Harry was pleased to see that he got toast, eggs, and raspberry jam along with a large bowl of porridge. He had not realized how hungry he was until he took the first bite, and then he dug into the food with gusto.

"Potter!" Snape snapped his fingers together angrily.

Harry glanced up and said around a mouthful eggs, "What?"

"Has no one had time to teach you manners?" Snape growled. "Don’t talk with your mouth full! Sit up straight, napkin goes in your lap, take smaller bites, and eat slowly."

Harry glared at him. "I’m hungry, and you never criticized my eating manners at school."

"At school, you were surrounded by hundred of students. I couldn’t see you properly from the teachers’ table."

"Yet, you were always sneering at me from there, giving me mean looks," Harry grumbled.

Snape’s eyes narrowed, and he flicked his wand at Harry. Velvet ropes appeared out of thin air and wrapped themselves around Harry’s shoulders and upper arms, tying him to the back of the chair. Harry tried to lean forward, but the ropes held him tight.

"Maybe that will help you sit up straight," Snape noted as he returned to his cup of tea.

Harry reached for his fork. His fingertips barely touched it, but he couldn’t pick it up. Snape sighed and gave his wand another flick, which scooted Harry’s chair closer to the table. It was awkward eating with his shoulders tied back, but Harry managed not to spill any food. Once he was done eating, Snape made the ropes disappeared, and Harry drank a cup of tea unrestrained.

"Now, Potter," Snape reached for a stack of papers and looked sternly at Harry, "to business."

"Business?" Harry repeated, confused.

"Yes, an owl brought these this morning. They’re papers for temporary guardianship papers for me to sign, making me guardian over you until the end of the summer."

Harry choked on his tea and started coughing. Snape rolled his eyes while Harry coughed violently into his hand.

"Guardianship? (cough) But (cough) why you?"

"I don’t know how much you think you know about the real world, Potter, but I’m guessing that between your relatives’ home and school, you have little idea about how things really work. You may think you’re all grown-up, but you do not come of wizarding age for another year, and wizarding law states that all underage wizards must be under a guardian’s supervision. You left your aunt and uncle’s home, so you cannot claim them as guardians. However, I cannot take control without your signature. For wizards over thirteen, the law requires that the ward consent to a change in guardians."

"What about emancipation?" Harry asked. "I read something once about older teenagers being emancipated if they were responsible enough to take care of themselves on their own."

Snape opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head. "No, Potter, I’m even going to dignify that with a response."

"Three years ago, I left their house and stayed at Diagon Alley until school started," Harry protested.

"That was a special case. The Minister of Magic had to make all kinds of exceptions because he thought you would be safer in Diagon Alley with an escaped prisoner on the loose. The year before, they transferred temporary guardianship to the Weasleys. I declare, you’ve given the Ministry more to do in the last five years than they ever had before. Besides, both times the summer was almost over, and now it’s just beginning. You have two choices now. Either you sign this contract giving me guardianship, or you go back to your relatives."

Harry looked at him suspiciously. "Why would you want guardianship? I agree to this, and you’ll probably lock me up or use me as a potions experiment. What did Dumbledore say?"

"He is the one that suggested it," Snape answered calmly. "He’s busy with the Order of the Phoenix and wants to know that you will be safe until the school year starts."

"And staying with you is safe now?" Harry retorted, mocking Snape’s cold tone. "Why doesn’t Dumbledore just tie me up and deliver me to Voldemort to make it easy? Or how about take me to a Death Eaters meeting so they can do away with me without any problems? He thinks that staying with you, you the evil Death Eater turned potions master turned spy, is the best choice for me –"

Snape pointed his wand at Harry. "Silencio."

Harry found he had no voice – his mouth was open and he was still trying to shout, but no sound came out.

"Ah," Snape smiled with satisfaction, "peace at last. Now, Potter, suppose I tell you what would happen with me over this summer should you stay here. Any objects? No, I thought not."

If looks could kill, Snape would fall into his cup of tea, dead in an instant from Harry’s furious glare.

"You may consider yourself all adult, but I’m here to tell you that I won’t put up with any cheek or attitude from you. You have two choices – stay or go to your relatives, and shouting won’t change the fact that you can’t do anything else. I am less than thrilled at the idea of you as a summer guest, but I don’t expect anyone to cater to my wishes. You are welcomed to read the over the contract if you like, but I will tell you that it merely states that I will be acting as guardian to you until September 1st, and that I am responsible for your wellbeing, your physical health, your mental state (what’s left of it), and anything else that needs to be taken care of."

Harry tried to speak before remembering that he couldn’t. He raised a hand to his throat, and Snape sighed.

"All right, but if you start yelling, you won’t speak for the rest of the day. Finite Incantium."

Harry loudly cleared his throat. "If I sign this, what about at school? I mean, who’s in charge when I’m there?"

"As in the past, the school acts as locos parentis – in place of the parents – for you while you’re there. Come September 1st, this contract will be void and worthless."

Harry glanced over the papers, but most of it was in lawyer jargon that he could barely read, let alone understand. He swallowed hard. "If I do this, then what? How do I know you won’t do something evil and underhanded – like give me to the Malfoys or lock me in a dungeon somewhere?"

"Potter, if I really wanted to harm you, I would have done it five years ago and saved myself all these years of teaching you and listening to your inane prattle. If I wanted to see you killed, I’d simply open the front door and let you waltz right out, unprotected and unguarded. A Death Eater would find you in a matter of minutes, the Dark Lord would kill you slowly and reward the Death Eater for your capture, and I could return to my breakfast without interruption. Is that what you want?"

"No, but you’re . . ." Harry trailed off, unable to find the right words.

"Probably so, but you don’t have any other choice than your relatives."

"Are the last few days what it’s going to be like here?" Harry gave Snape a searching look.

The man nodded. "Yes, but hopefully without the fire or the tearful drama. I’ve drawn up a schedule for you to follow, but we’ll look at that after you sign."

"Schedule?" Harry was suspicious.

"First things first. Are you signing or not, because I do have work to do?" Snape held out a quill.

Harry could see the ink on the tip. Should he sign? There was no use going back to the Dursleys – he’d never make any progress there. He did want to find those timeturners or the Necklace of Timord. But Snape as a guardian? Harry felt his stomach roll over uneasily. Who knew what kind of power Snape might have as a guardian? With no one around to stop him, Snape could do anything – anything he wanted while Harry was defenseless without a wand.

However, if Harry found those timeturners or the Necklace, he would be changing history for the past two years. When he got back, the contract wouldn’t exist. He might even be living with Sirius somewhere and having a blast for the summer.

Harry took the feathery quill and lowered the tip towards the paper. He halted and looked back at Snape. "But what if I try to leave or you go into a rage? I don’t want –"

"Potter, just sign the contract," Snape motioned to the papers impatiently. "We could go on all day about what-ifs. As long as nothing too strange or out-of-the-ordinary happens, I’m sure you’ll be alive and well for the start of school."

"How sure?" Harry asked, still wavering.

"84 percent," Snape replied without hesitation.

That was hardly comforting, but Harry knew it was the best that he would get. He looked at the bottom of the contract. There were two lines. Severus Augustus Snape was written on the top line. Taking a deep breath, Harry scribbled Harry James Potter on the second line. Snape touched the papers with his wand, and they all disappeared.

"Don’t they have to be witnessed?" Harry ventured, remembering a Muggle movie he had seen once with some legal stuff in it.

"No, both the signatures have our magic in them," Snape reached for another paper on the table.

"So that’s it?" Harry said slowly. "I’m stuck here for the rest of the summer with you. What would happen if I ran out the door and off the property?"

"I would go after you and pull you back by the root of your hair," Snape said absentmindedly as he glanced over the new paper.

"No, I meant magically."

"Nothing, not until I put up the wards around the house and grounds."

"And then what would happen?" Harry pressed.

"Potter, stop asking so many questions. Why this, how that – you’re worse than a toddler."

Harry huffed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. An awful thought crossed his mind – now that Snape was his guardian maybe he could make Harry obey and do what he said with magic. Simply say, "Behave," and Harry couldn’t misbehave. Like that version of Cinderella Harry had read years ago where the girl had to be obedient no matter what she was told to do.

Snape sighed. "Whatever you are thinking, I assure you that it cannot be as bad as you are imagining it. Now, look at this paper."

Harry deliberately looked away for a few seconds, just to test if he still had freewill. Nothing happened – he felt the same, so he glanced over the sheet and read 7:00 Wake up, bathe, dress, tidy up – 8:00 Breakfast – 8:30 Brisk walk . . .

"What kind of a schedule is this?" Harry demanded. "You want me to study and read and go to bed at ten everyday? It’s summertime!"

"I’m perfectly aware of what season it is," Snape began calmly, but Harry cut him off.

"No, I’m not agreeing to this. I’m on a schedule all year at school."

"Which you manage to break numerous times."

"I answer to ringing bells for nine months," Harry persisted. "Go to class, go to eat, go to bed, go to detention. I’m not doing that schedule."

"Potter, this is not up for debate."

"I know what will happen," Harry shot back. "I won’t be able to follow that schedule perfectly, and you’ll sneer at me all summer, saying how I can’t obey the rules and how like my father I am and how you can’t believe you have to put up with such despicable students. So I’m saying no now."

Harry sat there, arms still crossed and fuming. He was not letting Snape boss him around all summer and then get to do it in the school year as well.

Snape’s eyes glinted dangerously. "Potter," he said severely, "you’ve been yelling at me all morning, and I’ve had it with your attitude. Take a timeout, and go stand in the corner until you’ve calmed down."

The color drained from Harry’s face as he stared open-mouthed at Snape. The man was not serious.

"Now, Potter!" Snape ordered. "Go put your nose in the corner until I tell you to come back. Go – do not make me tell you again, or you’ll take a smarting behind with you."

Furious, Harry stood up and yanked his chair back. He stomped loudly to the one empty corner in the room and stood in it, seething with anger and muttering, "Ugly, sodding –"

"No talking while you’re in the corner," Snape commanded. "I’m not putting up with childish tantrums all summer. So help me, you’ll learn to control yourself by September if it’s the last thing I do. Now, you stand there for a while and think about how to control your temper."

Harry wanted nothing more than to stalk back to the table and punch Snape right in the nose. Breathing through clenched teeth, Harry ball his hands into fists and glared at the brown wooden walls of the corner. He was not enduring this for the next seven weeks. Seven weeks? Was it really that long? That was forty-nine days, forty-nine days stuck with Snape and that blasted schedule. The man was going to pay.

Twenty minutes later, Harry felt more bored than he had ever been in his life. His legs were getting tired of standing, doing nothing. Death by boredom – that sounded fun. Harry tried his very hardest to stay mad at Snape, but the time spent at Snapdragon Manor seemed to eat away at his loathing for the man. Harry no longer felt uncontrollable rage at his potions master. Instead, Snape had made him feel like a naughty child who needed to be minded and cared for, not to be trusted alone or unsupervised. The fact that Harry was standing in the corner at the moment did not help lessen this feeling. Harry was ready and willing to go back to the table and show Snape that he could act like an adult.

He could hear Snape taking a second cup of tea. One of the house elves came in to clear the table.

"Master Snape, I comes to clear the table," Harry heard the house elf squeaked. "Is you and Mr. Potter finished?"

"Yes, clear the plates, but leave the tea things," Snape directed.

"Is Mr. Potter needing anything?" the house elf timidly asked.

"Mr. Potter is standing in the corner until he can behave himself," Snape replied. "And knowing our young houseguest, he’ll be spending a lot of time there." Snape smirked when he saw Harry shifting, almost stomping his foot. "Yes, Nabby, I think it might even be a good idea to carve Mr. Potter’s name over that corner so he’ll know his place when he misbehaves."

"No, it’s not!" Harry insisted, still facing the corner. He expected Snape to order him to be quiet or tell Nabby to start carving because Potter would be living in that corner for the next seven weeks. However, all Snape said was,

"Are you ready to act your age, or do you need more time there?"

Harry whirled from the corner and walked back to the table. "I’ll act my age, though I still don’t want to follow a schedule."

"You would do well to get ahead on your studies. The Sixth year is quite challenging, and there is no reason you can’t start off the school year well prepared and well read."

"But Hermione –"

"Miss Granger has a talent for remembering books, but there’s no reason you can’t learn just as much. While she was reading or studying at night, I’m sure you were fooling around with Mr. Weasley or another one of your simple friends. I don’t see why you cannot return to school as ready as Miss Granger. Maybe then you can answer a few questions in class instead of pretending to be invisible."

Snape made sense, but Harry would rather sit and sulk than admit that the potions master might know what he was talking about.

"As for meals and bedtimes, do you really expect to grow taller as long as you pick at healthy food, load up on sugar, and never get any rest? I saw you yawning in class several times this past year, and once you nearly fell asleep. Am I right?"

"Well, sometimes I can’t sleep at night," Harry mumbled. "And I eat when I get hungry, and everyone at school gets to eat candy without professors griping at them."

"Who says I don’t gripe at other students for eating too much candy?" Snape asked, raising his eyebrows. "If it were my choice, there would be no trips to Hogsmeade at all. And without extra sugar, you’ll soon adapt to going to sleep at a reasonable time and waking up early. It might even help your surly attitude. As for your schedule, I will post one copy in your bedroom and one in the library. It would behoove you to memorize the schedule as you will be accountable for sticking to it. We’ll talk more about the consequences of disobedience at lunch, and then you can get started on the essay I assigned the other day. Right now, I see that it’s almost nine and you’re supposed to be outside walking. Move!"

Somehow, Harry found himself wrapped in the green cloak and in the garden before he could object.

"Start down the path," Snape pointed down the gravel walk. "It’s a loop around the house. Even if you walk slowly, you’ll be back here in time for studying at ten-thirty. Stay on the gravel path."

Snape went back inside and slammed the door. Harry stared at the closed door in bewilderment. Three days at Snape’s home, and Harry had been spanked twice, caught fire, gotten a new guardian, been put on a strict schedule, and stood in the corner for half an hour. And now he still had to write that stupid essay. Unbelievable.

For all his snide remarks about being bothered by students and Harry especially, Snape was a very hands-on kind of person. Harry was certain that Snape was going to be quite up-close and personal with his new ward in the following weeks, not letting anything slip by. That certainty both worried and calmed Harry – the thought that someone might be there through good and bad, ready to handout rules and sarcasm at any given moment, never leaving Harry in any doubt as to how his behavior was seen by Snape and how the man planned to deal with him.

A few hundred feet down the garden, a bark path turned off the gravel and headed off into the woods, turning right while the gravel path veered left. Harry glanced back at the manor and then at both paths. To loop around the house, he would need to take the bark path. Besides, the gravel path stopped up ahead at a birdfeeder. Maybe if Snape got out of his potions lab once in a while, he would know how to navigate around his own property, Harry snidely thought as he meandered down the bark path. He grinned at the thought of Snape wandering aimlessly and lost over his own property, wondering how to get back to the house. Then Harry sobered as his thoughts drifted back to the conversation at the breakfast table.

There were butterflies in his stomach as he walked on, past the neat gardens and on into the green woods. How would he feel at the end of summer if he followed Snape’s schedules? Confident? Ready to take on classes and show Hermione up? He could imagine her face when he raised his hand first to answer a question and earned points for Gryffindor when he had the right answer. When she turned startled eyes on him, he would say casually, "What? Oh, yeah, I did a little light studying this summer, nothing too much, you know." And Ron would smirk because someone finally knew more about books than Hermione.

And what would Ron think about Snape as a guardian? Harry could picture Ron’s look of horror and disgust, then the overwhelming pity. "You poor bloke," Ron would shake his head, "seems like they’re doing all they can to bump you off. The whole summer with that greasy git? Does Dumbledore want you to have nervous breakdown or go balmy?"

He should owl Ron. Surely, Snape wouldn’t mind if he corresponded with his friends as long as Harry wasn’t planning on escaping. He would have to ask for permission, but he could imagine Snape’s reply: "You want to write your friends? Are you actually thinking that they are intelligent enough to read your letter and respond? You are delusional." Still, Snape would let him, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t make Harry go all summer without talking to his friends. The Dursleys would, but Snape wasn’t quite as evil as the Dursleys because he had helped Harry with the fireplace curse and the Dursleys would just lock him up. Maybe if he asked Snape with politeness and respect. The man’s words were always caustic, but he would probably agree eventually if somewhat reluctantly.

But no, timeturners first. Harry had prior plans that did not include studying all summer and owling friends. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate on his earlier intentions. Snape must be putting something in his food.

The trail seemed to go on forever, around one bend and another. After a while Harry wondered if he should turn back or if it were quicker to keep going. He had no watch or anyway of keeping track of time. After trudging to the top of a hill and finding that the path just went down before going up another hill, Harry gave up and flung himself to sit by a tree. He leaned a back against the trunk and put a hand on each bent knee. He was a little tired from the trauma of the last few days. Why had Snape made him take such a long walk when Harry wasn’t fully recovered? Shouldn’t Snape have realized that he was still tired? Or was Snape hoping Harry would collapse on his walk?

Harry almost snorted at his own thoughts. He was wondering why Snape didn’t fuss over his ward’s delicate state? The same teacher who enjoyed seeing Harry suffer and squirm in class, happy to have him peeling something slimy and disgusting for hours? But it had been nice yesterday when Snape had acted so concerned but confident that he could help Harry. And the feel of the man’s hand on his forehead and taking his pulse – actually touching Harry and not drawing back with repulsion. Not many people ever wanted to make physical contact with him, acting as if he were dangerously contagious or about to explode. Even Madame Pomfrey made her inspections quick and with as little touch as possible.

In the shade of the tree, Harry closed his eyes and tried to remember his dream. He liked the way James had thrown his arm around his shoulders, pulling Harry against him hard, confident that Harry could take a little roughness. Some fathers were very physical with their children – hugs, wrestling, lights punches on the shoulder, tousling their hair, even tickling them until the children squealed for mercy. Harry had seen such parents with their children: holding them, cuddling them when they cried, laughing, talking about silly stuff, buying them treats, and threatening to punish them if they didn’t behave.

He would never have any of that, Harry realized, opening his eyes and plucking carelessly at a blade of grass. He would never have a mother to tuck him in at night or a father to lecture him about his attitude or praise him for raising his grades. Harry had hoped that he would not care about being an orphan as he grew older – that it would not matter so much that he was alone because adults were supposed to stand on their own two feet without any help. A part of him felt stupid and childish for wanting parents – most kids his age wanted to get away from their parents and live their own lives with freedom. Usually, Harry managed to convince himself that he was better off without parents to fuss and coddle him, considering that he didn’t like teachers to do that. But he knew that now more than ever, he wanted a family. Instead he had cold relatives and an irate potions master for a temporary guardian.

A twig snapped, and Harry glanced up. His heart started thudding frantically as he saw said irate potions master marching up the hill, his black robes billowing menacingly. The look on his face made one thing quite clear – Snape was not at all happy with his new ward.

Harry sprung to his feet. Should he rush down to meet Snape halfway or wait for Snape to get up to him? Go or stay, go or stay? Harry took a half step forward and then thought better of it. No reason to meet fury head-on.

As Snape drew close, Harry could see that the man had a copy of the schedule in one hand and his wand clutched tightly in the other. This was not looking good at all.

Snape marched to the top of the hill and stood glaring at his new ward with fury not to be described by words. Harry shrank back, wondering if he should make a run for it. He was fairly tired, but he thought he still might be able to outrun Snape if he tried hard enough. Besides, Harry was wearing long trousers and a loose shirt under his cape while Snape was in his billowing robes.

Harry made a motion to turn, and Snape bellowed, "Potter, if you so much as take one step backwards, I will hex you into a tree and leave you there until you turn twenty!"

Harry turned back reluctantly. He didn’t really believe that Snape would leave him for the next four years, but he had no doubt that the stern teacher would hex him. Whether Snape meant to turn Harry into a tree or simply trap him inside a tree, Harry was not eager to find out.

"What time is it?" Snape demanded.

"I dunno, sir," Harry shrugged. "I don’t have a watch."

"Did you think to ask for a watch now that you will be following a schedule?"

"No, but you didn’t give me one," Harry protested.

"I thought you might be responsible enough to discern your own needs without me taking care of every little thing. I see I was sorely mistaken."

Harry crossed his arms and wondered what would happen if he grabbed Snape’s wand and hex him into a tree.

"Before you left, I told you to stay on the gravel path. Did you hear me?"

"Yes, but it looked like it ended at the bird feeder thingy," Harry pointed out.

Snape almost rolled his eyes. "If you had walked farther up, you would have seen that the path turned sharply to the left after the feeder. The gravel path makes about a half-mile loop in front of the house through the gardens. This bark path goes back into the acres behind the house. It eventually leads back home, but the path is nearly sixteen miles long. You have traveled over four miles – did you not think that you had been going a long ways and should be reaching the house before now?"

It was so unfair; Harry wanted to scream in frustration. Snape was just playing mind games with him again. The man made it so Harry was always in the wrong – Snape deliberately saw to it that Harry was as uncomfortable, awkward, and unhappy as he could possibly be, and Snape enjoyed every second of Harry’s misery.

"There’s a dirt path that turns off the bark path up ahead," Snape added. "If you had taken it, it would have ended at Malfoy Manor!"

Harry blinked. "You live next to Malfoy Manor?"

If by next to, you mean fourteen miles apart, then yes, I do," Snape snapped. " And next time I tell you something about the house or the grounds, listen to me! It’s past eleven o’clock, and you’ve missed half your study time." Snape shoved the schedule in his robe pocket and tucked his wand away. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and pulled him close. "Hold still."

Harry wanted to yank back, he didn’t like standing so close, but Snape’s grip was unrelenting. Then they both disapperated with a crack.

Harry did not like this feeling either – it was worse than traveling by portkey, sudden and loud with a yanking sensation that made every muscle in his body jerk. Snape let go of him as soon as they landed, and Harry fell back to the soft ground with an umph. He glanced around; they were in the main garden, the house only a few hundred feet away. Snape swooped down and pulled Harry up by an arm. Once he made sure the boy was on his feet, Snape latched onto his ear and began dragging him towards the manor.

"Ow! But I thought the other path stopped," Harry protested, jogging along so Snape wouldn’t pull off his ear completely.

"You knew exactly what I said," Snape continued walking, his grip vice-like around Harry’s ear. "You thought you knew better so you decided to take your own route and ignore my directions. Typical Potter behavior – he thinks knows more than anyone else does. I thought we had been through this conversation before, but obviously the message didn’t sink in."

"No, no," Harry quickly replied, his voice perfectly respectful. "I was confused, that’s all – I didn’t think that you were wrong. I promise next time I’ll stay on the gravel path, even if I think it’s not going anywhere."

They reached the door, and Snape let go of his ear. Harry barely had time to rub it before Snape grabbed him by the shoulder and propelled him towards the library.

"Not one more word out of you, Potter," the potions master ordered. "Sit down at the desk and start writing that essay. I better not hear a peep from you until lunchtime, or so help me –" Snape glared at him threateningly and then stalked away, closing the door behind him loudly.

Harry shakily sat down at the small desk and reached for the parchment paper and a quill. That had been close – too close for comfort. He needed to survive if he were ever to bring Sirius and Cedric back, and irritating Snape was not helping. Just do what he says, Harry thought as he unrolled the parchment and placed the inkstand at the top to keep the paper from rolling back. Do what he says, and when he gets used to you, then get out of here.

As usual as soon as he looked at the blank parchment, he could not think of anything to write. It annoyed him at school when they sat down to write and Hermione began scratching off words right away as if they were longing to leap from her fingers onto the page. She would start scribbling, and she could ignore everyone in the room as she wrote and wrote and went back to change a word and reconsidered the ending, all with an intense look on her face. Harry tried to keep focused as he sat beside her, but he always got distracted by Ron’s fiddling with his books or Dean Thomas talking about the last Quidditch game. And then Harry wanted to join in and ask about the Ravenclaw’s seeker or the Hufflepuff’s beater. And next thing he knew it was very late and the prefects were hustling everyone off to bed.

But here was different. No distractions in the quiet library, no one to talk to, nothing to disturb him. And he had absolutely nothing to say.

‘How to show the proper respect and obedience towards one’s elders.’ At least, he thought that was the assignment. Close enough, he hoped. Respect, proper respect. Like the muggle song – R-E-S-P-E-C-T, just a little bit, just a little bit.

He hummed the tune under his breath as he jotted a few words down. What if he started singing that in front of Snape? The potions master would think he’d gone mad. R-E-S-P-E –

No, concentrate! Don’t sing; write!

Harry glanced down at the paper to see what he had written. Proper respect and obedience is needed if – if what? If you want to be miserable twenty-four hours a day? If you want to have no fun and be bored out of your mind? . . . if one wishes to grow up to be a law-abiding (yeah, right or a Death Eater), respectable (or nasty) wizard or witch (or hated professor).

There, a sentence. A whole sentence that took up one line. He still had two feet, eleven inches left to go. He tried to think of all the lectures McGonagall had given him about following the rules and staying in line. He had tuned most of them out, more eager to daydream over the upcoming Quidditch match than pay attention to her scolding. Maybe listening should be in the essay – something about attentiveness when adults are talking?

Harry had barely reached half a foot of parchment when he heard a small crack, and a house elf appeared in front of the desk.

"Yes?" Harry asked. He was just getting into the swing of writing, and he did not like interruption.

"Master Snape says that Mr. Potter will come for lunch," the house elf squeaked.

"What? It can’t be time already," Harry objected. "I just got started."

"Master Snape also asks that Mr. Potter bring his essay with him," the house elf continued as if she had not heard Harry.

"But I’m not finished. I only had about an hour. I still have two and a half feet left."

The house elf looked nervous and uncertain. Finally, she said, "Mr. Potter will tell Master Snape that at lunch, and Master Snape will deal with him."

"Great," Harry placed the quill back on the inkstand and followed the house elf to the dinning room.

Snape was already seated at the table, perusing through a handful of letters. He glanced up as Harry made his way to the table. "Where’s your essay?"

"I didn’t finish it. You didn’t give me enough time. I don’t write very fast."

"You don’t do many things very fast, Mr. Potter," Snape commented dryly. "Why should I be surprised that writing is one of them? Stop sulking, and sit down."

A gold pocketwatch lay beside Harry plate. Snape nodded towards it.

"Maybe that will help keep you on track, Potter, though I doubt it. Try not to lose or break it the first hour, will you?"

The meal was good, and Harry paid special attention to his manners. Napkin in his lap, sit up straight, no sloppiness for Snape to criticize. The glass in front of him held a dark red liquid that Harry thought could be wine or cranberry juice. He tasted it, sure that Snape would never let him have wine. It was close to cranberry, but more raspberry mixed with apple and another flavor that Harry did not recognize. Something tart, but still sweet with an aftertaste of blueberry, maybe?

Harry glanced up suddenly. "Did you put a potion in here?" he asked. This was typical Snape behavior, slipping people potions when they least expected it. Especially after that conversation in fourth year when Snape as good as promised to slip Veritaserum into Harry’s pumpkin juice.

"Please, Potter," Snape sighed, "if I wanted you to take a potion, I would hand it to you in a vial and savor watching you choke it down. Most potions don't work mixed in with another drink. The fruit blend you’re enjoying would render even the simplest potions ineffective."

Harry tilted his glass slightly, watching the juice slosh slightly against the edge. "Why can’t you add a little flavor to potions? Why do they have to taste so bad?"

Snape sighed as he put down his own cup.

"I know you’ve probably told us a thousand times in class," Harry added, rightly guessing Snape’s thoughts, "but I’m asking again."

"As I attempted to tell you all the first day of class," Snape put on his lecture face that he usual wore while teaching potions to a bunch of idiots, "potions are delicate, temperamental substances. It’s not like baking cookies where even if you add a little too much butter or not enough flour, they’ll come out right. You can’t just start lumping ingredients together and hope they do what they’re supposed to. If you add a twentieth of a teaspoon too much, the entire potion can be ruined."

Harry opened his mouth to object, to insist that potions should not be so particular, but Snape shook his head.

"All right, Potter, pretend that you’re flying towards the snitch straight on. A little faster, and you’ll catch it in the next twenty feet. Suddenly, the snitch veers two inches to the right. If you don’t change your direction towards the little blighter, you’ll miss it altogether once you go twenty feet. Potions are like the same thing. Understand?"

"Well, if potions are so hard to get right, why do you get angry when we get it wrong in class?" Harry asked, a bit shortly. "You blame us for not getting it right, and you just said it’s nearly impossible not to mess up."

Snape set down his fork with a decided clink. "Potter, how old are you?"

Harry flushed. He did not want to play mind games. "You know how old –"

"Just answer the question."

"Fine, I turn sixteen in three weeks."

"And," Snape continued without any expression, "how many years have you been attending Hogwarts?"

"Five, but I don’t see –"

"And in those five years, how many of them have you taken potions?"

"All of them, but –"

"So you’ve attended probably three hundred potions classes? Fair estimate?"

Had it really been that many? Harry quickly added up in his head. At least twice a week, nine months out of the year, five years. "That’s about right," he admitted.

"And in those classes, how many of them would you say you came to class having read the reading requirements?"

Harry could feel his cheeks turning redder. "Uh –"

"Every class?" Snape gave him a searching look that made Harry squirm. "Once a week?"

Harry looked away, shifting in his chair.

"Once a month? Once every two months? Oh, come on, Potter, lie if you have to! Did you ever prepare for my class?"

"Yes, I know I read the stuff at least four different times," Harry insisted.

Snape’s silence felt ominous in the dining room, and Harry’s insides kept twisting uneasily. Harry avoided Snape’s piercing gaze by staring at the table as the silence wore on.

"I was busy," Harry finally broke the stillness. "I have other classes and –"

"And Quidditch, and fooling around with friends, and wandering at night," the potions master frowned. "I know Miss Granger showed up to every class having read what she was supposed to and still managed to attend Quidditch games and keep friends. You spend nine months out of the year where? At Hogwarts amusement park? At Hogwarts daycare center? No, at Hogwarts school."

Harry scowled and pushed his nearly empty plate away.

"As for getting potions right, do you really expect to be able to waltz into a lab and start throwing things together and have it come out right with no practice, no knowledge of the subject? It’s nothing short of a miracle that you children don’t blow up my classroom. If I had my way, no one under the age of fifteen would be allowed in the potions lab. Until you understand how dangerous some of the substances are, you shouldn’t be fooling around in there."

"I’m sorry I asked," Harry retorted. "Next time I have a question, I’ll look up the answer and not listen to a ten-minute lecture."

"You’re impossible," Snape shook his head, returning to his lunch. "I offer a little constructive criticism –"

"Constructive?" Harry almost yelled. "There’s nothing constructive about it. It’s you listing everything I do wrong, knowing I can’t do anything because I’m in your house with your rules."

"What do you think I want you to do next year? Hmm, Potter?"

"Study more for classes and stop playing around," Harry muttered.

"And if you do that, I might think that you changed your abysmal behavior thanks to my lecturing. Therefore, something good will have come out of it."

Harry slumped back in his chair in defeat. The man had a blasted answer for everything. Besides, he didn’t want Snape to make sense. He like the man to hand out scathing insults just to be spiteful. Then it was easier to dislike him.

"If I finish my essay this afternoon, can I walk around the manor later during ‘free time’?" Harry asked after a few minutes of silence.

"You want to start exploring?" Snape lifted an eyebrow, indicating that he was thinking of another word.

"No, I’m not going to snoop," Harry insisted. "Just look around. I used to walk around Hogwarts to see at the pictures and different rooms. I’ve never been in another wizard’s house besides the Weasley’s, oh, and Sirius’s place." A shadow passed over Harry’s face, and Snape quickly replied,

"Fine you may look around, but I have two rules. One, you stay on the first and second floors. No snooping around the dungeon or the towers. Two, any door that is closed you don’t go in. Understand?"

Harry wanted to argue. He planned to go over every inch of the manor until he found his wand and cloak, but there was no use in telling Snape that. Snape would probably lock him in his room if he had any suspicions about what his young ward was going to do.

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded.

"Now that we’ve finished discussing potions and exploring, perhaps you’d like to revisit the subject of your schedule. I trust I’ll have no more outbursts from you unless you’d rather be further acquainted with the corner?"

"No," Harry glared at his professor, but did not say anything else.

"Good boy. I have looked over the schedule one last time and have come to the conclusion that nothing needs to be changed. I hope you’ve reached the same agreement. If not I can always add more studying and earlier bedtimes."

"It’s fine the way it is," Harry assured him. He wished the man would just simply hand him the paper and say "Here’s the schedule – deal with it, Potter." This talking through annoyed Harry more than the schedule itself. Discussing things made Snape seem more human, and Harry would rather he stay the mean, evil bat that Snape had always been.

"I thought about the consequences of disobedience," Snape continued, oblivious to Harry’s thoughts. "Now, ideally, I would like to assume that there is no need for punishments because you won’t disobey at all, but we both know that is foolish thinking."

It was so hard not to pout. Harry could feel his bottom lip longing to stink out in an angry, sulky pout, but he pressed his lips hard together to resist the temptation. He would not give Snape the satisfaction.

"Now, believe it or not," the man took a sip of tea, "I think there are varying degrees of disobedience. First, there is ignorance – simply not knowing the rules. That will seldom require anything past my informing you of the rules in hopes that you will follow them. Next are everyday mistakes – little things that could turn into problems if not nipped in the bud. They will likely warrant no more than a lecture. Next, come attitude and words – this includes swearing, rebellious looks, and your favorite pastime – sulking. Depending on the range of your attitude, I may give you a timeout or send you to your room. Swearing, however, gets your mouth washed out with soap. Fourthly, is outright disobedience. You were told to do or not to do something, and you did the opposite, knowing full-well you were disobeying. That will earn you the worst punishments. Do you have any questions?

Yes, Harry wanted to scream, what are the worst punishments? But he had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what those punishments would be. He shook his head, saying "No, sir, but if I do, can I ask you later?"

"All right," Snape agreed, "but the rules apply from this moment on. If I catch you defying me or ignoring my words again –"

If Harry had his way, Snape would not catch him at anything ever again. First chance he got, Harry was out of there.

"Then, if you’re finished, why don’t you go work on that essay in your room?" Snape nodded towards the door.

-----

Between finishing the essay, reading some of an old History of Magic book, and supper, Harry did not have time to explore the manor at all. He was on his bed putting the final touches on the paper when Snape came up to his room.

"It’s quarter to ten, Potter," the potions master announced. "Surely, you finished the essay by now."

Harry handed the paper over without a word. He hoped Snape would tuck it away for future reading and leave, but of course, the man began reading it while standing in the middle of the room.

Harry shifted awkwardly. Could he leave, or should he stand at attention while Snape read? It was really unfair – probably no one else in whole world had to write essays as punishments over the summer. Ugly, greasy –

"Mr. Potter?" Snape’s voice was stern.

"Yes, sir?" Harry sprung to his feet.

"I believe I also asked for a list of appropriate punishments along with the essay."

Harry was ready for that. "Yes, sir, but we discussed at lunch punishments, so I thought we had covered that aspect. However," he hurried on before Snape could disagree, "I would be happy to recite your exact words from lunch to prove that I’ve been listening, which was one of my points in the essay."

"As much as I would like for you to turn into a parrot," Snape intoned, "that won’t be necessary. Tomorrow, you’ll have an oral quiz. I hope if I keep your thoughts on the consequences of disobedience, it will deter you from the actual act. Go get ready for bed."

"But I’m not tired," Harry complained, swinging his legs on the bed and jumping down. "I’ll never go to sleep at ten o’clock." He expected Snape to remind him that twenty-four hours ago Harry had burst into flames and that he probably needed his rest, but Snape only snapped,

"Potter, bed! Now!"

It was weird trudging off to the bathroom to get ready and coming back and climbing into bed with Snape standing watch like a stone statute. This was the fourth night Harry had spent at Snapdragon Manor, but the other nights he had been distracted by emotions or his rising temperature. Now, Harry felt neither distraught nor sick, but young and childish, like a little boy about to be tucked in for the night. It was unsettling to lie back on the pillows and pull the covers up while Snape spelled his dirty clothes over to a nearby hamper. At this rate, Harry thought he should be clutching a teddy bear and sucking on his thumb, waiting for a lullaby to soothe him to sleep. He doubted Snape would oblige.

"All right," Snape crossed his arms, "when discussing the terms of guardianship, the headmaster made me promise to talk to you about your – your feelings," the word seemed stuck in Snape’s throat for a moment, and the man didn’t like the taste of the word. "Though I feel I’ve seen enough of your emotions to last three lifetimes, I will follow through with my promise. How are you feeling tonight?"

The tone was so clipped that Harry blinked for a moment before answering, "Oh, all right, I guess."

"Do you feel sad, unhappy, angry, or otherwise upset?" Snape prompted, barely keeping from rolling his eyes.

"Er – not really," Harry wasn’t sure if he should look at the man or at something else. He was not used to answering these sorts of questions, nor did Snape look used to asking them.

"Then, I can assume for the time being that you are calm and should fall asleep with no problem?" Snape continued, his arms still crossed.

"Sure," Harry hazarded a response. He wasn’t going exploring tonight. That would have to wait until morning.

"Then good night, Potter. If I catch you out of bed, you’ll pay for both ignoring the rules and for lying." With those comforting words, Snape swept out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Harry stared up into the dark ceiling. This was getting to be quite an odd place he found himself in. Snape pretending to care about how he felt? Definitely uncharted territory. All these rules, and restrictions, and consequences . . . at this rate he would be answering to a whistle like those seven children in the movie where everyone burst periodically into song.

Partly wishing that Snape would not turn back to his evil self and partly hoping that the potions master would jump in a lake and drown, Harry snuggled deeper into his bed. Sometime later, he thought he heard the door open to his room and he was sure that he opened his eyes to see Snape standing over his bed and tucking the covers around his shoulder, but Harry was certain he was dreaming. He closed his eyes again in hopes that he might drift off into the dream of the other night with James talking to him about flying.

-----

The next morning, Harry did stay on the gravel path and found that instead of a tiring hike up and down the hills the gravel path wound through cool gardens with plenty of places to sit and enjoy the scenery. Unlike the bark path, the gravel path seemed enchanted; Harry was certain the house was right behind him, but when he stepped through a stone arch, the manor was in front of him. Up ahead, a waterfall splashed down into a small pond, and Harry leaned over the rippling water to catch sight of orange and silver fish dodging around lily pads. In one corner, a tangle of red roses climbed up a high wall, reaching higher and higher against the blue sky.

Farther up the path, the gravel turned into round stones. When Harry stepped on the first round stone, little squirts of water jumped from the sides of the path. He stepped out of the way only to see more squirts coming towards him. Apparently, you were supposed to avoid getting hit by water by dodging and jumping and ducking. Though Harry knew it was a very simplistic game, he couldn’t help playing along for a few moments. The water was tricky, though, and Harry got hit in the face more than he would care to admit.

A few hundred feet farther, Harry saw a small boat tied to the dock. The pond opened up to a lake, and Harry could make out a few gray ducks quacking on the other side. Maybe Snape would let him go out rowing, and Harry could feed the ducks while he was over there. For now, he amused himself by skipping flat rock on the surface of the lake while several turtles looked on, unimpressed.

Though Harry hated to admit it, the gravel path was a lot more fun than the bark. If you were going a three-hour hike, then sure, take the bark through the woods. A morning walk, enjoying the outdoors, stay on the gravel!

-----

Harry tiptoed down the hallway. It was his free time in the afternoon, but he still felt odd exploring the manor without Snape. The portraits were looking down at him, silence but disapproving, and Harry was sure he heard one say, "Sneaky looks, that one."

Most of the doors were open upstairs, and Harry peeked in, but didn’t venture in. Snape would not have hidden his ward’s things in plain sight. Harry had gone down the halls and seen mainly bedrooms and sitting room. Two doors were closed on one hallway, but he guessed those were Snape’s bedroom and dressing room. Though Snape might have hidden the wand and cape in his own bedroom, Harry knew he would only sneak in there as a last result. Somehow, snooping around Snape’s bedroom seemed worse than peering into his pensive.

Downstairs was different story. Most of the doors were shut, and Harry tested the knobs on each. They were all locked – apparently Snape didn’t trust his ward to obey the rules, which wasn’t such a mean suspicion on Snape’s part all things considered. The last shut door at the end of the hall did open, and Harry eagerly peeked inside.

It was dim, but he could make out shelves lining all the walls. Harry pushed the door open for a better look. It was a store of potions, hundreds of bottles, all shapes, sizes, and colors. Some were labeled, some weren’t. Some looked like cooking spices, some Harry didn’t want to look at for more than a second. The room had a dusty smell to it, but it looked clean and well-kept. Half a dozen clean cauldrons were lined up on wooden table. Cutting, crushing, and stirring utensils were also lined up in a straight row on the table.

It was exactly what Snape’s private store should look like, all neat and efficient, ready to be used correctly. Harry thought about his own untidy possessions, usually strewn around the room or dumped in an open trunk. Like the library, Snape enjoyed order when it came to his things. No random selection, no carelessness – everything in its rightful place.

Harry was about to leave the potions store when he noticed a blur of color on the top shelf in one corner. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was some kind of fabric folded up. Bright colors, hanging tassels – it was his Invisibility Cloak! He had found it.

Tingling with excitement, Harry glanced around for a ladder. The top shelf was at least four feet beyond Harry’s reach, and while Snape was taller, Harry knew the man couldn’t reach the shelf unaided. But he saw no ladder, not even a small one with a step or two. There was a small stool nearby, and Harry hastily pulled it over.

Once standing on the stool, he strained to reach the top shelf. His fingertips did not even brush the edge. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry made a quick decision. He needed the cloak, and it was his, and Snape probably wouldn’t notice it was gone.

Harry put his foot on the next highest shelf past the stool and pulled himself up. With his right hand, he grabbed the cloak and pulled it down.

A moment later, he realized with a thud of disappointment that this cloak was not his cloak. It was about the same size, but the colors and shapes were wrong. He hastily folded it and reached to put it back on the shelf. He would put the stool back as well and close the door, and Snape would never know he had been there.

Something groaned loudly. Harry glanced anxiously towards the door. No one was there. The groan sounded again, and he glanced back at the shelves. Just about at his eye level, he could see the head of a nail burrowing into farther into the wood. That was odd.

Then he realized the shelf was pulling away from the wall, and all the nails were groaning as they slipped down in the wood.

A bottle marked toad’s eyes slipped off the shelf and fell to the ground with a crash. Harry looked down to see round, slimy eyes mixed with broken glass scattered across the bare floor.

Then he felt himself going backwards as the entire shelves and the boards that held them to the wall began falling forward. Harry leapt back off the lower shelf, missing the stool by a mere inch, and ran to the door for dear life. He made it just in time as all the shelves and their contents hit the floor.

Harry dashed into the hallway to the sound of smashing glass and water bursting from containers.

Then he heard a loud explosion rip through the air. The door behind him was blown off its hinges, and he covered his ringing ears. A moment of silence hung in the air along with the strong smell of sulfur and formaldehyde.

And then Harry heard the other shelves break away from the walls. The wood was crashing down like a hundred trees in a landslide – glass kept breaking, and Harry could see shards of it skidding onto the floor of the hall.

Then everything was quiet again, save for the dripping of liquid from broken bottles.

Harry stood frozen for a few awful seconds, hearing his pulse pound in his ears heavily. He was dead.

Snape was going to murder him. Snape was going to tear him into pieces. Forget looking into the man’s Pensieve, stealing from the man’s private store at Hogwarts, and being disrespectful in class; forget barging into his house; forget ignoring Snape’s instruction – forget it all. This was the worst thing Harry could possibly do next to burning down the whole house. After Snape was finished with him, facing Voldemort would feel like an afternoon picnic.

The portraits were all talking fervently to each other, and Harry knew it was only a matter of time before Snape came billowing down the hallway and demanded to know what had happened. Harry heard a step at the far end of the hallway. And then he lost it completely. Harry ran up the other side of the hallway, ignoring the shouts of the portraits to stay where he was so the master could deal with him.

Heart racing, Harry ducked into an open door. It was the sitting room where he had first arrived in the cursed fireplace. Oh, now that curse was nothing compared to what Snape would do.

If he could just find some Floo powder, Harry could try to get out of the house. Not forever, just long enough for Snape to calm down and realize that his intrusive houseguest did not mean to blow up his potions lab. Harry began searching the various boxes and vases on the shelf over the fireplace. No one had used the fireplace as a part of the Floo network in years, but Harry was too distraught to think rationally.

"Harry James Potter!" Snape’s voice roared in the hallway. "Where are you? Show yourself this minute!"

"He went into the parlor," a portrait called out helpfully.

In the midst of his terror, Harry’s one coherent thought was that he was going to tear that portrait to pieces if he survived Snape’s wrath.

"Thank you," Snape’s angry voice was drawing nearer.

Harry felt panic surge through his body, and he could not remember a time when he felt more terrified. Even the battle in the Ministry of Magic paled in comparison. He did only the thing that seemed appropriate in a situation like this – he hid. Later on, he might admit that it was a silly, childish thing to do, but for now it seemed the only option. He scrambled over to sofa and crouched behind it against the wall, wrapping his arms around his knees and waiting fearfully.

Yes, he was hidden for now. Maybe he could hide for the next few days. Snapdragon Manor was big, and he was sure to find dozens of places to hide whenever he heard Snape approaching. Harry had learned to hide from Dudley for ten years; this wouldn’t be much different except that Snape would hex him whereas Dudley enjoyed punching.

Angry footsteps stomped into the sitting room. Harry tried to stay very still and quiet, taking soft breaths that he hoped Snape could not hear. Don’t move, don’t squirm, just stay quiet.

"I know you’re in here, Potter," Snape’s voice was hard as nails and cold as ice. "The portraits said you came this way, and there’s no way out from this room. Come out from wherever you’re hiding, and I mean it now."

Did Snape ever not mean anything he said? Harry would have to ask him why he insisted on ending every speech with the statement that he meant what he said. Provided, of course, that Harry lived long enough to do that.

"Potter, I’m serious," Snape’s tone took on a deadly edge. "I’m counting to three, and you better come or so help me, you’ll find yourself doing detention with me every night of the school year. One – detention for three hours every night. Two – and I may see if you can have detention in every spare hour you have at school. Thr –"

"All right," Harry leapt out from his hiding place. "I’m here, but it was an accident, I swear. I didn’t – ow!"

Snape had reached out and grabbed Harry by the ear. The man looked livid, angrier than Harry had seen him before, including the time when Black had been set free in the third year along with Buckbeak.

"I am going to ask you a few simple questions," Snape said silkily, making shivers run up and down Harry’s spine. "If you answer them truthfully, I might just let you live until morning. When you went down the hallway earlier, was the door open?"

"No," Harry found himself leaning towards Snape’s hand to relieve the pressure on his ear, "but it wasn’t locked."

"Did you hear what I said about doors that were closed?" Snape’s voice grew even softer.

"Y-yes, but –"

"And Potter," Snape was speaking in a whisper now, "did you understand what I meant when I said not to enter rooms with the door closed?"

"Yes," Harry was turned red, his cheeks tinged pick with shame.

"So you pushed open the door and went inside, knowing full well you shouldn’t be in there. Did you decide it would be fun to start playing potions, mixing things together to see what would happen?"

"No, I saw the cloak on the top shelf –" Harry stopped suddenly, realizing he had just given himself away.

A fierce light gleamed in Snape’s eye. "So, you went looking for your cloak, did you? You decided to find it despite my warnings that you did not need it. It was on the top shelf. Did you try to climb up on the shelves to reach it?"

"Yes, but I put the cloak back up as soon as I saw it wasn’t mine. Then the shelves started falling off the wall. I jumped and ran for the door, and then everything exploded."

"So not only did you disobey me again, you put yourself into danger simply because, once again, you knew better than I did. Are you starting to see a pattern here, Potter?"

Harry looked away. The sinking feeling in his stomach was plunging lower by the moment.

"Do you have any idea how long it took me to stock that store?" Snape continued, his fingers tightening and making Harry wince in pain. "Do you have any idea what it cost? Thankfully, I have another small store downstairs next to my potions lab, but I keep dozens of valuable vials and bottles up here. The ingredients to make the potion I gave you to keep from burning the other night – they came from the store upstairs."

"I’m sorry!" Harry cried out. He felt just awful, like he had an empty cavern in his stomach that could not be filled, and he was turning redder, and maybe Snape would kill him so he wouldn’t have to keep feeling so bad. He ruined everything – any time someone tried to help him, Harry managed to ruin it.

Snape had no sympathy. "Believe me, Potter, you are about to serve the worst punishment you could possibly imagine. You knew what I had told you, but you went ahead and did what you wanted, ignoring my orders. That falls under willful disobedience. I did not tell you about the different kinds of disobedience simply to hear myself talk – I did it so you would think about your actions and the consequences they have, and not disobey me! But because you insist on behaving like a child, I will treat you like one. For the next two days, a full forty-eight hours, you don’t leave my sight. Since you cannot be trusted to mind me when I am not there, I will stay with you and see that you behave. You will sit with me in the potions lab while I work, come into my study when I send letters, and sleep on the sofa in my room at night. At the end of two days, if I think you can be on your own again, you’ll be allowed to return to your schedule under certain restrictions. If not, then you’ll have to stay by my side until school starts."

Harry’s mouth dropped open, but he could not articulate a single sound.

"In addition, you’ll go to bed at eight o’clock for the next week and do chores around the manor to show me how sorry you are. If I hear any complaining or whining, I’ll extend your punishment. Also, you’ll accompany me to Diagon Alley to replace the items you destroyed. In short, you’ll be the best, most helpful, most considerate boy you can be, or you’ll be a very unhappy Potter."

Harry nodded, trying to look as contrite and miserable as possible. He did feel bad – it was stupid and thoughtless to blow up Snape’s lab. Harry remembered how upset he had felt in the second year when someone had rifled through his dorm room in search of Riddle’s Diary. It had been Ginny and she had been possessed, but Harry remembered how angry he had felt that someone would rip through his things, completely heedless of his feelings or concerns. It had not been a good feeling, and Snape probably felt even more frustrated because he needed the potions store to do his work, both as a teacher and as a spy.

"I am sorry, really," Harry insisted. "I promise I’ll listen in the future, I really do."

"We’ll see about that," Snape growled. "Oh, and one more thing." He pulled Harry over to the sofa and sat down before dragging Harry over his knees.

"Oh, no!" Harry protested, both in dread and in shame. He had forgotten that this was the same sofa on which Snape had first punished him. Why did he have to choose this room to hide in? If he had hidden anywhere else, Snape might not have remembered how much Harry hated having to be punished this way.

"Accio ruler," Snape said, a certain vindictive pleasure in his voice.

Harry angrily crossed his arms, not an easy task to accomplish while hanging over someone’s lap. It was one thing for Snape to punish him, but Harry knew that if he looked back the man would be sneering with delight, glad for an excuse to beat his ward again.

That’s not fair, a small voice inside Harry spoke up. You blew up his potions store, and you’re surprised that he’s going to smack you a few times?

Yes, but he’s going to use a ruler instead of his hand, and he shouldn’t look so satisfied when he gets to punish me. He’s the only person besides Flich and Umbridge that enjoys hurting other people, savoring their punishments like the sadistic prat he is.

You disobeyed him, the small voice argued. You heard what he said, and you did the opposite. I warned you not to go in there, but you just had to. And if that had been your cloak on the shelf, he would have known it was gone and would have come looking for you. This isn’t Hogwarts where you can blame stuff on other students – it’s just the two of you.

Well, still, he doesn’t have to look so pleased. He could look a little sorry that he’s going to wale my rear again when I didn’t mean any of it.

Oh, shut up, the voice replied. You destroyed part of his house. You deserve every bit of punishment he hands out. In fact, he should use a belt right now, not some flimsy ruler. So once he starts, you take your punishment like a man.

All these thoughts passed through his head in a matter of seconds, but Harry barely had time to resign himself to his fate before Snape brought down the ruler with a crack.

Harry sucked in breath and knew his conscience was wrong on two points. First of all, the ruler was not flimsy at all. Harry could not see it, but it felt like a thick slab of wood slamming into his helpless bottom. And second, there was no way he would be able to take it like a man since the second and third whacks made his eyes smart painfully and he could barely keep himself from reaching back in attempts to shield himself.

"I had thought that you were really too old for this kind of punishment," Snape said in between hard smacks. "After all, you are about to turn sixteen, and this probably is more befitting to a eight- or nine-year-old. However, it seems to get through to you better than anything else."

Harry tried not to cry, he told himself he was too old to cry, and he was not going to reinforce Snape’s opinion that this was an appropriate punishment. But Snape meant business, and by smack ten, Harry felt a few tears start to leak out. By the twentieth smack, he didn’t care about his dignity or his pride, and he only cared about when Snape would stop paddling him.

"All right, all right," Harry wailed, twisting away from the ruler pitifully. "I swear I won’t ow! disobey you again. I swear, I swear I’ll be good."

"Oh, promises, promises," Snape scoffed, not pausing for a second. "The moment you see an opportunity, off you go, forgetting every rule, only caring about doing what you want at the moment. But when you get caught, it’s all tears and sad puppy looks. Now, stop squirming, and let me finish. I declare, the only time you behave is after I tan your hide good and hard. I should wallop you every morning, just to ensure that you mind me for the rest of the day."

"No!" Harry felt desperate. "No, don’t do that! Please, I will behave, you’ve got to believe me." Tears were falling freely down his face, and he didn’t even bother to wipe them away.

"I don’t have to do anything of the kind," Snape retorted. "I’ll stop once I think you’ve got the message, you disobedient, arrogant, horrible little brat."

Four wallops later, and something in Harry finally broke, crumbling his resolve to pieces, and he started crying in earnest. Even after Snape delivered one last stinging smack to the seat of Harry’s trousers and then put the ruler aside, Harry did not attempt to move, but lay there in tears and remorse. He expected Snape to yank him and seat him down on the sofa for another lecture. Or worse, make him go put his nose in the corner and stand there for a long time to think about how he could improve his behavior. Or yell at him to get out of the room so Snape didn’t have to see him any longer

But Snape did none of those things. He shook his head, commenting, "Really, Potter, you’re more trouble than you’re worth." But as he spoke he helped Harry stand on his feet, a firm hand on each arm so Harry would not fall.

In utter contrition, Harry stood there, tears still leaking out and feeling for all the world like a well-punished child. For some unknown reason, he wanted to be near someone, anyone, just not to be alone in his misery. He hated the feeling of loneliness, ever so strong since Sirius had died.

"All right, Potter, pull yourself together," Snape said, rather sternly, but as he spoke, he placed a warm hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed comfortingly.

Later Harry would blush and look away when he thought about what he did next. It was really so immature, so babyish – if Ron ever found out, Harry could never look him in the eye again. But standing in the sitting room, Harry abandoned all logical thought and wrapped both his hands around Snape’s wrist and laid his head down on the man’s forearm. It felt so good just to be near someone, not to feel utterly alone and lost in the world.

Snape almost jerked back from the boy’s hold, but then sighed heavily. "There, there," he said awkwardly, giving Harry a few pats on the back, "stop making such a fuss. And I’m still extremely upset with you. Come now, you’re really too old to be crying like this."

Harry yanked away from Snape, the feeling of comfort gone. "First, you say I’m acting childishly and need to be punished like one, and now I’m too old? Make up your mind!"

Snape grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, turned him to the side, and gave Harry two sharp slaps on the rear. "Don’t you take that tone with me, boy, or you’ll find yourself back over my knee until you learn some respect. Now, we’re going to see if we can salvage any of the potions store."

Resisting the urge to rub his smarting behind, Harry was pushed reluctantly back towards the site of disaster. His tears had stopped thankfully, but he felt embarrassed that he had carried on so, like some two-year-old tired and hungry, needing a nap and bursting into tears. If Snape ever told anyone about this – well, Harry wasn’t sure what he could do, but he knew he would not be happy with Snape.

"I don’t understand why you can’t use magic to put it back," Harry ventured, careful to keep his voice very respectful. "Can’t you just, you know, reverse everything and unbreak the glass and have the potions fly up on the shelves? I’ve seen Hermione fix my glasses when they get broken."

"It’s not that simple," Snape growled, still pulling Harry along by the back of his neck. "I might could mend one bottle, provided the ingredients inside were not too shaken up. But once they get mixed with other ingredients, you can’t undo the mixture. It becomes a chemical change, not a physical."

"But why can’t –"

"No, you can’t," Snape insisted. "It’s not like melting ice into water and then refreezing it. It would be likely cooking meat and then trying to turn it raw again. Magic can’t change all the laws of physics not matter how many annoying brats wish it were different. And add to it flammable chemicals that ignite when broken open and mixed –"

Harry felt the hand around the back of his neck tighten.

"Potter," Snape had returned to his deadly whisper, "you better pray I can find one salvageable item in that mess, or you’re not going to sit down for a week."

The smell was terrible as they neared the door, and Harry tried not to gag. The potions store was in shambles: broken shelves all over the floor, glass laying in jagged shards, and nasty things coated in slime and brown goo oozing around the glass and wood, and stinking fumes lingering up in slow, thick clouds. Harry clasped a hand over his mouth, hoping he wouldn’t throw up.

"Look at this, just look at it," Snape said crossly.

Harry was trying not to.

"You never do anything halfway, do you?" Snape stepped over the remnants of the door to better survey the mess. "Bat livers gone, dragonfly wings destroyed – you broke my one vial of unicorn horn dust! Do you have any idea how hard that was to come by? It’s going to take half your parents’ fortune to replace everything, so I hope you’re happy."

Oh, that was a bummer. Harry slumped a little farther down in despair. The money his parents had worked for and saved and tucked away for the future, now spent to replenish the potions store of his father’s rival. Maybe this was poetic justice . . . somehow.

"Nothing, nothing," Snape raised a ragged edge of the shelves and looked underneath. "Ruined, smashed, exploded – ah-ha! One bottle of pickled dragon’s eggs, unharmed." He levitated the unbroken bottle outside the room into the hall.

Harry didn’t know whether he should offer to help or stay where he was. Either way, Snape would probably yell at him. Harry frowned and got in a quick rub at his sore bottom while Snape was rifling through what looked like pigs’ toes and minced dragons’ hearts. Harry wanted to be mad, to stay angry, but the truth was, Snape had let him live for the time being. And Harry had learned to be grateful for small blessings.

"All right," Snape finally stood up and ran a hand back through his dark hair, "out of a store that used to hold 768 perfectly good supplies, I found four usable vials. That means that I have to find 764 new ingredients by September. And here I thought we might have a relaxing summer."

"I said I was sorry," Harry protested. " And I haven’t complained about my punishments, any of them."

"Because if you did, I would use your tongue as one of the replacement supplies," Snape shot at him. "Well, stop standing there looking like a complete idiot. We’re going downstairs to get protective gloves, and then you’re going to clean it all up while I write letters for new supplies. Move!"

-----

Snape was as good (or as bad depending on how you looked at it) as his word. For two hours while Harry cleaned up, Snape sat in a chair in the doorway and browsed through catalogues of potions supplies, marking the new supplies he needed. Harry tried to work quickly, thick leather gloves on his hands and a charmed cloth tied over his nose and mouth so he could breathe, but the job dragged on forever. Most infuriating of all was that Harry knew Snape could clean it all up with a wave of his wand if he wanted to. For that matter, Harry could clean up with a wave of his own wand if the overgrown bat would let him have it instead of doing this tedious manual cleaning for hours.

"You missed a spot," Snape pointed with his wand to the far corner without looking up.

Harry straightened, wiping his sweaty forehead on his arm and pulling the cloth down off his face. "The floor has been stained in a few places. What do I used to clean it up?"

"Your mouth," Snape still did not look up from the catalogue.

"Very funny," Harry retorted.

"Fine, I have a toothbrush you can use later to scrub the entire floor," Snape commented.

"It’ll probably get more use here than on your teeth," Harry muttered under his breath.

Snape looked up from the catalogue. "What did you say?"

"Nothing, I’m cleaning," Harry hastily went back to work.

By the time the room was clean enough, all broken stuff in trash bins and the floor empty but needing a good scrubbing, they went to supper. Harry’s shoulders ached from picking up all the broken shelves, and his back hurt from bending over for so long, and his rear end was unbelievable sore as he tried to sit without squirming or showing his discomfort. He could Snape trying not to smirk, which made Harry feel twice as contrary and out of sorts.

But worst of all was when Snape announced that it was time for bed. Harry grimly followed Snape upstairs and to the door of the master bedroom. Snape’s bedroom was oddly usual and unremarkable – dark, handsome colors and rich mahogany with accents of black iron, a very masculine room. Snape handed Harry a pair of pajamas and pointed to the bathroom. A long, hot bath sounded like just the thing to help relieve his soreness.

Harry headed into the bathroom, but when he turned around, Snape was standing in the doorway, arms crossed with a resigned expression.

"Hey, I’m getting undressed here!" Harry objected.

"I said I’m not letting you out of my sight for two days," Snape replied calmly. "For all I know, you’ll try to flood the bathroom to see if you can make an indoor pool."

"I’m not undressing with you watching," Harry stated, crossing his own arms.

"Oh, don’t be a baby, Potter. You’ve taken showers with boys before, and I’ve been Head of Slytherin for years. It’s not as if I’ve never seen a boy naked before, and just to rest your mind, I prefer something a little more feminine and older, a woman with charms not a half-grown brat with an attitude problem."

"I’ve never seen you interested in women," Harry said suspiciously, but he pulled his shirt off as he spoke.

"At Hogwarts? Where the only females are underage students and married or spinster teachers? You’re right, Potter, how could you have possibly missed that I find women attractive when I’m surrounded by such eligible females?"

Harry was pulling off his socks and shoes, but he stopped for a moment. "What about Tonks? She not too young or too old, and you never looked interested in her."

"That’s just what I need, a snippet of a witch with color-changing hair and a smart mouth. Take a bath and stop annoying me with questions."

Harry was in the sudsy, hot water, swishing a wash cloth over a bar of soap when he ventured to ask, "Are Death Eaters allowed to get married?"

Snape, who was now leaning against the doorpost in boredom, glanced over to his soapy ward. "I beg your pardon?"

"You know, can you get married after you become a Death Eater? I know Lucius Malfoy is one and Bellatrix Lestrange, and they’re both married, but I thought they became Death Eaters after they were married. I mean, does he like his followers to love someone other than him?"

"I wouldn’t know," Snape answered shortly. "No one has ever mentioned marriage at the meetings. And don’t speak Bellatrix’s name in this house."

Harry blinked. "You don’t like Bellatrix? But I thought –"

"I said don’t talk about her," Snape ordered, his voice hard. His dark eyes were glinting with fury, and Harry could see that Snape was clenching his hands into fists beneath his sleeves. "No more talking. Start scrubbing, and wash that dirty hair of yours."

This was an excellent opportunity to tell Snape that he should wash his own hair, but Harry only nodded mutely as he reached for the shampoo.

Thirty minutes later, Harry was lying on his new, makeshift bed: a large sofa with a soft pillow and sheets and blankets tucked around him. His body was tired from the hard day of work, but Harry’s mind kept racing, refusing to let him rest. Why did Snape hate Bellatrix? She had killed one of the people Snape had hated the most. And was Snape really going to let him go to Diagon Alley to collect more potions? And was what with Snape liking women? Not that Harry thought the potions master should like men or anything like that – to be honest, he didn’t like to think that Snape could be romantic at all. He tried to picture Snape wooing some woman in the dungeon, telling her she was beautiful as he mashed up beetles for a nasty potion.

"Whatever you’re snickering at," Snape said from the desk across the room, "stop it, and go to sleep."

"It’s too early to sleep," Harry complained, twisting on the sofa. And it felt weird to be lying on the sofa, trying to fall asleep while Snape worked at his desk. What felt even stranger was the fact Harry didn’t find the whole situation to be that disconcerting. He had done something terrible and been thoroughly punished, but instead of lying there seething and hoping for revenge, Harry felt warm and safe inside. He should be mad, but that would take an awful lot of energy, and it was more fun to think about what would happen in the next few weeks than plot against Snape, which seemed to be getting him into more trouble lately.

"How are you feeling?" Snape asked, thumbing through a large book with one hand.

"Sore," Harry grumbled, trying to find a comfortable position on the sofa.

Snape got up and walked over to the large wardrobe and looked through it until he found a small corked bottle. He took out a big spoon and walked over to the sofa. "Here, swallow this," Snape poured out a good amount of thick, black goo into the spoon and held it out towards Harry.

"That’s gross, and I’m not sick, just achy from cleaning," Harry said flatly. It was ridiculous to refuse because he knew Snape would make him take the potions eventually, but Harry was not going to do everything the man said just because Snape was in charge. The man was a total control-freak, feasting on power the way vampires feasted on blood. Once Harry gave into him, the potions master was likely to suck the life right out of his ward.

"Immobulus," Snape had pulled out his wand with his free hand, and Harry fell back on his pillow with a thud. Snape set the spoon on the table and reached for the bottle. "I think you need an extra large dose of this delightful medicine to help curb your tongue." Snape began pouring the gooey stuff into Harry’s open mouth, and Harry’s eyes bulged at the horrendous taste. Honestly, each potion seemed to taste worst than the last, designed just to torture him with its nasty taste. And now he was going to choke because he could not swallow while under the spell, nor could he tell Snape that though he doubted Snape would care whether or not his ward choked as long as he was quiet and still.

After pouring what seemed like half the bottle in Harry’s mouth, Snape recorked the bottle and reached to push Harry’s mouth closed. Some of the medicine drooled out of the corner of Harry’s lips, but Snape wiped it away with a clean handkerchief. "All right, Potter, just swallow. Your natural reflexes still work. Swallow the potion and then you can go to sleep."

Harry tried, he really did, but he could not get the awful stuff down. Snape sighed (he was huffer and puffer in the manor, always sighing over something, Harry furiously thought). However, Harry’s eyes widened a little more as he felt cold fingers firmly stroke over his throat as Snape encouraged, "Come one, Potter, you can do it. Just swallow – there we go, good boy."

The nasty potion made its way down Harry’s throat, leaving a disgusting aftertaste in its wake.

"Since you cannot obey me in little things," Snape was a little sterner now, "I’m extending your time within my sight to three days. Furthermore –" Snape broke off suddenly, and his face blanched with pain for second.

Fear shot through Harry, but he was powerless to move or even voice his concerns.

Snape’s right hand flew to his left wrist, where under the long sleeve of the black robe Harry knew the Dark Mark was burned into his skin. Voldemort must be calling a meeting of the Death Eaters.

Snape straightened, calm and resolved once more. "I have to leave for a bit. Luckily, it’s bedtime for you so I don’t need to worry about your whereabouts. You close your eyes and go on to sleep, and I’ll be back in a few hours."

Harry tried to speak, to yell, but all he could manage was a rumbling sound deep in his throat. He tried to talk with his eyes, but that had not worked last time, and he really didn’t expect it to work now.

"Potter, I will be fine, much to your dismay I’m sure," Snape said dryly. He pulled the covers up over Harry’s shoulders and dimmed the candlelight. "The Dark Lord has not been killing his followers lately – there are too few of us already, and he needs every single person still alive and loyal. Now, just relax and don’t worry. I’ll be back before morning, and if not, the house elves will tend to you.

Harry made the throaty noise again, praying that Snape would let him talk.

"Potter, there’s nothing you can say that will keep me here, or as you would probably prefer, let you go with me. You’re staying on that sofa because you’re being punished. Good night."

Snape Disapparated with a loud crack, leaving Harry all alone in the dim room. Harry stared up at the ceiling, blinking quickly. He refused to cry, he didn’t care what Snape had done to him, but the prickling sensation in the corners of his eyes was stronger than his resolve for not crying.

It was just the reality of the whole thing that was getting to him. Sometimes Voldemort and the whole prophecy thing seemed like a far off dream, something to worry about later. But here at Snape’s house, it was real. Snape was being summoned to a Death Eater’s meeting, and knowing first-hand Voldemort’s need for inflicting pain, there was a good chance that Snape might get tortured tonight. What if he were tortured to the breaking point and he revealed Harry’s true location? What if Death Eaters stormed Snapdragon Manor that very night while Harry lay on the sofa, powerless to fight back? He could picture the frightening mask gliding up to his bed, leaning over him with a cold smile underneath.

Harry shut his eyes tightly, trying to push the image away. Snape was stronger than that – he would not agree to let Harry stay at his home without ensuring Harry’s safety. What if Snape couldn’t reveal Harry’s whereabouts so Voldemort tortured him until Snape lost his mind, like the Longbottoms? And then he would be shipped to St. Mungo’s to spend the rest of his days in mindless idleness, humming to himself like Neville’s parents. And Harry would be responsible for it, just like he was responsible for everything else. It wasn’t bad enough that he had ruined Snape’s house and his summer, now he was making sure Snape physically suffered at well.

Harry could feel the potion starting to work; already he felt less sore and more comfortable, and his body wanted to drift off into pleasant sleep. But he forced his eyes open. He was not sleeping until Snape came back, not until Snape was in the bedroom, alive and in one piece.

It was going to be a long night for the both of them.

The night wore on in darkness. The candles slowly burned out, each one leaving the room a little dimmer as the wicks were extinguished.

Harry knew he should be sleeping, but he forced his eyes open. The immobilizing charm did not wear off quickly; Harry heard the clock down the hall strike two, and he had only regained control of his arms. He may have doze off once or twice, but he jerked himself away, determined not to sleep. The potion Snape gave him did not make him sleepy, but helped ease the soreness in his muscles.

The early morning light was glinting through the windows by the time Harry could move his whole body. He sat up and pushed the covers off. He was not going to hang around here forever, worrying whether Snape was alive or lying in pieces at the Death Eater meetings; Harry was going to find him.

The bedroom door swung open, and Harry took a breath of relief when he saw Snape come in the room. The feeling of relief vanished as Harry saw Snape’s pale face, whiter than usual and marked with pain. The man could barely walk; he dragged himself over to the large bed with obvious effort.

"What did he do to you?" Harry leapt off the sofa.

"Potter, not so loud, please," Snape painfully began removing his black robe. "I’ll be all right in a bit." Snape pulled off the robe, grimacing with pain as he did so, and stood by the bed in black trousers and a white shirt. He looked like he was going say something cold and perhaps nasty, but then abandoned the thought.

Harry watched anxiously as Snape pulled himself up on the bed and slowly eased back on the pillows. He had never seen Snape after a Death Eater meeting, and no matter how Harry had imagined the horrific suffering at Voldemort’s hands, he was not prepared for the reality of the torture.

"Potter," Snape said, not moving, "could you go to the cabinet and bring me back the small green bottle on the top shelf?"

Snape asking him nicely? He must be in pain. Harry hurried over to the cabinet. Fortunately, there was only one green bottle on the top shelf, and he brought it to Snape immediately.

Snape sat up the least bit, took the bottle, and swallowed the entire potion in several gulps. Snape placed the bottle on the bedside table and lay back on the pillows, closing his eyes again.

"All right, Potter, I’m just going to rest here for a while."

"I’ll leave," Harry started to turn away.

"No!" eyes still closed, Snape pointed a stern finger in Harry’s direction. "You aren’t to leave my sight for two more days. Get dressed, and the house elves can bring you breakfast, and then you sit in the corner over there and read quietly."

"Fine," Harry’s concern quickly turned in annoyance as he stalked to the bathroom. "I forgot that vampires have to sleep in the day."

"I heard that," Snape warned from the bed.

Snape did not move for the next few hours. After eating breakfast, Harry thought about watching him sleep, just to make sure the man did not die while he lay there. But as Harry did not know how to tell if someone had died other than their chest not moving up and down while they laid there, he opted for reading in the corner and glancing towards Snape every now and then.

The room was warm and still as the morning lagged on. His nightly vigil made Harry very sleepy, and he leaned back in the comfy armchair, flinging both his legs over one armrest and leaning against the other side of the chair. He closed his eyes only for a moment, and the heavy book slipped lower and lower down on his chest.

"Potter!" an insistant voice rang out, and Harry felt something thwack at his knees lightly.

"Go ‘way," Harry muttered, keeping his eyes shut.

"Potter, it’s nearly four o’clock in the afternoon. I’ll never get you to sleep tonight if you don’t wake up now."

"Leave me alone," Harry grumbled, but he sat up and rubbed his tired eyes. Snape was standing in front of him. The man looked better, the pain gone from his face, and he wore his black robe again. But he was not pleased.

"You were supposed to sleep last night. I swear, this obstinacy must stop. When I say go to sleep, I mean sleep and not laying awake all night. Next time I go anywhere at night, I’m giving you a sleeping potion."

Harry wanted to glare at him, but he was really too drowsy to care about doing anything other than curling up and going back to sleep. Snape, heartless as ever, grabbed him by the arm and pulled Harry out of the chair and to his feet.

"You’ve still got a storeroom floor to scrub, and then I want you to write I will never disobey my guardian again for any reason 500 times."

"Awww," Harry started to whine, but Snape stopped him with a threatening look.

"Care to make that 600?"

"Fine, I’ll scrub and write," Harry followed Snape to the hallway.

Then came several hours of scrubbing, during which Harry stayed on his hands and knees while Snape loomed over him and criticized until Harry wanted to shove the toothbrush down the potions master’s throat. He could not believe that Snape made him use an actual toothbrush.

"I could do this so much faster if you’d let me have a regular scrub brush," Harry protested, returned to the same spot for the third time where something nasty had spilled into the deep lines of the wooden floor.

"I want it to take you a long time," Snape returned, smirking. "It helps keep you busy and out of mischief. A Potter with too much time on his hands gets into trouble sooner or later."

Harry barely resisted throwing the toothbrush at Snape. "Ha-ha, very funny. Don’t you have some important work to do for the Order?"

"I already did my part by attending the Death Eater meeting. Now, I get to have my amusement and watch you suffer. A little harder, you’ll never get the floor clean by the swishing the brush that way."

Harry muttered something that he was glad Snape could not hear.

"You’re the kind of person who needs something to occupy his time," Snape continued, apparently glad to have a captive audience. "I often thought that was why you got into so much trouble at school – too many hours unsupervised. Some people find constructive activities in their free time, but obviously you and your father never made good use of spare time."

"I don’t go around picking on people because I’m bored," Harry shot back. "I try not to bother anyone, except for Malfoy, and that’s because he always starts it first. And you shouldn’t have let them treat you like that."

Snape looked down at Harry. "Excuse me?"

"You were smart – you should have found a way to fight back," Harry insisted, attacking the floor with renewed energy. "I mean, Malfoy finds hundreds of ways to make me miserable, and you’re loads smarter than he’ll ever be. Why didn’t you curse my dad to look like a toad, or talk like a troll? No one would have liked him then. You should have teamed up with my mum, and the two of you could have taken them down."

"You wanted us to start a war?" a hint of a smile played around Snape’s lips.

"Well, one started anyway – you could have fought back instead of just taking it. I don’t let Malfoy get the better of me all the time, and it’s harder because Crabbe and Goyle would beat me senseless if they thought I was trying anything. Did Sirius and Lupin ever try to beat you up?"

"No, and keep your attention on cleaning," Snape answered, but he did not sound too cross.

"I’d like to get Malfoy just once, really good," Harry relished the idea. "Moody turned him into a ferret once and bounced him off the ground. Well, it’s was really Barty Crouch Jr., but I can still remember the terrified look on his face right before he was changed. Of course, McGonagall made him turn Malfoy back, but we all agreed that he looked better as a ferret."

"That’s rather mean of you, Potter," Snape disapproved. "Where’s your Gryffindor nobility?"

"All bets are off when it comes to Malfoy."

"I see. And suppose in fifteen or twenty years, young Mr. Malfoy has a son. How would you feel about him?"

"Are you kidding? Any son of Malfoy has got to be evil, probably with that same nasty attitude and blond hair . . ." Harry trailed off as the impact of what he had just said hit him. It was true; he would probably hate any child or relative of Draco Malfoy, even before he met them. Harry felt his ears turn red, and he ducked his head down, scrubbing hard enough to wear all the bristles off.

"That’s enough for now," Snape’s voice was low and calm. "Let’s go wash up and have some supper.

Harry dropped the toothbrush in the pail of filthy water and stood up. His back hurt from bending over, and his knees ached, and he knew Snape would make him swallow some more of that gross potion from last night. How much potion had he consumed since he came to Snapdragon Manor? Enough to last a lifetime.

Supper was good and hot, and Harry began eating ravenously though he slowed down before Snape could frown at him.

"When we go to Diagon Alley," Snape said casually, "we might as well collect your school books. That way we won’t have to go back, and you’ll have the rest of the summer to read up on your classes for the fall."

"Wonderful," Harry grumbled. "Year round school. People won’t be able to tell Hermione and me apart."

"Sixth year is very important," Snape insisted. "You’ll be thankful later that you gave it time and effort while everyone else fooled around."

Harry shrugged, seeing the logic in Snape’s argument, but refusing to admit it.

"Have you thought about what you might like to do with the rest of your life?" Snape asked casually as he started eating. "After you graduate from Hogwarts?"

Harry’s head shot up. "What – I mean, I’m supposed to fight Volde – you know, the prophecy?"

"Yes, but after that. Suppose you beat him, he’s done with, or suppose he doesn’t attack for thirty years. What are you going to do in the meantime?"

Harry had not thought about that before. "Oh, well, I thought I wanted to be an Auror."

Snape shook his head. "No, you’re not going to be an Auror."

Harry’s throat tightened, but he tried to keep his expression neutral. "Yes, I know you know I didn’t get high enough O.W.L.s to take N.E.W.T level training to be an Auror."

"No, not that, Potter. There are ways to get around the rules when it comes to N.E.W.T. levels. I’m talking about you – you don’t have the right personality and attitude to become an Auror."

Harry felt himself getting angry, but he tried to stay calm. "I do so! My parents were Aurors, and you’ve always said I was just like my father."

"In pride and arrogance, maybe," Snape countered. "You’re far too impatient and temperamental to be an Auror. Aurors stay undercover and quiet at their work – you go out in a fit of glory and power, fighting everything in your path with enough noise to wake the dead. You are successful, usually because you catch people unaware and you have the element of surprise to gain the upper hand. Working as an Auror means stealthy operations and undercover work, something you would hate in the first week. No, you’d loathe being an Auror after a while."

"What do you think I should do?" Harry asked, feeling deflated. "And don’t say nothing because I mess up everything I do. Be honest."

"I think you’d make a very good Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Snape took a sip of wine.

This was unexpected, and Harry could only stare, mouth open and eyes unbelieving.

"Is that so incredulous that you have to look at me like a trout?" Snape asked.

Harry closed his mouth. "No, but you think I’d be a good teacher? I don’t have enough patience to be an Auror, and you think I can put up with students and hanging out at Hogwarts forever?"

"Obviously, teaching is not as tedious as you make it out to be, or you would not have started teaching your own Defense Against the Dark Arts class when Umbridge proved incompetent."

"You knew about that?" Harry gulped.

"Please! All the teachers knew about your practices except Umbridge who knew nothing about the behavior of children. Believe me, I would have known if you had been practicing potions outside of class."

"But a teacher?" Harry said before Snape could start lecturing on studying more and playing less. "I don’t know if I’d make a good teacher."

"Why not? You got other students to listen to you, and you knew what you were talking about. Students can recognized incompetence in a teacher very quickly."

"I guess that’s why we don’t listen in your class," Harry said, rather snidely. It was too good an opportunity to pass up, and he was not surprised when Snape cuffed him on the back of the head, but it did not hurt as much as Harry had expected.

"Behave yourself," Snape ordered, "or you’ll be sitting uncomfortably in class all year."

"You can’t discipline a fellow teacher," Harry said loftily.

"Now, I never said I thought you should teach at Hogwarts," Snape objected. "There are other schools where you would do nicely and be at least a hundred miles from me and my potions store."

Harry mischievously smiled. "No, I think it would be fun to teach at Hogwarts. Just think, you and me, sitting together at meals, going to staff meetings, arguing over who gets the Quidditch field for practice. We would cross each other in the halls, I would nod and say, ‘Severus,’ and you would respond, ‘Harry,’ and then we would go our separate ways, knowing we would cross paths again, everyday, for the rest of our lives."

Snape looked like he had just swallowed a very vile potion. "On second thought, I think the Auror program is just the place for you. Or better yet, do your best to get killed in the war."

Harry could not help grinning as he finished his dinner. Yet his stomach flip-flopped uneasily as he thought about his future career. Was being an Auror really a bad choice for him? McGonagall had said she would help him, but had she only said that to tick Umbridge off? Should he be a teacher? Once Voldemort was defeated, it would make sense to keep teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts so no one else tried to become the next Dark Lord. He could imagine standing in front of the class, dressed in dark robes, and a first-year would raise her had and say tentatively, "Professor Potter, could you explain how Dementors behave again, please?"

"Before you drift off into a daydream where you are undoubtedly king of the universe," Snape dryly said, "I remind you that you still have lines to write tonight. I want half of them done tonight and the other half can wait until tomorrow night. Tomorrow, right after breakfast, we’re going to Diagon Alley.

-----

At eight o’clock sharp, Harry was lying on the sofa with a sore hand, staring up at the high domed ceiling while Snape worked over some papers. Harry was not tired, but he didn’t say anything for fear that Snape would make him take a sleeping potion. He still felt guilty when he thought about blowing up the potions lab. An uneasy sensation settled at the bottom of his stomach, and he tried to think of something else.

"Stop squirming, and go to sleep," Snape ordered.

"What happens at the Death Eater meetings?" Harry rolled onto his side so he could face Snape. "Is there a plan or do people just start getting hurt at random?"

"It’s none of your concern. Go to sleep."

"No, really," Harry insisted, pushing himself up on one elbow. "What happens? Is it just Death Eaters or are would-be, wanna-be Death Eaters allowed to visit? Is it like a club that you join, or is it like being in the Mafia?"

"I’m not telling you," Snape snapped.

"Why not?"

"Because it would scare you."

Harry huffed indignantly, but Snape shook his head. "No, Potter, I know you think you’ve seen a lot of violence and suffering in these last few years at Hogwarts, but that’s only a taste of what really happens around the Dark Lord. You are too young and too naive to handle knowledge about true evil. You’re nervous and jumpy about the prophecy as it is – if I were to tell the horrors that await you, you’d never sleep again, and then I’d never get a moment’s peace."

"But not knowing makes me even more worried," Harry objected. "I was scared at the first task during the Tri-Wizard Cup, but once I knew what I was fighting, I felt better and could prepare."

"You can argue all you like with me, but I’m not telling you," Snape was resolute.

Harry thought about pouting, but his thoughts drifted to other concerns. "Why can’t all the good wizards and witches get together and go to a Death Eater meeting and have it out?"

"Potter," Snape began to scoff, but Harry pressed forward.

"No, I’m serious. We all gang up and gear up, wands and weapons ready – you lead us to the meeting, catch Voldemort by surprise, and battle it out. Maybe I could hide ‘til the last minute, and then kill him before anyone sees me, and then it will all be over. Round up all the Death Eaters, send them to Azkaban, perform spells so no one can bring him back, and then it’s all over. A straight-forward attack, no sneaking around and spying, no worrying about when he’ll attack, just straight fighting. Come on, give a reason it wouldn’t work."

"Well, for one thing, the Dark Lord has put up sensors and other magic wards to alert him if anyone other than a Death Eater comes within three miles of him. For another, at our meetings he places special charms on himself so he cannot be harmed. These charms are entrenched in dark magic, and I would be dead before I could lift the first one."

"Oh," Harry felt a little foolish, "still, we should do something. We should have a defense."

"Potter," Snape sounded very tired, "what do you think the Order of the Phoenix is? A tea party to discuss books or some other nonsense? We are working very hard, and I know you want to do your bit, but for now your bit is going to sleep and letting me work since I am a member of the Phoenix."

"Suspicious member," Harry muttered, knowing he would be punished if he didn’t shut up soon. He tried one last time. "Are there going to be more Death Eater meetings while I’m here?"

Snape reached for his wand.

"I just meant," Harry said hastily, "I don’t want you to have to go to more of them. I wouldn’t know if something had happened to you, and I couldn’t get off the sofa, and Death Eaters could have swarmed the place, and I couldn’t move."

"You weren’t in any danger. At the smallest sign of trouble, my house elves have orders to take you to Dumbledore immediately. I’ve put up other wards so no one will know you’re here. As far as everyone is concerned, you are at your relatives’ house which no one really knows where it is."

"Ron found me in my second year," Harry argued. "He knew where I was staying."

"Mr. Weasley Sr. knew where you were staying," Snape corrected. "And he probably told his son inadvertently, which was not at all wise of the older Mr. Weasley."

"Can I write to Ron and Hermione?" Harry moved on to his next thought. "They’d like to know where I am. I won’t tell them where I am exactly, just that I’m safe. I hoped to see them sometime this summer. Hermione will know all about her subjects this fall, and she’s probably received perfect O.W.L.s as well. Ron will feel stupid because there’s no chance he scored as high as she did, though usually they don’t fight about school. It’s everything else they bicker about and shout and refuse to talk for days. I just want a quiet year for once so I can –"

Phtt! Without warning, Harry fell back on the pillow, eyes shutting and mouth closing. He began breathing deeply and rhythmically.

Snape drew back his wand, the smoke from a strong sleeping spell still lingering in the air. That should hold the brat for a while, long enough for Snape to get some work done.

-----

Harry tried to look cool and collected as he waited by the doorway for Snape get ready. Harry had been to Diagon Alley before, had lived there for several weeks before the start of his third year, but each time he felt excited about going there again. He loved the shops, especially the novelty ones with magic items he had never seen before. Fred and George’s joke shop was supposedly a big hit, and Harry hoped he might could sneak away to get a peek at it while Snape argued potions prices. Of course, knowing Snape, he would probably keep Harry at his side the entire time, stuck in some dark, cramped shop filled with bottles of stuff that made Harry want to gag.

And if Snape was really preoccupied, Harry planned to sneak off to some darker store and look for illegal timeturners. Yes, he knew he shouldn’t, and yes, he knew Snape would light into him if he found out, and Harry would be lucky to sit for the rest of the year, but he had a plan! Harry had a plan, and he was sticking to that plan, and Snape was not about to get in his way.

"Are you ready?" Snape swept into the room, holding a short walking staff and a ring of keys.

"Yes," Harry fastened the snake head clasp of his cloak, "I’ve been waiting on you for an age now."

"Don’t be cheeky with me, Potter," Snape warned. "We have a long day, and we’re not going to start out with any of your lip."

"But we can start off with your mean comments," Harry growled.

Snape gave him two raps on the head with his wand. "And there will be more to come if I hear any more from you."

"How are we getting to Diagon Alley?" Harry queried, resisting the urge to rub his head. He didn’t want to see Snape smirk again. "Can we fly?"

"No, too dangerous." They stepped outside, and Snape paused to lock the door with a key.

"Why don’t you just use your wand?" Harry blinked in the sunlight.

"Not all magic is done with a wand," Snape replied. "By locking this with this key, the manor can not be unlocked by anyone else but me holding this key. That way I don’t have to worry about coming home to a house full of dementors."

The image of Snapdragon Manor filled with floating, black dementors was eerie, even in the warm sunlight. Harry tried to shake it off. "So if not brooms, can we Apparate there?"

"Not off the property, you’re still underage," Snape put the large key ring in his pocket and pulled out a smaller ring with only two keys on it.

"All right, the train then," Harry was running out of guesses. They were walking around to the side of the house along a pebble path lined with short shrubs.

"No, we’re going the old-fashioned Muggle way."

"We’re walking? Are we that close to London?"

"No, we’re driving," Snape pointed to a black sedan up ahead.

Harry’s mouth dropped open. "We’re taking a car?"

"Yes, you’ve been in one before, I presume," Snape walked over to the driver’s side of the car.

"But it’s a car – a Muggle car," Harry protested. "You’re a wizard."

"That doesn’t mean I can’t take advantage of Muggle technology when I want to. It was easier and cheaper to rent this car than get a Portkey."

"Can I drive?" Harry asked. It would not be as much fun as flying on a broomstick, but he could still have some fun.

Snape gave a short laugh. "Oh, that infallible Potter humor. I had forgotten how amusing you could be. Passenger seat or the back?"

"Fine," Harry swung into the passenger seat and closed the door. Snape got into the driver seat. Harry pulled on his seat belt, and Snape did the same.

Snape was fumbling with the keys, and Harry shot him a worried look.

"You do know how to drive, right?"

"Yes, Potter, I know how to drive. I read the manual last night." Snape pushed a button and his window rolled down. "See? And here," he pushed another button and all the locks went down on the doors, "child proof locks. I’m the only who can unlock them. And you turn the wheel in the direction you want to go. Here, let’s go." Snape shoved the key into the ignition and turned the engine on.

I’m going to die was Harry’s only thought as he leaned back in his seat and gripped the arms tightly.

Harry wondered if he should say anything, maybe yell at Snape not to be a fool, to get out of the car while they were both still alive.

Snape put the car into gear – it was an automatic, and Harry could see the man’s foot on the brake petal, about to lift off. Harry had fleeting thought that he should be thankful the car was not a manual, but he wondered if a manual car would make for a cleaner, swifter death.

"Floo!" Harry yelled suddenly. "We could take the Floo network."

"Too risky," Snape said, foot still on the brake. "I’m not sure exactly what might happen to you if you tried the open one in my study, given your recent accident. Besides, with your luck, you’d come out of a different fireplace than me altogether. We’re driving, so try to sit still."

Snape lifted off the brake petal and slammed down on the gas. The car shot straight ahead, wheels skidded on the pavement. Snape seemed undisturbed, but Harry could barely breathe as they continued going faster and faster down the driveway. Up ahead was a turn. They were approaching it very fast, and Snape was not turning, and there was a huge tree straight in front of them. If Snape did not turn with the drive, the car would smash into the tree head-on.

The tree was coming closer, they were not turning. Harry found that he could not make a word of protest – his mouth went completely dry. He did the only thing he could at the moment: he squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the armrest as tight as he could. This was an odd way to die, a part of his brain thought. He had always supposed he would be killed by Voldemort or die of old age, one of the two. Barreling into a tree in a car driven by an arrogant wizard who had only read the manual a few hours ago – that had not been in his plans.

Any second now, they would collide. Any second . . .

But no crash came – no splintering of glass, no smashing of metal. Had it happened so quickly that he was already dead?

Harry opened one eye warily. They were past the bend in the road, still on the pavement, traveling at fair speed but nothing too dangerous. He glanced over – Snape was definitely smirking.

"Oh, dear, dear Potter," the potions master lamented, "so naïve and gullible. When you do meet the Dark Lord, he’ll probably tell you the war was all a joke, that he didn’t mean any of it, and you’ll believe him, at least long enough for him to kill you."

"What?" Harry demanded.

"Did you think I was so stupid as to drive a car for the first time with you as a passenger, going into London without knowing how to drive?"

"You’ve driven a car before?"

"Of course, I have. About fifteen years ago, right out of Hogwarts, but it’s not something you forget easily. I simply loved that face you made, all screwed up and pinched, your knuckles white as you held on for dear life. Quite amusing."

Harry scowled at him. "Ugly git," he muttered, his heart still pounding in his chest though he tried not to show it.

"Language, Mr. Potter," Snape said though he didn’t seem too annoyed. " But I’ll try not to scare you again."

"I wasn’t scared," Harry stated, removing his hands from the armrests and slouching back in the seat in what he hoped was a careless attitude. "I knew you wouldn’t kill me ‘cause then you’d have to answer to Dumbledore."

Snape gave the wheel a sudden turn that jerked the whole car, and Harry jumped.

"My apologies," Snape said smoothly. "I wouldn’t want to upset your delicate nerves."

"Ha-ha!" Harry retorted. He leaned back again and looked out the window at the green fields and trees on the side of the road. It was pleasantly warm inside the car, and had Harry felt tired, it would have been delightful to doze off in the sunlight from the windows. But he was wide awake, and for the next hour he amused himself by watching the wind play with the trees and staring at the side of the road which blurred as they drove by very fast.

"You’re very quiet," Snape observed as he turned the car onto a highway by a sign that said London, 27 miles. "Either you’re sulking, or you’re plotting some new mischief."

"I don’t plot anything," Harry said, coming out of his thoughts. "Things just happen to me, and I fight back, and then everyone blames me for looking for trouble."

"Liar," Snape said, looking straight ahead at the road.

"Hey!" Harry protested.

"You’re lying," Snape insisted. "You go looking for trouble, admit it!"

"Fine," Harry crossed his arms on top of his seatbelt. "You think you always know best, and you always have to be right so I’m not going to argue."

"Really, Potter," Snape shook his head in mock amazement. "That is the smartest thing you’ve said in five years."

It was an insult, but Harry found himself not caring that Snape was making jabs at him. "Thank you," Harry replied evenly. "Of course, I’m still waiting for you to make a single smart comment, but I have two more years of school so I’ll keep my fingers crossed."

The smack he got on the shoulder did not quite erase Harry’s own smirk, and Harry grinned even more when Snape did not have a jab ready to hurl back at him.

London was hustling and bustling with traffic and people walking, but Harry thought it was odd that they did not stop once at a stoplight or crosswalk. The light would be red up ahead, but by the time the car reached the light, it turned green. As they approached the street that the entrance to Diagon Alley was on, Harry did not see a single empty parking space. Yet, by the time they were at the entrance, there was a large parking space right at the front as if it were waiting for them.

"Is that legal?" Harry asked as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

"It’s not illegal," Snape replied, putting the car into park and turning off the engine. "Besides, the car’s bewitched to get us there as fast as it can."

Harry froze with his hand on the door handle. "What? It’s a magic car? Does the Ministry know?"

"Yes, I rented it from them," Snape replied as he got out of the car.

Harry hurried out, shutting the door behind him. "But I thought these things were illegal. Ron’s dad got in trouble our second year –"

"Mr. Weasley bewitched a car to fly and did not try to register it anywhere, but kept it at home for his own private use," Snape said sternly. "There’s a difference. Hurry up, I don’t have all day."

Harry stopped in his tracks. "Wait! What about how I look?"

Snape sighed and looked sorrowful. "I’m sorry, Potter, sooner or later I knew you would come to realize exactly how hideous you look, but that’s really more your parents’ fault than yours."

"No, not that," Harry growled. "I meant, won’t people recognize me in there? And won’t they want to know what I’m doing with you?"

"Look over there," Snape pointed to a darken window.

Harry stepped in front of it and gasped. "What did you do to me?"

The boy staring back at him did not look like Harry Potter. This boy had long hair that was a lighter brown, and his nose was longer and straighter, and his eyes had more blue in them than green. Harry whirled to face Snape who seemed amused.

"When did you change my looks? I don’t want to look like this!"

"Relax, Potter," Snape began walking again. "It’s a simple surface alteration charm that will wear off by the end of the day. I cast it when I rapped you over the head with my wand for your cheekiness."

"You could have told me, and no, I would not have argued with you," Harry added, rightly guessing what Snape might have said. "I understand that I can’t run around with you looking like myself. But I didn’t feel the changes. Why are these changes so subtle and the charm easy when Polyjuice Potion is so hard to make and hurts when you drink it?"

"Because Polyjuice Potion turns you into the person you’re copying, giving you their entire body and physical makeup. This charm just alters a few characteristics of your face. Were anyone to look at you carefully, they would think that you look more like Mr. Harry Potter than anyone else, but no one will be looking that closely at you. For now, your name is Henry, and if anyone asks, you’re my nephew who has come to visit me for the summer."

"Your nephew?" Harry grimaced. "I don’t want to be related to you."

"Furthermore," Snape continued as if he had not heard Harry, "you’re something of a troublemaker, and my dear sister is at her wits’ end to know what to do with you so she sent you to Uncle Snape for some discipline."

Harry rolled his eyes. By then they were at the entrance way, and Snape began pressing the bricks to let them through.

"Don’t wander off," Snape warned as the bricks swung away, and Diagon Alley stretched out before them. "Stay close, and if I call Henry, you better come running. Any trouble on your part, and I’ll find a spare closet somewhere to deal with you. Understand?"

"Yes, Uncle Snape," Harry said, rather snidely.

There were very few people in Diagon Alley; the street was practically empty. Harry wondered if it were too early in the day for people to be shopping, or if the recent news of Voldemort’s return had scared them all off. Harry headed towards Gringott’s automatically, dodging a cart that advertised fake flowers that made rainbows you could walk on. Come to a stream, don’t want to get your feet wet, place one flower on the ground beside the stream, and it would arc a rainbow over the stream that you could walk on to the other side. Harry wondered what Snape would say if he wanted to buy one; he’d probably tell Harry to jump over the stream when he came to it or look for a bridge. Knowing Snape, the man would also tell him to jump off the bridge when Harry reached it.

"Where are you going?" Snape grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him back.

"Huh?" Harry snapped out of his thoughts about rainbow arcs. "I’m going to the bank. You know, to get money to pay for the potions?"

Snape hesitated, then said, "Well, never mind the money for now. I wrote to several shops and told them that my young houseguest destroyed my potions store, and they told me that because I was such a frequently customer they would be willing to let me have the new ingredients for a very low cost. They won’t have everything I need though, so I will have to grow a few things in my garden which you will be tending for the rest of the summer."

Harry blinked, staring up at Snape. Did the man mean that he did not plan to take any of Harry’s money?

"Don’t look too grateful," Snape growled, walking towards a small shop on the corner. "I’m not doing it to be nice. I wasn’t about to spend your family’s fortune and then have you come beating on my door in a few years, whining about how you have no money. Stop dawdling, and come along!"

The first potions shop was dark and dim compared to the bright sunshine outside, and it took several seconds for Harry’s eyes to adjust. Once he could see properly, he wished he were blinded again. Not only were there jars and vial and glass containers of slimy, dark things on the numerous shelves, but there were also barrels of things not dead yet. Slithering, squirming, black things in one barrel, not snakes, not frogs, not worms, but a combination of all those things with round staring eyes. Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets, not wanting to touch anything.

Snape was already talking to the man behind the corner, a shrunken wizard with half his teeth missing and a crooked nose. "Yes," Snape said in a tired voice, "young Henry decided to play potions in my upstairs store and succeeded in destroying it. I could only salvage a handful of ingredients as I said in my letter."

The man behind the corner turned his ugly eyes on Harry. "I see," the man croaked. "I do hope Nephew Henry got his just rewards from his dear uncle for such naughtiness."

"Believe me, he did," Snape said dryly, and Harry tried not to blush. "Now, if I could have a look at the things you set aside for me?"

Both men went into the back, discussing potions. Harry took advantage of his chance and ran out of the shop; he figured he had about fifteen minutes before Snape knew he was gone. He turned onto the street and kept running as fast as he could until he reached the start of Knockturn Alley. The lane seemed to grow darker, the shops looked menacing and dangerous, and Harry felt a chill of apprehension run over him. Swallowing hard, he hurried to Borgin and Burkes, the shop he had accidentally flooed to the summer before his second year. The shop looked about the same, full of Dark Art objects, but Harry found that he didn’t feel so frighten as he had four years ago. Panting, he dashed up to the counter where Mr. Borgin sat, looking depressed.

"Excuse me," Harry said in a rush, "do you have any timeturners?"

"Timeturners?" the man glared at him. "No, we do not. The Ministry confiscated those years ago. And considering how careful they’re watching us these days, I’ll be lucky to keep open another month. Raids every few days, families selling off all their heirlooms to avoid suspicion, nobody’s buying."

"Yes," Harry interrupted, "it’s just terrible. What about an object called the Necklace of Timord? Ever heard of it?"

"Of course," Mr. Borgin looked at Harry warily. "What would you want with an item like that?"

"I made mistake a while back, and I need to fix it."

"What kind of mistake?"

Harry cast around for the best lie. "Er, I cheated on my girlfriend, and she broke up with me, and now I want her back so I’m going back in time to change what I did."

Mr. Borgin let out a short laugh. "Oh, you young blokes. Well, sorry, but I don’t have the Necklace of Timord. I do have a bracelet that would make the young lady in question forget what you did, or a ring that will make her tolerate you long enough to win her back."

"No, that’s all right," Harry stepped away from the counter. On a hunch, he turned back and asked, "You don’t happen to know where it might be, do you?"

"I sure do," Mr. Borgin answered. "At the present moment, it’s in the possession of Lucius Malfoy at Malfoy Manor."

Harry felt little tingles run up and down his spine. "Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes, but don’t get any ideas of taking it from Mr. Malfoy," Mr. Borgin advised. "He’ll kill you before you can get through the front door."

"Thanks," Harry said before racing towards the door. As he scrambled out of Knockturn Alley, he furiously thought over what he had just learned. The Necklace was right next door at Malfoy Manor. That was more than coincident – that was almost fate, destiny, what he was meant to do. All was not lost; he could correct his mistakes.

Snape was looking over dozens of ingredients when Harry sneaked back into the potions shop. Snape did not look up as he said to the man behind the corner, "All right, I’ll take them all. Put them in my car out front."

"Will do, sir," the man began packing up the ingredients.

"Let’s go, Henry," Snape motioned to Harry, and they both started for the door. Once outside, Snape grabbed Harry by the scruff of his neck in a tight pinch.

"Ow!" Harry said, but did not pull away.

"I thought I told you to stay near," Snape lectured. "I meant stay close to me, and not go running off down the street. Are you going to listen to me, or am I going to have to extend your punishment of not leaving my sight for another day?"

"No, sir, I’m sorry," Harry apologized. "I – I just wanted to see – uh, Fred and George’s new joke shop. I didn’t think you wanted to go in there . . ."

"And you would be right," Snape said shortly. The potions master drew out his wand and pointed it at Harry. "Turn out your pockets."

"What?" Harry had nothing in his pockets, but he did not understand the request.

"I’m not having you buy those sweets or whatever they make so I turn into a bird or a rat or something equally revolting. You’re not sneaking those candies into my house so turn out your pockets now."

Harry immediately pulled his pockets inside out. "See, nothing."

Snape did not look satisfied. Harry felt exasperated.

"Look, unless you’d like to strip search me right here, you have to believe I’m not going to start playing pranks on you. I’m not Fred or George, and I’m not twelve-years’ old, so trust me."

The frown did not leave Snape’s face, but he let go of Harry’s neck and began walking to the next store. "One more shop, and then we can stop for lunch. Then we’ll go looking for your schoolbooks. And if I turn into anything while you’re staying at Snapdragon Manor, you better be a hundred miles away when I turn back, or you won’t live to regret it."

-------

The back seat of the car was packed full of potion packages, books, and dried satchels of herbs by the time they both got in the car. Harry was stuffed from the supper Snape made him eat, a lot of food considering he had still felt full from lunch. Also, Harry was tired from standing so long – someone needed to put more chairs in those shops. Harry leaned back in his seat as Snape started the car.

"Do I have to start studying tomorrow?" Harry asked, trying not to sound whiny. "I want to have time to do other stuff."

"Like what?"

"I dunno. I want to fly on my broom and maybe send Ron and Hermione a letter. Oh, no!" Harry jerked up right, the seatbelt cutting into his shoulder. "Where’s Hedwig? I haven’t seen her all week. Last thing I knew, I sent her with a letter to the Burrow, and then I left. Did she go back to the Dursleys? They probably killed her by now."

"Relax," Snape said calmly. "Your owl is in the owlry in the tallest tower at Snapdragon Manor. Though she’s probably not pleased that you didn’t remember her until now."

"I’m sorry," Harry rebutted. "I was too busy catching fire and getting my rear whaled to think about my owl."

Snape just smirked, but Harry felt even worse for ignoring Hedwig. She would most likely start nipping his fingers and flap around his head pecking to punish him. Harry slumped in the seat; he couldn’t do anything right anymore.

Once out of the main part of the city, the sun was setting, and Harry was feeling very drowsy. As his eyes fluttered shut, he noticed that his reflection was back to his usual look: dark hair, short nose, green eyes.

"Next time you change my appearance, tell me," Harry muttered. There was no reply, only the hum of the engine.

------

It was past ten o’clock when Harry stumbled into Snape’s room and fumbled around for his pajamas before heading to the bathroom. Full meals, sleeping all the time, standing around – by the time Harry started Quidditch practice in the fall, he wouldn’t know how to stay on his broomstick. He could see himself rolling off the broom to take a nap on the grass.

Tomorrow, he would do something worth his while – there had to be a way to get into Malfoy Manor. A brilliant idea flashed over Harry, and he stopped brushing his teeth to look at himself in the mirror. He could make Polyjuice Potion to look like Draco. He was in a potions master’s house, all the right ingredients were at his finger tips, he could make it! But no, it would take over a month to brew, and where was he going to get a bit of Draco?

Well, then how about a charm like the one Snape used today? Just something temporary and easy, he only needed it to get inside Malfoy Manor and find that Necklace.

Harry rinsed his mouth out and dried his hands on a towel. He got into the makeshift bed on the sofa and continued to plot through his plan.

He could stake out Malfoy Manor for a few days first, figure out when no one would be there. Then he would go in – but what if they had house elves guarding the front door? Maybe his Invisibility Cloak . . . but no, he couldn’t go looking for that again. Snape was likely to chain Harry to a chair if he found his ward snooping around so soon after being put on restriction. But there had to be a way. Things were working out too much in his favor for it all to be coincidence. He just needed to think it out, work it out carefully . . .

Snape came in the room as the clock struck half past ten. He half-expected to have to chase his ward down to get him into bed, and Snape felt a moment’s surprise when he saw the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Plague him fast asleep. It was unnerving to watch the brat sleep – he looked so young and innocent, all he needed was to clutch a cuddly teddy bear, and Snape would be too repulsed by the picture of sweetness and naivete to ever look at the boy again.

At least, he was quiet. There was still a lot of summer to get through, and the brat was becoming far too accomplished at returning the vindictive comments that Snape flung at him. At this rate, the boy would go back to Hogwarts with enough smart quips to aggravate every teacher in the school.

With one last look to make sure Potter was asleep, Snape lowered the candles. There was no reason to risk waking him up again.

------

He just had to make it until four o’clock. That was time his punishment had started three days ago, and it would end at four that afternoon. He had done nothing to make Snape lengthen his punishment, and Harry sat very quietly in his seat, writing out lines he was supposed to have finished the night before. Though he hated to admit it, Snape had been pretty decent about everything lately. Harry had been so tired last night as he had swung out of the car, but he had expected Snape to order him to pull out a quill and parchment and get to writing. Instead, Snape had let him have a cup of hot chocolate before insisting he go on up to bed. So all Harry had to do was behave himself for the next six hours until four o’clock. Six hours – that was a lot of time to get into trouble.

Harry shifted on the hard chair, and his arm tipped the inkwell over, splattering ink all over his lines. Snape, who was reading though the mail, sighed.

"Potter –"

"Those count," Harry insisted. "You saw me write them. That was a hundred lines – I don’t want to write them again."

"If you wanted to do them at all, it wouldn’t be a punishment," Snape commented. "Get a new parchment, and write fifty more lines, and then you can start looking over your schoolbooks. I’ve written out a study schedule for you –"

Harry groaned loudly.

"And you’ll stick to it," Snape continued sternly.

"I don’t want to study," Harry grumbled. "I’m tired of studying. My punishment ends this afternoon, and I’ve done everything you’ve said, and I want to go flying."

Even Harry turned red at how whiny he sounded, and he knew Snape was thinking "cranky toddler." But Harry thought he had been very good, all things considered, and it wasn’t like he had wanted to live with Snape in the first place . . .

"All right," Snape growled, "if you’re going do nothing but annoy me, you can go flying this afternoon after an hour of weeding the garden. But there are going to be rules about where and when you can fly, and if you don’t follow them to the letter, I’m sawing that broomstick in half."

And Snape would do it, too – the snarky prat. But Harry knew that would make him think twice about doing anything that endangered the broomstick Sirius gave him. However, Harry realized, as he started on his lines again, that he would do anything to bring his godfather back. It should be Sirius sitting in the big armchair, reading over the mail. It should be Sirius criticizing him and telling him what to do. And should the need arise although Harry thought it probably wouldn’t, it should be Sirius punishing him, not an overgrown bat of a potions master with an overly-hard hand.

Harry felt renewed determination surge through him. He was going to save Sirius. And Snape would never know what hit him.

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.

Hermione’s letter was as Hermione-like as it could: honest, straightforward, and ringing with good intentions. She inquired after Harry’s health, was he enjoying his summer, and had he started on his schoolbooks yet? “Because, really, Harry, sixth year is one of the hardest, and you want to do your very best to prove yourself capable of Auror training which I know you’ll begin as soon as you leave Hogwarts. In my spare time, I’ve constructed a chart that we should study by in autumn. It’s very detailed, and if we follow it strenuously, it will add seven extra hours of studying a week so we can excel at our subjects. I’m thinking about trying to squeeze in another class or two.”

And so on she went for two pages. Harry folded her letter glumly, thinking about all the work they had to do for the next year. If Hermione knew he was staying at Snape, after her initial gasp of surprise, she would point out the advantage of staying with a professor and the enormous amount of learning Harry could accomplish if he would just put his mind to it. Hermione would think living with a professor was a dream come true, the very best thing that could happen to her over the summer break.

Ron’s letter started off complaining about the weather and grumbling about life at the Burrow without Fred and George. His letter was short, barely a whole page, but Harry could not help smiling as he read the messy handwriting. Good, ol’ Ron – ever complaining, moaning, and sulking, but always a loyal friend. Harry could picture Ron’s horrified expression when Harry told him about living with Snape. Ron would be the person to give the greatest sympathy, to understand Harry’s feelings about putting up with the nasty potions professor. At least, Harry sometimes felt that way. Lately, he was not hating Snape as much as before, though he did not like Snape anymore . . . well, it was all very confusing.

“Anything interesting from your two greatest fans?” Snape inquired as he poured Harry a cup of tea.

“They’re not my fans,” Harry retorted, taking the tea. “And they’re writing about their summers, not much happening though Hermione’s studying enough for ten people. How did they know I was here?”

“All the owl postings to your house are now being routed here,” Snape replied. “It’s part of the wards at your relatives’ house and the manor. Anything you send them will appear to have come from Privet Drive.”

Harry nodded absentmindedly. That sounded about right. He tucked both letters back into their envelopes. Snape was reading the paper, and he looked to be in a fairly descent mood so Harry ventured,

“My birthday’s in two weeks.”

“Yes, July 31st, is it not?” Snape replied though his gaze looked a bit suspicious.

“I’ll be sixteen, you know,” Harry tried to look very casual and bored as if it were not a big deal. “I was thinking maybe, you know, if you like, I could see Ron and Hermione sometime that day?”

“You want a birthday party?” Snape asked bluntly.

“You don’t have to look like that,” Harry put down his fork with a clink. “Most people do something for their birthdays, especially if they are underage. I don’t think I should have to defend wanting to see my friends on my birthday. Just because you’re too old to like birthdays –”

“There’s no need to get insulting,” Snape interrupted. “You jump to anger and offense quicker than anyone else I know. Not everything I say to you is a criticism. If you want to celebrate your birthday, I understand. You may invite Hermione and Ron over for the day, and I will arrange the necessary arrangements. However, if you don’t behave between now and then, I reserve the right to change my mind.”

“You expect me to be perfect for two weeks?” Harry protested. “I act just the way you want, or you don’t let them come? That’s blackmail.”

“No, that’s coercion,” Snape replied. “And to start, you can help me stock the potions lab with the supplies we bought yesterday.”

“You want me to help?” Harry looked up in surprise. “I thought after what happened, you’d never want me to look at potions again, much less touch them.”

“What happened was an accident, an avoidable accident, but I know you did not mean to blow up my store,” Snape said evenly.

“But you sp – punished me for it anyway,” Harry objected.

“I punished you for disobeying. Had I found out you went into the store without damaging anything, I would still have punished you.”

“Not as severely,” Harry muttered, but he thought it wise not to push the issue. “Can I write to Ron and Hermione? I promised that I would write, and I don’t want Ron to steal another flying car to come see how I’m doing.”

“I could not agree more,” Snape said dryly. “You may write to your friends, but under no condition may you tell them where you are. I don’t want the news getting out that you’re here, and waking up to find a hoard of Death Eater banging at my door.”

“And you don’t want to ruin your reputation as the evil potions master,” Harry added under his breath as he started eating his breakfast.

Snape heard, but only frowned. “You let me look over the letters before you send them. I promise I’ll keep whatever teenage woes you have a secret, as tragic and abysmal as they might seem.”

“I have real problems,” Harry insisted. “It’s more than just dumb things like acne and looking stupid in class. I have serious problems. Really, a prophecy hanging over my head, and people trying to kill me.”

“So you don’t worry about getting a girlfriend?” Snape gave his ward a searching look.

Harry squirmed, hating that he was turning pink. “Well, it’s not my biggest worry, but yes, sometimes I think about it. Everyone does so you can stop smirking.”

“Potter and his fight to find a true love – I can see the headlines. We’ll have auditions to find the right young lady to win our famous hero’s heart. I can see it all now, hopeful young ladies lined up as far as the eye can see.”

“Shut up,” Harry tried his best not turn even redder. He didn’t mind when his friends teased him about girls, but Snape’s knowing looks made him want to duck his head. The man seemed to know too much about what was going on inside Harry’s mind for Harry to feel comfortable. What if Snape found out about the awkward kiss with Cho? The git would never let him live it down.

“Whatever you’re thinking about must be interesting to have you turning as red as a tomato,” Snape observed. “If your thoughts are so shameful, I’d keep them to yourself, or you’ll find them in the newspaper again.”

“Can I send a letter to Hogwarts?” Harry blurted out, desperate to change the conversation.

“No,” Snape answered crisply. “Anything you want to say to Dumbledore, you can tell me, and I’ll pass the information on to him. He’s very busy, and I won’t have you wasting his time with complaining.”

“No, not him. There is a house elf working there, that I set free from the Malfoys. He’s in the kitchens, but I like to check up on him every so often. He’ll want to hear for me, so maybe I could sent him a note?”

“As long as I see it before you sent it,” Snape nodded. “And don’t get any ideas about setting my house elves free. I need them to keep the manor running, and I feel that I’m a very fair master.”

Harry ate in silence for a few minutes. Snape still seemed in a good mood. It won’t hurt to ask.

“If I help this morning, can I go flying this afternoon? I promise to stay inside the wards.”

------

Around two o’clock that afternoon, Harry carried his broomstick out onto the gravel walk and glanced up at the sky. It was overcast, but the sun was peeking through several clouds, and the wind was warm and strong. Perfect flying weather.

Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off. It had been several weeks since he had ridden a broomstick; in fact, he had not ridden one since before Sirius’s death. He kicked off the ground and soared towards the sky. He loved the feeling as the ground dropped from beneath him. He was flying higher and higher. Nothing matter on earth below – he was free to soar to the heavens, to go up and touch the clouds.

Once he was high enough, he flew over the treetops, skimming just over the high branches. The trees went on and on until Harry was sure that he had gone miles. Up ahead, the trees dropped off abruptly, and an open field stretched out, leading to an enormous manor. It was a dark, looming monster of a house with gothic arches and empty windows that gazed out menacingly. Harry slowed his broom down as he approached the edge of the trees. The property was very quiet, and he didn’t see anyone on the grounds.

Just as he reached the edge of the trees, he felt the barrier. It was a slight tingle that ran over him like an electric current, and a slight ringing filled his ears. Harry turned his broom around and immediately the tingling and ringing stopped. He slowly approached the barrier again, going a bit farther than before. The tingling became a definite buzz, and the ringing grew shrill.

Harry backed off entirely and began flying back to Snapdragon Manor. At least he knew where Malfoy Manor was and how to get to it. But there was no use breaking through the barrier until Harry was ready to go into the house. And for that, he was going to have to talk to Dobby.

The wind was blowing very hard as Harry flew back, but the sun felt hot on his face. It be would nice to take a dip in the lake. Snape had said the middle of the lake was about twenty feet deep. Harry wondered if it was filled with strange creature like the lake at Hogwarts. He still wasn’t quite sure how he felt about those merpeople just swimming around under the surface.

Later he could get started on the letters. He did want to write to Ron and Hermione and see if they could get together for his birthday. Of course, it would be just his luck to have Snape hovering over his birthday like a giant bat. Snape refusing to let anyone sing Happy Birthday – “Such a pointless activity,” Snape insisting that Harry return all his presents – “You don’t need any gifts, you’re spoilt enough already,” Snape taking away Harry’s piece of birthday cake – “No sugar for you, Potter, you’ll be bouncing off the walls.” And everyone would go home early, eager to get away from the man who ruined birthday parties.

------

Snape was arranging the last of his potions ingredients on the top shelf when he heard the alarm go off in his study. It was a low ringing, meaning the barrier had been tested. Snape ignored it; Potter probably knocked into accidentally. Then the alarm rang again, this time a loud clanging, like a two-year-old banging pots together. Snape set a bottle of embalmed troll toes on the shelf heavily and stalked to his study. The alarm had stopped by the time he got there, but that did not stop him from looking at the miniature layout of the property. At the end of the trees, next to the Malfoy property, a small yellow light was blinking. It wasn’t a red light; that would have meant Potter was off the property.

Snape angrily went to the window and pushed it open. He knew should have put up a stronger ward. Dumbledore had suggested the weak barrier, reminding Snape that Harry didn’t like to feel like a prisoner. If Snape had had his choice, he would have put up a barrier that would spit Harry into Snape’s office the minute the brat crossed it. And then Snape could deal with him right away.

A blur of color shot past the window, and Snape leaned in, barely missing getting hit. He watched as the ban of his existence flew towards the lake. With the wind blowing his hair up and the bright sunlight making his face glow, Potter looked exactly like his father. The same carelessness on a broomstick, the same easy flying and maneuvers, always looking like he was on top of the world when he did tricks. It would be a miracle if both Potter and the broomstick survived the summer.

And now the boy was trying to stand up on the wretched broomstick. Potter was standing up on the broomstick with his arms outstretched for balance. Blast him!

Snape Apparated outside, but he knew he was too late. Sure enough, the boy was leaning too far back. And then he felt off the broom.

He was falling, falling down faster and faster. And Snape knew he could never catch him in time.

But Potter did not seem concerned. He did flip in the air, and half a second later, he fell into the lake, sending a huge splash into the air. Snape did not have time to catch his breath before Harry’s head broke the surface, grinning and shaking water out of his eyes while he treaded in the lake.

Harry had obviously not seen Snape for he put his hand up and grabbed his broom, which was hovering over the surface of the water. Harry had swung back up on the broom and was preparing for another flight when Snape bellowed,

“Potter, get over here this instant.”

Slightly deflated, Harry flew to the garden and got off, trotting obediently to Snape’s side.

“What was that?” Snape demanded.

“What was what?” Harry tried to look innocent.

“You know very well what. Did I tell you that you could go swimming? Did I say you could do tricks into the water?”

“You didn’t say not to,” Harry retorted, feeling like a naughty little boy caught in the middle of mischief. “And I went to the middle where it was deep enough.”

“How did you know there wasn’t a sandbar under there, ready to break your neck?”

“I went in feet first.”

“Then break your legs! And you were testing the barrier near Malfoy Manor.”

“I didn’t break through it,” Harry protested, running a hand back through his hair and making it stand up straight.

“You stay away from Malfoy Manor,” Snape ordered. “You don’t want to know what goes on over there. Go to your room and change into dry clothes. And when you come back downstairs, bring a comb with you. I’m fixing your hair once and for all!”

------

“Ow!” Harry cried, pulling away. “You’re hurting me.”

“If you’d stay still, it wouldn’t hurt so much,” Snape returned.

“You’re scraping my scalp off,” Harry complained, wishing he could get off the hard, straight-back chair. “My hair is fine – just leave it alone.”

“I said stay still,” Snape frowned as he drew the comb through the raven head of hair.

“You made me get a haircut. It’s not my fault that it sticks up in every direction. Just leave it.”

Snape place his hand on top of Harry’s head and pushed the hair down. But as soon as he removed his hand, the hair stuck right back up. “Stop fighting me – you’re going down one way or another.”

“It’s my hair. Why don’t you worry about your own hair?”

“Because I have to look at yours,” Snape snapped, attacking Harry’s hair with the comb again. “The hero of the wizarding world should not strut around looking like he just rolled out of bed and didn’t bother brushing his hair.”

“Oh, come off it,” Harry crossed his arms, trying not wince as the teeth of the comb raked over his head again and again. “You just don’t want me to look like my dad. Not that I blame you, but I am his son so I should look like him a little – ooww!”

“If I can’t get it right, I’m shaving your head,” Snape threatened as if that would make Harry’s hair lie flat. “Or I’m going make a potion that makes your hair so flat you’ll think it’s glued to your head.”

“Lucky me,” Harry muttered. He wondered what would happen he tried to fix Snape’s hair or tried to shave it off. Probably more corner time. At least Snape hadn’t followed through with his threat to wash Harry’s mouth out with soap that morning.

Snape dipped the comb back in water and tried one last time to wet Harry’s hair down. Completely soaked, his hair would lay down for a few seconds, but then little clumps would stick up inquisitively as if they could not bear staying down and quiet.

“Your hair’s just like you,” Snape growled, highly displeased.

“My hair is me,” Harry argued. “But if it makes you happy, I’ll try and think obedient thoughts to see if that helps.”

“I’ll try again tonight,” Snape finally gave up for now. “Maybe if you sleep on it flat, it will stay down.”

Harry didn’t have the nerve to tell Snape that it was more likely he would be named Hogwarts’ most likable professor.

“Go ahead and write your letters,” Snape directed. “Then start reading the first chapter in your Transfiguration book. I plan to quiz you on the reading material by the end of the week. I’ll look over the letters at supper.”

Harry wrote Ron’s letter first. He talked about Quidditch plays and books he was reading and his hopes for next school – basically everything but what Harry really wanted to talk about: the fact that he was living with Snape. Maybe there would be a way to put the information in code, an anagram or something. No, knowing Ron, he wouldn’t catch on, and Snape was sure to and start railing about stupid Gryffindors that couldn’t follow simply instructions about writing letters.

Hermione’s letter was a little easier; Harry spoke mostly about books and studies. He wondered what would happen if he told her he decided that all bookwork and school was a waste of time. She would probably send him a Howler. He missed her – she would likely be able to memorize the first chapter of the Transfiguration book and not flinch at being quizzed by Snape.

As Harry signed her letter and picked up a new sheet to start Dobby’s, he winces at the thought of being quizzed about his studies by Snape. Harry did remember what he had read (when he took the time to read it), but he could never spit the words out fast enough to satisfy Snape. And the man’s dark looks and swooping movements did not help Harry think any better.

However, as long as Harry could answer quicker than Neville, he felt safe. Snape made Neville turn into a trembling, nervous lump of jelly, and Harry could see the fear in Neville’s eyes every time they went into potions class. Harry made a mental note to ask Snape about that later.

Picking up the pen, Harry considered what to write to Dobby. It would have to be something to alert the little house elf but at the same time not make Snape suspicious.

Dear Dobby,
I hope you are enjoying your summer at Hogwarts. I would like to see if you’ve made any new hats or helped Winky feel any better. I can hardly wait to come back to school. If you need me for anything, anything at all, please write to me. I enjoy hearing from you. If you need to contact me at all, please talk to Dumbledore. Good luck in the kitchens,
Harry Potter

It was quite possibly the worst letter ever written. Even Harry groaned as he read over it. But it would pass Snape’s inspection, and Dobby would talk to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore would hopefully tell Dobby where he was staying. Of course, Snape would be less than happy when he found out, but maybe Harry could tell Dobby to visit him in a hidden corner of the forest where Snape could not find them.

Fortunately, Snape did not say anything about the contents of the letters when he perused them at supper, though his eyebrows were raised most questionably. “I’ll sent these off this evening,” Snape promised. “Or if you’d like a trip to the owlry, you may do it.”

“I’ll go and see Hedwig,” Harry volunteered.

“If you change anything on the letters, I’ll know,” Snape warned.

“Does anything happen that you don’t know about?” Harry grumbled. He knew these side comments were going to get him in trouble sooner or later, but he just felt so much better after he said them. It was better than bottling it up and feeling like he was about to explode.

“Not much. No, Potter, eat those greens on your plate. You need to keep healthy.”

“I have to take vitamin potions and eat greens?” Harry stabbed a long green viciously. “You make me eat everything I hate.”

“Yes, Potter, how else could I ever amuse myself? And if I hear any more complaining from you, you’ll be eating only vegetables for the next three suppers.”

Harry ate the greens without further comment, though he shot Snape several deadly looks as he did it.

As the meal was winding down, and Snape was enjoying a glass on brady while Harry scrapped his pudding bowl clean, Harry asked, “What don’t you like Neville?”

Snape looked at him over the rim of his glass and took a sip before replying, “He’s even worse at potions than you are. And he doesn’t study. And he keeps blowing things up.”

“He’s nervous,” Harry pointed out. “You keep scaring him. If you were nicer, he wouldn’t make so many mistakes.”

“And if I didn’t monitor my class at all, we’d all get along splendidly,” Snape retorted.

“But Neville has a hard time of it,” Harry insisted “You know what happened to his parents, and he has to live with that awfully strict grandmother, and –”

“Yes, I know all about Neville,” Snape set his glass down sharply. “And I have to say that I’m disgusted that he would behave in such a cowardly way.”

“What?” Harry asked, stunned.

“He’s Alice Longbottom’s son! He should have much more gumption and fire in him than to skulk around corners, afraid of everyone.”

“His parents were tortured into insanity,” Harry protested. “They live on the fifth floor of Saint Mungo’s.”

“Any son of Alice Longbottom should act with more spirit and defiance,” Snape was adamant. “If you had known her before, if you had known the fire inside that woman – Lily may have been the beauty, but Alice was unquenchable. She was alive, radiating with life and vivacity. And then Bellatrix dared to –” Snape broke off, and when he spoke again, his voice was hard. “Go take your letters up to the owlry. And then go read in your room. I’ll be up later to make sure you’re in bed by ten-thirty.”

Snape got up and left the room, leaving Harry holding a spoon and an empty pudding bowl, thoroughly bewildered. What had just happened? What did it mean? Had there been something between Alice Longbottom and Snape? That was unthinkable, unimaginable, but then again, it would explain a lot.

Harry took the letters, but as he trudged up the stairs to the owlry, he wished he had the nerve to ask Snape to explain more. The man was so blasted private; he couldn’t stand people snooping around in his business. Not that Harry really blamed him, but it was awfully frustrating when Harry could never get a straight answer. Everyone had their on view on what happened in the past. Now, more than ever, Harry wished his parents were alive to tell him what to think. It would be so easy if they were there to say things like “Well, the way I see it” or “It’s seems to me” and so on. Children usually follow their parents’ thinking for the most part, and Harry would have greatly appreciated knowing what to think and therefore how to respond.

Hedwig had forgiven him; after one last reprimanding peck on the head, she settled down and let Harry pet her for a while. He loved the feel of her soft feathers against his hand and the way she stared at him with huge, glassy eyes as if she understood all his problems.

After giving the letters to three separate owls, Harry went back to his room to read for a while. He stretched out on the bed on his stomach, shoes waving idly in the air, and read until he heard the clock strike ten. Then he got up and went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. When he came out, Snape was waiting for him.

“My, my,” the potions master shook his head in mock wonder, “look who’s following a schedule so nicely. Are you simply being a good boy, or should I suspect that you’re up to something?”

“Very funny,” Harry said as he climbed into bed. It was actually nice climbing into bed at a reasonable time instead of staying up late to sneak downstairs to find food because he was so hungry. And now that he was on a schedule, Harry found himself quite tired by ten-thirty.

“How are you feeling?” Snape asked as he poured out a dose of the vitamin potion.

“All right,” Harry accepted the foul stuff with a grimace. “My arms hurt from lifting all those boxes and bottles for an hour, but I’ll be fine.”

“I meant emotionally though I know a goodnight’s sleep will help with your arms.”

“All right, too,” Harry lay back on his soft pillow. “I’m not the emotional crybaby that everyone thinks I am.”

“Indeed,” Snape turned down the lights. “Well, good night, then.”

“Night, Snape,” Harry rolled on his side, hugging his pillow close to his head. He was sleeping soundly when suddenly a loud pop jerked him awake. Sitting up, he lunged for his glasses to see what was going on.

Dobby was standing at the end of his bed, a worried look in the house elf’s big eyes.

Harry blinked uncertainly at the little house elf which was standing at the end of the bed with a most helpful expression. Harry turned up the lamp beside his bed, casting the room in a dull glow. "Dobby? You came . . . but I didn’t think it would be so soon. How did you get past the wards and know where I was and –"

"Harry Potter set Dobby free," Dobby hopped up on the edge of the bed, his pile of hats nearly sliding off his head. He straightened the hats and crept nearer to Harry. "Harry Potter freed, so Dobby can find Harry Potter wherever he is. Dobby received the letter, Harry Potter sounded worried and needing, and Dobby feels worried. Dobby is come to make Harry Potter feel better. But," the house elf glanced around the room curiously, "why is Harry Potter in Mr. Snape’s house?"

"You’ve been here before?" Harry pushed himself up on his pillow, wide-awake.

Dobby looked very solemn. "Yes, yes, Master – er, Mr. Malfoy once take Dobby to Snapdragon Manor. Mr. Snape not let Mr. Malfoy kick Dobby down the stairs."

"Well, I’m stuck with Snape all summer," Harry explained. "He’s my temporary guardian, or something like that. Dobby, you have to help me."

Dobby seemed confused. "Is Mr. Snape cruel to Harry Potter? Mr. Snape should be kind to Harry Potter. Mr. Snape has saved Harry Potter many times at school and Dobby is thinking that –"

"Yes, yes, Snape’s been all right," Harry hastened. "I want to know about Malfoy Manor."

A white pallor swept over the house elf’s face, and he adamantly shook his head. "No, Harry Potter has no reason to know about Malfoy Manor. Harry Potter must be happy at Snapdragon Manor for the summer, and never go to Malfoy Manor."

"But –" Harry hesitated. He thought he heard footsteps in the hall. "Dobby, quick, disappear! Don’t let anyone see you. I’ll send Snape away, but I need to talk to you, and he can’t know you’re here. It would be very – uncomfortable for me if he found out."

Dobby still looked confused, but he nodded, and with a snap of his gnarly fingers, he vanished. Just in time too, because the door opened, and Snape charged in. Harry was sitting up so he did not have time to lie down and pretend to be asleep. Besides the light was already lit.

"Someone broke through the wards," Snape said tightly, wand grasped tightly in one hand. "Who was it?"

Harry pressed his lips together, annoyed. He didn’t mind being asked, but it was the way Snape demanded that got on his nerves. Not "Oh, Potter, I heard someone or something breaking the wards, do you know anything about it?" Or even "The wards have broken, and I need to know if you saw or heard anything." No, Snape just automatically assumed that whenever something went wrong, it was Harry’s fault. No matter what happened, Potter was to blame.

"I don’t know anything about it," Harry answered coolly.

"Don’t lie to me," Snape snapped, taking a few steps towards the bed. "Whatever it was came into your room. All the alarms pointed here, and you will tell me right now."

"Search the room," Harry answered back with a wave of his hand around the room. "No one’s in here. Not my friends from school or my fan club."

"Potter, this is not a joke," Snape was very serious. "We could both be in danger. I need to know who it was, and I need to know now."

Harry knew he was being stubborn and childish, and he should tell Snape because this was Snape’s house, but still!

"I don’t know," Harry crossed his arms.

"Why is the light on?" Snape nodded towards the lamp.

"I couldn’t sleep. I was reading," Harry answered.

"I don’t see a book," Snape glanced around, his shrewd eyes missing nothing.

"I was about to go looking for a book," Harry avoided Snape’s gaze.

"Potter, this is your last chance to tell me who came in. Tell me now, and you won’t get into trouble."

"I don’t know anything about it," Harry insisted. Hopefully, he could talk to Dobby during the night and send him home before morning. Snape would never be the wiser, and Harry could plan his next move.

"Very well," Snape turned down the light and reluctantly headed towards the door.

Harry breathed a moment’s relief, having evaded disaster.

"Oh, and Potter," Snape turned back, his hand on the door handle, "if I find that you’ve been lying to me after I gave you four chances to tell the truth, I will take your trousers down and tan your hide with my ruler until you can’t sit down for two days. Good night."

Snape shut the door behind him ominously, and Harry swallowed. This was bad, very bad. Part of him wanted to run after Snape and confess the whole thing. If he told Snape, surely the man wouldn’t punish him, or at least not as harshly as he had threatened. But another part of Harry resisted coming clean. Snape was always going on about Gryffindor nobility and honor, sneering at their virtue. Let’s see how Snape liked the Slytherian side of the Boy-Who-Lived. Besides, you were only in trouble once you were caught, and Harry had no intention of getting caught.

He waited about ten minutes, just to be on the safe side, and then whispered, "Dobby, come back."

The house elf appeared, looking very worried. "Dobby was watching, and Dobby very worried. Harry Potter lie to Mr. Snape, and Mr. Snape promise to punish Harry Potter for lying. Dobby would like to help, but he can’t stop Mr. Snape, not if Mr. Snape is Harry Potter’s guardian."

Well, that was just wonderful. Dobby could ruin the Dursleys’ dinner party if he wanted to, but he couldn’t stop a wrathful potions master from spanking the hero of the wizarding world. Just wonderful.

"Dobby, I need you to tell me about Malfoy Manor," Harry said hastily. "Do they have a thing called the Necklace of Timord over there?"

"Yes, yes, but Dobby is not wanting to talk about Malfoy Manor," the house elf squeaked. "Dobby would be glad to talk about Hogwarts. Winky is doing much better, and Dumbledore thinks about Harry Potter, and the whole kitchens is planning new treats for the school year. A pudding as tall as Harry Potter himself, with dates and nuts and toffee sprinkled –"

"Where in the house is the Necklace?" Harry interrupted.

Dobby shook his head. "No, no, Dobby cannot say. Dobby never say anything about the house. Dobby bad to think about his owners . . ."

Suddenly, the house elf leapt off the bed and started running himself into the wall, banging his stubby nose and forehead over and over again. The hats flew in every directions, and he was squealing and making enough noise to bring Snape running back into the room.

"Stop!" Harry jumped out of bed and grabbed one of Dobby’s bony arms. He swung the house elf onto the bed and clamped a hand over his mouth. "Quiet down, or Snape will come and he’ll be angry. If you can’t tell me where the Necklace is hidden, can you tell me about the layout of the place? Like how the manor is shaped, and where the rooms are, and where they hide things that need to be hidden? Ron said they’ve done raids over there."

"Yes," Dobby wore a miserable expression, "horrible things they were. Master would be so angry, and Dobby would have to punish himself over and over again. Once Dobby had to –" the house elf broke off with a shudder and hid his large face in his hands. "No, no, no, Dobby not talk about Master or the family. Dobby must not, must not."

"Dobby, Lucius Malfoy is in prison," Harry reminded the elf. "He can’t hurt you from there."

"Master Malfoy has many friends," Dobby crouched behind the bed until Harry could see only his round, staring eyes. "Many friends who would hurt . . . kill Dobby for talking about Master. And Mistress is still at the manor with Young Master."

This was going to be harder than Harry had thought. Dobby would not willingly part with information, and Harry knew it would be a while before he could get anything from the skittish house elf. He would have to get Dobby to stay for a while and slowly coax the information out of him. "Dobby," Harry tried to sound casual, "I was wondering if you would like to stay here for a few days? You’d have to keep out of sight, and stay hidden, but I’d love some company. It gets lonely here – just Snape and me."

He felt awful for lying. After all the poor house elf had been through – but Harry was lonely, and it would be nice to have someone to talk to that didn’t yell or scold him every second of the day.

The house elf gave a grand bow. "Dobby would like to stay, but only for one day. Dobby thinks Harry Potter should tell Mr. Snape about Dobby staying here, but Dobby understands how Harry Potter feels. Dobby will keep quiet and stay hidden. Dobby will appear in morning because Harry Potter is needing sleep. Good night."

The house elf disappeared with a small pop, and Harry lay back on his pillows, listening to the quiet sounds of the wind outside and the occasional creaking of the manor. He would have to get the information from the house elf and then send him away before attempting a barrage on Malfoy Manor. Dobby would probably tell Snape before he would let Harry Potter go to the horror that was Malfoy Manor.

Harry tried to get comfortable on the bed. The mattress was soft, the covers warm, and the pillows gentle under his head, but his stomach was doing uneasy flipflops. In the last few days, he had done a lot of things that he shouldn’t. He didn’t count things like trying to read Snape’s thoughts or blowing up the potions store. He had already been punished for them, and in his mind at least, a punishment erased the crime for those keeping score. But then there was trying to find a way into Malfoy Manor, going into Borgin and Borkes, lying about where he had been in Diagon Alley, testing the barriers near Malfoy Manor while knowing full-well he would be breaking through sooner or later, getting Dobby to come to Snapdragon Manor, lying repeatedly about Dobby being there, planning to hide Dobby for the next day, and finally trying to trick Dobby into giving information about the Malfoys. That was a long list. If Snape found out about one of those things, Harry would be in trouble. If he knew about all of them . . .

Harry tried not to think about that. He was on a mission, a hunt to find what he needed and to make things right. His intentions were perfectly honest; so what if his means were a little shady? In the end, everyone would be grateful for what he did: Sirius would be back, the Diggorys would have their son, and Snape would not have to spend all summer with his enemy’s son who constantly kept misbehaving.

Nevertheless, Harry was finding it harder and harder to convince himself of the rightness of his actions. This time, he went over his well-meaning actions four times before his conscience would allow him to settle down for the night. He drifted into an uneasy sleep where he was trapped in a maze of Malfoy Manor, trying to find Dobby and running from Snape who was holding out his wand while a hundred rulers flapped overhead menacingly, ready to have a go at Harry.

-----

Snape did not mention the previous incident at breakfast, but the man’s indifference only made Harry more nervous. Five years of classes had taught Harry that Snape rarely miss an opportunity to remind Harry of his abysmal behavior, and when Snape said nothing as they started eating, Harry grew even more worried. He wanted to say something about it, but saying anything to remind Snape would make Harry look guilty, and how could he say anything without lying again? After all, let’s face it – the more lies he told the more likely Snape was to catch him. Yet, it was terrible to just sit there and eat in the raw silence.

"I would like you to stick to the schedule today," Snape commented in between bites of egg. "I know a few days you’ve wandered away from it, but today you might as well keep to it, seeing as how I will be absent for most of the day."

"Where are you going?" Harry immediately asked.

"I have a few matters I need to attend to," Snape reached for another piece of toast.

"No, really," Harry insisted. "Where are you going? Is it another Death Eater meeting? I thought those only happened at night."

"Potter, it is rude to ask someone where they are going more than once," Snape frowned at Harry’s lack of manners. "If I do not answer right away, it would be prudent for you to assume that I either cannot or will not tell you."

"If I announced that I was leaving for the day, you would demand to know where I was going," Harry pointed out. "Why is it so wrong for me to ask you?"

"I am the guardian, you are the ward. I am in charge, and your one job is to try and survive the summer as best you can. So far, you’ve annoyed me everyday and managed to be far more trouble than I ever thought possible. Eat your breakfast, and be quiet, or you’ll be weeding the garden again this afternoon."

Harry nearly retorted that weeding wasn’t on the schedule, but caught himself just in time. There was no reason to add talking back to his list of sins. He was surprised at himself for feeling the way he did; after all, he had lied and snuck around at Hogwarts all last year, dodging Umbridge’s every move. But she had been trying to back his life miserable and Snape was, too, but Harry felt guilty about lying to Snape whereas he had almost enjoyed lying to Umbridge.

"I won’t ask where you’re going," Harry assented, "but you’ll be back later, right? And it’s not a Death Eater meeting? Just tell me it’s not a Death Eater meeting."

"And if I don’t?" a hint of a smirk played around Snape’s lips.

"Then I’ll think about it all day, and you know what happens when I think too much . . .

The smirk almost turned into a smile, but Snape caught himself just in time and schooled his _expression into a glower. "If you’re trying to blackmail me, I’ll lock you in your room and you can think all you like. But just to put your mind at ease, it’s not a Death Eater meeting."

Harry did not believe him entirely. He wished Snape’s sleeves were a bit shorter so he might catch a glimpse of the Death Mark and see if it were glowing. But Harry could think of no excuse to grab Snape’s sleeve and pull it up, so he kept eating.

After breakfast, though he was supposed to be out briskly walking the gardens, Harry hung around the entrance room, waiting to see how Snape left. Harry toyed with his green cloak though it was too hot for a cloak, and he pretended to have trouble with the clasp. It was nearly nine o’clock when Snape strode towards the hall, a large, leather satchel in hand.

"Potter, what are you doing? Get outside and start walking. You need some exercise so you don’t get fidgety tonight."

"I couldn’t get the clasp open," Harry said, then winced inwardly. Yet another lie. At this rate, perhaps it was best not to count them. By the end of the summer, he would have the word Liar tattooed across his face, like Marietta Edgecombe had the word Sneak when she betrayed the DA.

"Nonsense, it’s too hot for a cloak. You’ll get heatstroke and be sick. Stay out of the sun – you’re too pale and you’ll burn."

"I am not pale," Harry hung up the cloak and followed Snape outside. "You make me sound like a milksop or some puny invalid. I’m fine – I fly and play Quidditch in case you didn’t know."

"Yet someone keeps ending up in the hospital wing and faints when he sees dementors."

"That’s not fair! You know what they do to me," Harry felt his cheeks turning red, and he wondered if they looked scarlet because he was so pale, according to Snape.

"Calm down. The whole school knows what they do to you. All that swooning and falling, another attention-seeking ploy by our famous hero."

"Says the nasty potions master who looks like a dementors." It was a weak comeback, and Harry wasn’t even sure what it meant, but he couldn’t let Snape think he had fainted just to get attention.

"Most interesting of all," Snape continued, fastening the buckles of the satchel, "was the fact that the boggart turned into a dementor for you. I was sure that it would become the Dark Lord. I never would have dremt it would be a dementor to scare our hero."

"What? After all those awful potions classes, you thought the boggart should turn into you?" Harry scoffed.

Snape’s eyes narrowed, and Harry knew he was thinking about the time Neville’s boggart turned into Snape and then was defeated by wearing his grandmother’s clothes.

Harry thought about the huge hat the boggart-Snape had worn, and he snickered before he could stop himself.

"Start walking, Potter, or I’ll throw you in the lake," Snape threatened. "And you better behave, or you find that dementors are the least of your worries. The house elves are only going to bother you if you do something dangerous or foolish, and I expect you to keep to your schedule."

"Yes, your majesty," Harry wanted to give a mock bow, but he contented himself with nodding his head towards Snape.

Snape looked every inch of the stern, foreboding guardian, and despite his sarcastic tone, Harry couldn’t help feel like a little boy under Snape’s unwavering gaze. Then there was a loud crack, and Snape disappeared. Harry glanced around, but he knew it was pointless. Snape had Disapparated, and he could be anywhere by now. Harry had hoped that the man might leave by broom or charmed car, so Harry would have an idea where or not Snape was going somewhere magical. But he knew Snape didn’t like flying much, and the charmed car had already been returned.

Well, Snape would just have to take care of himself. As long as he wasn’t at a Death Eater meeting, everything would be fine. But what if Voldemort had arranged a private meeting, just the two of them? That wouldn’t be a Death Eater, technically. Just the two of them so Voldemort could have a little practice time to perfect his torturing curses.

The warm sunlight suddenly felt cold and menacing, and Harry forced himself to walk towards the lake, away from the manor. Snape was an adult and could take care of himself. Harry tried not to remember how weak and haggard Snape had looked the another night as he dragged himself in, that horrible look in his eyes that spoke of pain and suffering.

"Dobby?" Harry called out softly. The house elf would distract him for now. "Dobby can you hear me?"

The bustles rustled, and Dobby stepped out, pulling leaves and twigs from his many hats. "Good morning, Harry Potter. Dobby see Harry Potter go outside, and Dobby follows, knowing Harry Potter would like company. Harry Potter is kind to be worried about Mr. Snape, but Harry Potter is kind to everyone."

"Not everyone," Harry sat on a large rock by the lake and picked up a few rocks. He flung them haphazardly into the water, watching the ripples as he said very casually, "I’m not very nice to my cousin sometimes, pretending to be about to hex him so he runs away. And I’m not nice to – er, Crabbe and Goyle. And I’m definitely not nice to Draco Malfoy."

Harry wanted to see how Dobby was taking the mention of his former Young Master, but Harry didn’t dare look at the house elf for fear of giving himself away. "Yeah, Draco and I aren’t friends, but sometimes I wish we were. I thought maybe this summer would be a good time to make it all right. Does he spend summers at home, or do they travel or something like the Weasleys did one summer?"

"They travel, yes," Dobby answered, his voice reluctant. "But with Mr. Malfoy in prison, Dobby is hearing that that Mistress and Young Master are staying at home. Mistress likes her friends, but she no goes to them anymore, Dobby hears."

"I bet Mrs. Malfoy likes to dress up a lot," Harry picked up a flat rock and flung it out. It skipped along the water three times, and Dobby cheered.

"Yes, yes, Harry Potter is good at rocks. Mistress – no, Mrs. Malfoy is always dressing up. Dobby burns her dress one evening, and –" the house elf trembled, hugging his arms to his small body.

"I bet she has a lot of jewelry," Harry bent down to look for another rock. "I have a few pictures of my mum, but she never wore a lot of jewelry."

"Mrs. Malfoy is wearing lots and lots!" Dobby threw up his arms in attempt to show just how much jewelry the woman had. "And when anyone asks, she makes Dobby go fetch to show all the jewelry. Gold, and diamonds, and rings, and pearls – and Dobby only wearing a ripped cloth while he holds up all the trays. Mistress is very proud of her things, very proud."

Harry opened his mouth to ask a question, then thought better of it. There was no reason to tip Dobby off just yet. Instead, he handed a flat rock to the house elf and motioned towards the water. "Go ahead, Dobby. Give it your best shot."

The house elf flung the rock towards the water, and it fell in with a loud splash. Harry grinned. "Nice try, but you want the rock to go on top."

------

Somehow Dobby stayed out of the way of Snape’s two house elves, and around three o’clock, he joined Harry in his room where Harry was supposed to be resting. Harry was still not sure what "resting" entailed. He was not tired, and he was much too old to take a nap. Snape said he needed a quiet time, but Harry did not think he was that loud the rest of the time and always made a point of banging his shoes on the floor as he went to "rest." Before, he just stretched out on his bed and read whatever book he had on hand. Surprisingly, Snape’s library had a wide assortment of books, and though Harry chose primarily books about time-travel, he found a few other good books to read as well. The red book up high that he had tried to reach days ago had vanished, but Harry searched through the shelves hoping to see it hiding somewhere else.

Today, however, he didn’t read, just sat on the edge of his bed and talked to Dobby. The house elf knew most of the secrets of Hogwarts, and Harry listened in amazement as Dobby related stories about students and professors alike. Apparently, Professor McGonagall, for all her strict looks, was a great lover of pink flowers and her quarters held more pictures of roses and tulips than Dobby had ever seen. Ernie MacMillan wrote long letters to his mother every week that were overly sappy, and Pavarti once had died her hair a horrid violet when trying to curl it.

Harry enjoyed the stories, and he could not help thinking that it would be great to return to school armed with knowledge about other people. He was so tired of everyone else knowing so much about his life. He hated when teachers or students pointed out something about him that was important, as if Harry were some specimen to be examined and studied in class.

Harry thought fleetingly of trying to get more information out of Dobby, but he doubted that the house elf could or would tell him anything else useful. The only think that might help further would be a map of Malfoy Manor, and Harry doubted that Dobby would sketch out a floor plan for him. Harry would have to find a way in himself.

Having run out of stories to tell, Dobby hopped up on the bed. "Harry Potter thinks Dobby’s stories are amusing, but Harry Potter has not seen any of Dobby’s other tricks."

"What kind of tricks?" Harry asked.

Dobby produced a handful of bright red balls out of thin air and began juggling them. Harry could hear the balls landing on Dobby’s bony hands, but Harry was sure no one could juggle six balls so fast. The balls were making a blurry red circle in the air, going faster and faster. Then a picture appeared in the circle of the circling balls: it was Harry flying on a broom. Harry watched fascinated as the picture-him flew around and around. It was like watching a movie suspended in mid-air.

Then Dobby dropped the balls. The balls hit the floor heavily, bouncing once or twice before rolling around. Harry started, jarred back to the present. He saw Dobby looking at something, and Harry glanced where the house elf was staring.

Then the world stopped. Time slowed, and the only thing moving was the loud pounding of Harry’s heart in his chest.

In the doorway stood a very cross-looking, very displeased, very stern Snape looking straight at Harry and Dobby.

Harry waited, wondering what the best course of action would be. Run for it? Try to distract Snape? Pretend to look surprised that Dobby was there? Act like Dobby had just arrived? Pretend like he (Harry) had gone crazy and did not know what was happening? Burst in tears and beg for mercy?

"Dobby," Snape looked down his long nose at the little house elf, "that is your name, correct?"

"Oh, yes," Dobby gave a low bow of homage, "Mr. Snape is very good to Dobby and very kind to take in Harry Potter for the summer. Dobby has seen Harry Potter’s other home, and Dobby is feeling that Mr. Snape has seen too and is very sorry for Harry Potter –"

"Yes, yes," Snape said quickly. "Tell me, Dobby, when did you arrive precisely?"

The house elf edged back a step or two. "Dobby arrives last night, sir. Very sorry, very sorry to barge right in, but Harry Potter is insisting that Mr. Snape not know. Dobby feels very bad, but Harry Potter is asking Dobby not to –"

"Dobby was just leaving," Harry hastily hushed the house elf. "He just stopped by to say hello, and now he’s going."

"But of course," Snape smiled coldly, sending little shivers up Harry’s spine. "I wouldn’t dream of refusing one of Mr. Potter’s fans. But seeing how you’ve been here since last night, perhaps you would like to return to Hogwarts now. As you have seen for yourself, Mr. Potter is quite well, content and comfortable. Well, for now at least. If you would come down to my study before you leave – I have a letter for the headmaster."

Snape swept out of the bedroom, and Dobby loped after him, eager to please. Harry trailed after both of them, not wanting to stay in his room and wait for Snape to return. The walk downstairs was ominously quiet, and Harry found himself hoping it would never end. There had to be someway to convince Snape that he was not at fault, that he had not lied, and that he deserved no punishment. Snape didn’t look too angry, but that made it even worse. Harry did not like a quietly-angry Snape who glares spoke louder than his cold voice. To avoid the man’s wrath, the trick was too look innocent and honest as if you had nothing to hide, a look that Harry was finding harder and harder to adopt.

"Ah, here we are," Snape stepped towards the desk and pulled out a sealed envelope. "If you’ll be so kind to deliver this. And should you ever feel compelled to visit my humble abode again, I would prefer for you to use the front door so I might be aware that I have a visitor."

"Yes, Mr. Snape," Dobby bowed again, his nose nearly touching the hard wood floor. "Mr. Snape is very kind to Dobby – Dobby has not forgotten how Mr. Snape stopped Master Malfoy from hurting him, no, Dobby is not forgetting. Dobby thinks Harry Potter is very lucky to be living with Mr. Snape –"

"Yes, perhaps Dobby would say goodbye now," Snape sounded a little annoyed, and Harry could tell that he was about to cross his arms, never a good sign.

"Bye, Dobby," Harry said, wishing he could get the house elf to stay for a little longer. If Dobby saw the kinds of punishment that Snape used to discipline his new ward – well, surely the house elf wouldn’t leave the boy who had saved him with such a tyrant. But Harry could see no way to do that, not with Snape standing right there.

"Goodbye, Harry Potter," the house elf beamed at him. Apparently, Dobby took Harry’s glum expression to be one of contentment and Snape’s stern look to be a fatherly expression of concern for his young charge. Clutching the envelope in one hand, Dobby smiled happily, then disappeared with a snap of his fingers.

Harry waited for the yelling to start. He held his breath, not wanting to make the smallest sign that would send Snape into a fit of anger. An alarm started ringing in the corner of the study, and Harry wanted to hiss at it to stay quiet and not provoke Snape further.

"I’m going to make sure the wards are up and solid," Snape said shortly. He pointed his wand at the alarm, and the ringing stopped. "You stay in here. And do not touch anything." Snape briefly glanced at another corner where sat something that looked like a smaller version of the Pensieve Snape kept in his office at school.

"Yeah, right," Harry muttered under his breath after Snape had stalked out the door. "Like I’m going to start snooping around that again. ‘I don’t want to live until the end of summer, so I guess I’ll just take another dive into his memories.’ Even I’m not that stupid."

Why would Snape need so many Pensieves? Dumbledore was always putting his thoughts in one, banking up memories to be used later. Harry supposed it was because Dumbledore had a lot to remember. Maybe Snape had a lot to forget.

Harry glanced back over to the Pensieve, remembering the shining colors that glistening around the thoughts. Maybe once you placed your thoughts in there, you no longer needed to think about them. If you had bad memories or painful ones or even embarrassing ones, perhaps once they were placed somewhere else, you could stop going over them again and again.

What Snape had endured at the hands of James that day – Harry was sure the potions master was eager to forget. It had been so cruel, picking on someone just because they were there and you didn’t like them. So selfish, and mean, and downright nasty. Harry wished he had his own Pensieve to tuck away the memory of seeing Snape’s memory. Maybe some things were better left untouched, even if you were wrong about what you thought was right and what had happened.

"So happy to see you following an order for once," Snape’s low, silky voice filled the room, and Harry barely managed not to jump with surprise. "I half-expected you to be inside my Pensieve, rummaging for another horrible memory to throw at me."

"I didn’t touch anything," Harry insisted.

"Good," Snape marched over to his desk and opened a drawer. "Your little friend has gone back to Hogwarts, and the wards are up, and my house elves are quite alarmed that an intruder has been here for nearly a day without them knowing. They offered to punish themselves quite severely, but I wouldn’t hear of it. It isn’t their fault."

"Dobby wasn’t going to hurt anyone," Harry shifted from foot to foot, not liking Snape’s tone. It promised nothing good.

"No, but that did not make them feel any better, nor did it help me feel secure about the wards," Snape glanced through the drawer. "I will have to make them tighter, starting this evening. But for now, I have other concerns to address." He pulled up a long, flat, thick ruler from the drawer. "Might as well get this over with – come for your punishment, Potter."

"What?" Harry’s eyes flew wide-open. "No! You aren’t serious. Nothing happened! It was just Dobby."

"This isn’t about Dobby," Snape walked around the desk and pulled an armless chair into the middle of the room. "I told you what the consequences of lying were last night after repeatedly asking you to tell me the truth. You refused, disobeyed me, and now you’ll pay the price for your willfulness." Snape sat down in the chair.

"No, can’t we talk about this?" Harry pleaded. He hated the way he was sounding like a little child, whining and begging to get out of a spanking, but the ruler looked so hard, and the way Snape was clenching it -!

"There is nothing to talk about. You defied me simply because you wanted to. Had you hidden someone to protect them, or been tricked into it, I would reconsider, but you had no reason to hide that creature other than to disobey me."

"I was lonely," Harry blurted out, trying another angle. "After being at school all year without everyone, and now just you – I was, you know . . ."

Snape shook his head. "Had you told me last night that you invited a house elf here because you missed your friends and wanted some company, I would have listened to you, and we might have reached an agreement. This is not about you being loneliness or missing your friends. This is about your lying, a bad habit of yours that I intend to break over the summer if it’s the last thing I do."

"You just assumed it was my fault," Harry said the next excuse that popped into his head. "You barged in last night and started blaming me. You didn’t even consider that I might not be to blame – you instantly thought I was guilty."

"Which you were," Snape replied calmly. "I understand that you don’t want me to think you’re always in the wrong, but again we could have talked about that last night after you told me the truth. The time for talking and making excuses is over. If you had even come to me this morning or told me at breakfast that the house elf was here, I would have understood. But you were caught, and now you want to squirm out of it. I know you’re used to adults escaping their promises to you or letting you get away with disobedience because they don’t want to bother with reprimanding you. I know their avoidance makes you feel cheated and ill-used, and I refuse to let you feel that way about my guardianship. I intend to keep my promises to you, which includes punishing you for lying. No need to thank me, just come here and show how appreciative you are that I keep my word."

Harry had no idea how Snape turned things around so quickly, but he was less inclined to obey than ever, regardless of Snape’s loyalty to his ward and his word. He racked his brain, trying to think of a good excuse for lying, anything that would let him escape his impending punishment. However, he could come up with nothing better than "I don’t want to be smacked with the ruler," and somehow he doubted that Snape would consider that a legitimate reason to be pardoned.

"Potter, come here," Snape’s voice was like ice. "If I have to tell you again, I will lengthen your punishment."

Harry fidgeted, nearly stomping his foot in frustration. "Already I won’t be able to sit for two days."

Snape’s expression softened the tiniest bit. "That was an exaggeration on my part. I won’t punish you anymore than you deserve. But I am serious about the lying ending. Come here."

It seemed like a mile between him and Snape, and Harry dragged his feet every step of the way, trying to slow down time as much as he could. If he had a timeturner with him, Harry would have used it to get as far away from Snape as possible. Why, oh, why was it him stuck with the potions master all summer? Why couldn’t it be Malfoy or one of the other Slytherians? Snape would enjoy their sly attitudes and sneaky dispositions. In fact, Snape would expect lying from them – it was practically a requirement to be in Slytherian. But when Harry from Gryffindor lied, oh, all hell broke loose!

"Other students lie at school," Harry was almost whining as he stood four paces from Snape. "You never spank them."

"That is different," Snape said his favorite phrase, the one Harry was beginning to hate. "At school, you can have detention and house points taken away. Besides, I am not anyone’s guardian at Hogwarts while here I’m yours."

"I wish I had never signed that stupid thing," Harry scowled.

"Moreover," Snape continued as if he had not spoken, "how would you know how I punish other students at school? You are not witness to my discipline, and I highly doubt anyone talks too much about their own punishments, especially members of my own house."

Before Harry had time to think about that, Snape reached out and grabbed his wrist, pulling Harry forward. Snape undid the button of Harry’s trousers, but Harry jerked back.

"You can do it, or I can, but they’re coming down," Snape promised.

Scowling and groaning and feeling awful in general, Harry unzipped his dark trousers and pulled them down to his knees, leaving him in dark boxers. He let Snape guide him over his knees, and Harry hoped it would all be over soon.

Then Snape pulled down his boxers.

"No!" Harry tried to get up, but Snape pushed a hard arm down on his back, "no, you didn’t say anything about my shorts. You can’t!"

"When I said trousers, I meant shorts as well," Snape growled. "And I consider them part of the punishment because you tried to stall and distract me. Now, I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I expect you to answer." Snape brought the ruler down sharply.

Being spanked bare hurt so much worse than with trousers to cushion the blows. Harry felt his eyes start to prickle after the first smack, and he had no idea how he was going to answer all the questions that Snape would ask.

"First off, are you going to lie to me anymore?" with smacks every few words.

"Ow! No, no lying," Harry promised, trying not to struggle.

"Are you going to disobey so blatantly again?"

"No, oww! Never!"

For the next ten minutes, Snape shot out questions, heavy-laden with whacks from the ruler. Harry answered back, fighting desperately against tears and sobs that rose up. He hated getting spanked, he hated having to answer questions this way, but most of all, he hated crying in front of Snape. If he could just take his punishment stoically, Harry knew he could endure the embarrassment of a spanking, but to cry like a baby –

"Do you think I like doing this?" Snape fired at him. "Do you think I like punishing you this way?"

"Yes!" Harry cried rebelliously.

"No, I do not," Snape shot back. "Believe it or not, I have better things to do this summer than paddle your behind, but I promised Dumbledore I would have you alive come autumn, and I fully intend to keep my promise."

"I wasn’t in any danger," Harry wondered how long he would have to stay over Snape’s lap, draped out in that awkward, humiliating position. "It was just Dobby."

"It’s the principle of the thing, Potter. I asked you if someone had broken through, and you looked at me, straight at me, and said no. You lied. I assumed then that something was wrong with the wards, or that something invisible and dangerous had broken through. Next time, what should I think? What if something dangerous does break through, and I ask you again? If you plead ignorant, should I assume that you are lying again? Should I try to force the truth from you, yell at you until you tell me what I want? If I always think you’re lying, what happens when you tell me the truth? If I can’t believe you or trust you, then you will always be in danger here."

Harry felt about two inches tall. His insides were writhing, and he felt torn to pieces. Snape delivered three horrible smacks, that made Harry yelp, and then the potions master put the ruler away. With a swish of his wand, Harry was put back on his feet, and his clothes were pulled up and fastened. Harry kept wiping his tears away and resisted the urge to rub his aching bottom. Snape must have an arm of iron to deliver such terrific wallops, never seeming to tire.

"Believe me, Potter," Snape threatened, still sitting, "if I ever find out that you have been lying to me again about anything, big or small, I will charm that ruler to whack at you for a whole afternoon until you can’t sit for longer than a second. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry sniffed.

"I know you and I have our differences, but we have to put them aside for this summer. I expect you to obey me because I plan to see you through the next two months whether you like it or not. This time was not a misunderstanding or an accident – it was willful and direct defiance. I am very, very disappointed in you."

Harry couldn’t help it – fresh tears sprung up, and the ache deepened in his chest. He didn’t understand why Snape’s words should hurt him so much, but they did, and he wished more than anything that he could tell Snape everything. About the Necklace and Malfoy Manor and Sirius and all of it. He wanted Snape to know, Snape needed to know, but Harry knew that Snape would never let him go through with the plan because Snape had hated Sirius . . .

"All right," Snape stood up and placed a heavy hand on the back of Harry’s neck, "upstairs with you. You’re going to bed for the rest of the day without supper."

It would have been a cruel punishment at the Dursleys where he ate so little, but after the huge meals at Snapdragon Manor, Harry seriously doubted that he would miss one meal. But to go to bed at five o’clock – he would never fall asleep.

However, as Snape marched him upstairs, Harry admitted to himself that his eyes hurt along with his backside, and he didn’t feel like doing anything else other than resting quietly.

Once in the bedroom, Snape transfigured Harry’s clothes into pajamas and pointed at the bed. As Harry crawled into it, he wondered what was going to happen once they were both back at school. He could just picture Snape calling him to the front of potions class and having him bend over his lap or sending him to bed early as a form of detentions. Absolutely awful.

"Stay in bed," Snape warned, "or the hairbrush will smack you until you do."

Alarmed, Harry glanced at the wood-back hairbrush that was resting quietly on the bedside table. He hated charmed objects that stood as a warning to obey Snape or else. It was just so demeaning, so utterly humiliating, so Snape-like a threat . . .

"Good night, Potter," Snape said crossly, turning to leave.

"No, wait," Harry called out, his voice still thick with tears.

When Snape turned back, ominously gazing at his troublesome ward, Harry looked away as he said, "I-I am sorry – about lying, you know. I didn’t mean to – I should have told you, but –"

Harry wanted to say more; he wanted protest that he didn’t like always feeling like he was in the wrong, he didn’t like people blaming him for everything. But Harry trailed off uncertainly, and Snape nodded.

"Yes, I’m sure you are sorry. Next time, it would be better if you were sorry before you got caught. Good night."

Alone in bed at a ridiculously early time, Harry stared at the far window. He couldn’t keep doing this – he had to stop. Tomorrow, he was going to get the Necklace – he would steal a few potions from Snape’s store that would change his appearance so he would not be easily recognized, and then he was going to Malfoy Manor. He would ask Mrs. Malfoy, and from what he had heard about and seen from Narcissa Malfoy, he knew he could trick her into showing him her jewels. A little flattery, and she would flounce her precious treasures in front of him. Once she brought out the Necklace, he would grab it and put it on before she could stop him.

It had to work, he had to succeed. Failure was not an option. Besides, it had to be destiny – what with Malfoy Manor being so close and the Necklace being there. That couldn’t be coincidence, not with everything falling into place. Even with Snape insisting on no more lying – that was really Fate telling Harry that he needed to move now so he would no longer be lying. Once he got everything right, everything back to the way it should be, then he could start telling the truth about everything. Harry could just picture Sirius’s face when he told his godfather what he had done. Sirius would laughed, a burst of laughter that sounded just like a bark.

------

At breakfast the next morning, Snape acted as if nothing had happened earlier. He was his usual dour self, all glowering looks and cold silence. The only difference was that he served Harry twice the normal amount of food he usually got at breakfast, as if to make up for the missed supper.

Harry, who was ready for action, did not want to eat. He picked at his food, afraid to put anything solid in his turning stomach, and he barely sipped at the foamy hot chocolate in a tall mug.

"Are you sick, or simply pouting?" Snape cut right to the point after he watched Harry nibble at a crust of toast.

"What? No, I’m fine. I-I was wondering if I could stay out a little longer this morning, and maybe fly on my broom?" Harry could not look at Snape for fear that he would give himself away.

"Though my better judgement says no," Snape frowned, "I suppose you could fly for a while. You haven’t flown for a few days, but no testing the barrier, understand?"

"Yes, sir." It wasn’t a lie. Harry was not planning to test the barrier; he was planning to break right through it.

"Well, eat a little more, and then you may go," Snape directed.

After forcing himself to swallow a few bites, Harry got up from the table. He had just reached the door, when he turned back impulsively. "Snape?"

"Yes?" Snape ground out, not bothering to correct the informal title.

"I just wanted to say –" Harry stopped, heart pounding furiously in his chest. "I just wanted to tell you –"

"Yes?" Snape prompted.

"Just wanted to say . . . thanks. You know, in case I don’t say it again."

Snape raised a skeptical eyebrow. He was about to question his ward further, looking very suspicious at such an odd statement. But he decided against it and simply waved a hand for Harry to go on.

Harry rushed down the hall and tried the doorknob to the potions store. It was unlocked, and he dashed in. He had helped stock the store so he knew exactly what he was looking for: a small, brown bottle tucked at the far back. It would disguise him for an hour, long enough to do what he had to do at Malfoy Manor.

Harry pushed the bottle into the pocket of his trousers and ran for the door. Snape had not left the dining room, and no alarm bells were ringing so Harry hoped he was safe. His broom was waiting outside, but a light rain was sprinkling as he dashed into the gardens. He kept going, not wanting to slow in case Snape called him back out of the rain. Harry swung onto his broom and flew as fast as he could.

The rain did not ease off – if anything, it turned into a drizzle that splattered onto his glasses. Harry wished he had brought a cloak. It had turned cold, and a cloak would help to hide his thin frame which he doubt the potion would change.

Up ahead the trees broke off, and the huge manor came into view. Harry flew down and got his broom. He carefully placed the Firebolt against a tree. He could feel the barrier buzzing as he uncorked the potions. He raised it to his lips and began swallowing quickly. The stuff did not taste good, but Harry was beyond carrying what it tasted like.

He threw the bottle into the woods and heard it break against a tree. He could feel his face changing. His nose grew flat, and he could see wisps of hair by his face turning lighter, almost blond. He wondered if his eyes had changed.

He took a deep breath and stared ahead at the looming mansion. He had to do this, there was no turning back now.

Harry exhaled heavily, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Then he stepped through the barrier.

Perhaps the best laid plans are those that are constructed at a moment’s notice – spurred into action without any debate or consideration, just acted upon instantaneously. At least, that was what Harry told himself as he stepped through the barrier. He clenched his eyes closed tight and clamped both hands over his ears as the infernal ringing became strong. It was growing louder and louder – everyone within five miles must be hearing it. He would go deaf, and he probably couldn’t get through anyway so why even try –

And then he stepped past the barrier. The ringing stopped so suddenly that he feared he had lost his hearing completely. But after a few breathless seconds, Harry heard the wind blowing through the trees and the twitter of birds. Which seemed quite out of place – Malfoy Manor should not have birds. Or at least not happy, little birds. Silent, foreboding vultures should be sulking in the branches with gleaming eyes and sharp beaks.

The walk towards the manor seemed oddly anti-climatic. Had ominous music been playing in the background or lightening and thunder crashing around the house, Harry would have felt better. He half-expected to find himself cursed after breaking the wards, or transported back to Snape’s office for another long, painful lecture. As it was, he felt only normal and ordinary as he made his way closer to the huge mansion. Now, the house itself did look menacing and evil, so Harry felt somewhat relieved. It would not do to find out that Draco lived in a normal house like a Muggle.

Once he reached the stairs that led to the front door, Harry did hesitate for a moment. What if the house was cursed or something equally unpleasant? Snape’s house had a fireplace that hurt even Voldemort. What might Malfoy Manor have in its twisting interior? A swinging axe to decapitate unwanted visitors who walked in aware? A trapdoor to drop enemies into a dungeon full of hungry basilisks? A vat of poison to pour from above and burn the flesh right off poor victims underneath?

A tendril of fear crept up his spine, and Harry felt a little better when the manor seemed more menacing than it had a few moments ago. He cautiously put one foot on the stairs. Nothing happened. Another step, and another – nothing was happening.

Then a rustle in the bushes sounded behind him.

Harry whirled around, his whole body tensed and the hair standing up on the back of his neck. Something was in the bushes, it was shaking, he could hear it. His heart was beating so fast he could barely breath.

The bush stopped rustling as a small brown bird hopped out onto the stairs. Harry felt relief and frustration at his own stupidity rush over him. He had half a mind to throw stones at the tiny bird for scaring him so bad. Rolling his eyes and hoping his heartbeat would soon slow, Harry turned to the front door. As his adrenaline receded, Harry felt a new calm wash over him. This was Fate – he was ready to meet his destiny.

He raised the knocker, a huge iron casting of a dragon’s head with the mouth wide open to devour him, and knocked twice on the oak door. Harry heard the knocking echo on the other side of the door, and he knew that someone must have heard him. If no one came to the door, he would know that the manor was empty. Then he would have to climb through the windows, but surely wouldn’t the Malfoys have alarms and jinxes to keep intruders out? Muggles had those loud alarms, which sometimes shattered the stillness of Privet Drive. Harry doubted that a Wizarding family would leave their house vulnerable to attack, and this was the Malfoys, after all.

Then there was a loud scraping of a lock, and the door began to open. The hinges creaked, not like they needed to be oiled, but as if they had been encrusted with years of evil.

A house elf stood on the other side, a worried look on its knobby face.

"Hi," Harry said quickly before the house elf could respond. "I’m – I’m here to see Mrs. Malfoy if she’s in. I need to ask her something, er – important. I don’t think she knows I’m coming, but I think she will see me. I need to see her, you see, because it’s important," his mind was screaming at him to shut up, but his mouth refused to stop babbling. Harry was grateful when the house elf interrupted.

"Who is calling on the Mistress, please?"

"Henry – uh, Snape," Harry said. That was the first name that leapt to mind after Neville’s. Neville’s name had been the one Harry had used to get on the Knightbus, but he had a feeling that Narcissa Malfoy would know all about the Longbottoms, considering it was her sister who put Alice and Frank in St. Mungo’s for life.

"Who is it, Mugsy?" a haughty female voice called from inside the house. "I said no visitors for the morning. They should know when my calling hours are."

"Mugsy is very sorry," the house elf looked torn between Harry and his mistress. "Henry Snape has called and insisted on seeing the Mrs. Malfoy. Mugsy would have said no, but -"

"Oh, shut up," Narcissa strode into the entrance hall. She was dressed in a long gown of shimmering black that gave her pale face a haunted look. Her blond hair was piled up on her head like a crown of gold. Her face looked cruel, but also tragic as if she was suffering but refused comforted and wanted to hurt others to relieve her own pain. "Henry Snape, you say?"

"Yes, Mistress," Mugsy bobbed his head. "That is who –"

"Go stick pins into your arm for disturbing my morning rest," Narcissa ordered coldly.

The house elf turned around miserably, but Harry stepped forward.

"Please, Mrs. Malfoy, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have barged in here. Don’t bother the house elf."

Narcissa arched her perfect eyebrows. "Oh, my. You’re one of those creature sympathizers. How very unfortunate. My family, my husband especially, does not take kindly to strangers interfering with our property. But because you’re our guest – Mugsy, prepare some tea for our guest and leave off your punishment for now."

The house elf looked very grateful as he scampered off, and Harry hoped Mugsy wouldn’t get in anymore trouble after he left.

"So, you’re Henry Snape, are you?" Narcissa looked him over.

"Yes, Snape’s my uncle," Harry said before he could stop himself.

"Funny, I didn’t think Severus had any siblings," Narcissa led the way into a parlor decorated in dark tones. She motioned Harry to a sofa that looked like it was made of dragon skin, and she sat on a large armchair with real wolf claws for legs.

"Is Draco here?" Harry asked in a rush.

"No," Narcissa brushed invisible lint off her expensive dress. "He’s not. He refused to stay here and so, he went to visit some family or friends for a few weeks. Were Lucius here, Draco would have stayed. His father demands most of his time in the summer, and Draco never says no. They went all over the world last time, Lucius showing Draco everything. They brought me back five chests full of treasures, priceless they said. Of course, I had to stay here and keep the house along with answering all our correspondence. I wouldn’t dare leave those house elves for longer than a week – they would burn the place to the ground without my supervision."

Despite her lofty look and careless words, Harry suddenly had the feeling that Narcissa Malfoy was very lonely.

"And Draco’s not a child anymore," Narcissa continued, touching her hair to ensure that it was all in place. "He’s sixteen and about to start his sixth year and doesn’t need me fussing over him like a baby. He’s always been independent, relying most on Lucius as he should. Sons should follow their fathers, I’ve always said, and not worry about theirs mothers. Mothers become burdens to their sons if they fawn too much, and I know Draco would like to think he doesn’t need me anymore."

Yet, Harry had a suspicion that Narcissa would like Draco to need her. Had Narcissa, the fair beauty with all her grace and poise, become nothing more than a trophy wife for the notorious Death Eater? Had she become so lonely she wanted to talk to a strange boy all morning just to have someone to talk to?

"And Lucius won’t be there forever," Narcissa assured Harry, oblivious to his thoughts. "He has far too much influence in the Wizarding world to rot in Azkaban. It was all an enormous mistake made by the Ministry. They were so embarrassed that their precious headquarters had been broken into after they claimed it was impossible – well, they had to make an example out of someone. And because Lucius is such a prominent leader in the community, I know they thought his imprisonment would be a lesson to everyone else."

"Didn’t he attack a group of student?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice normal. "Didn’t someone die that night?"

A blush stole into Narcissa’s cheeks, but she raised her head high. "Oh, some escaped criminal. That Black idiot who the Ministry has been chasing for two years. Though why he had to die and not that brat Potter, I don’t know. Draco’s told me all about him at school – arrogant, rude, always getting his way with his teachers. Lucius says once he’s dead, we can live in peace and prosperity again. Draco wants to be part of the plan, but Lucius says the Dark Lord has to be the one to do it. I wish someone would do something so Lucius could come home again. I’ve asked Severus if he could do anything, but Severus refuses to get involved with the Ministry. His role is far bigger, he says, considering he’s going to be the one to – oh, here’s the tea."

Harry wanted to ask what Snape was going to do, to demand the Narcissa tell him, but he thought that would make her suspicious. She was talking far more than he had expected as if she had longed to talk to anyone.

"Now," Narcissa said after she had served them both a cup of tea and some scones along with buttery crumpets, "what can I do for you, Mr. Snape? Dear me, with that light hair, you don’t look anything like your uncle. You have his coloring though, and his mouth."

Harry hoped that was the effects of the potion he had taken.

"You’re thin like he is though I doubt you’ll be as tall. Is that a scar on your forehead?"

"Er – Quidditch accident," Harry stammered.

"Dangerous sport," Narcissa took a sip of tea. "But Draco had to play in his second year. I told Lucius he was too young, but he wanted his son to play if James Potter’s son was going to play. So new brooms for the whole team. I thought Draco should try out to see if he liked the sport, but Lucius said the brooms would guarantee him a place."

Harry focused on eating a scone. He feared he would give himself away if he made any comment about Draco on the Slytherin team. For all her constant talking, Harry doubted that Narcissa was a stupid woman.

"I knew Severus was hosting a relative in his house this summer. I called the other day, but he said the boy was ill in bed. You don’t look ill."

"Oh, uh, slight cold," Harry tried not to squirm under her penetrating gaze.

"He also said you were his distant cousin, not a direct nephew."

"I’m – I’m illegitimate and a half-blood," Harry said the first thing that came to his mind. Surely a wizard wouldn’t want to talk about a nephew with those characteristics.

"Oh?" a malicious gleam lit up her eyes. "That explains it. If Lucius were here, he wouldn’t let you in the door. But I’m much more freeing thinking than all that old-fashioned nonsense. Of course, I never expected Severus to take in any child for any length of time. I don’t know why he chose to be a teacher – he does not have the patience or tolerance for children. Once years ago, he came to visit Lucius, and Draco annoyed him, trying to hex Severus with a magical toy or some nonsense. Severus turned my boy over his knee and hit him until my baby cried."

"Really?" Harry wanted to grin, but he forced the corners of his mouth down. He loved the image that brought to mind, Draco squalling while Snape firmly spanked him until Draco begged for mercy. Absolutely wonderful.

"I was horrified, but Lucius just laughed it off. Draco never bothered our guests again so I suppose Severus knew what he was doing though at the time I wanted to curse him into an eternity of pain. Draco listens to him at school, says he’s far better than that old hag Minerva. Now," Narcissa set her cup aside, "enough about Draco. Why did you come to see me?"

"Uh, uh, Uncle Snape said you had – had treasures," Harry stumbled. His mouth was dry, and he put the rest of the scone back on his plate. "Like the ones your husband brought back from his travels. I – er, have a – I mean, am taking a class, on magical artifacts this year. I have to write a paper about magical treasure."

"And Severus said I would be the person to talk to?" a hint of a smile played around her mouth, and for a moment she did not look as cruel.

"Yes, but he doesn’t know I’m here," Harry assured her. "He said I shouldn’t bother you, but I heard you have the best collection."

"But of course. I am married to a Malfoy, one of the oldest Pure Blood families."

"Do you, maybe, have a piece called the Necklace of Timord?" Harry tried not to look too eager. "I’ve read about it, but I think it’s just a myth . . ."

"Mugsy," Narcissa called. When the house elf appeared, she ordered, "Bring down the Necklace of Timord from my fifth jewelry box. Be very careful, or it will be your fingers burnt off."

Two minutes later, Mugsy came back, carrying a velvet-covered shelf that boasted a necklace of finest gold. In the middle of the Necklace was a dragon’s claw made of gold that clutched a ruby the size of a Snitch. The blood red gem caught the light, and for a moment, Harry thought the Necklace was alive.

"Beautiful, isn’t it?" Narcissa spoke in a hushed tone. "You wouldn’t believe what my husband had to do to get it. He gave it to me for our tenth anniversary. I’ve had offers for it many a time – one Death Eater even offered me his firstborn child. I said no, nothing is worth this jewel."

It was there, just beyond his reach. Harry swallowed, beads of sweat on his forehead. "Can – can I touch it?"

Narcissa picked it up, handling it like a heavy snake. "Be very, very careful. Snape would have to sell Snapdragon Manor to pay to repair it if you drop it."

The Necklace was cold and hard in Harry’s fingers. He took it from Narcissa’s hand and gently placed it over his head. He could feel the magic coursing through the Necklace. The ruby almost had a heartbeat, throbbing against his chest.

He stepped back and shouted, "Hogwarts, fourteen months ago!"

He waited for Malfoy Manor to fade away, to find time rushing around, to see Hogwarts spinning into focus. But nothing happened. He stood where he was, the heavy Necklace around his neck.

Narcissa shook her head. "Naughty, naughty boy. Did you really think you could go back in time with just putting on the Necklace?" She pulled a wand out of her dress and gave it a flick. The Necklace soared off Harry and returned to lie on the velvet shelf.

Harry stared, not knowing what to do. What had gone wrong?

"You can’t time travel with just wearing the Necklace," Narcissa said in a scolding voice. "You have to have your name on the papers, giving you sole ownership. Otherwise, anyone could break in and steal it. It can’t even be in your family’s name. Draco once tried to go back in time to stop himself from breaking a very valuable heirloom. The papers list both Lucius and me as the owners. Besides, the Ministry insisted that we register it. Something about Lucius not to be trusted with jumping around in time. So anytime we use it, the Ministry knows where and when we are. I cannot believe you tried to steal it."

"Oh, oh, that was just a joke," Harry forced his mouth into a sheepish grin to hide his terrible disappointment. His stomach had sunken so low he was sure it was in his shoes, but he had to make some sort of pretense. "I knew I couldn’t – I just wanted to see your face. Er, uh, Uncle Snape says you’re – you’re pretty when you look surprised."

He expected Narcissa to see right through his lies, but he had flattered her, and her vanity flared up as she laughed. "Oh, dear Severus. He would say something like that. With that sneer of his, pretending he’s irritated with the whole world when really he’s scared someone might get too close. Oh, we shall have a laugh when he gets here."

"What?" Harry’s felt fear race like fire through his body. "He’s – he’s coming here?"

"Yes, naturally. When you told me who you were, I motioned for Mugsy to send a message to your uncle. He should be here any moment. I wager he didn’t give you permission to leave his property." Narcissa smiled slyly, and Harry thought she really was the cruelest woman in the entire universe. Mean, sadistic, wanting others to suffer – what a horrible woman!

"Is Henry scared of his uncle?" she asked, her voice almost taunting. "No need to answer that – your stricken expression says it all."

A loud noise suddenly boomed through the manor. A skipped heartbeat later, Harry realized that it was the front door knocker.

"Please, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry croaked, hating how weak his voice sounded, "please don’t tell him I was here. Let me go out the back."

"Absolutely not," Narcissa started towards the door. "I wouldn’t dream of hiding anything from your uncle. I have feeling he’s very particular about his nephew’s whereabouts, and I wouldn’t want to cause him any trouble by hiding you from him. No, no, not at all. Mugsy, show in my benevolent neighbor."

The creaking of the door sounded ten times as foreboding as it swung back to reveal a very angry-looking Snape. The man was in his usual black robes, but to Harry he looked ten feet tall with dark wrath clothing his body.

"Mrs. Malfoy," Snape said in a low growl, not taking his eyes off Harry.

Harry edged backwards, wishing he could hide behind Narcissa.

"Severus, we’ve been neighbors for years," Narcissa beckoned him inside though Snape did not move. "No need for formalities here. Especially when something of yours happens to wander over this way."

"Yes, I see that my guest has intruded upon you. I’m here to collect him and take him home."

What would happen when they reached home hung in the air, and Harry gulped nervously. "Uncle S-snape," he faltered, "I didn’t mean – I just –"

"He came to pay me a visit," Narcissa smirked. She was enjoying the whole thing far too much in Harry’s opinion. "He had tea with me, then said he wanted to see a necklace of mine. Can you imagine which one, Severus?"

"I cannot," Snape said darkly. He was flexing his fingers as if preparing them better for the punishment he would give his unfortunate houseguest.

"The Necklace of Timord," Narcissa said, all smiles and happy looks. "Can you believe he tried to steal it? Put it around his neck, and tried to go back in time."

Snape’s fury grew a little stronger, and Harry wondered if soon he would explode, blowing the whole house up with his wrath.

"He should be thankful Lucius isn’t here," Narcissa prattled on, relishing Harry’s distressed expression. "Lucius would beat him half to death for daring to touch my things, much less steal them."

"Well, I will have to see if I can’t fill Lucius’s shoes in this matter," Snape was speaking in a very hushed voice, but he might as well be shouting considering terror that coursed through Harry.

"Don’t hurt him too much," Narcissa began to walk towards the door. Snape had not stepped past the threshold, and Harry made himself walk ever so reluctantly towards his furious guardian.

"He’s provided a most amusing morning." Narcissa affectionately smiled at Harry. "I see why you let him stay – you would never be bored with him around. Well, I’ll leave you to take care of your dearest nephew. Do stop by again, Severus, and you as well, Henry."

Harry mumbled something before moving out the door. The doorway was wide enough for him to walk by without touching Snape, but Harry had barely stepped through when Snape landed a heavy hand on the back of his neck and whirled him around. "Give Mrs. Malfoy a proper goodbye," Snape ordered in tone with which Harry dared not argue.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said immediately. "Thank you for letting me visit, and I’m sorry about the other – stuff."

"Goodbye," Snape pulled Harry around and began marching him down the stairs. Then Narcissa screamed,

"Wait! His – his hair! It’s changing colors. And his voice. Oh, Merlin, it’s Harry Potter. Mugsy! Come –"

"Obliviate!" Snape shouted, blasting sparks out of the wand that appeared in his hand. The spell hit Narcissa, and for a moment her beautiful face lost its haughty expression. Harry saw her blink in confusion.

Then Snape grabbed Harry and pulled him close. They Disapparated off the Malfoy’s estate.

------

"What were you thinking?" Snape grabbed a handful of Harry’s hair and dragged him into the study.

"Ow! Oww! I don’t know."

"You really are completely brainless. Of all the stupid, thoughtless, idiotic – you are just as half-witted as I ever supposed. An absolute moron without the common sense of a dung beetle, you stupid boy! Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Snape pushed Harry into a chair and towered over him, eyes lit with rage.

"No, I wasn’t," Harry protested. He could feel tears prickle in his eyes, and he swallowed very hard.

"After everything I told you, wards and warnings, you promised to obey me, and you went to Malfoy Manor! Inside, to talk to Narcissa who could have killed you right then and there, or taken you to the Dark Lord so easily because you no longer had the protection of the wards. You didn’t even have your wand."

"You took my wand," Harry pointed out, but he quickly looked away from Snape’s enraged expression.

"Do not interrupt me, Potter, unless you want to die right here in this study. You lied to my face about where you were going, you broke through the wards, and you went somewhere you knew you were not ever supposed to be. And then you tried to steal her necklace. Do you have a death wish?"

"No, I was trying to go back."

"Back? Back to where?"

"To save Sirius. And Cedric," Harry added. It was a shame Cedric always had to take second place in his thoughts, especially since he had died first. "To save them both, before they died."

The room was silent. Snape seemed too angry to talk. The silence prickled at Harry, driving him mad with the roar of the stillness. When Snape spoke, his voice was as soft and slow as black death.

"You were going back to the night of the Third Task to save Cedric? Then you were going to the Ministry of Magic a year later to save your godfather?"

"Yes, so they wouldn’t die. Cedric’s parents would be happy, and – and I would happy for Sirius." Harry knew now that it was impossible, but he tried to focus on Snape’s anger. As long as he feared a punishment from Snape, Harry knew he could hold himself together. Once that threat was gone, Harry knew he would start crying, and he worried that he might never stop.

"You wanted to bring them back from the dead," Snape was breathing very hard. "My word, Potter, what do you think dark magic is? After what you saw the night the Dark Lord came back, you want to start messing with the afterlife? What was to keep you from being killed once you went back? A Death Eater sees you in the graveyard, you have no wand – he kills you before you can reach Cedric. You’re lying dead in a field, and no one knows what has happened to you. Or you make it to the Ministry a year later, a stray curse hits you – they find your body the next morning. Did you not think about that?"

"I want him back," Harry cried out, not caring what Snape might do. "I want him here. I should be living with him. He’s only person who’s ever wanted me – he asked me to live with him. Me! Cedric died because I said to take the portkey together. He’s dead because of me. So let me make this right!"

"No, you are not going to do anything of the kind," Snape said flatly. He straightened, then his shoulders slumped the smallest bit. "I cannot believe I am saying this – but this is the end. I can’t be your guardian any longer."

"What?" Harry looked up, eyes wide.

"I promise Dumbledore I would keep you safe, and as much as if rankles me to admit, I can’t keep you safe from anything. I have tried punishing you, restrictions, lecturing you – nothing works. You’re beyond my help, and I think it’s best if you return to your relatives."

Harry’s mouth fell open; he could barely catch his breath.

"I’ll take you back within the hour," Snape was resolute. "We’ll transfer guardianship back to your relatives, and we won’t have to see each other until autumn. Your aunt and uncle somehow knew how to keep you safe and alive for nearly sixteen years, so they might as well continue. We’ll just consider this a temporary arrangement that failed."

"No," Harry whispered, "please don’t send me away."

"There’s nothing else I can do," Snape shook his head heavily. "Believe it or not, I don’t want you to get hurt. I thought by giving you a little pain with my hand or a ruler might keep you from doing something that permanently hurts you, Harry, but I was wrong."

"No, no," Harry felt despair pulling him down. Before, he wasn’t so happy about staying at Snapdragon Manor, but suddenly, he knew without a shadow of a doubt he didn’t want to be anywhere else. "No, don’t send me away. I was confused, Snape, I was so confused. I miss Sirius, I really miss him. But you’ve been a good guardian – I just went a bit mad for while. Don’t send me away – I promise I’ll be good. Just give me one more chance."

"I gave you a chance," Snape said sadly. "You proved me wrong. No more arguing. We’ll go pack your things."

"Please," Harry got out of his chair, planning to go down on his knees if he had to, "please let me stay. Just one more chance."

Snape opened his mouth, then closed it, a thoughtful expression on his face as if he were being tempted to reconsider. "There is one last thing that might help. We could try it, but after that, there is nothing else I can do."

"Yes, yes," Harry nodded, sniffling a little. "I’ll do it. You can punish me however you like."

"Sit down," Snape motioned back to the chair. "Do not move."

He stalked out of the room, his black shoes clicking smartly on the floor.

Harry concentrated on taking one breath after the other. He had no idea where Snape was going or if he would be coming back at all. No matter what Snape planned to, no matter how he decided to deal with his ward, Harry knew he just had to suffer though it. Even if Snape came back with a cane, like the one Dudley got to take to his school, Harry would not complain.

He drew a long, shuddering breath. He felt so tired, so utterly exhausted. Everything he did had been wrong, he hurt everyone – even Snape was ready to get away from him. Harry had tried so hard, so hard to get Sirius back, but it was too late now.

Snape came back in, and Harry hurriedly blinked back tears.

"Here," Snape thrust out a small vial to Harry, "drink this, and we’ll see if it helps. I wouldn’t use it otherwise, but this really is our last chance."

It might be a sleeping draught; it might be poison. Harry didn’t stop to ask. He didn’t even hesitate, just brought the vial up to his lips and began gulping.

Snape raised a questioning eyebrow at Harry’s ready acceptance. Harry said nothing though he grimaced at the potion’s awful taste. Really, why did these things have to be so bad? After he was done, he handed the empty vial back to Snape and waited.

"Come here," Snape guided Harry over to the sofa. "Lie down."

Harry did so and then stared up at Snape, waiting for further instructions.

"Fold your arms across your stomach. Breathe deeply."

Snape pulled out a gold chain, about a foot long, with a bluish silver ball attached to the end. He held the end of the chain up, allowing the ball to swinging just over Harry’s face. "Watch the ball, Potter. Just watch the ball."

Snape began swinging the ball around in small circles. Harry watched it obediently, his eyes moving around to circles to keep up with the ball.

"That’s it. Breathe in and out. Just watch the ball. You feel better, already, don’t you? All relaxed. No, don’t answer – just relax."

Snape’s voice was very calming, and Harry felt his eyelids grow heavy as he stared up at the twirling ball. He had no desire in the world except to watch the ball spin around forever.

"Watch the ball . . . that’s it . . . watch the ball, Harry . . . just watch it . . . then close your eyes . . . there’s a good boy . . . close them . . ."

Helpless to resist, Harry closed his eyes, but when he opened them, the ball was gone. He blinked a few times, even rubbed his eyes with one hand. Snape was gone as well and so was Snapdragon Manor.

Harry realized he was standing in the door of somewhere vaguely familiar. He glanced around. The place looked quite dim, most of the candles burnt down. The pictures, the walls – if he didn’t know better, he’d think he was at . . . but no, that couldn’t be right.

Someone was moving in the next room, scuffling around in an aimless fashion. Harry rounded the corner to look in the room. Once there, he froze.

Sirius Black was leaning over the kitchen table, glancing over some papers. He glanced up and looked straight at Harry.

"Oh, there you are," Sirius said in the old familiar voice that sounded like a bark. "I had wondered where you'd gone to."

Harry stood very still as he stared at his godfather. "This isn’t real," Harry finally blurted out. "You aren’t real. You died."

"What?" Sirius jerked his head in Harry’s direction. "What are you going on about? I thought you were going out for a while."

By the looks of the lights, it seemed very late in the evening. Harry glanced around himself. Yes, this was number 12 Grimmauld Place where he had spent last summer. But it couldn’t be because he knew Sirius had died, and yet the man was standing right there, his long dark hair hanging over the face that still slightly resembled a dog’s.

Harry wanted to rejoice, to run up to his godfather and hug him, to assure himself that Sirius was here and was real. But Harry only shook his head. "No, this is a dream. It’s not really happening. Snape’s doing something to me."

"Snape?" Sirius’s head shot up, his eyes flashing. "What does that greasy bat have to do with you?"

"I was in his house, Snapdragon Manor for the summer –"

"What?" Sirius stood up, knocking papers onto the floor. "What were you doing with him? If he dared lay a hand on you, I swear I’ll kill him."

A thrill ran through Harry, and he loved the way Sirius seemed so protective of his godson, but at the same time, Harry hesitated telling Sirius how "hands-on" Snape had been. First, Harry needed to figure out what on earth was going on.

"Oh, never mind about Snape for now. So I live with you here?" he asked cautiously.

Sirius gave him an odd look, but answered, "Yes, you do. Ever since my name was cleared after that break-in at the Ministry of Magic a year ago."

"A year ago?" Harry held on to the edge of the table for balance as he digested the information. "So I’m almost 17 instead of 16? And you didn’t die that night?"

"I told you to keep out of my fire whiskey," Sirius frowned. "Of course, I didn’t die at the Ministry. I didn’t even go there. Instead I stayed here, all locked up and quiet."

Harry could barely keep from grinning. Everything was going just as he wanted. He lived with Sirius, Sirius had been freed from all charges, and Harry was about to come of age. This was perfect, except for the nagging feeling that somehow Snape was behind all of it. And knowing Snape, Harry had the feeling that there would be some kind of unpleasant lesson about to appear.

"So Snape’s not here?" Harry tentatively asked.

"No, he’s not here now," Sirius stalked over to the cabinets and pulled out a bottled with amber-colored liquid inside. "But he’ll be stopping by tonight to deliver some papers for me to look over. Apparently, the only thing I can do for the Order to sit around on my arse and read over their plans for errors."

"But you’re alive and here, and we live together," Harry tried to grin again, but he was having trouble. Sirius was looking sullen and bitter, and he had taken several long sips from his bottle. He must be having a bad day; the Order of the Phoenix was probably demanding a lot of him, considering all the papers on the table. Sirius probably was tired and overstressed.

"So," Harry took a seat at the table, "what do we do here? I mean, what are our days like?"

"You tell me," Sirius flopped down into his own chair, bottle still in one hand. "This summer is simply a repeat of last summer – stuck here with me in this lovely hole of a home. At least you get to go out every now and then. Your dear headmaster thinks it’s best if I don’t go out, keep a low profile as much as I can. Just because my name’s been cleared doesn’t mean I can show my face back in the wizarding community. Ruddy parole – can’t travel, can’t leave the country, can’t do anything but sit here and stew in this trap with that cursed house elf."

"Oh, you should get rid of him," Harry urged. "He’ll try to betray you – he doesn’t think you’re his real master because your mother didn’t like you."

Sirius looked up annoyed, but then the doorknocker began beating on the front door. A moment later, a very-displeased Kreacher came in and announced in a snarl, "Professor Snape." Then the house elf disappeared.

Harry stopped breathing as Snape came in the door. The potions master looked as he usually did – black robes and sour looks. He frowned at Harry but said nothing to him.

"Ah," Sirius sneered, "if it isn’t the git who reeks of potions. Finally found your way out of the dungeons long enough to slink over here? Or are we keeping you from torture at a Death Eater meeting?"

"Neither," Snap pulled forth a stack of papers from his robe and placed them on the table. "And I thought you would welcome a visitor considering how little you get to mix with polite society. But you always have the dogs and the rats . . ."

Sirius leapt to his feet. "Listen, Snivelus –"

"What kind of papers have you brought?" Harry interrupted, not wanting them to start fighting. Besides, he didn’t like Snape to be called that name. It wasn’t very kind of Sirius to remind Snape of what had happened.

Snape slowly turned his eyes on Harry. "Nothing for you to worry about, Potter."

"Don’t you speak to my godson," Sirius snarled. "Don’t you even look at him. He’ll save the world one day, and you’re not even fit for him to wipe his shoes on."

Harry should have felt exhilaration race through his veins for Sirius was defending him – Sirius really believed in him. But Harry only felt embarrassed. He glanced away from Snape, cheeks slightly pink and tried to pretend that he had not heard Sirius’s proclamation.

"Really?" Snape’s voice was even but skeptical. "Well, considering that Potter is to be our savior, our one saving grace from the darkness of evil, don’t you think he should be in bed now, getting his rest?"

Harry glanced back, confused.

"It’s nearly two o’clock in the morning," Snape nodded his head to the nearby clock on the wall. "He looks half-dead from exhaustion. Are you feeding him anything? He’s thinner than when he left school."

Harry was about to open his mouth and state that he was neither tired nor hungry. But he waited just a second, and he suddenly realized he was both. His eyelids felt very heavy, and some supper or even a light snack would have been quite welcomed.

"Don’t tell me what to do with my godson," Sirius ordered. "He can sleep when he wants. And there’s food in the cupboard if he’s hungry."

Snape merely raised an eyebrow, obviously not believing Sirius. Harry said nothing, but he stepped to the nearby cupboard where he remembered some food had been kept that summer he stayed with the Order of the Phoenix. The first door of the cupboard showed nothing but bare wooden shelves. Harry closed it before Snape could see inside and opened the door next to it.

A moldy loaf of bread sat on the top shelf, the next shelf held several half-empty jars of what looked like jelly, and the bottom shelf offered a hunk of dried meat and a canister of tea leaves. Harry took out the bread and one jar of jelly. He could cut off the moldy parts and have a small jelly sandwich. It would be better than nothing.

"I need to speak to Kreacher, if I have your permission," Snape said in a stiff voice.

"Have at it, and try to break your neck on the way down to the cellar," Sirius shot back.

Harry watched Snape leave before fixing himself some food. "We need to get some more bread," Harry said in what he hoped was a neutral tone.

"Again?" Sirius scowled. "I just sent that blaster house elf out for groceries last week."

Harry bit into his sandwich and nearly choked. The bread not only tasted awful, it stunk as well, and the jelly had solidified into gritty paste. Harry managed to swallow the bite in his mouth, but he put the rest of the sandwich on the plate before pushing it away.

Sirius said nothing, just kept shooting restless looks in the direction Snape had gone.

A little nagging voice whispered to Harry that he had eaten better at the Dursleys, but he silenced the voice right away. He was not going to let anything spoil the time he had with Sirius. Maybe this was a test. Snape, not the Snape that was talking to Kreacher but the other one, he was testing Harry. Perhaps he wanted to see if Harry would want to stay with Sirius even through the hard times. If so, Harry had to push on, and then Snape would bring Sirius back, and everything would be all right.

And why would Snape do a thing like that? the little voice demanded. You were in trouble for breaking into Malfoy Manor – there’s not a chance that Snape would bring your godfather back after what he said to you about dark magic.

"It’s nice staying here," Harry said, hoping that talking aloud might shut his conscience up. "Better than my – er – relatives, you know. And I’m sure it will be better than staying with Sna– I mean, someone else. And then I’ll be starting my last year of school at Hogwarts."

"I know," Sirius glumly said before taking another sip of his bottle. "And then it’s off to the Auror program with you."

"What?" Harry’s eyes opened wide.

"You know, the Auror program. Thanks to McGonagall and Dumbledore, you’ll be starting training as an Auror next fall. Traveling around, seeing new places."

"I’m sure you can leave the house by then," Harry tried to look encouraging.

"I plan to before then," Sirius growled. "As soon as you go back to school, I’m leaving. They want me to stay put for your sake, but once you’re gone, I plan to burn this place to the ground and take off."

"But you’re my guardian."

"You turn seventeen in a week. You’ll come of age, and I’m no longer responsible for you. You don’t expect me to stay here while you’re off at school for another year, do you? I’ve had my fill of that this past year, rotting away in this hole."

Harry wanted to ask how he could feel this way, how Sirius could be so careless with his own safety, and didn’t he want Harry for a ward? But Harry only said in a tight voice, "But what about Christmas?"

"What about it?" Sirius shrugged. "You came here last holidays, and we had a ruddy cold couple of weeks locked up with a stinking house elf who burnt the dinner. You’re better off at Hogwarts."

Harry was having trouble breathing. This was all wrong – Sirius was supposed to be happy. He was supposed to be overjoyed that his godson could now live with him, and grateful that he didn’t die, and never wanting Harry to leave again. Not this indifference and half-hearted shrugs as if Sirius didn’t care what Harry did as long as he wasn’t a bother.

"Look," Sirius placed the bottle on the table and stared straight at his ward. "We’ve been over this before. We tried something, and it didn’t work. When I wanted you to live with me, I thought we’d be somewhere else, not in this cursed dump. I thought we could travel the world and visit your parents’ friends – but instead we’ve been locked up for two years. Well, you have a chance to get out. Go see the world, and owl me a postcard to show what I’m missing."

Sirius stared off into space, obviously too depressed to say anything else.

Harry turned in the direction Snape had gone and began walking very slowly towards the hall. He thought he might be sick to his stomach, but he resolved not to. He was going to find that potions bastard and deal with him head-on.

Snape had finished with Kreacher and was coming up the stairs when Harry stepped in front of him.

"Put him back," Harry hissed in a voice that nearly choked him.

"What?" Snape said, sneering at Harry. "Put him back where?"

"You did this, you made him different," Harry insisted. "Now, put him back."

"Potter, what are you blathering about?" Snape seemed more tired than annoyed.

"Sirius! He’s not supposed to be this way. He wanted me to live with him, he did, and I wanted to. But you’ve changed him. You’ve made him different and he doesn’t care and he would care if he was alive, so change him back."

"You’re mad," Snape announced firmly. "You’re tired and hungry, and you’ve worked yourself into a state. Move out of my way so I can go talk to your mangy godfather."

"No," Harry refused to step aside, "not until you change him to what he was like before. I know he was frustrated that summer because he was locked up, and then you baited him so he left and got killed, but now he’s back and he wouldn’t act like this."

"If you don’t stop yelling at me," Snape ground out, "I will hex you and tie you down to your bed until you regain control of your senses. I will not have you treat me so disrespectfully, Potter, regardless of your hero status or your godfather’s indulgences."

"Make it stop," Harry ordered. "Make it stop, Snape. I want it to end now."

And then Harry opened his eyes.

He was on the sofa, his arms folded over his stomach. The room was quiet, but glancing around, he saw Snape watching him from an armchair.

"Welcome back," Snape said dryly.

Harry sat up and then he lost it. He felt a rage like rushing fire take over him, and he could barely stand it. He grabbed the vase on the small table and threw it at Snape. The vase missed Snape but broke into shards of porcelain on the wooden floor.

"You sodding bastard!" Harry yelled at him, reaching for the next object on the table, a silver candelabra. "You flithy, sodding, bloody piece of dirt, I hope you rot into your stinking dungeons" – the candelabra also missed Snape, but Harry grabbed a stack of books –"I hate you, you –"

"Potter, stop this instance!" Snape thundered, but Harry was past the point of caring.

"I’m going to rip your throat out," Harry hurled the first book at him. "You did this – you changed him. I hate you, and I hope Voldemort tortures you until you beg for death, you stupid –"

Snape crossed the space between them, and Harry launched himself at the man, wanting to kill him. He wanted to tear Snape to pieces, to watch him bleed all over the wooden floor. The man would pay for what he had done.

Fists punching out, yelling obscenities, and pushing towards Snape, Harry fought like a demon. But Snape was bigger and stronger, and his coolness enabled him to counter all of Harry’s blows without getting hurt.

Before Harry was sure what had happened, he found himself pressed against Snape, his back to the man’s front, with both of Snape’s arms wrapped around his torso, pinning Harry’s arms to his side. The man’s grip was like iron, but Harry still struggled to get free.

"Let me go. Let me go and fight me!" Harry challenged, trying to squirm out of Snape’s hold.

"Stop that," Snape loosened one hand to give Harry a sharp smack on the thigh before tightening his grip. "Calm down, or I’ll hex you until you have better control of your emotions. You do not try to fight me, Potter. No, stop moving. Be still and concentrate on breathing. Calm down. Calm down, and I’ll let you go."

"You made him horrible," Harry accused.

"Who? Cedric?" Snape asked.

"No, Sirius. You changed him so I wouldn’t like living with him. That’s was what you did," Harry wondered what would happen if he sunk his teeth into Snape’s arm. Surely the man would let him go then.

"What I did?" Snape sounded confused.

"Yes, with the stupid ball thing."

"The ball had nothing to so with it," Snape said sternly. "The potion – stop struggling! – the potion was the real thing. It’s a very simple draught – it gives the patient a chance to live out their desires in real life."

"You’re lying," Harry accused.

"No, I’m not! Whatever you wanted, what you really, really desired when you swallowed the potion, you would experience that desire, but with reality as a factor. If you wanted to live with Sirius, you would experience that life as it would really be or as close as it could be to reality, not a fantasy."

"You hypnotized me with the ball thing," Harry argued.

"That was only to send you off peacefully. The potion starts to work right away, but you need to be lying down or you’ll crash to the floor. Also, if you wait for it to come and feel anxious, it makes for a very unpleasant awakening. I wanted you to be relaxed."

"You wanted me to hate him!" Harry tried one last time to wiggle out of Snape’s arms, but he knew it was no use. The man would not let him go. He would not ever let him go which was more that Sirius had done.

More than anything else, Harry wanted to believe that Snape was lying. If Snape were lying, then Sirius would not have acted like that. But Harry remembered how short-tempered his godfather had been last summer. And Sirius had run off to the Ministry of Magic. If the man had really wanted Harry as his son, surely he wouldn’t have put his own self in danger. A good guardian would have tried to be there for his ward, not run off because he was tired of sitting around. But Sirius had cared more about adventure than Harry –

Suddenly, it was all too much. Harry felt the dam breaking inside him, all his resolve crumbling into pieces. With a choking sob, all the fight left him. Tears filled his eyes, and then began spilling out. He could do nothing but stand there, held tight in Snape’s arms, and cry. It all hurt so much, finally to let grief out, the anger, the resentment – all lost in a torrent of tears.

Then Snape’s hold began to loose. The man seemed ready to step back, but Harry turned to face him. Half-blind with tears, Harry did the only thing that made sense. He wrapped his arms around Snape and buried his face in the man’s right shoulder. He prayed Snape would not push him away because if he did, Harry was not sure what he would do. Probably go completely crazy with grief. He tightened his arms around Snape and cried even harder into his robes.

And then he felt Snape’s arms circling around him, holding him up and Snape said very softly, "There, there, Harry, don’t carry on so. Pull yourself together, won’t you?" But he made no move to step away from his ward, and Harry decided that he was never going to let go of his stern guardian, never, never, ever. So, he kept crying, glad to finally stop running and stop hiding.

Gradually, Harry was aware of his sobs lessening, and his tears did not fall as fast. Yet, he would not let go.

"You really do manage to get yourself worked up over nothing entirely too much," Snape commented. "I had hoped we might make it one week without teary hysterics, but it seems everyday I must calm you down before you harm yourself."

Harry sniffed, letting Snape’s mild scolding soothe his tears away. Then he felt one hand patting his back while the other gently massaged the back of Harry’s neck. Oh, that felt so good. And he was so tired, so tired of pretending and planning. He had been so stupid – Harry saw that now.

The patting on his back continued, and Harry suddenly gave a loud hiccup. Snape chuckled lightly, a rumbling sound under Harry’s ear. "Very well, Potter, if you think you can let go of me for a few minutes, why don’t you sit on the sofa so we can talk?"

Harry finally pulled away, wiping his face quickly, but Snape kept a hand on his shoulder until Harry had settled down on the sofa. Harry turned red-rimmed eyes on Snape, and the man sighed but sat down beside his ward.

"I thought seeing your desire played out in reality might help you with your grief, not to mention your ridiculous plan, but I never thought it would upset you so. You say your godfather was horrible, if I remember correctly?"

"He didn’t want me," Harry wrapped both his arms around himself in a hug. "He didn’t want me to live with him, which I don’t think he would be like if he were here for real."

"When did he make you that offer?"

"Uh – right after the werewolf attack," Harry looked away. "When I let Peter Pettigrew get away. Sirius said someday I could live with him because, you know, I was his godson."

"So he asked you this right after all the excitement and peril of that night? You had known him a handful of hours, and he blurted out that he wanted you to come and live with him?"

"I know he meant it," Harry insisted.

"I’m sure he did," Snape agreed solemnly. "But he had been in Azkaban for twelve years – that kind of imprisonment will change a man. He was not the man your parents knew. I’m sure he hated any kind of prison, even having to stay in his own house."

"And you goaded him into going out," Harry blamed.

"Your godfather and I did exchange words, but that had nothing to do with you," Snape admonished. "He liked to live for the moment – he enjoyed the action and adventure more than following rules or safety measurements. A part of you must have known that, or your dream would have been different."

Harry wanted to argue, but he didn’t have the strength so he settled for pouting. Yet, again Snape was right. Harry thought he was starting to see a pattern. Most unfair.

"I wanted you to be able to see that our desires and even deepest wishes of our hearts usually do not have any place in reality," Snape continued. "You had an idea of what it would be like if your godfather were alive and well. The reality of the situation would never meet your expectations. You could have fanaticized what it would be like living with your parents and have pictured a wonderful life with them as well, but that would not have been true either."

"My mum and dad would have wanted me!" Harry declared hotly.

"Absolutely, but there would have been times you would have argued with them or times you disobeyed them and they had to punish you. The truth is that even happy families fight and argue, and yours would not have been an exception. But you only saw Sirius in your dream because you thought it much more likely that you could save him than your parents and therefore he was there. All things considered, did it help at all?"

"No!" Harry shot back crossly.

"Potter," Snape gave him a stern look.

"Fine, it helped a little. But you could have told me what was going on before I got there."

"And you could have told me about your absurd plan days ago. I still cannot believe that you tried to steal from the Malfoys. You really have no idea how closely you escaped with your life."

"I know," Harry let his breath out with a huff. "It was stupid."

Snape frowned, but said nothing. They sat there in silence as Harry sniffed a few last times and took several deep breaths.

And then, very cautiously, he asked, "Well, so, I was just wondering if, maybe you know, I could still . . . stay here?”

Snape said nothing. He just looked Harry with a stern expression.

Harry tried to keep his courage up, to look calm and accepting, but he could not keep the charade up for much longer. He looked away, trying not to gulp too loudly. The seconds dragged by, each accentuated by the ticking of the large grandfather clock in the corner.

Harry shut his eyes. If only Snape would answer. Anything but this loud silence that quickly shredded Harry’s nerves to pieces.

"Stay here?" Snape spoke in a gentle voice. "Stay here with me for the rest of the summer?"

"You – you said the potion thing was a last resort," Harry protested, glad that Snape was at least talking to him. "Well, I did it, and it helped."

"Did it?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "I believe you began screaming at me the moment you woke up. You threw things, broke my vase and my candelabra, physically assaulted me, and I’m supposed to think that my potion helped?"

"You know why I was upset," Harry could barely keep himself from bouncing up and down on the sofa in frustration. "You know how I felt about Sirius. You know – oh, you know everything."

"I did not know about your asinine plan that nearly got you killed," Snape shook his head. "A grievous oversight on my part, I fear, and I could not risk that happening again."

But he had not said no yet, and Harry knew from the past two weeks at Snape’s house that when the man meant no, he would say no from the start. Snape was very clear about when he meant no, of that Harry would swear by.

"It would be much more difficult trying to switch the guardianship back," Harry argued. "And my stuff is all here, and it would be a load of trouble to move it all around. And I already have a schedule here along with all my school books, and I won’t be able to follow it if I leave." It was kind of blackmail, and not very good blackmail at that, but Harry was getting desperate.

"If I were to let you stay," Snape began slowly. Harry did his best not to look too happy, but Snape’s frown deepened. "I said if I were to let you stay, we would need to reach an understanding that is non-negotiable. I said yesterday that I was done with your lying – yet I find that you’ve been lying since you first arrived here."

"It’s over," Harry assured him. "You made me see that I wanted for something that could never happen. I promise, no more lying about that."

"No more lying about anything," Snape insisted. "I am deadly serious about this, Potter. If I think that you’re even considering lying to me, I am packing you up that very moment. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. "I won’t even think about it, I swear." He knew that Snape was relenting; Harry could see it in the reluctant look in his eye.

"And if you do stay, you are going to be on a very short leash, Mr. Potter. I expect respect and obedience, and until you prove you can be trusted again, which I doubt will be anytime soon, you’ll be on restriction from all privileges."

A part of Harry wanted to demand "What privileges? Going to bed early and studying all summer?" But instead, he nodded and agreed, "Yes, sir, of course."

"And you’ll be on probation as well," Snape continued. "Any sign of rebellion, the least hint of arrogance –"

"I know, I know – straight back to my relatives," Harry interrupted.

"Along with following your study schedule, you’ll be spending your spare time doing chores and helping me with whatever cleaning needs to be done in my labs," Snape’s stern look was still in place. "Your broom, which I rescued from the forest, will be locked up, and you only be allowed in the garden that I can see from my study. Bedtime will be an hour earlier, and every night before supper, you’ll stand in the corner for a half-hour and contemplate how you can make better decisions in the future. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Harry glumly agreed. It was going to be a very tough few weeks ahead of him. He could just forget about seeing his friends on his birthday – he could forget about his birthday all together at this rate.

"I really should whip you good for what you did," Snape added, making Harry bite his lip uneasily. "After what we’ve been through – you knew better, Potter. The only reason I’m not tanning your hide at this very moment is that I think you’ve suffered enough for one day. Obviously, you’ve been holding all your grief inside for a long time when you should have let it go. You may think the responsibility of the whole world rests on your shoulders, but what did I tell you when you first got here? You remember, after I spanked you that first night, and you were crying in bed, what did I tell you?"

Harry turned red, but he mumbled, "Not my fault."

"And why wasn’t it your fault?"

"Because I had nothing to do with Sirius’s death. Or Cedric’s. I didn’t – didn’t do anything-anything . . ."

"Anything . . .?" Snape prompted.

"Wrong," Harry finally got the word out. Suddenly, it felt like a giant weight was lifted from his shoulders. He was still hurting inside, and his eyes felt dry and sore, but that awful, pressing weight was gone. "I didn’t do anything wrong."

"If you had believed me that first night, we both could have been spared a lot of worry and pain. I’m guessing that is why you went looking for your cloak and destroyed my potions store? Along with getting Dobby here and all the rest? How much time, frustration, and punishment could you have saved yourself if you had only listened to me then?"

"A lot," Harry admitted. "I know I was bad, but –"

"No, Potter. You do not get to say ‘I was bad,’ and either feel sorry for yourself or try to excuse your wrong-doings. Your behavior was bad, and you’ve been very naughty, but you yourself are not bad. Do not let me hear you say that again. If you are trying to apologize, start first by saying that you are sorry for lying, and for once try to look sincere."

"I am sorry for lying," Harry said earnestly. "I really am. I’m sorry I put myself in danger, and you as well. I’m sorry I did not come clean earlier, and I’m sorry for throwing things at you and hitting you."

"And for using foul language?" Snape prodded. "Which, had you not been so upset, would have gotten your mouth scoured with soap?"

"Oh, yes," Harry hastily added. "Very, very sorry."

"And ‘I promise I will obey from now on’?"

"I promise to obey you from now on," Harry also agreed.

"And stop acting so naughty?"

"And stop acting so n-naughty," Harry stumbled over the childish word. He doubted his cheeks could get any redder.

"Good, we’ve settled it now. And believe me, Potter, I’ll watching you. The smallest infraction, the least display of insolence on your part, and you’ll find yourself over my knee so fast your head will spin."

"No!" Harry protested before he could stop himself.

"Excuse me?" Snape’s voice was silky and deadly.

"I’m almost sixteen, and I’m too old for that. If we’re starting over, really starting over, can’t you just – just stop that?"

"And why should I?"

"Because. Well, because it makes me feel – it’s not right – it’s humiliating and demeaning, and you shouldn’t want to make me feel that way."

"Just as chasing you into Malfoy Manor isn’t humiliating to me and collecting all new potions ingredients isn’t demeaning to my work?" Snape asked in a neutral voice.

The man had a blasted answer for everything! "That’s not the same. It’s not. I-I don’t want you to – you know, and what about when school starts? You can’t punish me like that then."

"My concern now is seeing that you survive until school starts, and I am more than willing to use any means necessary to see you through. If you hate being spanked that much, maybe you’ll change your behavior for the better. I don’t spank you to humiliate you, do I? Why do I do it?"

"So I won’t keep doing things that might harm me," Harry gave Snape the right answer and did his best not to pout.

"Exactly. We understand each other perfectly. Now, since you have wasted most of my day, we will have an early supper, and then you’re going bed. Tomorrow, I am going to have you write down some lines that will address your behavior today and make you more mindful for the future. Right now, why don’t you go find your corner in the dining room and think about how you’re going to be the very soul of obedience and respect from this day forward."

"Yes, sir," Harry got up off the sofa and began plodding towards the hallway. Snape stopped him at the door.

"One last time, Potter. You do understand once and for all that it’s over? This bringing them back? You will never try to do that again? And I mean never."

"No," Harry promised. "I won’t. No more thinking about that. No more chasing after timeturners or sneaking around Knockturn Alley –"

"What?" Snape bellowed, standing up.

There was no good hiding anything anymore. Harry was already in over his head; what was confessing one more sin or two? "While you were getting the supplies, I ran into Borkins and Borges to ask about timeturners and the Necklace. I didn’t ever go into Fred and George’s shop, and I didn’t buy any of their joke sweets. I also searched your entire library for information about time travel. That was why I fell from the balcony. I was trying get a book about it."

"Anything else?" Snape growled in a low voice.

"Yeah," Harry felt a rush of bravery surge through him. "I still think you look like an overgrown bat. Really, why the dirty hair and black robes? It’s hot outside, and if you’re so keen on making me take a bath and wash my – ow!"

Snape’s grip did not loosen as he marched Harry into the dining room, and Harry hurried to keep up, afraid his ear would be pulled off. Snape pushed him into the corner and leaned down to whisper, "Another word, Mr. Potter, and my appearance will be the least of your worries."

------

Supper was a grim affair with Snape shooting dour glances at his ward every few seconds. Harry found that each mouthful stuck in his throat, but he swallowed the food down, knowing that Snape would comment if Harry refused to eat. Thankfully, the meal was a thick soup with buttered bread and salad, which Harry found easier to eat than tough meat or dry rice would have been. He wondered if Snape had instructed the house elves to fix this meal especially for Harry or if it was just what was on the menu for the day. Either way, Harry was grateful.

After supper, Snape stood up. Harry was not paying attention, tilting his glass and making his pumpkin juice slosh gently against the edges.

"Potter," Snape snapped his fingers loudly. He held out his hand insistently.

Harry reluctantly stood up and went to Snape’s side. He expected the man to latch onto his ear and drag him upstairs. To Harry’s mortification, Snape wrapped his hand around his ward’s wrist and pulled him into the hall. Absolutely humiliating – pulled along as if he were a small child who could not be trusted to mind.

But Harry made no protest, knowing this was part of his ongoing punishment that had no end in sight. He had acted immaturely, and now Snape was treating him as such. Harry also made no comment when Snape led him up to Snape’s bedroom and pointed to the bathroom. Harry expected that he would not be allowed to sleep in his own room tonight; he wondered if he would ever be let out of Snape’s sight before the end of summer. But to Harry’s surprise, as he emerged from the bathroom in pajamas, he saw that the sofa was not made up. Instead, in the far corner, a small twin bed was laid out with inviting covers and a plump pillow.

"Until I feel I can trust you again," Snape said sternly, "you’ll be sleeping in here. You might at well have a proper bed so you don’t get stiff on the sofa or fall off on the floor."

It was a thoughtful act, but Harry felt his aching eyes prick with tears again. Sirius would probably not have thought of such a thing; would he ever have noticed if Harry got a good night’s sleep or felt rested in the morning? At Grimmauld Place, Sirius had not cared that Harry was too young to hear the Order of Phoenix’s plans. A far cry from Snape who refused to tell Harry about the Death Eater meetings because they might scare him.

But Sirius was not here anymore. He was never coming back. That chapter had closed – Harry would now have to face life with the knowledge that he would never get to live with Sirius, be Sirius’s son, or call Sirius’s house his home. That dream had died.

Harry didn’t know how he would ever get to sleep that night. As long as the room was bright and Snape was there, Harry did not have to think about Sirius or anyone for that matter. But once the room was dark and he was alone, Harry knew he would do nothing but think. He would be afraid to close his eyes for fear his thoughts would overwhelm him. He would stare into the darkness for hours until at last exhaustion claimed him in the early hours of the morning. And who knew what his dreams would hold?

A part of him wanted to ask Snape for a dreamless sleeping potion, but he hated to look that weak in front of Snape. Better to suffer in silence and darkness.

"What’s wrong?" Snape asked, blocking Harry’s way to the bed.

Harry tried to step around him. "Nothing."

"Potter," Snape’s voice was hard and demanding.

Oh, right, no more lies. "Sorry," Harry hastily assured his guardian. "I’m not lying, I just didn’t want to make a big deal of it. I was finally realizing that – that he’s not coming back. I know he’s gone for good, and I need to stop thinking about him. But I still miss him. S-sorry."

"There’s nothing wrong with missing someone who’s died," Snape said quietly. "We all need time to grieve. You are welcome to feel sad about his death as long as you like, but I will not allow your grief to make you act irresponsible or foolish as long as you are under my care. Get in bed, and then we’re having another talk."

That did not sound good. But Harry knew better than to argue, so he got in bed.

Snape pulled a chair over and sat down beside the bed. "Since you are staying here for now, though still on probation, you are following the rules. The first rule being?"

"I do what you say," Harry automatically answered. His submission made him flush, and he angrily looked away.

"Potter, do not show me any disrespect, not tonight. You are going to obey me to the letter. If I say jump, you say how high. I say move, you start going. If I say stop, you –"

"Drop dead?" Harry asked snidely.

"None of your lip," Snape ordered. "Part of your penance is showing a respectful attitude. Any arrogance from you –"

"I’m not arrogant!" Harry protested. His voice almost went up into a whine at the end, but that only made him more frustrated. "I’ve never been arrogant. Draco Malfoy is arrogant."

"Potter," Snape began a reproach, but Harry shook his head firmly.

"No, Malfoy’s always strutting around Hogwart. ‘My father is better than yours.’ ‘My family’s all Pure Blood.’ ‘My father has more money than you could ever dream of, and you should be licking his boots in gratitude that he allows you to touch him at all.’ That’s arrogance, but you never notice at school. It’s always ‘Potter, five points from Gryffindor for looking at Weasley.’ ‘Weasley, detention for glaring at Malfoy.’ ‘Granger, fifty points off for answering a question correctly because I want Gryffindors to look like idiots and you are acting too smart.’"

"You’re exaggerating," Snape said calmly. "We’ve talked about your behavior in class before, and I do not ignore Draco. When he misbehaves, I punish him as I see fit. And believe me, he’s scared to death that Lucius might find out that his precious, Pure Blooded son is less than perfect. You can be very, very gratefeul that Lucius Malfoy is not your guardian."

"But Draco’s forever praising his father, talking about how great he is," Harry objected.

"Of course. Children usually try to defend the person who’s abusing them. Children think that if they flatter and praise him long enough, the abuser will eventually stop hurting them and accept and love them. Draco will never stop trying to win his father’s approval, even when Lucius is not present. The same goes for you – no matter how Sirius treated you, you would probably try to win his affection. Children believe that those in authority should love them, and when they are not loved, children automatically assume the fault must be theirs, not those in authority."

"Malfoy’s still a prat," Harry grumbled. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to think of something to say. There must be some way to keep Snape beside the bed until Harry fell asleep. Even Snape across the room and silent was not as comforting as Snape near and talking. But Harry could not, would not ask Snape to stay near, no matter how much he needed him.

"Turn over on your stomach," Snape directed.

Harry did so with a gulp. Surely, he was not about to be punished. He had told Snape what was bothering him, he had been honest, he really had!

Snape’s hand landed on the middle of Harry’s back in a firm pat. It was almost a thud – a bit harder and it would have hurt. Snape’s hand came down again. Yes, it was some very stern patting or soft thumping, which ever you chose. Harry lay very still on the pillow, letting the pats come down on his back over and over again. On the one hand, he wanted to ask Snape to lighten up on the thuds. But on the other hand, the firm pats were driving all other thoughts out of Harry’s mind. He found it hard to think about Sirius or anything for that matter; all he noticed was the rhythm of Snape’s hand.

"Clear your mind," Snape’s voice was low and soothing.

It was not necessary because Harry had nothing in his mind at the moment. Another time, he might have remembered the hated Occlumency lessons, but now he just lay there, letting his mind go blank.

"Is your mind clear?" Snape asked, never pausing in his action.

"Uh-huh," Harry murmured in agreement.

"Is there anything else you want to talk about?"

"Un-uh," Harry would have shaken his head, but he did not have the energy to lift it off the pillow. His eyelids had already slid shut, and he was taking long, deep breaths. For a moment, he feared that Snape would stop, and the stop would jerk Harry awake. But the patting did not hesitate, never breaking its rhythm.

"Your behavior really has been quite atrocious today," Snape noted. "I would feel justified in locking you in this room and throwing away the key, especially after the you went to the Malfoys. I don’t know why you insist on causing so much trouble. I was actually looking forward to a calm summer before you showed up, unannounced and shattering my hopes of peaceful days. You caused nothing but chaos since the moment you arrived, and I would feel justified in punishing you everyday because if you’re not in mischief, you’re plotting it. Such naughtiness in our Mr. Potter, so very naughty."

The firm patting had lulled Harry into a quiet calm, but Snape’s words sent him off into the twilight. The last thing Harry heard was Snape’s soft scolding, and as he faded away, the patting still continued.

Snape looked down at his slumbering ward who seemed to be melting into the bed. The brat’s eyes were shut, and his breathing was deep, but any moment he might pop back up again to gaze around with inquisitive green eyes. Better to keep patting him firmly for another minute or two.

How could something so small and thin cause so many problems? So much guilt and impending doom – you would think the boy would be so worried about his own fate and possible demise that he would be shaking in a corner. But no, the savior of the blasted wizarding world insisted on stirring up mischief.

Snape had half a mind to drag him out of bed and deliver a stern thrashing as a warning against further naughtiness. The boy pushed all limits, ignoring every rule – arrogant, impertinent, horrid little brat!

But he had been through a lot. Snape sighed, making his pats a bit gentler. He knew Harry must miss that old mangy dog of a godfather, and he probably missed the parents he would never know. But his misbehavior could not be excused or ignored. And he had only been here two weeks. What might the boy find to do in the rest of the summer? Snape blanched. Snapdragon Manor was not the best place to keep a boy who insisted on finding trouble where others would have left well enough alone.

Snape had previously thought he had kept a very close eye on the boy, restricting his time and movements to the point he felt confident the brat could not find any mischief to stir up. Snape had been horribly mistaken, and that miscalculation made him twice as cross. Well, Potter would be under lock and key until school started, and even then Snape planned to give him detention three times a week so he would not wander as freely into trouble.

And as a precaution tonight – Snape pulled out his wand and murmured a confining spell around the bed that would let Harry move around, but would not let get off the bed. Snape knew he would be sleeping in his own bed about fifteen feet away; yet, Potter was quite efficient at sneaking around quietly when he wanted to. That alone should have sent warning bells off days ago – the brat had been much too quiet and obedient in his spare time, which meant he could only be into mischief.

And just to ensure that he would not wake up, Snape slowly rolled Harry onto his side as the boy was used to sleeping. Harry did not wake, did not even stir, and Snape thought for a moment the boy had no bones, so easily he rolled under Snape’s hands.

It was not that late, barely 8:30. Snape went over to his desk and settled down to do some work for the evening, not willing to risk leaving the brat alone even if he were sleeping.

------

Harry turned a page of his study book and scanned down the next page. He had been sitting in the wide window seat that over looked the garden for nearly two hours. Snape was behind him somewhere, rifling through stacks of accounts or something equally as tedious.

For two days now, Snape had not allowed him out of his sight. Snape lectured him at every turn, scolding even when Harry didn’t do anything wrong: scolding him at breakfast for not eating all his food, reprimanding him in the morning when he did not want to start studying, admonishing him at lunch for his stubbornness in the morning, chiding him in the afternoon for the smallest display of a surly attitude, and generally bullying him at night until Harry went to bed at a time which was more appropriate for a four-year-old than an almost sixteen-year-old. The man was so – annoying. Yes, that was the only word that came to mind. Annoying, annoying – horribly annoying, sodding, pretentious basta-

"You’re not studying," Snape intoned from behind him.

Harry started, then protested, "Yes, I am. How do you know I’m not?"

"You’re turning the pages much too quickly to have gained any information from them. And you keep fidgeting and squirming. You’re not concentrating."

Harry muttered something unflattering under his breath, but when Snape looked up at him, Harry was intently studying his book.

The doorbell rang loudly. Harry jumped, nearly dropping his book. It was an insistent ring as if the guest was ready to barge in, welcomed or not. Harry could hear the house elves squeaking out protests in the entrance hall.

Snape flung down his papers and stood up, exasperated at being disturbed.

Then the door to the hall was flung open.

Lucius Malfoy strode in, long cane clutched in one hand and his long, silver-blond hair flowing down the back of his black robes.

Harry stared at him, unable to say anything.

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.

Snape sneered his usual sneer at the mess. Harry edged backwards, trying not to get out of Snape’s sight. If worst came to worst, he would make a mad dash for the door. At top speed, running as fast as his legs would take him, he could probably be five miles away in an hour, so that meant it would take Snape about, oh, three seconds to catch him using magic. Without magic, maybe ten minutes, but Harry doubted it.

Face severe and taut, Snape wrapped both hands around his wand and began muttering under his breath. The wand glowed an odd green color before fading.

Without a word, Snape pointed the wand at Harry and gave it a quick flick.

Suddenly, the whole world turned upside down. Before he could catch his breath, Harry found himself staring at his shoes that were now stuck to the ceiling. His arms hung loosely towards the floor, but thankfully his shirt was tucked in so it didn’t fall over his head. From his precarious position, Snape was standing the wrong way, and Harry craned his head to the side, trying to get Snape right side up. Pull as he might, Harry could not budge his ankles from the ceiling, not that he cared to wiggle free and fall on his head.

With a sickening feeling, he remembered Snape’s memory from the Pensieve. This was almost the same position James had put Snape in so many years ago. Harry wondered if he was about to have his mouth scoured with soap or lose his pants, though that didn’t seem so terrible considering it was just the two of them and Snape had already seen Harry in the bathtub . . . Or maybe Snape would come up with new tortures while Harry dangled helplessly above.

"Still good," Snape commented on his wand. "It has Dark Magic binding it to me and only to me. Fortunately, you’re under my protection so it just blew a hole in the wall instead of in your head. Reparo!"

Harry watched the upside-down Snape point his wand at the broken wall. The wall leapt back into place, the dust disappearing. The mirror picked itself up off the floor, and the plates neatly hopped back on the wall one by one. The repairing might have looked cool if Harry had not been hanging from the ceiling. As it was, the tidying-up looked weird and creepy. Actually, the whole room was distorted; from Harry’s view, the dining room table was perched upside-down on the carpet-covered ceiling with all the plates not falling. His glasses began slipping off his face, and he used one hand to hold them in place.

Harry waited for the yelling to start, Snape’s sharp voice to break the scary silence of the room. However, Snape pointedly ignored his young ward. The potions master stepped over to the table and picked up his coffee cup. He took a last sip and set the cup down.

"Still hot, thanks to the wizard who invented the always-hot coffee pot. Well, really it was a teapot, but it works for coffee just as well. Have a pleasant evening – I’ll see you in the morning."

"What!" Harry yelled, twisting his body and waving his arms to try to stop Snape. "You can’t just leave me hanging here!"

"Why not?" Snape asked, a pleased look on his face. "I’ll know right where you are. Keeps you safe for another night."

"But – but it can’t be good for me, hanging upside-down," Harry protested. "All the blood’s running to my head. I-I could have brain damage."

Snape shrugged. "I wonder if anyone will know the difference?"

"Sna-a-ape!"

"Very well, I’ll give you a choice. Hang there or straight to bed."

Harry crossed his arms, a very difficult movement when hanging upside-down. "Fine, fine, I’ll go to bed. And there’s nothing I can say to get you to stay?"

"Not a word," Snape replied matter-of-factly. With another quick flick of the wand, Harry felt himself leave the ceiling. He was flipped over right before he hit the floor and managed to stand upright if somewhat shakily. He made sure his glasses were not going to fall before looking straight at Snape.

Spots appeared before his eyes, but Harry hastily blinked them away. "Just be careful, all right? Whoever you’re meeting, whatever you doing, don’t – don’t make anyone angry. You know, just stay quiet and in the background, and leave as quick as you can without drawing a lot of attention."

"I’ll be fine," Snape took a step towards his ward. "I promise I will return in one piece." He put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry immediately felt his heartbeat slow from its hurried pace. Everything would be all right now.

Snape turned towards the door, saying, "Besides, I have to be in one piece to give you a sound spanking in the morning."

Harry froze. "Wh-what?"

Snape looked back, his dark brows raised in surprise. "Oh, now, now, you didn’t think you’d be let off scott-free after trying to stun me with my own wand and blowing my house up again, did you? Mr. Potter, you know me better than that. Go up to bed like a good boy, without fuss, and I won’t use a ruler tomorrow."

The awful, sinking, squirmy feeling that made Harry want to shift around returned as it always did when he realized he was about to be disciplined. A part of him knew he deserved it, the same part which knew that Snape would never hurt him or cause him serious injury. But the other part of Harry wanted to argue, protest, and beg not to be spanked. He hated it, hated it! And Snape knew that and therefore thought it was a very effective punishment, blast him! But waiting would be the worst thing ever, having the punishment loom over his head like a hangman’s noose. He wouldn’t be able to rest or sleep or sit still, making Snape even angrier, and come tomorrow morning . . .

"No, not tomorrow," Harry said before he could stop himself. "I can’t go to bed knowing you’re going – you know. I’ll never go to sleep like that. Come on, can’t you just . . . you know?"

"Do it now?" Snape suggested.

Harry squirmed but admitted. "Yeah, all right, do it now. At least it will over with – and," he added quickly, "I’m agreeing with you so you don’t have to use the – the . . . you know."

"Interesting," Snape commented, as if he were observing an inter. "You can talk back to me all day long until I mention spanking and suddenly you’re all stammers and blushes. What could possibly bring about this change?"

Anger began steaming inside Harry. "And you enjoy it, don’t you? You like hurting me, humiliating me, just get back at my father."

"Stop before you get yourself in even more trouble," Snape said quietly. "You’ve been making the smallest bit of improvement on controlling your temper for the most part, but now we’re going to work on it when you are emotional or worried as well. Understand?"

------

Harry tossed on the bed trying to get comfortable. The bed was soft and warm as always, but with the burning ache of his behind, he felt too hot.

This was the fourth, no, fifth time he had been smacked by Snape in three weeks. It had to be a world record or something significant. Too bad wizards weren’t sent to Azkaban for disciplining unruly wards who misbehaved. Blast that self-righteous, all-knowing bat!

Harry tried to role on his side. He expected the movement to cause him to hiss painfully, but already the sting was disappearing, and he knew by morning he would be back to normal. So unfair. If he had to submit to the mortification of bending over Snape’s lap and getting spanked so hard – well, as he had thought before, he should be wearing serious marks of his punishment. Why couldn’t he be bruised from the top of his buttocks to mid thigh? And the next time Snape pulled down his trousers, he would see the horrible bruises that he had inflicted on his helpless ward. And then Snape would feel so guilty that he would suspend Harry’s next punishment and apologize for such abuse.

Ah, well, one could dream.

Where was Snape anyway? Something that could turn into a Death Eater’s meeting? What was that, like a party that could turn into an orgy? Or a – a something not so bad that turned into a something real bad? Who cared what it was like– where was Snape? What if he were writhing under the Cruciatus or being burnt and healed over and over again? What if Voldemort knew ways to torture someone and then patch them up so he could hear the screams again?

Or what if – oh, what if Snape wasn’t in pain at all? Maybe he was using the Death Eater meetings as an excuse to leave his bothersome ward and get out of the house for a while. What would Snape go out and do for fun? Drinking alone in a corner in a dark pub, scowling at other people having a good time, maybe popping children’s balloons and stealing candy from babies, then laughing when they cried. The potions master’s idea of a night out on the town. Meanwhile, Harry was stuck in bed, worrying. Selfish git.

Harry pulled his pillow into a ball under his head. No matter what Snape was doing, the fact remained that Harry was stuck in bed at Snapdragon Manor. He couldn’t wait until he was of age; if he stayed with Snape then, he could come and go as pleased with or without Snape’s permission. He could just hear himself now: "Go to bed? Are you kidding, Snape? I’m going out tonight to meet Ron. What time will I be back? Hopefully, before morning. Don’t stay up – I’ll let myself in."

And Harry would swing on his cloak and Apparate out of the manor while Snape could do nothing but sigh and shake his head. Of course, why would he be staying with Snape once he was of age? He would have his own house, maybe a flat in London or a cottage in the country.

Yet, as Harry snuggled into his pillow for the third time, he didn’t understand why living on his own as an adult did not excite him as much as living with Snape as an adult. Maybe it would be more fun to show Snape that he was all grown-up; by himself, they was no one to impress.

Harry heard the clock strike once. A few more minutes passed, and then the bedroom door opened, casting a beam on light on the wooden floor.

Harry pretended to close his eyes, but left them open slits. He saw Snape walk in, in one piece, thank goodness. It was too dark to see if the man were in pain, but he wasn’t limping or bleeding that Harry could make out.

Harry lay very still as Snape walked over to his bed. For a moment, Harry feared that Snape would realize he wasn’t asleep, and the last thing Harry wanted was another lecture on obedience. Besides, he had tried to go asleep, he really had. It wasn’t like the other night when Harry had stayed awake deliberately.

Harry felt a warm hand on his back, pressing down protectively. "There’s a good boy," he heard Snape murmured under his breath. "Too bad you can’t be this good when you’re awake."

But the hand stayed just a moment later before Snape moved away. And Harry found himself wishing it might have stayed a bit longer, perhaps patting until he had dozed off.

He heard Snape get into bed, and the light from the hall vanished. Suddenly, Harry’s eyes felt too heavy too keep open, and they slid shut. As he drifted off to sleep, Harry pondered on how upside-down his life had become.

------

"This is wrong," Snape frowned.

"It’s not," Harry insisted stubbornly. "I used the books you gave me, all of them. How can it be wrong?"

"The sequence of ingredients is wrong," Snape tapped on the paper with a stern finger. "And you have toads’ livers listed instead of bats’. Rushing through things, Mr. Potter, won’t make me let you go flying any sooner this afternoon."

Harry looked up, startled. "You’re going to let me fly?"

"Yes," Snape marked red corrections all over Harry’s paper.

"On my broom?"

"No, on the back of a giant butterfly. Of course, on your broom. But just over the garden and only for a half hour."

"But it’s only been a week since I went to Malfoy Manor." Harry had no idea why he was reminding Snape of his earlier misbehavior. Why didn’t he just say thanks and let it go like a normal person would?

"I know, but you need some fresh air, and I need some adult time," Snape returned the paper, which looked as if it were bleeding. "Recopy this essay with the corrections I’ve made, and you can go outside."

Harry sat back down, and for a few minutes, the only sound was the scratch of quills on papers as they both wrote. Harry had almost finished the essay when he ventured, "After I fly, could I swim in the lake for a while? You know, for exercise?"

Snape turned his dark eyes towards his ward. "Don’t push it, Potter. You’re flying against my better judgement as it is. And speaking of things against my better judgement, we need to discuss something."

Harry groaned. What had he done wrong now?

"Your birthday."

Harry’s mouth dropped open. "My – my birthday?"

Snape sighed. "Yes, Potter, it’s the day on which you entered the world, and most people tend to think of the day thereafter as their birthday."

"Ha-ha, so funny," Harry retorted. "I thought I wasn’t going to do anything for my birthday cause I’ve been so bad as you would say."

"I never said that," Snape stated. "Not the being bad part, which you were and subsequently punished for your naughtiness, but I never forbade your birthday. You were the one who brought the whole ordeal up a while ago. I assumed you still wanted to meet your friends to celebrate, but if you’ve changed your mind . . ."

"No, I want to see Ron and Hermione. Where are we going to meet? Their houses? Diagon Alley?"

"They’re coming here," Snape said, looking down at his papers.

Harry blinked, saying nothing.

Snape finally glanced up at him. "What? Is that so shocking?"

"No," Harry managed, "I’m just waiting for the real Severus Snape to appear and whoever you are to disappear."

"This is your home for the summer. You should have your birthday here."

"This is my – my . . . seriously, what have you done with Snape? The Snape I know won’t let a house elf visit me and yells at me when I make the smallest noise. The Snape I know can’t wait for school to start, but enjoys humiliating me while I’m here."

"You’re delusional," Snape decided, unaffected. "You like to paint me as a villain –"

"And you gladly oblige by acting like one," Harry returned. He liked the way he and Snape could spare verbally now without Snape getting angry. It was something he never had with Sirius. Sirius had treated him like an adult, but his godfather had never jabbed words with him in such a teasing, snide way. It was nice to know that even though Snape might yell and discipline, he would let Harry be himself when they were just hanging out.

"So the night of July 31st we’ll have Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger over. Anyone else?"

"Dobby," Harry said the first name that came to mind. Heck, if Snape was asking, Harry might as well add to the list. "And maybe Seamus Finnigan."

"All right, if you must."

Harry decided to go for broke. "And Neville."

Snape’s eyes jerked up, glittering and dark. Harry held his gaze, refusing to budge.

"Very well," Snape’s voice was tight. "If you must have Mr. Longbottom, he may come. Give me the essay, and go flying."

------

Flying felt great, especially after being restricted for so long. Harry put some extra speed into his broom, going as fast as he could without falling off completely. He whizzed down the garden path and barely missed the bird feeder. Next, he swooped down over the squares where the squirts of water were jumping up. He tried to dash past them fast enough not to get hit, but the water squirted up faster than he could fly.

Like a mad daredevil, Harry began racing around the turns of the hedges. He was making excellent time until he cut it too sharp, skidded around a tree, and fell into the lake. He came up, grinning and shaking water off. So much for not swimming. On impulse, he turned towards the manor that loomed over the lake.

"Hey, Snape," he hollered. "I accidentally fell in. Since I’m already wet, can I swim for a while? I won’t go out too far or try any tricks, and this way you can have peace and quiet for another hour. What do you say?"

No sound came from the house. Harry had decided that either Snape hadn’t heard or didn’t want to respond when suddenly his wet clothes changed into a pair of swimming trucks. Harry looked down at them; the trunks reached his knees and were a soft green color with tiny white snakes chasing each other all over.

He laughed, refusing to be annoyed. "Whatever." And he dove into the lake.

The water felt so cool and fresh to his sweaty limbs. It was perfect bliss to float on the water, gently waving his arms to keep himself afloat and gazing up at the blue sky.

There had to be a way to get Snape and Neville to stop being enemies. Well, more like at odds with each other, Snape always scaring Neville half to death. The party was the best place to do it. If only he could get Neville to see that Snape was just a man with faults like everyone else, and Snape to see that Neville had his reasons for acting so jumpy. Neville might be persuaded, but Snape? Ah, Harry would have to walk very lightly there. Still, the birthday party was the best, if only, place he could get them together before school started. He really would be a hero if he could help both Neville and Snape work through their differences.

Harry treaded in the water for a while, then began swimming in circles to stretch out his arms and legs.

The lake was not a slimy, murky pit of water like most lakes he had seen. The bottom was sandy like the beach, and the water was so clear he could see the bottom until he stirred all the sand. Little fish darted away from him, and Harry stood perfectly still, hoping the fish would come back. They finally edged closer, swimming up to his bare legs as if to inspect the hair that has recently started growing there. As quick as he could, Harry plunged his hands in the water and tried to catch one, but the fish swam away, and he had to wait again until they ventured back.

The swans came towards him, and Harry thought of trying to catch them as well. But they looked like such magnificence, grandiose creatures (not to mention sharp-beaked) that he just splashed them instead. They turned away haughtily and glided far away from the awkward creature throwing water in the air.

Next, Harry thought he saw a turtle burrowing into the bottom of the lake, and Harry splashed over to it, hoping to catch him. If he saw a real snake, it might be fun to grab it and stuff it under Snape’s upturned teacup the next morning.

A part of him knew he was acting much too childishly for someone about to turn sixteen, but it was fun to goof around in the lake with no worries. He didn’t realize how long he had been out until he heard Snape calling him in for supper.

Dripping and tired, he met Snape at the door.

"You’re sunburned," Snape noted. He pressed two fingers down on Harry’s wet shoulder. They both watched the skin turn white where Snape had pressed and then turn red again.

Harry shrugged, though he was already felling hot. "I’ll be fine."

Snape drew out his wand. An incantation and a wave, and Harry’s skin turned from a red to a tan and cooled immediately.

"Thanks," Harry said as he took the towel that Snape held out.

"Yes, well, since you didn’t save us a lot of trouble and drown, I guess you can have some supper."

"Fine," Harry said, stifling a yawn. "I’ll try to choke on supper and go that way."

The only reply he received was a firm hand pushing him towards the dining room where a hearty meal awaited.

------

"Stop squirming," Snape ordered.

Harry glared up at him. "I’m not."

"Yes, you are."

"Well, I’m trying not to."

"If you don’t stand still, I’ll never get your tie tied properly, and then you can never go to your party."

Harry tried to stay still as Snape looped the tie around his upturned collar. "What if no one comes?"

"Then you’ll know once and for all that you have no friends and you really are a pathetical failure. Stop pouting – you had everyone reply to your invitations, and they’re all coming, even Mr. Finnigan who was visiting relatives in Ireland, and I think it was a ridiculous distance to travel considering you’re not that close of friends."

"Yeah, sure, we are." Harry looked nervously towards the entrance hall. "Best friends forever. Do they even know where they’re going? Will they break the wards? How will they get through?"

"Individual portkeys that only allow the invitee to come," Snape explained, turning the tie over and under until it was a neat knot. "They will have no idea where this is, nor will we tell them anything more than you are staying here with me this summer. Any further questions will be ignored."

"Someone’s thought of everything," Harry said snidely. He was rewarded with Snape jerking his tie a little too tight.

"Behave yourself, Mr. Potter, or you’ll find this a very short and unpleasant birthday party." Snape turned down Harry’s white collar and straightened his tie. "There, you look somewhat presentable. You’re the star of the show tonight so mind your manners and don’t do anything too outrageous or Potter-ish, like showing off."

"Potter-ish?" Harry repeated, trying not to snigger. "What is that? Anything that annoys the bat of a potions master?"

"And no talking back to me," Snape was a bit stern. "I have a reputation to keep, or I’ll have no end of problems with my classes come autumn. If you do anything to jeopardize that reputation, I’ll Obliviate everyone, send them home, and the term birthday spanking will have an entirely new context for you."

Harry stood in his tracks. "Wait, you weren’t think of giving me one, even in private?"

"Not if you behave," Snape threw the words over his shoulder as he entered the entrance hall.

Harry shook his head, but followed Snape into the room. Harry was dressed in a coat and tails, but to his surprise, Snape had left off the robe and wore a dark suit with ebony buttons up the front. His dark hair looked a little short and cleaner, but Snape frowned at Harry’s own hair.

"For the last time," Snape put his hand on the top of Harry’s head, "lie flat!"

Harry was about to retort, when the doorbell rang. A house elf scampered to the door in a clean tea cozy.

Snape put both hands on Harry’s shoulders and moved him to stand a little ahead, facing the door. "Stand up straight," Snape instructed. "Hands by your side, no fidgeting. You’re greeting guests into Snapdragon Manor, after all."

Heart pounding, palms sweaty, and completely unsure why he should feel so nervous about having his friends come to his birthday, Harry stared at the door.

The house elf opened it, and the first guest stepped inside.

It was Hermione, early as always. She was dressed in a dark blue gown that was slimming and made of shiny fabric, and her hair was piled up on her head with little wisps hanging down. Quite a different picture from the frazzled schoolgirl with a dozen books in a pack slung over her shoulder. In one hand, she held a small, wrapped box.

“Harry!” she cried, a grin brightening her face.

She ran up to him, and he suddenly found himself in a warm embrace, smelling her perfumed hair.

When she pulled back, her eyes were dancing. “I was so glad we would have a chance to see each other before school starts. A birthday party – what a grand idea! I was very glad to have a break from all my studying. I’m already half-through all our textbooks for next term. Sixth year is supposed to be the hardest –”

“Miss Granger,” Snape spoke in a low tone, from behind Harry, “so glad you could make it.”

“Professor Snape,” Hermione glanced to him, “lovely to see you.”

Harry blinked, startled. He had expected a torrent of questions from his friends, especially from Hermione who wasn’t one to stand idly by and not ask questions when she thought something was amiss. But instead she stood there with a serene expression as if seeing Snape did not trouble her in the least bit.

That was when Harry realized that he had not asked Snape what they were suppose to tell people. He had thought that Snape considered Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Seamus to be on the right side of the fight against evil, but surely Snape wouldn’t tell them that Harry was staying at his house all summer. After all the precautions the man had made to ensure that no one knew, telling four teenagers seemed definitely out of character for Snape.

Another knock sounded at the door. The house elf reached to open it.

“I see you have house elves, Professor,” Hermione commented, in the same chilled voice she always used when talking about the enslaved creatures to anyone.

“I do,” Snape replied evenly. “And I’ll thank you not to go about setting them free at Mr. Potter’s birthday celebration.”

Fortunately, Hermione could not answer as Seamus came walking up into the house, a box in his own hand.

“Hello,” he greeted the trio standing in the entrance hall. “Sorry I’m late. Is Dean here yet?”

Harry froze. He had completely forgotten about Dean Thomas, Seamus’s best friend. It was understandable; Harry had only shared a dorm room with Dean for five whole school years! So stupid! But Harry had been so busy planning a way to get Neville and Snape to understand each other that he had completely forgotten about Dean.

“Er, no,” Harry blurted out. “We had a – uh, fight before school ended. We’re not speaking.”

It was horrible excuse and a bad lie. Harry could feel Snape’s gaze boring into him for starting his party with a lie, but Harry couldn’t think of another way to explain Dean’s absence.

“Oh, all right, then,” Seamus said, rather taken aback. “Don’t worry about him. He’s always changing his mind – he’ll be all right come September. Oh, here comes Ron.”

Ron was dressed in nicer clothes than usual, though certainly not as fancy as Harry or Seamus, but as Ron trudged into the manor, Harry could not help grinning at his woeful face. An occasion to dress up was for Ron little better than a week’s worth of detention with Filch. His dress clothes, once very nice and proper, now looked worn and tired, as if being past down through six boys had taken all the clothes had to give. In his hand, Ron clutched a gift that was wrapped in brown paper with a messy collection of string and tape holding it together. Harry felt a moment’s twinge of guilt – he should have had Snape put no gifts at the bottom of the invitation. Ron must have worried about how he was going to give his friend a present, a worry that Harry never wanted to place on Ron.

“Hey,” he smiled at Ron. Harry was never sure what to say on these meetings after a long time of separation. It was better at Hogwarts where they saw each other every day, and they could say a lot or nothing, and everything was normal. To hug now would be too weird, to shake hands seemed too formal, but to just stand and say nothing was the worst of all.

“Hey, Harry,” Ron smiled his crooked smile, awkwardly shifting in his old clothes. “Sorry if I was a bit late. Mum couldn’t find the invitation. She says hello, and so does Dad and Ginny.”

“Great,” Harry agreed. He wanted Ron to notice Snape, to notice that they were standing in an entrance way of a large manor, and Ron had seen the house on Privet Drive so he should think something was amiss with Harry being here. Could they see Snape at all? No, Hermione had spoken to him a minute ago, and Ron nodded casually to the man as if nothing were wrong.

A noise sounded outside the closed door, like someone tripping and nearly falling. The house elf hurried to the door and drew it back to reveal Neville in a handsome suit that looked all wrong on him as he struggled up to his feet.

“Sorry,” he said, with the same sheepish expression he wore at Hogwarts when he couldn’t get anything right. “Slipped a bit there. Happy birthday, Harry.” Neville clutched a package that looked like it had gotten squished a bit.

“Hello, Neville,” Harry said, casting a quick glance at Snape. The man was frowning, displeasure written in the taunt lines of his forehead.

“Mr. Longbottom,” Snape said tersely, “please come in and try to keep from falling on your face.”

Neville looked at the potions master nervously. “Y-yes, professor,” he stammered.

“Since you all are here, please come into the dining room and place your gifts on the side table.”

“But Dobby hasn’t arrived yet,” Harry objected.

Snape’s frown grew. “I received news from your little elf friend that he would be coming later. Come into the dining room, now.”

They all followed Snape, Hermione chatting with Seamus about a new book she was reading.

Harry didn’t understand why they weren’t reacting more to Snape. Something was wrong, very wrong, especially considering that Neville seemed no more scared or worried about Snape than usual. Harry had expected him to faint or be so agitated that Hermione would take him outside to calm down.

In the dining room, five places had been set, one at the head of the table with a streamer on it. Harry supposed that was his seat, so he took it. Hermione and Ron were on his right, Seamus and Neville on his right.

“Enjoy your evening,” Snape said rather stiffly. He nodded, then went out the door.

“Such a lovely place to have a dinner party,” Hermione observed as she placed her napkin in her lap. “I do love old manor like this. Do you know its name, Harry?”

“Snapdragon Manor,” Harry said, watching her carefully. “It’s Snape’s home.”

“Lovely,” Hermione smiled.

Harry looked around to see if anyone else was shocked. “I’ve been living here for a month. With Snape. Both of us, in this house together.”

“Yes, very nice,” Seamus agreed.

“Ooo! Clam broth, one of my favorite,” Hermione was delighted as bowls of soup materialized at their places.

“Better than Mum makes it,” Ron agreed as he tasted it.

Harry watched them all spooning the soup and nibbling on the round crackers that came beside it.

“Will you excuse me?” he got up from his chair, throwing his cloth napkin on the seat of his chair. Harry went out into the hall where Snape was watching the dinner party.

“What are you doing?” Snape demanded, quite cross.

“What am I doing? What are you doing, spying on us?”

“No, I wanted to make sure everything was in hand. Do you need something?”

“Yeah, I want to talk to you.”

The man sighed. “Potter, I know you show an appalling lack of manners on a regular basis, but it is considered very bad taste to leave your guests in the middle of a party that is, in fact, in your honor.”

Harry waved away manners with a quick motion of his hand. “Forget that. What’s wrong with everyone?”

Snape sighed again, and Harry quickly said,

“No, not like they’re idiots or they’re self-righteous Gryffindors, or there isn’t a whole brain between the four of them. Why aren’t they surprised?”

“Surprised at what?” Snape said, sounding a bit more evasive than Harry thought he should.

“Surprised that, instead of sweating it out at my aunt and uncle’s house, I’m spending the summer with you! And don’t give me any ‘Oh, I would be an excellent person to stay with’ kind of crap –”

“Language, Mr. Potter,” Snape cautioned.

“Come on, why weren’t they shocked or horrified or even taken aback for a second when they saw you here with me? Or rather me here with you!”

“Because I arranged for the portkey to affect their thinking,” Snape replied, very cool and collected. “As soon as they arrived on the doorstep, they would not find it surprising that you were here with me. I didn’t want to deal with any hysterics from you children. And as soon as they return from wherever they came from, they won’t remember seeing me. All they’ll remember is having a good time at your birthday party.”

Harry stared in horror. “You modified their memories?”

Snape glared at him. “How about a ‘Thank you, professor, for arranging for me to have a nice birthday and let all my friends come’ or ‘I understand you must have had your reasons’ or even a ‘Thanks, Snape, I’ll try to be less annoying seeing as how you went out of your way and considering that I’ve been a brat for most of my visit’?”

“I’ve not been a brat,” Harry retorted. “I’ve been very good lately. I just don’t like the ideas of my friends having their heads messed with. Maybe it’s something Slytherins enjoy, but we do not.”

“So help me, Potter,” Snape growled, “you keep this up, and I’ll send everyone home, and no one will remember this party, including you.”

“Fine,” Harry said. He marched back into the dining room and took his seat. Everyone looked at him, but he only smiled.

“Sorry about that. Snape – er, wanted to ask me something. He can’t leave me alone for a single second.”

“Oh,” Hermione nodded reluctantly, “yes, well, as I was telling Neville – you really must read the potions textbook early to get a good grasp on the complexities of the concepts.”

“Hermione,” Ron groaned, but she shot him a look to stay quiet.

“No, really, Neville, this year is not about slacking off. We have to focus very hard, study even more. The O.W.L.s may be over, but we have N.E.W.T.s coming up, and any future employer will look very hard at the last two years at Hogwarts. The first five barely matter.”

“Then why did we study ourselves crazy?” Ron demanded.

“And potions is not a subject to ease through on a whim,” Hermione continued, ignoring Ron. “You really must think about –”

“I’m not taking potions,” Neville interrupted in a small voice. “I didn’t make high enough on the – you know . . .”

Hermione looked away, her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment.

Harry thought about changing the subject. But suddenly, he found himself saying, “You shouldn’t let that stop you if you really want to take potions.”

“What?” Neville looked at him blankly.

“Yeah,” Harry plunged ahead. “Sometimes a professor will take you into their class as an exception. You should talk to Snape about that.”

Neville stared at Harry, eyes unbelieving.

“In fact,” Harry continued, “you should talk to him tonight. Why not? I mean, you’re both here, and I know he wouldn’t mind, considering he thinks he’s such a great professor, a student’s best hope for a teacher.” He hoped Snape was still standing outside the room, listening. “And if he is a great professor, I think he would be happy to talk to you, really listen to you without criticizing.”

The four teenagers looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

“What?” Harry looked right back. “If you see nothing wrong with my being here, at Snape’s manor in the middle of the summer, you can’t see anything wrong with Neville talking to him. You know, you should ask him if he would consider giving you private tutoring lessons so you can be head of your class this year.”

“Harry,” Hermione looked concerned, “are you feeling all right?”

“I feel great.” Harry lifted up his glass of pumpkin juice. “Harry birthday to me, and thank you all for coming. So, Seamus, done anything impressive this summer?"

And the conversation turned to the holidays and what they had done, which didn’t seem like too much more than what they normally did in the summer. Hermione studied, Neville stayed with his grandmother, Seamus went home to his family, and Ron complained.

A cake was brought out at the end of the meal, carefully balanced by the two house elves. It was a gigantic chocolate thing with the words Happy Birthday, Harry Potter sprawled on the top in white piped icing. Sixteen candles circled the top, and then they flared to life, fire sparking out of the wicks. Hermione clapped her hands together in delight and immediately struck up the chorus of “Happy Birthday to You.” Harry waited in silence, wondering what he should do while they sang. He had never had anyone sing the song to him before, and he wondered if he should sing along or just smile as they sang. He settled for smiling, and as soon as it was over, he leaned down and blew out the candles.

“Did you make a wish?” Hermione cheered, looking happy that her friend was having such a good birthday.

“Uh – sure,” Harry lied. What were you supposed to wish for on a birthday? Something big like escaping your destiny, or something silly like a new broomstick?

“Don‘t tell us, or it won’t come true,” Seamus teased, getting caught up in Hermione’s enthusiasm for the party.

One house elf cut into the cake, spoiling the pretty icing. Harry grinned when he saw a piece of the cake plopped down onto a plate. The cake was iced with chocolate frosting, but inside the cake was white vanilla except for the center which was made of chocolate pudding. Harry couldn’t think of a more appeasing cake than the one before him, and he hoped there would be enough left over to last for a week, a piece each night at supper.

Once the plates were all passed out, they began to eat it, savoring each bite.

“I never would have thought of pudding in the middle of a cake,” Seamus observed, “but it goes quite nicely. My mum tried to make me pies for my birthdays, but they were always a flat failure. Once she forgot to add the sugar, and I asked her to let my aunt make it after that. What about you, Neville? Your gran ever make a cake?”

“That’s right,” Ron glanced towards Neville. “Your birthday was last week. You have gotten us all together, mate. Could have had a right proper time.”

“I forgot,” Neville looked down at his plate of cake intensely. “Gran was busy, but we went to see – well, we went to see someone that day.”

Harry felt a righteous throb of angry as he looked at Neville’s woeful face. Why wouldn’t Snape be moved by this? Neville looked miserable.

Once they were finished with their cake, Seamus said, “All right, time for presents.”

Immediately, their plates cleared away, and a pile of gifts appeared in front of Harry on the table.

“Mine first,” Seamus announced, “’cause it was the hardest to find. I couldn’t think what you needed – I mean, you must have everything you could think of at home, right? So I got you the silliest thing I could imagine. I saw them in Diagon Alley a few days ago.”

Harry ripped off the gold wrapping paper. Then he laughed out loud.

“What is it?” Hermione craned her neck to see.

“Little rainbow arcs,” Harry held the gift up so they could all have a look. “It makes a bridge across the water to walk on.”

“This way if you come to a stream or river,” Seamus explained, “and you think ‘Hey, I’m the hero of the wizarding world – I shouldn’t have to get my feet wet,’ you just pull out this baby here, place it on the ground, and voila – you got your own little bridge. Once you’re across, just say the word that printed inside the package, and the arc should jump back in your pocket. Cool, huh?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Thanks, it’s really – cool.”

“Mine next,” Hermione urged. “Something you will not like at first, but you will thank me for later.”

“Always a selling point,” Harry pulled the paper off. All he saw was a small timer in a box with the words Study Time on top.

“A timer?” he asked Hermione.

“A magical study timer,” she explained. “You set the clock for however long you’d like from twenty minutes to two hours. Once the timer starts, you have to study for that long.”

“What do you mean ‘have to’?” Harry asked suspicious.

“I mean you can’t think of anything else other than studying until the timer runs out. I tried it on myself to make sure it works – for twenty minutes I sat reading a magical history book even though I was starving and tired and didn’t want to study at all. I literally could not get up until the timer rang. It is guaranteed to make even the most distracted student study.”

“And I was the first person that came to mind?” Harry questioned, trying not to laugh. Only Hermione would come up with such a gift.

“No, originally it was for Ron,” Hermione replied candidly, making Ron glare at her. “But I thought you could use it this summer.”

“Can you set it for someone else?” Harry suddenly wondered. He had a fearful vision of Snape setting the timer for two hours over and over throughout the day, and Harry helpless to do anything other than study.

“No, it only works for the person who sets it.”

“Meaning, you could trick your enemy into setting it for you, and then he’d have to study while you watched him,” Ron said, sniggering.

“We should take this to Hogwarts,” Seamus suggested. “And get all the Slytherins to set it.”

“It’s for real studying, not pranks,” Hermione insisted, but the boys were not listening to her as they laughed. Even Neville gave a quiet chuckle at the idea.

Harry reached for Ron’s gift, and he noticed that his friend sobered immediately. Ron’s gift was a long, narrow leather pouch. Harry turned it over in his hands several times, trying to guess what it was for.

“It’s a wand holder,” Ron finally pointed out. “It’s made of a special kind of dragon hide that repels the strongest spell. And it’s enchanted too, so that the owner can put his wand in there, and no one else can ever remove it.”

“I’ve read about those,” Hermione nodded. “Supposed to be very strong magic.”

“That’s right,” Seamus spoke up. “Even if you die, no one can open the pouch to get your wand. Not that – you know, we think you’re going to die.”

The group could have lapsed into uncomfortable silence, but Harry lightened the mood by commenting, “Well, if I do, I’ll be sure to put my wand in this case first. And Neville, all I need is a leather case to put myself in so I don’t get hurt. You got one of those in here?”

Harry picked up the package that was about the size of a shoebox. He opened it to reveal three large books tied together with a leather cord.

“Books?” Ron said. “I though only Hermione would give him that.”

“Not just books,” Seamus said. “I’ve seen those before. It’s a three-part journal for you to write in.”

“A diary?” Ron snickered. Neville looked away, embarrassed.

“No,” Seamus insisted, “better than that. The first book is for anything important you want to remember. Whatever you write in the first book, you’ll remember for the rest of your life. The second is for stuff you want to forget. Dumb things you did or said or anything humiliating. You’ll still remember the stuff, but it won’t be as bad as before, and gradually everyone will forget that you fell down the stairs in the middle of your cousin’s wedding ceremony or whatever. The last one – I don’t remember what it does.”

“It’s for spells,” Neville said. “Spells that you can’t remember or can’t get quite right. You write them in here several times, and then you know them.”

“Does it really work?” Hermione questioned, doubtful.

“It’s supposed to,” Seamus replied. “Only you have to keep using them, or they lose their power.”

“Thanks,” Harry said to Neville. “That’s a fantastic gift. All of you – brilliant gifts. I would have never come up with anything as clever. Don’t invite me to any of your parties because I’ll show up with something awful like a gift certificate to Flourishes and Blots.”

“A what?” Ron asked, confused.

“Exactly,” Harry said.

“My cousin once showed up at my greataunt’s party with a tub of balled up tissues,” Seamus remembered. “He was going to bewitch them to float around her like snowballs to scare her or make her laugh, I forget which. He said the wrong spell, and they all formed a snowman that tried to eat her. Yeah – we don’t talk to that cousin anymore.”

“Can’t be worse than my uncle’s family from Scotland,” Hermione interjected. “They hate my family, but they don’t know I’m a witch so they feel perfectly safe in insulting us every Christmas by sending a crate of bats, hoping we’ll swoop around in blind joy or so the card says. My parents never knew what to do with them, but now I use them to study, and once they die, I mix them into potions, just for fun.”

Harry was sure he heard someone fall into the wall out in the hallway, but he said, “You practice potions during the summer?”

“Of course,” Hermione answered in her no-nonsense voice. “It’s good to practice, and I know I won’t blow myself up in the dungeons come fall. I really wish Professor Snape would have us work on potions that are a little more complicated. This mixing two or three ingredients together to make a salve to sooth cuts – child’s play! I mixed up that batch of Polyjuice Potion our second year, and we’ve not done anything that comes near to that in five years’ of lessons.”

Harry could only imagine Snape’s wrathful expression as he listened. Obviously, a part of the mind control of the portkeys included forgetting about Snape as soon as he was out of sight.

“So,” Harry said in a very casual voice, “you don’t think Snape does a good job teaching?”

“He gets students to listen by swooping around and scowling. His actual teaching methods – please! Harry, you did better teaching us in the DA meetings than Professor Snape ever imagined. Neville, what do you think?”

“I think we should go outside and watch the sky,” Harry suggested before Neville could answer. Though he didn’t mind a little Snape-bashing, he did not want Neville to start on how he felt about his potions master. That would not help bring Neville and Snape together or forget their differences. And it was already almost ten – Snape would send everyone home soon.

“Watch the sky?” Ron lifted one eyebrow skeptically.

“Yeah, for falling stars,” Harry said, wishing that did not sound as childish as it did.

“It’s almost dark out. And I bet there’s a great view, being out in the country,” Hermione hurried out of her chair.
They all went out into the hallway where Snape stood with crossed arms and a sour expression.

“Professor,” Hermione smiled, ‘I had completely forgotten that you were here. We’re going out to watch for falling stars.”

“Lovely,” Snape said coldly. “Stand by the lake – you’ll have a better view of the sky. If I could jut borrow your guest of honor for a second.” He clamped a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry knew that it was now or never. “Sure, I’ll stay. Neville, stay too.”

As Seamus, Ron, and Hermione headed outside, Hermione lecturing about what she had read recently on falling stars, Neville walked back towards Snape and Harry, looking as he were about to be tortured. “Yes, Harry?”

“Ask him, Neville,” Harry urged. “Ask him about the class and the tutoring.”

Neville kept watching the floor as if he hoped the ground might open up and swallow him. Snape looked like he was about to spit nails as he watched Neville tremble.

“Neville wants to take potions,” Harry told Snape. “He didn’t get high enough on his O.W.L.s, and he wants you to make an exception for him.”

“The rules stand,” Snape ground out, his eyes hard.

“You said there are ways of getting around the rules,” Harry replied. “You said you could make exceptions. Why for me, and not for Neville? Hasn’t he suffered too? Isn’t he Alice Longbottom’s son?”

Harry didn’t understand exactly what he was saying, nor did he understand the urge he had to make Snape admit that Neville had suffered. Snape had to stop bulling Neville, had to stop blaming him for things that Neville had no control over. Neville had done nothing wrong other than being born who he was.

“Potter,” Snape warned, his grip tight on Harry’s shoulder.

“What? You aren’t going to say anything?” Harry challenged. “You aren’t going to admit that you were wrong all these years, that you were angry about what happened to Alice so you took it out on – omph!”

Harry suddenly found himself staring at the floor. He was tucked against Snape’s side, under one firm arm, when Snape brought his other hand down with a crack against Harry’s backside. Harry heard a gasp from Neville; then all other sounds were lost as Snape’s hand smacked him over and over again. Harry counted sixteen spanks (one for each year, maybe? How embarrassing!), and then Snape released him.

Blinking back tears, Harry straightened, trying not to rub his backside, and turned to face Neville.

Neville’s face was frozen in an expression of horror, fear, and surprise. He could do nothing more than stare at Harry with huge eyes and his mouth open.

“I hope that answers your questions, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, breathing hard. “I trust we’ll hear no more from you. As for you, Mr. Longbottom –”

“I don’t want to take potions,” Neville said in a rush. “I’m no good at potions. I want to concentrate on Herbology. Please don’t make me take potions, sir.”

“Potions is out for you,” Snape said, regaining his composure and straightening his collar. “I am sorry about what happened to your parents, to your mother especially. Along with all the other teachers at Hogwarts, I have tried to treat you fairly and see that you live up to your potential. I hope you will apply yourself to your studies. What happened to your parents – horrible as it may be – is no excuse for you to cower against the odds and perform poorly at school. Remember that. Potter, take your friend outside, and watch for falling stars. Then it’s time for everyone to go home.”

Snape swept away, forebodingly.

Neville stared at Harry, still in shock.

“Oh, come on,” Harry finally scowled, pulling Neville towards the door by the arm.

“But – but he . . . he –” Neville couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

“Yes, he spanked me,” Harry was glad the room was dim enough so Neville couldn’t see his red face.

“He did,” Neville gasped. “Is that what he does now? Is that how he’s going to punish students in class? Oh, I’m so glad I’m not in potions anymore.”

“No, that’s reserved for me alone,” Harry grumbled. “He thinks the old-fashioned discipline works the best.”

“Looks like it hurts,” Neville was sympathetic if still agitated.

“Yeah, it’s no love pats,” Harry dourly agreed. “Don’t tell the others, all right?”

“I’m going to pretend I never saw that,” Neville swore. “I think we should all go home as quickly as possible – no questions asked. Sorry your birthday ended like – like that.”

“Yeah, me too,” Harry sighed.

------

“What were you thinking?” Snape bellowed as he stalked into his bedroom.

Harry was already in bed, wishing he had pretended to be asleep. His friends had all gone home, and Dobby had arrived very late with many Happy Birthdays and an assortment of knitted hats for Harry. But then he had left, and now Harry had to face Snape all alone. “I don’t know – I had an idea, sort of.”

“You had an idea, sort of?” Snape thundered, his eyes lit with fire. “You foolish, ridiculous, inept, little brat of boy!”

“Hey, it’s my birthday,” Harry protested pitifully.

“Which is the only reason I don’t have you across my knee now, getting paddled with your hairbrush.”

Harry fell silent, not wanting to wish to incur Snape’s wrath.

“How could you say such things about the Longbottoms with Neville standing right there?” Snape paced up and down in front of Harry’s narrow bed. “Do you know how humiliating that was for him? He can’t do a thing to protect his parents, can’t do anything but stand there and take whatever people say about them. Do you like when people talk about your parents in front of you?”

“You do!” Harry accused.

“Yes, and how does it make you feel?”

“I didn’t want Neville to feel bad,” Harry insisted. “I was hoping you two might get along. You could talk about his mother – you knew her years ago. Neville might like to hear about her.”

Snape stopped pacing, standing still to glare down at his ward. “When I talk about your father, a father that you can’t remember, how do you feel? Do you feel better because I remember him, or do you feel helpless because you can only yell at me to be quiet? Has Neville ever talked about his mother to you?”

Harry felt wave after wave of guilty heat roll across his face. “No,” he confessed in a whisper, “I only knew because I saw the Longbottoms in St. Mungo’s last Christmas. Neville was there with his grandmother. Ron and Hermione were with me.”

“How did he react to seeing the three of you?”

“He was embarrassed. He never talked about it after.” Harry felt his eyes prick painful, but he hastily blinked, refusing to cry. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to upset him. I just thought, maybe, if I could get the both of you to understand, to get him to know why you were so mad at him, I thought it would make everything better. Sorry.”

Snape did not answer. He went around the room, extinguishing candles until the room was almost dark. Harry sunk down on the pillows, wondering how he had managed to ruin such a happy birthday.

“You can’t rescue everyone,” Snape said in a low, slow voice, standing by a bureau of drawers. “Some people don’t want to be saved – they would rather stay in their misery and despair because it’s all they know.”

Harry nodded, even though Snape was not looking at him. The man took something from the top drawer and then approached Harry’s bed.

“You may save the world someday,” Snape said, even lower. “You may become a famous hero, a leader of thousands, but you cannot let yourself have a hero complex then or now because you will never be able to save everyone. If you try, you’ll destroy yourself in the process. You need to do what you can to help whomever you can and serve others to the best of your abilities. If you do that, you’ll be more than a hero. You’ll be a strong, good man who is respected for his courage and his wisdom. I see a glimmer of that man in you already, but you must work harder to become him, a man worth knowing and worth following to very end.”

That did it. Harry closed his eyes as tears spilled down his cheeks. He did not make a sound other than the occasional sniffle, but he could not escape the impact of Snape’s words. They were words that Harry needed to hear, had wanted to hear from anyone in the last five years, but now having heard them, he could only cry.

Fingers brushed under his eyes, wiping away his tears. Then something small and hard was pressed into Harry’s hand.

“Happy Birthday, Harry,” Snape said, then walked away.

Harry raised his hand up to look at his gift though blurred vision. It was a gold pocketwatch, old and handsome, with the words To Harry Potter on His 16th Birthday inscribed on the inside of the cover. It ticked a steady tempo that he could feel reverberate through the whole watch.

On the whole, it hadn’t been such a bad birthday – it had been better than he was expecting, and certainly better than birthdays with the Dursleys.

He rolled onto his side, still holding the watch. One candelabra was lit on the far table, near Snape’s bed. Harry watched the small flames flicker, and then the whole candelabra blurred and split into two before his tired eyes as he neared that soft twilight of sleep.

Harry fell asleep with the pocketwatch still in his hand, ticking softly into the night.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, barely getting the itch gone before he had to put his quill tip back to touch the paper. He wrote another fifty words, all of them painstakingly neat, before he managed to tear his eyes away from the paper to glance at the timer. He took in the time left, and then his eyes went back to the paper like a magnet. Another hundred words, and he was able to get out, "This is torture."

"Less talk, more studying," Snape said, entirely too cheerful from his chair. It was a large leather chair with a stool to prop up his feet, and a tea tray sat on the side table along with a plate of sugary biscuits.

Though he couldn’t turn to see, Harry knew that Snape was enjoying his tea and crunching happily on the biscuits while his ward (who done nothing wrong and didn’t deserve it) was forced to study until the timer ran out. The fact that Snape had made him set it for a whole hour and a half only made Harry all the more frustrated. He was stuck studying, his eyes and pen practically glued to the paper in front of him while Snape got to eat and drink and enjoy watching him suffer. Harry sat in a very hard chair, hunched over a table, his fingers cramped from writing.

It was all bogus anyway. Reading his textbooks for next year was one thing – writing essays about them was completely unnecessary. But Snape had a firm belief that if he started writing about the subjects he would remember them longer than he normally would.

"Ah," Snape sighed, pouring himself some more tea, "life as it should be. A quiet evening with a strong cup of tea, enjoying a warm evening while the children stay in the corner reading, seen but not heard."

"Villian," Harry muttered, but kept writing. He couldn’t feel too annoyed though for the studying kept filling his thoughts, and he would forget that Snape was in the room as he wrote, concentrating on the work before him.

"I should send Miss Granger a thank letter for her thoughtfulness," Snape added.

Harry wanted to make some sort of comeback, but he just started on the tenth paragraph about the proper dicing and storage of bat livers.

They had not talked about the party, not beyond glancing over the gifts Harry had received. Snape had made him write thank-you letters the next morning: "It’s showing good taste and manners, Potter. Some of these gifts were quite expensive, and I won’t have you showing poor etiquette as long as you’re under my roof."

"But they won’t remember I’m under your roof," Harry had reminded him.

"Do it anyway," Snape had ordered.

Though he said nothing else and settled down to write the letters, Harry had not wanted to compose thank-you letters, poor etiquette or not. What were you supposed to say after Dear So-and-So, Thank you for the (name of gift)? How you were going to use the gift, how you enjoyed their consideration, how you could not imagine life without the new gift? Everything he wrote sounded so stiff and forced, like he was grinding out words to fill up the card. It had all been so much easier when his friends sent gifts to his relatives’ house and he told them thanks in person when they got to Hogwarts. Perhaps that was the price you had to pay for having a party. Harry almost wished Snape had told him no when he wanted to celebrate his birthday, so tedious were the letters.

Then Snape had to frown and tsk and shake his head over them. Harry had feared that the man would make he to them over, but Snape just told him to put them in letters and owl them straight off.

And though Neville probably didn’t remember, Harry couldn’t forget that awful spanking he had received right in front of Neville. It had all happened so fast that Harry had not had time to react – one moment he was yelling at Snape, and the next he was tucked against the man’s side, feeling Snape’s hand land so hard on his bottom that Harry could barely stand it. If Snape had smacked him on the back of the head or even knocked him to the ground, Harry could have stood up and shrugged the whole thing off as Snape’s temper or abuse or something that would have made Harry look casual towards pain and violence.

But no, Neville clearly saw that Harry was getting a spanking. Not a whipping or a belting or something that would have made Snape appear cruel, but an old-fashioned hand spanking on his sixteenth birthday. How humiliating.

But Harry remained silent about his punishment. He saw no need in reminding Snape of what he had tried to do, how rash and careless he had been about Snape and Neville’s feelings.

Finally, the last of the sand fell through the hourglass, and the time ended. Harry immediately flung his pen on the table and shook out his sore hand. He glared at Snape. "There, I’m done."

"Good," Snape nodded. "Set it on another hour."

"What? No!" Harry protested, wishing immediately it hadn’t come out so whiny.

"Then I suppose you can go to bed."

"It’s only eight o’clock."

"Then you won’t mind studying some more," Snape took another sip of tea.

Harry scowled, not knowing what to say.

"Of course," Snape added contemplatively, "if you want to behave yourself and stop sulking, I suppose you might have a bit of tea before I send you upstairs."

Harry didn’t need a second invitation. He hurried to the chair opposite of Snape and sat down. Snape poured him a cup of tea into an empty cup, adding a cube of sugar and a bit of cream. Had he been given a choice, Harry would have rather had a glass of cold pumpkin juice on such a warm night, but he took the tea with saying only, "Thanks."

He did not ask for a biscuit, knowing Snape was sure to make remarks about little boys who did not need sugar before bed. But Snape saw his glance towards the tray and indulgently offered it towards him. "Just two, Potter. You had enough sugar at supper with all that leftover cake."

"You only let me have one piece," Harry objected as he took the two biggest biscuits he could see.

"A piece big enough to be two pieces. You’re obsessed with cramming as much sugar as you can into your system."

"How else will I rot my teeth out?" Harry gave him a carefree grin before chomping into the sweet biscuit. It was plain vanilla and did not seem as sweet as it might have been after the tea, but Harry savored every crumb. He didn’t know what he liked so much about sitting there, drinking tea and eating biscuits with Snape as the candles cast cozy glows on the walls. There was something nice and familiar and peaceful about it, like they had all the time in the world. Like there had never been any hard or angry feelings between the two of them. Like they were just two ordinary fellows having a pleasant evening instead of the reluctant hero of the wizarding world and a bitter Death-Eater-turned-Spy trapped together for the summer.

Even when Harry finished his tea and biscuits, Snape offered him more tea and even extended the plate again, saying "Only one more."

It was as close to the perfect end of an evening that Harry could hope for.

"Draco is coming in two days," Snape announced.

So much for ideal tranquility.

Harry put his teacup on table with a groan. "Oh, here it comes."

"Here comes what?" Snape lifted a questioning eyebrow.

"The lecture about how I should behave while Draco’s here. I don’t know why you agreed to let him stay."

"Potter –"

"No, I was here first. I get to stay for the summer, and he shouldn’t get to. It’s not like he couldn’t stay anywhere else. He probably has loads of family or friends or admires of his family that would give him the best bedroom and run of the house for his stay. Meanwhile, I’m stuck on a narrow bed into your room and not allowed to go anywhere by myself. He’ll be all smug and nasty – ‘Oh, Potter, got yourself chucked out on your ear? Your ruddy relatives not care about your sorry self and put you on the streets? Professor Snape take you in like an unwanted stray, scratching at your fleas?’"

"My," Snape tilted his head to the side as he observed Harry. "You do a very good Draco impression. Is this a new gift or have you spent hours mocking others to perfect it?"

"New gift," Harry muttered. He expected Snape to chastise him for his rudeness, to declare that Harry was only a guest and had no say over who came in the house. But the man was not bothered at all.

"Do Mr. Weasley now," Snape ordered. "With whine in his voice and the embarrassed mumble and hunched over shoulders."

"Hey, leave Ron alone," Harry complained. "It’s just Draco – ugh! I can’t stand him." When Snape looked unsympathetic, Harry challenged, "How would you like it if at my age, you had to spent a week with my father?"

"I would find a good hiding place," Snape answered matter-of-factly.

"You know what I mean. We hate each other. And you let him get away with everything."

"Not everything," Snape contended.

"I won’t put up with him," Harry crossed his arms. "If he starts on me, I’m going to let him have it. I’m not taking his tricks or his insults or his sneering at me."

"Yes, you will," Snape grew stern. "I have been most courteous to you this summer –"

"Yeah, whaling on my ass," Harry groused.

"Potter, watch your language or it will be the soap. I’ve have been quite patient and understanding with you for a whole month now. It’s high time for you to return that kindness and treat another guest with the same courtesy."

"Good," Harry leaned back in his chair. "I get order Draco around and smack him when he gets out of line. Yelling at him for every little thing, sending him to the corner for simply saying how he feels, forcing nasty potions down his throat just to watch him grimace."

"Of course, it might be easier to lock you in your room for a week," Snape mused. "It certainly would be quieter. And I suppose you can go back to sleep in your own bedroom tonight, provided you don’t get into further trouble. But you will behave when Draco arrives. I’m serious, Potter."

"Never known you when you weren’t," Harry mumbled. He knew he was reaching the end of his rope. Any minute now, Snape’s voice would deepen, and he would wear that unbending guardian face that demanded obedience. It was all fun and games until the deep voice and stern face; then Harry had better sit up and listen.

"You will control yourself when he is here," Snape continued as if Harry had not spoken. "You will obey the rules, and I won’t have any fighting, arguing, mean looks, pranks, or other nonsense. You will act like two young gentlemen sharing a house for seven days with every consideration for your host, lest he strangle you both."

Harry wanted to object, to say that he could never get along with Draco. It just wasn’t possible. But instead, all he said was, "It won’t be fair," in a very subdued voice.

Snape looked up, taking in the trouble expression on his ward’s face. "What won’t?"

"You two. You’ll gang up on me like at school –"

"Potter –"

"No, you’ll be all Slytherin buddies sticking together, and I’ll be blamed for everything."

"First of all, we are not ‘Slytherin buddies’ at school – we are teacher and student. Secondly, I do not plan to blame you for everything since I plan to see that you behave. And thirdly, if you have any trouble with Draco, I expect you to come to me with it, not take matters into your own hands."

"Yeah, like a tattle-tale."

"No, like a responsible, intelligent young man who does not have time for childish fights. Am I understood?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir," Harry wanted to spit out the words, but he said them very respectfully.

"Good. Oh, and Potter?"

"Yes . . . sir?"

"I will be watching you and Mr. Malfoy. Remember that."

As if I could forget it, Harry thought but did not say.

------

Draco was going to get it. That much Harry decided as he watched the outside front stairs. He could feel adrenaline pumping through his whole body. Draco – spoiled, selfish, nasty little Draco Malfoy with his rich parents and expensive robes and Pure Blood status. Let’s see how tough he was with no Crabbe and Goyle there to protect him. Harry smiled evilly, imagining the look on Draco’s face when he realized that he would be spending the whole week with Harry Potter.

Harry wasn’t quite sure how the whole secrecy about he was spending the summer thing would work if Draco could see him and knew he was staying with Snape. Maybe Snape would erase Draco’s memory at the end – Harry couldn’t wait to see the blank look on Draco’s face once he had been Obliviated. Or maybe Snape would put a curse on Draco so he couldn’t tell what he knew. He would just go around, wanting to tell everyone, but unable to get the words out. Harry could picture him grunting and sweating as he tried to speak until people thought he had gone mad.

How else could Snape keep him quiet? A tight muzzle? A cloth gag? Maybe a charm that every time Draco wanted to spill the beans his arm would rise up and he would hit himself across the face? Lovely – Draco Malfoy slamming his hand into his face over and over again as everyone watched and laughed.

"Come away from the window," Snape directed.

"Why?" Harry glanced over his shoulder. "Will they see me if I don’t?"

"No, you’re getting breath-marks and fingerprints all over the glass that the house elves have just cleaned."

"Fine," Harry stepped away from the window. He glanced at Snape, then paused. "Where are the robes?"

"Excuse me?"

"The black robes," Harry blinked. "Why are you wearing just trousers and a black shirt?"

"Someone kept complaining that I look like a bat swooping around," Snape straightened his sleeves. "And though robes are easier to work in with potions, what with the spills and the fumes, I thought I would put them aside, mainly so I don’t have to hear the whining."

"You still look like a bat," Harry said. Snape turned on him, menacingly, and Harry gave an impulsive grin and added, "Just kidding."

"I should hope so," Snape said ominously. "Now, Mrs. Malfoy is dropping Draco off. She can not see you, but Draco can. Stay out of sight until she leaves. Then come into the foyer when I call you –"

"So I can give Malfoy the welcome he deserves."

"Potter . . .!"
"I know, I know. Behave!"

A ringing sound filled the room.

"Ah, they’re here," Snape turned towards the foyer.

Harry could here the front door opening.

"Careful, you rat," he heard Narcissa snap.

"Sorry, so sorry, mistress," a tiny voice squeaked out.

"Blasted house elf nearly dropped all of Draco’s luggage," Narcissa said, sounding put out and short-tempered.

Harry edged towards the door, still hidden but wanting to hear the conversation.

"Mother," Draco’s drawl filled the entrance hall, "do go and stop fussing."

"Draco, Mother only wants to make sure you have everything you need. Professor Snape will take excellent care of you, Father says. Do you know, Severus, that my husband was given only twenty-four hours to visit us? Can you believe it? Twenty-four hours, like some common hoodlum off the streets. I still can’t believe that he is still in that rotting prison. I was sure the Ministry would come to their senses before now and release him. Watch it, Homy, that is my son’s broomstick. Break it, and I’ll break all your fingers. As you can see, Severus, I don’t have a moment of peace with these imbeciles around. Now, Draco, you are sure you have everything?"

"Yes, Mother, just go."

"I don’t know why Lucius is so adamant that he stay here," Narcissa went on. "He should be able to go with me, but Lucius says no, so it has to be no. As if his opinion counts that much while he sits in Azkaban. I am so tired of people talking about him. Well, come, Draco, and give Mother a kiss."

"Mother," Draco complained.

"Draco," her voice was sharper and Harry could picture the gleam in her eyes, "kiss Mother now."

Draco must have done so because the next thing Narcissa said was "Oh, well, I’m off. I’ll be back to take him home a week from today. Severus, I left a whole list of things for him to do and not to do while he’s here."

"Yes, yes," Snape said hastily. "I’m sure I can read it for myself. Enjoy your trip, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Please, Severus, no formality between us. Draco, mind your godfather."

Harry nearly fell over. Godfather? Godfather! Snape was Draco’s stinking godfather? Harry nearly marched into the entrance hall and shouted out the question. All this time that bat of a potions master was godfather to Draco Malfoy and Snape hadn’t said a word. It figured – the old git was as tight-mouthed as a clam, knowing everything and saying nothing.

Harry was seething and feeling generally cranky and put out, so much so that he heard Snape call "Come into the foyer, please," without realizing the man was speaking to him. Once Harry realized it, he stalked into the next room.

Draco Malfoy was standing beside a stack of trucks, boxes, and a broom case, looking as if he had come to stay for half a year. He was dressed in dark trousers and an expensive shirt, looking like the rich snob that he so very was. His pale blond hair, almost white, was smoothed back, and Harry wanted nothing more than to bust open his lip at his conceited expression.

But the expression vanished when he saw Harry. Draco’s mouth actually fell open, and he blinked in disbelief. "Is that -?"

"Yes, Draco, it is," Snape began quietly, but Draco didn’t listen.

"You sodding son of a bitch," Draco roared. "You’re the reason my father’s in prison."

"Oh, yeah?" Harry yelled back, ready for a fight. "Well, he’s the reason Sirius is dead so I hope he rots there like that the piece of cow dung he is."

Draco rushed at him. Harry did not wait for the blond-haired boy to reach him – Harry charged, too. They collided hard, pushing the other back a step or two.

"Stop it!" Snape ordered, but no one was listening to him.

"Come, Potter," Draco challenged. "Show me how a measly Gryffindor fights."

"Shut up, you piece of Slytherin slime."

They were not the cleverest of insults, but considering the venom with which they were spat out, the taunts succeeded in making both boys even more furious. They collided again, this time Harry grabbing Draco by the front of his expensive shirt to throw him down, and Draco trying to land a punch on Harry’s face.

"I said enough!" Snape bellowed.

Most fighting at Hogwarts had been done at the end of a wand, lots of hexes and charms flying through the air. Harry had not been in a lot of fights – when he was younger, Dudley liked to use him for a punching bag, but Harry had learned to stay out of his way. Yet, Harry had seen enough fights to know to swing hard and push and scuffle and try to knock Draco to the floor in order to win.

Draco for all his arrogance and confidence had not participated in many physical fights either, but he gave it his best.

Somehow, Harry got shoved to the floor. He barely had time to register the hard wood banging against him before Draco was on top of him, fists swinging like crazy. Draco had not landed more than two or three punches and none of them very hard when Harry rammed an elbow in his midsection. Draco gasped for breath, and Harry used that break to throw Draco off him. He was about to jump on Draco and bloody up his perfect, Pure Blood teeth when a strong hand grabbed the back of his neck.

Harry felt himself being hauled up and whirled about to meet eye-to-eye with a very displeased Snape.

"I thought I told you to stop," Snape snarled, giving Harry a shake. "Draco, get up!"

"He started it," Draco scowled, rubbing his jaw where Harry was sure he had not hit him hard at all.

"I did not. You rushed at me," Harry argued.

"You started insulting my father."

"Well, you yelled at me first."

"I can still beat the stuffing out of you, you four-eyed freak."

"Ooo, you don’t look so tough without your gorillas around to protect you."

"Enough!" Snape bellowed, halting all the taunting. "You two better behave or –"

"What is he doing here?" Draco demanded. "Isn’t he supposed to be hiding somewhere with those filthy muggles until school starts? No one knows where he goes, but he shows up looking all pale and wimpy when he comes back."

"Shut your mouth," Harry retorted. "I have just as much right to be here as you. Maybe more because Snape’s my temporary guardian for the summer."

Draco’s eyes bugged out. "That’s not true! You helped put my father in prison. Snape would never let you stay here! He’s supposed to hand you over to the Dark Lord as soon as he gets the chance. That’s what Father says, and Mother agrees."

"Get ready for a shock," Harry jeered. "Your precious mother and father aren’t right about everything. Snape’s letting me stay, and so far he doesn’t plan to hand me over to anyone."

"But he might take a hand to you if you don’t be quiet," Snape said in an ominous voice. Harry stepped back a bit, suddenly aware that he had been yelling.

"I don’t believe it," Draco shook his head. "Professor, tell me the truth."

"Draco," Snape said in a very low voice that sounded both firm and sad.

Draco looked from his potions master and then to Harry and then back to Snape. He seemed overwhelmed, as if someone had yanked a rug out from under his feet and he had toppled to the ground. Then Draco gave a cry of anger and rushed at Harry again.

Harry was ready for him. This time they both landed a punch (Draco getting one on the jaw, Harry high on his right cheekbone) before Snape pulled them apart. He kept a hand on each boy’s collar and shook them firmly.

"You two better stop that right now, or neither of you will enjoy the next seven days. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered, knowing it was the only answer Snape would accept.

"Draco?"

"But he -!"

"Draco!"

"Yes, sir," Draco grumbled.

"I expected better from both of you," Snape continued his lecture, holding them apart. "You, Draco, come from a very prestigious family and it is not fitting for you to roll around the floor like a mad dog. You, Potter, are supposed to set a good example as people look up to you both in and out of school, and you’ve been here longer so that makes Draco your guest as well."

Harry glanced at Draco, but said nothing. Part of him wanted to beat on Draco again, and another part of him wanted to protest that Snape was playing favorites. After all, Draco got to be called by his first name while Harry was still Potter.

"Draco, one of the house elves will take you upstairs," Snape told the blond-haired boy. "You’ll be sleeping in the green bedroom –"

"That’s my room!" Harry exploded.

"Yes," Snape nodded calmly. "I changed the large bed into two smaller ones. No reason you two can’t share a bedroom. You both sleep in dorms at school, and it will be easier to keep track of you."

"I’m not sleeping in the same room as him!" Draco hollered, teeth bared. "I won’t sit at the same table with him! I don’t want to breathe the same air as him!"

"You put us in the same room to sleep, and only one of us is waking up alive," Harry threatened, glaring at Draco.

"Oh, you want to take me?" Draco sneered. "I’ll paint the walls with your stinking half-blood."

"Really? Without Daddy to run to and whine?" Harry taunted. "I’ll smother you with your pillow while you cry for your mother."

Draco reached for him, bucking against Snape’s steady hand on his collar, but he couldn’t reach Harry.

"That’s it," Snape ordered. "Draco, upstairs now! Potter, into my study. You’ll be studying until I get him settled. Then we all are going to have a talk."

Snape gave Harry a helping shove in the direction of the study. Harry wished he could think of a good retort, one last insult to fling at Draco who was still in Snape’s grasp.

Harry went into the study, but he left the door open, hoping to hear Snape or Draco say something else. But all he could hear was the sound of footsteps heading up the stairs. Harry plopped down into a chair, absentmindedly putting his feet on the seat of another chair.

Draco for a whole week. But without wands, without friends, without henchmen – the possibilities were endless. Draco might be a Slytherin, but Harry had Gryffindor courage and brains. And he had to be smarter than Draco. There would be hundreds, maybe thousands of ways to make the spoiled brat’s life miserable.

Harry would have to be careful though. Everything must be thought through, reasoned deviously, plotted careful. Stuff that would annoy Draco until he screamed, but couldn’t be linked to Harry directly. It would take a great deal of preparation and planning.

And Snape couldn’t watch him all the time.

Harry did not see Draco again until supper. Both he and Snape were seated at the table when Harry walked in the dining room. Snape was sitting at the head of the table as usual, and Harry was glad to see that his own place at Snape’s right was empty. Draco had been seated at Snape’s left, across from Harry. The clock was striking seven, so Harry did not think he was too late.

Draco seemed to be pouting; that was the only word Harry could think of to describe the stubborn look on the other boy’s face. Pouting and hoping everyone noticed.

"Hope I’m not late," Harry said pleasantly as he slid into his seat.

"No, you’re fine," Snape said. He raised an eyebrow when Harry gave him an easy smile as if the man’s assurance put all his worries to rest.

The first course came: a beef broth with little bits of parsley in it. Aunt Petunia had made broth before, but hers was usually too salty or watery. Dudley refused to eat it, and Uncle Vernon said it was too weak for his growing boy and that they should save it for Harry. Harry grew to hate the large bowls of pale brown soup, often cold, that his aunt slapped down in front of him. Even with that unpleasant memory, Harry tasted the broth. As always, like anything served at Snapdragon Manor, the food was delicious. Harry eagerly took another spoonful.

"Ugh!" Draco made a face as he spooned up some of the broth and let it drip into his bowl. "I don’t want this."

Harry looked at Snape, waiting.

"Draco," Snape gave a small frown, "stop playing with your food."

Harry glared into his own bowl. If he had said or done anything like that, Snape would have sent him to the corner to stand until he could come back with a better attitude. But with Draco – Snape didn’t care how his precious Slytherin acted. Draco could do anything, and Snape would give him only a mild reprimand. It wasn’t fair.

Harry began eating his broth as if it were the best thing he had ever tasted. He savored each spoonful, and when the main course arrived, he began eating with gusto. He figured that all Draco wanted was for him to miserable, and so Harry tried to be as blissfully happy as he could be. While Draco prodded and barely tasted his own food, Harry did all but lick the plate clean.

Draco glared at him, and Harry smiled serenely.

"This really is the best meal I think I’ve had in weeks," Harry said.

"What?’ Draco sneered. "Are they starving you the rest of the year, Potter?"

Harry ripped off a piece of bread with his teeth and smiled at Draco.

The meal finally ended, and Snape said, "All right, why don’t we go into the family room for a bit? You boys can read, and then we’ll have a spot of tea before you go up to bed."

Harry had been having tea with Snape for the past three nights, and he regarded it as a sort of reward for his progress over the last month. It was something he had worked a long time for, a privilege he did not take lightly. And then Draco got to have tea on his first night at Snapdragon Manor? Harry on his first night got – wait, what was it? – a hard spanking and an early bedtime with Snape nagging the whole time? Draco just breezed in and got treated like a prince or long-lost son returning home. It really wasn’t fair.

But Harry said nothing, just followed Snape into the family room. He wasn’t going to let Draco get his chair or the teacup with the yellow rim and red handle because that was his. Harry might have to share a bedroom and Snape, but Draco wasn’t getting the teacup!

They all sat in the family room, and Snape was happy because all was calm and peaceful, just as it should be in his opinion. All going smoothly until the clock struck half past nine and he announced, "All right, boys, time to go upstairs. I want you both to take a bath and be in bed by ten."

His statement was not meet with enthusiasm.

"In bed by ten?" Draco exclaimed. "I don’t go to bed before midnight, usually later."

"I had a bath yesterday," Harry objected. "And I didn’t go outside today."

"No one cares what time I go to bed at home," Draco continued.

"And I went swimming the day before," Harry added. "I’m clean enough."

"I won’t be able to go to sleep before midnight," Draco insisted. "I’m not going to bed until then."

"If he’s not going to bed, I’m not going to bed," Harry argued.

"That’s enough!" Snape snapped. "You are both going to bed and both taking a bath, and I’m not listening to another word of argument. Upstairs, now."

"Only the person taking a bath first should have to go up now," Draco pointed out. "So who’s first? Not me!"

"I’m not going first," Harry argued. "I don’t even need a bath."

"Quiet," Snape ordered. He glanced back and forth between the boys. "Potter, you’re first."

"Why?" Harry immediately whined. "Why do I have to go first?"

"Because you’re the youngest," Snape replied. "Go on now, and wash your hair. When you’re done, I’ll send Draco up."

It was bad enough to have to go first, but it was nearly unbearable to leave with Draco gloating silently, his eyes laughing at Harry as he trudged up the stairs.

Harry stomped up the stairs, growling and muttering mean things under his breath.

"Someone is in a bad mood today," one of the pictures observed.

"Shut up," he said crossly.

"Oh," the portrait shook his head, "naughty, naughty. No wonder you were sent up first with that sort of behavior."

He didn’t bother replying to the picture; he just went into his bedroom. At that moment, Harry wanted to slam the door like he had never slammed a door before, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Snape DID NOT LIKE slammed doors. Stoppering up the tub drain, Harry turned the water on. As the roaring sound filled the bathroom, he sat on the closed lid of the toilet and began untying his shoes. He wondered what they were doing downstairs. Talking? Maybe Draco was complaining about Harry, and Snape would – what? Defend Harry? Not very likely. Criticize him, agree with Malfoy? Probably. Would Snape tell Draco what the next few days would be like? Would Draco get to have another biscuit? That alone seemed the hardest idea to swallow. Harry had been banished upstairs so Snape and his favorite pupil could sit in the cozy room, sipping the rest of the tea and enjoying the biscuits.

Now undressed, Harry angrily dropped himself into the tub. Half a second later, he realized the water was much too hot. He let out a howl and scrambled out of the tub. His nearly-boiled skin was red, and little tingles of pain ran all over his body. Groaning, he sat on the edge of the tub and turned the cold handle on. He wished he could blame this new pain on Draco as well, but Harry was not that stupid. After the cold water ran for a minute, he tested the water with his hand before getting in again.

This was going to be a long week.

When Harry emerged from the bathroom in pajamas with his hair still damp, Draco was waiting.

"Took you long enough," Draco said snidely.

"Sorry, your highness," Harry returned.

Draco strode past him and slammed the door, loud enough for Snape to hear if he was on the same floor. But did Snape come barging in and order Draco not to slam doors? Nooooo! Of course, not.

It was ten minutes to ten, but Harry sat in a chair and looked at the two beds. He missed his old, queen-sized bed with plenty of room and lots of pillows. He didn’t really move around when he slept – kept huddled on the right-side of the bed as a matter of fact, but the new beds looked awfully narrow. They were pushed into opposite corners, about ten feet of space between the two, but they both had matching green spreads and only two pillows each.

Draco’s trunks were stacked at the bottom of one bed. As Harry faced the beds, Draco had claimed the one to the left. But to the person sleeping on the beds, Draco had the one to right. Draco had claimed Harry’s side of the bed! Harry stood up, outraged. Snape knew he slept on the right-side. When Snape made him take naps, right before he caught fire, Snape always placed him on the right-side of the bed. And now Draco thought he could just swoop in and take Harry’s bed?

Not bloody likely!

Harry marched over to Draco’s trunks – they all had his family crest on them along with the initials DM in fancy gold writing – and began dragging them to the end of other bed.

He had just moved the last trunk when Draco came out of the bathroom, bathed and dressed in pajamas.

"What are you doing?" Draco exploded. "That bed was mine."

"No, I sleep on that side," Harry stated. "You can have the other bed."

"Snape said I could choose which bed I wanted, and I took that one!" Draco pointed to the other bed.

"Snape made a mistake. I get that one."

"You do not," Draco yelled. "You stinking, rotten, half-blooded –"

"Shut it, you slimy prat," Harry retorted. "You think you get to have everything you want? Well, think again. I’m not some whiny Slytherin that you can scare with your threats and your father and –"

"You leave my father out of this!" Draco nearly screamed.

"What? Afraid he’s going to rot in that dirty prison like a mangy dog?" Harry taunted. "That you’ll never see him again? Of course, why would he want to see you at all? You’re just a disappointment, right?"

He expected Draco to hurl back an insult. Draco could scream out something about Sirius or the Weasleys or even Harry’s own parents, and Harry would have to try to think of something even meaner to say. But Draco did not yell anything. He stared at Harry, then blinked several times. Harry could have sworn that he saw the other boy’s eyes glisten with unshed tears; he would have sworn that Draco was fighting back tears and trying to keep his face under control. And suddenly, Harry had no idea what he would do if Malfoy broke down and cried. Harry could only stand there, watching Draco’s face.

But the moment passed, and Draco gave Harry his reply.

He thrust out both hand sagainst Harry’s chest and shoved Harry backwards. Caught off balance, Harry fell back against the bed. He didn’t think he weighed that much, but the bed banged against wall loudly.

"I’m sleeping in that bed!" Draco roared. "And you’re sleeping with your face ground down into the floor where it belongs."

Tears Harry knew nothing about, but another fight he could do. He rolled over, barely missing being kicked, and jumped to his feet. "Come on, Malfoy," he jeered. "Show me how a Slytherin fights without his henchmen or his wand."

"Who says I haven’t got my wand?" Draco smirked.

Harry stopped. "But – but we aren’t allowed – Snape wouldn’t – ugh!"

Draco landed a punch while Harry was off guard. Harry got it right on the nose, and he staggered back. He barely gave himself time to access the pain before he lunged for Draco.

If he had been asked, Harry would not be able to tell anyone exactly why they were fighting. Did he expect to kill or beat Draco so badly that the other boy would no longer be a threat? No, that would not be practical – even Harry would have admitted that in a rational frame of mind. Had he been asked any other time, Harry would have agreed that physical fighting solved nothing, that it was a waste of time, and that he would prefer not to engage in such brutality.

But in the rage of moment, his one intent was to give it to Malfoy good, until the other boy begged for mercy.

They were rolling around on the floor when Snape came in. The man took one look – Harry had Draco in a headlock, but Draco was slamming an elbow in Harry’s stomach over and over again as Harry choked him – and Snape growled loudly.

"That is it!" he bellowed.

Both boys jumped, looking up at a very unpleased potions master.

"He started it – he hit me first," Harry protest, unwilling to let go of Draco lest the blond try to get in one more shot.

Draco struggled to break free. "He deserved it, nasty little –"

"In bed now!" Snape said in a voice that could be heard all over the manor. He grabbed Harry and dragged him up.

Draco rose, rubbing his sore throat and looking daggers at Harry.

"Draco, bed," Snape directed.

The blond headed for the right-sided bed.

"That’s my bed," Harry objected. "I sleep on that side."

"Draco is our guest, Mr. Potter," Snape said firmly. "We had this discussion before he came, and I would hate for us to have another discussion of a more unpleasant kind."

His eyes said spanking, and Harry angrily looked away. Maybe he had provoked Draco, but Draco had thrown the first punch, and that should count for something.

Meanwhile, Draco had climbed into the right-sided bed and sitting there, proudly as if he had conquered an entire kingdom. He continued to gloat as Harry trudged to the other bed and got in. It was all wrong, sleeping on this side – he would try to roll over and hit the wall. A dozen other bedrooms in the manor, and Snape had to put them in the same room.

"All right," Snape surveyed both boys like a man weary of fighting an endless war, "these are the rules for tonight. No getting out of bed, no talking, no throwing things, no name-calling, nothing but being quiet and going to sleep. I don’t want you out of bed until eight o’clock tomorrow at which time you’ll both get up, Harry first, go into the bathroom to get dressed and washed, and come down to breakfast at 8:30. Am I understood?"

"Yes," Draco muttered.

"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled, knowing to add the sir or Snape would ask again.

"Good. Draco, lie down," Snape said. As Draco pulled up his own covers and lay on the pillows, Snape walked over to Harry. The man held out his hand for Harry’s glasses, and the boy handed them over without a word. Harry was already laying down, but Snape pulled up his covers, gathering them firmly over Harry’s shoulder. The tightness of Snape’s hands worried Harry more than having Draco see him get tucked in like a five-year-old. Harry knew Snape was not happy with his behavior, and Harry wished he could apologize or say something to abate the man’s displeasure. But all Harry could do was squirm uneasily and try to avoid Snape’s eyes.

"Good, now go to sleep," Snape landed a single pat on Harry’s hip. Well, it was a bit too hard and stern to be a pat, but Harry prayed that Draco would think that’s what it was. He did not want Draco to realize what Snape intended it to be: a this-is-your-last-chance warning to behave or face the consequences.

"Good night," Snape said from the doorway.

Draco gave a disgruntled huff, but Harry replied, "Good night, sir."

And Snape closed the door.

Harry lay in the dark, listening to Snape’s footsteps fade away and Draco’s impatient breathing.

"‘Good night, sir’," Draco mocked. "Really, Potter, you’re such a suck-up."

"We’re not supposed to talk," Harry told him.

"Oh, so now you’re the golden boy who does exactly what he’s told?" Draco jeered.

Harry wanted to retort, wanted to make Draco shut up, but he said nothing but, "Well, I’m going to sleep. You can stay awake and talk to yourself if you like."

A snort was the only reply from Draco.

Harry snuggled down in his pillow. He would have to ignore the fact that his enemy was sleeping only a few feet away. He wondered what Snape would say if he strangled Draco in the night, just choked the life right out of him.

And he didn’t believe that Draco would sleep for a minute – the blond would wait until he thought Harry was asleep and then get out of bed to do something painful to him. Well, Harry wasn’t going to sleep. He planned to stay awake all night, watching Draco. And if Snape asked in the morning why Harry looked so tired, he would tell Snape that if he wanted his ward to get some sleep he shouldn’t have put him in the same room with his archenemy.

He would just lie in bed, listening to Draco’s rhythmic breathing and the sounds of the old manor creaking as it settled for the night. Just lie there in the dark, listening and breathing softly . . .

------

Something scurried across Harry’s bed. He opened his eyes to slits and squinted. Though the morning light shone through the window, everything was a bright blur without his glasses. He reached for them and put them on. Then he gave a short yell and sat up.

Five huge tarantulas were crawling over the end of his bed, over the covers and around his legs.

Having lived in a cupboard with spiders for years, Harry did not panic. But at the same time, he didn’t want to share his bed with the huge, hairy creatures. He tried to kick them off. Then the spiders disappeared.

"What?" he blinked in confusion.

"Morning, Potter," Draco drawled from the other bed. He stretched his arms up lazily, a nasty satisfied smile plastered on his face. "Fancy a greeting from some furry friends?"

"So clever," Harry threw back the covers and stood up. "An optical allusion or whatever with a bunch of spiders. I’m trembling now. What else can you do, Malfoy? Fill my pockets with mice? Have frogs nest in my hair? Better hurry before Snape finds out you have a wand."

"Someone’s cranky in the morning, "Draco noted.

"How could I sleep with your snoring?" Harry asked, unwilling to admit that he had slept soundly the whole night. "You were like a foghorn."

"Your talking kept me up," Draco retorted. "Mumbling, like you were trying to carry on a conversation with your pillow."

Harry hesitated. Did he talk in his sleep? He had also wondered that before, but surely Ron or one of the other boys in his dormitory would have said something. "Shut up," he told Draco.

"Are you going into the bathroom, or should I ask the house elves to start laying down newspapers?" Draco inquired.

Harry stalked into the bathroom and shut the door.

------

Somehow they made it downstairs without further incident. But breakfast was a disaster. Harry was reaching for the last piece of toast when Draco snatched it from under his fingers. Harry could have asked a house elf for more toast, but instead he yelled, "That was my piece, jackass!"

"Potter!" Snape snapped.

"Too slow," Draco jeered. "No wonder you don’t get fed at home with those slow reflexes."

"Draco," Snape began, but once again no one was listening.

Draco reached for the jam pot, but Harry grabbed it first.

"Oooh, who’s slow now?" Harry taunted.

"Give it me – you can’t eat the whole thing," Draco demanded.

Before he had stop himself, Harry said, "You want it? Fine." And then he ran his tongue over the top of the jam pot, licking the edge of the pot and the top of the jam inside.

"Ew!" Draco made a face. "You’re disgusting!"

Harry grinned meanly until he caught sight of Snape’s face. Then Harry realized he had ruined the jam for everyone, not just Draco (and not to mention showing atrocious table manners). "Sorry," Harry mumbled, putting the pot back on the table sheepishly.

"That is it," Snape threw his napkin on the table. "Your meal is over. Both of you, leave the table."

"But my toast," Draco protested. "He’s the one that gave the jam pot a tongue-bath."

"Out, out," Snape escorted them both to the hallway. "Go play and give me a moment of peace, won’t you?"

Harry and Draco made it as far as the entrance hall before another fight broke out.

------

"All right," Snape sat down in his desk, "let’s see if that helps."

Draco shifted in his chair. "How long do we have to stay here?"

"Until you learn to be civil to each other," Snape replied, picking up his mail. The owl that had delivered it glanced into the study, then quickly headed for the window.

Snape had placed two chairs in the center of the room with the backs four inches apart. Harry sat in one, Draco in the other. They couldn’t see each other, but Harry knew that Draco was right behind him. If he slung his head backwards, Harry knew he could conk Draco’s own head.

They sat like that for over an hour. Snape basically ignored them except when they tried to talk. Then he ordered them to be quiet, though Harry thought the man’s tone was a little harsher when he spoke to Harry. So unfair.

" . . . and I expect you to stop this fighting."

Oh, wait, Snape was talking. Same old lecture – behave, stop fighting, obey me, blah, blah, blah. Did the man really think they were listening?

"We still have a whole week to get through," Snape continued sternly. "Now, I want you to stop all this before someone gets hurt. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," both Harry and Draco spoke at the same time.

"Draco, I want you to go to library and study those books I showed you yesterday. Potter, you go outside and finish weeding the last corner of the garden."

Harry stood up, trying not to glare at Draco. Draco, Snape’s little pet, got to study in the library (the place Harry felt was reserved for his own studies) while Harry had to toil in the dirt like a dog.

They headed towards the door. Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw Draco smirk for the countless time that day. That did it.

Harry reached the door first. He stepped into the hallway and swung the heavy door back towards Draco. Draco would see it coming and have to use his quick reflexes to catch it in time from bumping into him.

But then Snape called to Draco, and Draco stopped, turning back with his hand on doorframe.

Then it happened.

The heavy oak door closed on Draco’s fingers.

Harry heard the door hit his fingers, heard the sound of wood smashing flesh. For a moment, there was awful, eerie silence in which Harry could not move, could not breathe.

"Aaa-oohhh!" Draco’s cry, primitive and heart-breaking, rang out.

Harry pulled the door back to see Draco standing there. Draco’s face was contorted in pain, and tears were spilling out of his eyes. But what made Harry feel absolutely sick was Draco’s right hand. He was holding his right hand with his left, but blood was seeping out between his fingers. Had the door been any heavier or swinging faster, it would have cut off his fingers. Harry stared, unable to think or speak.

Snape was there in a flash, pulling out his wand.

"Snape," Draco cried, nearly choking over the words, "Snape, it hurts. Please, it hurts. Snape, please."

"Draco, Draco, I’m sorry," the words left Harry’s mouth in a rush. ‘I’m – I’m sorry."

Draco looked at him, barely able to make him out through the tears and pain. He was whimpering, a low keening sound that made tears come into Harry’s own eyes out of sympathy.

Snape said an incantation, and a spark shot out of his wand.

Draco stopped crying. Taking a few steady breaths, he pulled his left hand off his right. There was still blood smeared on both hands, but now small little bandages were wrapped around each of Draco’s four fingers.

"They’ll still take a while to heal," Snape told him. "But that will take care of the bleeding and the pain." Draco nodded. Snape handed him a handkerchief, and Draco first wiped the tears off his face before cleaning the blood off his hands. Then they both looked at Harry.

Draco seemed nervous, as if Harry scared him now. The blond boy edged back towards Snape, refusing to take his eyes off Harry.

But Snape looked livid. He seemed too angry to speak. He was shaking his head, and Harry felt even sicker.

"It was an accident," Harry spoke in a very small voice. "He stopped – I didn’t mean to hurt him. It was an accident."

"Upstairs," Snape ordered in voice as cold and hard as ice. "Upstairs to your room. Wait there. I’ll be up to deal with you shortly. Go now!"

Harry turned and fled towards the stairs. Several of the pictures asked him what all the fuss was about, but Harry didn’t answer them. He went into his bedroom and sat down on the left-sided bed.

He closed his eyes, but all he could see was Draco clutching his hand as the blood ran down . . .

Harry wrenched his eyes open.

But he could still hear Draco’s scream. That one cry – oh, it was awful, so full of pain and hurt. And it was all Harry’s fault. Snape would never look past this. This was just one more mistake in a summer of long mistakes. He could not remember one thing he had done right since coming to Snapdragon Manor.

In complete despair, Harry sat there, waiting for Snape to come up.

The hallway door opened.

Harry looked up, worriedly, biting his lip.

Snape came in, his face grave and somber, and shut the door behind him.

"I'm sorry," Harry said in a rush, jumping off the bed. "It was an accident - I swear. I know you're angry, but you've got to believe that I didn't mean it. I know you're going to punish me, but you've got to believe that it was an accident."

"Sit down on the bed," Snape indicated Harry's bed.

That was a good sign. Snape was not going to shake him or spank him, not yet at least.
Harry sat on the bed, and Snape took the chair and pulled it close to the bed.

'"It was an accident," Harry said again, gazing down at his hands miserably.

"Slamming the door on his fingers was," Snape said in a low voice. "But everything else, all the fighting and quarreling, was not. And you still swung the door. Even if it didn't close on his fingers, you meant for it to hit him. Did you want it to hit his face, knock him backwards?"

Harry shook his head, but didn't want to speak. He didn't mind Snape yelling - well, all right, he didn't like Snape yelling, but yelling was better than this stern, direct talking that was screaming "I'm disappointed in you, I am so very disappointed in you!"

"I shouldn't have swung the door," Harry admitted.

"But that is only part of it," Snape continued, frowning. "From the moment, Draco walked into that door, you've been cross, bad-tempered, and a general disobedient child. I have given you plenty of warnings - I've told you to shape up and stop fighting with Draco, but you keep at him, and frankly I've had it with your behavior."

"What about him?" Harry protested, feeling that everything was horribly unfair. "You promised you wouldn't gang upon me, but you have. You favor Draco over me, every single time. You both are out to get me in trouble!"

"When have I favored Draco?" Snape demanded, taken aback.

"From the moment he arrived," Harry said. "Draco complained at supper, and you didn't say anything. Then I had to go take a bath first, and then Draco got my bed. And Draco got the toast at breakfast, and he gets everything, and I'm tired of it! You even let him have tea on his night, tea on his first night!"

Snape stared at Harry, looking completely baffled. "Potter," he finally stammered, "what on earth - I cannot begin - wait, let me start over. All those things you mentioned, you think I did them to favor Draco?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said. He waited, hoping Snape would not smile or smirk or do anything to suggest that he meant Harry to feel like that.

"You children will be the death of me," Snape leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Not once have I meant to favor Draco. He complained at supper, yes, but he's always coming to me and complaining at Hogwarts. Most of the time I try to ignore him. Someone had to take a bath first, and as he has a tendency to take longer, I thought I'd send you up first. And it gave me a moment alone with him so I could tell him to start behaving, a warning he ignored as well. He shouldn't have grabbed the toast from you at breakfast, but before I could order for more, you were licking the jam pot, so I think that cancels out the toast. As for the tea, I had no idea you considered it to be so important. I have a cup of tea every evening, and usually you are reading in your room or doing something else, so I didn't think about it. Had I known it was so special to you, I would have let you have it weeks ago."

Harry glanced at Snape, afraid the man was mocking him. But Snape's forehead was still creased with concern, and he was not smiling.

"Well, it is," Harry muttered, feeling completely stupid, but wanting to get it out all the same.

"As for choosing a bed, Draco is our guest," Snape said sternly.

"So am I," Harry reminded him.

"No," Snape was firm. "You are not a guest."

"I know - I'm a burden!" Harry cried out.

"No," again Snape was adamant. "You are a member of this household."

Harry blinked. "I'm - I'm what?"

"This is your home for the summer," Snape went on firmly, leaving no room for argument. "This is your home, and you're my ward and that's as good as family for the most part. I may be only your temporary guardian, but for the time it's like father and son, and I expect you to act your age and treat our guests with some sort of decency. Is that too much to ask?"

All of Harry's earlier worries had disappeared, but he could only stare at Snape in amazement. Snape considered him family? He was sure that Snape still thought of him as a nuisance, a troublesome burden that had arrived so unceremoniously one evening to shatter the man's peaceful summer. But to be family, father and son - Harry swallowed painful, feeling his throat constrict.

"Before you start crying," Snape's cold voice cut through Harry's overwhelming feelings, "we still have your behavior to address."

Harry huffed, but said nothing. He did not trust himself to speak.

"I cannot allow to you to act like that to anyone. You stepped over the boundaries, you disobeyed me when I told you to stop fighting with Draco, and now I'm going to see that you listen to me."

"I don't see why Draco had to come here at all," Harry mumbled, careful not to meet Snape's eyes.

"So you can come to stay all summer, but Draco can't stay a week?" Snape challenged.

"He probably has plenty of places to stay," Harry protested. "I'm stuck at my relatives' the whole summer, but Draco's roaming the countryside, staying with friends and doing whatever he likes whenever he likes."

"Says who?' Snape asked.

"Says Lucius Malfoy," Harry retorted. "I heard him when he came here, remember? He said he brought Draco home from staying with friends."

"Draco wasn't staying with friends," Snape told him. "He was hiding."

"Hiding?" Harry repeated, skeptically.

"Yes, he was staying with an elderly uncle in some forsaken corner of Britain. I talked to him yesterday - Draco said he couldn't bear to stay at the manor, knowing his father was in prison. And none of Draco's friends' parents would let him come to their houses, not after his father was disgraced. Lucius was covering up for his son, but Draco told me the truth when he arrived here. He's been miserable all summer."

Harry guiltily wrapped his arms around himself, but he still didn't want to admit that Draco might have had a less than terrific summer.

"Why invite him here?" Harry asked, hoping to change the subject. "You know we don't like each other, but you let him come and you made us stay in the same room. Why would you do a thing like that?"

Snape sighed heavily. "Chart it up to my optimistic personality."

"What?" Harry demanded.

"I don't know. I guess I thought if you boys had a bit of time alone without bullies or know-it-all friends to get in the way, you might reach some kind of understanding or truce at least. Learn to tolerate each other, and make my job easier at school. After all, you two do have a lot in common."

"We do not!" Harry protested immediately.

"Yes, you do," Snape said with his usual insistence. "You both are boys, you both are sixteen, you both are only children, and you both have a few friends loyal and devoted to you. You both ignore the rules, you both think you know better than anyone else, and you both give me tremendous headaches."

"Everything gives you a headache," Harry snapped. "And you're nicer to Draco at school than me."

"Yes, I am," Snape returned. "And you show McGonagall more respect than you do me."

Well, there was no arguing with that, but Harry refused to let it go. "You're the adult - you're supposed to act better."

"And you're the child - you're supposed to obey better."

Absolutely hopeless. "Fine," Harry gave an angry shrug, "be that way."

"I will, thank you very much. And for all your struggles in life, your hardships and heartaches, I thought you would have more sympathy for Draco."

"Sympathy for what?"

"His father's in prison. Do you have any idea how much that has affected him, how he's suffering because of it?"

Harry sat up. "I lost Sirius, but you never let me use that as an excuse."

"That's different."

"That's right," Harry interrupted. "Lucius is in prison, but Sirius is dead."

"I didn't mean it that way," Snape went on in his usual stern voice. "I watched you very carefully at the beginning of summer. After the past year, what with your godfather and that cow Umbridge and the fight at the Ministry, I expected you to be shell-shocked, suffering to the point that you could not take care of yourself. I know I came down on you hard that first night, and the next morning I almost regretted my actions. When I went up to your room that morning, I half-expected you to still be crying, refusing to speak or cowering in a corner. I didn't know what I would do with you then, maybe pack you off to see Madame Pomfrey or send you to St. Mungo's for treatment. But I didn't find a helpless, shaking, grief-stricken boy, now did I? What did I find?"

"A brat," Harry muttered, trying no to pout.

Snape's mouth twitched upwards for a moment, but he remained stern as he continued, "Yes, I found a stroppy brat who fought taking a bath, argued with me at every turn, and kept trying to blow up my house."

"I only did that twice," Harry objected.

"You didn't spend time grieving over Sirius - you were obsessed with getting him back because that's what you wanted. Running around, sneaking into Malfoy Manor, lying to me at every turn. That is not post-traumatic stress - that is being a naughty, rebellious little brat. You made absurd plans, kept sticking your nose in everything, and ate far too much pudding for one boy. Draco, on the other hand, has done nothing. He told me he spent most of his time reading in his room or wandering through the woods at the back of his uncle's house. You might have lost someone very dear to you, and that's tragic, but Draco will have to walk around every day of this next year knowing that his father is in prison and knowing that everyone else knows his father is in prison. No matter which side you're on, he loses. The followers of the Dark Lord blame Lucius for failing, and the enemies rejoice that he was captured. Either way, Draco gets snubbed and sneered at. And for all your wanting to save everyone, Draco seems somehow fall beneath your usual Gryffindor compassion."

Harry glared, but didn't argue. A part of him hated that Snape was always right or made it seem like he was always right. But another part of him, traitor that it was, liked the way Snape would sit him down and talk to him, explaining everything out so Harry could see what was really going on. After so many lies and misunderstandings over the past years, Harry found it overwhelmingly comforting to have someone look him straight in the eye and get straight to the point. No games, no worrying about protecting Harry's feelings, no tricks - just honesty.

"As for sharing a room," Snape went, oblivious to Harry's thoughts, "you have been complaining that you get to see no else this summer. I have to admit, at your age, spending the whole summer with my potions master alone in an old house would not have sounded appealing. It might have been better than the way I spent my summers, but still I would not have been overjoyed. I didn't see how I could help it, but I didn't want you to become a recluse over the summer. That is why I agreed to the letters and the party and eventually to Draco coming here. You might not like Draco, but in the end you have more in common with him than with me, and he is a young person to talk to. I thought if you two shared a room, you might feel like distant cousins or dormmates or something better than archenemies. Alas for my foolish optimistic hopes."

"Fine, I won't fight," Harry groused. "But he started some of the fights. And he has his wand. He put spiders on my bed this morning."

"I will talk to him about that," Snape announced. "And I'll see that he doesn't use his wand while he's here. And he'll go up early tonight to just make everything fair."

Harry let out a deep breath. He could feel the tension of the day easing off him. Already he felt better knowing that, though not entirely on his side, Snape still wasn't on Draco's.

"Now we take care of the slamming doors on people," Snape pushed his chair back and motioned for Harry to come closer.

"Alright," Harry slid off the bed. "But Draco slammed it earlier."

"On you?"

"No," Harry admitted.

"Then it's not the same," Snape pulled Harry to his side. "I don't like slamming doors regardless, and I'll speak to him about that, but this is about you."

If he had to be honest, which Snape forced himself to be on principle just to show the boy how it was done, Snape would have confessed that it was the hardest thing in the world not to smile at that moment. Every time he had to punish him, the boy would get that despondent, woebegone look on his face. A mixture of lost puppy and pitiful child, the boy's face would have broken the hardest of hearts. Snape steeled himself to be firm, to be resolved. The first time he had spanked the brat, he felt a certain amount of satisfaction if not victory. He had spanked James Potter's precious son and the Hero of the Wizarding World. The famous golden boy didn't look so grand over the knee of his teacher, getting smacked good and hard.

Yet, as time had gone on, Snape no longer felt satisfaction, only a sense of disappointment every time he spanked Harry. Poor child, he tried to be good, but eventually his own nature (probably what he had gotten from his father along with that wretched hair) stepped in the way of his progress. Then Snape felt it his duty to get the boy back on track. In all fairness, Harry was too old to be spanked, but Snape didn't have the time or energy to come up with better punishments for serious offences. Since spanking was the only thing that could make the boy look like that - all big eyes and quivering lips and heartfelt apologies - it had to be doing something right.

Without any more talk, Snape pulled Harry over his knees. The boy still felt too thin as Snape placed a hand around his waist and held him still. Snape raised his hand high; then he heard a sniff from the boy. Sniffing already! Snape growled silently, but he lowered his hand halfway down and then smacked him. It still made an impressive sound in the quiet room, but Snape didn't think that it could hurt too much. His own hand wasn't stinging, but Harry still said, "Ow! I'm sorry."

Though he wanted to roll his eyes - the brat overacted to everything - Snape continued spanking. Nine more smacks, all laid down in quick succession on that squirming, trouser-covered bottom, and Snape pulled him up off his lap.

The boy was sniffing and red-faced and blinking back tears, and Snape knew that any softhearted women would have rushed for him and wrapped him in her tender arms, whispering soothing words to reassure him that he was loved and cherished. Snape was neither a woman nor soft-hearted, and he said, "No more slamming doors."

Harry nodded, whispering, "Yes, sir." It had not hurt as much as he had thought it would - after all, Snape had looked very angry when he first came in and Draco's hands had bled a lot. Harry was beginning to view his punishments with a different attitude. They still hurt, of course, and he did not like them, but he now felt more upset that he did something that would displease Snape enough to spank him rather than upset because he was smacked like a child.

"Good boy," Snape squeezed his shoulder, a warm squeeze that told him everything was all right.

The world felt all happy and fuzzy to Harry. He had no worries in the world, everything wine and roses or, in his mind, pudding and Quidditch.

Then Snape called out, "Draco, come in here, please."

Harry felt his stomach plummet. His heart-rate increased, and he felt almost sick as he watched Draco open the hall door and the blond-haired boy came in, a look of contained delight written on his face. Draco's fear of Harry had been replaced by a smug look, and though he still had the bandages around his fingers, he swung his hand carelessly as if nothing had happened.

Harry flushed a deep pink (probably the same shade as his rear-end, how awful!) and looked away. Draco must have heard everything. The door wasn't that thick - Harry could hear Snape's footsteps in the hall even when the door was shut. Draco wasn't an idiot; he could very easily figure out who was making those loud smacking noises and what was being smacked.

"Draco," Snape cut through Harry mortification, "I was informed that you were slamming doors earlier. Is that true?"

"So, Potter," Draco leered at him, "you're a dirty snitch as well as a well-span-"

"Draco!" Snape interrupted, firmly. "Is that true?"

"Yeah, it's true," Draco said, his tone still lofty.

"No more slamming doors," Snape ordered. "Harry has something he would like to say to you."

Though Harry was looking away and Snape was sitting down, Snape put both hands on Harry's sides and turned him to face Draco.

"Sorry about slamming the door on your fingers," Harry said, managing to raise his voice above a whisper.

"Good," Snape pronounced. "Now, you," to Harry "were going outside to work in the garden. Go on, and I'll call you in for lunch. Draco, come with me to the library."

A few minutes later, Harry found himself in the garden. He dropped to his knees and began weeding at the end, but he could not stop thinking about how awful it all was. It was one thing for Snape to spank him - completely different for Draco to find out. Draco would tell everyone at Hogwarts, and they would all laugh at him. Harry could hear the catcalls already:

"Hey, Potter, better hurry to Potions. Don't want Snape to turn your over his knee for being late."

"Oh, Potter, you got detention again. Suppose that will mean scrubbing cauldrons and a long paddling."

"Potter, we're taking bets on whether Snape will spank you ten times or twenty. What do you think?"

"Potter? . . . Potter, stop!"

"Huh?" Harry looked up to see Snape standing over him. "Oh, sorry, just thinking."

"I was going to tell you that I want you to weed to the end of this row, and then you can take a walk around the garden. Get some exercise - you're looking a little pale."

"Yes, sir," Harry started weeding. He heard Snape walk away, but kept working. He pulled out eight more small weeds and got ready to move down the row, but he blinked. The row was one he had worked on the day before; he had nearly gotten to the end when Snape made him go inside to wash up for lunch. Ten minutes of work finished that row, but Snape had told him to stop after that. Harry hesitated. Surely Snape meant for him to do more than a few minutes - Harry thought he would be working for hours. Yet, he knew better than question Snape.

Instead he walked over to the water-fountain and plunged his hands under the downpour. His hands were numb with cold, but clean when he finally pulled them out. Then he felt something hard and round in his pocket. He pulled out a small silver ball with a small note attached to it that read:

A Ground Snitch: Unable to play Quidditch? Don't have a working broom or the air space to chase a snitch? Use this new and improved ground snitch to better your reflexes and sight. This snitch flies like a regular snitch, but it rises no more than six feet off the ground, making it an ideal game to play indoors or outdoors without a broom. Simply drop the snitch into the air and watch it fly about. Try to catch it as fast as you can. Best time: five minute, thirty-two seconds by Grinmore Grinting, Manufacturer of Magical Sports.

Grinning himself, Harry stuffed the note in his pocket before dropping the snitch. It fell for a foot, then tiny little wings sprung out, and it whizzed down the garden path. Harry took after it, dodging scrubs and a stone that look like a large turnip as he ran faster and faster. It wasn't as much fun as flying, but at least he could improve his reflexes with the snitch while Draco was stuck in a musty old library.

------

Harry did not see Draco until suppertime after which they both had tea. Draco made it to the tea tray first and snatched up the yellow teacup that Harry always used. Harry opened his mouth, wanting to shout to Draco to touch that and die, but instead Harry reached for another cup.

"No, Draco," Snape said, "that's Potter's cup. Choose another one."

"Fine," Draco thrust the cup to Harry, "I don't want to drink out of any cup he's used anyway."

Harry still said nothing, just took the cup silently. He wasn't quite sure, but he thought he saw Snape smile, just the littlest bit.

Draco was sent up first at bedtime, and he went snarling and muttering bad things under his breath.

"Sometimes I don't know what I'm going to do with him," Snape sighed. He picked up the biscuit tray and offered it to Harry.

Harry took one (his third one that night, but who was counting?) and crunched on it, perfectly content.

Draco was in bed with an ugly sneer plastered on his face when Harry came out of the bathroom in pajamas. Harry tried to ignore him as he set his new possession, the silver snitch, on the table beside his bed.

"What's that?" Draco scoffed. "You still playing with toys, Potter? We should get you a nice rattle and a pacifier to suck on."

Harry ignored him as he opened the small drawer of the table and pulled out the gold pocket watch Snape had given him for his birthday. He could feel the ticking in his hand, and he could hear it too. So could Draco because the blond-haired boy suddenly exclaimed, "What is that noise?"

"Nothing, just a clock," Harry climbed into bed, still holding the pocketwatch. Since his birthday, he had been sleeping with the watch in one hand. Once, Snape had looked at him askance, and Harry had said something about the ticking helping him sleep better. Snape bought that explanation and did not ask any more questions. Draco was not so kind.

"Are you mad? No one sleeps with a pocketwatch. Put it back in the drawer."

Harry simply pulled his covers up and lay down on the pillows.

"Really, Potter, I can't stand that ticking," Draco raised his voice a notch. When he received no answer, he taunted, "You still smarting from this morning? I can't wait to tell everyone at school."

"You go right ahead," Harry said, sounding much braver than he felt. "Tell them all, and I'll just tell them that Draco Malfoy spent all summer hiding at his uncle's house until his father came to drag him home."

"Leave my father alone," Draco's voice had an urgent ring in, almost panicked.

"I don't know why you're so upset about him," Harry said, staring up at the ceiling. "He can't have been a good father, always belittling you and ordering you around."

"You don't know anything about him," Draco replied very quickly.

"Well, from what I've seen, you're probably better off without him."

"Shut up," Draco said, but the words were very soft as if Draco was scared of something.

"I just mean, from the little I've seen of him, it hasn't been good. He was torturing Dobby -"

"A house elf," Draco protested.

"And sneering at the Weasleys -"

"Pathetic family!"

"And I've seen him hit you with his cane once or twice just because you said something he didn't quite like."

Silence from the other bed.

Harry glanced over there. Draco was still sitting up, but his lips were pressed together so hard they were almost white.

"Does he hit you?" Harry asked bluntly.

Still no answer. Draco was staring ahead, his eyes wide and intense. Harry propped himself up on one elbow to better see the blond-haired boy.

"Does he hit you? Does he beat you? With his cane?"

Draco looked at Harry, and Harry drew in a sharp breath.

"Draco," Harry searched for words to fit the horror of the moment, "Draco . . . no. Just . . . no."

"You don't know anything about it," Draco spit out. "You're just a stupid little orphan who wouldn't know the first thing about having parents."

"I know that no one should hit you for any reason," Harry pointed out.

"You let Snape hit you," Draco returned.

"Snape did not hit me," Harry insisted. "He spanked me."

"Same difference," Draco shrugged, furious.

"There is a huge difference," Harry insisted. "Getting smacked across the rear a few times is not the same as being hit across the face or being beaten. And Snape always talks to me before he does it to make sure I know why I am being punished. He never starts hitting me without warning, and he would never hit me across the face or with a cane."

Draco stared at Harry, swallowing hard but saying nothing.

Then Snape came in to tell them goodnight.

Draco mumbled goodnight and lay down without another word. Harry let Snape pull up the covers, not even trying to hide the watch in his hand. Snape made no comment, just gave Harry a pat on the hip (not as hard as the night before) and left the room in darkness.

Draco was still quiet, but Harry could tell from his tight breathing that he was not asleep. Harry held the pocketwatch tight, the ticking resounding through his whole hand.

Harry had hoped that there would be a difference in Draco after their – what should he call it? Talk? Discussion? Understanding of feelings? Oh, that sounded so girlish. Maybe he would stick with talk. Two chaps could have a talk without seeming sissy. But they had talked without yelling, and Harry thought it would count for something, some small change in Draco for the better.

But the next morning proved Harry wrong. Draco was not any more agreeable. In fact he was worse.

Harry had barely opened his eyes when he heard Draco stomping out of bed all the way into the bathroom where he started yelling,

“Where is my toothbrush, Potter?”

“What?” Harry sleepily pushed himself up on one elbow. “Toothbrush?”

“Yes,” Draco snarled from the bathroom. “I put it right here in the little stand and now it’s gone.”

“I don’t know,” Harry fumbled for his glasses. It was awfully early to be yelling. He put his glasses on, but instead of getting up, he snuggled back into his bed, happy to remain in the cozy, comfortable bed with the ability to see.

Draco stalked to the bathroom door. “There is only one toothbrush in the stand and it’s silver.”

“Yeah, that’s mine,” Harry nodded.

“I know. You have the silver, but the gold one’s mine!”

“Of course you get the gold,” Harry muttered under his breath.

“Where did you put it?” Draco demanded. “I swear if you put it in the toilet –”

“Come off it,” Harry scoffed. “Your gold toothbrush probably fell on the floor or got put in a drawer. The house elves sometimes clean up. If you’ve lost it, Snape will get you another one. Can I go back to sleep now, or you want to keep yammering?”

Draco turned with a huff and closed the door loudly, just shy of slamming it.

“Prat,”” Harry grumbled.

Draco took almost half-hour in there. Doing what, Harry couldn’t imagine. Draco didn’t really need to shave, and he had taken a bath the night before, but when he came out, his clothes were perfect from his turned down collar to his ironed trousers. His blond hair had been slicked back without a strand out of place.

Harry thought about making a comment – “Look at her Highness all decked out!” – but he kept quiet. He went into the bathroom, careful to shut the door quietly. And the first thing he saw was the silver toothbrush floating in the toilet.

------

“Snape?” Harry asked around a mouthful of porridge.

Snape frowned at him the least bit.

Harry swallowed before asking, “Can I get a new toothbrush?”

“Why? Snape asked shortly before taking a sip of tea.

Harry looked sideways at Draco who was sneering over the fried eggs. Harry looked back at Snape and simply said, “It accidentally fell in the toilet. Sorry.”

Snape gave him a sharp look, but Harry kept his face blank. “Fine,” the man finally answered. “There’s a spare in the top right hand drawer. After breakfast, go brush your teeth.”

“Thanks,” Harry reached for the rack of toast, but Draco had been waiting. Once again, Draco snatched the last piece though there were two half-eaten pieces already on his plate.

Harry hesitated, sharp words on his lips. Then he swallowed calmly and turned to Snape. “Can I ask the house elves for more toast?”

“Yes,” Snape agreed, “and Draco, next time finish what you already have and don’t grab from other people.”

Harry tried to hide his delight. Draco was glaring daggers at him, and the blond-haired boy remained in hostile silence for the rest of the meal.

------

By ten o’clock that morning, Harry was trying to remember life before Draco Malfoy came to Snapdragon Manor. They had all been so peaceful and happy, going about the summer and doing their own thing, and then the drama queen arrived. Draco griped and sneered and scoffed until Harry went to the library for a moment of quiet

He ran his hand over the spines of a few books, feeling the stretched leather and the embossed titles. He pulled out a small volume and opened the front page. The Powerful Pirate – a Tale of Adventure and Magic Aboard the High Seas. That sounded promising.

Harry found an over-stuffed armchair in a corner and fell into it. He slouched back and draped one knee over an arm of the chair, opening his book to the first page.

He had only reached the end of the first chapter where Captain Brutius Marksman had already fought a flying octopus, stolen from a cursed ship, and was racing against a centuries-old wizard, a witch with amnesia, and a dog with four tails for a disappearing treasure when voices rang out in the hallway. Harry dragged his eyes up from the page, realizing that he was not onboard a ship with a band of bloodthirsty pirates but in a manor with a grouchy potions master and an obnoxious little price.

“Draco,” Snape was sounding both stern and exasperated in the hallway, “go into the library and study or read or something. I have had it with your complaining. Harry has found something quiet to do. You do the same.”

“But Sna-a-ape,” Draco drew out his godfather’s name in an angry whine.

“No, just go.”

The library door opened, and a hand thrust Draco inside the room.

Harry sunk back into his chair and lifted his small book up to hide behind. Maybe Draco wouldn’t notice him if he kept still and silent.

Draco huffed loudly. When he received no reply, he huffed even louder, expelling his breath with a guttural sound. Harry still kept his book up, determined not look at Draco.

“What are you doing hiding in the corner?” Draco scoffed, sauntered over. “Shouldn’t you be locked away in a cupboard somewhere?”

“Should you be cowering from your fath–” Harry stopped himself just in time. He quickly ducked behind his book again.

“Shut up!” Draco ordered.

“I’m not saying anything,” Harry mumbled.

“If you have something to say, then say it!” Draco snapped.

“All right,” Harry stood up, realizing that he wasn’t going to get a moment’s peace until he said something, “you should try this book. It’s a pretty good read.”

Harry pushed the book at Draco, and Draco took it instinctively. Harry headed for the spiral stairs, hoping if they read on different floors of the library they might not fight. Harry was feeling less inclined to sock Draco in the nose again, but he did not want to have a fight and bring Snape down on their heads.

Harry had just reached the balcony when Draco called from below, “Hey, Potter?”

“What?” Harry sighed, leaning forward to rest his arms on the railing.

“You know what this is all about, don’t you?” Draco jeered, his eyes narrowed.

“No, what’s this about?” Harry reluctantly went along with whatever game Draco was playing.

“It’s a pity act, Potter. All of this,” Draco held out his arms. “You know, everyone plays up your hero status and all your greatness, but in the end no one wants you. For fifteen years you’ve lived with a hoard of Muggles somewhere, tucked away so no one has to think about you until they need you. You’re in all the books, all the newspapers, yet the only person to take you in is a bad-tempered potions master who can barely stand you. How does it feel, Potter? So big and important, but no one wants you?”

Two months ago such words would have made Harry furious, blind with rage and helplessness. But now he regarded Draco with an almost detached manner.

“It feels better than trying to pretend to be something you’re not,” Harry replied coolly. “And maybe Snape doesn’t like me that much, but he offered to let me stay all summer. He didn’t let me run off and hide like a coward – he made me face up to myself and my problems in life. He cared enough not to let me hide.”

Harry turned away and walked down to the end of the balcony. His heart was beating very fast as he thought about what he said. Did he believe himself or did he believe Draco?

Draco simply stalked to the corner and took the comfortable seat Harry and just occupied. Harry heard him leave five minutes later, tossing the book on the table as he went.

An hour later, having found another book, Harry was in the midst of Renaissance sword-fights and witchcraft when Draco stepped up beside his chair.

“Time for lunch?” Harry asked without looking up.

“Not yet,” Draco looked away briefly before saying, “Snape wants you.”

Harry closed his book, but asked, “What for?”

Draco shrugged. “Didn’t say. But he wants you to meet him in the room off the last door on the right, down the west hall.”

“What room?” Harry squinted as he tried to picture the hallway.

“It leads to a small room and then a bigger room,” Draco explained. “He said there was something inside that he wants to show you. Has to do with gardening or weeding or plants. I dunno. Are you going or should I go tell him that you can’t be bothered?”

“No,” Harry put his book aside, “I’ll go. He probably wants to show me a new plant to weed just in cause I get bored.”

“Probably,” Draco’s face was blank as Harry turned to leave.

The end of the west hall was dark as Harry went down. He had never explored this side as far, not after his little explosion with the potions store. He guessed that Snape didn’t want him snooping around Snapdragon Manor after that, and Harry had quietly kept to the rooms that he went in normally.

But he saw that the door was open as Harry approached it, but inside it was dark. He opened the door as far as it would go and stepped into a small room, maybe eight by ten feet. There were shelves on one side that held empty sealed bottles and glass jars. On the other side, there ran a row of wooden pegs from which rags with thin straps hung. Harry hesitated. He was wary on going into any room with potion bottles, even empty ones. But Snape had told him to come, and Harry wasn’t about to start disobeying a direct order.

The next door was only open a crack, but there was a tiny scrap of paper hanging on its front as if paper had been glued to the door and ripped off.

Harry very uneasily opened the door. This must be a new test or something that Snape designed. A part of him had been dreading all summer that Snape would start the horrid Occlumency lessons again. He hated the idea that Snape would start drilling him again, and then they would be right back where they had been all last year, and the progress that summer would be ruined. However, another part of Harry wanted to start the lessons again to prove to Snape that he could do better. He wanted Snape to know that he was not weak or scared or stupid, and given enough time, he could manage to close his mind from attack. But Snape had not brought it up so Harry had remained silent.

Yet, now maybe they were going to start the lessons. It would be painful and awkward, and Snape would chide him for every mistake, but Harry knew if he just tried long enough he could master the magic. And it would be nice to get to do something with Snape that Draco couldn’t. If Draco asked, Harry could reply, “Who would want to get in your mind, Malfoy?”

Deeep down, Harry knew he was still smarting over the “No one wants you” speech. He wanted to tell Snape, but that would make him sound like a tattle-tell, snitching about everything that Draco did. Then he would sound as whiny as Draco.

Harry stepped through the doorway and looked around. It was a room at the corner of the house, with windows on two sides. The windows were barred with heavy iron, both across and vertical so nothing bigger than a cat could sneak through. Harry found that odd considering that the room had only two rows of spindly plants, maybe fifteen plants in all, with dark green leaves and a few tiny blue berries.

The door shut behind him with a click. Blinking, Harry looked down and realized he was sitting on the floor. The floor was a cold marble, swept clean and polished. But Harry hardly noticed the cold. His eyes were sliding shut, and he was losing feeling in his limbs.

Where was Snape? Harry forced his eyes open to look at the ceiling, which was made with sheets of metal. Why was he lying on the floor?

Everything was turning black, and he felt exhausted as if he had practiced Quidditch for hours on end. He could not open his eyes . . . he no longer had eyes, and he couldn’t hear anything either. But he was at perfect peace, beautiful dark, silky peace with no pain or worries, just lovely darkness that held him close. He began to drift back into it.

“Harry,” a woman’s voice whispered.

He was standing in the darkness. He could not see a single thing, but he didn’t want to. If he could just float along in this blackness . . .

“Harry,” the woman said again.

He wanted to raise his hands to cover his ears and block out her voice. Why wouldn’t she leave him alone?

“Harry!” the woman’s voice became urgent.

“Harry, look at us,” a male voice insisted.

He turned ever so reluctantly.

Lily and James Potter were standing in front of him, cloaked with darkness, watching him.

Harry smiled sadly, but shook his head. “This isn’t real.”

“Harry, please, listen to us,” Lily came a little closer, her red hair seeming to float in the blackness.

“This is another test,” Harry decided. Everything was a little fuzzy, but he struggled to collect his thoughts rationally. “Snape did this to me before, but with Sirius. Now I guess he wants to show me you. Funny, though. I didn’t think we’d be in all this darkness. I thought we’d live in a cottage outside of London or maybe a townhouse near Bristol.”

“Harry,” Lily’s voice was beginning to rise, “you must listen to me. You are in danger.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, with a half-grin. “Snape’s a Death Eater, he tried to kill me, blah, blah, blah. This is just another test. What about you, Dad? You hate Snape, too?”

“Harry,” James stepped closed, his face intense, “listen to us. You are going to die.”

“Aw, Voldemort hasn’t gone me yet,” Harry waved away their concern. “He might in the end, but that doesn’t change anything Snape tells me to do. And in case he’s listening this time I’m not going to get all upset at seeing you. Hear that, Snape? You can stop this now. I’m not going to start crying or carrying on so you can hold it over my head.”

“Harry, please,” his mother looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. “You have to wake up. You have to get out of the room.”

“I’m not in a room, but in this dark stuff,” Harry glanced around himself. “And I know this isn’t real, because you’re wearing the clothes that you wear in that picture I have of you. Oh, no, where is it? Did I leave it at the Dursleys? I bet Snape hid it somewhere. He hid my wand and your cloak, Dad. You were right about him, the old –”

“Harry, stop,” James held up a hand. “You need to be quiet and listen to us. This is deadly serious.”

“What do you mean?” Harry began to fell uneasy. Why wasn’t Snape stopping it?

“Get out of the room,” James ordered. “Wake up, son. You don’t have long left. You have to wake up.”

“I’m not awake?” Harry felt fear rise inside him. “Mum, Dad, where am I?”

“Wake up,” Lily pleaded. “Please, baby, just wake up. Open your eyes and wake up.”

“Come on, son,” James urged. “You can do it. Fight it. You are stronger than this. Wake up.”

“You can do it, baby,” Lily reached out a hand towards Harry’s face. “You’re so strong and brave. Wake up. Do it, Harry, do it for me and Dad. Just wake up.”

“Open your eyes now,” James commanded, his stern voice breaking though Lily’s desperation. “I mean it, Harry, open your eyes!”

Harry opened his eyes. He was on the marble floor, but the room was dark. He was so tired, so exhausted. He just wanted to go back to sleep, drift off into oblivion. He struggled to roll over, his parents’ cries still ringing in his ears. Every part of him wanted to ignore their demands – he was tired and they were dead and what did they know? But he forced himself to crawl towards the door.

It was a slow, tedious process. Twice Harry had to jerk himself awake. He felt so cold and shaky, and he just wanted to give into the sleep that was pressing his eyes close and filling his ears with a soft roar.

His fingers finally touched the wood of the door. It had closed and he looked up at the doorknob. It was a hundred miles up. He would never reach it.

He held on the frame of the door and tried to claw his way up. His world was getting dark and dim. He could barely see anything. He was groping in the darkness. He was going to die – he couldn’t fight any longer. He didn’t want to fight, just ease back into the darkness.

His hand closed around the knob and with his last bit of energy, he twisted the knob and push as hard as he could. The door opened, and Harry sprawled out on the floor of the small room.

The sleepiness began to ease back the smallest bit, and though still extremely tired, he did not feel the overwhelming exhaustion he had felt a moment ago.

Harry crawled forward a few feet, then clumsily kicked the door shut behind him.
Now he felt only tired, the way he had felt after swimming in the lake all afternoon. He stood up, his legs a bit unsteady and reached for the door to the hallway. It was locked.
Harry thought about yelling and beating on the door when he realized, upon closer inspection, that the lock was turned on his side. Why would there be a lock on his side? A simple spell from the hall side could lock the door, but why have a lock on one side?

Shaking his head, Harry turned the lock and went out into the hallway.

Everything was dark, but he stumbled towards the main part of the house. He could hear voice from the family room where candles were lit.

“Are you sure he was going upstairs?” Snape said very loudly. “Are you sure you saw –” the man stopped abruptly as he noticed Harry standing in the doorway. Snape had been pacing, but Draco was lounging in an armchair with a bored look on his face.

“Hi,” Harry began awkwardly. He still felt tired, and he didn’t know how to start.

Snape’s face which had been concerned now turned wrathful. He strode towards Harry and grabbed the boy’s shoulders with both hands tightly. “Where have you been?” Snape demanded, giving Harry a hard shake. “I swear, Potter, if this was one of your jokes –”

“N-No,” Harry managed. “I went to that plant room to meet you, but you weren’t there. Then I had this weird dream and I was really tired, but I crawled out, and now I’m just a little tired. Why is it so dark?”

Snape’s face went blank, and then he said very slowly, “What plant room?”

“The one at the end of the west hall,” Harry replied. He wished Snape would let go of him. The man’s grip was tight and uncomfortable, and he hated being interrogated with Draco watching.

“That door is locked,” Snape said.

“No, it was open,” Harry protested. “And the next door, too.”

Snape’s grip tightened, making Harry wince. “Did you read the piece of paper?”

“What piece of paper? There was little scrap on the door, but I didn’t see any other paper. I swear I didn’t touch any of the empty bottles. I didn’t touch anything in the room, either.”

Snape let go of Harry, but stared at him wide-eyed. “Potter, what happened to you in that room?”

“I felt really tired,” Harry confessed. “Then I was laying on the floor – and then it was all dark, murky-like, almost foggy. And then I saw my parents,” Harry looked away, not wanting to see Snape’s expression over his mother and father coming. “I thought it was another test thingy, like Sirius. But they were all frantic and told me to wake up, wake up! they kept shouting. So I finally did, and I crawled out of the room, but the other door was locked from my side. So I unlocked it and here I am. Why was I supposed to see my parents if all they were going to do was yell at me?”

Snape drew a sharp breath. “Merlin,” he whispered, horrified. “You didn’t know what was in that room? Of course not, Sprout doesn’t cover that for another year in your class. But I didn’t tell you – I was sure you couldn’t get into that room.”

Little tingles ran over Harry’s arm at the quiet terror in Snape’s voice. “What – what was in that room beside those plants?”

“It was those plants. Those plants, the berries particularly, are used in making Dreamless Sleeping Draught. One leaf and one berry dried and crushed together are enough for fifty vials of Draught. But they have to be picked at exactly the right time or the potion will be ruined. That’s why I keep so many plants. But the fumes that emit from so many in one room are toxic. That’s why I wear a mask when I go in there, the masks that I hang on in the small room. I can only go for ten minutes at a time, and I make sure a house elf watches me just in case. Like the Draught, the fumes make you go to sleep.”

“So that’s what I did,” Harry realized. “But why are you so worried?”

“Because with such strong fumes, you go to sleep, and you don’t wake up,” Snape said softly. “You went missing before lunch. It’s one o’clock in the morning now. After twelve hours exposure to the plants, you slip into a coma. No one has ever woken up after going into that coma.”

Harry paled as the blood drained from his face. “That’s why my mum and dad were yelling? I – I was about to go into that coma? They – they saved me?”

Snape nodded somberly. “They must have. You don’t have dreams with that stuff. You just sleep until you die. What you had was a vision. But I don’t understand how you got into the room. I keep both doors locked, and in case you managed to get the doors unlocked, I posted a paper that said ‘Potter, do not enter this room. There are poisonous toxins inside. You will get sick or die if you come in any farther.’ You sure there was no note?”

“I’m positive,” Harry protested. “No paper, and both doors were open. I would have never gone in there except you told me to.”

“What?” Snape said ominously.

“Yeah, you wanted me to go in there. Draco said . . .” Harry trailed off. He and Snape both turned to look at Draco.

The blond-haired boy was trying to look nonchalant and careless, but there was a glimmer of fear in his eyes.

Harry was more concerned that he had seen his parents for real and he wanted to ask Snape what that meant, but he took one look at Snape’s face and kept quiet. He had thought Snape had been angry when Harry got into Malfoy Manor or when he slammed the door on Draco’s fingers, but this was a different kind of anger. This was a silent, furious anger that seemed to radiate from Snape in waves. Harry wanted to shrink back and look for somewhere to hide, and he wasn’t even the one in trouble. He couldn’t believe that Draco could appear so aloof with Snape looking at him in that way.

“What?” Draco shrugged. “So I played a bit of a prank on him. So what? He tried to chop off my fingers.”

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape’s voice was like ribbons of ice, “go into my study, sit in front of my desk, and do not move until I come to get you. If you do not move right now, I will not be responsible for my actions towards you.”

Draco, finally gaining a bit of sense, scrambled to his feet and hurried out of the room.

Snape turned to Harry. “How do you feel? Are you dizzy or tired or feeling nauseous?”

“No, Snape, I’m alright,” Harry began, but the man didn’t let him finish.

“Are you having any trouble seeing or hearing? How many fingers am I holding up?” Snape raised his forefinger in front of Harry’s face.

“Four,” Harry answered, hoping a joke might calm Snape down as well as ease his own churning stomach. Now that he knew how much danger he had been in he felt nervous and shaky.

“That’s not funny,” Snape reached for him. He pushed Harry into a chair and felt his forehead and cheeks.

Harry could feel Snape’s hand tremble the last bit, and Harry struggled not to show his fear. “Come on, Snape. I’m-I’m fine. Bet you wish I had stayed a little longer and saved you the trouble, right?”

“Stop that,” Snape ordered.

“Come on,” Harry gave a nervous laugh. “You’re not going to brush this off as my tendency for getting into trouble? ‘Potter, no need to go looking for trouble – it finds you.’ Funny, right? Ha-ha?”

“You almost died,” Snape said in a hoarse voice. “When you didn’t show up for lunch, Draco said you weren’t hungry. When I couldn’t find you for supper, Draco said you had gone exploring in the attics and the garrets. After calling you for a while, I began to get worried. I was certain that you were hiding to show how sulky you felt, but I wanted to end this foolishness. I searched all the upstairs, but he kept insisting you were up there. I checked the downstairs, but that door was locked tight so I didn’t go in. That little monster locked the door with his wand. He promised me that if I let him keep it, he wouldn’t use it. He locked you in and he took down that paper. Oh, that’s it – that is it!”

“What are you going to do?” Harry started to stand up.

“No, sit still. You need to regain your strength. But you don’t have to worry about Draco any longer,” Snape shook his head bitterly. “I’m sending him back to his mother. Lucius or not, he can just stay with her for the rest of the summer.”

“Now, wait a minute,” Harry objected. “Maybe he didn’t mean it. He probably just thought it was a joke.”

“Harry, you nearly died,” Snape’s tone was sharp. “Your parents came to warn you that you were dying.”

“Well, okay,” Harry bit his lip. “So maybe it was serious. Which is completely irritating, by the way. You know, they only show up when I’m in mortal danger. When Voldemort returned, coming out of his wand, and then appearing in that darkness to tell me to wake up. They never stop by just to say ‘Hi, how’s it going, son?’ I would like to see them once when I can enjoy it and don’t have to be worried for my life.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Snape demanded. “You almost died and you’re quibbling about not seeing your parents’ ghosts any old day?”

“Fine, I’ll be all worried and scared,” Harry was glad that his own hands were no longer shaking. “But don’t send Draco away. It’s probably my fault anyway.”

“No!” Snape ordered. “No, you do not go all Gryffindor on me now. Draco deliberately tried to harm you. He might not have known about what the plants were exactly, but he saw the sign and unlocked the doors. There is no excuse.”

“Still you don’t have to send him away,” Harry urged. “I did plenty of bad things this summer. Blowing up rooms, running to Malfoy Manor, trying to save people who had died –”

“Exactly!” Snape interrupted. “You tried to save people. Even when you took my wand and blew the wall out, you were doing it to try to keep me from getting hurt. The most malicious thing you did was slam the door on Draco’s fingers, and even then you thought he would catch it before it hit him. No, Draco tried to hurt you, really hurt you, nearly killed you. I can’t let him stay here. Next time you might not be so lucky. He’s going back, and I will pray every minute of the next four weeks that you can stay safe until September.”

“I said things to him in the library,” Harry said quickly. “He said I had to stay here because no one else wanted me, and I told him that at least you wanted me to stay. No one else cared about him. I shouldn’t have said that, Snape. I was angry and worked-up, and I let my mouth run. Come on, can’t you punish him and let him stay? I’m sure he won’t do it again. He probably thought if I was stupid enough to believe what he said then I deserved to get hurt.”

“I don’t believe you,” Snape returned. “One minute you can’t stand Draco staying here, and then he tries to kill you, and you want him to stay?”

Harry looked away guiltily. “I know, but I kind of – you know – feel sorry for him. You’ve been wanting me to get along with him. You should be happy.”

“I should be deranged by now,” Snape retorted. He paced hotly towards the door and then came back. “Are you sure you feel all right? You aren’t seeing stars or feeling anything new like overwhelming anger or blissful happiness?”

“I still feel weird that I saw my mum and dad, and I think I told my dad that you were testing me. They were wearing the same clothes they have on in that picture I have. What did you do with it, by the way?”

“My word, Potter,” Snape looked exhausted. “You’re completely losing your mind. It must be the effects of the plants. I’m going to get you into bed, and then I’ll deal with Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry shook his head stubbornly. “Un-uh. No, I’m not going up to bed yet. Really, Snape, I just slept for almost twelve hours.”

“You want to watch me yell at him?” Snape raised an eyebrow. “And anything else that I might decide to do afterwards?”

“Well, he heard me get punished,” Harry muttered, but he did not feel too embarrassed at the memory. Maybe it was the effects of the plants. He didn’t mind much of anything anymore.

“Yes, I know you must have thought that I did that to humiliate you, and it probably did. But I was hoping that your humiliation might help your part with no more fighting, and he, hearing you punished, would not seek retaliation. And then we’d all be happy here together. You both must think I’m the stupidest man alive for my naiveté.”

“Not the stupidest. There has to be someone dumber than you, probably living in a cave and boiling bats in water to make potions.”

Snape glared at him, but Harry said, “Oh, I can’t make a joke? I nearly died. You should be happy I can talk at all.”

“Get up,” Snape growled at him. “I swear, Potter, one of these days I’m going to . . . well, come on then. Time to deal with Mr. Malfoy.”

As he followed Snape into his study, Harry reckoned that maybe he had stood up out of his chair a little too quickly. His limbs felt a bit weak as if he had been running for a long time, and his stomach felt the way it did when his broom dropped without warning and he zoomed down twenty feet in the air before catching himself.

But he ignored the sensations and kept the pace with Snape. No matter how he felt, Harry knew there was no way he was going to miss whatever Snape did to Draco. Draco had it coming, and Harry wanted to watch every single second. Perhaps that was not a noble Gryffindor attitude, but Harry thought he could attribute his thirst for revenge to his Slytherin side. After all the hat had wanted to put him there originally, and maybe this drive for petty revenge was what the hat had been talking about. Though he might feel guiltily later, Harry knew he would enjoy waiting Draco squirm and whine and suffer –

Harry suddenly jerked to a stop, and Snape paused as well, looking back him.

“What’s wrong?”

Say nothing, say nothing, a little voice told him. But following his Gryffindor prompting, Harry sighed and confessed, “I know – er, well, I think that is –”

“Quickly, Potter,” Snape looked annoyed.

“I think Draco’s father beats him,” Harry said in a rush.

“Yes?” Snape seemed to want Harry to continue.

Harry blinked. “Lucius beats him, and all you say is ‘Yes’!”

“What did you want me to say?” Snape asked calmly.

“You should do something,” Harry protested. “Intervene, tell Lucius to stop, call the Ministry – don’t just sit around and let it happen.”

“I’ve spoken several times with Lucius,” Snape replied evenly. “He told me to keep my nose out of his family’s business. Draco has not said anything to me, and since the signs of a beating have never shown themselves at Hogwarts, there is not a lot I can do. If Draco claimed he was being beaten badly and I saw the signs of abuse, then I could go to the Ministry. But the fact is, horrid though it might be, that the Malfoys are a very prestigious, old family with strong connections. The Ministry has dared to do a few raids on Malfoy Manor, but they are scared to do more than that. Lucius nearly got Dumbledore to resign – remember? He’s not about to let anyone interfere with how he raises his son.”

“So we can’t do anything?” Harry asked though he felt he already knew the answer.

Snape shrugged somberly. “Lucius is in prison now. Draco comes of age this school year, and he never has to go back home unless he wants to. There was nothing much any of us could do in the first place, but once he turns seventeen, he’ll have to make his own choices.”

“All right,” Harry agreed doubtfully. “But for now – are you going to, you know?”

“Spank him?” Snape supplied.

Harry winced, hating to hear the word out loud. It was one thing to endure that type of punishment; quite another to talk about it. “Well, yeah.”

“I punished you that way for slamming the door on his fingers,” Snape said, his calm demeanor making Harry feel twice as uncomfortable. “I think it’s only fair that I do the same to him for trying to kill you.”

“But Lucius –”

“This has nothing to do with Lucius or his abuse,” Snape insisted. “I know it might bring up bad memories for Draco, but I have dealt with you in my own way, regardless of how anyone else punished you in the past.”

“You were always really strict with me because you thought no one else had been,” Harry said hotly.

“In that, yes. But in other things, I did not let your sad upbringing interfere. You said you were locked in that cupboard when you were little. Though I felt that was not the correct way to discipline a small child, I had no qualms about sending you to your room or the corner for a time-out when you misbehaved. I did not feel that I had to say ‘Oh, poor precious baby, he’s been through so much – I should excuse his bad behavior because he was mistreated as a child’.”

Harry snorted. “Like you’d ever call anyone that.”

“Exactly. So I will not let Draco’s unfortunate relationship with his father get in the way of how I deal with him here. Both of you need a firm hand now and then, sometimes more often than not.”

“Bet my own dad wouldn’t think so,” Harry muttered. He was not sure why he said that. He was feeling a little dizzier, and the image of his parents kept returning to his mind over and over again.

“Regardless of my personal feelings about James Potter,” Snape said dryly, “I have no doubt he would have had to punish you at least once in the last sixteen years if he were still alive. All children misbehave, and you are no exception. Now, come along.”

“Lucky me,” Harry grumbled. “I get stuck with the world’s strictest father. We should celebrate.”

Snape shot him a quick look, but Harry was trudging along, muttering a little and almost sticking his bottom lip out in a disgruntled pout.

Draco was waiting in his chair, but he stood up as soon as Snape entered with Harry. Draco looked very nervous, but he said in an arrogant voice, “Why does he have to be here?” and stared pointedly at Harry.

Snape waited until Harry sat down in a nearby chair before continuing, “He was kind enough to talk me out of sending you away to stay with your mother, so sit down and be quiet, Draco.”

The blond gave Harry a mean look, but he plopped back down on his seat. Snape stood in front of Draco, arms crossed.

“All right, Mr. Malfoy, suppose we talk about what you were trying to accomplish by tricking Harry into that room and then locking him in.”

“I locked the door from his side,” Draco protested. “He could get out anytime he wanted.”

“Draco!” Snape thundered, making Harry jump. “You answer my question right now, or go upstairs and start packing. You are on very thin ice, and if I hear anything close to disrespect, you are leaving tonight.”

“I thought I’d get back at him,” Draco said, but his voice was more pitiful than defiant. “That really hurt, what he did to my fingers. He had it coming, so I gave it to him.”

“You though that since he accidentally slammed a door on your fingers, a feat for which you heard me punish him and for which he apologized profusely, you would try to kill him?” Snape towered over Draco.

Harry leaned back in the chair and reflected that Snape still looked like a huge bat, even without the black robes. The man just had that look, all dark hair and foreboding eyes. Of course, with that nose, he could be a hawk. But were hawks black? Harry always thought hawks were brown. Why didn’t Snape try to shrink his nose? Hermione had got her teeth shrunken a little more than their normal size when Draco had cursed her. Snape should shrink his nose, just a little, for the fun of it.

“You do not try to harm other people in this house,” Snape ordered, oblivious to Harry’s thoughts. “I know everyone is hexing each other and playing pranks at school – I’ve had whole classes for detention because students couldn’t stop themselves from one-upping the last prank. But you could have killed him, and that is a serious offense.”

Seeing Snape’s severe look, Draco squirmed. “Are – are you going –”

“Yes, I am,” Snape ground out. “And so help me, you even think about doing something like that, you won’t be able to sit until school starts.”

Harry glanced down at his knees and realized that he was sitting down. That was nice. It felt good to sit down after he had been so dizzy.

“Fine,” Draco crossed his arms. “But he has to leave.”

“No, he stays,” Snape ordered. “You can keep your trousers up, but I want him to stay so both of you know this is over once and for all. Neither of you will try to get even with the other, or I will lock you in separate rooms for the next four days. Am I understood, Draco?”

“Yes,” Draco frowned, almost glaring.

“What was that?” Snape barked out.

“Yes, sir,” Draco mumbled.

“Harry?” Snape glanced over at him.

Jerking himself back to the present, Harry nodded. “Yes, sir,” he replied automatically, knowing that was the answer Snape always demanded.

“Good,” Snape grabbed a sturdy wooden chair with no arms and plunked it in the middle of the room. Sitting on it, Snape unbuttoned and rolled up his right sleeve. “Draco, come here.”

Harry stared at Snape, blinking slowly. Had Snape called “Draco” or “Harry”? Hopefully, it was Draco. Slouching down in his chair a little, Harry thought he would just stay still and maybe Snape wouldn’t notice him. The way Snape was sitting and looking so stern – someone was about to be spanked. If Harry was really still and quiet, maybe Snape wouldn’t spank him.

Listlessly, Harry watched as Draco miserably stood up and walked towards Snape. That was good – Snape must want to punish Draco. That probably meant Draco had done something wrong.

“I’m too old for this!” Draco wailed as he bent over Snape’s lap. “This is for children – I’m sixteen!”

“Then start acting like it,” Snape put his left hand on Draco’s waist to steady him.

“You’ll regret this!” Draco said pathetically, sniffing back tears.

“One more threat from you,” Snape snarled, “and I’ll spank you tomorrow night before bed as well.”

“All right! I’m sorry,” Draco moaned.

Without any more lecturing, Snape raised his hand and brought it down, walloping the seat of Draco’s expensive trousers. The blond let out a howl that was completely out of proportion to the smack he had just received. Snape rolled his eyes – Teenage theatrics! – and smacked him again. He felt no need to lecture. Potter did better with the lecturing and spanking together – Snape felt that Harry seemed to remember more of what he said when he was being punished. Draco, on the other hand, was too worried about his own dignity and pride to take in anything other than the pain and humiliation.

Harry watched them, blinking slowly every now and then. It was funny to see Draco hanging over Snape’s knees like that. Now, Draco was kicking, looking like he was trying to run in the air. That was funny too.

Harry took a deep breath. He was feeling very dizzy and tired now. He wished he could close his eyes and just listen to the smacking sound that rang out and Draco’s cries, but Harry tried to keep his eyes open.

Oh, now they had split into two. Right beside each other, there was a Snape spanking Draco and another Snape spanking Draco. Draco was being spanking twice. Harry wanted to chuckle, but he couldn’t remember how to do it.

He leaned his head to one side. The Snape and Draco on the right side went up higher than the left. Harry leaned his head to the other side. The Snape and Draco on the left went up.

Harry began moving his head back and forth. It was like watching a seesaw. Draco on the right went up and got spanked, then the left Draco went up and was also spanked. Up and down. Seesaw, seesaw, seesaw – Snape and Draco up, then the other Snape and Draco up. Seesaw, getting spanked, crying all the time, up and down, back and forth, seesaw, seesaw.

Something wet dribbled from Harry’s mouth.

He reached up and touched the wetness. He looked at his fingers. His drool was all red.

That was funny, too. Red drool. Red, red drool, all thick and sticky.

Then hot tears were leaking from his eyes, rolling under the edge of his glasses and sliding down his cheeks. He touched the tears with his other hand; they were red, too.

And snot started trickling from his nose, and it was red.

Harry tried to wipe the wetness from his face, but then his hands were covered with red, a deep dark red that was damp and trickling down his palms. It was like he was wearing red gloves. Snape would think that was funny.

Harry tried to speak, to tell Snape that he was wearing red gloves, but all that came out was a gurgle.

Snape looked up, and his eyes flew wide open. He unceremoniously dumped Draco on the floor and ran towards Harry, pulling out his wand.

Harry watched as a strong, warm light burst from the wand. The colors of the light were so pretty . . . all gold, silver, and blue. Harry wanted to touch the light, to let it run through him and chase away the dizziness.

Pretty light, so pretty and bright, come closer, come closer . . .

------

Harry opened his eyes and blinked a few times. He was lying in bed, tucked between warms sheets and blankets with an extra thick pillow under his head. Daylight played on the wall beside him, light reflecting off the lake, he guessed, by the way it dancing and flickered.

He reached for the nightstand beside the bed and felt for his glasses. His arm hurt, but he kept feeling for the glasses. Once he had them, he put them on and glanced up at the dancing light.

By the look of the light, it was mid-day. Yet he was wearing pajama and in bed. Remembering what he had thought right before he saw Snape with the wand, Harry raised both hands.

“Don’t worry,” a voice told him.

Harry looked around. Draco was sitting on the other bed. The bed was made, but Draco sat up with his back against the propped up pillow and his legs were out straight.

“Snape cleaned up your face and hands before he put you to bed,” Draco said in a voice that sounded oddly choked up as if the blond had a cold. “He made me sleep in the other room, and he watched you most of the night.”

Harry looked at Draco a little closer. The blond had red, puffy eyes, but his face was pale, and he kept biting his bottom lip as if to keep it from trembling.

“What happened?” Harry sat up. The dizziness was gone, but he felt sore and achy. He leaned back on the pillows, content to rest for now.

“Snape said it was the effect from the plants,” Draco whispered, looking down at the floor. “He said the strain from fighting sleep caused your blood vessels to weaken or something like that. It was just a matter of time before you started bleeding.”

“What did he do?” Harry inquired, still trying to process it all.

“You passed out, but he stopped the bleeding,” Draco sniffed, swiping a hand hastily over his eyes. “He was afraid you would have brain damage or choke on the blood so he made me hold you sitting up while he poured some weird potions down your throat. You were just leaned against me like a limp doll, all dead weight and arms flopping every time you moved, and you covered in blood. I was sure you were dead. But Snape felt your pulse, and he said you were breathing, but he wanted to leave you asleep so you would heal quicker. He Levitated you upstairs and then he sent me away.”

“What time is it?” Harry tried to raise his arms. Ow, that hurt! The joints were all stiff, and he felt like he had been stretched on a rack until his limbs were like putty.

“Two in the afternoon,” Draco answered, still sniffing. “You were asleep for twelve hours again, but Snape said it was okay. He woke me up this morning, forced me to eat some breakfast, and then –” Draco broke off and bit his lip again.

“And then?” Harry prompted.

“He took me out in the hall and finished up what he started last night.”

Harry fought the urge to laugh, mocking his sniveling. After all, Draco was trying not to cry, and he looked pretty shaken up by what had happened to Harry. Pushing back the laugh, Harry tried to look sympathetically, but that seemed to make Draco feel even worse.

“Afterwards, he told me to come in here and sit and watch you while he went to get some sleep. If anything happened, I was supposed to touch that stone,” Draco nodded to a small blue rock on his own nightstand, “and Snape would come back, but he said you’re safe now.”

“Well, I’m awake,” Harry yawned, wishing he could stretched his arms up and make the soreness go away. “So you can leave.”

“No, I can’t,” Draco blinked back tears. “Snape stuck me to this bed. I can’t move off it until he performs the countercurse. And I’m still hurting, but I can’t get up.”

Harry felt a little of sympathy – wow, Snape must have been really angry to punish Draco so severely – but he only said, “Well, serves you right for trying to kill me.”

“I didn’t know what the room did!” Draco cried out. “I read the sign and I thought Snape was being overly dramatic. I opened the door and I felt a little sleepy, but I didn’t think it would kill you.”

“You didn’t know what the plants were?” Harry was skeptical.

“No, I may be Pure-Blood, but I don’t have much use for Herbology,” Draco snapped, wiping at his eyes again. “Once the leaves and berries are crushed up, I know how to use them in potions, but I thought they were harmless on the tree. I just wanted to get you in trouble. Around suppertime, I went to check the room. You were on the floor asleep, but you were muttering like you do when you sleep normally, so I thought you’d eventually wake up. Then Snape would punish you for going in there. I was going to say that I thought Snape did want you because he had asked where you were earlier, but that you misunderstood my directions and went into that room.”

“So you didn’t want to kill me, jut get me in trouble?” Harry scowled.

“It was just a prank to get back at you for the door thing,” Draco protested, but his eyes seemed to grow redder. “I never meant for it to be so bad.”

“What about locking the door?” Harry challenged.

“Oh, well, I got my wand and locked the door, thinking that Snape would believe you had locked the door from the inside yourself. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

“So you planned to never tell him where I was?” Harry retorted.

“I thought I’d let him get good and mad, and then he’d crack down on you. I didn’t think you’d start bleeding all over the place and nearly die. I’ve never seen Snape that angry. He grabbed my wand and threatened to break it in two. Then he took it and said he would give it back to me our first night at Hogwarts.”

“Serves you right,” Harry said though he didn’t really feel like making Draco feel worse. Draco looked like he was going to start crying again, and Harry didn’t want that to happen. Regardless of the outcome, Draco hadn’t really meant to kill him, and Harry knew all about doing things unintentionally that blew up in your face in the end. Of course, Harry would agree with Snape that intentions did not matter if you did not first think about the consequences of your actions, but Harry had messed up all sorts of times, and this was Draco’s first time . . .

“All right,” Harry said, “let’s both agree to a truce just for now. Back at Hogwarts, we can fight all you like, but here for the sake of our well-being and Snape’s temper, let’s try not to fight. You’re only going to be here a few more days – we can make it without killing each other. Because, take it from me, if Snape thinks we are fighting again, he will come down on both of us like you would not believe.”

“Really?” Draco looked frightened.

“You think that was bad?” Harry asked. “Try having your trousers and shorts down and getting it with a ruler.”

Draco’s red eyes widened slightly, and he nodded. “Fine, truce. But I swear, you’re going to get it this year at school.”

“Same to you,” Harry couldn’t help grinning. It was fun to make such mean threats for the future regardless of whether or not they planned to carry them out.

“You tell anyone what Snape did –” Draco threatened, but Harry interrupted him.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“We never talk about this,” Draco groused. He reached towards the stone. “Should I get Snape?”

“No,” Harry shook his head, then winced as the muscles of his neck hurt. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to take a bath and see if I stop aching.”

He flung the covers off himself and tried to ignore the pain in his arms.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” a stern voice asked from the doorway.

Harry looked up to see Snape standing there.

“Oh, I was just –”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Snape announced. He took out his wand and pointed it at Draco. “Finite Incantum.”

Draco immediately rolled off the bed and stood up. Harry could see his hands itching to reach back and rub, but Draco would not let himself show that kind of weakness.

“You can have some lunch downstairs, and then go on to the library and start on that reading we talked about yesterday,” Snape directed Draco. “I’ll see you at suppertime.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco quickly left the room.

Snape walked over to the dresser, and Harry gave a groan as he saw the old black bag make another appearance.

“Not that nasty potion again,” Harry complained. “I’m not going to burst into flames. I don’t need it.”

“Quiet, Potter,” Snape told him firmly. He pulled out the thermometer and shook it. Sighing, Harry opened his mouth, and Snape placed the thermometer under his tongue before reaching for Harry’s wrist.

“Tink Ah wash an inbalid, da way oo fush ober be,” Harry said around the thermometer.

“Shh,” Snape hushed him so he could take his pulse.

Harry rolled his eyes, but he let Snape check him over, trying not to giggle when Snape felt around his throat for swelling.

“I’m ticklish there,” Harry explained after Snape took out the thermometer. “Well, what’s the verdict, doctor? Will I live?”

Snape looked down at him without a hint of a smile. “That is not funny.”

“After so many near death experiences, you have to learn to shrug it off,” Harry shrugged, but then he winced.

“What’s hurting?” Snape demanded.

“I’m sore,” Harry complained, rubbing his arms. “My muscles ache, and I’m all stiff. Is it from sleeping so long or from the bleeding?”

“Probably a little of both,” Snape decided. “You’re going to take a hot bath with some salts to help you relax. Then I’ll help stretch your muscles out. But you are taking it easy today. You lost a lot of blood, and I don’t want you doing more than sitting quietly and reading. No running around, no yelling, no getting excited. Just rest.”

“Or?” Harry couldn’t help baiting him. It was amusing to hear the outrageous threats that Snape would use to get him to go along with whatever Snape wanted.

“Or I’ll glue you to the bed like Draco, cover you with a blanket, and leave you to stare at the ceiling.”

“Hey, that wasn’t very outrageous,” Harry objected. “You did that at the beginning of summer when you made me take a nap. I thought it would be something like wrapping me up in spider webs and hanging me from the ceiling like a cocoon or using my fingers for your next potion. Really, Snape, you disappoint me.”

“No one wants your fingers, Potter,” Snape said crossly. “They’d ruin any potions.”

But he put both hands under Harry’s arms and helped him stand up very slowly. Harry winced but tried not to make a sound. Snape did not comment; he put his left arm around Harry’s back and draped Harry’s right arm around his own neck. Supported by Snape, almost being carried, Harry began to make a slow, painful trip towards the bathroom. His legs hurt, but he could keep going with Snape holding him up.

Twice Harry nearly fell, but Snape’s grip tightened around him, refusing to let him drop.

“Don’t hurry,” Snape cautioned. “Take all the time you need. I have you – I won’t let you fall. Easy does it. I promise I won’t let you go.”

And they kept moving on, slow but steady.

"Ow, ow, ow," Harry hissed under his breath.

"I haven't even touched you yet!' Snape said crossly

Harry tried to look up at him. It was awkward as he laid facedown in only a pair of dark boxers on a small, padded table that Snape had transformed from a chair. "I know," Harry replied. "I'm just getting ready for it."

"Potter," Snape was exasperated, "I've done this before."

"Right, but last time I was drugged to my eyeballs with potions," Harry objected. "I was asleep, too - now I'll probably be screaming."

Snape crossed his arms impatiently as he stood over Harry. "You can endure all the physical torment you went through the last five years, but now you're worried that stretching your muscles will hurt?"

"It's different with you," Harry groused, wriggling his body back and forth on the table. "You know how to really hurt me."

"Oh, I do?"

"Yeah," Harry did not look up at Snape but he could not help squirming again, "you do. I don't want you to start stretching me - it doesn't sound fun, and anything that doesn't sound fun normally, it's a million times worse with you. Like classes or detention or homework or - ooooooh," Harry gave a relaxing sigh.

Snape kept massaging the back of his neck, his finger pressing down and seeming to find every tight nerve in Harry's neck. "Pull your hands up to the edge of the table," Snape directed. "It will stretch out your back."

Harry tried to pull his arms up, but once he got his hands even with his head, it hurt too much. "I can't," Harry complained, his mouth half smushed against the table.

Without comment, Snape took his left arm and began pulling it out straight, massaging the muscles and joints of the arm as he did so. Snape did the same to his other arm, and Harry found himself holding on to the front of the table without his arms hurting at all.

Snape put one hand on the back of Harry's neck, and then he placed the other hand in the small of Harry's back and began rotating his back to straighten his spine. His back cracked and popped, but Harry could not move. He had never felt so relaxed in his life; he wondered if he would start to drool from his slack mouth, but he couldn't help it because he could not move to save his life.

Snape was moving to his shoulders, pressing down and kneading, and Harry wanted to purr with contentment. He couldn't keep his eyes open, and he wondered if Snape would just let him lie there forever in absolute bliss with his thoughts gently spinning around his head without a concern in the world.

"Potter?"

"Potter!"

"Uh?" Harry opened his eyes.

"Come on, sit up," Snape pulled on his arms until Harry was sitting up straight.

"Uh? What?' Harry blinked. "What's going on? When did I turn over?"

"You fell asleep," Snape told him dryly. "I'm surprised you weren't screaming, your muscles were so tight and cramped. I been working on you for over an hour, but you didn't move once you fell asleep."

"That's nice," Harry waved him away. "Let me go back to sleep."

"You need to go downstairs and get some food into you," Snape told him. "You can have an early bedtime. Come on and get dressed."

Harry looked down and realized he was still in his boxers. He tried to rouse himself and experimentally raised his arms up. Nothing hurt; he felt fine. "My word," Harry stood up and held onto the padded table for support, "where did you learn to do that?"

"Just something I picked up," Snape handed him his trouser and a shirt along with socks and shoes. "It's all about pressure points and nerve endings. Without magic, just physical touch, you can learn to hurt someone or heal them."

"Can you do that to anyone?" Harry began to dress, stepping into the trousers slowly.

Snape shrugged. "I guess. Man, woman, child - it's usually about the same."

"You could do that to a woman?" Harry looked up, his fingers frozen on the buttons of his shirt. "How are you still single?"

"Potter -"

"No, really, you do that to a woman - I'm thinking she'd say yes to about anything you ask her to do, if you know what I mean," he gave Snape a rakish look and a wink.

"If you'll lift your mind out of the gutter long enough," Snape frowned, "we can go down to eat. But I want you to -"

"Take it easy," Harry nodded. "I know, Snape." Fully dressed, he straightened and grinned. "All right, can I walk by myself or do you want to carry me?"

That was the great thing about being sick - he could say almost anything to Snape, and though the man would frown and glower and look extremely stern, he rarely reprimanded Harry.

But to Harry's surprise, the walk downstairs did tire him, and by the time he reached his chair, he was glad to sit down and be still.

A good meal and a day of rest did wonders, though, and by a late supper that night, Harry felt that he had completely recovered.

"Come on, Snape," he urged at the table. "Let me go outside for a while and watch for falling stars - I hate staying in."

"No," Snape told him for the third time that evening, "not tonight."

Draco sat quiet, eating with only looking up every now and then. Harry did not understand why he looked so crestfallen - Snape did not seem particularly angry at him, and Harry thought that even the pain from the punishment that morning should have diminished for the most part. Maybe Draco liked to sulk.

After supper, Snape parked Harry in a large, comfy armchair and handed him a book with a look telling him to stay still and quiet.

Harry read for a while as did Snape, but Draco seemed unable to settle down. The blond pretended to read, but he fidgeted and dropped his book twice before going to the chessboard to play by himself. When the clock struck nine and Snape closed his book, Harry wondered if he were about to sent up to bed.

A house elf brought the tea tray with only two cups, Snape poured tea in Harry's cup and handed it to him before saying, "Draco, please go upstairs and get ready for bed."

Harry tried not to look too pleased as he sipped the hot, sweet tea. So Draco was being sent up early. Ha-ha, Harry got to have tea with Snape while Draco had to go to bed. Just brilliant.

"Stop smirking and drink your tea," Snape told him shortly.

"What? I can't enjoy someone else's misery? You smirk every time I do something wrong," Harry retorted.

"Yes, as I've said before, I'm the miserable, old potions master. It fits me."

"It does not," Harry shot back. "And you're not old. You're one of the youngest teachers at Hogwarts. You were a year behind my parents, right? You can't be more than - what? 37? 38? That's not old."

"When did you get so fresh?" Snape grumbled over his tea. "I liked it better when you hated me."

"No, you didn't," Harry replied. He felt an enormous surge of satisfaction when Snape only glared at him. Feeling almost light-headed with his own daring, Harry decided to press the issue just a little further. "Admit it, you like me."

"I most certainly do not," Snape stated.

"Oh, but you do," Harry grinned. "You like having me here to ruin your summer. You could be sitting here all alone, but I came to catch fire and blow up the house and nearly die, and you've had all your time filled with lecturing and punishing and repairing. And you wanted to replace the potions store anyway. Admit it."

Snape looked torn between spitting nails or smile. He did neither and said only, "Drink your tea, Potter."

Harry took a sip and then began to cough. He kept coughing, making wheezing sounds as he tried to catch his breath. "Snape," he choked out.

"Harry!" Snape jumped to his feet about to rush over to help him.

Harry stopped coughing and grinned again. "Got you!"

Snape stared outraged for a moment. Then he sat down, still staring at Harry. "Are you looking for me to tan your hide?"

"No."

"Then stop your foolishness before I take you over my knee."

"All right . . . Dad," Harry slyly added.

This time it was Snape that choked on his tea. "Wha-at?" Snape coughed violently.

"Father?" Harry tried. "Uncle? Cousin Severus - oh, I like that one. We have to come up with something besides Snape and Potter. Maybe that was fine at the beginning of summer, but it's August now, and we've developed, evolved, progressed past the old names."

"More regressed," Snape muttered, pouring himself some more tea.

"I have to call you something more than Snape," Harry insisted.

"Professor?" Snape said a little louder than he needed to, considering Harry was sitting right there.

"Ah, but as you've reminded me time and time again, we're not professor and student here," Harry said cheekily. "Here you're my guardian so we should find a new title. I think Uncle Severus - it had has a nice ring to it."

Snape glowered at Harry, looking like he wanted to light into Harry right then and there, but he said only, "You should be thankful you're sick."

"O-oh," Harry put a hand tragically to his forehead as he leaned back, trying to look overly pathetic. "I'm feeling very ill, Uncle Severus. Hold my hand, hold my arm, just hold me."

Snape stood up. "I'm going up to check on Draco. When I come back, you better have finished your tea and be ready to go up to bed."

"Then fare thee well," Harry continued to slump back in the chair, holding one limp hand out in Snape's direction.

As Snape walked away, Harry could hear him mutter, "Silly children . . . never get a moment's peace."

Harry couldn't stop smiling, and he leaned up to get another biscuit.

"No more sugar for you," Snape ordered as he climbed the stairs.

Harry stuffed the biscuit in his mouth and nodded though Snape couldn't see him. Then a thought hit Harry, and he suddenly felt nervous, his palms a little sweaty. He had only been teasing Snape, but maybe that teasing had hit a bit too close to home. He had not meant to do anything other than needle Snape with some light-hearted barbs, but maybe it was unkind to remind Snape that he had no family. Maybe Snape had not meant to end up unmarried, alone with no kids, no one around.

Harry knew what it felt like to feel all alone - he remembered those awful days before Hogwarts and other lonely summers. The time he had been locked in his room, afraid he would never get see any of his friends again. Now, at sixteen, he knew that he would have never been allowed to stay like that; someone would have come after him when he did not show up at school. But at twelve, Harry had not been so sure.

But Snape was alone most of the time - always feeling guilty about sins of the past. Maybe he was snarky and cold and sneering a lot, but when times got tight, Snape was always there, doing what he should. Though he did not show it, Snape must have known what was going to happen for the rest of the summer when Harry came rolling out of his fireplace. Well, maybe not everything that happened - Harry thought guiltily, remembering how his own poor choices had affected a few things - but still Snape had done the right thing. If their roles had been reversed, if Snape had barged in on Harry and needed to stay the summer, Harry would have wanted (if not demanded) that Snape leave. That was a nice, selfish way to treat people.

Harry flushed hotly, feeling his stomach sink. He knew it was not the plants anymore - this was feeling bad for how he had treated Snape. And how had he thanked Snape? By fighting with Draco? Complaining about Draco?

Harry felt his face grow redder, but he stood up resolutely. Blast his overly sensitive conscience! But he was going to make sure there were no hard feelings. Snape was going to see that Harry was appreciative, that Harry knew how to thank someone for their kindness, that Harry wasn't a spoiled little prince who expected everything offered to him on a silver platter.

Harry went up the stairs. Yes, Snape would probably chide him for running about when he had been ill (though Harry wasn't really running, just walking quickly), but Harry would apologize for that as well.

Harry had just reached the hallway leading to his room when he heard someone howling. As he got closer, the howls grew louder accompanied with a sharp smacking sound. A few more steps, and Harry could make out words.

"Ow! Snape, I said I was sorry! Ow, no, stop! You can't do this to me."

"Au contraire," Snape replied, the smacking noise never stopping. "I told you last night if you didn't change your attitude, I would be spanking you before bed. You were very eager to help with Harry, but this morning I finished your punishment, and what did you call me?"

"Nothing!"

"Draco!"

"Fine! Ow, ouch, too hard! All right, I said you were a stupid, slimy, ugly old bat who no one cared about and you could rot in your dungeons alone and -"

"That's not true!" Harry banged open the door and stomped into the room.

The sight would have been ludicrous any other time, and Harry would have started snickering before bursting into wild laughter. Draco was flung over Snape left knee, his legs trapped under Snape's right leg. Snape was pressing down on Draco's back, but the blond kept trying to rear up and get away.

Harry was sure he had seen something like this the night before, but being so high on the sleeping plants, Harry could not remember.

Draco turned to look at Harry in horror, and surprised by the sudden intrusion, Snape paused, his hand still in the air holding the wooden hairbrush that usually sat on the dresser.

"It's not true," Harry insisted to Draco, crossing his arms adamantly. "People do too care about him. Maybe he doesn't march around Hogwarts, bragging about his father and being a Pure Blood, but that does not mean he's going to rot alone. And he's not slimy - if you spent all your time brewing potions to help people, you'd probably look the same way."

"Potter," Snape said sternly, but Harry ignored him, intent on setting Draco straight.

"When was the last time you did anything to help anyone, Malfoy? If I remember right, the last thing you did was to nearly kill me."

Draco was squirming, trying to get off Snape's knee, but the man would not let his go.

"So go on, Snape," Harry ordered, "give what he deserves, the little snit. Cry like the baby you are, Malfoy."

"Are you quite finished?" Snape asked calmly.

"He shouldn't get to say -" Harry began, but Snape cut him off.

"Then please go outside and wait until I am finished."

"Right," Harry headed for the door, but paused to say, "don't let him say anything else, Snape."

"Just go," Snape said starting to sound impatient.

Harry went into the hallway and closed the door almost all the way, leaving it open a crack.

He leaned against the wall and waited. The smacking began again, and Draco's cries seemed even louder. Harry stared up at the brass chandelier in the hallway, watching the flames of the candles flicker. It was funny how candlelight in a wizard's house was as bright as electric lights in a muggle's. Harry wondered how the radio at the Weasleys had run without electricity. Did Snape have a radio? It would be nice to listen to some music at night.

Harry snapped his thoughts back to the present as Draco's howls grew louder. Good grief, Draco's voice could go up high. The windows would be breaking soon. Harry blushed again. Was that how he himself sounded when Snape punished him, all hysterical and screeching?

"Please, Snape, please stop," Draco begged. "I know I'm awful, I know I don't deserve to live, I know everyone hates me. That's why Father beats me - please Snape."

Barely breathing, Harry waited. He waited for Snape to assure Draco that he was not awful, for Snape to tell Draco that he was talking nonsense, to make Draco feel better. But Harry only heard the hairbrush come down again and then again and then again, and Harry couldn't just stand there. He went back into the bedroom.

"Tell him that's not true," he ordered Snape.

Snape looked up, impatient and infuriated. "Potter, I don't know when you decided that you get to have a say in how I manage Draco's behavior, but I'll remind you that we are not co-parents here. I will handle Draco in the way I see best fit as I do with you."

"But he said -" Harry began.

Snape growled and pulled Draco off his lap. He turned Draco to face Harry, saying sternly, "Draco, tell Mr. Potter here when was the last time I spanked you before you came here?"

Draco turned red and tried to move away, but Snape held him still, hands on his upper arms. "Tell him."

"In the spring," Draco whispered.

"And which spring?" Snape prodded.

"This spring," Draco's voice was barely audible.

Harry's eyes went wide, but he said nothing as he stared at Draco.

"And why did I punish you?" Snape pressed on, relentless.

"Because I kept talking back to you, and I wouldn't do what you told me," Draco looked miserable, his eyes red-rimmed and his bottom lip trembling.

"And when I spanked you, what did you say?"

"I said that I hated you," Draco confessed. "That I was going to tell everyone how awful you were."

"And when I didn't stop, what did you say?"

Draco was squirming, but he admitted, "I said you liked to hurt me, that everyone wanted to hurt me. I didn't deserve to live, and everyone wanted me to die."

Harry suddenly felt that he no longer wanted to be in the room. He wished he had stayed in the hallway, good and quiet. Snape must have sensed his discomfort, but the man continued,

"And that is not the first time Draco has tried to make me feel sorry for him. Your tactic, Potter, may be to bear your punishment stoically or as best you can while Draco's is to try to talk me out of punishing him. You respond more to words than he does so I don't waste my breath talking to him during it. Afterwards, we talk when he can really hear me. This has nothing to do with his father, this has nothing to do with you defending him or me, this has nothing to do with you at all. I'm going to finish talking to Draco, but you go into the bathroom and do not come out until I call for you."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied and hurried away.

Once in the bathroom, he turned the bath water on, hoping to drown out any other noise. Whether Draco got spanked more or whether they just talked, Harry did not want Snape to think he was eavesdropping. And since the water was running, Harry went ahead and took a bath, washing his hair too. Teeth brushed and in pajamas, Harry sat down on the closed toilet lid to dry his hair with the towel until Snape called him. Looking in the mirror, Harry tried to comb his damp hair down with his fingers. It was a losing battle, but at least he looked a little better with most of it neat.

"Harry?" he heard a quiet voice called.

Harry went to the door and stepped out. The bedroom was dark, and Draco was already in bed.

"Come into the hall," Snape directed.

"I'm sorry about barging in," Harry said as soon as the bedroom door was shut behind them. "I know I'm impulsive - it's just that I don't like to hear him -"

Snape held up a hand. "Don't apologize for your hero complex. I'm beginning to think it's too late to change that. You will rush into bloody everything, regardless of what you're told."

Harry smiled, surprised to hear Snape swear. "Sorry."

"You are not, but it doesn't matter," Snape shook his head. "You and that big, golden heart of yours, wanting to rescue everyone."

"Stop it," Harry said, still smiling.

"Hhmm," Snape sniffed. He reached out to feel Harry's forehead. "You fell fine. Are you dizzy? Lightheaded? You know, you should have told me you felt dizzy last night. You kept insisting that you were fine -"

"I was high on those plants! Everything felt good."

"But no dizziness now?"

"None, and that's the truth," Harry assured him. "I'm a little tired, but -"

"Well, it's past ten so good to bed," Snape directed.

Harry was suddenly overcome with a need to hug Snape. He knew Snape would not like it, but Harry didn't just want to leave without showing Snape that he was glad to be there. With one hand, Harry reached out and patted Snape on the shoulder very firmly, kind of the same way Snape patted him in bed at night.

"See you tomorrow," Harry turned away towards the bedroom.

And for once Snape had nothing to say to him.

-------

"I hate when it rains here," Draco complained, watching the window.

"It's been dry this summer," Harry objected. "We were bound for some rain sooner or later."

"Where's Snape?" Draco huffed, turning from the window.

"He said he had to write some letters," Harry glanced back to his book.

They had started the day as if nothing had happened over the last few days. They did not mention bleeding fingers, sleeping plants, punishments, or nosy young wizards. In Harry's opinion, they were doing an excellent job of acting as if the three of them had always lived there in peacefully harmony.

"So we're just supposed to sit here and read?" Draco gave the edge of the carpet a spiteful kick.

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "What do you do at home?"

"I have my own things there," Draco said loftily, as if Harry did not understand how a regular wizard lived.

"Well, I'm sure your dolls miss you," Harry ducked to hide his grin behind his book.

"My dolls do not miss - I don't have dolls, Potter!"

"Of course you don't," Harry said in a voice that implied he did not believe Draco.

"You have dolls," Draco muttered.

"And the current score in smart comebacks - Potter 4, Draco a resounding zero!" Harry quipped in his best Quidditch announcing voice.

"Ha-ha," Draco grumbled. He stared morosely out the window, watching the raindrops roll down the glass panes.

Harry sighed and slipped his bookmark into his book before closing it and placing it on the side table. "All right, let's do something."

"What?" Draco looked up, still bored but curious.

"Well, we could play a game. Grab the chess pieces and throw them at - at," Harry glanced around and snatched up a silver vase with a wide mouth, "at this and try to get them in. Here, I'll hold the vase out, and you stand at the other end of the room and throw them."

"Are you going to move around?" Draco asked, getting up and going to the chessboard.

"I could, but I'll probably have to move the vase just to catch the pieces. It's harder than it looks from that distance.

About twenty feet apart, they faced each other, Draco with the chess pieces and Harry with vase.

"Ready?" Harry angled the vase towards him. "Go!"

"Are we keeping score?"

"Sure," Harry agreed. "We'll see how many you can get in, and then I'll throw. But you have to help the other person, not yank the vase away. Throw, and I'll show you."

Draco lobbed a piece in the air, and Harry had to take a step forward to catch the flying piece in the vase. "One for you," Harry nodded.

It was a very simplistic game, but they made the rules harder as they went along. The pawn could been thrown any style, but the castles had to be thrown under-handed, the knights over-handed, the bishops with the left hand, the queen while hopping on one foot, and with the king, you had to spin around three times and say the name of a potions ingredient backwards before throwing or it didn't count. The score got developed along the way too - pawns 1 point, knights and castles 2, bishops 3, queens 4, and if done exactly right, the king got 10 points.

At first, Harry thought Draco might try to cheat to win, and Draco did try to get more points when it was his turn to hold the vase by not moving it to help Harry score. After a brief argument in which Draco stomped his foot and threatened to break the vase, they both finally agreed to follow Harry's suggestion: if the person holding the vase helped the thrower get the piece in the vase, then the vase holder got a half a point.

The score was Harry 327, Draco 296 mainly because Draco got dizzy spinning around and couldn't say bat wing backward as gniw tab when Harry had a thought.

"Wouldn't it be brilliant if we could enchant the pieces? To move or fly around?"

"Like Snitches?" Draco said snidely.

Harry ignored the quip. He knew Draco was always touchy when it came to Quidditch, especially since Harry had been chosen to play his first year while Draco had to wait until his second. "Still, we should be able to do something to the pieces. Like light them on fire."

"We don't have our wands," Draco tossed up the black king and caught him again.

"We don't need wands," Harry disagreed. "We could wrap the pieces in something and - and," he ran over to a nearby table and grabbed up a lit candlestick. "We could wrap the pieces in paper, maybe."

"Newspaper!" Draco ran over to the corner where old copies of the Daily Prophet were stacked up. "We wrap them in newspaper and tie them with . . .?"

"Twine!" Harry opened a drawer to rifle through it, sure he could find some.

Fine minutes later, they tied the last pawn up in newspaper and twine. They divided the paper-covered piece up, eight pieces for each to throw.

"You go first," Draco grabbed up the vase and ran to the other side of the room.

Harry picked up one piece and approached the burning candle. "How should I do this?"

"Hold the bottom end," Draco advised, "and just light the top. Once it's half-burning, chuck over. I'll catch it and blow it out once it's in the vase."

"All right," Harry held the piece over the flame. The newspaper began to burn, and Harry flung it towards Draco. It was like watching a small ball of fire streak through the air, orange and glowing.

------

"He's being completely unreasonable," Harry said, running his eyes over the paint chips.

"It wasn't even that big a fire," Draco agreed, his voice sounding odd as it bounced off two walls. "He put it out in a second with his wand."

"And that rug was a hundred years old," Harry added. "A spark from the candles would have burnt it to ashes anyway."

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Harry knew Snape was watching from the doorway so Harry hushed and stood still. Across the room, he knew Draco was also standing in his corner, trying to look innocent.

Snape coughed loudly and then walked away.

"I still don't see why we have to stand here and think about why it's wrong to play with fire," Draco grumbled. "We're wizards. For us, playing with fire is like . . . like . . ."

"Watching the telly?" Harry supplied.

"Huh?"

"Never mind," Harry shifted. His legs were getting tired, but it had probably been only ten or twelve minutes.

"We are going to get Snape back for this," Draco decided.

Harry nearly turned around to look at Draco. After a furious Snape had put out the fire that was a bit out of hand, Harry would admit, he had lectured them both on their foolishness before sending them to stand in opposite corners for a half an hour. Harry was expecting Draco to accuse him of starting it, tattling to Snape that it was all Harry's fault. But Draco had said nothing.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked slowly.

"There has to be a way to pay him back," Draco insisted. "Come on - it's one thing to have all these babyish rules - really, who goes to bed at ten o'clock? And the way he punishes us, and now we're standing in the corner? Are we four?"

"No!" Harry emphatically agreed.

"And does he really think we're going to let him treat us like this over and over again?"

"No!"

"And are we going to just go along with it?"

"Never!"

Draco snickered. "Snape is going to rue the day the day he put the two of us in a room together. We are going to fix him so bad, and he'll never see it coming."

Harry grinned, but they both fell quiet as Snape returned to check on them, hrumphed sternly deep in his throat, and then walked away.

Harry tried not to snicker himself. He wanted Snape to feel like he was part of a family, and every family had its share of petty revenge among its included members. Snape was about to feel very included.

Snape reached for the top letter on the stack and opened it.

Harry tried to focus on his own food, but he kept glancing towards Draco. Draco shot him looks that clearly said, “Stop looking at me!” but Harry could not stop.

“I have a letter from your mother,” Snap said once he finished reading the letter. “She writes to say that she would like to stay for another week, and would I mind if you stayed for another week.”

Harry glanced at Draco, then looked away, trying not to look suspicious. Draco kept eating his eggs.

“What?” Snape raised an eyebrow. “No comments from you, Mr. Potter? No whining, no storming away from the table?”

Harry looked up, startled. “Who, me? Oh, it’s fine. Draco can stay.”

Snape looked carefully at Draco who was acting overly casual, and then the man’s eyes narrowed. “All right, what is going on?”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked in a clear, sweet tone.

“Something is going on between you two, and I want to know what it is!”

Draco shrugged, and then Harry shrugged. Draco drank his pumpkin juice, and then Harry drank his pumpkin juice. Snape glared at both of them.

“You two better behave,” Snape warned. He sprinkled salt over his eggs and picked up his fork.

Harry had more trouble staying still as he watched Snape take the first bite.

The man stopped chewing and then made a face. Realization dawned upon him, and he looked up from his food. “Who put sugar in the salt shaker?”

Draco kept his face perfectly straight. “Someone put sugar in the salt shaker? Why would someone do that? Any guesses, Potter?”

Harry did his best to look innocent. “Why, no, Draco. Why would someone do that?”

“The house elves must have made a mistake,” Draco said glibly.

“Yes, the house elves must have –”

“Quiet!” Snape ordered. “Which one of you did it?”

“Well, I was with you all morning, Potter,” Draco kept up the act. “I didn’t see you do it. Did you see me do it?”

“I did not,” Harry continued the game, getting into the fun of things. “And if I didn’t see you do it, and you didn’t see me do it, then –”

“Enough,” Snape said shortly. “Very funny both of you. Finish your breakfast, and then I want both of you to take a walk and work off some of that energy.”

“I don’t know if I’m well enough to take a walk,” Harry turned to Draco. “Do I look well enough to take a walk?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should ask someone else. Snape, does he –”

“He is fine,” Snape decided. “You two can walk around the grounds, and tomorrow, I’m sending both of you on a four mile walk around the property. I also want you to start weeding the gardens again, Potter, and Draco can help you.”

------

“It was a start,” Draco told Harry as they strolled around the grounds. “Not a big start, but I’m thinking we begin small and then get bigger and bigger. It’s all about conditioning, you know. We get him to the point that he can’t get a moment’s rest without worrying about when we’re going to hit him next. Then we end with the biggest prank.”

“Which is?” Harry prodded.

“Not sure yet,” Draco admitted. “But I’m thinking something really sticky, like oil, or glue, or –”

“Paint?’ Harry suggested.

Draco grinned evilly. “Perfect. But you have to keep quiet. You almost gave it away at breakfast.”

“I was nervous,” Harry protested. “It’s hard to keep things from Snape.”

“Liar,” Draco retorted. “You keep secrets from everyone. And you are always playing around in Potions with your two pathetic friends, and then he looks as you, and you put on that innocent cherub face.”

“Ron and Hermione aren’t pathetic,” Harry said crossly. “And I don’t have a cherub face.”

“Yeah, you do,” Draco sniggered. “Go on and do it – your eyes open real big and sometimes you bite your bottom lip and look like a baby.”

“Shut up,” Harry told him, but he did not mind too much. He added, “And if anyone looks like a cherub, it’s you with the silver blond hair. What do you do – dip your head in peroxide every week?”

“I don’t do anything! It’s natural!”

“About as natural as this garden,” Harry replied. He stepped back just in time to keep from getting hit by the squirting water over the stones. Draco wasn’t quick enough, and he got hit right in the face.

“Hey, you little –” Draco took an angry step on the flat stone, and another squirt of water hit him on the back.

“I’ll rip it out of the ground,” he threatened, trying to figure out where the water came from.

Draco scrambled around, searching to find where the water was coming from. Beside the pretty waterfall and shallow pool, Harry stood to the side and watched him with a grin, knowing that Draco would never find it. As Draco grew wetter and angrier, Harry dipped his hand into the pool, watching the bright fish dart away.

A tin bucket lay beside the pool, the bucket Harry had used to water the herb beds after he finished weeding them. Feeling mischievous, Harry plunged the bucket in the pool and drew it up, brimming full of water.

“Well, forget it,” Draco huffed behind him. “I don’t care about that stupid game. Some garden that gets everyone wet! What are you doing, Potter?”

Harry whirled around and threw the bucket of water at Draco.

Caught unaware, Draco gasped as the cold water hit him in the face and soaked his clothes. He turned wide eyes on Harry, his eyelashes all clumped together from the soaking.

Harry grinned and gave him a what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it? look.

“Oh,” Draco spit out a mouthful of water,” you’re going to pay for that, Potter!”

“Got to catch me first,” Harry taunted.

Draco did not need a second invitation. With a growl, he charged at Harry like a mad bull. Well, a blond and very wet bull, but a mad bull all the same.

Harry took off, running around the pool, pasting the squirting water, which caught him on the side of the leg and hit Draco again, making the blond shout out something not at all nice. But Harry kept running, glad to dash around the garden under the warm sunlight with smell of flowers and cut grass in the air. He took a turn and headed for the path that ran beside the lake. The sun shone off the lake, blinding him momentarily as he rounded the bend, but he kept moving. He wasn’t sure what would happen if Draco caught him; Harry didn’t think Draco would hit him, maybe push him around a little or shove him under the squirting water until he was wet as well.

But it didn’t matter. Harry knew he was faster than Draco was. He had to be; after all those years of getting chased by Dudley and running to get to classes and warming up on the pitch to play Quidditch and –

“Oof!” Harry grunted as Draco tackled him. Harry suddenly knew how the American football players he had once seen on the telly must have felt. And they were wearing all those pads and hard helmets. Harry had nothing to protect him as Draco’s weight slammed on him, and they both toppled to the ground.

Harry yelled, and Draco shoved, but they were rolling down the grassy bank, farther and father down until . . .

Splash!

They both fell into the lake.

Harry twisted around, sputtering in the water and trying to keep his glasses from coming off. Draco had let go of him and stood up in the shallow water, looking very victorious.

“Ha-ha,” Draco jeered. “Now we’re both wet.”

Harry scowled, but made no motion to get out of the water. “Snape won’t like it. We were just supposed to walk.”

“And that’s the only reason I’m not holding your head down under the water right now. The water feels good though. I didn’t really how hot it had gotten lately.”

“Yeah, I guess –”

“Boys!” came a very stern voice from the path above.

Harry and Draco both looked up to see Snape standing a few feet above him, a frown on the man’s face.

“He did it,” Harry and Draco said at the same time, pointing at the other accusingly.

“You did it first,” Draco told Harry.

“I got you a little wet,” Harry objected. “You pushed both us into the lake. He did!” Harry gave Snape what he hoped was his cherub face since Draco had pointed it out.

Snape didn’t buy it.

“Out of the water right now. You can swim later, but I wanted you to walk and then work on the garden. Harry, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Harry stood up and followed Draco out of the water, climbing up to the path. “I don’t feel tired or anything bad.”

“Good, you can both start weeding,” Snape placed a heavy hand on each of the boys’ neck and marched them towards the herb garden.

“I don’t want to weed,” Draco complained. “He started it.”

“Who’s the baby now?” Harry challenged.

“Quiet,” Snape let go of them and grabbed up two small trowels. “Harry, show Draco how to start. Half an hour, and I better not hear anymore bickering, or I am sending both of you to bed.”

“Someone’s grouchy this morning,” Draco commented after Snape had walked away in a huff. He knelt by the garden bed.

“The sun’s out, and he’s upset that the world looks cheerful,” Harry said with a snicker. “But come to think of it, it hasn’t been raining here much at all. And the house stays pretty cool, not hot like the Dursleys – no, Draco! Don’t dig that like.”

“Like what?” Draco paused, lifting his trowel out of the damp dirt.

“We’re not digging a hole to the center of the earth,” Harry told him. “We’re weeding the beds. Look for the small, bright green shoots. Those are the weeds. And any vines. See how the plants growing here have only dark purple leaves? Pull out everything except those. Just use the trowel to get out the plants you can’t pull out with your hands.”

“I can’t believe I’m weeding,” Draco groused as he attacked a clump of weeds. “If my father knew what Snape was having me do.”

Draco’s father had proved a touchy subject, and Harry knew that he was not good with touchy subjects. He always said the wrong thing to Snape when Bellatrix or Neville came up in conversation, and he thought that Lucius might proved the same difficulty. But Harry hoped his headstrong way of talking might help here.

“You know,” he said easily as he worked beside Draco, “I can’t figure out what your family wants for you. From the way you talk at Hogwarts about them, the only thing I can see you doing to please them is lying on a sofa while a house elf feeds you strawberries.”

Draco glared at him. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. A golden sofa and chocolate-covered strawberries. Better?”

“I’m not that spoiled,” Draco yanked out a weed, sending little bits of dirt flying through the air. “What about you?”

“Me?” Harry reached for another weed, noting with satisfaction that Draco’s hands were just as dirty as his were.

“Yeah, you’re the golden boy, the little prince, the hero who’s going to save us all someday.”

“Someday,” Harry shrugged carelessly, not wanting to get into who had the harder life with Draco. “But today I’m stuck with you, doing what Snape says.

“But that was good that he saw us fighting,” Draco agreed. “He thinks we’re still arguing – he will never know what we’re really planning. And that bucket gave me an idea.”

------

Harry had to admit that Snape had a rough time the next few days. The man found rocks in his shoes (unfortunately he realized it after he had stuck his feet into the shoes), a snake in his bed, and lastly jam in his trousers’ pockets. Draco had done the first two pranks early in the morning when Snape went to check that Harry had healed completely. Harry was responsible for the last prank, sneaking a jam pot with him out of breakfast and seeing a house elf putting away Snape’s clean clothes. Harry had sneaked into Snape’s room and filled up the pockets of the trousers with jam. The next morning both he and Draco heard Snape’s bellow when he stuck his hands into his pockets to see why they were bulging out oddly.

Snape had stormed into the boys’ room, wearing the trouser, his hands coated with jam. Harry had to clamp his teeth down on his lip to keep from bursting into giggles.

“All right,” Snape glowered, “which one of you did this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco answered while Harry shrugged.

“Boys,” Snape growled.

“Excuse me, sir,” Harry said innocently, “but why are your hands covered with jam? We have napkins at the table, you know.”

“That’s right,” Draco’s voice was strained to keep from laughing. “Remember your table manners.”

Snape had glared at them, then pointed a strawberry jam-covered finger at both of them. “Dangerous close to the edge, dangerously close. Cut it out right now, or it’s going to be trouble for both of you. I mean it.” He gave them a stern look before stalking out.

Then Harry and Draco had both dissolved into fits of laughter. Snape had looked stern throughout breakfast, and then he had sent they both on a hike, wanting to have a few moments to himself.

But all of that had only been preparation for the last greatest prank.

------

“Good,” Draco whispered as he joined Harry in the hallway, “it’s all set.”

Harry glanced up the stairs nervously. “You don’t think he’s going to get hurt, do you?”

“No, and don’t be such a sap, Potter,” Draco told him hotly. “Did you do your part?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “It’s all tied up, and I just have to cut this string,” he motioned to the string tied to the lowered banister.

“All right,” Draco grinned in anticipation. “Now, you cut it when you see him at the top of the stairs.”

“But he’ll see me,” Harry objected.

“Oh, come on. He’s going to know it’s us, no doubt about that. And we can’t hide for this one. I want to see it happen, don’t you?”

“We are going to get it,” Harry sighed, but he stayed where he was, scissors in his hand.

“We got punished last time for hurting each other,” Draco reminded him. “This time, we’re out for him. He never said anything about leaving him alone.”

“He never told me not to jump off the roof,” Harry commented, “ but I’m sure he wouldn’t like it if I did.”

“And they say I’m the one who complains,” Draco shot Harry a disparaging look.

“Well, we probably won’t get, you know,” Harry said.

He hoped he was right. He knew what they were doing was pure naughtiness, just being bad. A part of him wanted to stop, but another part, a bigger part, made him stay where he was. He wondered if this was what it felt like to have a brother, someone with whom to get into trouble and play pranks and talk to late at night. Was this how Fred and George felt all the time? Harry had never really felt that way with Ron, but Ron wasn’t outspoken and aggressive and determined and sneering like Draco. Though they both complained a lot . . .

“Here he comes,” Draco hissed. He backed up from the stairs.

“I swear,” Harry hissed, “if you leave me standing here alone, I’ll –”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Draco replied. “Besides, he’ll know that something so clever had to be thought up by yours truly.”

“Prat,” Harry muttered, but then he turned his attention to the top of the stairs.

Snape walked out onto the balcony, heading for the stairs. As he passed the midpoint on the balcony, his leg hit the tiny, nearly invisible twine that was the tripwire stretched across the balcony. Snape felt it, Harry could tell, because the man looked down.

“What?”

But it was too late. The two huge buckets resting on a high wooden beam and hanging from ropes overhead tipped. Bright blue paint poured down on Snape.

Harry and Draco both watched in silent, terrified, horrified delight.

The paint covered Snape, rolling down his face, clothes, hands, hair – all in thick waves. Snape had the sense to close his eyes when the paint hit him, but he wiped the paint off them quickly to see Harry and Draco standing down at the bottom.

“You two!” Snape roared and thundered towards the stairs.

But he tripped the second stretched twine, and two more buckets of paint on another beam poured down, these two bright red.

As the red came down, it mingled with blue to become a weird sort of purple. Draco found that so irresistibly funny that he began to laugh uncontrollably. Harry felt himself laughing too, but he felt a tendril of fear curl inside him. It was horribly funny, but Snape was going to be so angry.

Snape took one more step, and he was at the top of the stairs.

Harry didn’t want to do it, but he had to do it, had to finish the prank or Draco would never let him live it down.

Harry cut the string.

The looped-over sheet hanging from the last beam unfolded, and handfuls of dry dirt fell down on Snape, turning the paint a dark blue, red, and purple.

It had taken Harry and Draco hours to plan it all out. It had been nearly impossible to find a ladder and climb up so high and hang the paint and dirt. Hours of work, and mere seconds for the prank to play out. And it was worth it.

Snape looked down at the two of them. Draco had fallen to his knees, unable to stop laughing. Harry let the snickers pour out of him, too. Snape looked absolutely ridiculous. If only they had a camera.

------

“I don’t know what I should thank you for more,” Snape said as he walked back and forth slowly. “The fact that you used dirt from my own garden or that you used oil-based paint that after three shower is still in my hair.”

“It least he finally washed it,” Draco turned over his shoulder to whisper to Harry.

“And Mr. Malfoy is now in even worse trouble than Mr. Potter,” Snape observed.

Harry said nothing. He and Draco were back in the opposite chairs in Snape’s study so they couldn’t look at each other.

“Whose idea was it?” Snape asked.

“Mine,” both Harry and Draco answered in unison.

“I can wait here all day,” Snape crossed his arms.

“Well, Draco thought of it,” Harry said, ‘but I came up with the idea of using the dirt.”

“And how did you get the stuff up without the house elves seeing?”

“We took turns distracting them in another room,” Draco said.

“And all this was for?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and Draco squirmed the least bit.

“Did you want me to start wearing paint and dirt over my clothes permanently, or was this just you two being naughty?”

“It was fun seeing the paint turn purple,” Draco muttered.

“Shh!” Harry hissed.

“Well, it was! I didn’t think about it changing colors, and then he was turning purple.”

Snape suddenly walked to window, turning his back on the both of them. “I don’t know what to do with the two of you. If you’re not fighting and slamming doors and trying to kill each other, you’re thinking up absurd pranks just for the fun of it. I should spank both of you and separate you for the rest of Draco’s stay.”

“You said he wouldn’t spank us!” Draco hissed to Harry.

“I said probably,” Harry whispered back.

Snape turned to the window. It was dark outside, and he could see his reflection in the glass. There were still streaks of paint in his black hair, and his eyebrows were slightly colored.

His lips twitched suddenly, but he fought against it. Blast it, those two deserved a good whipping! And he wasn’t about to turn around and have them see him smile. They had been very naughty!

“You were stupid to think of getting revenge,” Harry whispered back to Draco, hoping Snape couldn’t hear him.

“Well, you went along with it,” Draco returned.

“You made me!”

“You’re a prat.”

“And you’re a bigger prat.”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

“Boys,” Snape warned. But he still did not turn from window.

“I say we make a run for it,” Draco whispered even softer. “Both of us, run for the door.”

“He’ll catch us,” Harry whispered back.

“Only one of us. The other can get away.”

“You’re the faster runner. He’ll catch me.”

“I know,” Draco hissed. “But I can get away.”

Their whispered conversation was not helping Snape keep serious. He still faced the window, wondering if he would ever be able to turn back. In a horrible way, which he did not like at all, he was starting to feel fond both of them. More and more, they reminded him of little puppies: squirming, hyper, naughty little puppies that got into trouble and wrestled with each other and were usually nuisances and had to be smacked on the nose to keep them in line so they cried and tried to act better for a day. And he was supposed to hate puppies. And kittens and bunnies and anything soft and cuddly because he was the feared potions master and a former Death Eater, and blast it! – Stop smiling!

“All right,” Snape whirled around, his face fearsome. “Both of you, bend over my desk.”

“Awww,” Harry and Draco groaned. Unhappy and forlorn and looking just like naughty puppies, both boys headed towards Snape’s desk.

Draco began to bend over, but Harry hesitated. “We didn’t really hurt anyone, and I didn’t try to blow up the house, and you never said I couldn’t throw paint on you.”

“Potter, bend over,” Snape directed.

“Yeah, and stop being a coward,” Draco said, his lower arms flat on the table.

“I guess after years of getting this from him, you’re used to it,” Harry snapped at Draco.

“Oh, shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Boys!”

They both shut up, and Snape walked around the desk and opened the top drawer. Harry felt his insides plummet as he watched Snape withdraw the ruler.

Harry promised himself right then and there that if he ever had his own house he was not keeping a ruler in there. No ruler, no corner, and no Snape. If he needed to measure something, Harry would just have to guess. The curtains might be crooked, and the rugs might not fit in the halls, and the doors might look lopsided, but he was not keeping a ruler to bring back bad memories.

“Draco, you’re the oldest,” Snape came around behind them. “And I don’t want to hear a word from you.”

Harry felt relieved, but he would rather get his turn over with. More than anything, he did not like waiting.

Whack!

The ruler landed on Draco’s backside, and Draco gasped sharply.

Harry flinched, and his hands raised up to cover his ears. He stopped himself just in time and put his arms back on the desk. No need to look like a coward now; there would plenty of time for that later when it was his turn.

Whack, whack, whack! The ruler landed three more times, and Draco whimpered pitifully. But then there was silence.

Whack!

Harry cried out from surprise as the ruler smacked him. He hated how hard it was and the way it stung, and he hated getting paddled, and he hated Snape. Well, he hated when Snape did that to him, and –

Whack, whack, whack!

Harry waited, sure he was going to hear Draco get smacked again. Snape was going to move back and forth between them, giving them the ruler until they both howled with pain.

Whack!

Draco cried out again.

“That was for the hair remark,” Snape said, and then he stepped back. “Now, both of you go to bed, and if I hear any arguing, both of you will get a real spanking.”

“That was a real spanking,” Draco began as he straightened, but Harry elbowed him to be silent. It may have been the shortest punishment Snape ever handed out, but there was no reason to stand around and remind him.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said quickly, not smiling enough though Snape had paint in his hair, “we will. And we’re both very sorry, right Draco?”

Draco looked like he was going to pout, but he agreed, “Yes, I’m sorry.”

“Off to bed,” Snape pointed towards the door. “And boys? I’m sure you’ll both be very happy to help paint the balcony and walls tomorrow, won’t you?”

Draco opened his mouth, sure to say something about not being a servant or a house elf.

“Yes, we will,” Harry gave Draco a little push with his shoulder. “We’re going upstairs now.”

Draco let himself be pushed into the hallway, but he complained, “I don’t want to paint tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Harry retorted, “then you go back in there and get paddled even more. Either way, we’re both going to be painting tomorrow. You didn’t think that was it, did you? Come on, we dropped paint and dirt all over him. Paint and dirt! On Snape! So just accept it, and let’s go before he decides to give us anymore.”

Draco huffed and sighed and pouted, but he followed Harry upstairs without further complaint.

Snape, who had heard every word, put the ruler back in his desk. Those two would be the end of him. A part of him wished he had sent Draco back to his mother earlier so Snape might get a moment’s peace, but another part of him . . .

Blast! There was that smile again. He would have to make them work to the point of exhaustion to make up for all this inane smiling he was doing lately.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Harry told Draco.

“What?” Draco turned around angrily, sending little spatters of tan paint UP in the air. Fortunately, there was a drop-cloth on the floor to catch splatters.

“You’re stroking back and forth. It’s up and down,” Harry demonstrated for him with his own brush.

“How do you know?” Draco challenged. “Are you an expert painter, now?”

“No, but I’ve painted a wall before,” Harry retorted.

“Where?” Draco demanded.

“At my relatives,” Harry replied.

“Oh, them,” Draco shrugged. “I don’t know why you would want to help those Muggles. Seems like you could do it a lot faster with a wand.”

“You’re using too much paint,” Harry told him, nodding to Draco’s brush, which had drips of paint running down the wooden handle and Draco’s hand.

“No, I’m not. If we use more, we won’t have to do a second coat.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Harry objected. “If you use too much, the paint will clump before it can dry.”

“You don’t know that,” Draco decided. “Look, you paint your way, and I’ll do it my way.”

Snape watched silently from the doorway of the library, observing the boys as they painted. Harry worked much more efficiently than Draco did. Draco gave the wall half-hearted swiped with the brush, and then realizing that Harry was farther ahead on his side of the wall, Draco attacked with frantic vigor, splattering paint everywhere.

Half an hour later, they finished the first coat, and Snape came closer to investigate.

The difference was noticeable: Harry’s side was covered with thin paint that showed the original gray underneath, but the paint was even and, being acrylic, almost dry. Draco’s side covered the gray, but the paint had clotted in areas, sometimes turning into long drips that ran down the wall.

“Harry, well done,” Snape nodded.

Harry grinned and looked down at the floor in bashful delight at such praise.

“Draco, poorly done,” Snape frowned.

“What?” Draco protested.

“I told you to go slowly and cover the wall evenly with a thin coat. I also heard Harry advising you to do the same thing. You ignored us both, and as a result, I have to remove your work.”

Snape cast a spell at the wall, and the clumped paint disappeared, leaving half the wall gray again with little splatters of red and blue paint from the big prank.

“You can start over,” Snape directed. “Harry, you may go flying on your broom for the rest of the afternoon.”

Draco shot daggers at Harry with his eyes, but Harry tried not to look too pleased. Then feeling a little sorry for Draco, he told Snape, “He tried, and it’s his first time. Does he have to do the whole thing over again? Couldn’t he do half or maybe use his wand?”

“No wands,” Snape ordered, but he relented a little and said, “Draco, use the rest of the paint in the bucket, and then you can go play as well.”

“Can we both go flying?” Harry asked eagerly as Draco sighed and picked his brush.

“Yes, but no racing and no tricks,” Snape said.

That night at dinner, Harry tried to hide his bruised ribs from falling off his broom when attempting to do five flips in a row in the air. And Draco silently nursed an aching arm that had slammed into a tree branch when he raced Harry from the edge of the lake to the highest tree on the estate. And Snape swatted them both and sent them to bed early for being so disobedient.

------

All too soon, Draco’s visit came to an end. Both boys clamored for a little while longer, the evening before Draco had to leave.

“Come Snape, he just got here.”

“Yeah, Mother will drag me all over Diagon Alley to find my school stuff. Tell her I want to stay here, and she can go do it alone.”

But Snape had refused. “No, boys, Draco has to go home. He’s been here two weeks, and school starts in eleven days.”

“Eleven days! How can it be eleven days? The summer just got started,” Harry had complained. “It feels like yesterday I got here.”

“Believe me, it’s been longer than that,” Snape had said darkly, and Harry didn’t argue further.

Narcissa Malfoy arrived at Malfoy Manor the next morning, but Snape was going to take Draco over there, and Harry had to tell him bye in the entrance hall.

Draco’s luggage was piled up near the door, and he and Harry looked at each other awkwardly while Snape waited.

“Well, bye,” Draco finally spoke.

“Yeah, bye,” Harry said, not knowing where to look.

“I’ll see you in ten days,” Draco reminded him.

“Ten days, it’s back to Hogwarts,” Harry agreed.

Silence lapsed, and then Draco spoke, “You just wait, Potter. I’m going to tell Crabbe and Goyle to have at you every chance they get.”

“I’ll be ready,” Harry claimed enthusiastically. “And Ron and Hermione are going to make your life miserable.”

“Not if I get you first!”

“Oh, go ahead and try,” Harry challenged. “You’ll never know what hit you. This year will be about making you regret you ever stepped foot on Hogwarts.”

‘I’ll make you wish you had never been born.”

“I’ll get you into detention every night!”

“I’ll get you into detention with Filch!”

“I’ll hang all your clothes from the Gryffindor tower.”

“I’ll write Harry loves McGonagall on the Slytherin walls.”

“I’ll get you suspended.”

“I’ll get you beaten up daily.”

“All right, boys,” Snape cut through their ranting. “Shake hands and let Draco leave, or I’ll get both of you.”

Harry thrust his hand out and took Draco’s. They shook hands firmly, and Draco hissed, “You tell anyone what happened here –”

“Never happened,” Harry nodded in complete agreement.

“I look forward to beating you up in the fall,” Draco said as he walked towards his tuff.

“Not as much as I look forward to getting you,” Harry promised.

Draco waved goodbye and stepped out the door as Snape followed him.

------

It was very boring once Draco left. That was the truth, and Harry knew it as he threw himself in an armchair in Snape’s study and let out a long sigh.

Snape looked up, annoyed. “Potter, I’m trying to work here.”

“No, you’re not,” Harry said in a cross tone. “You’re looking through papers. Your work is done in a lab over some nasty potion that stinks up the whole place.”

“Along with teaching potions, I also assist in writing textbooks and research aids,” Snape told him.

“That’s why they’re so awful to read,” Harry muttered.

Snape glared at his ward. “Was there something you needed, or are you trying to irritate me for the fun of it?”

“There’s nothing to do,” Harry complained.

“Read a book.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Study for school.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Go flying.”

“No fun by myself.”

“You’re worse than a toddler,” Snape told him, trying to write down notes on a piece of parchment.

“Let’s go somewhere,” Harry opted, sitting up straight.

“Where?” Snape glanced around, bewildered.

“I don’t know. Somewhere. Just for the day. Let’s go back to London. Or a nearby town. We could find a bookstore for you, and then we could go get some ice cream.”

“We’re not going to get ice cream,” Snape said sharply.

“A candy bar?”

“No.”

“Joke sweets?”

“Potter!”

“You never let me do anything,” Harry flopped back in the chair. “It’s all work, work, work with you.”

“Speaking of that,” Snape reached for a piece of paper from a drawer, “I have a list of chores I want you to do.”

“What?” Harry was outraged as he took the paper. “I’ve been weeding the garden forever.”

“Yes, and if you’re so bored with nothing else to do, maybe that list will help out.”

The chores on the list weren’t that hard: sweep the floors, wash the front windows, tidy up his room, put the books back in the library, sweep the front steps off.

Harry glanced quickly at Snape and decided to try one tactic. “I hate doing chores,” he whispered with a mournful look. “Growing up I was always given so many chores to do, some I wasn’t even big enough to do, like wash the dishes or wax the floor.”

“So that list brings back bad memories?” Snape asked gently.

“Uh-huh,” Harry nodded, eyes full of sadness.

“Liar,” Snape said shortly.

“Hey!” Harry blinked.

“Don’t think those sad puppy eyes will work with me,” Snape told him, reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment. “You told Draco that you used to paint at your relatives, but that chore didn’t seem to bring back any bad memories.”

“Well, it did!” Harry protested.

“It did not. There are certain chores you can do at certain ages, and I don’t believe in giving little children too many chores. But you are sixteen, and you are in my house, taking up lots of space and eating enough for two people –”

“You said I needed to eat to grow taller,” Harry objected.

“– And you’re going to do something other than sit on a chair and moan,” Snape continued decisively. “That list won’t take you three hours, and you can divide it up into two days if you like. I admit I didn’t have you do that many chores at the beginning of summer. You have been ill and we were working through some important issues and character problems, but you are fine now and just being lazy.”

“Aww,” Harry groaned. “But I only have ten days of holiday left.”

“As you get closer and closer to the end of your education, you will have less and less free time,” Snape told him patiently. “You will have to spend time working, and when you have your own house, you will either have to clean it yourself or hire it out which can be expensive.”

“I could get a house elf,” Harry commented, not quite meeting Snape’s eyes.

“You could, but you will have to do some chores yourself, especially when you first start working. Even with your fame, first jobs don’t pay that much.”

“I have my parents’ money,” Harry reminded him.

“But that won’t last forever,” Snape replied. “And magic only goes so far in helping.”

“Like with Ron’s family?” Harry asked. He hated to bring up money with Ron’s family, but he wanted to see what Snape would say.

Snape nodded. “Exactly. More children means tighter finances, especially with just one parent working. Your whole focus changes from yourself to providing from your family. You could have a wife that would work outside the home, but she might need to stop if she has a child, and then it’s up to you. You would want to be supportive of her decision while at the same time bringing in the only income, wouldn’t you?”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at Snape. “I think I could do it.”

“I never said you couldn’t. But your focus would have to shift, especially from what you want to what your family needs. Quickly, tell me what you would like to buy right now.”

“A new broom,” Harry said before he could think. His own answer surprised himself. The broom was not even three years’ old, and it had been a gift from Sirius. Why would he want a new one?

Snape also looked surprised, but not because of the Sirius connection. “A new broom? Harry James Potter, you have a broom that works perfectly fine. It’s newer than most of the students’ brooms, and it flies very fast. Why would you want a new one?”

Harry squirmed the least bit. “We-e-ell, there was this really brilliant one I saw in Diagon Alley. It’s supposed to be faster than my Firebolt, and some other great stuff on it, too.”

“You are not buying a new broom,” Snape pointed a finger at him.

“Why not?” Harry asked peevishly. “I don’t have a family now, and I would just take a little gold from my account, and I would make it up in interest in a few years.”

“Well, fortunately, you are underage so you need an adult with you to take money out. Those are the rules, and I’m grateful or you would be spending your parents’ money left and right on brooms and candy and ice cream.”

“Would not,” Harry muttered.

Snape looked at him closely as if considering something. “Has anyone ever talked to you about money? For instance, when you go to Hogsmead, where do you get the pocket money to spend?”

Harry shrugged. “Whoever I’m with at the bank lets me get some extra, and it’s usually enough to last the whole year. We don’t go to Hogsmead that much, and you can’t really buy anything at Hogwarts unless you order it by Owl.”

“So you’ve never had practice handling money, or saving money, or anything like that?”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “Why?”

Snape looked at him for a long moment then said, “All right, I’ll tell you what. You’ll have chores to do here every week, and if you do them well and without complaining, I’ll give you a weekly allowance of say, eight Sickles?”

Harry blinked, taken aback.

“If you work hard on your attitude and getting to bed on time and studying,” Snape continued, “I’ll make it an even Galleon.”

“But the summer’s almost over,” Harry reminded him.

“There is no reason you can’t continue into the school year,” Snape said easily. “I always have chores around my office and classroom that need to be done. I usually have students in detention do them, but I could always scrap up some more. If you came every Tuesday and Thursday night for an hour or two, I think that would be worth the eight Sickles. And if you study hard and don’t get into too much trouble, that would be good a Galleon.”

“Really?” Harry was excited.

“Absolutely. And if you save up enough Galleons, you may buy whatever broom you like.”

“All right!” Harry cheered.

He grabbed the list and headed for the door. He stopped in the doorway and glanced back. “What about earlier this summer?”

“What about it?”

“I did a few chores then,” Harry said hesitantly.

“And so the greed begins,” Snape observed. But he relented and asked, “How many times did you weed the garden?”

“At least nine times,” Harry remembered. “And I painted the walls.”

“Punishments don’t count,” Snape said sharply.

“Then I weeded the garden only six times,” Harry corrected.

“Fine,” Snape pulled open a drawer and took out a few coins. “I’d say each time counts as a half-week’s worth of work, so that’s three weeks. And here is three Galleons.”

He dropped them into Harry’s hand, and Harry gazed down at the three gold coins. It was the first time he could ever remember earning money. They felt good against his palm, and he grinned widely as he looked up at Snape and tucked the coins into his pocket.

“Oh, thanks. I’ll get started on the other chores. I’m going to get that broom.”

He dashed off, and Snape shook his head as he returned to his work. The last flying broom Snape had seen in Diagon Alley had been priced at 300 Galleons. Even if Harry worked hard and got his allowance in full every week, it would still take him nearly six years to save up for a broom. But Snape saw no reason to crush the boy’s dreams. Anything that would get him to work and keep him busy and out of trouble.

------

“Are you coming with me on the train?” Harry asked that night over cups of hot tea, his own special cup tight in his hand.

“I’ll be on the train, but I can’t sit with you,” Snape replied. “I have to oversee some new first year students.”

“Oh,” Harry chuckled. “Poor things, they’ll have a fun train ride with you.”

“I am not that bad,” Snape gave him a half-hearted scowl.

“You were horrible my first year,” Harry pointed out. “I lived in constant dread of every potions class.”

“I hate all my first year classes,” Snape retorted. “They’re always blowing something up or spilled toxic poisons and then crying when I send them to the hospital wing to get patch up. And you were a brat your first year.”

“I was not,” Harry said, but he couldn’t help grinning.

“Oh, no?”

“Well, maybe a little. The castle seemed so big. I kept thinking I would get lost. And there were so many people to keep track of. I don’t know how you remember everyone’s name.”

“I try not to,” Snape poured himself some more tea.

Harry took a few sips of the sweet hot tea, and then he glanced up slyly. “Do you remember in my second year, so three years ago, when someone chucked a firecracker in on of the caldrons, and it blew up, hitting everyone with the potion?”

“I do,” Snape said coldly.

“And you never caught the culprit?”

“Yes?” even more suspicious.

“Well, you should have, because he’s sitting right across from you,” Harry chortled.

Snape’s eyes widened in outrage. “That was you?”

“Indeed, it was,” Harry kept grinning.

“I knew it! I just knew it, and I told the headmaster, but he didn’t believe me.”

“Oh, come on,” Harry leaned back casually. “Dumbledore doesn’t believe I can doing anything wrong. I used to be so scared that he would suspend me for the things I did, all the rules I broke, but he wasn’t going to make me leave Hogwarts ever. I’m his favorite.”

Snape glared at his smug expression. “I swore if I ever had proof of the guilty party, I would get that student suspended.”

“You’re always trying to get me suspended,” Harry shrugged. “But I’m not going anywhere. And it was the second year – no one learns anything in their second year. We were just having fun whenever we could.”

Snape huffed and fumed and glowered, but all he said was, “If I had proof back then, I would spanked you once and for all.”

“You can’t sp– er, do that at Hogwarts,” Harry protested.

“Don’t be so sure,” Snape said sinisterly.

His smugness gone, Harry sat up straight to object, “But – but you won’t be my guardian at school. I mean, it ends on the first day of school.”

“There are ways to continue it into the school year.”

“There are?”

“Well, would you want the guardianship to continue if it could?” Snape asked slowly.

“No! Well, I don’t know,” Harry shifted, nearly sloshing the tea out of his cup. “I guess so. I mean, I’m not sure.”

“Eloquent as ever.”

Harry scowled. “I meant I don’t want you to drag me up in front of the classroom by the ear and punish me in front of everyone.”

“You wouldn’t be taking potions,” Snape reminded him. “I would only see you at meals and on the evenings you come to work and if you chose to stop by my quarters occasionally.”

“Why?” was all Harry could say.

“Why would you stop by? Maybe to tell me how your classes are going or what you were up to. You wouldn’t have to stop by –”

“No,” Harry interrupted, “why would you want to continue the guardianship?”

“It seems to work,” Snape answered carelessly.

“Seems to work! I’ve been terrible this summer. We’ve fought, and I blew things up –”

“You do that anywhere you go,” Snape noted.

“– And I fought with Draco and nearly died – ”

“Once again, that happens to you on a regular basis.”

“Why would you want to?” Harry demanded.

“Because.”

“Because what?” Harry prodded.

“Because you’re a good boy,” Snape set his teacup aside.

“Excuse me?” Harry wasn’t sure if he had heard clearly.

“Oh, I admit, you can been quarrelsome and rebellious and naughty, but at the end of the day, you mean well. You have a good heart, and you try to do the right thing most of the time. And there’s no reason you couldn’t do ever better with someone to look over for you at Hogwarts.”

Harry sat speechless.

“You’ve shown remarkable improvement over the summer,” Snape went on in his easy tone. “You’re not the same upset, out-of-control teenager that dropped out of my fireplace two months ago. You’ve studied hard, worked hard with only a little complaining, and tried to change your behavior for the better. I think at school, with my guidance, you could do even better in studying, researching, relating to friends, playing Quidditch –”

“Quidditch!” Harry exclaimed. “You want me to get better in Quidditch?”

Snape frowned the least bit. “You do very well, Potter, I admit, but let’s face it. Your approach at the Seeker is not planned, and you rely on your skills to move fast rather than tracking the patterns of the Snitch.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. He would have never guessed that Snape cared about Quidditch other than his house beating Harry’s house. Which brought up a very good point.

“But we’re in opposite houses! Won’t it look like I’ve gone over to the enemy?”

Snape raised a wary eyebrow. “That’s exaggerating a little. The houses are in competition, of course, but they were created to foster a sense of community, not tear each other apart. But that’s getting away from what we were talking about. Would you want the guardianship to continue if it could?”

“I – I – I don’t know what to say,” Harry stammered.

“That’s a first,” Snape noted dryly.

“I’m just surprised. Before this summer, I was sure you hated me.”

“And now?”

“Well, now, I don’t know,” Harry considered it and then raised determined eyes up. “If you do this, whenever we’re alone, you have to call me Harry.”

“Done,” Snape agreed, though a bit reluctantly.

“And I get to call you Dad.”

Snape had to swallow very hard, but he managed to say, “Fine.”

“Now, I know something’s gone wrong,” Harry jumped up from his seat. “You’re under the Imperious curse or something.”

“Sit down,” Snape directed, and Harry did so, watching him warily. “This is still only discussion. I would have to ask the Ministry for special permission, and until the Dark Lord falls, we couldn’t be too honest about the adoption –”

“Adoption!” Harry leapt to his feet again. “You said guardianship.”

“Well, if we’re doing that, we might as well make it an adoption,” Snape reorted.

Harry fell weakly back into his seat.

“Unless you want to go back to the Dursleys?”

“No,” Harry answered immediately.

“And you come of age next summer so it wouldn’t be for that long.”

“Would I get come back here for Christmas?” Harry demanded.

“I suppose,” Snape answered.

“And next summer, until I come of age?” Harry pressed.

“Yes, then too.”

“And you won’t order me around in front of people?”

“No more than usual,” Snape promised.

“Or spank me in front of people?”

“Potter!”

Harry crossed his arms and looked at Snape pointedly.

“Harry,” Snape amended. “And no, I won’t humiliate you in front of anyone else.”

“And let me eat all the ice cream I want?”

“No,” Snape was firm.

“Worth a try,” Harry shrugged. “Well, I – I want to see the paperwork first.”

Snape hide his smile; the boy was trying to look all grown-up, like he understood the ways of the world. “Any other questions?”

“No, I’m – I’m good for now. But I might have some tomorrow.”

“Fair enough,” Snape pronounced. “But it’s nearly eleven, and I want you to go on to bed.”

Harry stood up. He was almost to the door when he glanced back. He might as well try it – nothing to lose now. “Good night, Dad.”

Snape reached for his teacup, and without looking up, he said, “Good night, Harry.”

And somehow Harry made it upstairs without dying from complete shock.

The last days of the summer flew by so fast that Harry was sure someone was speeding up the spin of the earth via magic. Between last minute studying, doing chores, and getting ready for school, the moments dashed by at an alarming pace.

Two days after Draco left, Snape decided Harry needed new clothes. So they took the rented car back to Diagon Alley and spent the day buying new robes and school clothes plus some muggle clothes since, as Snape said, “Your regular clothes are in a sad state of affairs, looking like they’ve been chewed and spit out. You’re not showing up to school looking like a ragbag.”

Shopping for clothes was not Harry’s favorite thing, especially since Snape insisted on disguising him again by changing his hair and features before they left the car.

“I feel like I should be someone else since I look like them,” Harry grumbled as they headed towards the entrance of Diagon Alley.

“That has to be the most ridiculous thing you’ve said all summer,” Snape observed.

But the shopping actually took less time than Harry imagined. Snape got him into the shops, which were very busy with other students getting clothes, in a very short amount of time.

“What did you do?” Harry whispered before he headed back. “Threat to kill the woman if she did not get to me right away?”

“Something like that,” Snape replied coolly. “Now, go on back so she can measure and fit you, and no arguing with her. I don’t want a temperamental robe maker getting upset with you and causing a scene.”

An hour and lots of trying on robes and getting pricked with pins later, they left the robe maker’s shop with boxes of clothes, most of which Snape made Harry carry.

“Was that expensive?” Harry asked as he tried to follow Snape, craning his neck around the stack of boxes so he could see where he was going. The boxes tipped dangerously, and Harry ran forward a few steps to balance them out, knowing Snape would be displeased if he dropped them on the ground.

“Not too bad,” Snape replied. “Less, in fact, than I thought it’d be.”

“Should I being paying for it?” Harry queried, still trying to see around his tall load. “I mean, I have my pocket money in my pocket as it were but I’ve always paid for clothes with my parents’ money. I don’t know if that’s good or not, spending the money that way, not that I have a choice.”

“Relax,” Snape told him as they crossed the street to an outdoor cafe. “As your guardian, I got the bank to sent me some money to pay for your school things, including books and clothes. All right, you stay here while I go to the Ministry for awhile.”

Snape indicated an empty table, and Harry gratefully placed his armful of boxes down on one of the seats. Snape put his boxes on top of Harry’s.

“Can’t I come with you?” Harry asked.

“No,” Snape shook his head, “after what happened there, I don’t want you anywhere near the Ministry.”

“But I won’t –”

“No, Harry,” Snape said sternly, pointing a finger at him, “you sit down and stay here. And if I find out that you’ve wandered off to Knockturn Alley while I was gone –”

“I won’t got anywhere,” Harry promised as he dropped into an empty chair. He glanced towards the café where the menu was being written on the board by a piece of floating chalk. Harry thought about the money in his pocket, and he had barely reached his hand down towards it when Snape said,

“You might as well have lunch while you’re here. Get something nutritious, Harry, not just sweet.” Snape dropped a handful of Sickles and Knuts on the table, adding, “You can have a small ice cream after you have lunch. And I want the change back.”

Once Snape was gone, Harry took his time getting lunch and eating it. He kept glancing around, hoping he might see Ron or Hermione out shopping or another friend from Gryffindor. He saw students from Hogwarts, but no one special enough to talk to and tell them the truth about who he was under the disguise. The day was warm, but not too hot, and under the little round umbrella over his table, Harry enjoyed watching the people bustle about the shops, calling to each other and haggling over prices.

Harry was scraping the last bit of chocolate ice cream out of the bowl when Snape came back.

“That’s was quick,” Harry put the bowl aside and reached for the left over money. He dropped the coins in Snape’s hand while commenting, “As you would say, I’m disgustingly honest today, down to the last Knut.”

“Well,” Snape sat down in the last empty chair, beside the boxes, “take two Sickles, honest boy, and get me a sandwich please.”

“Frog livers and tool stools?” Harry asked, trying not to smirk.

“Egg salad, you cheek brat,” Snape retorted. But he smiled the least bit as Harry went to order.

-----

And then there was the packing, and Harry ran around the manor, nearly distracted with all the stuff he wanted to pack. Clothes, textbooks, parchment, and he really wanted to take that cloak from the mudroom with him. It was green with a serpent clasp, but maybe he could turn it red because it was really warm and would be fun to wear to Hogsmead in the fall.

Then there were things around the manor that did not belong to him, but he kind of wanted to take them.

“Hey,” Harry burst into Snape’s study without knocking, “I know the books in the library aren’t mine, but can I take some of them to Hogwarts?”

“Can’t you knock?” Snape snapped, looking from his papers.

“I’ll take care of them, really,” Harry promised, going to stand in front of Snape’s desk. “I won’t eat near them or leave them on the floor, and I’ll bring them back at Christmas. Come on, no one’s going to use them while we’re gone.”

“I suppose, but let me look over them. Hogwarts actually does have a list of contraband books, and though I don’t think any of them are in the library, I need to –”

“Is that the list of students for your classes?” Harry strained his neck to see the list.”

“Yes,” Snape said rather crossly.

“Please, can I take Potions?” Harry asked urgently.

Snape glanced up, surprised. “What? I can’t –”

“Please!” Harry begged. “Please, let me. And this isn’t about still wanting to be an Auror. I really want to take Potions, and I promise I’ll do better. Look, I’m begging you down on my knees.”

Harry dropped to his knees. The floor was a lot harder than he thought it would be, but he stayed down, gripping the edge of the desk with both hands, the very picture of desperate pleading.

“Get up,” Snape said, trying to sound stern and just coming off as indulgent.

“I’m not moving until you say yes.”

“I’m telling you, I can’t –”

“Please!” Harry nearly howled, dropping his head on his hands in despair. “Please, I’m begging you.”

“It’s not because –”

“I know I didn’t make high enough on the O.W.L.s, but I promise to do better. Ask me anything about Potions, up to the fifth year. I know it.”

“If you’ll let me finish,” Snape said sharply, “I wasn’t going to tell you that I can’t let you into Potions, because I am not teaching it this year.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open. “They sacked you? That’s not fair! How could they just fire you? You’re not that bad a teacher.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “I have not been fired, thank you very much. I got the position of Defense Against the Dark Art teacher.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “No,” he whispered.

Snape frowned, but only said, “Yes, Dumbledore asked me in July when he stopped by to visit one night. This was right after you went to Malfoy Manor and you were already in bed, so you didn’t see him, but he asked me then. I said yes.”

“Is he mad?” Harry demanded, jumping up to his feet indignantly. “Why would he offer you the job?”

Snape looked even darker. “Watch it, Harry. You’re on very thin ice.”

“You went evil years ago,” Harry began pacing in front of the desk. “You were a real Death Eater. What if you get into the class and see all the evil, dark things, and then you turn again?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Snape retorted. “You’re carrying on like a lunatic.”

“Am I? Am I!” Harry challenged. “You stay around black magic long enough, and suddenly my guardian’s handing me over to Volde–”

“If I were to turn evil,” Snape interrupted, “I would have done it this summer when you were pulling pranks and blowing things up.”

“Hmph,” Harry crossed his arms, not convinced.

“I am not turning evil,” Snape said shortly. “And especially not over something so silly as teaching that class.”

Harry reluctantly nodded until he remembered, “Wait! No one lasts longer than a year at the job. It’s cursed. If you take it, you won’t be around for my last year at Hogwarts.”

“If I only teach one year,” Snape sighed, “then I will go back to Potions next year. You know, though you might not know it, I’ve wanted this position for a long time. I was hoping you might feel a little happy for my success.”

“Congratulations,” Harry said, not looking like he meant any of it. “And when you turn evil, I’m saying ‘I told you so’ right before you kill me. I don’t understand – why is this job so important to you? If you don’t care about getting pulled back into the evil, why do you want it?”

“It’s a good place to show the children the evil that is out there, real evil that they should leave alone. And after last year with that idiot Umbridge, I think you children need a competent teacher. I don’t want you having secret classes where you tell them who-knows-what about the Dark Arts.”

“I happened to teach them a lot,” Harry said stiffly.

“Yes, and then they thought they could storm the Ministry and meet whatever evil was inside,” Snape put his papers down with a quick flick of his wrist. “I don’t want my students to feel ignorant nor overly confident. And believe me, with all you’ve done teaching your own class, I will be twice as hard on you in my class.”

Harry huffed and shifted and huffed again, unable to think of anything to say. “Fine,” he said at length, “but in a few years, if I become a professor and teach at Hogwarts, that’s my job! I get to be Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, not you.”

And with that Harry marched towards the door. He had just stalked out into the hallway when he paused. Sticking his head back in the study, he asked, “So where exactly did we leave the whole books issue?”

“Let me look them over,” Snape said coldly.

“Yeah, right,” Harry nodded. “And I’m going to ask the new Potions professor if I can take Potions. And well, I’m glad you got the position you really wanted. You should be happy.”

Harry leaned out of the study and went back to the library without saying anything else.

-----

They planned to go to Diagon Alley the day before school started and spend the night in an inn so they would be on time for the train the next morning. So the night before leaving for the inn, they had their last meal at Snapdragon Manor.

“This is it,” Harry said as he sat down.

“Don’t get sentimental,” Snape told him. “I hate when people are sentimental, especially over something so . . . trite.”

“Trite!” Harry exclaimed. “It’s not trite. We won’t sit together like this until Christmas. You’ll be up with the teachers and I’ll sit with my house.”

“Unless I invite you to my quarters for supper on the weekends,” Snape reminded him.

“Oh, yeah, there’s that,” Harry admitted.

“Or if I take you to Hogsmead for dinner.”

“And that.”

“Or if you eat in my classroom on the evenings you help me.”

“Fine, this isn’t the last time of anything,” Harry snapped, irritated that he couldn’t have a sad moment.

“But it is the last night we eat as temporary guardian and ward,” Snape said significantly.

“Huh?” Harry looked up, worried.

Snape put a leather folder on the table and untied the leather cord, pulling out the papers inside. “Papers for adoption.”

Harry felt like his heart jumped into his throat. “R-really?” he stammered.

Snape watched him carefully. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“Let me see the papers,” Harry said quietly, trying to stay calm.

Their food had not been served yet, only their drinks, so Snape put the papers in front of Harry. There was a ton of legal jargon – party of the first part, henceforth, whereas, and clauses scattered throughout. But Harry saw his name, Harry James Potter, right under Snape’s full name.

“Will my name change?” was the only thing Harry could thing to ask.

“It could,” Snape told him. “Not with this document, but another one could change it to Harry James Potter Snape or Harry James Snape Potter, or even hyphenated.”

“Maybe later, I’ll change it,” Harry said cautiously. “What are these other papers?”

“Stipulations,” Snape said, almost too casually. “Coming of age, legal status, inheritance . . .”

“Inheritance?” Harry jerked his head up. Was he in danger of losing his parents’ fortune?

“Yes,” Snape reached for his wine glass, “with this document, you become my heir.”

“What?” Harry whispered, not believing his ears.

“You’re my heir,” Snape took a sip of wine. “Upon my death, you get the house, my money, and anything else I might have. Should I get married and produce a child, which is highly unlikely, I will make changes to include that child, but right now, you’ll get everything.”

Harry was finding it hard to breathe. This information seemed overwhelming, more than he had expected.

“That’s what most adoptions mean,” Snape shrugged.

Harry swallowed hard. He nodded and then sniffed. “Thanks,” he said before sniffing again. He was determined not to cry, but the news was almost too much to bear. The fact that Snape would not only adopt him, but make him his heir, too . . . Harry could not swallow, so he just sniffed.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Snape scolded, handing Harry a napkin. “Stop your sniveling or I’m changing my mind. My word, Potter, you can cry at the drop of the hat.”

“It’s Harry!” Harry glared at him. “And this is big deal.”

“Everything’s a big deal with you,” Snape retorted. “Can we please sign this thing so we can have supper?”

“Fine,” Harry wiped his eyes with the napkin before taking the pen Snape offered. Harry signed his name at the bottom, his hand trembling the least bit as he did so. This was real; this was really happening. He belonged to Snape now. He was Snape’s heir.

He blankly watched Snape sign and then tuck the papers back in the leather folder, retying the cord.

Then the house elves came to serve dinner.

“So was does this mean?” Harry asked after taking a few bites.

Snape turned incredulous eyes on him.

“I know what this means,” Harry said quickly. “I just meant for school. You’re still a spy, and I’m still supposed to kill Vold- er, you know. What do we do?”

“We can’t tell a lot of people at school,” Snape replied. “You may tell your closest friends, but they will be sworn to secrecy. No one else, other than the teachers, will know. In class, you will be Mr. Potter to me, and I will be Professor Snape to you.”

“Like you’ve always been,” Harry grinned.

Snape frowned, but continued, “I will give you detention the first day in class so you can come twice a week to help me without raising suspicion.”

“That sounds like a lot of work, trying to hide it,” Harry grumbled. “Will it always be like this?”

“Until the Dark Lord dies,” Snape told him.

Harry smiled. “Then I’ll have to finish him off early, I guess.”

“Harry,” Snape warned, “no foolish stunts this year. I mean it, I’m going to be watching you closer than ever.”

“Of course you are,” Harry said slyly.

“And I will punish you as I see fit,” Snape told him.

“Oh, I’m sure you will. Isn’t that just brilliant on your part? Anything I do wrong now, you call me into your office and beat the badness out of me.”

“I don’t beat you,” Snape said stiffly.

“Sure you don’t,” Harry said snidely. “I’ll remember that when you’re waling away at me.”

“You better not give me any cheek,” Snape threatened.

“No more than you deserve,” Harry promised.

------

That night, of course, it was almost impossible to quiet down and go to sleep. Harry ran around his room, tossing things into his trunks. He had to use one trunk he found in the garret of the manor, along with his own. Packing had never been one of his strengths, and tonight it seemed like he had forgotten how anything could fit tightly into his trunks. Would Snape mind if he took five trunks to Hogwarts? Arrive in his own carriage, just like the spoiled prince people thought he was. Maybe hire a few servants to carry his things, and make Ron sleep on the floor so Harry would have a place to pile his trunks.

“There’s not way all this can fit!” he wailed when Snape came in. “It’s not geometrically possible. You’ll have to shrink everything magically.”

“Speaking of which,” Snape held out Harry’s wand and his cloak.

“You’re giving them back?”

“I wasn’t planning on keeping them forever,” Snape let Harry take the wand and draped the Invisibility Cloak over the end of his bed.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll try to use magic this last night?” Harry asked as he held his wand, running his left hand over the shiny wood.

“You do that, and I’ll spank you longer than I ever have,” Snape growled.

“Can I use it to pack?” Harry asked. “Come on, no one will ever know because this is a wizard’s house.”

“Just to pack,” Snape agree.

Already feeling the magic in the wand, Harry pointed it at the mess and said, “Wingardium Leviosa.”

The stuff began to float.

“Packitum Practoral,” Snape instructed.

Harry said that, and immediately the stuff shrunk the smallest bit and neatly hopped into the trunk in an orderly fashion.

“Get everything together,” Snape directed, “and I’ll come in to tell you good night.”

It was weird to think about not sleeping in the manor for another night. Harry got into bed, took off his glasses, and reached for the pocketwatch. With it tight in his hand, he lied down, sure he would never go to sleep. It was always hard to sleep the night before he left for Hogwarts. Well, technically, he wasn’t leaving for Hogwarts until the day after tomorrow, but the feeling was the same.

Yet, everything was different. He wasn’t going back after a hard summer, feeling completely alone. He had a home outside Hogwarts. He belonged to someone.

And for the last time at Snapdragon Manor that summer, Snape came in, turned off the lights, and said, “Settle down and go to sleep.”

And miraculously, Harry did

------

“All right,” Snape told Harry, glancing up at the overhead clock, “you’ve got ten minutes to get on the train. Your trunks are packed.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed.

“Your owl is on the train.”

“I know.”

“Everything you own is on the train.”

“I know, I know.”

“All you have to do is get yourself on the train,” Snape said.

“I know, I’m not an idiot,” Harry shot back.

“I’ll be on the train with the new first years,” Snape said, shooting another look towards the clock. “Just get yourself on and find somewhere to sit. I’ll see you at school when we all arrive.”

“Right,” Harry agreed impatiently.

“No shenanigans on the train,” Snape told him sternly.

“Don’t start before we even get there,” Harry snipped back. “And we shouldn’t be talking. People will get suspicious, seeing us together.”

“Fine,” Snape grabbed his leather case, ready to start towards the train, “I just want you to remember two things.”

“Behave?” Harry suggested wearily.

“That, of course. And,” Snape looked him straight in the eyes, “remember that you’re my son now, and I will always love you.”

And without another word, Snape headed for the train.

Harry was determined not to cry, not with so many people around. He took a deep breath and headed towards the train.

“Harry!” he heard an excited voice squeal. Then he was being wrapped in a huge hug by Hermione, and Ron clapped him on the back.

“Hey, mate,” Ron grinned. “Where’ve you been? We were hoping you’d get here early so we’d have time to talk. Now we have to get on the train and monitor the new students.”

“How have you been?” Hermione squeezed his hand warmly. “We didn’t get to see you much this summer. We haven’t really talked since your birthday party.”

A puzzled look crossed Ron’s freckled face. “Yeah, where was that again? I can’t seem to remember.”

“Oh, who cares?” Hermione grinned. “You’re here now, and we’re all going back to school.”

“Hi, everyone,” Neville suddenly came up, clutching his toad. “Glad to see you all again. I hope I got everything together. Harry, is something wrong?”

Harry, whose face was flaming red, shook his head mutely. Neville didn’t seem to remember what had happened at Snape’s house during the dinner party, that awful birthday spanking, but Harry wasn’t going to bring that up for the world. “Hey, Neville,” he said weakly. “Good to see you.”

“Guess what?” Neville said excitedly. “Seamus has a timeturner. He wants to take extra classes for the first half of the term. Can you imagine that? I saw it in his pocket though he pretended it was nothing. I’d like to have one of those, to get in some extra studying.”

“They are more trouble than they’re worth,” Hermione stated. “Good luck, Seamus, going completely mad.”

“I couldn’t keep up with one of those,” Ron agreed.

“Harry?” Neville glanced at him, “what about you?”

Here at the end of the summer, a timeturner of all things. Harry smiled softly, but he said, “What would I need a timeturner for? At the end of things, I don’t think going back to change them would help. No, I’ll take my chances for the future.”

“Speaking of which,” Hermione looked towards the train, “we better hurry if we want our future to be at Hogwarts. Come on, Ron – stop looking so lousy and straighten up. We have students to monitor.”

“I’m coming,” Ron snapped at her as they headed towards the train.

“You can sit with me, Harry,” Neville said as they boarded the train.

“Thanks, Neville, I’d like that.”

“What did you do this summer?” Neville asked as they pushed past students in the narrow hall, looking for a compartment with empty seats.

“Oh, not much,” Harry said as they squeezed into the last compartment and sat down.

Just in time, too, for the train suddenly lurched forward.

“Well, we’re off,” Neville grinned. “I wonder if this year will be any different.”

Harry looked out the window, where the train station was rushing by. It was quite a different feeling that he had now, with the summer past him. He realized with a pang of sadness that he had never thanked Snape. Oh, he’d dropped a ‘thanks’ here and there, but not a proper thank you for everything the man had done over the summer. Snape had stood by him, helped him. With his grief, his angry, his temper, even growing up – Snape had been there. He had given him a second chance, a time and place to grow. A chance to heal.

“Somehow,” Harry told Neville, “I think this year is just the beginning.”