“Crucio!”

The useless servant fell into a heap at his feet, begging for mercy as only the most pathetic of his followers would dare to do.

Rage seared like fire through his veins.

The Dark Lord knew hate. He hated Muggles, Muggle-borns, and blood traitors…and he hated anyone who thought they could best him. Truth be told, he even hated his own Death Eaters. In the years while he had languished in that strange limbo between life and death, they had achieved nothing. They were weak. They needed a strong master to guide them and to discipline them.

He watched his servant writhe under the force of another curse.

This hatred, however, was different from the hatred he felt for his own followers. This hatred he felt with his entire being, from the core of his malevolent heart. This hatred was directed at the boy – the ridiculous child who continued to elude him at every turn. The boy in whose blood contained the key to his own rise of power, but in whose mysterious scar was rumored to hold the key to his downfall.

He cast another curse, harsher now, as though it were directed toward the very object of his hatred.

“You let the boy escape,” he hissed angrily at his servant. The rage intensified. “YOU LET HIM ESCAPE!”

Harry sat abruptly in his tangled bed sheets, hands clasped over his searing scar. His chest was heaving in quick breaths, his shirt soaked in sweat, and it took him a moment to remember where he was.

Grimmauld Place. Upstairs bedroom.

He breathed slower, gaining his bearings, and lay back down, open eyes focused on the darkness around him, illuminated only by the moon. It was nowhere near dawn by the looks of it.

Apparently Voldemort knew he was gone from Privet Drive. Harry felt a wave of anxiety at that, but it was only a matter of time, after all. Besides, Dumbledore had assured Harry before he’d left that he would be safe here.

Safe.

With Snape?

Yeah, right.

Dumbledore and Remus had stayed long enough a few nights ago to finish their small celebrations and run through the list of rules again with Harry.

Order meetings prohibited. Check.

Snape’s space prohibited. Check.

And a third rule, added by Dumbledore for extra measure: Snape was in charge. Harry was not.

Check.

The rule wasn’t unexpected, of course. Snape was the adult and the professor, after all, not to mention a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Still…before Dumbledore spelled it out like that, though in an admittedly gentler way, Harry had imagined he might be able to have a bit of a holiday in this old house. He had his wizard things back, more than a dingy old bedroom of Dudley’s to wander around in, and deliciously filling food at his beck and call. He even had Dobby for company. But after Dumbledore’s last rule, all he could imagine were visions of ridicule and detentions – of course, seeing as it was summer, Snape wouldn’t call them that. They would be ‘sessions of consequences for daring to be alive.’ And each time he envisioned different ways Snape could find to torture him, his spirits had sunk lower.

Despite still feeling a smidgen of his earlier relief, he was not all that sure that Grimmauld Place with Snape was a better place for him than Privet Drive with Uncle Vernon. Sure, Snape probably wouldn’t physically harm him, what with Dumbledore keeping an eye out…but Snape didn’t care any more about Harry than the Dursleys did, plus he wasn’t exactly known for treating students - least of all Harry - with anything approaching kindness or fairness. Harry’d just jumped from being under the thumb of one bully to being under the heel of another. It was downright depressing.

As if to prove the accuracy of Harry’s thoughts, he’d barely sat down for breakfast the first morning of their stay when Snape had stalked into the kitchen, crossed his arms in his most foreboding stance, and launched directly into a lecture without so much as a greeting: “As we are forced yet again to endure the unfortunate circumstance of sharing a roof, you will abide by my rules. Unless directed otherwise, you will confine yourself to any room where I and my belongings are not present. There will be no wandering the house at night. No inane attempts at magic, heroics, or contacting your dunderheaded friends by any way other than owl post. No running through the house, no loud or otherwise disturbing antics, no complaining about lack of sufficient entertainment, and no talking back to me when I issue you a direct order. Disobedience on any one of these points will result in you scrubbing cauldrons for the remainder of your holiday.” He finished his long speech to look Harry directly in the eyes. “Are we clear, Mr. Potter?”

Harry had barely muttered a disgruntled, “yes, sir,” before Snape had spun on his heel and stalked right back out of the kitchen.

That was three days ago, and Harry had yet to hear Snape say one more word to him. In fact, he’d barely seen a glimpse of the man. Snape had apparently decided to hole up in his potions laboratory and pretend that Harry didn’t exist for the duration of their stay together.

Harry wasn’t complaining, really. A happy side effect of being ignored was that Snape hadn’t given Harry one single order…well, other than the dozen first ones, which all basically added up to staying out of the man’s way.

So Harry had spent his first couple days exploring the house, playing against himself at wizard chess, and even flipping through some of the books in the house. By the end of the second day, he was completely bored, not to mention lonely. No one else had entered the house since Remus and Dumbledore had left, and Snape kept Dobby constantly running back and forth obtaining potions ingredients or doing odd chores for him. That left Harry without even the company of the little house-elf.

He heaved a sigh, and, deciding these thoughts weren’t getting him anywhere and it wasn’t likely he’d be getting any sleep with his scar still prickling, he pushed his blankets aside and plodded toward the door in Dudley’s old nightclothes. These particular castoffs he actually didn’t mind so much – they were large, but that made them kind of comfy.

To his surprise, when he opened his bedroom door, he found the hallway already dimly lit from below. Peering over the landing, he took in the source of the light – a not-quite-closed drawing room door.

It was practically an open invitation to snoop, and Harry was all too happy to oblige.

His bare feet made no sound as he tiptoed down the steps. He placed first an eye, then an ear, to the crack in the door. He couldn’t see a thing from this angle, but as he listened carefully, he could make out voices. No, just one – Snape’s voice. He seemed to be talking to someone, as he would occasionally pause, as if waiting for a response. But Harry couldn’t hear a responding voice – only silence.

He nearly snickered at the thought of his Potions professor going nutters, talking into thin air. He barely held his silence, when Snape’s voice raised just a fraction in volume, and Harry could finally make out a few words.

“…hidden…know I can’t say…Secret Keeper…”

Harry pressed himself as close to the door as he could without moving it, his ear straining to hear more as Snape’s voice paused for response from the unknown party, then resumed.

“…loyalties…” Another pause. “…Dark Lord, Lucius…”

Harry managed to not make a sound, his blood turning to ice through his veins, as realized who Snape was talking to: Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius Malfoy was one of Voldemort’s most loyal followers, and Snape was talking to him like…like they were still on the same side.

He managed to stand completely still as he waited for Snape’s next words, but as before, he couldn’t make anything out.

Actually, he couldn’t hear anything now. Not even the hum of a voice.

Harry spun round and sprinted for the kitchen as quickly as he dared. He couldn’t know how much time he had before–

“Potter!” The angry shout had no more been issued from the doorway of the drawing room than the man was upon him, his arm snaking out to grab hold of the back of Harry’s nightshirt, halting his escape down the stairs. Harry was spun around and found himself face to face with Snape’s thunderous black eyes.

Ooh, the man was angry. Harry forced himself not to flinch.

“What did you hear, Potter? Tell me! What did you hear?” Snape hissed, pale face contorted in rage.

“N-nothing! I –”

“Do not lie to me!” The man’s already black eyes darkened.

“I – I was just on my way to the kitchen, I swear! I heard someone talking, but I couldn’t hear words.”

Harry felt something pressing in on his mind and realized that Snape was performing Legilimency on him. He broke eye contact before the professor could tell that he wasn’t being entirely truthful.

Harry’s shirt was abruptly released and he grabbed hold of the stair railing to keep himself from stumbling.

“Kitchen. Now,” grated Snape, looking about ready to commit murder, or, at the very least, an Unforgivable.

Harry took a quick look around. Without his wand, what could he use as a weapon to defend himself?

But Snape was not in a patient mood. He placed his long, cold fingers on the back of Harry’s neck and propelled him forward, down the rest of the stairs, through the kitchen door, and into the closest chair.

Snape stood between Harry and the door, effectively blocking any chance of escape, and Harry had no choice but to sit, dread filling him at not knowing what the menacing man had in store for him.

“We are not at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter,” Snape spoke quietly, crossing his arms authoritatively, “There are no adoring fans for you to impress; there are no indulgent teachers to give in to your every whim. I am the only one here. I, and I alone, will determine the way in which you spend the remainder of your summer holiday. And do believe me…I can be quite creative when necessary.” Snape leaned forward suddenly as he finished his lecture, placing one hand on either side of Harry’s chair.

Try as he might, Harry couldn’t hold in a flinch that time. Snape’s face was way too close to his for comfort, and he couldn’t help but be very aware at that moment that there was no one else in the house to help him. Well, no other wizard, that is…but thinking of Dobby’s methods of helping him wasn’t really much comfort.

Thankfully, in the next moment, Snape backed away. He was still visibly angry, but something in his eyes had shifted when Harry had flinched. They had taken on a contemplative gleam, and he looked…startled, maybe? Cautious? Harry couldn’t quite pinpoint it, and before he could, Snape apparently decided to switch tactics and crooked a finger. “Come, Potter,” he ordered and immediately turned to stalk out the door.

Harry hesitated. He really didn’t want to follow that man anywhere in the mood he was in…

“COME, POTTER!”

Harry jumped out of his chair and warily followed Snape across the hallway and up several flights of stairs. He hovered at the doorway to what must be Snape’s makeshift potions laboratory. Bottles and jars filled with potions ingredients lined shelves along all four walls, and a cabinet off to one side probably held even more. Several cauldrons were simmering with half-finished brews, and more empty cauldrons were stacked on the ground against the farthest wall. Snape had stalked to one side of the room and was currently emptying the contents of one of the jars.

“There,” Snape waved his hand over both the slimy pile and the shelf above it, which was packed full of jars, each filled with the same slimy contents. “I’ll expect the entire shelf of toads to be disemboweled by morning. Get started.”

Harry stepped back. “Wh-what? It’s the middle of the night!”

“Precisely, Potter. Did I or did I not tell you that there was to be no wandering the house at night?”

“I couldn’t sleep!”

“Good. Disemboweling toads is less difficult if you are completely awake.”

Harry gaped as Snape turned his back to stir the contents of one of his cauldrons. He couldn’t be serious!

“Get started, Mr. Potter!” Snape repeated, his tone edgy with impatience.

Harry threw a nasty glare at the professor’s back, then moved to get to work. Ugh. At least he knew how to do this; they’d had to in class last term. He hadn’t liked it much then, either. He also hadn’t had an entire shelf to do in one sitting.

They worked in silence for the next hour, Snape checking each cauldron in turn, occasionally stirring or adding ingredients, while Harry ran through a mental list of every reason he hated Potions….and Potions professors.

Not least of all that he still didn’t know where the man’s loyalties were. Could he still be loyal to Voldemort? Harry had felt Voldemort’s thoughts toward the man when he had been torturing him, and he knew Voldemort genuinely believed Snape to have betrayed him. But might he be mistaken? Or might Snape be on neither side – might he be playing both sides to serve his own shady end?

The only thing that Harry knew with absolute certainty was that Lucius Malfoy was not on the right side. Harry was disinclined to even trust Snape, who had Dumbledore’s vote of confidence…but he’d simply had too many run-ins with the senior Malfoy to believe that he was even remotely capable of spying for the side of the light. Which meant that Snape, who was contacting Malfoy, was either still spying in some capacity or really was working for the wrong side.

And then Harry had another thought, sudden and completely unrelated to the question of either man’s loyalties. Wasn’t Lucius Malfoy supposed to still be in Azkaban after the Department of Mysteries? Harry always felt cut off from wizarding news while at the Dursleys, but surely he’d have heard about it if Malfoy had escaped from Azkaban…right?

Apparently not.

Well, he was hardly going to ask Snape about it. He’d know Harry had overheard him talking, and after all, he could make his holiday…creative. Harry involuntarily shivered. He wasn’t keen on doing anything more creative than preparing potions ingredients.

Snape didn’t even look tired, Harry thought with annoyance, and he was dressed in his regular black clothes. Didn’t the man ever sleep? Remembering all the times he’d run into Snape wandering the halls at night at Hogwarts, he was inclined to think not.

Harry tossed another completed toad into a jar, then started on the next. He was working more quickly now, getting used to the routine. As much as he was loathe to admit it, even to himself, he was beginning to be almost glad for something to do. Boredom, it turned out, was even worse than having to cut up smelly dead toads.

He wouldn’t have admitted as much to Snape, of course. The man would either send him back to his boredom, knowing it was the worse punishment, or he’d use it as an excuse to work Harry to the bone for the rest of summer.

He reached for another toad and stifled the beginnings of a yawn. He hadn’t realized until then that his scar didn’t hurt anymore. The prickling feeling was gone, and along with that, his desire to be awake.

He yawned again at the mere thought of going back to sleep.

“Dobby!”

Harry jumped at Snape’s sudden call for the house-elf. He’d gotten rather used to the quiet.

Dobby appeared with a pop, huge eyes trained on Snape. “Dobby is here. What is Professor Snape wanting, sir?”

“There is a green bottle in my most recent package from Professor Dumbledore. Bring it to me.”

“Yes, Professor Snape, sir!” And with a pop, Dobby was gone.

Harry reached for another toad and couldn’t help a glance at his Potions professor. He was mostly turned away from Harry, slowly stirring the ingredients of a cauldron, his profile barely visible. What struck Harry right then was that Snape looked so…well, calm. The tension that had permeated the man’s air only an hour before was hardly noticeable now. In fact, Harry couldn’t ever remember seeing his professor as at ease as he seemed right then, stirring his slowly simmering potions.

It occurred to Harry that maybe making potions was for Snape like flying on a broom was for Harry. It was his retreat, somewhere he could escape the world for a little while. And here, away from Hogwarts, maybe he was calmer because he could do it for the sake of doing it, not with dozens of children and professors alike constantly underfoot. After all, Harry didn’t have any trouble figuring out that Snape preferred to be alone.

“I don’t hear you working, Mr. Potter.” Snape said without turning around.

Giving a slight jump at being caught, even if Snape hadn’t seen where his attention had been focused, Harry quickly got back to work.

A pop sounded, and Dobby handed a small green bottle to Snape. “Is Professor Snape wanting Dobby to bring him anything else, sir?”

“No. That will be all. You may wait here in case I should have need of you.”

“Y-yes, Professor Snape, sir.” Dobby’s big eyes held a tinge of dismay, his ears drooping slightly. “Is Professor Snape wanting Dobby to clean more leeches, sir?”

Harry shuddered. At least he’d gotten assigned the toads over the leeches.

“No. That will be unnecessary.”

Dobby stood for another moment, ears drooping further, before raising slightly. “Is Professor Snape wanting Dobby to –”

“Prof- I will not be requiring your services at the moment, Dobby,” Snape stated firmly, voice betraying a hint of impatience. “Wait over there,” Snape pointed at a spot near Harry, “and do not do anything unless I tell you to.”

As soon as Dobby turned to do Snape’s bidding and set eyes on Harry, he jumped forward in something resembling a very awkward jig. “Harry Potter!” Dobby’s eyes lit up, and his ears reached for the ceiling. “Dobby will wait here all day doing nothing if he is to be doing it next to Harry Potter!”

And with that, the little house-elf jumped to stand in the indicated corner, eyes happily blinking his adoration.

Harry, on the other hand, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Blatantly showing Snape one more instance of someone who only tolerated Snape’s company but who hero-worshipped Harry… well, it didn’t seem the best way to get through the summer in one piece.

Knowing that Snape hated too much chatter in his potions classes, Harry gave Dobby a small smile, then dutifully returned to his task.

Dobby, however, didn’t seem to share his concerns. “Harry Potter is working very hard, sir. Dobby will do his work, Harry Potter, sir!”

“Dobby will not.” Snape clipped out the order without pausing in his work.

Dobby’s ears fell at the missed opportunity, and Harry kind of felt bad for the little house-elf. Spending the past three days straight running back and forth, doing random tasks for a thankless Snape, couldn’t be all that fun. And the whole time Dobby had been working so hard, Harry had been lazing about the house to the extent that he had become bored out of his mind.

He was feeling little bit guilty. Hermione would have been proud.

“Here, Dobby,” he whispered, still unwilling to break the silence more than necessary, “you can use my chair. I don’t need it right now.” It was true, he thought as he pushed his chair away from him and toward the tired house-elf. He was getting tired himself, and standing for a bit would help.

Dobby’s eyes welled up with tears. “Harry Potter is giving his chair to a house-elf? Dobby knows Harry Potter to be a great wizard, sir, but Dobby–”

“Just take it, Dobby!” Harry whispered quickly, hoping to silence the house-elf, who was beginning to wail rather loudly. He just about slammed his own head on the table in true house-elf fashion at his own impulsiveness. He should have known better. If he hadn’t been so tired, maybe he would have stopped to think about the usual effect his simple gestures of courtesy had on the little creature. “Dobby! Dobby, shh!”

“Harry Potter is so kind and good and wonderful to us house-elves!” Dobby sniffed, trying to obey Harry’s order to quiet down. “So selfless and noble and–”

Harry distinctly heard a snort coming from the other side of the room as Dobby continued his ode to Harry Potter, and he swiveled to get an idea of just how much trouble he was going to be in for his part in this sudden outburst.

Snape had finally turned from his potions, and surprisingly, didn’t appear to be angry. Harry figured he had the calming influence of the potions lab to thank for that. The man did, however, look as though he thought the kind words coming out of the elf’s mouth about Harry were the most absurd claims he had ever heard.

“Dobby, go to the kitchen. We will require breakfast in thirty minutes’ time,” Snape ordered in an apparent attempt to rid himself of the loud wailing noises.

“Y-yes, p-professor Snape, s-sir!” Dobby gave Harry one last watery smile and Apparated from the room.

Harry sighed in relief.

“Care of Magical Creatures a little lax of late?” Snape asked snidely, eyebrows raised.

“Of course not! Hagrid’s an excellent teacher!” he defended automatically, though he flushed at knowing that to be an exaggeration, even on Hagrid’s best days. Harry hadn’t even known house-elves were supposed to be on the curriculum for Care of Magical Creatures. “And besides,” he continued, “house-elves aren’t like most magical creatures, not really. I mean, not like dragons or flobberworms. They can think and act for themselves, you know. They’re not that different from wizards.”

“Yes. You have demonstrated their capabilities of theatrics to be worthy of any Hufflepuff first year. Very impressive indeed.”

Harry knew he wasn’t going to win, so he glared and picked up his next toad.

Thankfully, Snape took his victory without further argument. “Complete the one you are on, then wash up for breakfast. You’ll finish the rest later.”

Harry lifted his head in surprise, though Snape had already turned away. When the professor had said he had to finish the whole shelf by morning, he’d figured that meant without any breaks until he’d finished, even for food. That’s how it would have been at the Dursleys, and he hadn’t given any thought that Snape would be much better than them.

Well, on second thought, Snape had been the one to take him away from his relatives, hadn’t he? And even if it had included revealing Harry’s secret, it had been of the professor’s conversation with Dumbledore that resulted in Harry not being sent back.

Harry realized then that he hadn’t even said so much as a thank you.

Yet somehow, when he thought that, his mouth refused to say the words. He had no trouble thanking his friends or thanking little Dobby or even thanking Dumbledore, after everything he’d been put through…but when it came to thanking the spiteful, loathsome, greasy-haired Potions master, he couldn’t quite get the words past his uncooperative throat.

Forcing it out of his mind, he finished the toad in his hands. It’s just as well, he reasoned. Snape would probably find the whole scenario of Harry thanking him utterly revolting. After all, it’s like Snape had told Dumbledore…he didn’t care about Harry, not really. He was just the one who happened to be there.

And anyway, it wasn’t like Harry hadn’t helped him first by dragging him to his room and seeing, however awkwardly, to his injuries.

Right. Harry set aside the finished toads with a thoroughly satisfied conscience. He didn’t owe the man a thing, not really.

And if he had his way, he’d never owe Snape a thing in his life.