Harry woke with a start as he imagined hearing a tapping noise on the window. It wasn't a branch - having heard them all night in the storm Harry knew the sound - but it was a distinct tap, as if someone was using a knocker. Or their wand.

He clutched the blankets covering him and tried to roll onto his side with as little disturbance to the bedsheets as possible. Rolling smoothly, Harry landed on his feet and crouched down. There was a large shadow outside; that he could see the silhouette of in the window, and his heart was racing.

Harry grabbed his wand from the side table beside the couch and crawled over to the window, keeping his head below the edge. He never once took his eyes off of the shadow, which disappeared for a second by the front door, then reappeared at the edges of the lower living room window. Harry slipped into parseltongue without realising it.

"Ssssssnaaaaape," he hissed, trying to get the Professor's attention without alerting whatever was outside. Harry had no idea how anything had even gotten that close, as surely someone like Snape would have had all sorts of protection on his home. The man had even said last night the house was warded!

The doorknob rattled and Harry aimed his wand at it, ready to cast whatever spell he could if it opened. Some sort of stinging spell must have been on the doorknob though, as there was a scuffling noise on the step stone outside the door and the rattling stopped immediately afterward. Harry was watching intently, and through the curtains was able to see the long, scraggly black hair and hunched shoulders of the dog that had been hunting him the night before.

"Shite!" Harry cursed, though he was mostly certain that the dog couldn't get in. He heard a muted, frustrated growl from outside, and took his chance to run to Snape's door.

"Snape!" Harry tried again, banging on the door. He heard movement from inside Snape's room, and glanced also at the front door. Everything was quiet up there, but Harry could see the shadows of swaying tree branches through the curtains.

"Come on," Harry muttered, looking down the hall toward the kitchen. The back wall had a large window across it, and Harry suddenly wondered if the dog would go around back and try to look in from there.

"What?" Snape suddenly barked. His hair was an absolute mess, hanging partially over his face, and he wore a long blue house robe over his nightshirt. His nose was red, enough that Harry could tell even in the dim morning light, and he was holding onto the doorframe for support.

"The...dog," Harry lamely said, staring at Snape. "The giant black dog is at the front, it was trying to get in."

He felt incredibly stupid saying it aloud, as he was indoors and he knew that dogs couldn't open locked doors.

"There are plenty of dogs about the neighbourhood, Potter," Snape growled, and Harry could hear from his voice that the man was congested. 

Harry snapped his mouth shut and glanced toward the front of the house again, where the wind was still blowing, but any ominous shadows he'd seen earlier were gone.

"Best hope the one from last night hasn't decided to join them, then," Harry sulkily responded, stepping back into the hallway. It was clear Snape thought him an idiot for being afraid of such a thing, and Harry loosened his grip on his wand. Maybe if he sat in the kitchen, away from the front door, he'd be able to read something until Snape got up for the day.

"We are currently over one hundred miles from where that dog was last seen," Snape sarcastically continued, glaring at Harry. "And yet at Hogwarts, famous Harry Potter is more than eager to face a three headed dog not once, but twice."

"It didn't feel the same," Harry muttered, his cheeks warm with embarrassment. "Sorry to bother you, sir."

Harry walked back toward the front room, determined not to let any hesitation in his step show that he was still unnerved by the shadow he'd seen earlier.

"Potter," Snape said, after a rough cough. "If it will put your simple little mind at ease, this house is protected by the same wards surrounding the castle."

Harry looked back at him and nodded.

"Now, it's half six. I know you are a thirteen year old boy with a particularly strong habit of getting into trouble, but I will risk leaving you alone for two hours while I rest."

With another strong glare that promised death or other nasty consequences (despite the wards) if Harry destroyed anything, Snape shut his bedroom door. Harry figured it was quite the mark of how dreadful the man felt, because he certainly wouldn't have left himself alone in the house.

He went to the washroom quickly, staring about at the plain tiles and boring blue towels on the rack. Snape's bathroom was depressingly normal, though the cabinet above the toilet did have some interesting potions and salves in it. All meticulously labelled, and Harry noted a dark green jar at the front labelled "Murtlap Essence - cuts." He pulled it out, and carefully dropped some of the liquid onto the teeth and claw marks on his lower right leg. Always his right leg - Harry wasn't sure why he always stuck that one out when Ripper ran at him.

He spent another few minutes dotting the teeth marks on his hands, and scrunched up his face at the smell.

Back out in the hallway, Harry decided to continue with his inspection of Snape's house. Ron would never believe that he'd spent the night here, and that Snape didn't live in some sort of vampire's coven.

On the wall shared with the neighbour next door, Harry noticed a large black and white sketch of a rundown row house. It wasn't labelled, and like most wizarding photos it moved, though it wasn't on a loop like a regular magic photo. It also wasn't quite the same as a portrait, as Harry couldn't get the attention of any of the few people walking past the house.

Harry went back to his trunk to gather some warmer clothes than his pyjamas and had a good look around the living room. It was small, but it was furnished well and there were all sorts of interesting trinkets on the bookcases. Snape seemed to like matchbox cars, as he had a collection on random shelves of his bookcases. No strange looking cars - Snape seemed to prefer the normal every day ones.

Harry kept browsing the bookcase, looking to see if he could find any books to keep himself busy with until Snape woke up. There was a plastic bag on the middle shelf, in front of what looked to be a small old television, and Harry moved the bag aside to see what was behind it. He nearly dropped the bag when he saw a familiar plastic controller.

"No way," Harry breathed, pulling on the cord. He'd seen one before, and as the loose stack of paper shifted around it, Harry grinned. A Super Nintendo controller. Dudley had gotten the game system for Christmas last year, as it had only been out a few months, but he'd not let Harry play with it. Harry had watched though, and was fairly certain he could get it working.

On the shelf beside the television was a pile of papers, and under that, the gaming system. Incredibly odd, as Harry couldn't imagine Snape ever playing a Muggle game, but it was in the man's house, and did seem to be used as everything was still plugged in. And not only that, in the shopping bag that Harry had moved, was another game for the Nintendo still in its plastic wrapper. Snape was pretty young though, unlike the other professors at school. He was the same age as Harry's parents, which would make him thirty-two, or thirty-three. Harry shrugged to himself. As much as he hated his summers with the Muggle Dursleys, Harry knew he'd never completely abandon some Muggle ways of life, and perhaps Professor Snape was the same.

A bit chilled, Harry slipped back under the covers on the fold out couch as he waited for the television and game to start up. He was going to try the game Snape had already been playing: Super Mario Kart. What a weird twist to his summer. He was staying at his enemy Professor's house, but unlike his Muggle Aunt and Uncle's, able to play video games.

After two frustrating hours of racing, Harry turned the game off and muttered darkly at it. Dudley and his friends made it seem so easy to play, and Harry could barely keep on the racecourse. And that was before the other racers started shooting bananas and shells at him. He'd gotten marginally better with his reaction time for avoiding them, but not much.

As he took one of Snape's books back down the hall to the kitchen, Harry realised from his experience with the game that Snape was right. He definitely needed training, if he couldn't even beat a silly racing game.

Snape had one of those stovetop teapots, so Harry filled it and popped it on the stove for some warm tea. He rubbed his arm subconsciously as he waited, over the healing scar left from the Basilisk's fang. He'd not been fast enough then either. Maybe he'd see if Snape would let him play the Nintendo often, to work on his hand-eye coordination. Harry figured that was what Snape probably had the Nintendo for, as he knew from the duelling club that his professor was a very quick draw.

Harry left the book he'd brought on the table, no longer interested in reading it. He must have been too tired, or perhaps worried, the night before to notice how interesting Snape's kitchen was. A counter by the back wall held two cauldrons, both of which contained some sort of liquid kept immobile from a spell. Interestingly, several different ingredients were kept in glass cooking containers - the very sort his Aunt Petunia had bought from a department store.

A battered potions book was open on the table, the pages kept apart by a chipped stirring stick, and the recipe was covered more in cross outs and additions than the original print. Harry couldn't read what the potion was, as Snape had overwritten the name too.

Finished with the kitchen, Harry crept down the hall and pushed the door to the office open wider. It was a small dark room, filled with random bits of parchment and Muggle notepaper, along with several maps of England pinned to the walls. The notes were written in a tiny and nearly illegible text, much worse than the corrections Harry usually received on his essays, but it was obvious that Snape was doing some sort of research related to small towns in the UK. Quite a few towns were pinned on the map; Godric's Hollow, London, Brittle Wood Marsh in Wiltshire, Little Hangleton, Hogsmeade, a tiny speck of an island in the North Sea, and a town in Wales he'd never heard of.

In addition to the pins were coloured half circles on the map, connecting the different cities and villages, or in some cases, not connecting them. The circles seemed to have been drawn with a compass, and the arch of the circle apparently mattered more than the points it connected.

None of it made any sort of sense to Harry, and he wondered why a potions master would be so interested in geography. A tapping noise at the window broke his concentration, and Harry whipped his wand out as he turned toward the noise.

"Hedwig!" Harry yelped, blinking rapidly. He moved quickly to the window, unlocking it so she could come in.

"I was worried about you."

Hedwig gave him a blank look, as if to call him an idiot, and held out her leg. Clutched in her talons was a small note, and Harry walked them to the kitchen to read it.

The note was written on a letterhead from the Ministry of Magic.

‘Dear Mr Potter,

Your Aunt has been restored to her normal size, and the incident of accidental magic excused. Please inform us of your whereabouts at your earliest convenience.

Best Regards,

Marie Kerkhouse

Ministry of Magic'

Harry felt instantly wary of the letter, wondering why the Ministry of Magic cared where he was. He folded the note carefully, and stuck it in his pocket to give to Snape later.

Leaving Hedwig to rest on a disused owl post by the back door, Harry sat back down at the table. There were a few empty notebooks stacked at the end of the table, and though they were small and looked to be reminder notebooks, Harry grabbed one and started writing all the weird things that had happened to him this summer so far.

• Snape had shown up in Little Whinging.
• The giant black dog had tried to attack him.
• Snape had taken him to his own home, and promised to teach Harry defence.
• Snape had some sort of weird obsession with the geography of the United Kingdom.

When the wall clock ticked for ten, Harry put the book into his pocket and made his way down the hallway. There'd not been a sound of anyone else moving in the house, and Harry was fairly certain that Snape wasn't one to accidentally oversleep.

Just as Harry reached Snape's bedroom door, he realised he could hear snoring coming from inside. It wasn't the normal rhythmic snoring he'd heard from Dudley and Uncle Vernon, but it sounded instead that Snape was having trouble breathing.

Taking a chance against getting hexed, Harry pushed the door open slightly. The room was very dark, and in the faint light edging the blinds of the windows, Harry could see the profile of Snape's nose sticking up.

The room smelled faintly of eucalyptus, and pepper-up potion. Snape was definitely sick.

Closing the door again, because Snape was grumpy when he was feeling well, and Harry didn't want to imagine him when he was ill, Harry went into the kitchen to see what he could find for lunch.  There was perhaps enough to put together a soup, but Snape had clearly been away for a few days and needed food.

He made a list of things that they needed, including more broth, and stared around the kitchen. Harry had less than a galleon on him, and figured even that wouldn't help, as they were likely in a Muggle village. He'd seen the electric street lamps last night while walking over the bridge, and Snape's house had light switches and fairly recent Muggle appliances.

He figured Snape had to have some Muggle money as well, so he took a deep breath and pulled out his wand. Harry opened his mouth, before realising that he had no idea if there was a spell to summon money. The odds were that it didn't exist, as that would make stealing money far too easy for any witch or wizard.

"Show me Snape's Muggle money," Harry finally said, waving his wand a little. It was the best he could come up with and he wasn't surprised when nothing happened. "Bring me Snape's Muggle money," Harry tried again.

Once more nothing happened, and Harry felt like kicking the table. Some wizard he was. Thirteen years old and he couldn't figure out how to find money in the house. Hermione would know, and even Ron probably knew.

Harry slumped down at the table; ignoring the half glare that Hedwig gave him for the noise. Snape had a weird looking dictionary on the table, and Harry suddenly had an idea. He snuck quietly down to the front room, again hearing snores from Snape's bedroom, and checked the bookcases. Sure enough, Snape had an Encyclopaedia of Magical Spells.

It took Harry another fifteen minutes of searching to find the right spell and wand movement, but he felt confident. Raising his wand once more, Harry cleared his throat and spoke strongly.

"Accio Snape's Muggle money."

Several notes flew at him from little nooks and crannies about the room, making Harry snatch them out of the air like snitches. A fat envelope came from somewhere near the woodpile at the back kitchen door, and more money came from the hallway. A fist full of coins also flew at him, from the direction of Snape's bedroom.

Harry smiled triumphantly.

He left the envelope, which was filled with more Muggle money than he'd ever seen in his life, in the tea mug cabinet, and counted out sixty pounds from the loose notes that had appeared. Harry figured sixty quid was more than enough for what he wanted to buy, but Harry had never been grocery shopping before, and preferred bringing too much money than too little.

...

Upon leaving the house, which Harry locked with a key hanging by the coat hooks inside, he saw that it was just a small part of a much larger building. It was an old stone mill, with rows of windows upstairs, and it looked to have been carved up into apartments like Snape's. That explained why Harry hadn't seen any stairs in Snape's flat - someone else owned the floor above. Harry thought it was quite fitting though, that Snape's place was tucked down beside the creek, encased by the giant wooden wheel.  Harry preferred enclosed spaces as well, and figured a man who kept himself wrapped up as much as Snape did would be of the same mind-set.

He glanced at himself in the living room window and stumbled back against the stone bridge wall in surprise. His hair was no longer black - it had turned into a light sandy brown - nor did it stand up on all ends. It had been cropped short, and Harry ran his hands over his hair to confirm what he was seeing. His eyes were still green, but they were the hazel-y green that Muggles had, not brilliant grass green.

"What the hell..." Harry muttered, tracing his finger over his forehead, where his scar used to be. A noise from up the road caught his attention, and Harry looked up to see an old woman giving him a peculiar look as she swept her front step.  He gave her a very small smile in return and looked about the rest of the street, keeping his eye out for any strange black dogs. He saw none though, just a small white yappy thing that was being walked by two small girls.

Harry turned back to glance at the house, and felt a sudden and overwhelming pull to go back inside. He wasn't afraid to be out, and though he was fairly certain that he had seen the same dog that morning as the one in Little Whinging, it wasn't fear that was making him want to go inside. It was a strange sense of calm.

Ignoring the lady still watching him, Harry unlocked Snape's front door with the key, noticing that the letterbox on the side of the house was flapping slightly in the wind. Perhaps that was the noise from last night, and Harry really had dreamt up the dog.

The cupboard had a few salvageable vegetables, and Harry found two boxes of powdered soup and noodles on the pantry shelf. He added the vegetables to the pot, and tipped in a can of broth that had been hiding under some tea biscuits. It wouldn't be the best tasting soup, but it would be warm at least.

Leaving the soup on the stove to slowly cook, Harry took out the little notebook and jotted down his appearance change. He knew that magic could do that, as Hermione had brewed them the polyjuice potion last year, but this wasn't the same sort of spell. For one thing, Harry knew he'd never forget the taste of the polyjuice, and he was sure he hadn't had any since arriving at Snape's.

Wanting to double check, Harry quietly went to the washroom and was confused to find his normal reflection in the mirror. Messy black hair, square jaw and somewhat rounded nose, along with his ever-present scar.

Harry gave a quick check to his hands and legs too, noticing that the Murtlap essence had certainly helped heal Ripper's cuts and bites. Just as he was rolling down his jeans, Harry's instinct kicked in and he felt a presence at the door. The Dursleys were not a quiet lot, but his Aunt could be stealthy, and Harry had learned to recognise the change in the air when he was no longer alone.

"Would you care to explain why you left the protected house, Potter?" Snape demanded, his voice gravely and hoarse as he stood in the doorway. He was wearing trousers and a shirt now, though he didn't look like he was any more awake than he had been at six. "To frolic around in the front garden while Black is on the loose?"

"I was going to get food," Harry plainly answered, not backing down. "You're sick. I didn't know how long you'd be asleep."

Snape's eyes narrowed, and he stepped back from the door, pointing at the kitchen.

"I have a cold, Potter. Not some exotic fatal disease," Snape answered, following him down the hall. "I am perfectly capable of fetching groceries."

"Well I didn't know," Harry muttered, feeling once again like he was in the wrong. "I've never been sick before."

Snape let out a loud barking cough, and Harry winced slightly at how painful it sounded. He walked over to the owl post and stroked Hedwig's head softly, as a way to calm himself.

"Never been sick?" Snape asked, a sneer only slightly masked by his cough. "I remember brewing pepper-up for the flu that swept through Gryffindor tower last year."

Snape checked on the soup simmering on the stove, but Harry could tell from the scent that it needed to cook a bit longer.

"The Dursleys didn't care if I ate dirt when I was little," Harry shrugged, turning to look at Snape. "Hermione thinks that boosted my immune system, or something like that."

"Ridiculous," Snape muttered, holding out his hand and waiting for something. His housecoat floated into the room seconds later, and Harry watched as Snape wrapped it around himself like a cloak.

"Oh," Harry suddenly said, figuring out that Snape had likely used the same summoning charm that Harry had earlier.

"Here's your money," Harry said, pulling notes and coins out of his pocket, and dumping them on the counter. "I'm not quite sure where it all came from, but I didn't actually go to the store."

Snape stared between him and the money, before shaking his head.

"How many people saw you?"

Harry gave him a curious look.

"Outside? An old woman up the street, maybe two kids walking a dog."

Snape nodded, though he looked like he was also rolling his eyes at the same time. Harry wondered if the old lady was the gossip queen of the village.

"I didn't look like myself, though," Harry continued in a slightly accusatory tone, standing up straight and speaking directly at Snape. "My hair was short and light brown, and my scar was gone."

"Yes," Snape dryly replied, spooning out soup into a bowl. "It's a simple enough charm, Potter. I imagine even your father was able to do it."

"My..." Harry started. Snape carefully walked to the table with the soup, ignoring Harry's affronted look. "There's a charm that will automatically change my hair when I go outside?"

"Of course," Snape snapped. The 'you idiot' was left off, but clearly there. "Fetch your own soup if you want some."

Harry said nothing about being the one to have made the soup, and automatically moved to get his own. Serving himself was second nature, especially in the summer.

"The charm, Potter," Snape continued, after eating some of the broth, "is a basic level of security within wizarding wards. Much like the polyjuice potion you and your little friends brewed last year, it is able to change your appearance. Unlike the potion, this charm simply changes various features, instead of mimicking."

Harry was glad he was standing over the pot of soup, because he was quite certain his expression would have cemented his guilt over the polyjuice incident.

"Oh. So the charm is there for kids, who can't do magic on themselves?" Harry asked, bringing his own bowl of soup to the table.

"That's what parents are for, Potter," Snape grumbled, withdrawing a large handkerchief from his housecoat and giving a hearty blow. Harry imagined a honker as big as Snape's would be a pain to have while sick.

"I wouldn't know, sir," Harry sarcastically muttered. He twirled his spoon in his soup, not really hungry, but not full enough to avoid eating.

"Have you not learned anything about security?" Snape asked, his eyes glaring at Harry from just under the fringes of his hair.

"Yeah," Harry answered, suddenly feeling grumpier than normal. Snape kept him off balance, where at least with his relatives he knew mostly what to expect. "I've learned that keeping the Philosopher's Stone under charms in the castle isn't a good idea."

Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry as he lifted his spoon from the bowl.

"Your sarcasm is neither appreciated nor desired."

It wasn't quite a demand to stop, and Harry found it completely bizarre that he was sitting in his Professor's kitchen at home, eating soup that he'd made, and not really getting in trouble for mouthing back.

"I was just going to go to the closest shop," Harry finally muttered, not quite understanding why Snape was so annoyed.

Snape's spoon clattered to the table, and he let out a hoarse cough before speaking.

"Potter. I am not a very happy man at the moment. Can you fathom why that is?"

Harry glanced up at his Professor, and tried not to wince at the glare he was getting from Snape's reddened eyes.

"Uh, because you're sick?" Harry said, running through possible reasons that he could say without getting hexed.

"No," Snape growled, blowing into his handkerchief. "Imagine, Mr Potter, if one of your duties as a professor is to keep the Boy who Lived alive," Snape said, gripping his spoon as if it was his wand.

"It sort of is," Harry said, without thinking. "I mean. I don't want to die, you see."

Snape's fingers twitched around the spoon, and Harry subtly moved his chair a little further back from the table, out of physical range.

"And yet you left my house, without knowing where you were, or even if the enchantments on the house would allow you to return," Snape ground out.

"I..." Harry thought, trying to remember what he'd been thinking. It had just seemed obvious - Snape was almost out of food, sick and asleep, and Harry was hungry. "I didn't know you could hide a house," Harry finished, shaking his head.

"Of course you can hide a house," Snape disdainfully said. He sneezed twice, barely missing his bowl of soup with the handkerchief, and Harry made a face. "This is why you are getting those lessons, Potter. Your knowledge of magic is downright appalling, and your blind faith in people concerns me."

Bristling, Harry crossed his arms over his chest. It was one thing for Snape to insult him during class, when he couldn't fight back, but Harry wasn't going to let him have free rein during the summer.

"I don't have blind faith in people," Harry argued, keeping his arms up as a way to fortify himself. "Draco Malfoy was one of the first people I met when I became a wizard, and I don't trust him at all."

Snape put his elbow on the table, his palm supporting his head, and still managed to look menacing.

"Rubeus Hagrid was the first person you met. A half giant with a pink umbrella who appeared in the middle of the night to whisk you away to some magical school you'd never heard of nor believed in. And you willingly went, didn't you, Potter? Without a second thought."

Harry flushed, remembering how happy he was that night to just be getting away from the Dursleys. Going on the offensive, Harry steeled himself to glare back at Snape.

"All right. Tell me why you're giving me lessons, then."

Snape's lip twitched at being given an order.

"Excuse me?" he softly asked, though the gravelly throat ruined some of the threatening effect.

"I'm thinking before acting," Harry slowly said. "So tell me why you want to train me, or I'll go back to the Dursleys."

Something ugly lit up in Snape's eyes, and Harry braced for a scathing response.

"Oh will you? I suppose you think you're too talented and lucky to require defensive tutoring?"

"No," Harry argued back. "I've never thought that."

"And yet you question the assistance of a Professor who has already saved your life..."

"A Professor who hates me," Harry cut in, feeling petulant. "Who thought I was growing up as a spoiled brat instead of a ...a house elf."

"I refuse to get into a pissing math over horrible childhoods," Snape snapped.

"Right. Fine," Harry said, pulling his knees up as he sat in the chair. "But if you want me to stay here and learn Defence, tell me why I should trust you."

Snape looked like he was about to burst a vein over his eye, but Harry kept his gaze firm.

"Is it not enough to want to stay alive, boy?" Snape growled.

"No," Harry simply answered. "You loathed me from the moment I came to Hogwarts. The Dursleys hated me too, when I first showed up. But they have to take care of me. You don't."

Snape had a mouthful of soup again, and Harry knew that was likely the only reason that he'd not been told to get to work scrubbing cauldrons. He felt a flash of triumph, and then furrowed his eyebrows.

"You knew Aunt Petunia..." Harry said, remembering what his Aunt had said the night before. "You're not ... you're not related, are you?"

Harry could feel the blood leaving his face, and for once was glad to see Snape's familiar expression of disgust.

"Absolutely not," Snape answered. He stood up from his chair and swept toward the counter, but looked unsteady on his feet as he did so.

"But you do know Aunt Petunia," Harry continued, studying Snape. He noticed the slight flinch of Snape's shoulders, which as evident even through the man's thick housecoat. "Which means you also knew my Mum."

Snape flipped the kitchen cupboard open and rooted through it until he pulled out a phial of something. He knocked it back in one swing, and Harry bit back a smile as the steam escaping Snape's ears made his hair flutter.

"I knew your mother," Snape admitted, and it was exactly that. An admission. Harry wondered what had happened between his Mum and Snape for Snape to sound so...broken over mentioning her.

"And," Snape continued strongly, seeming to rally with the pepper up, "she would approve of you being taught how to defend yourself. She gave her life for you, Potter. It would be extremely poor form to piss that away."

"I'm not pissing anything away," Harry immediately countered. "I don't actually want to die, Professor."

Snape was still facing the window, looking outside at whatever was in the trees across the river.

"Then it is now your turn to prove it," Snape answered. He turned finally, and looked no less imposing in his housecoat as he crossed his arms and stared at Harry. Despite that, Harry pushed a little bit more and asked his final question.

"Are you doing this for my mother? Because you knew her?"

Snape's upper lip curled, and Harry prepared for a scathing comment about being nosy. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia certainly didn't permit questions, and Harry wasn't quite sure why he was willing to take the risk of asking with Snape, of all people.

A smile took over suddenly, an ugly sort of half smile that Harry had seen before on one of the old Christmas cartoon specials Dudley had watched as a child. How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Harry remembered.

"Perhaps I am training you, Mr Potter, because I know precisely how much your survival will irritate your remaining relatives," Snape said, putting the phial down in the sink and looking oddly happy.

"And defeating Voldemort is just a bonus?" Harry automatically answered, eyes widening slightly once he realised what he'd said.

"A larger one than you could ever know," Snape muttered, glancing downward at his left arm. Harry thought at first he was going to check the time, but there was a clock right beside Snape and Harry had never seen Snape wear a watch before.

"I'm not staying here for the rest of the summer, am I?" Harry then asked, realising just how small Snape's house was. As ... nice ...  as Snape seemed to be outside of the school, Harry was pretty sure that they'd end up killing each other in such small quarters. Fortunately, Snape looked just as disturbed with that idea as Harry.

"Absolutely not. I will attempt to contact Miss Granger's parents this afternoon," Snape answered, coughing into his handkerchief. His cheeks were flushed, likely from the soup, but the edges of his face were deathly pale and he had a slight sway to him as he stood leaning against the counter.

Harry nodded and finished up his soup. He wondered if he should tell Snape how sick the man looked, but reconsidered it after a moment. Many students called Snape a greasy git and dungeon bat, and Harry suspected telling him that he looked like death probably wouldn't go over very well.

"Are you going back to sleep?" Harry asked, picking up his bowl to put in the sink.

He didn't get a chance to hear Snape's answer before a bright flash erupted in the kitchen. It took form around the spots in Harry's eyes, revealing a silvery white phoenix that looked very similar to Fawkes.

Snape was scowling at the bird, and Harry wondered if it had come from Dumbledore.

"Severus, your order of pogrebin hair will be delivered at one to the café. I have also heard a very strange rumour at the Ministry. I wonder if we could meet to discuss things?"

The message was given in Dumbledore's normal soft tone, but even Harry could tell there was an order hidden in the polite invitation.

Harry watched with unhidden curiosity as a grouchy look formed on Snape's face, as the man seemed to be making a decision.

"I am about to inform the Headmaster of your whereabouts, Potter," Snape suddenly said. "Unless you have any objection?"

The last was said with sarcasm and a raised eyebrow and Harry looked at Snape in confusion.

"Doesn't Dumbledore just know? I mean, last year he knew I went to the Weasleys..."

"The owls know. The Headmaster is not, no matter how much he enjoys the illusion, omnipotent. And so we begin our training, Mr Potter."

Snape held his hand up for a row of loud sneezes, earning him a displeased hoot and glare from Hedwig.

"Do you want the Headmaster to know where you are?"

Harry blinked a few times at that question, before sitting reaching out to smooth Hedwig's ruffled feathers. Did he? Dumbledore had always seemed a kind and grandfatherly man, who wanted the best for Harry. Then again, he'd been the one to send Harry to the Dursleys, and he'd been the one in first year to let Harry risk his life for the stone. Dumbledore had ensured that Harry knew how to ask for help in the Chamber though, and he had also trusted both Harry and Ron to save Ginny.

Harry twisted his lower lip, flummoxed, before looking at Snape.

"I don't know. I don't know what the right answer is."

Snape allowed a small curl of his lips into a smile, which unfortunately did not look very good with his reddened nose.

"What do you think will happen if he knows you're here?" Snape asked, tapping his fingers against his forearm.

"Nothing, really. Except I don't know if students are allowed at teachers' homes," Harry shrugged.

"They usually are not," Snape wryly said. "But your Aunt gave very explicit permission."

"Yeah. Hang on," Harry said, shaking his head once, and then staring back at Snape. "Are you saying that I shouldn't always tell Dumbledore where I am? Or what's going on?"

Snape sighed, and rubbed his temple as he poured himself a glass of water.

"Yes," Snape finally answered. "I trust the Headmaster with my life, but that does not mean he makes the best decisions regarding all that comes before him."

Before Harry could say anything else, Snape flicked his wand forward, and a silvery white doe shot forth.

"Whoa!"

The silvery doe walked gracefully in a circle, giving Harry a curious look, before returning to Snape. She nudged his hand with her nose, as if trying to make him feel slightly better.

"I will retrieve the order. Potter is safe, and will be removed to the Grangers. No discussion is necessary."

Snape then sneezed twice, and Harry wasn't sure if the sneezes would be delivered with the message, but he smirked, knowing that they were an effective way to tell Dumbledore that Snape wasn't up to a chat.

He watched Snape pet the doe's head, and then heard him give her the Headmaster's name.

"Albus Dumbledore."

The doe gave a short nod, and trod silently to the door, where she materialised into air.

"So that's, that's like a private howler?" Harry asked, staring at the spot where the bright doe had been standing. He missed the considering look Snape was giving him.

"I suppose it could be considered as such. Be ready to leave in twenty minutes," Snape said, slipping out of the kitchen and heading for the washroom. Harry looked at the clock and saw it was approaching twelve-thirty already.

"Can't I just stay here and play the Nintendo?" Harry muttered, making a note in his notebook to ask Snape why he had a bloody Super Nintendo to begin with.

.....

Snape had made himself somewhat presentable in the twenty-minute warning time. He'd put on a black business jacket, which wasn't quite the same as the frock coat he normally wore, but was a bit longer than fashionable for most Muggles. It gave him a distinguished and business-like look, but also allowed him to blend in with wizards. The weather, which had been windy but tolerable in the morning, had now decided to drizzle and Snape had done himself up against the chill.

"Your name is John," Snape said, holding Harry by the arm as they manoeuvred up the street. There were plenty of people milling about, though no one seemed to pay Snape or Harry any mind. Harry tried to flatten his hair as they walked - as soon as he'd stepped out of Snape's house the charm had shortened his hair almost to Arthur Weasley's length, and turned it into the same sandy brown colour as before. Snape had done a vision spell as well, so Harry's glasses were folded up into his pocket.

"You are my nephew, and you are going to sit quietly at the front bar while wait for my order."

"Really? John?" Harry dryly asked, scratching his neck. Snape had given him an old green jumper to put on, and the wool was itchy. "No one is going to know me here."

 "John isn't in anyway related to your real name. Another lesson; don't ever get cutesy or smart when choosing aliases," Snape grumpily said, steering them toward a small Muggle cafe called 'Honey Brew'. "And you have no idea where we even apparated to."

Harry supposed he was right, though he was fairly certain that Snape wouldn't intentionally put him into danger. Once again Harry was reminded of how Dumbledore had been so proud of him when he'd kept Quirrell from getting the Philosopher's Stone.

The inside was warm and full of trinkets and cheap decorative things all over the place. There was a fireplace in the back, and the tables all had different tablecloths on them. Snape steered Harry to the front cash, where there was a small little strip of counter and a few bar stools. Harry tried to look around, but Snape blocked his view of the rest of the cafe.

"Sit," Snape hissed, withdrawing a Muggle notebook and pen, an identical notebook to the one Harry had taken earlier from Snape's kitchen table.

A woman dressed in an alarming amount of flower-printed fabric sidled up, and asked what the two of them would like.

"Coffee, please," Harry boldly asked. He purposefully didn't raise his eyes, so he wouldn't see the look Snape was giving him.

"With milk and sugar," Snape continued, fishing out a five pound note from his pocket to give the woman. "John, your homework."

Harry miserably took the notebook as the woman walked off to make the coffee.

"Write down everything you can remember about your altercations with Tom Riddle," Snape said, before coughing into his sleeve.

"Everything?" Harry asked, looking up. He'd already met Voldemort a few times, and they were not times Harry particularly wanted to remember.

"Everything," Snape repeated, tapping the notebook with his finger. Harry scrunched his face up at that, not wanting any of Snape's germs near him.

Snape then left, weaving through the tables and sitting down near the back. He had chosen an empty table, facing the door, and pretended to look over the menu.  Snape's hair was also shorter, in an indistinguishably normal haircut that most Muggle men in their thirties wore.

Another man, who Harry curiously noted did not come in from the front door, but instead from the back, joined him quickly. This man was wearing a shockingly bright red shirt under his black overcoat, which Harry thought was rather strange as it was very noticeable. He also had long dirty black hair with blue streaks in it, a plethora of gaudy jewellery on his fingers, and carried a package that was wrapped in plain brown paper and string.

He was getting quite a few looks from the other patrons in the shop.

"Hi!"

A young boy no older than six climbed onto the seat next to Harry, dressed inexplicably like Spiderman, and pointed a foam spider web sprayer at him.

"I'm Spidermaaaaan!" the boy happily told Harry. Over the boy's head was his mother, who was giving Harry a tired smile.

"You could be Spiderman too," the boy added, putting his toy web shooter up on the bar top.

Harry shook his head in bemusement, a small grin flitting over his lips.

"Well I could have," Harry assured, folding his notebook closed. "But I don't look as good in tights, you see. So I became a wizard instead."

"Wizards are cool too!" the boy beamed. He chattered happily to Harry as his mother picked up their takeaway pastries, and gave Harry an enthusiastic wave when they left. Harry waved back, trying to imagine Aunt Petunia's reaction to letting either him or Dudley out of the house dressed as a super hero when they were children. Dudley, maybe, but even his Aunt had her limits out in public.

Harry glanced back at Snape's table, and noticed that both Snape and the man seemed to be ending their conversation. The oddly wrapped parcel had been slipped into a Tesco's shopping bag, which Snape held tightly in his hands.

Snape nodded once more at the man, and then turned to leave the café. He glared at Harry; wordlessly demanding that Harry came along, and only paused at the café door when the man called out to him.

"Graphorn and Runespoor are in demand now," the man casually said, paying his bill with a large amount of Muggle money. He didn't seem to care about getting change, nor if the Muggles heard him talking about potion ingredients, and also walked toward the front door. "Large shipment headed for Albania, if you want in."

Snape regarded the man with an impassive face, though Harry had noticed that Snape's fingers were twitching, and his skin was much paler than it had been when they'd arrived at the café.

"Not interested," Snape slowly said. "Not at this time."

The man shrugged, and a second later had slipped out the door into the afternoon pedestrian crowd.

"Take the bag, John," Snape roughly said, holding tightly onto the door handle. Harry grabbed it, slightly concerned at the near-instant flush that had lit up Snape's previously white cheeks.

"Are you all right, sir?" Harry asked, following after Snape as they walked toward the alleyway they'd arrived in. Snape didn't answer, and Harry reached out to steady him as Snape's gait wavered.

"Fine. I merely require water," Snape said, and though he seemed to be trying for anger, Harry saw that his expression was slack and the man had shut his eyes. Letting Snape lean against the alley wall, Harry withdrew his wand and looked around to see if there were any Muggles watching. None were, so Harry stuck his wand out.

Big purple bus, big purple bus, big purple bus...

BANG.

The bus skidded to a stop inches from Harry's feet, and a different spotty teenager emerged.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, Emergency Transport for the Stranded Witch or Wizard."

"Hi," Harry said, cutting off whatever the rest of the speech was. "Can you help me get him on the bus?"

The teen gave Harry a dubious look, before shrugging and stepping down to help. They managed to get Snape shovelled into one of the beds near the front of the bus, and in between mutterings about dehydration, Harry got the village name out of Snape as well.

"Lower Tarrow," Harry told the attendant. He had enough change for both tickets, and paid for hot chocolate too in the fleeting thought that it might make Snape feel better. With the first bang of the bus taking off though, Harry just concentrated on not splashing the hot liquid everywhere.

After three stops and a mostly successful attempt at getting Snape to drink something, they stopped outside a dingy pub in north London and picked up a rather scraggly looking character. Harry watched from Snape's bed, where he was perched on the end partially to keep from falling, and partially to keep Snape from tipping over.

"James," the man said, in answer to what his name was. The attendant didn't seem much more interested in him, but Harry was. The man was dressed in a Muggle suit, but it was slightly too short for him at the cuffs and ankles. Harry wondered why he'd not done magic to fix it, like Mrs Weasley would have. As the man haggled on a price with Muggle money, Harry looked over the rest of his features. Long red hair that was unnaturally straight, an uncomfortably tight shirt collar, buttoned up all the way as if to hide something, and strange tan lines on his fingers. Harry wondered if the man normally wore rings, and had removed them for the ride.

"Where to then, James?" the teenage conductor asked, as the man took a spot closest to the back door.

"Weybridge," James grumbled, pulling his sleeves down in a futile attempt to cover his wrists. Harry kept his head down, idly writing down in the notebook the two ingredients the man in the shop had mentioned. Snape was sitting beside him, elbows on his knees, supporting his head, and his face looked very flushed.

"Weybridge is less than ten miles from your relatives," Snape said, his voice low enough to not be overheard.

"I know," Harry quietly acknowledged. "He looks like he's in disguise, as well."

Snape glanced up, and Harry could see that his eyes were red and watery, his nose was an angry red colour, and he looked miserable.

"Your training will start immediately," Snape muttered. His arm was propped on the bed, holding him up, but Harry suspected that Snape very much wanted to lie down.

The bus lurched forward at a startling speed, knocking most of the beds back a foot or two. They were swerving through little villages, somehow avoiding Muggle cars, bicycles, and fence posts.

"And you will pay for making me ride this ridiculous contraption," Snape threatened.