Harry walked into the kitchen, running his hand through his messy hair, relieved that he appeared to be alone in the house. He wasn’t sure where the Weasley clan had disappeared to, and at the moment he didn’t really care. While he loved his friends dearly, they were the closest to family that he had, he had felt nothing but smothered by their overwhelming presence. He had been at Grimmauld Place for three days, during which he had been questioned repeatedly about his eating and sleeping habits, as well as forced to talk about things he wished to never speak of out loud again; namely, his role in Sirus’s death.

He knew they meant well, but he hated the constant attention they cast his way, he would much rather dwell on his failures in private, in case the façade of sanity began to crumble. Ron had caught him crying on his first night back, and he wasn’t about to let it happen again. The awkwardness that followed was nearly intolerable and he didn’t want anyone, especially those who thought him so strong, to know that inside he was falling fast. Thankfully he had no visions since his arrival, but the nightmares plagued him constantly. He knew Ron had to be aware of them, they were sharing a room after all, but thankfully Ron hadn’t brought them up in conversation, and Harry surely didn’t plan on doing it.

When he made it back to the dining room, he was surprised to see his solitude had been interrupted, and with a scowl he placed his glass of juice on the table, wondering what the greasy git wanted this time. He wouldn’t be surprised if his professor had made a special trip to Grimmauld Place just to torment him without witnesses.

“Trust me, the feeling is mutual.” Snape sneered, opening his copy of the Daily Prophet, “The Weasleys had to tend to a family emergency and they felt you and Miss Granger should not be left alone.”

“Where’s Remus? Why you?”

“It’s a full moon tonight; I’m not surprised you were unaware though, it’s unlike you to notice anything not directly affecting you.”

An expletive was on the tip of Harry’s tongue, and he barely managed to hold it back as he scoffed, “I’ve had more important thing on my mind than lunar cycles…Voldemort, perhaps?”

“Do not speak his name.” Snape hissed, “You insolent brat, how dare you—“

“What, are you defending that murderer? Why should his name be so special that it is rendered unable to be spoken? I am not afraid of him, I’m not afraid of his name.” Harry pushed his chair back, leaving his glass on the table as he walked to the doorway, glaring at his professor, “You are a coward.”

His heart was racing by the time he returned to his room, collapsing on his bed. He was nearly certain that his professor would charge after him; throttle him for his attitude and rude behavior. Part of him wished for it, to feel the stinging pain of his words, to hear the hatred in his voice. He felt more alive than he had in ages, anger running through his veins at just the mere thought of the professor who had tormented him for the last 5 years, making his breath sharp and his heart race. The professor’s snide remarks and loosely veiled insults were nothing new to Harry, it was a game he and the professor had been playing for years, and this, this was familiar ground, something he could rely on, something he knew would never change.

He waited with baited breath for the door to fly open and his professor to barge in, nostrils flaring as he named ways to torture the teenage boy. Seconds grew to minutes, and Harry’s breathing slowed as he realized the professor was indeed not coming, uncharacteristic as it may be. While relieved that Snape wouldn’t be exerting some sort of punishment, a slow of power no doubt, over him, Harry couldn’t help but feel disappointed that the professor hadn’t risen to the challenge and reacted like Harry had been nearly certain he would. He’d have to chalk it up to another misjudgment…another misjudgment added to a long list of indiscretions that had taken place in the recent past.

A knock on the door brought him from his thoughts, and for a moment his breath caught in his throat. Was this it? The spark he needed to light the flames of fury brewing inside of him?

“Harry, are you in here?”

It was just Hermione. Harry slowly exhaled, feeling let down once more. He should have known better, Snape would have never taken the time to knock, he would have burst through the door in his own self-righteous, dramatic way and demand that Harry change his tone and apologize.

“Harry, Professor Snape would like to see you in the dining room.” Hermione spoke quietly, pushing the door open, “He seemed angry.”

Harry remained silent for a moment, debating on his next move. On one hand, he could storm downstairs and finish his fight, finally releasing the anger weighing heavily on his chest onto someone who at least partially deserved it. While Snape hadn’t played a significant role in Sirus’s death, he had spent the previous years making Harry’s life hell and he had been the one to terminate Occlumency classes, which ultimately led to the vision of Sirius at the Ministry of Magic. On the other hand, it would be significantly easier to just ignore Hermione and continue his day in solitude, knowing the professor wouldn’t disrupt his mental trial, where he found himself undeniably guilty in all counts of stupidy, recklessness, and ultimately, murder.

He heard footsteps moving away from his room and let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, the decision was made. He’d wallow in guilt, pity and whatever else may surface in his room until the Weasley clan returned, and then he’d force his fake smile back onto his face and pretend like life was perfect, or at least tolerable, once more.

Harry hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep until he awoke to find himself on the receiving end of a stern glare from his most loathed professor.

“Mr. Potter, are you ill?”

Harry shook his head, pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Are you experiencing any trouble with your extremities?”

“No.”

“No sir.” Snape corrected, “Are you disoriented in any way and rendered unable to find your way around?”

“No sir.”

“Then why did you decide to ignore my instructions and remain hidden away in your room? Do I need to speak with Miss Granger about her interpretation of my request?”

Harry looked down, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at his professor’s theatrics, “Her message was perfectly clear, sir.”

“So you decided to blatantly ignore my summons?”

“I’m not your house elf; you can’t just summon me and expect me to comply.” Harry snapped, the familiar fury bubbling up once more as he looked up at Snape.

The room was silent for a moment, and Harry could have sworn he felt the temperature drop at least 10 degrees as his professor processed his response.

“You insolent little brat!” Snape seethed, “Just because we are not at Hogwarts does not mean I cannot discipline you as I see fit! I will not tolerate your impertinence any longer. Get out of bed and come into the dining room immediately to finish this conversation.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I believe you heard me the first time, professor.” Harry said quietly, his voice clearly edged with anger. What were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley thinking anyway, when they decided to leave Snape in charge? It was no secret that he hated everything about Harry, from the way he looked to the way he breathed. And now here he was, making orders and demands as if he had any position of authority whatsoever. Just because he was left in charge did not mean Harry had taken an oath of obedience.

The small voice in the back of Harry’s mind, which slightly resembled Hermione, warned him not to push his professor too hard, since he was the only adult present and therefore could react in whatever manner he deemed appropriate, consequences be damned. And there was the still the issue of Snape serving two masters; if Harry pushed too hard, he may find himself thrust before Voldemort by his potions professor before he even knew what was happening.

Still, the anger he was radiating and the absolute fury Snape was reciprocating made Harry feel more alive than he had all summer, thoughts of his failures and losses pushed aside as his temper exploded, and he found himself unable to stop purposely baiting his professor.

As Snape began to unleash his own anger on the boy in front of him, Harry rose to his feet, glaring at the older man in front of him, knowing just what buttons to push, “You’re dismissed.”

“I think you are mistaken, Mr. Potter.” Snape drawled, “We will be finished when I deem us finished. Now you will go downstairs, leave the attitude behind and treat me with the respect I deserve.”

“What respect?” Harry snorted, waiting for the explosion of anger to occur. Snape had never waited so long to start berating and belittling him before, even when he hadn’t been half as obnoxious as he currently was behaving.

“You arrogant little-“

The professor’s wrath was cut short, however, by the searing pain in his arm and the howls of agony emanating from Harry.