Harry sat on his bed, his head spinning. It was all happening too fast. Snape, the man he hated more than he’d ever hated anyone, was being decent to him. Too decent. It didn’t make any sense. As Harry stared at the pile of new clothing stacked on the desk—trousers and dress shirts, T-shirts and polo shirts, jeans, sweaters, socks and underwear, pyjamas, two belts, a tie, shorts and a set of swim trunks, a lightweight jacket—not to mention the two new pairs of shoes—one pair of dress shoes and one pair of athletic shoes—an ugly suspicion crept into his mind. People didn’t do things for nothing, and certainly not Snape of all people. Snape, who couldn’t stand him. Snape, who never missed an opportunity to criticize him, chastise him, humiliate him, punish him. What did Snape expect in return? What would these new clothes cost him?

Harry’s stomach turned over at the thought. He couldn’t accept the clothing. Wouldn’t accept it. But as he stared at the heap of expensive fabrics, feeling revolted by their very presence, he realized that Snape would never let him return them either. Snape wouldn’t let Harry off the hook so easily. And being beholden to the potions master was the very last thing Harry wanted or needed.

Harry put his head between his knees, fighting the queasy feeling that had taken up residence in his gut. He had to get out of here before Snape decided to call in this favour. But Snape hadn’t given him his wand back yet. Of course he hadn’t. He wanted Harry to be trapped here, for reasons Harry didn’t want to fathom. Desperately, Harry looked out the window, searching the sky for any sign of Hedwig. If only she’d come so he could use her to send a message. And how was he going to escape without his wand anyway? Surely Snape had wards surrounding his property that would alert him if anyone came or went. Without his wand...

A knock at the door startled him. Quickly pulling himself together, he croaked, “Come in.”

Snape entered the small bedroom, opened his mouth to speak, and then paused. He looked suspiciously around the room, seeming to have sensed Harry’s disquiet. Watching Harry closely, he said, “I have made an appointment for you to see an opti-witch tomorrow in London. We will travel by train disguised as Muggles.”

Harry nodded mutely, rapidly running through his options. They would be in London. He wondered if they’d be anywhere near Order Headquarters. But Order Headquarters would mean Sirius, and Sirius was dead.

“Is something the matter, Potter?”

Harry quickly shook his head. Snape looked unconvinced.

“Very well, then. I will expect you at dinner in two hours’ time.” Snape looked pointedly at the new clothes. “Wearing appropriate clothing,” he added, before stepping out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

“Something wrong with your food?”

Potter startled, glancing up quickly, “No, it’s fine.”

“Then eat it,” Snape growled. He hadn’t failed to notice that the boy had put on black jeans and a polo shirt. Snape would have preferred the boy wear dress pants and a dress shirt as a sign of respect, but held his tongue for the moment. Something was definitely wrong with the boy. He thought he’d gained a modicum of Potter’s trust the night before, after the whole clothing debacle. He’d even managed to get a new wardrobe delivered the very next morning. And, if he hadn’t expected childish glee from the boy, then he’d at least expected gratitude. Instead, Potter had looked bewildered, as if he’d never been given anything of his own before. And since then, Potter had seemed nervous and withdrawn. The boy continued to pick at his food, barely eating anything.

Irritated, Snape finished his meal. “You may clear the table when have finished everything on your plate, Potter.” Rising from his chair, Snape added, “Leave the dishes for me.” Then he stalked out of kitchen.

The next day, Harry dressed in some of the new clothes Snape had purchased for him: blue jeans and a grey T-shirt. He pulled on the new lightweight jacket for good measure. When he arrived in the sitting room, he found Snape in black dress pants and a grey button down shirt. Snape frowned at him, and Harry looked down at his chosen attire. He gathered Snape would have preferred him to dress less casually, but Harry did not want to take anything more than he absolutely needed to from Snape, and these clothes were the most versatile and least expensive, he hoped. He raised defiant eyes to his temporary guardian. “I’m ready.”

“Very well,” Snape muttered. He cast concealment and notice-me-not charms over himself and Harry. “As I said yesterday, we will be travelling by train. I do not anticipate any problems today, but just in case...” And much to Harry’s surprise, Snape handed Harry back his wand.

A flicker of hope and an overwhelming wave of relief filled Harry. He had his wand back! “Thanks,” he said, quickly pocketing the sorely missed magical tool.

Snape nodded, and together they headed out.

They walked several blocks in silence; past decrepit, deserted houses; past litter-filled fields and run down flats; past a couple of parks with playground equipment that had seen better days. Harry wondered why they hadn’t apparated to a point near the train station.

Finally, Snape raised his hand to signal Harry to stop. “We will be taking the train to Piccadilly Circus. The opti-witch is an acquaintance of mine, Potter. I advise you to behave yourself.”

Harry swallowed. The insinuation was clear. If Potter dared pull a stunt like he had with Snape’s tailor, Snape would make him pay. Harry didn’t relish the threat, which he knew was not an idle one, yet he had more important things to consider. He nodded.

At Snape’s satisfied expression, Harry added, “I haven’t been to London much. Is where we are going near Order Headquarters?”

Harry hoped Snape would find the inquiry innocuous, but from the sudden look of suspicion on Snape’s face, he feared he’d been too transparent. He kept his features schooled in an innocent expression.

“No,” Snape said. “And we won’t be visiting. Though why you’d want to go there now is beyond me.”

Harry looked away. Leave it to Snape to bring up his dead godfather and the pain and guilt that subject stirred up. If Sirius were still alive, Harry wouldn’t be stuck here with Snape. If Sirius were still alive...

“Stop moping, Potter. Your godfather’s death was not your fault.”

“No, it was yours,” Harry shot back.

Snape stopped and turned to face Harry, pinning him with an incredulous gaze. “What did you say?”

“I said,” Harry seethed, “that it was your fault. If you hadn’t constantly taunted Sirius with being useless and doing nothing for the Order, he wouldn’t have left that night.”

“And if you and your little friends hadn’t recklessly run off to the Ministry, your godfather wouldn’t have needed to come after you!”

Harry turned away, saying nothing. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, refusing to budge.

Sighing in frustration, Snape grabbed him by the upper arm and propelled him the last 200 feet to the train station. “Hold your tongue, Potter, I don’t want to be overheard and we’ve got an appointment to keep.”

The two wizards sat in silence, an empty seat between them, for the 40 minutes it took them to arrive at Piccadilly Circus. A casual observer, had they been able to actually study the pair, would have noticed that both men, the younger one and the older one, sat like mirror images of one another: postures rigid, with their arms and legs crossed, heads turned away from each other.

By the time the train stopped, Snape’s temper was still on edge. The boy was infuriating. He was sullen and moody, hard to predict, and impossible to please. Snape only hoped that his veiled threat was enough to keep the boy in line until they made it back to Spinner’s End.

As they exited the platform, Snape surveyed the crowd, his wand at the ready. He did not think they’d have any problems, for the spells he’d cast on them were sound, but taking chances was for fools. “This way, Henry.”

Harry bristled at the name. He hated being called Henry. It wasn’t that far from Harry, actually, but Snape never called him anything other than Potter. And Harry had the feeling that Snape was calling him Henry just to irritate him. Harry kept his reaction in check and instead focused on their surroundings. He needed to devise a plan.

In a matter of moments, though, they’d arrived at the opti-witch’s office, which was in a small brick building just South of the station. Silently, Snape held the door for Harry to enter the lobby. Once inside, Snape announced that his nephew was here to see Dr. Rutgers.

A few moments later, a middle-aged witch stepped into the lobby. “You must be Henry Prince,” she said brightly. “I’m Dr. Rutgers,” she said, extending a hand, “ but please call me Sarah.”

Harry shook her outstretched hand, relaxing a bit at her easy manner.

Then she turned her gaze to Snape. “My but it’s been a long time,” she murmured, looking him up and down. “The last time I saw you, you were but a small child.”

Snape nodded and Harry wondered at the discomfort that flitted across Snape’s normally placid features.

“How is your mother doing?” the witch asked softly.

“She’s dead,” Snape said, his voice and face suddenly flat.

“Oh dear boy,” she cooed, grasping one of his hands in hers, “I’m very sorry to hear it. She was a good woman. Did her best for you two boys.”

Snape nodded stiffly and Harry was struck by several realizations at once. Harry had never considered that Snape had a family. Of course he did, everyone did. And clearly his mother’s death had affected him. He wondered how she had died, and if his father was still alive. He hadn’t known that Snape had a brother, either.

“Well, Henry,” the witch said, “let’s take you back to the examination room and get a look at those eyes.”