The compressing, tight feeling of apparation disappeared as Severus Snape and Harry Potter landed in front of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Severus roughly grabbed the boy’s arm, which was still sore from a bruise received from his cousin Dudley, and brought him to his feet. The Potion’s Master pushed the teenager in front of him and into the dank halls of the Manor.

The door eerily slammed shut behind them and the picture of Sirius’ now deceased mother began screaming shrilly, causing the other portraits to moan and cover their ears.

“Don’t know why Dumbledore bloody sent me to fetch a little imbecile like yourself. Damned fool with his double entendres and sketchy missions…” “Don’t talk about him like that.”

Harry had had enough and was now gritting his teeth and clenching his fists. He continued, “You will never be half the man the Headmaster is, and you know it.”

Anger had been the prominent emotion that Harry had been feeling this entire summer. Anger at the world for taking the one person he cared about most away from him, Sirius, anger for the horrible tragedies he had been doled out in life, and anger at one person, one person that should have been able to stop Sirius’ death at the ministry, Snape.

Snape had knocked on his Aunt’s and Uncle’s door at midnight demanding the release of one Harry Potter. Vernon had of course yelled at Harry, demanding to know what kind of magic he had done to get him shipped off back to the Wizarding World. Petunia looked none too pleased to see the snarky, dark haired git at the door, and seemed to be taken aback when he had used the nickname “Tuney” in his usual sneer.

Petunia had all but shoved Harry upstairs, threw his clothes and possessions unceremoniously into his trunk, before throwing it down the stairs with a resounding thud, and pushing Harry down the same way. At the door, Snape hummed in pleasure, which Harry caught, watching as he discovered the boy-who-lived didn’t live such a glorious life, but pleased that he was getting punishment in some form on behalf of his father. Karma’s a bitch…or so they say.

And thus brings us to the moment that the duo landed so unceremoniously on the front lawn of number 12 and the subsequent bad talking and such.

The portrait was still screaming as Snape seethed in fury. How dare the little wretch talk to him in this manner! He was his professor, a man of higher standing and of higher age than the miniscule little brat standing before him.

“You dare talk to me in that manner you ungrateful little…”

“Yes, I do so dare! You do nothing but put people down for their flaws, and if you don’t agree with their decisions, you berate them behind their backs!”

Snape stepped towards the teenager ominously with fire in his eyes. He just dared the brat to continue…

“You didn’t even take the chance to look at what I was writing during the first potion’s class, did you? They were notes! Every word you said I held onto for years later, hoping you would ask to see it or something like that! Not that I expected you would…you don’t care for anyone but your little Slytherins.”

And with that Snape’s hand slammed into the boy’s chest and pushed him against the wall. The boy struggled as his feet were lifted from the floor, but ceased after a moment. The taller and stronger man held him tightly against the wall, an angry snarl leaving his lips causing spittle to hit the younger boy’s cheeks.

“You say I don’t care about my students, Potter? The fact that I put up with every one of you cheeky brats is something to uphold. If I didn’t enjoy my job, I wouldn’t do it!”

“You enjoy being a bully! You enjoy putting people down, eh Professor?”

And a cackle like no other left the Professor’s chapped lips, causing chills to creep up the spines of all those listening. Plural, for two Order member’s had been lurking on the stairs since the entrance of the pair. Professor McGonagall stared flabbergasted with Remus Lupin beside her looking equally as perplexed. They had never seen Severus act like this, and it was taking everything in Lupin not to attack the man holding his supposed-to-be-godson by the scruff of his collar to the wall.

“You are so like your father Potter, so arrogant and sure of yourself. You know nothing about me!”

“Just as you know nothing about me, Snape! How exactly can I be just like my father, when I didn't even know my father?! Why can’t I just be my own person, why do I have to be an exact mirror image of James Potter?!” He breathed heavily for a moment into the face of the surprised man in front of him before continuing, “James was a great Quidditch player. James was one of the greatest Aurors ever. James this, James that! I’m not James, Snape, I’m Harry! Harry fucking Potter! Which no one seems to understand!”

The surprised Potion’s Master released the child, for the person in his grip was the size, the age, and was just that, a child. Something many had forgotten. This was a child that had seen too many things, was put to high expectations wherever he turned.

A manic gleam entered the teen’s eyes as he shoved off the hands still gripping his t-shirt, and paced the length of the hallway once before stopping.

“Did you know, Professor, that I lived in a cupboard for the first eleven years of my life?” Severus gulped at the voice, the tone that the child was issuing. This was a tone of pure anger, of blame, a tone crying for help.

“Of course, you had to with our atrocious Occlumency lessons last year, don’t you remember those? How you shifted through my thoughts, leaving me with splitting headaches before doing it again and again and again.” He wiped his eyes once, trying to quell the tears, “And then I would go back to the dormitory and have nightmares, visions, wasn’t the Occlumency supposed to help me with those? It just left me exhausted, unable to protect myself at all!”

His breathing quickened and he slammed his hand into the wall next to him.

“You had to of seen the beatings I would take from my ‘family’, the beltings, the chores, the weeks without food, the work…” He tried to calm himself, but he had worked himself up so much he didn’t notice his Professor slinking closer to him.

The Professor attempted to lay a hand on the distraught boy’s shoulder, but Harry would have none of it. He pushed the man away, and ran towards the staircase, pushing through the two adults that were listening at the bottom of the steps.

Neither attempted to stop him, nor did they make any sound in hopes of reassuring the clearly upset young man.

The house was silent except for the frantic footsteps of Harry, and then the resounding thud of the door being slammed and a lock being forced into place.

All three adults stayed in their place before Remus moved forward and into the hallway in which the arguing started.

“What the hell were you thinking Snape? Did you now read the report Dumbledore told you to? Harry has been dealing with depression for the entire summer, none of the guard has seen him up close for days. And then you go and decide to spout off about his now deceased relatives…did you think he would just take it?”

Snape bowed his head, and retrieved a tumbler from a case as he walked into a lounge just off of the hallway. He summoned a bottle of firewhiskey and hastily poured it into the cup before throwing it into the back of his throat.

“I thought he would have more respect for his elders, wolf. He obviously has never been taught any means of respect in his pathetic life. His whining has done nothing but show me he is a pampered…spoiled…brat.”

His thoughts were screaming the opposite, telling him this was Lily’s child that blamed him for his beloved dog-father’s death.  He had to hold up a front, one he almost dropped during the exchanging of words that had taken place.

“He tells you he knows nothing about his father in whom he is always compared, he tells you most likely the things that have been drowning him, eating away at him for this entire summer, and you can just sit back and act like nothing has happened?”   

Silence reigned between the two as Severus put back another shot of alcohol. Minerva had entered the room at some point and was watching the display, gazing at her colleague with disgust as he drowned himself in booze.

“Did you know he was almost sorted into Slytherin, Severus?” Her aged voice created a thick wave of tension throughout the room.

The golden boy almost sorted into Slytherin? Absurd, simply and utterly absurd.

“Good try Minerva, but that’s like saying I was almost sorted into,” His upper lip raised into a sneer, “Gryffindor.”

“You do not need to believe me, but I would not lie about something like this. The Sorting Hat had a very long conversation with the Headmaster and myself, the boy chose Gryffindor when given the chance, which the hat conceded to. The boy absolutely begged to be put in the Lion Den, apparently the only reason he chose not to because of his acquaintance with the pompous Mr. Malfoy.”

“Well the boy was obviously too sensitive…” Minerva cut him off. “He was defending his friend, Severus, sound familiar?”

Flashbacks of himself with Lily and their friendship prior and during Hogwarts played through his mind, but it was ridiculous to use this as a comparison to Potter and himself.

“You have no basis to make a comment of such…” He paused. “It is simply preposterous.” He now sounded just a bit weary. Perhaps the liquid in which he was ingesting was affecting him just a bit faster tonight than normal.

Remus looked pained, as if he had just lost an internal debate with himself, and stepped forward.

“Severus, I know I am one of the last people you would ever think of listening to, but you were once my friend. A great friend, and only by allowing myself to be sucked in by Sirius and James’ antics did I abandon you, and I apologize. But, Harry is not James, Sev.” He called his once-friend his old nickname, and he allowed himself to fall back into the dusty couch on the other side of the room.

“In the year that I was Harry’s professor, I saw how much he craved for affection, the need to prove himself, to defend himself. He may look like James on the outside, except for his eyes, but he is completely Lily on the inside. His compassion and need to take care of others far outweighs James’ knack of finding trouble and bullying.

“I know you had a rough start…”

“Remus, don’t even suggest it.”

“But, I think you can get along if you guys tried. Sev, he has the brains to be on par with you, with the right guidance, he just needs your help.”

Severus threw his glass at the wall and stalked over to the overly large window, which was covered in rain droplets and showed a view across the street from the Manor. It was extremely dark and stormy out, lightning and thunder lighting and shaking the house respectively.

He was silent as he gazed out across the stoned drive, thinking, plotting.

“He has a week, wolf, and tell him I will not go easy on him.”

And with that he stomped out of the room and into the night, disapparating off of the front door step.

London at this time of year was rather wet, if not downright dreadful. It was summer, but billowing clouds crowded the skies and dropped rain ceaselessly. People travelled in small groups, huddled together under umbrellas and looking over their shoulders every few minutes- even the non-magic folk were on alert.

It was unnatural for the weather to behave as it was, but along with the weather had come a feeling of morose darkness, of loneliness, of horror. Depression, some muggle psychologists would call it, but how could a depression grip the entire city of London as it had? This bleak darkness had descended upon the cities and suburbs, filling every crevice, every single space with this overbearing emotion. Unheard of as it was, there was no explanation.

Unless you lived in Magical England.

It was even more chaotic- or rather, subdued- in Diagon Alley.

The cobble stone streets were completely empty, and shops along the path were dark. Most had large pieces of wood nailed to the windows, showing the vacancy in the centuries old stores. Posters were scattered over the ground warning of new curfews, or escapees from Azkaban.

A sharp gust of wind blew through the alley, picking up papers and garbage and strewing them further down the street. Once such piece of paper was the Daily Prophet from that morning, the front page hosting an overly large image of towering buildings on a stormy island in the middle of a rough sea.

“Minister-‘The Dementors are no longer under the Ministry’s control’” The headline blared in bold letters.

“Azkaban prison is world-renowned by the wizard population as one of the most secure holding facilities in the world. This statement was put into question, and the prison put under review, three years ago with the infamous escape of murderer Sirius Black, whose accusations were recently dismissed and an Order of Merlin rewarded after his untimely death one month ago.

This prison is located in a warded section of the British Isle, and is guarded by Ministry guards and dementors at all times. Or so it had been. This reporter has recently interviewed the Minister of Magic, and uncovered the betrayal of these dark beings that seem to inhale and feast upon the happiness of others, only leaving behind grief and depression.

When further questioned, the Minister admitted to the Dementors being loyal to darker forces.

What does this mean for the wizard public? Are we no longer safe within the confines of our houses with these dark figures looming about?

To read more about the impeachment of former-Minister Fudge turn to page 15

To read more about the effects of the Dementors turn to page 3

To purchase Dementor repelling equipment turn to page 6”

As simple an explication as any, the Dementors were causing the gloom that hovered above Britain. Muggles could not see these creatures, more than likely why the small groups were so apprehensive and on edge. The presence could be felt, of course, but they could not see these magical creatures. To them these creatures were more dangerous than any out there, not that they could know that.  

A popping sound startled the ravens that were roosting upon a chimney, causing them to squawk indignantly and fly away. A dark figured had appeared in the middle of the alley, striding forward towards one of two shops open at that time- Balting’s Books.

The bell above the door rang, startling the shop owner from her doze behind the counter.

“Hello, Professor, what can I do for you today?”

The dark haired man strode down a section of very large and ancient tomes, pouring over the titles before finding the one he wanted and sliding it out with one finger. He opened the book to his page of choice and read over the miniscule words quickly before flicking it closed and throwing it onto the counter.

“Twenty galleons, sir.” The timid assistant behind the register stated, cowering away from the dark man when he glared.

“You’ve raised your prices?” He snarled, turning on the shop owner, who also shrunk under the man’s gaze.

“Business has been down; we had to in order to keep shop here. You must understand that, right Professor?”

“I don’t want to hear your sniveling excuses, Balting. You are now one less customer. You must understand that, right?” He mocked as he threw the money onto the table, picked up the book, and walked out.

As soon as he stepped out of the shop, he apparated away to his manor in West Essex.

The manor was elegant, yet eerie. A family home that had hosted generations of Snapes within its walls, it looked centuries old with its stone, towering walls and paned windows; the battlements also didn’t help with the foreboding feeling that surrounded the place. Green grass and gardens spanned across the property, a far off dark line on the horizon signifying the end of the property and its wards. It was a house that suited the dark man, yet contrasted him just as much.

Opening the door with a flick of his wand, he entered and charmed the lights on. The inside was luxuriously decorated with plush couches, a fully stocked kitchen, elegant portraits and painting lining the walls, and the interior design of a palace. Snape set the book upon a mahogany desk which also held several more materials matching the book’s thickness before collapsing in an armchair and watching the fire in the grate.

“Twinky,” he winced at the name, “please fetch me a tea service.”

One popped into existence before him and a small creature with large ears bobbed into the room with a platter of biscuits.

“Would master like a freshly baked scone or pastry?” The large eyed elf seemed to almost bounce upon her heels.

Snape sighed and gratefully took a scone before sitting back to take his tea.

He had been running errand upon errand in preparation for Potter’s training the following day. The brat would be staying with him for a month and a half in which time he would prepare the boy for the next year as well as train him further in defense and mind magics.

A detailed schedule had been drawn out for Potter the night before, planning out his day hour by hour, minute by minute. Every day basically gave Potter 6 hours to sleep, 2 hours for eating and personal time, and 16 hours of intensive teaching and tutoring. There was no way Potter could get into mischief with the schedule, Snape was sure of that.

Knowing the boy he would find some sort of trouble the moment he stepped foot over the threshold, but it was good to have authority over the boy for his stay. He could teach the boy real discipline, though a part in Snape’s mind told him he mightn’t need it at all.

The words from their previous conversation were concerning, though only mildly. Potter was more than likely exaggerating a brief grounding or reprieve from countless sweets by his guardians.

He had a nagging suspicion, however, that not even Potter’s overdramatic self could create a lie such as physical abuse. Though, wouldn’t have Dumbledore done something about it? Or wouldn’t have Order members seen it when staking out the property?

Running a hand over his face, Snape stood and walked over to the desk holding Potter’s new textbooks and materials for the next month. Most of the books were very rare and detailed. Ranging from books on Defense, Occlumency, Animagi Transformations, and basic Strategy manuals, the Sixth Year texts cowered in comparison.

A small part of the back garden had also been transformed into an intensive physical training area, which would be used daily from 5 in the morning until 8 in the morning. The course contained walls which were to be scaled, ropes and trees that needed to be climbed, swamps and pools of water, amongst a menagerie of creatures that were contained by wards surrounding the area.

Leaving the books on the table, he slowly climbed a grand staircase up to the second floor of the house. Walking to his right, he opened a door directly beside a large set of double doors- his quarters- and walked into a small sitting room connected to Potter’s bedroom. The sitting room held two chairs and a table in front of a small fireplace. A painting of one of Snape’s ancestors kept watch over the rooms from directly above the mantle, which would keep an extra pair of eyes on the boy during his off time.

Potter’s bedroom was a soft, elegant yellow with white trimming. A chest of drawers was located directly across from a mahogany four poster bed, and a wardrobe stood in a corner beside it. An ensuite was located to the left of the entrance to the room with tiled floors, a simple shower, and a single sink with drawers for storage underneath. The room held all of the necessities; no more, no less.

The most spectacular part of the room was the large inset window just above a small window-seat that looked upon Lily’s Garden. This was where Snape grew his cooking herbs, the less volatile potion’s ingredients, and a large patch of lilies surrounding a small pond. Beside the pond was a fountain with the Greek Goddess Aphrodite spilling water out of a pot and into a smaller pool where it fell into a larger one. A large oak tree grew about twenty feet from the pond with a white marble bench under that. It was truly a beautiful view, one of the best in the manor.

The garden was also visible from Snape’s room next door, and it was the reason he chose it in the first place.

Snape’s excuse for allowing the boy into this room rather than one of the numerous others on that floor was the fact that he wanted to make sure the boy didn’t get it into his mind to escape, or worse, destroy his house. By keeping him close, small charms connected to his room would notify Snape if anything happened during the night.

Leaving that set of rooms and entering his own, Snape couldn’t help but dread the following day as he washed and dressed for bed. He didn’t know what to expect from the obviously troubled boy, and he was mentally preparing himself for the emotional issues the boy would face with the numerous deaths in his life. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of playing counselor to Potter, but he didn’t see any choice if he was to properly teach the boy the art of mind magics.

As he slid under his covers and noxed the lights, he cringed at the thought of having to tell Potter of the mandatory trust bond that had to form between the two. Snape was still trying to figure out how he would accomplish that gargantuan task as he cleared his mind and fell into the realm of sleep.

Harry tossed and turned for hours, dreading the following day. He couldn't help but feel miserable, hell, who wouldn't feel miserable if they had to live with their Potion's professor for the rest of the Summer?

Dumbledore had come the day before and explained that Harry would need guidance and training for the upcoming year. Now, Harry couldn't help but feel that this meant he would be fighting Voldemort sooner than he expected. Couldn't they give him a year to focus on his NEWT courses before throwing him into the world of a soldier?

He had laid out an impossibly long schedule detailing every hour of every day for the next month. Harry cringed at the lack of time for himself, seeing that most of the schedule was dedicated to Advanced Defense and Occlumency.

After counting the time he would have to eat and sleep, he was shocked to realize he would only have eight hours total. How was he supposed to train if he was exhausted? Not that it would be much different than the Dursleys, Harry thought to himself. Snape would work him to the bone everyday until he collapsed, more than likely.

And knowing his Professor, he would make Harry get up the next day to continue training.

Finally giving up on getting any sleep at all, Harry sat up and walked over to the window seat facing the main street of Grimmauld's Place. He pulled up his knees and looked out of the rain spattered glass, knowing he wouldn't see anything interesting as it was three in the morning. Shadows flickered and thunder crashed a few miles away. Harry kept observing the storm until he nodded off around four in the morning, not knowing he would be woken up at six by a very disgruntled Mrs. Weasley.

His head raised slowly when she gently prodded him awake, telling him that his breakfast was ready downstairs whenever he was finished packing. He nodded solemnly, submitting to his fate because he really wouldn't help the situation if he fought against his Professor. He wouldn't put it past the man to make his life a living hell for the next month if he so much as put a toe out of line.

Frowning now, Harry began stuffing all of his possessions that had somehow found a way out of the trunk back into the case, ensuring when he was finished that it was properly latched. He could just imagine Snape's sneer if it were all to fall out when they apparated.

Finally finished with his packing, Harry washed his face and ran a wet hand through his hair before heading downstairs for breakfast. He was not disappointed when he was met with Remus, who looked worse for wear with the upcoming full moon, Hermione, who was yawning into her hand while reading a book, and Ron, who had his head down on the table, asleep.

Smiling at his friends, he sat down next to Remus in wait for the food Mrs. Weasley was preparing on the stove. No one looked up for conversation, so Harry slowly slid the lonesome Morning Prophet near the head seat of the table, Sirius' seat he internally cringed, over to himself.

The front cover hadn't really updated much recently, every morning running a list of those killed the night prior by Death Eaters, and some auror's accounts of the attacks. Opening to the second page, Harry read through the list of known Death Eaters currently on the loose. He glared at the first name, Bellatrix Lestrange. What he wouldn't give to hunt her down himself.

This thought process, which was turning more violent by the moment, was interrupted by a delicious smelling plate of scrambled eggs with mixed in chopped bangers and bacon was placed in front of him. He began shoving the food into his mouth, wanting to groan at the deliciously greasy taste of the eggs and meat. He tasted cheese in there as well, with maybe some onions and spices to top off the recipe. Thinking back to himself, he recognized these flavors, but not because he had eaten them. Rather the Dursleys had...an omelette, perhaps?

He didn't really care as he quickly finished off his plate and Mrs. Weasley gave him seconds. Eating this plate of food much more slowly, Harry flipped through the prophet absentmindedly, ignoring the articles about dementors and the possibility of vampires being on Voldemort's side. Turning to the quidditch section, Harry smiled and whooped as he thrust the paper in Ron's direction, startling the barely aware boy with eggs hanging out of his mouth.

"Holyhead Harpies win against the Chudley Cannons!" His grin widens as Ron snatched the newspaper, balking at the article.

"Bullocks! They had to have cheated, no way can they win against the Cannons. They're-"

"British Cup champions for the third year in the row." Hermione and Harry intoned together, smirking at their friend's flabbergasted look. "We know, you mention it anytime we talk about quidditch."

"Whatever Harry, you just like staring at their arses-" "Ronald!" Ginny screeched, finally appearing with messy hair and her nightgown bunched and wrinkled from sleep. "Don't you dare finish that sentence. All of us know that the Harpies are one of the strongest skilled all female quidditch teams in Britain. Stop being a prat about it."

"Ah, and the harpy herself finally joins us," Ron sneers, glowering at his sister for interrupting him.

"Mum!" Ginny yells again, hands on her hips in a very Molly-like fashion.

"Children!" Molly glowers at the group. However, her face softens as she watches Harry silently laughing behind his hand and Hermione hiding behind her book, shoulders shaking with mirth. "Can you two not behave for two minutes? Let's try acting our ages, shall we?"

Ron rolled his eyes, but let the argument go. He finished reading the article about the quidditch match, mumbling under his breath about the need for better trained referees to catch the blatant cheating going on in the league.

Harry shook his head and took the paper back again, reading about recent closures in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade because of the return of Voldemort. It was sad, knowing that most of the first shops he had ever entered as a wizard were now closed.

Sighing and finishing his food, Harry smiled when he caught Ginny staring at him. She lightly returned the gesture, a blush coloring her cheeks as she focused intently on her food for the next few minutes.

Harry cringed when the front door of the house slammed open, and heavy boots pounded down the hall. A strong spell closed the curtains next to Ms. Black's painting, effectively cutting off her screams. Harry wanted to pound his head onto the table, looked like Snape had finally made an appearance this morning.

"Potter," he snarled, entering the kitchen and glaring at the children and werewolf seated at the table. "You have five minutes to fetch your belongings before I apparate and you can find another way to my manor."

Harry resisted the urge to cringe and glare at the man, but instead sighed and went to get his trunk. When he returned two minutes later, Snape hadn't moved. His arms however had crossed in front of him in a very off-putting way, and his glare seemed to be even fiercer as he looked at Remus.

"He will be returned in a months time, wolf. Be prepared," he then turned to the adolescents in the room, narrowing his eyes and gritting his teeth. "Potter will not have any correspondence unless he earns it. I do not suggest sending any mail without it being carefully scrutinized, or having heard from Mr. Potter first."

Hermione looked as though she wanted to speak, but pursed her lips and turned to Ron who was turning a very interesting shade of red. She laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from creating a scene with his Professor. Molly was at the stove, turned and looking at Snape disapprovingly, if anything had to be said, she would say it.

"Shouldn't you give Harry a moment to say goodbye, Severus?" Snape's lips thinned, but he nodded sharply and swept out of the room.

"You have two minutes, Potter." He spat Harry's last name out as if it was a curse word, similar to one of the unforgivables.

Hermione was the first to throw her arms around him, squeezing him and burying her face into his shoulder. "Please promise to behave, Harry. Don't intentionally make him mad, it'll only make your stay worse than it already will be." Harry nodded and returned the pressure of her hug, turning to Ron next.

"It's only a month, mate. I'm sure it'll fly by, right?" Ron chuckled without humor, betraying his true feelings on the matter. It was going to be hell, everyone knew that. Dumbledore did, Remus did, even Molly did.

"I can only hope," Harry supplied, patting his friend on the back in a brotherly gesture.

Remus was next in the queue, and didn't look happy about the situation.

"Severus is a complicated man," he began, nodding his head towards the doorway. "What he did last week was unforgivable, but keep an open mind, Harry. Be observant and don't give up." Remus hugged Harry to himself now, breathing in the scent of his best friends' child. "I'll see you in a month, just stay strong." And now Harry nodded, raising his chin slightly and breathing deeply.

Molly bustled up next, throwing her arms around him and reminding him to eat and keep up his energy levels. "We don't need you coming home sick now, do we?" And then she nudged him in the direction of Ginny, the last and most quiet person in the room.

Harry awkwardly walked up to her, avoiding her eyes. He stood two feet away from her, biting his lip. "So I guess this is goodbye," he began, hoping she wasn't feeling as unfamiliar as he was with this. "But it won't be for long," she reminded, finally meeting his eyes.

He smiled, engraining a picture of her at this moment in his brain. Her messy hair and rosy cheeks and rumpled look, she was beautiful. He gathered her in his arms next, taking a deep breath as her perfume or lotion or shampoo- whatever it was smelled damn good- assaulted his nose. She smelt amazing too.

"Take care." He hugged her closer, enjoying the feel of her against his body. "We'll talk when I get back." They pulled back together, maintaining eye contact, before she smiled and nodded. He backed away slowly, keeping his eyes on her as he excited the room, waving goodbye to everyone once more before meeting Snape in the hall.

"I'm ready to leave, sir." He shuffled his feet on the floor, picking up dust, and avoided looking into Snape's eyes. That was dangerous, even he wasn't stupid enough to ignore that fact.

"I should hope so, you took long enough." Snape grouched, opening the door and casting a shrinking spell on Harry's trunk, handing the small, toy-like version to the boy.

Harry bit back a retort, it wouldn't do to become angry so early in his visit. Deep breaths Harry, we haven't even stepped out of the door! He reminded himself, that he needed to do this, he needed to do this to fight Voldemort, to survive.

Nodding to the Professor, Harry followed him out onto the front lawn, and inwardly winced as Snape grasped his forearm and spun in a slow circle, swiftly apparating them away. They landed in a field, and one hundred yards away stood a towering building. Harry didn't have much time to look as he attempted to keep up with his teacher, having to jog to keep pace with him.

When he entered, Snape stopped and hung his cloak onto a coatrack next to the doorway.

"Twinky!" Snape called to the air, startling Harry. A pop announced the arrival of a small house elf, no bigger than Dobby.

"Please stow Mr. Potter's trunk in his rooms." The elf nodded enthusiastically, taking the proffered trunk into her hands and popping away once more.

Snape then moved towards a room on his right, a parlor room, and sat into one of the arm chairs. He motioned for Harry to do the same across from him. Harry perched on the edge of the chaise, watching his teacher warily.

"You are here under the direction of the Headmaster, and thus are here for a very good reason, one you may not comprehend, Potter." Harry gritted his teeth at the insult to his intelligence, clenching and unclenching his hands resting on his knees.

"We are in a war," Snape stated as if announcing the weather. Harry took in a breath, having already known this, but the way Snape said it, it didn't leave any argument. This was real.

"As such, strategies have been made, with one person being the figurehead of the entire campaign, you, Potter." Snape made it sound like it was Harry's fault for the wizarding world being in a war, how the hell was it his fault? Voldemort was around decades before Harry was born, how dare Snape say something like that!

"It is not my fault we are in this war," Harry gritted out between his teeth, trying to reign in his anger that was very close to spilling out.

"No, it is not. But the wizarding world has you on a pedestal Potter, and you will have to live up to that commitment. People are depending on you, solely because your mother protected you as a infant. You are nothing more than a poster child, war propaganda. And only because the Dark Lord was daft enough to listen to a prophecy made by a drunken witch." Snape sneered the last part, leaning forward in his chair as he threw words at Potter.

Harry didn't know why he was so hurt, but he hoped it wasn't showing on his face. He never thought of himself like that, he couldn't help what the public thought. So why did it sound like Snape was making it out to be his fault for the public believing in the Ministry's words, for making him out to be something he was not?

Snape breathed deeply, before all emotion left his face. Harry came to the conclusion that he was occluding, and the envy then started rearing inside of him. Why could Snape do something so quickly, and make it look so easy, but couldn't teach worth a lick?

"Meet in the hall in one hour. From that time on, you will be adhering to that schedule. Should you deviate, you will have privileges confiscated."

Harry's jaw dropped, what privileges? Eating? Sleeping? Was he serious?

The Professor smirked at Harry's reaction, oh this would be a very enjoyable month indeed.