Harry's OWL results arrived the day after, delivered by a crotchety black owl who looked official and professional.  The owl begrudgingly accepted a few bits of bacon as payment, dropping the official parchment to the kitchen windowsill before taking off again in the early morning haze, over the tiny garden and slanted roofs of the terrace houses behind theirs.

Having spent an hour looking at the parchment and trying to distract himself from its implications, Harry had finally given in and opened it after Snape had threatened to send him to the cellar to skin flobberworms.  The results had taken Harry by surprise, a pleasant one nonetheless, but his stomach had also lurched at the potions grade.  He knew that Snape only accepted students with an outstanding, and he also knew that there was no way in hell he'd ask Snape for a special favour.

So being an auror was out.

Harry didn't quite know what to feel about that, as Professor McGonagall had vehemently argued for him to successfully become one the year before, but after the mishap at the Ministry, Harry had some serious doubts about his abilities in that field.  He'd felt high strung and jittery just before going to save Sirius, his nerves tingling as all senses were attuned for danger. It was not a stress that Harry wanted to deal with on a daily basis.

At least Snape had been rather decent about his marks, even begrudgingly congratulating Harry on the potions mark. It sounded pained from Snape's lips, but Harry could tell that Snape was marginally impressed that he'd managed an E.  Harry figured he'd done damn well, considering the environment he studied in, but figured it was best for his personal safety not to mention that little tidbit.

So he sat on the settee in the library room, idly flipping between his textbook and an old book of British family crests.  It was rather sunny outside, but Harry didn't feel like going out.   Now that he'd gotten his scores he could actually sit down and consider the many careers available to him, but he had no idea what he wanted to do. It did seem that career choices in the wizarding world were largely populated by two groups - working for the ministry or working for Hogwarts, and Harry didn't really want to do either.  Harry had his doubts on whether he'd actually survive the war, but he figured he should probably have some sort of back up plan for once he graduated.

It was still two years off, however, so perhaps he could worry about defining a specific job later.  For now, it would probably just be best to write down a list of things he didn't want to do, and maybe ask Snape for his opinion.  Harry figured there was a fifty-fifty chance the professor would make fun of his choices, but he had spent enough of the summer with the man to know by now that most of it was just teasing.

A noise sounded from the corner of the library where the window was, and Harry watched with pure curiosity as Snape suddenly backed out of the cellar alcove, levitating a bulky old TV that looked like it had been purchased in the early 70's.  The TV was settled down near the entryway to the kitchen, and Snape plugged it experimentally into the wall, giving himself a small upward twitch of his lips when it worked.

"You watch TV?"  Harry couldn't help but ask, dropping his list on the couch and leaning forward as Snape summoned a coaxial cable from somewhere in the basement.

"They used to have weekday afternoon movies."  Snape replied, answering a completely different question that Harry had not even thought about.  Harry blinked a little as he watched Snape screw in the cord, and he tried again.

"What movie do you plan to watch?" 

Snape stood and moved toward the back kitchen door, and Harry followed, now even more curious.  He watched with fascination as Snape popped open the metallic wirebox that was shared between their house and the neighbour's and, while looking around bored, yanked out a handful of wires.

"Are you stealing cable?"  Harry asked, barely keeping back a grin.

"I am borrowing it."  Snape corrected, splicing a cable and adding theirs to it manually, as if he'd learned how to do that when he was too young to use magic outside of school.  Through the kitchen window Harry heard some sort of sitcom announce itself with a track of fake laughter.

"And we are going to watch Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I've had enough of your moping around the house over your grades.  If you want something to worry about, this will do."

"Worry about? I thought that was a kids movie."  Harry looked a bit uncertain but took his spot again on the couch.  "And I'm not moping. I just don't know what to do when I'm done school."

"Come now, you're a wizard, Potter.  Surely a boy who has ridden a thestral isn't afraid of small orange men and a demented chocolatier?"   Snape said with a light sneer, settling back into his favourite armchair and flexing his feet, cracking his toes.

"Not on your life."  Harry answered, crossing his arms strongly and glaring at his professor.

"We shall see."  Snape gave as a reply, summoning Harry's list from the couch as commercials went by on the TV.  "You no longer wish to be an auror?"

Harry coughed a little and looked at his own feet, scratching the back of his head absentmindedly.  The list was only a rough draft.

"No. Well, I can't now anyway. But I don't think I want to do anything with the war after it's over. No chasing bad wizards, no dealing with curses and hexes, nothing like that."

"For once you seem to be using your brain. I approve of this new development."  Snape gave a dramatic roll of his eyes, and Harry wrinkled his nose in mock displeasure.

"Thanks. I think it just what everyone expects, anyway.  The boy hero to become a world class auror."  Harry had no trouble making fun of that aspect of himself, as it was a part of his life that he hated.  Snape was giving him a strange look however, black calculating eyes narrowed and focused almost right through him.

"There is no boy hero here. There is no boy who lived, either. There is either Potter, or Elliot."  One short calloused finger was pointed at him, and Harry merely stared as something inside him clicked.  The movie started before he said anything though, and Harry decided to wait until later to voice his opinions.

Harry spent the rest of the movie looking between Snape and the television with a look of muted bewilderment, the problem of his future career completely gone from his mind as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on on the TV.

--

Harry heard the small chime in the library go off a few hours later and stood away from the fireplace, eying it like a hunter. The first time this had happened, on the first Thursday he'd spent at Spinner's End, Harry had been apparently obstructing the landing zone and had been bowled over by three heavy canvas bags.  Not wanting to repeat neither that particular oomph of having the wind knocked out of him, nor Snape's sarcastic comments upon finding him sprawled out on the floor, Harry had studied the timing and efficiency of the next three deliveries.  

A small fishing net had been placed in front of the fireplace, attached to the couch and Snape's favourite chair by magic.  Harry watched with glee as the three bags launched out, snapping into the net and colliding together.  He gave an immature "hah!" and pounced on his prize, struggling to get the bags out of the net.  It seemed every week that the elf that delivered the bags, a short and beefy runt who had half a beard, a blood red bandana and inexplicably went by the name of Twinky; aimed precisely for the stacked bookcase opposite from the fireplace.  The one with Snape's collection of old and expensive looking compasses, which Harry had yet to figure out how to bring into conversation. 

Harry was just standing over the bags, pulling the net off and half heartedly folding it when the fireplace whooshed again and a fourth bag hurtled out, thumping him squarely in the shoulder and knocking him arse over teakettle.  When he stopped swearing, one eye was covered with a hard plastic tag that Harry couldn't focus clearly on, and another spotted the mean smirk of Twinky in the fireplace. 

Harry angrily grabbed the tag in front of his face and scrambled to get up, managing not to trip on the drawstring of the bag under him. 

"Good afternoon, sir." Twinky said, without the slightest hint of respect in his voice.

Harry glared between him and the tag on the bag, which read "Potions Master S. Snape - Half Wit."

"My name," Harry growled, speaking slowly as if he was talking to toddler, "is Harry Potter. Not houseguest, not little runt, not half pint, and not half wit.  Harry. Potter. I have a...I am a full wit."

Twinky gave him a disapproving look-over and looked disdainful. "Twinky is generous on the half part."

Harry sucked in his breath and wondered just how mad Snape would be if he hexed the little tosser. 

The elf gave him a nasty little smile reminiscent of a garden gnome. "Is Master Snape wanting his bill today?"

"Hell if I know."  Harry growled, crossing his arms and glaring at the elf. He had yet to win a staring match.

"Twinky is not surprised you don't." Twinky said with a smug voice, his face flickering green in the fireplace. "I is seeing you next Thursday, Half Wit." 

Twinky managed to disappear from the fire just as Harry cast a jet of water at it, laughing as he went.    A voice from the corner of the room made Harry jump suddenly, holding his wand out and looking guilty.

"Well, well, Mr. Potter. I never knew you had such trouble with canvas sacks as well. I thought your deficiencies were merely restricted to terrycloth towels."

Harry felt like flinging one or two of the bags toward Snape, but he knew that was a bad idea for two reasons. Snape would definitely not be pleased, and his displeasure was normally expressed in menial labour, but primarily, Harry couldn't lift the bags that high to throw them.

"Only you would have laundry service with a firm of liberated, unbelievably rude and greedy house elves."

"I believe they prefer the term ‘capitalistic'."  Snape corrected, raising his eyebrow in a semi-smug way like he usually did in class when Harry was dead wrong.  "Though why you picked a fight with Twinky I'll never know."

"I don't like other people washing my clothes."  Harry grumbled, standing up straight and ignoring the teasing look on Snape's face.

"Indeed. So because famous Harry Potter doesn't want ex-house elves washing his smalls, he picks..."

"They're mine! I can wash my own clothing during the summer!"  Harry was inches away from stomping his foot like a toddler, if only the wooden floor wouldn't be so hard on his stocking feet. One foot had a thick athletic sock on, but the other had a thinner argyle one and would probably sting more.

"Not while you live here."  Snape replied with a slight twist of his head, and with his wand he flicked three of the bags upstairs.  The last one, full of Harry's clothes and labelled Half Wit, he left on the library floor.  "Put them away in your room, and stay out of trouble until dinner."

--

Harry was in the kitchen when Dumbledore knocked on the front door, clearing the table from dinner.  His punishment from going out in Amsterdam was long over, but as if an unspoken rule, Harry had continued cleaning up after dinner most evenings.

Snape had just welcomed the headmaster into the library room when Harry turned to grab the broom as the sink filled.

"Hello, Professor." Harry greeted, keeping his voice neutral. His eyes flicked down to the headmaster's hand involuntarily, which looked as shrivelled and black as the last time he'd seen it.

The sink filled and Harry stopped it just in time to prevent the bubbles from spilling over on the counter.  He listened as the headmaster discussed private lessons for him over the year, staring with unfocused eyes as he scooped the top layer of soap foam from the sink and dropped it in the trash, a habit of his since he was seven and learned that it made rinsing the plates faster.

"And congratulations on becoming quidditch captain." Dumbledore said with a smile, which Harry returned with a soft thank you, finally meeting Dumbledore's eyes.  The man looked older than when Harry had last seen him, either that or Harry was looking at him from a different viewpoint.  His beard was not as thick and white as it used to be, and even though his eyes were smiling, Harry could tell that they were somewhat troubled.  And yet, he still beamed at Harry, still spoke to him about stupid things like quidditch in his ‘everything is fine, the weather is fine, the war effort is fine, everything is just going grand' voice.

It made Harry want to take the glass in his hand and fling it against the wall, smash it into brittle miniscule pieces.  He wanted to destroy it, and then magic it back together, only to destroy it again.  Everything was not fine.  Harry imagined the glass being repaired each time with a small part missing, until it became weaker and weaker.  He stared at the glass as Snape called Dumbledore, feeling oddly in tune with it.

Snape and the headmaster went back into the library and they had a short discussion on the summer tasks and Harry's upcoming lessons.  Harry tried to not listen in, instead focusing on a daydream of going back to Amsterdam as he scrubbed the dinner glasses. He barely noticed the silencing spell that was cast as they moved on to discuss things Harry was not to know of. Harry figured it was probably regarding the meeting with Narcissa and Bellatrix, which made his face flush with anger.

He was sixteen, and supposed to be having the time of his life in a magical school in Britain.  All he felt, however, was that he was just a passenger on a rollercoaster.  The ride had officially begun with the very weekend Snape had rushed out to aid the headmaster with his cursed hand.  All those previous years had just been the building anticipation, waiting in line while the rollercoaster got closer and closer to loading them up from the station.

Harry slid Snape's favourite blue dinner plate in the water, taking care not to snag the chipped edge on the dishrag. He began to scrub the lasagne bits off, picturing hundreds of nervous people ready to board, at an amusement park.  Albus Dumbledore stood as the conductor and flicked the switch, starting the coaster down the rickety wooden track.  There was no turning back now, no matter how scary the ride was.  Other events had been set in motion already, cascading like dominos. Harry started on his own dish, a green one with tiny white flowers along the edge, scrubbing furiously.  Fortunately Snape had been able to avoid making a vow to kill the headmaster in place of Draco, but what other demands would be made before it was over?

"If you scrub any harder those flowers will come clean off the plate."  Snape's voice broke through the din hum of the overhead ceiling light, startling Harry.

"I'm not tall enough to ride." Harry blurted, still thinking about the rollercoaster war. 

"I...see."  Snape responded, sounding rather bemused.

Harry stared down at his water-wrinkled hands and pulled the plate out, blushing a little with his back still turned to Snape.

"You caught me off guard."

"Daydreaming?"  Snape asked lightly, pulling a tea towel off the oven rack and starting to dry the dishes.

"Er, a little."  Harry admitted, surprised that Snape didn't seem annoyed by his confession.

"Good."  Snape was fast at drying, even though he did things the muggle way, and did not explain his retort any further. It only served to confuse Harry, but he was tired and preferred the silence.

--

Harry woke up in a cold sweat, his t shirt clinging to his back and the blankets twisted around him. According to the clock on the desk beside him, it was twenty to two in the morning.   Harry shivered to himself and pulled the loose knit throw on the top of his bed around his shoulders, rubbing his arms gently and telling himself that the little orange men in his dreams were not real, and they were not there to steal Dumbledore from Harry. They were not. Not even by preserving him in a vat of colour change food dye for the newest Wonka candy.

After shaking his head to clear the images from his mind, and admonishing himself on the foolishness of believing his illogical dreams, Harry lay back down and tried to fall back asleep.  He gave up after ten minutes of tossing and turning; standing and wrapping himself in the blanket as he opened his door and walked down the hall to Snape's.

There was no light spilling out from under the door, and Harry had second thoughts about coming to wake Snape.  He'd probably just snap at Harry to go back to bed, but Harry couldn't shake the unease from the dream and he thought the risk might be worth a few minutes' talking until he could drift off again.  Lifting his blanket covered hand up, Harry knocked on the door.

No answer came from inside, and Harry wondered if Snape was either a heavy sleeper, or if he hadn't heard the knock. Or perhaps he had, and he was ignoring it.  Or maybe getting up and covering himself.  Harry stared at the door, wondering in polite etiquette how long one was supposed to wait before attempting to wake their professor in the middle of the night again over a bad dream.   Harry scoffed at himself as his second knock landed on the wood, and he decided to go back to bed and try to handle his dreams like a grown up.  He suddenly heard footsteps from the other side of the door, and stepped back a little when Snape opened it.

Snape was dressed in his nightgown only, no robe wrapped around him.  The gown was a deep red shade, almost wine red, and Harry blinked as he took in the unexpected colour.   Snape looked like he'd been woken from an uneasy sleep, and his normally straight hair was crooked at points from where he'd slept on it.  His dark eyes searched Harry's face to see what the problem was, and Harry felt more stupid than he had when he'd decided to go back to his room.

"I'm not six anymore."  Harry said by way of explanation, which only took Snape a moment to understand.  He reached out and put a hand on Harry's shoulder, pulling him into the bedroom and steering him toward the unmade bed; the only soft spot to sit in the room.

"I can't say the nightmares will go away." Snape answered in a flat tone, giving the straight truth like he usually did.  Snape was searching for something in the top drawer on his dresser, and Harry took the chance to look around the room.  It was painted in a brown colour, and the accents were done in simple earth tones. It was a very masculine bedroom, dark and made for relaxation.

Snape returned to the bedside with a jar, kneeling down and scooping out enough to cover two fingers.  He leaned forward and rubbed the cream briefly along Harry's forehead, and then spread a little more along the back of Harry's neck.  Harry blinked at the contact, and the strange cooling sensation of the cream settling in.

Snape stood up again and leaned against the wall, waiting to see if Harry would explain his dreams.   Harry chose to ask a completely unrelated question instead.

"Why do you want to adopt me? I don't imagine you'd be very popular if the news ever got out." Harry plucked at one of the loose threads on Snape's duvet, taking a deep breath and noticing the faint scent of fresh rain from some of the candles on the dresser.

"I imagine I'd receive a few howlers, yes.  Amongst the death eaters it would merely be considered icing on the cake."

"Yeah.  Not very popular with them, are you?"  Harry paused as he flicked a longer thread. "Do we have cake? I wouldn't mind cake."

"Focus, Potter." Snape rolled his eyes.  The cream was working faster than he'd remembered. "There is no cake."

"Maybe I'll make some.  But really, why do you want me?  No offense sir, but you've always kind of hated me."

"I did not ‘kind of' anything, Potter. Speak proper English.  And I have many reasons, most of which I will not justify."

"Because of my mother?"  Harry asked the question with barely a shrug, not seeming to notice how Snape's eyes snapped up at his perceptiveness.

"I haven't spoken to your mother in more than sixteen years."  Snape looked uncomfortable with the line of conversation, and Harry for once decided to tread lightly.

"She defended you though, against my dad. And the tree in the park, you knew her.  I would do it for that reason."  Harry yawned and sat forward, resting his head in his hands and his arms on his knees.

"Gryffindors."  Snape muttered.  "Perhaps I wish to stop you from letting your fame get to your head, with early bedtimes, lots of chores, and a one galleon per week allowance."

Harry looked up and gave Snape a sleepy mischievous look.

"Right. Otherwise I'd end up with a different girl on my arm every night, jewels and diamonds hanging off me, and my name on a star in Diagon Alley between Wendelin the Weird and Indiana Jones."

"Precisely."  Snape answered, checking his pocket watch and noticing Harry's eyes starting to shutter.

"Or maybe you're jut being selfish and want me around so that when you get older, someone will pay for you to go to a high-class nursing home.  Some place with senile wizards grumbling about the Queen of England, firing off random charms that change lamps into sockeye salmon, and demanding more instant pudding by the hour."  Harry's mouth seemed to still be perfectly awake, and he was rather amused at his own comments. Perhaps his sarcasm only came out when he was really relaxed.

Snape didn't seem nearly as amused as Harry was.

"Yes well, as unfamiliar as I am of this ‘instant pudding' you speak of, if you ever dare think of introducing me to one of said institutions, your demise will be newsworthy. And do bear in mind Potter, that you may judge both your popularity and my wrath by how long it takes for your body to be found."

Harry giggled and lifted his head up with a smile on his face.  "You've always struck me as the quiet and creative type."

Upon hearing the giggle, Snape stood straight and moved over to the bed, helping Harry stand up again.  He figured it would only take five minutes until the boy was fast asleep. Shuffling him to the door with one around his shoulders, Snape thought very carefully about what he was going to say next.  Harry would have much more restful dreams if he was in a good mood when he fell asleep, and considering the upsets that had been happening at Spinner's End in the week, Snape figured some praise might work well enough.

"Perhaps tomorrow we shall work on refining your occlumency skills."  Snape murmured, catching Harry's attention.

"Rubbish at that." Harry replied, his eyes closed as he trusted Snape completely and leaned on him during the walk back to his room.

"Hardly," Snape said, barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes.  He manoeuvred Harry to his own bed and pulled the throw blanket from Harry's shoulders.  "You've been studying occlumency since you've arrived here."

"No I've not."  Harry blinked, shoving his feet under the covers as Snape held up the duvet.

"The daydreams, Potter. You learned to do that, and I've not been able to access your mind for a few weeks.  The basis of occlumency."  Snape dropped the duvet up near Harry's chin, and checked that both Harry's wand and his glasses were on the desk.  There'd been a panicked morning in July when Harry had woken and thought he'd snapped his wand rolling over in his sleep, and Snape had no desire to revisit that series of events.

"Slytherin."  Harry yawned out with a smile on his face, proud he'd finally mastered occlumency. He knew he'd never be as good as Snape, but at least he could do it now.  Harry briefly wondered just what dreams Snape would have seen when he tested Harry, but decided that he was too relaxed to worry about them. 

Harry heard Snape move to the door after summoning a glass of water to sit beside Harry.

"Thanks, Dad."  Harry mumbled, not realising that Snape had paused at the sound, and then gone back to his own room in a slightly better mood.

--

Snape banged on the bedroom door at eight am to make sure Harry was up in time for his trip to Diagon Alley.  Though he'd be flooing directly to the Weasleys and returning straight after, the boy had been ridiculously excited to go shopping with his friends for the day.   He continued downstairs, spelling open the blinds and starting the stove in the kitchen, setting oatmeal to start cooking.  It was an overcast day, and Snape was of the belief that a good warm breakfast in the morning was a proper way to start the day.

Harry came bounding downstairs ten minutes later, hair sticking up on all ends, half a zippered jumper put on, his wand between his teeth and one sock on his foot.  Snape turned around with the pot, to fill the two bowls on the counter, and froze when he saw Harry. 

"You are sixteen years old, Potter.  Do you need to learn how to dress yourself again?"

"Mmfne."  Came the reply as Harry struggled to get the other sleeve of his jumper on, before taking the wand out of his mouth.  "I don't want to be late."

"Are you aware of the muggle saying ‘Do not run with scissors in your hand'?"  Snape asked, setting the bowls down and returning the retrieve the coffee.

"Yep. Aunt Petunia said it to Dudley all the time."  Harry grinned, in a great mood due to his trip.

"The same theory applies to holding one's wand in one's mouth."  Snape glared reprovingly before pulling his own wand out from his sleeve.

"Accio Potter's sock." 

Harry spun his head toward the library and waited thirty seconds before a bright blue sock came flying into the room.  He snatched it out of the air and put it on, looking up with a serious look on his face.  "How did you know which one I wanted?"

Snape, who did not dignify that with a response so early in the morning, merely pointed at the porridge and ignored the fact that Potter's socks never matched.

"Eat.   There's two galleons on the table if you want lunch out; you're not to let the Weasleys pay."

Harry nodded as he pocketed the coins and took a mouthful of cinnamon oatmeal.

"Yes, sir."

The rest of the meal passed in a blur and before Harry knew it (though he'd waited long enough), it was time to floo out.  Harry flashed Snape a grin, and paused before taking some powder from the bag on the mantel.

"Tonight's the two week deadline, right? For the adoption?"

Snape was trying to find a book on the shelf and turned to look at him, startled by the question.

"Yes."

Harry wasn't certain, but he thought he saw a brief flash of anticipation in Snape's eyes.

"Great, see ya then.  Have a nice day, Professor!"  Harry called, his smile causing dimples in his cheeks as he stepped into the green flames and headed out for a day on the town.