Sighing, he turned over onto his stomach and watched the only moving thing in the room – Snape. The man was sitting on Harry’s bed, where he had been during most of the afternoon, not once saying a single word to Harry. Snape had only moved once, and that had been to grab Harry’s one Muggle pen from his desk and some parchment from a small stack Harry kept in the back of one of the desk drawers. He was now scribbling something on one of the parchments, several full sheets stacked face down on the bed beside him. Every now and then he would stop, concentration etched into his face, before starting up again with furious scribbles.

Through his boredom, Harry noted that the sound of Snape’s scribbles clashed with the beat of music coming through the walls from Dudley’s room.

Sighing again, he turned back over to study the ceiling. Usually when he was stuck in his room for hours, he would occupy himself with writing letters to his friends or practicing his spells – without a wand, of course – or looking through his parents’ album or reading his book about Quidditch teams throughout history. But Snape was already using the pen and parchment, which ruled out letters. There was no way he was going to get up and prance around practicing spells like an idiot with Snape watching him. And maybe it wouldn’t matter since the professor should be gone tomorrow, but he didn’t want Snape to know about his hiding place under the floorboards. It was his own secret place. Some of the things he kept in that hiding place were simply too personal to take out with his most hated professor there.

Sighing once more, Harry turned back over onto his stomach. And sighed again.

Letting out his own sigh of pure exasperation, Snape broke the silence. “If you’re so bored, you could try to come up with something productive to do. Homework, perhaps?” He shot a pointed look at Harry. “If your summer months are always this…entertaining, I wonder that your homework never shows more than ten minutes of actual attention.”

Ignoring the barb, Harry turned over onto his back and sighed again. After a moment, he heard Snape’s scribbling resume.

He had actually reached the point of boredom about an hour ago, after he’d finally given in to the only thing around to keep him occupied – tidying the room. He had righted the few items on and in his desk, even straightening his chair and Hedwig’s cage, and thrown the clothes he wasn’t using as a makeshift bed back into the wardrobe. He didn’t bother folding them neatly, other than a few items Ron had passed on to him.

But he had finished the task of straightening his room, and even trying to come up with ways to irritate Snape without outright getting himself killed had gotten old.

If only he could go outside. There was a park nearby, and he really, really wanted to sit on the grass with the sunshine on his face. But no, Voldemort had to take away the freedom of the outside world, the Dursleys had to make the house uninviting, and Snape had to fill his bedroom with his dark presence.

Wasn’t life just grand.

His thoughts turned back to the reason he wasn’t allowed outside. Voldemort’s plan. Rolling yet again over to his stomach, Harry set his eyes on Snape. The information he wanted to know lay inside that dark, greasy head. But how to extract it? Maybe if he were a Legilimens, he wouldn’t have to ever talk to the git again. Well…but Snape was also an expert Occlumens, so never mind about that fantasy.

Best stick with the direct approach, then.

“Professor?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to speak with respect, but he thought he’d done a fairly decent job of at least keeping his voice even. Snape paused in his writing, but he immediately continued with no other acknowledgment that he had heard Harry speak.

“Professor?” Harry tried again, finding it slightly harder this time to maintain an even tone. “Prof–”

“I heard you, Potter! Or have you not noticed that we are the only two people in the vicinity?”

Harry managed to hold back a glare. Getting his questions answered depended entirely on Snape’s willingness to answer them. “You warned me yesterday to stay inside, sir. That the house was being watched…” Harry looked at Snape, expectant for more information.

After a moment, the professor spoke. “That is correct, Potter. I am thrilled to know that you do occasionally listen to the spoken word.” He poised his pen to continue to write.

Not about to be deterred, and determined not to get his hackles up, Harry persisted. “What does that mean, sir? Who is watching the house? Death Eaters? What do they want with me this time? Why now? And – ”

“Potter!” Snape tossed his parchment to the side, and Harry halted his tirade of questions. Snape didn’t bother to stop a glare of his own, but at least now he acknowledged Harry’s purpose. “We are at war. Yes, Death Eaters are watching the house. They want what they have always wanted – to eliminate any threat you represent and thus come that much closer to winning the war. Why now? Now is as good a time as any, I’d say. There. Go back to...doing something other than interrogating me!”

No way was Harry about to be put off after getting his attention so far. “They want to capture me or kill me? Capture me, then kill me later? Just because I’m me? Or does Vold –” Harry switched his verbiage upon Snape’s murderous look, “Does he want something else with me? Does he have some kind of…er…plan?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed so that Harry could barely tell they were still open and leaned forward, thunder in his quiet voice. “What do you know about any ‘plan,’ Potter?”

“Er, nothing. Sir.” Something stopped Harry from telling Snape about his vision, though he wasn’t sure why it would really matter. Snape already knew everything Harry had seen, after all, right? Just the same, he averted his eyes in case Snape tried to legilimize him. “It’s just that…every other time he’s been after me, it was because of some plan. First year, he wanted the stone, second year it was the whole thing with the diary, fourth year he was after my blood, and fifth year so I’d find the –” Harry left off here, not sure how much Snape actually knew about the prophecy. He wasn’t going to be the one to fill him in if he didn’t already know.

“Well,” Harry continued, his eyes still averted, “You know – he’s always got some plan. I guess I’d just like to know if he’s finally decided to kill me straight off, or if there’s some other reason he’s after me this time.” He chanced a look up, still careful to keep his voice even. “Do you know? Sir?”

Surprisingly, Snape didn’t appear to be angry. He had a calculating look on his face, as if he was sizing Harry up for…well, Harry wasn’t sure what for.

He waited a few long moments for Snape to say something. He didn’t dare breathe too loudly, for fear the older wizard would decide not to answer his questions. Snape finally began to speak, almost as if he were teaching a lecture in Potions class.

“The Dark Lord has returned to power, Potter; he has regained his strength, and then some. He is no fool. He recognizes that if he is going to best you, he will have the most likelihood of succeeding while he is at full power and you are still, for all intents and purposes, a child.”

Harry frowned in indignation at that term – he was one day shy of sixteen, after all – but he quickly schooled his features, willing Snape to continue. He was glued to his professor’s words, eager to learn as much as possible about anything having to do with Voldemort and the war.

“As to your question regarding…plans…” Snape paused before continuing, now in full professor mode. “The Dark Lord is a master of plots and plans, Potter. He may be fully focused on his end goals of blood purity and personal power, but never fool yourself into thinking that he intends to reach those goals in a single giant step. Everything he does is in some way a preparation for reaching his ultimate goal of dominance and could have long term ramifications for the methods with which we choose to fight him.”  He looked back at an eagerly listening Harry and frowned, as if remembering who he was speaking with. “Hence, when you ask what plan is involved in his renewed efforts to capture you, even a brain as minuscule as yours must have a measure of understanding that the answer is quite simply not that simple.”

“Okay, alright, I get that. Sir.” Harry was eager for more. “But how about his immediate plan? Say he captures me, what then? Does he just want to kill me right away to get me out of the way? Sir?”

But the informative Snape of a few moments ago had gone, leaving behind the increasingly irritating man Harry was used to dealing with. “Enough, Potter. If you want to question someone, question the headmaster. I have already told you what you need to know – don’t get captured by the Dark Lord!”

“But –”

“No!” Snape exploded, eager to get rid of Harry’s questions once and for all. “No, of course he does not want to simply kill you! Why should he, when he has found a much greater use for you alive? If you allow yourself to be captured this time, it could very well mean the end of any possible recourse against him. And before you ask me why, allow me to tell you that I will not tell you! Bother someone else with your inane questions and juvenile concerns. No more, Potter!”

“But – ”

Snape was upon him before Harry could process that he had moved. The professor had him by the collar of his shirt, and their faces were now inches apart. He felt Snape’s breath on his face, as he whispered in a dangerous tone, “No. More.”

Snape released him, and Harry righted himself before he lost his balance. Snape re-situated himself on the bed, his black curtain of hair hiding his face from Harry’s view.

Harry lay back down to consider what he had learned. Boredom not an issue now that he had Snape’s words to consider, he lost himself in his thoughts. The silence of the room was broken only by Snape’s furious scratching of pen to parchment and the sound of music still drifting through the walls from Dudley’s stereo.

The last hours of the afternoon passed much as the first few had, except that Snape had by then filled every piece of parchment he could find in the room and looked as completely bored as Harry had felt earlier. The usually active man had paced the room for a while before sitting on the bed, only to get immediately back up to stand near the window. Whatever he found to amuse himself outside didn’t appease him for long, for he soon returned to sit on the bed. Finally he lay down, presumably to try to sleep.

Harry liked it better when Snape was staying in one place. This constant motion back and forth around the room was making him jumpy.

He supposed he could go downstairs for a while – he had already heard Aunt Petunia leaving with Dudley for his afternoon boxing practice. Vernon could be home at any time, though, and with how upset he had been already before leaving for work, and the fact that Harry hadn’t minded him about the weeds, he didn’t think he should upset him any further by being caught roaming around the house in their absence.

Just then, as though his thoughts had made it reality, he heard the sound of a car pulling up, followed by a car door opening and slamming closed. Uncle Vernon. Had to be – Petunia and Dudley wouldn’t be home for another hour, at least.

Harry nervously listened to the sounds his uncle’s footsteps made on the walkway in front of the house, then the sound of the door opening and closing. Vernon’s heavy steps faded somewhat: they had gone in the direction of the kitchen. Another minute passed before Harry heard footfalls on the stairs. He tensed as they came closer to the second floor and his own room. His every sense was attuned to Uncle Vernon’s movements. He hadn’t called for him; that must be a good sign. Maybe he hadn’t noticed that Harry hadn’t followed his orders from the morning? Maybe he would keep on walking…

“BOY!” Two hard raps on the door startled Harry into a sitting position, and with a glance at his bed, he saw that Snape was likewise sitting up in bed, having been jolted by the unexpected interruption to his too-brief nap. His eyes were trained on the door in annoyance.

Harry scrambled up and over to the door, motioning for Snape to stay hidden. Snape, despite his visible annoyance, lay down on the bed, arranging the sheet around himself and his clothing in such a way that to a casual observer, it might just look incredibly messy. Harry was grateful that he hadn’t had to explain himself to get Snape to cooperate; the professor probably just didn’t want to have to deal with Muggles while he was stuck here. Especially Muggles related to Harry Potter. Whatever the reason, he had complied, and that’s all that mattered.

Harry sucked in a breath and pulled open the door with the intent of getting out into the hallway before Uncle Vernon had a chance to come in. Before he could get so far as to inch out, he was yanked by the arm – thankfully, by his good arm, so he only let out a startled gasp – and pulled out into the hall to face a very red-faced Uncle Vernon. Despite his surprise, Harry tried to close his bedroom door completely behind him where it stood ajar, but Vernon yanked him back to face him with even more force.

Ooh, Vernon was angry. So angry, in fact, that he didn’t seem able to form words. His face was already purple, and Harry didn’t see how it could get any more so. And yet it was growing more alarmingly purple by the second.

Harry figured he’d better say something, fast, before his uncle literally exploded and he got blamed for it. “Um, Uncle Vernon, about the weeds. I–”

The sound of Harry’s voice apparently helped Vernon regain his steam, for he interrupted right away. “You ungrateful…” Vernon took a deep breath and then roared into Harry’s face, “FREAK!”

He released Harry and shoved him away, but his bulk still blocked the stairs. “I warned you, boy, didn’t I? Didn’t I warn you? I said ‘pick those weeds,’ plain as day, and I even gave you a second chance for Petunia’s sake! ‘Don’t hurt the boy,’ she says, like those freaks you associate with might find out. Well, I know what’s what, boy – I know what you’re doing. Putting off chores, you are, plain and simple!”

Harry listened to Vernon’s tirade, trying unsuccessfully several times to cut him off. As much as he didn’t want to be punished with more chores or no food, his every thought was focused on the knowledge that they were still next to Harry’s open door and there was no way that Snape couldn’t hear everything that transpired. Vernon hadn’t said anything near as awful as he could so far, and Harry preferred to keep it that way, no matter what dignity he may lose with his uncle.

He tried again as soon as he saw his uncle pause to draw a long breath. “Uncle Vernon, I know I didn’t do the weeds, and I’m really sorry. Really, I am. I’ll make it up by doing anything else in the house you want. I could help Aunt Petunia with dinner again tonight,” he offered hopefully.

“Oh, no you don’t, boy. You’re not getting out of it that easy,” Vernon growled, a big heavy growl like a bear before mealtime, “You’re going right back down there to finish the weeding, and when you’re done with that, you can cut the grass! And when you’re finished with that, you can trim the hedges and water the plants! I don’t care if it takes you until tomorrow morning, you’ll do it!” With that, Uncle Vernon grabbed him again, this time by his sore arm, and Harry couldn’t help letting out a yelp as Uncle Vernon dragged him toward the stairs. He struggled despite the pain, needing to be let go. He escaped his uncle’s grasp and stumbled to the floor.

He jumped to his feet right away, inching back from his uncle’s threatening stance. “I swear I wasn’t making up why I can’t, Uncle Vernon! I seriously can’t go outside – it’s too dangerous!”

“Dangerous! Dangerous!” Uncle Vernon was shouting now. “You useless boy – just like your useless father, you are! Never did anything worth anything his whole life, and then up and got himself killed. Probably did it just to get away from you, too, so we’d get stuck with the likes of you! I can’t count how many times I should have up and tossed you out on the streets – but Petunia would have none of it. Well, she’s not here now, boy; she’s not here to make sure I don’t do something your kind wouldn’t approve of. Well, I’m not scared of you or your stick waving or your freaky eyed friend! Right now it’s you and me – and you’re going outside right now!”

“Uncle Vernon, please…” Harry hated that it came out sounding like he was begging, but he’d already found out arguing wouldn’t work. He just needed to get his uncle to stop his ranting and let him be. He was starting to feel sick to his stomach, not knowing what else might come tumbling out of Vernon’s mouth.

“Look, I can owl my headmaster – he’ll explain things to you. He’ll tell you all about the dark wizards and how I –”

He didn’t bother finishing his sentence, for with one look at Uncle Vernon’s face, he knew he’d crossed the line with mentioning anything having to do with the wizarding world. Vernon’s face was that horrible purple color again, and all he could vocalize were a few sputtered words. “Why you…how dare…in my house!”

Harry barely had time to process Uncle Vernon’s raised hand before his head was thrown back by a sudden, hard slap. The force of the surprise blow knocked him off balance, and he stumbled onto the floor, where he sat, sprawled out, completely dazed.  He didn’t even register the pain, so shocked was he at being hit. Uncle Vernon hated him, sure, but he didn’t usually hit him. Well, not like that, anyway, he thought, recollecting the occasional slaps Vernon had dished out before Harry had started at Hogwarts.

A glance up showed Vernon looking wildly around, as if afraid that wizards would suddenly come out of the woodwork. He actually looked a little scared. When nothing happened, he grabbed for Harry, who was too shocked to fight, and dragged him to his feet and toward his bedroom door.

“You don’t want to do your chores, fine! Seeing how you’re not good for anything else, you can just sit up here and rot for all I care! And you can do without food, too, until you come to your senses. Maybe…” Vernon hissed at Harry, pulling him back around so that they were nose to nose, “Maybe I’ll get lucky and you’ll starve to death!”

Vernon shoved him back into his room, slamming the door immediately behind him. Harry stumbled on his feet and dumbly watched the door as the sound of lock after lock reached his ears. Vernon, having turned the last lock, stomped his way to his own bedroom and slammed the door. Harry involuntarily jumped.

His face was stinging now. Touching his fingers to his lips, he winced, and a glance at his hand confirmed that the coppery taste inside his mouth was blood. There wasn’t very much, really, but the cut on the inside of his lip still hurt something awful. He ran his tongue over his lips and moved his jaw around a bit, concluding that nothing else seemed hurt. He turned back to his bed.

And came face to face with Snape.

Oh, Merlin. He’d been so shocked by Uncle Vernon’s fit of rage, he’d forgotten all about the man who had been the forefront in his mind only moments ago. His stomach dropped, and he could feel his face growing hot with humiliation.

He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just stared.

Snape stared right back, his features controlled and unreadable, before jumping suddenly to his feet, which startled Harry into stepping back into the wall. But Snape simply walked to the window, and when he got there, he turned around and walked back. He looked at Harry, at his cheek, and repeated his pacing.

Harry wished he could sink through the floor. Or, if that wasn’t an option, he at least wanted to go to sleep and wake up to find out this was all a dream, that Professor Snape had not just heard what Harry knew he’d just heard…

Snape stopped his pacing then, right in front of Harry. “You weren’t lying,” he finally stated, his eyes calculating despite being tinged with something else…realization? Or was it surprise? “About any of it. Were you, Potter?” Those eyes trained on Harry, waiting for a response.

Harry hadn’t come any closer to being able to form words. He really didn’t want to be here. He wanted to get away – away from the Dursleys, away from Snape and his questions. He couldn’t take it, he had to get away.

But he was locked in. Lock in with Snape, of all people. There was nowhere to run.

He forced himself to breathe. Snape, of all people, had to witness the humiliation he suffered daily from his relatives, and it had to be the time Vernon decided to be especially nasty. If he knew Snape, it would be all over Slytherin by the first day of classes and all over the entire school by the second. The damage was already done, and nothing Harry could say would change that.

Harry shoved at his professor in his rush to get out from under his assessing gaze. If he could only get away from Snape, he could sit on his pile of shirts and wait for Hedwig to arrive so he could get Snape the hell out of here. But the larger man wouldn’t budge. He blocked Harry, maneuvering so that the frazzled teen was trapped into the corner near his door. Harry swallowed against a feeling of rising panic. He’d faced Voldemort, he reminded himself. He could face inquiry by his own professor. Somehow, that didn’t help very much, he thought as he looked back up into Snape’s determined eyes.

“Answer me, Potter,” Snape demanded. “What is going on here? Is this normal treatment by your uncle? Does Dumbledore know about this?”

Despite Snape’s rapid-fire questions, Harry couldn’t tell what was behind them. Surely Snape wasn’t concerned about Harry; he couldn’t detect anything that seemed like concern in the man’s expression. It seemed more to Harry like he was about to figure out a puzzle…or that he’d come across a new puzzle that needed to be solved. Well, Harry hardly wanted to become Severus Snape’s new ‘puzzle’ to solve.

That sudden rise of indignation helped him to find his voice. “Thank you for your concern, professor,” he grated out. “But seeing as how you’re not my head of house or school or anything, I think I’ll pour my heart out to somebody else.” It actually came out a little harsher than he’d planned, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He was feeling a desperate need to get out of that corner.

To Snape’s credit, he didn’t raise his voice. Nor did he insert any venom into his steady speech. “I am your professor, Potter. Head of house or no, what is going on in my student’s home is of my concern.”

Harry gaped before he felt a twinge of pain in his lip and promptly closed his mouth. Since when would Snape be concerned about his home life? It was laughable, only Harry didn’t feel like laughing. He knew Snape didn’t actually care, of course, and he wasn’t about to give up any more information for the whole Slytherin house to gossip about.

“Thank you, sir, for your little display. I’ll make sure to mention it to the headmaster so he can be properly grateful. But like I said, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather bother someone else with my juvenile concerns.” He threw Snape’s words of the earlier afternoon back in his face and shut his mouth in a firm line.

Snape’s face remained unreadable, though he nearly imperceptibly narrowed his eyes. Then, surprisingly, he stepped back, allowing Harry freedom from his corner, and sat on the edge of the bed.

He sat there only a moment before switching topics so suddenly that Harry felt slightly disoriented. “You want to know about the Dark Lord’s plan concerning you,” he stated, in a rhetorical question sort of way, though he waited for a response.

He looked at Snape suspiciously, answering with a hesitant, “Yes…”

The Potions master sat on the bed calmly, as if they were discussing nothing more serious than the weather. “Might I suggest an exchange of information? I will tell you what you desire to know, and in exchange you will answer my questions. A question of yours for a question of mine, let’s say.”

Harry considered, taken aback. He wanted to know what Voldemort was up to. Badly. But Snape was the last person on earth he wanted to tell his secrets to.

On the other hand, between the room, Harry’s earlier outburst, and what Snape had just overheard, he didn’t have much more to hide, did he?

“Alright,” he accepted hastily, despite his increasing trepidation. His curiosity was too great to let him pass up this opportunity to acquire the information he craved. “It’s a deal.”

Harry couldn’t read the gleam in Snape’s eyes and hoped to Merlin he hadn’t just made a horrible, awful mistake.