One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Harry counted the spots of damp on the ceiling. The middle spot looked as if two were combined together along one edge. Did that count as one spot or two? That’s odd because he distinctly remember that it had been two spots about an hour ago. Well then, it definitely counted as two. Harry let out a heavy sigh. He was so bored.

He was laying down on his bed with a transfiguration book sitting face down on his chest. He had tried to pull a Hermione and start memorizing all his textbooks just so he would have something to do. He had finished his homework a week ago. Harry never truly appreciated how smart Hermione was until now, these huge textbooks were impossible to understand without the teachers explanations and the fact that he couldn’t practice with a wand really did not help matters.

He glanced at the open window looking for a familiar white shape but the sky was a clear unmarked blue. There wasn’t even a cloud that he could mistake for his faithful familiar. His friends haven’t written back to him in weeks. Harry couldn’t really blame them. After all, both of them had families that wanted to spend time with them and truth be told, if Harry had a family he wouldn’t be looking out the window every hour waiting for the post to arrive. Where else would he find a friendly word?

It has been three weeks since he had arrived at Snape’s doorstep. Harry had spent most of this time locked up in his room, reading, writing letters to his friends and doing his homework while he still had it. There was just no were else for him to go. The garden was out of bounds and the rest of the house was just too dark. Once Harry had tried to pry the shutters open but the locks wouldn’t budge. He had tried hard, pushing and pulling, rattling the window panes. He had only stopped when Snape materialized out of the shadows and hissed at him to “stop being an infernal nuisance, Potter.”

Speaking of Snape, the man was never anywhere to be found. The house was eerily quiet, almost as if Harry was the only living soul roaming its corridors. He didn’t even know where his lab and his bedroom were located. There were doors everywhere in this house. Small ones and large ones crammed together into every available space. There were doors under the staircase, doors along the hallway, doors lining the kitchen and the living room. There was no way to know where each and every door led but they made Harry highly uncomfortable. Unlike at Hogwarts where every door was an adventure, here it felt as if behind each and every door, Snape could be lying in wait, ready to ambush him. So in his small room he stayed, staring at walls covered in a dull grey paint with only a single bed and a cupboard for company. Harry sighed wearily. This summer was going to be a very long one indeed.

Harry shook his head, trying to get rid of all the gloomy thoughts. He just needed to focus on the positive side of things. First, he was still alive and intact which, considering Snape’s dark reputation, was a small miracle. Second, he was well- fed. Every day when he went down to the kitchen in time for breakfast, lunch or dinner, a full meal complete with desert was laid out on the elegant table. Third and best of all, Snape was no where in sight which meant that Harry would have to endure his biting comments and insults as little as possible. All in all, his situation could have been a lot worse.

“Potter?” Snape’s voice called from behind his bedroom door. Harry jumped up from the bed, feeling as if he had been caught doing something illegal. Snape’s voice had that affect on most people.

“What is it, sir?” Harry answered, rushing to open the door. What was going on? Snape had never come out to look for him, not once in three weeks. Their contact had been limited to accidental brushes along the corridor. So why was he here now, knocking at his bedroom door?

Snape was standing in front of the doorway with his hands crossed in front of his chest, his face contorted into a familiar expression of loathing. His cold eyes swept over Harry, examining him from head to toe.

“Well, well, Potter. I see you have been sleeping in the middle of the day. It seems that your supreme laziness is not limited to the school year.” Harry bit his tongue, hard, trying to keep himself from saying something he will regret. He could feel the familiar anger rise in his chest but he forced his voice to remain polite.

“Did you want something, sir?”

“Lunch is ready. Come downstairs in ten minutes precisely.” With that, Snape spun around, his black robes bellowing around him. “And Potter, do try and look presentable. You look like a delinquent in those abominable rags.”

Delinquent? Harry felt his throat constrict as he shut the door slowly. He felt a sudden inexplicable urge to laugh. A delinquent. The man had called him a delinquent just like Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Aunt Marge. Snape was just like them, hating him for no reason than because he breathed. It had taken him ten long years to escape the clutches of the Dursleys and now, look where he was. Harry passed a hand through his mop of messy hair. He was just so bloody tired. Almost on automatic, he went to his trunk and got dressed in his school robes, the only suite of cloths that didn’t look as if he was wearing elephant skin. He took out the Gryffindor badge and hid it in the bottom of his trunk. The man hated him already, there was no need to provoke him any further.

He passed a comb through his hair but just as always, his messy mop refused to be tamed. What did he care what Snape thought? He was a death eater after all, allied to the man who killed his parents. He didn’t give a damn what he thought. Snape called him a prat, a fool, an arrogant show-off and a delinquent. What did he care? It was just Snape being the usual greasy git, the terror of the dungeons. I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care. Harry repeated the words again and again in his mind, the same words he had repeated thousands of times at number 4, Private Drive.

He remembered the first time he told himself that he didn’t care. He had been barely five and it was the merry time of Christmas. At least, it had been merry for anyone whose name hadn’t been Harry James Potter. While the Dursleys were laughing and singing carols, their bellies filled with mince pies and stuffed turkey, Hary had been standing in a corner, watching. He had watched while they played games. He had watched while they opened their Christmas crackers and adorned their heads with paper crowns. He had watched while Dudley opened his presents, sitting on his father’s lap while his mother handed him present after present, each one wrapped with glossy red and green wrapping paper. There were so many presents that he couldn’t even keep count. There was a brand new bike, a game boy, a stuffed bear, a toy helicopter and so much more. And for Harry? Absolutely nothing. That year Harry had gone so far as to ask Uncle Vernon if Santa had left him any presents. He had been careful to be extra good that year, but Uncle Vernon had just growled. “You are a delinquent boy and Santa doesn’t give presents to delinquents.” He didn’t even know what the word had meant but he still cried as he stood at his corner telling himself that he didn’t care, over and over again. Harry had lost count of the number of times he had been called a delinquent. His uncle, his aunt, his cousin and even the neighbors. It had never mattered that he had tried his best to be good, he was still a delinquent.

Harry had a private bathroom. He went inside and slammed the door shut. Okay. He had to calm himself down. In five more minutes he had to go downstairs and face Snape and his biting insults. He couldn’t loose his temper, not here when he was entirely at Snape’s mercy.

He went to the sink and opened the faucet. Cold water rushed out. Droplets splashed onto his white shirt, leaving behind a pattern of grey spots. Harry gripped the edges of the sink and let out a deep steadying breathe. I don’t care. I don’t care. I’m just being an idiot. Sure, he still got insulted on a daily basis but at least, he didn’t have to work anymore and he got fed, which is a hell of a lot better than at the Dursleys. All in all, it wasn’t so bad.

Then why did he feel like banging his head on the nearest grey wall every few hours? Why is it that Snape’s comments still stung? Because for just an instant, before Dumbledore came out with this ridiculous solution, he had dared to hope that finally, after years of disappointment, he would be having a real family. He had pictured himself sharing a room with Ron, coming down to breakfast everyday and having Mrs. Weasley greet him with a hearty good morning. He had pictured opening his present on Christmas morning and finding a jumper with a large H embroidered onto it.

Harry scooped up some water and splashed his face, letting the cold seep into his skin. He could feel the water slipping down his neck and dampening the white shirt. This was all his fault. He had broken the second most important rule of his life: never hope. With a tired sigh, Harry wiped his face with a pristine white towel and headed downstairs for breakfast.

______________

“Harry, my dear boy, it’s so good to see you!” Harry’s jaw dropped open. Professor Dumbledore was sitting at the table, his eyes twinkling under his half moon spectacles. Harry fought against the feeling of betrayal that was settling into his stomach and offered him a small smile.

“Its great to see you too, sir.” What was he doing here? Was it possible that he had come to take Harry away. Maybe he could go live with the Weasleys after all.

“It’s a splendid morning, isn’t it? Come. Come. Have a bite of bacon and eggs.” Dumbledore cheerfully patted the chair to his left. The dining room seemed completely transformed, the gloom and darkness vanished overnight. The windows were wide open throwing light onto the wooden table stuffed with food. There was bacon, eggs, pancakes, cupcakes, chocolate pudding and even a bright orange bowl filled with lemon drops. It looked like a feast. Snape was sitting to Dumbledore’s right with a Daily Prophet open in front of him looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else. He didn’t look up when Harry sat at the table and served himself with the smallest portions possible. He didn’t feel particularly hungry today.

“So Harry, I see you look well. I hope you’ve already started doing your summer homework.”

“I’ve finished it, sir.”

“Good, its always better when you get your homework done early. That way when September the first comes near, you won’t have anything to worry about.” He gave Harry a smile as he submerged his pancakes with maple syrup. Harry nodded, distractedly cutting a piece of bacon into little squares. He wanted to know what Dumbledore was doing here but he didn’t want to be rude and ask him directly. Was Dumbledore so happy because finally he was giving Harry what he always wanted, a proper family?

“I myself had a great summer. I found this dog on the…”

“Headmaster, perhaps it is better if you tell Potter why you are here.” So, it is true. Dumbledore had really come all the way here to see Harry. He crossed his fingers under the table, hoping despite himself that Dumbledore really did care about him.

“Of course, of course, Severus.” Dumbledore ate a forkful of pancakes and chewed slowly. Harry watched his face, his own food completely forgotten. Oh come on, Professor, show me that I was right in trusting you with my secret. Take me away from here.

“As you saw with your own eyes last year, Harry, Voldemort is anything but dead.”

“Oh.” This was definitely not what Harry had expected.

“Thanks to your quick actions, Voldemort still doesn’t have a human body but that doesn’t mean that he will stop trying to get one. His spirit has contacted his former death eaters and it seems like he’s trying to reassemble his army.”

“Without a body, sir?”

“Oh, I have no doubt that Voldemort has found another poor soul willing to share their body with him but yes, Harry, Voldemort still doesn’t have his own body. He must believe that with an entire army at his disposal, it will be easier to find a way to fully resurrect himself.”

“And then he’s going to come after me.”

“I’m afraid so.” Harry nodded, wondering why he wasn’t feeling more frightened. Maybe it is because Harry had already known all this. The moment he had come face to face with Voldemort he had known that the man would not stop hunting him.

“And that is why I have taken additional steps to make you sure you will be safe, Harry. I have asked Professor Snape to train you in advanced defense against the dark arts.” Harry blinked, the brief moment of hope vanishing in an instant. Advanced defense against the dark arts with Snape, the master of dark arts? Had Dumbledore completely lost his mind? Snape would hex him into oblivion and not teach him a single thing. So much for a Snape-free summer.

“I would think, Headmaster, that since you are the most powerful wizard in the world, you would be more suited to…” Snape started to argue.

“We have already discussed this, Severus. I have explained this to you once, I will not be doing it again.” Dumbledore was unusually stern as he looked at Snape above the rim of his half moon spectacles. “Your lessons will start immediately. The sooner you are trained in defending yourself, the better.”

“Will you be staying for the lesson, sir?” Harry asked clinging to the last shred of hope. If Dumbledore was with them, Snape wouldn’t dare hurt him.

“Me? Oh no, Harry. I have to be off now. In fact, I’m already late.” Dumbledore said looking pointedly at his watch and before Harry could come up with any kind of protest, Dumbledore was gone, leaving the two of the them to finish their breakfast in awkward silence.

______________

Honestly, was this man allergic to sunlight? Harry thought grimly as he stepped foot into the training room. There was no sunlight anywhere, only the dim orange glow of dozens of candles floating around in mid- air. With the large black and white checkered tiles covering the floor, the room looked oddly like the chess board Harry had played in last year but instead of an entire army of pieces, there were only two. Him and Snape. A pawn and a castle ready to blow each other into little pieces.

"This first lesson will be dedicated to practicing what you have already learned." Snape got straight to the point, probably wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. He was standing stiffly in the middle of the room, his wand held tightly in his right hand. Harry tried hard not to stare at the shiny black wand that seemed to gleam in the candlelight. What sort of dark spells did Snape know? Had anyone died at the point of that simple wand? Even now, with one flick Harry could be on the floor twitching in pain or worse, lying stone dead. Harry felt so utterly powerless at this moment and he was mad at Dumbledore for putting him in this situation. Even with Uncle Vernon Harry had known that if the worst happened he could turn around and run as fast as his legs could carry him but with Snape, what could he do? Absolutely nothing.



"Are so talented that you have already mastered wandless magic, Potter." Snape sneered.



"No, sir." His voice was quiet, respectful. Anything other than that would be dangerous. Whatever happens, he must not loose his temper.



"Then I suggest you take out your wand." Harry took out his wand and held it front of him, trying his best to remember all he had learned last year. With all the major changes that had taken place this summer, Harry had all but forgotten everything he had learned in school. His short wand felt completely useless in his inexperienced fingers.



"Now tell me, Potter, what spells would help you defend yourselves against an attack."



"Well... there's the flying spell, Wingardium Leviosa."



"And under what conditions can that spell be used?" Harry stared, not knowing what Snape was talking about. He vaguely remembered something Professor Flickwick had said in class. Something about how some magical animals were resistant to the spell. Or was it magical plants? Or maybe it was a different spell? Damn. Harry vowed that this year he would pay more attention in class.



“I had hoped that in these last few weeks you had acquired a modicum of intelligence. It seems that I was wrong.” Do not react. Do not react. I mustn’t make him angry.



"Let us try again, Potter. If a dragon were blocking your path, would you use Wingardium Leviosa to lift him out of the way."



"Uh... No?"



"And why is that, Potter?" Dead silence. "Are you telling me that you do not know how to answer such a simple question? If you hadn’t wasted so much time breaking the rules, you might have gotten more out of your lessons." Actually I’ve been too busy stopping a crazy dark wizard from returning to life, Snape. Harry thought angrily but he wisely kept his mouth shut.



“Wingardium Leviosa can only be used on items that weigh less than the person who casts the spell. Hence, if I cast the spell on you, you would start to float; however, if you cast the spell on me, nothing would happen. Now, I know that your minuscule mind is already overflowing with arrogance, Potter, but do try to remember this piece of vital information.”



“Yes, sir.” Harry hoped that Snape couldn’t tell how tightly his teeth were clenched.



“Now, I want you to practice this spell.” Snape lazily flicked his wand arm and a large book the size of footstool thumbed to the ground at Harry’s feet. “Send this book into that corner of the room.” Harry pulled up his sleeves and tried to concentrate. He couldn’t get this wrong. He knew this spell perfectly but with Snape sneering down at him it was hard to keep his focus on the dusty old book.



“Do be quick, Potter. We have a rather long list of spells to review. I want to finish this lesson before midnight.”



“Wingardium Levisa.” Harry blurted out, already panicked. He knew it was wrong the moment the words jumped out of his mouth.



“It’s ‘leviosa’, not ‘levisa.’ I would have thought even you knew that, Potter. Try again.”



“Wingardium Leviosum.” Damn it. Why couldn’t he say the bloody words? He knew this! He had used this spell on a troll for Merlin’s sake! Somehow Snape was even more stressful that a fully grown mountain troll.



“Potter! What is the matter with you? Wingardium Leviosa. It is not that hard. Try again!”



“Wingardium Leviosa.” Harry yelled, jabbing his wand in the book’s direction. The book shot across the room with the force of a bullet and hit Snape squarely on the chest. Oh, crap! So much for not angering the man.



“It is astounding, Potter, how you cannot follow the simplest of instructions. I told you to send the book to the opposite corner, like so.” He flicked his wand and the book gracefully sailed through thin air and landed in the corner. “Try again!” Another flick of his wand and the book was in front of Harry’s feet, waiting for his spell. Harry frowned at the book as if it was to blame for his current predicament. He lifted his wand, forced his anger deep inside him and said the spell.

_________



Four hours. They had been practicing all the spells Harry had used throughout the school year for four whole hours. Wasn’t he supposed to be learning advanced defense? Then why were they going over every single subject he had ever learned. They had gone over transfiguration spells, charms, potion properties and even herbology facts. What did any of these things have to do with defense? Harry would’ve sworn that Snape was just making him go over everything just to prove that he hadn’t paid attention to his classes.



Harry couldn’t feel his feet and beads of sweat were trickling down his forehead despite the chill in the room. Harry’s teeth were clenched so tightly, he was afraid they would break. Snape’s insults were getting worse and worse and Harry was finding it increasingly hard not to react. I must not make him angry. I must be polite. It’s nearly over. It can’t go on for much longer.



“You’re just like your father, Potter.” Do not react. Do not answer back. Harry bit the inside of his cheek. “Thinking that you’re better than everybody else simply because you exist. Arrogance and complete lack of brains seem to be family trait.” Do not react. Do not react. Harry’s left hand was balled into a fist, he had the sudden urge to punch that stupid sneer off Snape’s face.

“Try again, Potter!”

“Reparo!” Harry whispered through clenched teeth. Nothing happened. The book’s spine still remained cracked. Oh, how Harry hated that stupid book with its brown leather cover. He had been staring at the blasted thing for four hours!

“Brilliant spellwork.” Snape sneered. “Again!”

“Reparo!” Harry yelled. The book instead of mending itself, tore apart from the middle, its pages violently ripped out. Yellowed pages whisked through thin air, flying left and right so fast they seemed to have grown eagle wings. There was a loud thud as the book cover flew across the room and hit the opposite wall. It fell to the floor in four different pieces.

“Tell me, does that book appear to be completely mended to you?” Snape sneered looking at Harry through narrowed eyes.

“No, sir.” Harry took deep steadying breaths, he needed to calm himself down.

“Correct me if I am wrong, Potter, but did I not tell you to mend the book completely?”

“Yes you did, sir.”

“Then, why are there pieces of the book floating around in mid-air?” Harry thought it was safer to remain silent. “Answer the question, Potter.”

“I made a mistake, sir.”

“A mistake? I hardly think that is the cause. You know what I think, Potter? I think that you are the laziest person I’ve had the misfortune to meet, with the obvious exception of that worthless father of yours.”

“He was worth a lot more than you!” The words rushed out of his mouth before he had time to stop them. Harry clamped his mouth shut. I really need to learn how to control my temper.

“This coming from the mouth of the most ignorant student in the school. One who doesn’t even know how to cast a simple repair spell! Pathetic. Just like your fa…”

“My father could have beaten you bloody in a duel.” This time, Harry was too mad to even try to stop himself. Who was this idiot to talk about his father like this?. All color seemed to drain from Snape’s face. His thin lips twitched with fury. Harry gripped his wand tighter and held it in front of his face. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know any offensive spells. He would go down fighting.

“And how exactly did you deduce this brilliant conclusion. James Potter is stone dead. He was dead before you even learned how to talk.”

“Bastard!” The wand dropped from Harry fingers as he lunged at Snape’s neck. He hit an invisible barrier and was thrown to the ground. His elbow hit the stone floor sending shock waves of pain up his arm. Tears of anger and humiliation gathered at his eyes, blurring his vision. Snape’s dark figure towered over him, coming in and out of focus. Harry ignored the pain and quickly got himself back on his feet.

“What a brilliant idea, attacking a man with a wand with nothing but your fists.” Snape sneered.

“Shut up! Why don’t you just shut the hell up!?” Harry screamed. “I’ve had enough! Why do you have to insult me every single time you open that bloody mouth of yours? I mean, just once, can’t you say a normal sentence.”

“How dare you…”

“Three weeks I’ve been here and you’ve avoided me as if I had some deadly decease and even when we meet by accident, you still insult me! You called me stupid and arrogant but I didn’t say a single word. I was polite and respectful but I’ve had enough! You won’t insult my father too.”

“I will insult whomever I want to insult, Potter. Your father was an idiot, he was the most useless…”

“My father was a good man! He was so powerful that he had mastered wandless magic. He was so smart that he passed all his owls with outstanding results.”

“No, he did not! You are delusional, Potter.” Harry felt a slight flush creeping up his cheeks. He hadn’t meant to say that.

“And what if he didn’t? He is my father! The memories of my parents were all that kept me sane when Uncle Vernon locked me up in the cupboard and refused to let me eat! And when Dudley used me as a punch bag I thought of how they had loved me. So what if the memories weren’t real? Is it a crime to imagine that my father was a perfect hero?” Harry was panting, hard. Damn. He shouldn’t have said that. He hadn’t meant to say all that. He was giving Snape more memories to torment him with. He needed to stop talking, now. But that was impossible. A damn had broken inside him and he couldn’t stop the flow of words rushing out of his mouth. All the feelings he had kept locked inside him were pouring out.

“They’re my family and yes, I know that they’re dead! I hear my mother’s screams at night, begging for my life!” Snape had gone quiet. He was looking at the floor, his expression hidden by shadows.

“What? You don’t have anything to say now, Snape? Aren’t you going to tell me that I deserved all the crap I’ve had to put up with? That I deserved to be starved and beaten and hated.” He got no response. Snape was standing still, slowly twirling his wand between his fingers. “Why so quiet? You want to insult me? Go ahead!”

“And you know what the worst part is?” Harry’s voice had gone quiet, the tears threatening to spill. With a supreme effort of will, he held them back. Snape would never see him cry. “When I went to Dumbledore, I thought that everything was over. I mean, I should have known better than to hope but I did anyway. Maybe I really am as dumb as you think me. I thought that Dumbledore cared for me, that he would make everything right. I thought that I’d no longer have to bare the hate and the insults but then, the man ships me off to live here, with you!”

“This lesson is terminated. Return to your room.” Snape’s voice was a whisper. The anger was no longer there, only weariness. He just sounded very tired.

“Even then, I was a complete dumbass and I hoped.” Harry continued, ignoring his dismissal. “Dumbledore must have a reason to send me here. Maybe you aren’t as bad as I thought you were. Maybe when you weren’t in class, you’d be nicer. All crap! You are nothing but a sadistic bully!” Harry stormed out of the room, even forgetting his wand in his haste to get out of that there, away from Snape.