Harry didn't need the bucket during the night, but the next morning Harry swore that Snape had given him the worse hangover known to any creature.  He had awoken in a strange bedroom with a bone shattering headache and a whole new understanding on the concept of how the earth rotates on a daily basis.  Harry's head was imitating it perfectly.  The banging of whatever it was directly below the bedroom was definition not helping, but Harry strongly suspected Snape was well aware of that.

He was in a small single bed, and though the bed had a scratchy woolen blanket on top, the inner sheets and duvet were surprisingly comfortable. The walls were painted a dull shade of navy blue and Harry found it rather pleasing. A very strong colour, but not outlandishly bold. On the wall near the wardrobe Harry could see a faded pennant hanging by thumbtacks, an older Slytherin crest on it that Harry recognized from past generation student photos at school.  There was a small wooden desk near his bed, which Harry could see grooves worn in the front edge and ink stains on the top.  The wardrobe had been left open, and in it Harry could see a few black garments hanging. 

Harry heard a creaking noise from somewhere out in the hall, but ignored it in favour of the bed's comfort.  He dragged himself up to a sitting position and suddenly recognized both the bed and the room.  It had only been a three second flash he'd seen of it, but Harry definitely knew the room. This time, however, there was no bored teenager sitting on the bed, and no flies being shot down from the ceiling. Instead the fully-grown version of Snape was now standing in the doorway, wearing his normal black pants and suit, minus the teaching robes.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter."  Snape announced in a cold and yet amused tone.  His lips twitched slightly when he saw Harry flinch.

"Wonderful summer day outside, sun shining, birds chirping, as you can see."  Snape continued, waving his wand so that the blinds swung open and sunlight poured in. 

Harry groaned and flopped back down, pulling the covers up over his head.  He wished with all his coherent thoughts that Snape would vaporize in the sunlight, but Harry knew he wouldn't. And Harry was pretty certain that he knew now what the voice of death was. Snape's.

"Get out of bed, Potter." Snape growled, moving closer to Harry.

Harry held tight to the blankets covering him, and noticed a familiar smell. Sage, evergreen, and another sharp potion ingredient that he could not identify.  The blanket was snatched away and Harry clamped his eyes shut.

"Is this your room, sir?"  He mumbled out, feeling Snape's presence much too close for comfort.

"Get. Up. Potter."  Snape grounded out, ignoring Harry's question.   Snape's wand was suddenly pointed at Harry's face, and there was a slight snort as Harry nearly took his eye out jumping out of bed.

--

After dragging his feet to the bathroom again and spending a few minutes in limbo over whether he'd empty his stomach further or not, Harry gingerly descended down the stairs.  He had changed back into his clothes from yesterday, as he could not find his bag and didn't dare enter the other bedroom on the second floor. 

He found Snape sitting at the tiny kitchen table, reading the Prophet, and drinking a coffee.  There was a small plate at table waiting for him, with two pieces of toast, a fried egg, and a glass of juice.  Harry slid into the seat, wary of sitting too close to Snape.

"Eat." The man ordered, nodding to the food. "I daresay you expelled enough nutrients last night."

"I uh...sorry."  Harry mumbled, taking a bite of dry toast.   The egg look slightly greasy, which both appeased his stomach and disgusted his taste buds at the same time. Or was it the other way around - no, stomach definitely wanted the grease. His mouth, however, threatened mutiny if Harry dared eating something with that texture with his hangover.  Maybe just the toast today, it was the safer bet.

Harry took his time swallowing the toast, gulping down the juice to help with his dry mouth.  He stared around the small room they were in, a rectangular open area that looked as if it had been added on to the original house a long time ago.  In the daylight Snape's kitchen didn't look much better than it had the night before - worn and as if it had lost its cheer a decade earlier. The cream coloured cabinets looked like they could use a good scrubbing, and Harry noticed cobwebs in the corner of the spotted window. And was that -

"Potter, what on earth has you so fascinated by my kitchen?"

Harry gulped and blurted the first thing that came to his mind. "Your drawer handle is broken." 

"What of it?" Snape growled, leaning closer to Harry and narrowing his eyes.

"Why haven't you fixed it yet? You're a perfectionist.  And why is the rest of the house so out of date? It's like you want to keep this place dreary and crummy."

Harry clamped his hand over his mouth, but he knew instantly that it was too late to save himself from his Professor's ire.  Stupid hangover.  A hand shot out and suddenly Harry felt pain in his lower ear, where Snape finger had an extremely tight grip.

"Watch it, Potter, you have already worn my patience thin."

"Ow! I didn't mean to say it, Professor!" Harry was wincing and turned his head to relieve some of the pressure on his ear.  Snape let go after a minute, and Harry rubbed his ear carefully.

"Spare me the lies, and just keep your mouth shut."  Snape returned to his paper, and pointedly ignored Harry.

"Don't worry, I'll wrap this up and be on my way."  Harry shot back, suddenly tired and annoyed with Snape.

"Stop being such a drama queen." Snape didn't look up, and so missed the gob smacked look that Harry was giving him.

"The headmaster will be firecalling at one, and then you may explain your brilliant plan to trek half way across England and drink yourself stupid."  Snape finished his coffee and stood up to put his mug in the sink.

Harry pushed the remnant of an egg around on his plate and refused to look up. Of all people, he had to have run into Snape on his weekend off.  And what the hell was Snape doing living so close to his mother's home anyway?  Harry checked his watch and realized that there were four and a half hours until Dumbledore was to call, four and a half hours that he'd be stuck spending with Snape.

"What am I going to be doing until then, sir?"  Harry asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.  "Homework?"

"Oh no, Potter."  Snape had a smirk on his face, and Harry's stomach dropped. That look was never good.

"Since you have such strong opinions of my kitchen, you can spend your time scrubbing the counter and cupboards.  And remember, this is my house you are in, Potter. No Gryffindors to come save you."   

Snape dropped a thick book on the kitchen table before sitting back down and seemed to smile at Harry's grimace as the sound reverberated in his head like a gong.  The echo was rather loud in the tiny kitchen, and Harry figured Snape was taking advantage of that.   Harry looked around the kitchen and stared at the old counters, the worn cupboards, and the one broken handle on the drawer that was making his eye twitch.  There was no microwave, toaster, or modern kettle, but the kitchen did have a proper oven. Harry suspected the oven had been there since Snape had been a child, by the looks of it.

The kitchen would not be hard to clean, and indeed it would be a challenge to see if Harry could get the counter to look a bit brighter. But that was not the point.

"I am not cleaning your kitchen."  Harry crossed his arms and sat back in the chair, glaring at his professor.  He wondered if he was still a bit drunk from last night, as the look Snape was giving him normally made Harry's heart jump to his throat.

"Oh really?"  Snape heavily pushed his chair back and the feet scraped along the floor, causing Harry to suck back a breath of air and shudder.  His head was pounding and he knew Snape planned to make him suffer.

"I don't believe you have a choice, Potter.  Fifteen years old, running away from home, dreadfully inebriated, completely disregarding the safety of your parent's sacrifice..."

"I didn't run away!" Harry spat, cringing at the volume.  Somehow he'd make Dudley pay for this - the headache was definitely not worth the joy of drinking Dudley always went on about.  "Aunt Petunia knew I was coming here." 

"Of course she did."  An eyebrow was raised and the sarcasm stung through Harry.  "And she knew you didn't have a place to stay when you got here?"

"She doesn't care."  Harry growled, trying to focus solely on Snape. He had a hard time verbally sparring with Snape in his best mind, never mind when he felt like he'd wandered through a desert all night while being chased by a hippogriff.

Snape scoffed at him.  "Potter, don't be stupid."

A bucket of warm soapy water appeared on the kitchen table next to Harry, and he pointedly ignored it.

"I'm not stupid. She gave me permission to come here, Snape."  Harry stalked up to the sink and took the glass that he'd used the night before, angrily filling it with water. Sod Snape, Harry was parched.

"Professor Snape to you.  And she bought you the beer too, didn't she?"  Snape sneered, sending the bucket to rest on the counter beside the sink.

"No." Harry laughed bitterly. "I bought it."  Harry then felt his whole face blush. He'd just admitted to Snape he'd broken the law. 

"Dammit." Harry cursed, refusing to turn away from the sink.

"Indeed. Which is why you'll be cleaning the kitchen, Potter." Snape said in a very low and dangerous voice.  A pair of cleaning gloves appeared out of nowhere and Snape slapped them on the table, causing Harry to jump. 

"Great, a bloody summer detention."  Harry mumbled, sloshing the water around as he grabbed the bucket.   Harry put the gloves on and reached in to the bucket to grab the sponge.  He squeezed it tight to wring the water out, pretending that it was Snape he was squeezing the hell out of.

Harry splashed a bit of water on the counter and set to scrubbing as Snape levitated the few dishes that were on the counter into the sink.  There was a large marble mortar and pestle, and Harry watched it float through the air to the table.  He had an immediate wish that the heavy marble bowl would crash to the ground, preferably over Snape's foot, and then felt inexplicably bad about that thought.  Snape had taken him in the night before after all, giving Harry a warm place to sleep off his stupid drunkenness. Not to mention the fact that the man had saved his life more times than Harry cared to count.

There was silence in the room as Harry scoured the cream coloured surface, willing away the dryness in his mouth.  The smell of the soap was not helping the slight nausea in Harry's stomach, but Harry was pleasantly surprised to find it was one he recognized. Regular Ajax cleaner, one he'd used plenty of times at the Dursleys.  Harry flexed his fingers as he worked, picking up the old rotary phone and wiping underneath there.  He put the phone back down and then picked up a small dish full of spare pence, sickles, and knuts.  There was a matchbook from a pub in Stockport in the bowl too, and a folded pizza takeaway menu stuffed between the bowl and the wall.  Harry smirked at that, wondering what sort of disgusting pizza Snape would like.  Probably something with anchovies and mushrooms or olives and fish. The idea of the Death Eaters ordering a bunch of pizzas for one of their meetings suddenly popped up in his head and Harry started snickering at the image, picturing a bunch of men in masks arguing over what toppings to order.

"Whatever depraved thought you're laughing at, I suggest you wipe it from your mind before I do," said a bored voice from behind Harry, startling him out of his thoughts.

Harry scowled and moved to start scrubbing the cupboards. "I can't laugh at something?"

Snape picked up his heavy British atlas and looked pointedly at Potter's back before holding his arms out to the side of the table and dropping the book. It hit the floor with a very heavy smack, causing Harry to jump and hiss at the sound.  He swore and splashed water over himself, something Snape could see when he'd angrily spun around.

"Too loud, Potter?"  Snape gave him a sardonic smile and banged open another book on the table. "I can't imagine why your head would be hurting at the moment."

Harry turned back to the kitchen cupboards and attacked them with fresh vigor.  "I think you honestly like to cause people pain."

"So say the rumours." Snape replied smoothly. "I personally consider it a bonus when teaching a lesson."

"What lesson?"  Harry scoffed. "It's the summer, sir."

"Yes, well, loath as I am to hope you'd learn anything for the summer, after your behaviour last night it appears that you need to learn about responsible drinking, Potter."

Snape opened another atlas and started to take notes.

"So, I'm cleaning your kitchen because I insulted it, and got drunk yesterday."  Harry moved onto the lower cabinets, fetching a fresh scrub pad for them.

 "Punishment for snooping around in my pensieve, as well, as Merlin knows I'll never hear an apology for that." Snape glowered, summoning him a broom for the floor.

Harry was smart enough not to comment on that little mishap, and the fact that Snape had launched a jar of cockroaches at his head at the time.

He wiped the dirty water from the lower cupboard doors, thinking about the situations he found himself ending up in.   Getting drunk the night before had definitely not solved anything, but Harry hadn't fully been sure what the actual purpose of drinking was.  Dudley had often boasted about how he and his friends couldn't remember a thing after their night of drinking, but Harry remembered his night well enough.

Too well, actually, and he cursed himself as a blush crept up his face.  Not only had Snape seen him drunk, Snape had also seen him throw his guts up, take an undignified shower, and pass out in bed.

Then again, Snape had been the one to make him throw up.

At least, however, being around Snape gave Harry a sense of grounding. For all his sarcasm and hateful remarks towards Harry, Snape had no pretense about telling him the exact truth about things, in as blunt way as possible.

Harry stood up to rinse his hands in the sink and had to clutch onto the counter quickly, as he'd stood too fast and felt close to fainting.  He kept his back to the table though, as he was sure Snape would comment sarcastically on how white his face was.  He heard a soft laugh anyway, and realized Snape knew. Snape always knew.

"Are you going to sit there and make my morning as horrible as possible?"  Harry muttered, running cold water over his hands and holding them up to his forehead.

Snape flicked his wand towards the dishes in the sink, making the glasses and ceramic plates rattle together in a remarkably annoying cacophony.

"You did this yourself, Potter. I am merely enhancing the effects."  Snape replied, his lips upturned in a satisfied sneer as Harry groaned.

--

"Why were you drunk last night, Mr. Potter?"  Snape asked half an hour later, thumbing through what looked to Harry as muggle tourist books for the London area.

Harry didn't answer, but instead swept harder.  The floor had dirt and dust hiding in the corners and grout, which Harry was stubbornly fighting to sweep out.  He was fine cleaning away the morning until Dumbledore called, as long as he didn't have to think too much. Unfortunately, Snape seemed to be in the mood for one-sided conversation, and Harry was his target.

"Felt like imitating Potter senior? He spent his summers getting drunk and fooling around too."  Snape had a sneer on his face, and Harry employed all his strength not to answer back.

"Or perhaps you just wanted to irritate me further."

Harry slammed the broom back down against he counter, but did not turn to look at Snape.

"I had no idea you lived here."  Harry gritted out, his head pounding from the hangover.

"You traveled over one hundred and fifty five miles to get here, Potter. Do not lie."

"I'm not! I thought you stayed in the dungeons all year." Harry spat out, not caring for using honorific titles anymore.

"Very imaginative."  Snape replied snidely. 

"I told you last night, I wanted to see Mum's house."   Harry jerked his gloves off and tossed them in the sink, glaring at Snape.

"They stopped living there long ago."  Snape replied, a hint of bitterness in his voice. He was standing now, and stalking closer to Harry.

"I know that."  Harry whipped his wand out and pointed it to the drawer handle that had been bothering him all morning. "Reparo! I just wanted to see what home is."

 "Potter." Snape growled, as Harry spun toward the door.  "Have you any regard for the Decree for Underage Magic?"

Harry shook his head angrily as he stomped through the library to the stairs. Snape flicked his wand and slammed the library door shut though, leaving Harry standing frustrated and seething.

"This is my house, Potter. You do not get to storm off whenever you throw a little temper tantrum."

Harry didn't turn around; instead he started counting in his mind to control his temper. Dumbledore would be calling in an hour, and then Harry could escape his git of a professor.

"Sorry sir." Harry finally said, turning around. "Want me to break the handle for you again?"

"You may think you're funny, Mr. Potter," Snape started, advancing toward him and making Harry wish he could rewind what his mouth had spouted, "but I refuse to put up with your attitude during my summer."

 Snape grabbed Harry's arm and marched him toward the stairs, flinging open the doorway. Pushing Harry upstairs, he pointed at the bedroom door and waited until Harry walked to it. 

"Stay in the room, do not make any sound, and do not touch a thing." 

He spun around and walked back down the stairs before Harry could say anything,

Entering the room, Harry sat on the bed and saw that Snape had returned his backpack to the room at some point that morning. He pulled out his photo album, and looked closely through the pictures.  He was staring at the backgrounds, looking to see if any of the places looked like Stockport. Three of the photos, ones of his mum and dad on their wedding day, were taken in front of a small red bricked house, a fresher version of the one he'd seen the day before.  So they had lived here at least until his parents had gotten married.  Had Snape been living here then too?

Five minutes later Harry was startled by a plate of sandwiches and a glass of orange juice popping into existence on the desk.  Harry grabbed the plate, feeling an odd mixture of guilt and pleasure when he noticed that the sandwiches were honey ham - his favourite.  But how did Snape know that? And where did the sandwiches come from?  Harry was almost one hundred percent sure that there were no house elves here.  Still, he was slightly hungry and the juice would be welcome to calm his stomach a bit further.

Harry stood up and walked slowly around the room, his socked feet not making much noise on the hardwood floor.  He felt a mixture of devious and dirty, slinking around in Snape's childhood bedroom, but the man had ordered him to stay there so he supposed that Snape didn't have much to hide in the room.

Opening the wardrobe, Harry found several of the same nightshirt that he'd worn the night before, all in different shades of grey.  There were a few dress shirts hanging there as well, mostly cream or white coloured ones.  An old set of school robes hung in the corner, the old fashioned Slytherin tie hanging loosely over the hanger. 

Harry pushed aside the clothing, finding several pairs of dress pants folded on the top drawer of the wardrobe, and a strange looking timepiece that seemed to have been thrown into the closet.

Above his head, on a shelf, Harry found a few knit jumpers in different neutral colours, including some blue and soft greens. There was one red one as well, and Harry noted that it was at the bottom of the pile.  Harry moved on to the desk, wondering if he'd find anything strange in there, or any hints that Snape had known his mother.

The first drawer held old pieces of parchment filled with small sketches of animals that Harry recognized from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.  Harry was slightly impressed with them; he'd never pictured Snape as having much artistic talent.  The second drawer was full of broken quills and old ink, as well as three stained blotters.

In the third drawer, Harry found a sketch of the park he'd ended up in last night.  Some of the trees looked younger, but it was definitely the same park, and the same hollow tree was the focus of this drawing.  At the bottom at the sketch was a signature in a very familiar spidery scrawl, and the title of the sketch. Lily's Place.

Harry felt his stomach flip, and he dropped the paper to the desk. It only made sense; Snape had known his father and the other Marauders, and his mum had stood up for Snape when his father was picking on him. 

He stared at the sketch again, noticing how much effort had been put in the work to make it look as realistic as possible. It was almost as if Snape had been to that little hide out many times before in his youth, had - wait, was that Snape's name that might have been carved under his mother's?  The name had been scratched out rather heavily, but Harry thought he'd seen an S at the start of it.  And Snape had been able to find Harry there last night, even though he was well hidden in the park. Maybe there was something there that alerted Snape that someone was in the little hide out. 

Harry picked up the paper again as he remembered the image of Snape's parents arguing in this very house.  The tree hollow was a hide out. Harry remembered that definition version well enough. Home, a place of origin or refuge. 

Harry was suddenly brought out of his thoughts by a noise downstairs, the roar of fire flushing in the hearth in the library. He placed the sketch carefully between the pages of his photo album, before sticking that in his bag.  Harry put the bag on, and slipped his shoes on as well. He crept down the stairs, wincing at the sound of the creaks of the old wood.  Harry had spotted the floo powder in an old dusty bag on the mantel earlier, and when Dumbledore wasn't looking, planned to floo out to wherever he was.  Harry hoped the floo worked that way, he'd never heard of someone jumping through a fire call before.

The door to the library was partially closed, and so Harry waited outside, trying to keep his breathing as quiet as possible.  Snape was talking to Dumbledore, and Harry was suddenly very curious to the subject of the conversation.

--

"I have arranged for you to meet Amy Benson on Tuesday. I trust you read her profile?"

Snape sounded very suspicious as he answered hesitantly. "Yes, of course."

"She is expecting you to question her, and from past experience I have found she is somewhat reluctant to discuss what happened all those years ago.  We cannot, unfortunately, use magic around her."

Dumbledore was sipping his drink and sitting back against the settee, his mauve robes clashing horridly with the material of the couch.

"Some sort of monitoring spell?"  Snape had his own coffee that was slowly going cold.

"I believe so. I am not sure how often he checks it, however, as he seems to think that his plans are too grand for others to unravel."

Snape looked at his mentor with a questioning eyebrow.  "He has no idea that you know about that incident?"

"His subconscious probably realizes the possibility is great, however we both may agree that Voldemort stopped listening to either conscious many years ago."  Dumbledore offered a smile and took another sip.

"Touché." Snape murmured, staring into the fire.  He absentmindedly rubbed his left arm.  "You've spoken to Amy Benson before?"

"Ah, yes I have.  I daresay she was taken aback slightly by my appearance, and very unsettled to see me. If I might offer a suggestion?"  Dumbledore sat up taller against the couch and his eyes twinkled.

Snape crossed his arms slowly. Suggestions from the headmaster never worked out in his favour.

"Your kitchen looks rather bright today, Severus. I always figured a bit of elbow grease would restore the house to your standards."  Dumbledore veered drastically off topic, but Snape was well practiced in this and merely waited. Sure enough, after a moment of the older man inspecting the kitchen from where he sat, the suggestion came.

"Ms Benson has been very hesitant to share any information. She has several grandchildren, and as some muggles are fond of saying, the truth always comes out of the mouths of drunks and children. Perhaps if you were to bring along a youngster of your own..."

 "Absolutely not."  The glare that Snape had leveled at Dumbledore was one of his best, used for when one of his fellow Death Eaters made a remarkably stupid suggestion at a meeting.  Dumbledore didn't even flinch.

"You need to go as a muggle, Severus, and considering her background, it would be easier for you to know her better if you had a six year old son."  Dumbledore's eyes were downright sparkling, but Snape barely noticed it as he clutched his armchair in a death grip.

"If you have been poisoned, Headmaster, I must insist you inform me immediately so I may prepare an antidote against the delusions you are suffering."  Snape deadpanned, giving Dumbledore a look that told him to drop that foolish idea immediately.

Dumbledore merely chuckled and took another drink.  Snape fought the urge to growl.

"Speaking of the boy, it seems Mr. Potter's relatives have taken a vacation for a few days."  Snape was sitting straight in his chair, watching for Dumbledore's reaction.  He idly noted that though Dumbledore had arrived ten minutes ago, he had not asked once to see Harry.

"Have they now? Usually Petunia leaves him with Arabella when they go out."  Dumbledore appeared to be in thought.  Snape took in the information, but did not ask further as to why this was the case.

"This time, Petunia left him without a key to the house, until Monday. A misunderstanding, I'm sure."  Snape normally kept his sarcasm at a lower level when speaking with the headmaster, but today was a good day and it was just rolling off his tongue fluidly.

"Of course, just an accident.  But thank you for taking him in for the night, Severus, I'm sure you can drop him back off at Privet drive on your way to the airport on Monday."  Dumbledore finished his drink and looked like he was about to stand.

"Headmaster? Could he not go to the Burrow for the rest of the weekend?"  Snape was keeping his temper in check for the moment, but his weekend had definitely not started out on the right foot.

"I do not have time for the Dursleys at the moment, Severus.  And the Weasleys cannot take Harry right now."   Dumbledore sounded tired now.

"Grimmauld Place?"  Snape asked, exhaling a breath.

"No one is there. Eventually Harry can go to the Burrow, but not now. It's too dangerous to the Weasleys."  Dumbledore pulled a biscuit from his pocket, one dipped in thick chocolate.

"Just take him for the weekend, Severus. It's only temporary, he'll be fine here."

Snape regarded the headmaster for a moment, watching as Dumbledore checked some sort of list he'd pulled from his pocket.  His anger deflated as he thought about the headmaster's comments.  Not even the brat, who was eavesdropping out in the hall, could read into those words any other way.

"If you keep pawning the boy off, Albus, one day he won't play your game anymore."  Snape spoke softly, but his voice carried across the room.

Out in the hallway, Harry sunk to sit on the bottom step on the stairs. He knew he shouldn't have eavesdropped, as he was likely hear something he didn't want to. And while he didn't want to hear it, Harry felt a bizarre sense of painful closure in overhearing the headmaster trying to shuffle him around like a chess piece.  It seemed that even though Dumbledore knew both Snape and his family hated him, Harry was being forced upon them.

Like a burden.

"No one wants me." Harry whispered to himself. Somehow he felt a bit freer, albeit lonelier, to admit that to himself.  He knew now where he stood with his friends and the headmaster.  They liked Harry, but Harry was too dangerous to have around.  The Boy Who Lived couldn't deny that. And Snape...Snape had never made his disdain secret.

Snape heard a telltale creak from the corner of the room where the door was, and figured it was time to bring the boy in.  He sat back in his chair and whipped open the stairway door with his wand.  "Potter! Get in here."

Harry walked in with a blush on his face, standing close to the window by the kitchen.  He politely greeted the headmaster, but refused to look up from the floor.

"Mr. Potter, would you care to inform the headmaster of your little adventure from last night?" Snape sounded angry to Harry, but for once Harry felt uncertain that all the anger was directed solely at him.

"Professor Dumbledore." Harry greeted, eyeing Snape warily.  His bag was resting just outside the door, and Harry figured he wouldn't be able to jump through the fireplace, as the headmaster had actually stepped through and was sitting in the room.  He didn't want to any more, though. He just wanted to go back upstairs, to the room that wasn't his, to burrow himself in the blankets that weren't his either.

"Good afternoon, Harry!"  The headmaster sounded cheery, but Harry saw fatigue in the old blue eyes.  "Professor Snape tells me you decided to have a weekend out?"  He was smiling happily, as if trying to convince Harry all was fine.

"You could say that, sir."  Harry replied in a monotone, ignoring Snape's snort.

"And did the Dursleys know you were coming here, Harry?"  Dumbledore put his glass on the table, and Snape banished it to the kitchen.

"Well not to Professor Snape's house, no. But Aunt Petunia gave me permission to spend the weekend away."  Harry shifted his feet slightly, it wasn't exactly a lie.

"I suppose she would be surprised if you told her you were coming here." He winked.

"Not as surprised as I was." Harry muttered.

"Potter."  It was a one-word warning, and Harry glanced to Snape to see how irked the potions master was at him that particular moment.  Not too bad, Harry had definitely seen worse.

"Anyway Professor, just a little mix up.  Professor Snape has been very kind to host me for the night and I'll just be returning home this evening."

If Dumbledore wasn't suspicious about Harry's agreeable tone, Snape certainly was.  His dark black eyes remained trained on Harry, watching Harry's fingers lightly fluttering against the side of his jeans.

Snape knew Harry was lying about something, and Harry just hoped he wouldn't say anything. He'd rather not have to discuss his feelings with Dumbledore, as the man had put him through a lot last year, and kept quite a bit from Harry as well, leaving Harry to fend for himself.  He was reluctant to suddenly trust Dumbledore with everything again, even after their destructive talk in the headmaster's office.  

"As Professor Dumbledore said, Potter, which I'm sure you heard through the door, you'll go back on Monday."  The words were in an even tone, and Harry heard the rest of the unspoken ones. Snape would not let Harry go home alone.  Regardless of how much he hated Harry, Snape would do what Dumbledore had ordered.

Once again, someone was being forced to take him in.  Looking between Dumbledore and Snape, Harry finally nodded.

"Yes sir."

Dumbledore clapped his hands and stood up to face the fireplace.

"Good to hear you're in agreement.  If you have any trouble at the Dursley's, Severus, you may wish to consider the other option."

"What trouble?"  Snape asked, looking between Harry and Dumbledore. Harry looked embarrassed, and Dumbledore ignored the question.

"You haven't forgotten what Petunia was like, have you Severus?"  Dumbledore smiled, and Harry looked at him warily.

"I have not, and there is no other option."  Snape stood and summoned the small bag of floo powder from the mantle, handing it to Dumbledore.

"Just as well, my boy. I shall bring the potion by on Sunday when I call again," Dumbledore said as he pinched some powder.  Harry's eyes snapped up to watch, as he'd never in his life imagined Snape being called ‘my boy.' 

"That is not necessary, Headmaster. It will not be needed." Snape was vehement on this, and Harry figured the potion was something about the youngster for Snape's task.

Dumbledore merely smiled and threw some powder into the fireplace. Harry could still see a hint of amusement in the old man's eyes as he stepped through.  Snape, meanwhile, had an eyebrow twitch going on that not even Harry had managed to cause before.

"I'll just..."  Harry started, but snapped his mouth shut at the look he received.

"Dinner will be at five. Stay in your room until then."  Snape stormed out of the library and into the office next door, shutting the door with a bang.

Harry filled himself another glass of water from the kitchen, thankful that he could go upstairs and take a nap. As he walked through the library to the stairs, he grinned to himself at Snape's slip of tongue.  Go to his room.   The man must be mad.