Snape was not foolish enough to waste his time and energy searching Hogwarts for one missing 12 year old. Instead, he summoned the head house elf and demanded to know where Potter was. He knew perfectly well that the house elves kept a close tab on The Boy Who Lived.

“Weeeeelll, Master Harry Potter Sir is being very busy just now,” Hortense prevaricated. “Perhaps Professor Master Snape should be waiting –“

“Where. Is. He?” Snape said in the quiet, silky tones that made even the most irritating house elf shut up.

“Kitchens!” squeaked Hortense then vanished with a pop.

Snape swept down to the kitchens, alternating between rage at the blinkered old fool of a Headmaster and exasperation at Harry’s childish outburst. Now he was going to have to play the ogre once more and punish Harry when the boy had merely been lashing out under a burden that would have reduced most adults to catatonia. If only Harry had controlled his temper for another minute or two, Snape could have stepped in and for once, Harry would have had a happy outcome. But now, Snape was going to have to discipline the boy – and given the victim, he could hardly make it a token punishment – and by the time that the dust had settled, Harry would hardly greet the news that Snape was to be his guardian with unmitigated delight.

Yes, it was good news that Harry no longer just accepted unfair treatment whether it was at the hands of his uncle or his Headmaster, but he obviously needed to work on how he dealt with his newly unleashed anger. Snape sighed. He would never admit it to anyone, but he would dearly love to let the boy off with a warning just this once. Of course, he knew full well that that was the worst thing he could do for the boy. Harry needed one adult in his life who was consistent in holding him accountable to pre-established rules, and it was just Snape’s luck that it had to be him.

Harry knew perfectly well that it was unacceptable to punch someone like that, and letting him off would not only teach him the kind of lesson that Tom Riddle had embraced (“You’re special. You’ve had a really hard life. Rules shouldn’t apply to you.”), but it would also send a different, equally dangerous message to Draco (“You don’t matter. You don’t count. People can hurt you and get away with it.”). So once again, thanks to that bumbling idiot, Snape was going to have to be the heavy-handed martinet and at the worst possible moment.

How in Merlin’s name was he supposed to scorch the boy’s backside one minute then break the news about his summer plans the next, and not have the boy think that it was a punishment? Dumbledore had already convinced the boy that no one cared enough about him to take him for the summer, so he was sure to assume that Snape was doing so only out of a sense of duty or obligation. That would hardly set the stage for a pleasant, productive summer. The brat would probably spend the first six weeks misbehaving out of a displaced sense of worthlessness, angst, resentment, and despair.

Snape entered the kitchens and made his way to the farthest, darkest, most hidden corner. If he were a worried second year, hiding out from a furious Potions Master, that’s where he’d be. Sure enough, as he drew closer, he heard Potter’s voice.

“So? Have you had enough?”

“Oh, Merlin, Potter...” Snape stopped short. What was Draco doing down here? He faded into the shadows even as he edged his way closer.

“Well?” Potter’s voice was – strange. There was an undercurrent of frustration and threat and… amusement?

“Potter, please…” The hairs on the back of Snape’s neck rose. Draco Malfoy begging? What on earth could Potter be doing to him? 

“You want more?” Yes, there was definitely something – off – about Potter’s tone. Snape fought down an unaccustomed sense of fear. Could Potter be more Dark than anyone had suspected? Was today’s outburst more characteristic than anyone had guessed? He moved closer still.

“Merlin…” Draco’s voice trailed off into little moans, and Snape gathered himself to jump out and halt whatever depraved little torture session Potter was conducting.

“Good grief, Malfoy, you’d think you’ve never had ice cream before.” Potter’s words caught Snape in mid-leap.

“This isn’t ice cream, Potter. It’s ambrosia. Gimme more.”

“It’s called a hot fudge sundae, Malfoy, and it’s not even that hard to find. Maybe you should spend more time on Muggle Studies.”

“Yeah, right, Potter. And after my father beats me to death, I can have all the hot fudge sundaes I want in Muggle heaven. Shut up and tell the house elf to bring me another one.”

“Oh, come on, Draco. It’s a stupid sundae. Your father won’t –“

“Shut it, Potter. You’re not the only one with scars on your back,” Draco sneered. “Do you have any idea what my father did when I made the mistake of asking to wear Muggle clothes one time?”

“Well, it couldn’t have been any worse than what my uncle did to me the time I made the glass in the snake exhibit at the zoo disappear,” Harry retorted.

“Whinge whinge whinge. All those Muggles could do was hit you, right? Do you have any idea how many curses there are?”

“All right, congratulations, you win. Here’s your stupid sundae,” Harry said resignedly.

“Ha! Never try to outcompete a Malfoy, Potter. Besides, what are you bleating about? It’s not like you have to go back there. I’m stuck with my father.”

Harry snorted but didn’t reply.

Draco gave him a sharp look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Dumbledore’s sending me back.”

“What? Why?”

Harry shrugged, elaborately nonchalant. “Guess that your father and his friends have spooked him, so he wants me safe with my loving family.”

“So if the Death Eaters don’t finish you off, your uncle will? I thought the Headmaster liked you, Potter.”

“Yeah, well, I thought you wanted to be a Death Eater just like your dear old daddy, Malfoy,” Harry snarled back.

“Just because I don’t like mudbloods doesn’t mean I want to join a psycho who Crucio’s his own followers,” Malfoy retorted. “Besides, anything that both my father and my loony aunt Bella agree upon is definitely a bad idea. But try telling that to my father and you’d better be able to keep up your Protego for the next forty years or so.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Dumbledore says that he’ll send the Aurors by every week or so to make sure I’m okay, but since they won’t be able to take me away from there even if they see something, it’s not like they’re going to be any help.”

“Huh. Hope you’re good at glamours, Potter. You’re going to need them. Better keep the Aurors fooled or your uncle will really kick the snot out of you. Sev once saw me after a whipping and yelled at my father. Father nearly killed me that night. I couldn’t walk for a week, and that was with the healing charms my house elf smuggled in.”

“Merlin, Malfoy, if your father treats you like that, then why are you such a git? I’d think you’d be nicer to people.”

“And let them treat me like shite? You need to get control of people fast and keep it, Potter, and you do that through fear.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’re a moron.”

“Death Eater.”

“Gryffindork.”

Harry sighed. “Finish your sundae. I’m all done with mine, and I need to go see Snape and get this over with.”

Draco scraped up a spoonful of fudge and licked it, his eyes glazing over with pleasure. “Merlin, this is good.”

“Just remember, the house elves only smuggle it in for me, so you’d better not tell anyone about our discussion.”

“Right, Potter, like anyone would believe we’ve been sitting here chatting like a couple of girls. You’re really dim, you know that?”

“I mean it, Malfoy. I better not hear anything about my relatives from Crabbe and Goyle or you’ll never get another hot fudge sundae as long as you live.”

“Relax. If I tell your secrets, you’ll tell mine. Besides, you have the upper hand. If you tell my father about this, he really will kill me. Or make me wish he had.”

Harry frowned. “So why did you tell me? That’s not exactly a Slytherin thing to do.”

“Because I can hardly complain about my father to anyone in my House, now can I? What did you call them? Oh yeah, a bunch of Junior Death Eaters. If Goyle heard me say anything even remotely critical of my father and then mentioned it to his father, I’d be back at Malfoy Manor in no time, and you can imagine what would happen next. Besides, you’re a nauseatingly honorable Gryffindor. I could probably say almost anything and you’d feel honor-bound to keep your mouth shut.”

“Snake.”

“Dimwit.”

“Dark Lord in Training.”

“No, no, Potter. That would be you. Haven’t you figured that out yet? Hey, you do know I was serious about not going to Sev, right? I mean, thanks for the apology and the hot fudge sundae and all, but I still want your arse blistered for punching me,” Draco smirked.

“You’re evil, you know that?”

“Goes with the House,” Draco agreed, licking his spoon with great satisfaction.

Snape withdrew as silently as he had approached.