Somewhere outside his bedroom window, an overly enthusiastic neighbour started up their lawn mower, an older gas model that had a high pitched whine to it that woke Harry immediately.  He stretched with a grumble and checked his watch, wincing when he noticed he'd slept in yet again.  Funny how Professor Snape didn't actually mind Harry sleeping late some days, the same man who took points for being thirty seconds late to class. Perhaps the potions master just enjoyed mornings to himself.

Harry shuffled downstairs and into the kitchen, wearing an old t-shirt, jeans, one black dress sock and one blue sports sock.  Harry yawned as he slid into his seat at the table, where there were two plates set and a plate of pancakes in the centre of the table.  It looked like he was just in time for breakfast.

"Mornin', Dad." Harry mumbled, rubbing his eyes. A second later he froze, blinking owlishly and ignoring the red blush he knew was creeping up his neck.  Snape had stopped mid turn from the kitchen sink, two mugs of coffee in his hands.

"Sor-sorry, sir. I didn't mean to call you that."  Harry kept his head down and scratched the back of his neck in distraction.  A mug was placed in front of him, and out of his peripheral vision, Harry saw Snape sit down.

"Potter, as decidedly less irritating that name is to what I originally imagined it to be, I fear the title may be misplaced and better suited for another person."

Harry looked up with a confused look on his face, trying to work out what the hell Snape had just said.

"I'm sorry, just got a little too immersed in the role." Harry lied, hoping Snape wouldn't notice.

"Potter, you can't lie at the best of times, don't bother now.  You've called me Dad here before." Snape sighed, getting some pancakes.

"While your presence this summer has been surprisingly tolerable, I am quite certain you can find more suitable persons to play the role of mentor and father figure to you than myself.  My position in the war leaves me in a rather precarious spot, and given your past experience with family and guardian members, I will not have you attaching yourself to another high risk individual without serious consideration."

Harry studied his plate and took a sip of his coffee, trying to blink his eyes clear from watering.  It certainly sounded like Snape didn't want him around, though he did say that Harry hadn't exactly been unwelcome for the summer.  Harry hadn't really thought it out specifically, but he realized, with the hollow feeling that had just appeared in his stomach, that Snape as a dad was exactly what he wanted. Snape was no-nonsense, strict, and strong.  And unlike Dumbledore or anyone else, Snape made it perfectly clear why Harry wasn't allowed to do certain things.   Harry thought back to the trip to Amsterdam, and working with Snape against Dennis Bishop.  He looked around the kitchen, at the little room he'd spent his time cleaning, doing the dishes, and eating real full sized meals.  The library with its books in several languages Harry didn't recognize, that had a couch he stretched out on in the evening while reading, and slightly warped wooden floors that warmed under his bare feet when the fire was lit.  Harry definitely wanted to stay here.

But did Snape want him to?  He did say ‘without careful consideration', which wasn't a no. And Snape had certainly cared for him when he'd showed up drunk, he'd stepped into the role of a dad when they needed to, and even when Harry had had nightmares, Snape had comforted him.  He'd also laughed at some of Harry's stupid comments, and definitely seemed pleased that Harry was learning to think before he spoke and acted.  And the man had nearly had a fit when the bee had stung Harry; he was even still working on a potion to cure the allergy.  Harry glanced up at Snape, who was mechanically cutting his pancakes into precise pieces, absolutely no emotion on his face whatsoever.

"You don't want to watch me die." Harry spoke to his glass, barely loud enough for Snape to hear.

The fork hovered over Snape's plate, the piece pancake dripping maple syrup very slowly.

"I do not." 

Harry put some food on his plate, though he felt anything but hungry at the moment.

"Dumbledore told you about the prophecy, didn't he?"  Harry asked, keeping his voice neutral.  He didn't expect Snape's small snort at the question.

"You have an interesting gift for irony, Potter."  Snape put his plate aside and drank some orange juice, ignoring the puzzled look on Harry's face.  "Yes, I know of the prophecy."

"That's why you don't want me, isn't it? Because you know he'll kill me."  Harry pushed the pancake around on his plate, feeling a bit sorry for himself.

"Don't play with your food." Snape admonished, exasperation in his voice. "He won't kill you, Potter. You're too damn resilient to die."

"I don't get it then, what are you saying? You don't want me to stay here?"

"Listen very carefully Potter, as I'll only say this once.  You're fifteen, and this is a choice you need to make as it will affect you for the rest of your life." Snape was looking at him intently, and Harry sat up straight in his seat, listening closely. Very few times had Harry been given final say in something important about his life.

"I do not mind you staying here. I believe you very much need a firm adult figure in your life to keep you in line and stop you from pulling the ridiculous stunts that take you to the infirmary at Hogwarts on a regular basis."  Snape nodded his head forward once, as if to cut off any arguments Harry may have had regarding that. Harry, however, remained silent.

"If I were to adopt you, however, it would only be..."

"Adopt?"  Harry interrupted, his voice rising with a bit of shock.

"I am not a quitter, Potter.  It would be permanent. I would raise you to be a responsible young man, no matter how long it took or how tempted I would be to throttle you."  Snape leaned back in his chair, inviting questions.

"I'm going to drive you to be a drinker, aren't I? You'll buy out the beer section at Sainsbury's."  Harry said with a slight grin, to cover his surprise.

"Please, Potter. If anything, you'd drive me to hard liquor." Snape rolled his eyes.

Harry smiled, but it was a nervous one.  He knew his answer already.

"I want to, sir. We'd have to keep very quiet, but I really want to live here."

Snape held up his hand though, to stop Harry.

 "Your godfather was murdered a month and a half ago, Potter. How would you handle another parent figure being injured right now? Or killed?"

"I don't know."  Harry huffed, trying to not get argumentative.  "But I would handle it."

"It appears we are at a stalemate," Snape said, standing to clear his dishes.  "As I do not agree.  At best, you'll inebriate yourself stupid."

"I only did that once."  Harry bristled.  "What good is it going to do to make me wait?"

Snape narrowed his eyebrows over his shoulder at Harry.  "You have a lot to consider, Potter, for once do not act like a Gryffindor."

"Sounds like you've thought this out a bit."  Harry said, pouring some syrup on his breakfast and pretending that they were not just discussing a real home for Harry.

"Some idiot put himself in a coma for four hours last week. I sat beside your bed, in a room with four other parents and two other sick dunderheads."  The sink filled with warm water and Harry started to eat his pancakes, biting back a laugh.

"You mean I've managed to worm my way into your heart a little? You actually care about me?"

Snape snorted and gave Harry a very dry response. 

"More like a parasitic infestation, but if you prefer the worm image, you may continue to employ that one."

"Lovely." Harry scrunched up his nose.

"Two weeks," Snape restated, sounding serious now.  "And I want you to actually think about it, Potter.  Think about who I am, what I have done, what I need to do.  You will not be able to tell anyone about the adoption while the war is on either, not even your two friends."

Snape managed to sound like a stern professor even as he was collecting crockery, which Harry watched with slight interest.  The pancakes were blueberry, and the fluffiest Harry had ever had. The box mix from the Dursleys had nothing on Snape's recipe.

"Alright, I'll think about it."  Harry agreed, dripping maple syrup on the table by accident.

"Two weeks."  Snape tipped the measuring bowl and spatulas into the water.

"Right, two weeks."  Harry said with a smile that was far from innocent.  "We'll talk about it after we get back from Dover."

"Who said you were going to Dover?"  Snape asked, wiping his hands on the tea towel hanging from the oven handle.

"I have to help you find the cave, don't I?" Harry replied, finishing off his pancake.  He could almost hear Snape swallowing.

"Do the damn dishes, Potter."  And with that, the professor swept out of the kitchen.  Harry didn't miss the tiny smirk on the man's face.

 ---

"Six cards, Potter. Keep four, and two for the crib."  Snape watched Harry clumsily shuffle the playing cards and deal them across the table.  On the counter a muggle radio tuned into a London station was playing a mixture of old Spanish music and lazy updates on world news.  Harry had thought the day had gone well, and after the breakfast speech on adoption Snape had corralled him to help sort books for the upcoming school year.  They'd acted as if nothing had been said earlier, though Harry had been distracted while in thought and thus found himself playing a counting game with Snape.

"What's this game called again? I'm rubbish at cards."  Harry screwed up his face as he studied the cards he'd dealt himself, trying to figure out the best four to keep in order to get the best points.

"Cribbage. And you're rubbish at math, which is why you're playing it right now."  Snape responded sternly, plucking two cards from his own hand and tossing them aside, next to Harry's glass of juice.  Harry finally chose his own two to add to the crib, and put them atop Snape's. As Harry dealt that round, Snape started first and put down a nine.

"Fifteen for two."  Harry replied, putting down a six he had in his hand.  He moved his marker up two spots on the cribbage board, feeling triumphant.  "They don't teach math at Hogwarts."

"Twenty four. That is no excuse."  Snape put a nine on his original nine and waited for Harry to play.

"It's a go." Harry replied, looking annoyed.

"Really?"  Snape asked, his smile predatory. He laid a seven down and took two points on the board. "Thirty one for two."

"Why do you play the game then?" Harry started with a ten, hoping that Snape didn't have a five as his remaining card.

"Eighteen." Snape let his eight drop and responded with sarcasm.  "To keep up my math skills."

"Ha ha. Twenty eight, and one for my last."  Harry moved the point with his marker, not even bothering to be annoyed that Snape was winning.  He expected to be thoroughly trounced.

Snape laid his cards out and drummed his fingers on the table.  Harry looked at his four and gave a small groan.

"Indeed, Potter."  Snape counted out his points and Harry watched as his marker went further and further up the board. Really, he'd be lucky if he didn't get skunked this round.  The game was interrupted by a phone call however, which Snape rose to answer. 

"Snape." It was said in a monotonous voice, and sounded like the person better know exactly why they were calling and make it quick.

"No, no other reactions."   Snape leaned back against the counter and listened intently into the phone, pausing to give one-word answers here and there.  Harry pretended not to be listening in, and instead arranged his pathetic four cards into as many points as he could see.  Finally, after ten minutes talking, Snape came back to the table.

"What other subjects are you floundering miserably in?"  Snape asked, nodding at Harry's measly six points before taking the cards to shuffle them.

"What? Weren't you just talking about me on the phone?"  Harry asked, a bit bewildered by the complete avoidance of the phone call.

"I was talking about chemistry. Answer the question."

"Divination and potions."  Harry said with a smirk, throwing two cards to Snape's crib.

"If you were excelling at divination, I would be concerned."  Snape admonished, playing an eight against Harry's opening nine.  "As for potions, once you have completed your summer assignment, perhaps you should practice in the lab."

Harry played a seven. "Twenty three. And I can't get to your lab, it's in the warded cellar, remember?"

"Twenty four." Snape tsked as he corrected Harry's count, moving his marker on the board. "And I'll take three points for the run you missed."

"Argh.  When can I go to Diagon Alley? I need to get next year's books." Harry played a four and hoped Snape didn't have any low cards.

"Later.  And you will not be allowed in the lab until you get there yourself, so I suggest you get to work on those wards."

"I'm a little reluctant, since the last time one of the wards turned me purple for three hours.  Where'd you get this board?"  Harry asked, running his finger along the side of the worn wooden score board and concentrating on adding his hand up, trying to find as many counts to fifteen as he could get.

"My grandmother."  Snape answered, moving his piece way up the board as he counted his hand and crib.  He was only sixteen points from 121, and Harry wasn't even over the skunk line yet.

"The Russian one?"

"The British." 

Harry nodded and concentrated on his hand.  Outside, laughter sounded from a group of kids running in the small alley between the houses.  Harry watched with a guarded expression as Snape laid out his hand, and plucked his marker gleefully from the board, jumping it to the end spot.

"Skunked.  We'll play again tomorrow."  Snape smirked, dumping the pieces off the board to put them back in the little notch on the underside.

Harry yawned and stuffed the cards back in the box, shrugging his shoulders.

"Okay.  I'm going for a shower." 

Snape waved him off and Harry shuffled out towards the stairs, thinking that this was the kind of home life he wanted.

"Potter."  Snape called in an amused tone, causing Harry to pause at the library door.  "Have you finished with those books that you're hiding under your bed? I know The Bent Broomstick has some interesting pictures, but if you have any questions I prefer you do come and ask."

"Good night, Professor." Harry cut off sternly, not turning around to prevent Snape from seeing him blush as he fled through the door.

--

Harry lay with his still wet hair on the bed in his room, listening to the neighbours across the garden laughing and jeering at each other.  Warm summer nights in Stockport seemed to bring out the booze and laughter late into the dark, but Harry didn't mind.  He felt rather warm and lazy, his body relaxed from the evening shower and his brain rather calm as he chose his daydream for the evening before nodding off. Harry thought of the little kitchen and the library downstairs, and what it would be like if they were slightly decorated for Christmas time.  He heard Snape walk down the hall and enter the bathroom to prepare for bed, and thought about running downstairs in the morning, one foot socked and the other bare, to see what gifts would be under the tree.

Water ran from the sink in the washroom and Harry smiled at the thought of having a full English breakfast made in the kitchen, perhaps in his dream the kitchen would be renovated, and it would be him for a change making the breakfast, moving around with fluid grace in the kitchen, flicking open cupboard doors and drawers like he owned -

Bloody buggering hell.  Harry sat up in bed, shivering a little when the blanket left his shoulder bare.  The drawer handle in the kitchen had been broken and Harry had repaired it.  Even though Snape had admonished him about the decree, no letter from the ministry had come.  Harry didn't think Snape would put wards on his house to prevent Harry from doing magic all together, as he'd previously stated that in the real world, Harry needed whatever advantage he could get.

Harry lay back down, ignoring the cold dampness on his pillow.  Snape had sat in this very bed, shooting down flies with his wand one summer when he was a kid; Harry had seen it in the man's memories. He looked to be about fourteen at the time, so not old enough to use magic outside of school. Was it the house that prevented the ministry from learning of the magic? Harry scratched his head absently and then his eyes opened wider to match the grin on his face. 

Hermione had used magic outside of school as a twelve year old, repairing Harry's glasses in Diagon Alley, where tonnes of wizards and witches could see them. No letter had come for her.  And Ron had told them, rather reluctantly, about when his brothers had changed his teddy bear for a spider.  Harry was certain that as a ministry employee, Mr. Weasley would have been admonished by the ministry, but Ron had not mentioned once a letter coming, and it was something he would have shared if only for justice against his brothers.

Harry allowed himself a very sly grin as he drifted off while planning his attack.  Tomorrow he would destroy the wards and pick the lock to the cellar.

--

There was nothing to hide in the cellar except Snape's fully stocked, and therefore dangerous, potions lab.  Two incomplete sets of outdated encyclopaedias, an impressive collection of records, and an old red tricycle that Snape hadn't touched since he was five also littered the dark corners of the large room, with a few other boxes filled with things Snape had long forgotten about.  Even so, he didn't even think Potter was stupid enough to enter his lab without him, as Potter had seen enough explosions at school to know what dangers lay there.

Nonetheless, he'd locked and warded the cellar door to make the boy think.  The Headmaster had mentioned a few years ago about Harry almost being sorted into Slytherin, and Snape thought it was well past the time that those skills were tapped into.  In a war like this, those skills would be useful.

He therefore bit back a little smile as a disgruntled Harry flung open the cellar door and walked down the steep wooden stairs towards Snape and the lab, a full week earlier than Snape had thought it would take Harry.  Hopefully the boy noticed the loose fifth step - Snape shook his head as he heard Harry stumble, grabbing onto the wall and railing for all he was worth and managing to keep himself upright as he slid down the last few stairs to the bottom and landed with surprised flourish that he'd managed to stay on his feet.

"Bloody menace."  Snape grumbled, grinding up doxy wings in an old cast iron mortar.

"I made it."  Harry announced with a silly grin.  "Now you have to teach me some spying tricks."

"Lesson one is to pay attention to old stairs, lest you announce the presence of twelve drunken hippogriffs entering the room." Snape dryly responded, keeping continual even twists of the pestle as he spoke.  The cellar was a moderate temperature, but Snape was wearing an old long sleeved blue shirt that had some stain splotches on the front and a few tiny holes by the top right shoulder where some caustic ingredient had splashed upwards.  His sleeves were rolled up, and his forearm muscles flexed as he ground the doxy wings, giving Harry a very clear idea as to how Snape had such strong arms.

"Lesson two," Snape continued, scraping out the mortar into a simmering cauldron nearby. "Is that my rule is above the ministry. They might not be able to tell who does magic here or be able to limit it, but rest assured, I can."   Snape levelled Harry a Look, which meant there would be hell to pay if Harry took advantage of that loophole in the underage decree.

Harry had just barely nodded when Snape pointed at a brand new muggle note pad that was sitting at the edge of the workbench.

"Third lesson.  I want you to dissect your friends."   Snape pulled down a jar of pine resin and placed it next to a tiny cauldron.

"Like, literally dissect?"  Harry asked, his eyes a bit wider than normal.

"Figuratively. Honestly, Potter."  Snape shook his head and spelled a measure of resin out of the jar and into the cauldron.  "I want a list of your friends and all of their attributes, with extra focus on the negatives and how each friend is a potential danger to you."

"Sounds rather paranoid."  Harry commented, checking out the line up of ingredients on the workbench. It looked like Snape was fine-tuning the bee allergy potion, though where he'd gotten the vial of Harry's blood remained unspoken, and he'd rather actually not know.

"The more thorough you are, the less room for surprises." Snape replied, shooing Harry over to a desk in the corner, with the explanation that he would be checking this assignment the next day on their outing.  Harry grinned to himself while he worked, trying not to appear too happy or smug about his upcoming trip to Dover.

--

Harry leaned over the sink in the bathroom, searching through the cabinet for a fresh bar of soap. The potion took care of any stubble Harry might have on his chin, but it was always nice to be freshly shaved, especially when going out.  Even though Snape had told him he'd have to de-age again for this trip, there was a chance of going out to London after at his regular age to do some exploring.

Fifteen minutes later Harry came downstairs, dressed in nice jeans and his favourite blue dress shirt.  It had been the first shirt that Harry had enlarged from his child wardrobe, and he figured it would transform back with little problem. 

Snape gave him a quick onceover before nodding. "You need a tie." 

"No I don't, it's summer and I'll be six years old."  Harry said, shoving his hands in his pockets and not taking a step anywhere.  He wasn't dressed in a t-shirt, and didn't see the need to go much more formal than he was.

"Besides, you're not wearing one either."  Harry said, looking smug in his observation.  Snape, of course, was wearing his regular black muggle outfit of dark trousers, a cream coloured dress shirt, and black knit jumper.  

"I am dressed properly, with my shirt tucked in. A skill you seem to have not picked up yet."  Snape's tone hadn't crossed over into his Obey or Else voice, but Harry knew it was close.

"Fine." Harry grumbled, pulling a tie out of his back pocket. He'd stuck it in there anticipating that Snape might have brought it up.  Harry draped the tie over his head and let it fall loosely, without tightening it up.  Looking down, he was quite pleased with how casual he looked.

Snape clicked his tongue in irritation and moved forward, hands reaching the tie in one swift motion. Harry tried to jerk back, but Snape held him still.

"Don't move, unless you want to be strangled." Snape warned, buttoning up the top of Harry's shirt and adjusting the tie properly.  "You may leave the shirt untucked, but the tie stays.  As long as you're..."

"I know, I know." Harry cut him off, rolling his eyes dramatically. "As long as I'm under your power, I do as you say."

"And I will not have some sloppy boy out with me in public." Snape confirmed, releasing Harry and moving toward the front door.   He summoned a knit pullover for Harry and handed it over, along with a small potion bottle.

"Why do I have to dress up, anyway?  You were fine with me wearing polo shirts and shorts in Amsterdam."

Snape crossed his arms as Harry put the bottle to his lips.

"I've heard that women find men with small children to be irresistible. I plan to test that theory today."   Snape replied, making sure Harry didn't spit any potion out.

Harry made a face that had very little to do with the taste of the potion, and then started to shrink.   Snape had a bizarre sense of humour and Harry still had trouble telling if he was joking sometimes or not.

--

The boat ride was a forty-five minute jaunt in a long blue boat that was lined with hard wooden benches and a glassed in seating area at the back.  It was not unlike the tour boat of the canals in Amsterdam, however Harry discovered in short order that the English Channel was a much rougher journey than smaller canals, and was soon feeling rather seasick.  While the other kids on the boat tour were bouncing around in the uncovered area in the middle of the boat, shrieking as they hit waves and splashed water up the sides, Harry sat on a bench in the corner of the enclosed area, waiting while Snape rummaged in the rucksack he'd brought for something.

"How you manage to not get motion sick on a broomstick is beyond me."  Snape pointed out without any malice in his voice as he gave Harry a small pastille to eat, which smelled strongly of ginger. 

Harry took it gratefully and kept his mouth shut as he chewed the tablet and willed the medicine to kick in immediately.   He didn't think Snape would be annoyed if he threw up, after all motion sickness wasn't something one could help, but Harry didn't want to test Snape's patience.

The cliffs came into view and Snape stood, picking Harry up and carrying him toward the open-air seats.  He'd explained to Harry earlier what they'd be looking for, to see what kind of cave Voldemort might have chosen, and Harry knew they'd have to sit close to the edge of the boat in order for Snape to get a proper look.  He just wished the damn boat would stop knocking against the waves so hard, and the other kids around him would stop yelling so loud.

Harry didn't expect Snape to sit down and keep Harry held against his chest though, his head tucked in and resting on Snape's shoulder and strong arms holding him tight.  Snape started rubbing small circles on Harry's back as he looked around at the cliffs, speaking softly in a rumbling tone that vibrated through Harry in a bizarrely comfortable way.

"Breathe in the salt air, Elliot. Your stomach is fine and calming down."

And Harry actually felt that it was.  He left himself completely relax, slouching shamelessly against Snape and closing his eyes.  He would not think about being sick.

"Tell me about your friends."  Snape was still cataloguing the large expanse of jagged white rock that lay ahead of them, his voice only loud enough for Harry to hear.

"Uhm.  Well Ron and Hermione are my best friends, which you know."

Snape nodded, and his fine black hair tickled Harry's nose momentarily.

"Ron was my first school age friend, I met him on the Hogwarts Express.  He's a really loyal friend, and his whole family are really generous, even though they don't have much.  He's not as smart as Hermione, and sometimes he says really stupid things before thinking.  But he always backs me up."

Harry moved his arms, which were previously slung loosely around Snape's neck, down in between his chest and Snape's to warm them up.  The air wasn't cold, but the water it carried made his skin damp and a bit clammy.

"Does he? I remember he seemed to take offense to your being chosen as the fourth triwizard champion."

"You noticed that? Yeah, I guess his jealousy can sometimes make us fight."   Harry closed his eyes and talked to Snape's neck. It'd be great if he could spend the rest of the boat ride in that exact same spot, without having to move. His stomach had finally stopped twisting with the crashing waves.

"Indeed.  Keep that in mind, as his jealousy will most likely drive him off again in the future. What have you made of Granger's attributes?"

"I don't think it will.  And Hermione is bloody brilliant.  I think she's the smartest in all my classes; actually I'm not sure why the hat didn't put her in Ravenclaw.  But if I ever need to find the answer to something, Hermione is always there to help research, and she can remember things better than anyone I know."

Snape harrumphed at that, and Harry looked up, a small grin on his face. "Except for you, sir. Your intelligence far surpasses even the combined IQs of all the professors at Cambridge University."

Harry received a light swat to the back of his head for that, but he could see by the glint of Snape's eyes that the man did like to receive praise, even exaggerated, for his studious nature. 

"Miss Granger is indeed above average, though her unyielding quest to know what is happening at all times may be detrimental to your personal life eventually."

"What do you mean?"

Snape suddenly stiffened, and Harry could hear him incant in Latin under his breath.  It sounded like a location spell, and Harry kept very still as Snape took an old fashioned compass out of his pocket, checking some bearings.   He tapped the top case of the compass, and Harry could barely see Snape's black wand edge peeking out from under the knit jumper sleeve.  Glittery numbers etched themselves into the case, and Harry figured they were co-ordinates.

"You found it?"

"I believe so."  Snape nodded towards an indistinct cropping of rock that looked the same to Harry as every other bit of coastline they'd passed so far.  There was a sudden jolt as the boat dropped down a particularly strong wave, causing three kids around them to screech and laugh, and Harry to groan as he dropped his head back down onto Snape's shoulder.

"Just close your eyes." Snape said, managing to sound nonchalant even as his fingers were drumming in a steady pattern along Harry's back.

"Sorry I'm ruining your plans to pick up women."  Harry offered lightly, as the boat turned for its journey back towards the pier.

 "Nonsense, there are four staring at us right now."  The drumming increased slightly in pressure and Harry found himself getting sleepy.

"Ha ha. Funny joke."  Harry commented, pulling off his glasses.

"Joke? By the end of the boat ride I'll have them wanting me to take them to London, instead of you."  Snape pocketed the glasses, sounding smug.

"Whatever you say, Dad." Harry yawned, closing his eyes.  "You wouldn't leave me here."

Snape made no response, other than a small grunt as he shifted to admire the rough waters and jagged white edges of his homeland.