For The Boy Who Has Everything by Foolish Wishmaker
Summary: Voldemort is dead, but the world is going to hell anyway. Harry is forced to go into hiding as Snape's son. Little does he know, it isn't just a useful disguise.
Categories: Parental Snape > Biological Father Snape > Severitus Challenge Main Characters: Draco, Ginny, Hermione, Neville, Remus, Ron, Sirius, .Snape and Harry (required)
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Drama
Media Type: None
Tags: Alternate Universe, Resorting, Slytherin!Harry
Takes Place: 6th summer
Warnings: Alcohol Use, Romance/Slash
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 29 Completed: No Word count: 189045 Read: 191041 Published: 21 May 2007 Updated: 06 Oct 2013
Chapter 3 by Foolish Wishmaker

They appeared quite suddenly in the middle of a badly-lit street, Harry barely managing to stay steady on his feet. He felt disoriented, as if the inside of his head had taken a bit longer to get there and was still trying to catch up with the rest of him.

Snape was already walking up the steps, and Harry started after him, his eyes trailing over the facade of the old house. He shivered. It wasn't good to be back.

By the time he got inside, Snape had already deposited his trunk just inside and was lighting gas lamps on the entrance hall walls.

Harry looked around.

It was as shabby as he remembered it, and as gloomy. And freezing. He shivered again, partly with cold this time, and he wondered if he and Snape were alone.

Something seemed off, but he couldn't think what. Of course, the last time he'd been at Grimmauld Place, it had been full of people, and the silence that hung over the place now would of course seem unnatural. Even the portrait of Mrs. Black wasn't screaming.

He looked toward the portrait as he thought of it, and gaped at the empty wall where it had hung behind its set of moldy red curtains. The wallpaper was scarred, in places gouged down to the plaster, long strips missing in irregular, slash-like patterns.

"Harry. Severus."

Harry looked up. Lupin was standing in a shadowed doorway, his deeply lined face, shabby robes, and straggly, limp hair bathed in flickering light from the candle he was holding. There was no expression on his face.

Snape's eyes had narrowed. "Lupin. I suppose it was too much to ask that the lamps be lit before we arrived."

Lupin said nothing.

"Potter," Snape said, turning on Harry, his mouth thinning. "Take yourself upstairs and to bed. Second floor, second door on the left."

"But..." Harry began.

"I think it would be best if you went, Harry," Lupin said tonelessly.

Harry wanted to argue; he wanted to demand answers, but Lupin was scaring him and Snape looked about ready to drag him upstairs by the scruff of his neck. He grasped his trunk by one handle and started to drag it to the stairs.

"Leave it, Potter," Snape said. "You won't be needing your... things... tonight."

From the expression on his face, Harry guessed Snape meant his Invisibility Cloak in particular.

He dropped the trunk and stalked up two flights of stairs, to the second door on the left, and inside the small, cold bedroom. There, he sat on the edge of a narrow bed and scowled at the door, which he left partly open because the dim light filtering up the stairs and into the hallway was the only source of light. He hadn't thought to ask for a lamp, and there wasn't one in the room.

Why couldn't he have the same room he had stayed in last year? It had been much more comfortable, not to mention bigger.

It was hard to keep from being in a bad mood when the evening had been an emotional plunge down a dark pit. His stomach was knotted, like it often was under stress. He could have used a kind word from Lupin...

That just showed what he could expect, didn't it? Lupin must have done some thinking these past weeks.

He could hear angry raised voices coming from the ground floor, and considered creeping down the hallway to the top of the stairs, but the argument ended suddenly with the sound of glass breaking. A door slammed.

Harry hoped Snape had left.

He wanted to get his trunk. He didn't want to leave his things in the entrance hall overnight, remembering all the people who'd come and gone from Grimmauld Place the previous summer.

He moved to the door, but froze when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He knew exactly who it was, with those heeled boots. He sat down again.

The half-open door swung back on its hinges. Snape, carrying a lamp, scowled at him from the doorway. "I told you to go to bed."

"Is someone going to tell me what's going on?" Harry demanded.

Snape had delivered him to Grimmauld Place. Fine. He could leave now. Harry wasn't his responsibility, and he had no authority in Sirius' old house.

"It is not your place to ask questions, Potter," Snape snarled. Harry could see a vein throbbing in his temple, and guessed Snape was already livid from whatever the argument with Lupin had been about. "Your place is to do what you are told, when you are told to do it. You will either remain in this room until I tell you you may leave, or I will lock you in."

Harry had dealt with Snape enough times to know that Snape was lashing out in anger, but would follow through on his unreasonable threats if pushed. It wasn't worth it to get locked in.

"Fine," he said sullenly. "Fine. I'll go to bed. Can I have the lamp?"

Snape's lips were a thin, tight line, but he put the lamp down on a table.

"Thank you," Harry ground out between clenched teeth.

Snape shut the door behind him as he left, and for a moment Harry was certain he would hear the click of a lock despite having agreed to do as Snape said, but after a short pause Snape's footsteps moved away down the hall, another door opened and closed, and the house fell into a sudden silence.

Harry thought about his trunk downstairs, but in the end he undressed and got into bed. It had been a very, very long day.

Despite that, he didn't fall asleep right away. Being back in Sirius' house seemed to make the empty place inside him even bigger and emptier. Sirius hadn't liked the house, but Harry had spent more time with Sirius at Grimmauld Place than anywhere else. Maybe, somehow, in his mind, he had been thinking of it as practice for the time when Sirius would be a free man and Harry could go live with him.

The bed was lumpy and hard, but Harry was used to sleeping in uncomfortable positions in his cramped cupboard. After what seemed like a very long time, his eyes fell shut and he was asleep.


 


 

Pale morning sunlight barely penetrated the single grimy window in Harry's bedroom, but it was enough for him to have a decent look around.

The room was very small, with no furniture other than the bed, a small table, and an old-fashioned wardrobe. There were two doors, one of which Harry had not noticed before. It led to a tiny bathroom where the pipes gurgled and spat rusty water into the sink. He left it, disgusted.

Ignoring Snape's warning to stay in the room, he went downstairs. Finding no one there, he took the time to drag his trunk to the bedroom, then went down to the kitchen.

There was no one there, either, but the stove was hot and a kettle was whistling. Judging by the stack of clean plates on the table, Harry guessed breakfast had not yet been served, though he saw no sign of food anywhere.

He washed up in the kitchen sink, drying his face and hands on a paper napkin.

When he went to throw it in the rubbish bin, half a broken whiskey bottle lay among shards of glass. Suddenly Harry knew what he had heard breaking the previous night. He backed away slowly.

"Ah, Harry," a falsely cheerful voice said from behind him. "I hope you slept well?"

Harry looked at Lupin, willing himself not to let his eyes dart back to the rubbish bin. "Yeah, I did. Morning."

"I was just about to start breakfast. If you don't mind setting the table...?"

"Sure," Harry said. "How many places should I set?"

"Just three will do."

Harry supposed that meant Snape was still there, and that thought instantly lowered his mood another notch, but he didn't say anything to Lupin.

Lupin looked like he hadn't slept at all. There were still dark circles under his eyes, and he hadn't shaved in several days.

He set the table, watching Lupin all the while out of the corner of his eyes. Finally, he had to ask.

"Er... are you well?"

Lupin grimaced. "Full moon. Getting a bit of a headache, you know?"

"Oh," said Harry. But he had never seen Lupin look so unwell before, full moon or not. "Is Snape making your potion?"

"He is," Lupin said. "And don't worry, we're taking all possible precautions."

"I wasn't worried!" Harry said fiercely. "Why would I be?"

Lupin shook his head. "No, I don't suppose... Well, in any case, I lock myself in the cellar for the duration, so you needn't expect to come across me -- not that you should be wandering around at night --" He stopped and turned to look at Harry with a furrowed brow.

"I won't," Harry said quickly. "What cellar? I don't remember there being one."

"Off the drawing room. Alastor Moody found it the last time he was here. Full of dark artifacts and infested with spiders and black beetles and such. I don't think Sirius knew..." His voice trailed off and he turned back to the stove.

Harry didn't know what to say, and couldn't have said it around the lump in his throat anyway. He sat down and hid behind a copy of the Daily Prophet, a few days old, which had been lying on a chair.

It was too late by the time Lupin turned around and saw him and made a grab for the paper with a sharp, "Don't, Harry."

 

HARRY POTTER
The Boy Who Lived To Fail Us All
Nine fatalities, including Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft
and Wizardry Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class...

 

Granted, it was not on the front page, but on the fourth among the cleaning product advertisements and international Quidditch scores, but Harry figured that this was merely the tail end of a series of such articles. It had been weeks since he'd left Hogwarts. They could have started in on him then, and he wouldn't have known about it because he didn't have a hope of getting the paper at the Dursleys.

Lupin wrestled the paper easily out of his suddenly limp hands.

"It's that Skeeter woman," he said, crumpling up the paper and tossing it -- missing widely -- toward the rubbish bin. "She's always had it in for you, hasn't she?"

"Yeah," Harry said without much enthusiasm. "Sure."

"This is a perfect example. Nine fatalities, yes... including known Death Eaters and Voldemort."

Harry swallowed thickly.

"You could have done everything right, and she would find something ugly to write. That's just the way it is with her."

But of course, Harry hadn't done everything right. He hadn't done anything right.

"Sure," he said again, glumly.

Lupin's hand trailed over Harry's shoulder, but he drew it back abruptly. "Severus. Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

Harry stared determinately at the table.

"Reasonably well," Snape said, "considering the ghoul appears to have moved into the room directly above mine."

"Yes, well..." Lupin hesitated. "I... I have been meaning to relocate him."

Snape fixed him with a hard look. "Most of us, when we mean to do something, actually get around to doing it, Lupin."

Then Snape turned to Harry, his black eyes raking over him from the top of his uncombed head down to Dudley's worn-out trainers with knotted shoe strings.

"I told you to leave your trunk where it was, Potter."

"Entirely my fault, Severus," Lupin said lightly, pouring tea into Snape's cup. "I told him he could move it to his room."

Harry, who had opened his mouth to retort, quickly clamped it shut again and tried not to look surprised.

Snape gave them both a dark look, but said nothing.

They ate in silence. Somehow everything tasted the same -- bland. Harry didn't finish half of what was on his plate, but he kept picking at it, not wanting to ask to be excused and start another argument.

Snape was first to leave the table.

"I have work to do," he said. Then, turning to Lupin and narrowing his eyes, "I trust you can keep Potter away from things that don't concern him?"

Lupin frowned, looked about to say something, and then seemed to change his mind. "I will."

"Good," Snape said, though he looked like he didn't believe it. "I don't want to be disturbed."

"I understand."

Snape left.

Harry waited until he couldn't hear his footsteps.

"Does he... does he live here?" he demanded indignantly.

Lupin stood up and began collecting the plates. "Sometimes. Are you finished with this?"

Harry pushed away the rest of his tea. "Why?"

Lupin didn't reply right away. He filled the sink with sudsy water and dropped the dishes in, then leaned back against the counter, eyes fixed somewhere over Harry's head.

"All of us are a bit at loose ends this summer. This house isn't under the Fidelius anymore, but with Hogwarts closed there aren't many places as secure. Alastor Moody and several other Order members stayed here until security on their homes could be updated... so did some of Hogwarts' staff. You know, Harry, some lived at Hogwarts year-around."

Harry hadn't been fully listening. "Hogwarts is closed? Completely closed?"

"Temporarily," Lupin said. "For the summer."

"Why?" Harry pressed.

"Well..." Lupin shrugged. "There has been some question of succession. It hasn't all been worked out."

"They're going to make someone awful Head, aren't they?" Harry said. The words tasted bitter in his mouth. "Like Umbridge."

"I don't know. I hope not."

Harry shuddered.

"Well," Lupin said, rubbing his forehead, "I suppose we'd best get you settled in now that you're here for the summer. I do apologize for last night..."

"That's all right," Harry said quickly.

"No, I do." Lupin shook his head and sighed. "Really, I should have brought you from the Dursleys myself, Harry, but I was feeling especially unwell. Severus -- still Professor Snape to you, by the way, Harry -- hadn't been here for a few days, and I somehow lost track of the time." He shook his head again. "Anyway, I imagine he upset them. Did he?"

"Aunt Petunia... exploded... a bit," Harry admitted. "I don't think I've ever seen her like that."

"Ah," said Lupin, rubbing his forehead again.

"But they'll get over it by next summer," Harry added hastily. "They always do."

Lupin looked at him, not saying anything. Harry couldn't read the expression on his face.

"What should I do now that I'm here?" Harry asked when Lupin still didn't speak.

Lupin shook his head as though to clear it. "Your schoolwork, to start with. Do you have any?"

"Not really," Harry said. "Just some in Charms and Transfiguration. Nothing was assigned in Defense Against the Dark Arts... because of Umbridge. And I don't know if I'll pass the rest. I won't have my O.W.L. results until the end of summer, I expect."

"I'm sure you will pass."

Harry nodded without much conviction.

"Severus is using the library, so you will want to stay out of there. I wouldn't bother the ghoul if I were you, either. I don't think he liked being chased out of his toilet. He's taken up residence in a cupboard on the third floor... won't stay on the fourth; I've moved him twice now."

"I could help."

"No, thank you," Lupin said, not looking at him. "I'm sure the third time will be the charm."

There was an uncomfortable pause.

Harry backed toward the door. "I think I'll do a bit of reading, then."

He didn't wait for Lupin to reply.


 


 

Harry walked slowly down the third floor corridor, stopping every few feet to look at old portraits that glared or looked down their noses at him. He hadn't read for more than a half hour before giving it up, and there was nothing to do but wander around aimlessly. He knew if Snape caught him at it there would be another argument, but he couldn't stay shut up in his room. It was as bad as being locked in the cupboard. Worse, really, because here he couldn't stop thinking about Sirius; at least at the Dursleys he was often kept busy with chores.

He passed a door that rattled ominously on its hinges. He figured it was the ghoul's new hideout. He stopped and stared at it.

Unluckily, Lupin appeared just at that moment.

"Harry --" he began reproachfully.

"I wasn't going to open it," Harry said, hating how Lupin assumed the worst of him now. "Really. I was just walking past."

Lupin didn't look as if he believed him. "Run along. I have to get him upstairs before heading out."

"Out? Out where?"

"I need to mail a letter. We haven't got an owl here, so I have to take it to the post office in Diagon Alley."

"Oh," Harry said. Then, hopefully, "Can I come with you?"

"No."

It was such an abrupt answer that Harry almost fell back a step.

The expression on his face must have been dreadful, because Lupin quickly tried to pacify him.

"It isn't safe for you to be wandering around London right now, Harry," he said gently. "I won't be gone more than an hour, and then we'll have a nice quiet lunch. Severus never makes an appearance, so it will be just the two of us."

"Sure," Harry said, not meaning it. "That sounds great."

"Well then," Lupin said, "if you don't mind...?"

Harry turned and walked toward the stairs, glancing back at Lupin and the rattling door when he reached the end of the hallway. Lupin was watching him.

Sighing, he walked down to his room and threw himself on the bed.

Things were not going well, and he didn't know how to fix it.

He couldn't fix it. That was the problem.

It couldn't be fixed, and it was all wrong, and he was stuck here until the end of summer just like he had been stuck at the Dursleys, only here was worse, somehow. At least at the Dursleys he had never thought to expect anyone to care about him. He had expected Lupin's feelings toward him to change, but it still stung, most of all because he couldn't blame Lupin for it, and because expecting something awful didn't do much to prepare one for the reality of it.

For a while he occupied himself by writing to Hermione. He couldn't mail the letter, since he didn't have Hedwig, but writing to her felt almost like talking to her, because as he wrote he could almost hear her voice inside his head, saying what he was sure she would say if she were to reply. He knew her that well.

Maybe.

But he'd thought he knew Ron, too; Ron was his best friend. But Ron hadn't even promised to write to him before leaving Hogwarts. And he hadn't written.

Neither had Hermione.

He wanted those letters -- desperately. He wanted to know what they were doing and what they were thinking, what they thought of the articles about him and if they knew anything about Hogwarts and what he could expect. Ron's dad might know more than Lupin, or might have told Ron more than Lupin would tell Harry.

But there hadn't been any letters. He didn't know what to assume. He didn't want to assume that they didn't write because they didn't want to write; he wanted to think they had a good reason, but deep down inside he had already jumped to the worst conclusion.

He also didn't know if they would tell him everything even if they did write. More and more he was noticing that people would tell him what they thought he wanted to hear, or should hear, or what was easier for them to tell him, instead of telling him the truth. It had always been the case, but since Sirius....

Lupin hadn't told the truth either, because he wasn't back in an hour. He wasn't back in two hours. And when he was back, three or four hours later, Harry only knew because he had been listening for the front door.

He went down to the kitchen, feeling pathetic because he couldn't stay away from where he wasn't wanted.

When he walked in, Lupin was putting groceries away in a cupboard, and when he saw Harry he hastily moved the Daily Prophet off the table, no doubt hoping Harry wouldn't notice.

"Sorry I was held up," he said, not looking directly at Harry. "Long lines."

"That's all right," Harry said. He sat down and stared at a small pile of letters on the table. Of course, none of them would be for him...

"Letter from Ron for you," Lupin said, following his gaze and picking a grubby looking envelope out of the pile. "Looks like it's been through a bit of bad weather." But he didn't give it to Harry. Instead, looking apologetic, he started to open it. "It's been forwarded. No knowing where it was last."

Harry nodded.

Lupin discarded the envelope and shook the single sheet of parchment until it came unfolded. He barely glanced at it before handing it to Harry.

"Looks fine. Now, sit right there and read it, and I'll have some tea and biscuits ready in a minute."

Harry nodded and spread the letter out on the table, holding the curling edges down. The ink was smudged. It did look like it had been wet at some point, and then dried out while still folded up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lupin toss the envelope into the stove, where it was immediately consumed by the flames. He frowned, but didn't think anything of it. He didn't care about the envelope, after all.

The letter was dated a week prior.

 

Dear Harry,

 

How's your summer? Mine's all right. Bill and
Charlie are here, and it's cramped and loud.
Makes me glad we haven't got any schoolwork this
summer, because I don't know how I'd manage to
do it with them all crowding me. Mum and Dad
reckon we should go to Egypt for the rest of the
summer. Bill has to get back anyway, see, and
ever since Aurors searched our place Mum's been
jumpy. Thinks it's likely we might be attacked.
Ginny and I haven't been allowed out at all.
Fred and George, too, but they just ignore it
and go where they please anyway, since they're
of age.

 

Ron rambled on for a while, complaining about Mrs. Weasley and not having anything to do.

 

Hedwig's here. Showed up right after school got
out, but with no letter. I'll send her back before
we go, but are you all right? Hermione says her
letters have been coming back, and she's written
lots.

 

I hope the Muggles are treating you well,

Ron

P.S.: If you don't hear from me again I'll see
you in September. Sorry you couldn't come stay
with us this summer, I know you don't get along
with the Muggles.

 

Harry folded the letter back up and stared at it glumly.

"Bad news?" Lupin asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Harry said. "It's just... I sort of hoped Ron and Hermione and I would get together this summer, in Diagon Alley at least. But Ron's family is going to Egypt."

"Already left," Lupin said, putting a steaming cup of tea in front of him. "Last week. Sorry, Harry, but you wouldn't have been able to go to the Burrow this summer even if they were there. There's been some Death Eater activity in the area."

"Ron said."

"You'll see them both when school starts again," Lupin said lightly. "It's only a few weeks."

"So I can't write back to Ron?" Harry asked.

"You can write if you'd like," Lupin said. "But it would take a while to get there, and you would want to be careful what you say. Mail's being monitored."

"Is that why it took so long for Ron's letter to get here? And why Hermione's aren't being delivered?"

Lupin hesitated. "Maybe. If she's using a post owl and not her own. There's a shortage right now. All the owls are tied up with official business."

"She doesn't have her own."

"Well, then, that must be why." Lupin didn't seem concerned at all. He wouldn't know how important it was for Harry to hear from his friends. "I wouldn't worry about it."

The subject seemed to be closed, and Harry put Ron's letter in his back pocket and tried not to go over Ron's every word in his mind.

It did seem kind of odd though. Why hadn't the letter been delivered to Privet Drive? It had reached him at Grimmauld Place quickly enough, less than a day after he got there, and Lupin said it had been forwarded, but... well, it hadn't actually arrived at Grimmauld Place, had it? Lupin seemed to have brought it back with him. But why would any letter to Harry be addressed to a post office in Diagon Alley? It didn't make sense, unless Lupin hadn't only been to Diagon Alley.

Which, now that Harry focused on what was around him, seemed to be the case. Aside from buying food, Lupin must have visited a book shop, because several musty-looking books sat on the counter, almost hidden behind a sack of flour.

Lupin saw him looking. He walked over and picked up the top two books and handed them to him.

"To help you pass the time."

Both were wizard novels.

"Thanks," Harry said, trying to sound enthusiastic. They looked dull.

"They're only borrowed, but you'll be able to return them yourself when you're through."

Harry flipped open one of the books, and saw that it belonged to the Hogwarts library.

"Were you at Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"I thought it was closed."

"It is," Lupin said, and he stood up, clearly uninterested in continuing that line of conversation. "Tea's getting cold, Harry. Would you rather have plain biscuits or chocolate?"

"Plain," Harry said, not caring.

It was a dismal lunch. Harry was glad when it was over, even though that only meant he could go up to his bedroom, lie on the bed, and stare glumly at the ceiling. He'd done a lot of the same on Privet Drive.

Snape didn't show for dinner, for which Harry was glad.

Lupin didn't speak more than a few words to him before disappearing behind that day's Daily Prophet, which he didn't offer to let Harry read, and which he kept folded so that all Harry could see was the crossword.

"I don't suppose I can see that after you're done," Harry said reproachfully, not because he thought Lupin might let him, but because he felt it was terribly rude of Lupin to be sitting there, right in front of Harry, with something Harry had been dying to get his hands on for weeks.

"No," Lupin said, not looking up.

Harry scowled at his half-eaten steak and kidney pie.

"There's no need to sulk," Lupin said shortly. "I'm sorry you're not having a good time here, but it can't be helped."

"I wasn't looking for a good time," Harry retorted. "I just want to read the paper! I want to know what's going on."

"Nothing is going on," Lupin said. "Just a lot of things that don't concern you at the moment."

Harry pushed away his plate, trying hard to control his temper, which was about to get away from him. "I'm not very hungry. I think I'll go upstairs."

Lupin didn't reply.


 


 

He lay in bed for a long time that night, unable to sleep.

There was no end to things he didn't understand.

Why did Snape take him from the Dursleys, when it was clear Harry wasn't wanted at Grimmauld Place?

What was in the papers that they didn't want him to know about... aside from the nasty articles about him?

Did it seem like Ron had tried too hard to convince him there were good reasons Harry couldn't visit the Burrow? Was Hermione really trying but was unable to get a letter to him? And was the Weasley family really in Egypt, and unreachable by owl?

It seemed to Harry that if mail was being monitored, and you were planning to go into hiding, it wouldn't be a good idea to say where you were going in a letter to the one person whose letters were most likely to be intercepted.


 


 

He had a nightmare.

It wasn't surprising, really; the previous night had been the first night he hadn't had one since Sirius' death, probably because he'd been too exhausted.

At the Dursleys, his nightly screaming always brought Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia down on his head, and usually he ended up in the cupboard... unless he had already been there. At Grimmauld Place, no doors opened, no lights came on, and no one came to his room to see what was going on.

He was sitting up in bed, in complete darkness, listening to the silence.

After a while, he got up and dressed and went over to the window. Without a watch, it was the only way to tell what time it might be.

He could only see a strip of sky, but by craning his neck and kneeling on the narrow sill, he caught sight of the almost-full moon overhead.

Almost full... well, that was odd, wasn't it?

He hadn't been keeping track of the lunar cycles, but he had assumed from what Lupin told him - and the way Lupin looked - that there would be a full moon that night.

He rummaged in his trunk and found a calendar.

He was right; the moon wouldn't be full for almost a week.

He wondered why Lupin had misled him. And what was really wrong with him? Harry's mind kept lurching back to the bottle he had seen in the rubbish. Had Snape smashed it, or Lupin himself?

That, of course, made him think of Sirius. He wondered how long Lupin had been at Grimmauld Place. Clearly he had been there since before Harry left Hogwarts. Long enough, from what Harry had picked up on during their conversation, to play host to a number of Order members during at least one full moon. Harry reckoned it was Moody's idea to keep Lupin locked up in a cellar, so everyone else could sleep easy, even though Lupin wasn't a danger to anyone when he was taking his potion.

He decided he would ask Lupin about it, if he could find a way to work it into conversation. Maybe over breakfast.

Something was going on at Grimmauld Place, and Harry didn't like it. He didn't believe for a minute that it really didn't concern him, as Lupin had said. Things usually did concern him, one way or another, and nobody told him until the very last possible moment.

He wished he had Hedwig. He could write to Hermione and tell her where he was. If her letters were really coming back undeliverable, the right address would fix that. He bet she would send him a paper if he asked.

Ron had written that he would let Hedwig go - send her to Harry - before the Weasleys left for Egypt... or wherever it was they'd gone. The letter had taken a week to get to Harry, and Lupin had said the Weasleys had left the previous week.

Where was Hedwig?


 


 

Harry was feeling tired and grumpy by the time he figured it was time to head down to breakfast. He never had managed to get back to sleep, and had spent the later half of the night thumbing through one of the books Lupin had given him. It never hooked him; it was about an insipid little do-gooder who reminded Harry strongly of Percy Weasley.

A yawn overcame him just as he stepped into the kitchen, and so when he next opened his eyes he almost leaped back in surprise.

Instead of Lupin, it was Snape who was at the stove, stirring the contents of a large pot with a long-handled wooden spoon, scowling.

It was too late to sneak back upstairs, which had been Harry's first thought; Snape had already seen him, or, more likely, had heard him coming down the stairs.

"Set the table for two, Potter."

Harry didn't move. "Where's Lupin?"

Snape turned and gave him a dark look. "He is feeling too ill to join us this morning. Do as I told you."

Harry went over to the dresser containing the plates and silverware and took out enough for two places. His feet were dragging. He did not want to eat alone with Snape.

That feeling was intensified tenfold when he saw the food. It was boiled... things. He couldn't tell what they had been originally, as they fell apart into a soggy mess when he poked them with his fork.

Snape passed him a dish with some kind of sweet-smelling sauce, and Harry drowned his plate in it.

He stole a glance at Snape's plate. Snape hadn't served himself any of the lumpy boiled things, but he had a bowl of hot mush, which looked only slightly more appetizing to Harry.

There didn't seem to be any toast, or juice, or any of the foods Harry was used to. There was a pitcher of cold water, an he gulped half a glass between every bite.

Snape drank his tea and pointedly ignored Harry.

He hadn't finished a quarter of his portion before he'd had enough. He pushed the plate away.

"May I be excused?"

Snape looked from Harry to the still mostly full plate. "You didn't finish. Sit back down."

"This isn't breakfast food," Harry muttered.

"No one asked for your opinion." Snape paused, his lip curling. "I suppose your relatives catered to your every whim."

"No, actually," Harry said recklessly, "they liked to lock me in a cupboard under the stairs with no food at all. That's where I was the night you came to get me."

Snape was giving him a hard, penetrating look, and Harry refused to turn his eyes away.

"In that case, you should be grateful anyone here bothers to put food in front of you."

Harry scowled.

He didn't eat another bite of the disgusting food, but he sat quietly, staring at his plate, until Snape finished eating.

He started to pick up his plate to take to the sink, but Snape stopped him.

"Put it in the icebox, Potter."

Harry's stomach did a flip-flop. He knew exactly what Snape was doing. The Dursleys did this too, sometimes, after they'd given him food no human being could be expected to eat, and he didn't finish it. He looked down at his plate full of grey, over-cooked lumps covered in reddish sauce, which looked even less appetizing now that they were cold. He knew he would be seeing the same plate again at the next meal.

By the time he had put the plate away, Snape had cleared the table and was standing next to the sink, where the dirty dishes were scrubbing themselves under a stream of hot water.

"Neither Lupin nor I are to be disturbed today," he said, glaring at Harry.

"Where is he? I don't even know where his room is."

"It seems to me," Snape said, eyes narrowed, "that if he wanted you to know, he would have told you himself."

With that, Snape picked up a tray -- Harry noticed it was loaded with good things like toast, jam, and some kind of broth -- and swept up the stairs.

Harry followed at a distance. He figured he could follow Snape all the way to Lupin's room if he was careful enough.

Snape stopped at the entrance to the drawing room and waited until Harry had passed, glaring at him until Harry was half way up the stairs.

As soon as Snape went inside, Harry ran back down, as quietly as he could.

He was just in time to see a heavy drape swish back into place at the far end of the room. He ran up to it, pulled it to the side, and only just caught the edge of a door which, had it shut, would have been indistinguishable from the wall.

He waited, listening as Snape's footsteps became fainter and fainter, then pulled the door open just enough to look inside.

At first, he saw nothing but darkness. Then he looked down.

There were stairs. A narrow, steep, seemingly endless flight of steps that Harry instinctively knew did not stop at ground level but continued down uninterrupted. Far below, Harry could see the dim light of a lamp and a dark shape moving farther and farther away from him.

This was the entrance to the cellar, then.

Harry let the door go and it fell into its place, leaving no trace of itself in the wall.

He went upstairs, his thoughts whirling.

Why was Lupin sleeping in the cellar? It wasn't the full moon. What was wrong with him that he couldn't even come up for breakfast?


 


 

Lupin did manage to come up for lunch.

Snape was there as well, looking menacingly at Harry as he put down the disgusting remnants of breakfast in front of him... and even more menacingly at Lupin when Lupin whisked the plate away and served them all stew left over from the day before and hot buttered rolls.

As they ate, Harry looked at Lupin closely.

Aside from dark circles under his eyes, which seemed deeper than ever, Lupin didn't look much worse than he had when Harry arrived at Grimmauld Place.

"More tea, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "No, thank you."

"Have you written a reply to Ron?"

Harry shook his head again. "No."

"Well," Lupin said, "Professor Snape will be in Diagon Alley later today, so if you would like to write, you had better do so quickly."

Harry noticed that Snape was glaring murderously at the back of Lupin's head.

"Um... No, I think I'll wait on it. Hedwig should be back any day now."

Or at least he hoped she would be.

It was not until later, when he was up in his room and had heard the front door slam shut as Snape left, that Harry realized that he could have written to Hermione instead.

To be continued...


This story archived at http://www.potionsandsnitches.org/fanfiction/viewstory.php?sid=1328