There was no sound in the room, nor light.

The minute the door closed, time slipped out of his grasp, sending him back before Snape, before even his makeshift family huddled together for physical and emotional warmth.

Harry is still. Much too still.

Until he isn't. Until the stillness he so trusted takes such a rapid shift into a drumming heart, Harry feels like he's been toppled over. Nausea and cold dread pools in his stomach creating a vile mixture. One hand over his stomach, Harry manages to regain a little balance before he feels a hot flash strike his body, leaving behind beads of sweat. Cold, hot. Both of them at once and the growing noise from those thumping footsteps flooding viciously in his ears, louder than they actually are. Louder than they should be.

He tries the door - once, twice. It doesn't open, and the feeling of being abandoned on a high ledge bites his insides.

"No, no…" he drops the handle with shaking hands, tugging his trembling fists against his chest, "No!"

He takes a step back. Another. Then another. Enough steps to get his back to hit something solid and slip down its length, away from the screams, away from the shouts ringing in his ears. But he can't cry. He won't let himself be heard. So with hands slammed against his mouth, legs, stomach and head throbbing with searing pain, Harry curls up into a ball, away from the screams and shouts of his uncle and aunt in the cupboard under the stairs.

The clock in the parlor struck once. Harry stilled, pulling his wet hands from his lips but made no effort to stand up, counting the ringing.

One, two, three… ending at exactly ten.

Minutes. It had only been minutes. Harry further curled up into himself, hands once more covering his mouth, this time to calm his exhausted breathing.

Some stray tears drip past his nose, tapping on the wood underneath him. And only when the half-hour mark rang out, followed by a slamming of a door did Harry pull himself up. His fingers shook still.

The window caught his attention. There was no moon, only pale lights barely making it past his window. Harry turned his back to it, stumbling to the bed. What he had experienced… it wasn't there anymore, but it left behind an exhaustion settled in his bones and a hoard of emotions he felt too tired to sort through. Harry shivered, wiping furiously at his eyes. He wouldn't go through this. He refused to go through this. He refused to be angry, to be sad for the things he had caused and refused to be confused about what had happened.

But when he felt the memories treading back, he pulled up his sleeve and jarred his chapped nail down his arm. Again, and again and again. Whilst he stood, whilst he laid down and even while the exhaustion, too strong for him to fend off, pulled him into a restless sleep.

Morning didn't come when he awoke. The scratching didn't stop. Brief burns flickering down his skin until he was calm enough to sleep.

Morning hadn't arrived the second time he woke up either, so Harry, refusing to be angry, fist and jaw clenched, stumbled to the window. It jarred open sharply long enough for Harry to breath in the half-dirty air before walking back to the bed. The cold seeped through the window. He curled up around the blanket, tossing and turning and scratching until the first blue of the morning.

And then, he slept.

The third time he woke up, the sun was trickling past the window and touching his face, easing him out of his restless sleep.

Harry turned to his right, away from the light, covering his face and trying to go back to sleep. It almost worked, until he heard footsteps climbing up the stairs and crossing the parlor without pausing. Harry tensed, squeezing his hands and lying very, very stil.

The door opened without the click of a lock, making Harry wonder when Snape had unlocked it. Then, he remembered the windows, how he had left them open during the night and how they were closed now. That didn't comfort him at all. In fact, the idea of Snape entering the room while Harry was sleeping, at his most vulnerable, made him wrinkle his nose and grimace.

The footsteps stopped just beside his bed, catching Harry's breath. Just for a second. That's when he remembered to breathe, for the sake of his pretend sleep, taking measured and deep breaths.

Harry heard Snape sigh, then the gentle thud of something being placed on the desk near his bed before the footsteps carried out the room, closing the door behind them.

There came no click of the lock.

It still took Harry long after the footsteps disappeared down the office to lift the blanket, sighing in relief at the cool air that touched his exposed skin and sweaty shirt.

And lifting his head, Harry saw a small tray on the table with a small bowl and a spoon aligned neatly on the side, waiting for him. He still felt exhausted, as though the source of all his emotions and energy had been drained to the last drop, leaving him to navigate alone in the drought. Still, he pushed his legs over the side of the bed, shakily walking towards the table and picking up the bowl of porridge.

Squeezing his eyebrows, he lifted the spoon, hating himself for being able to stomach the food despite everything that had happened.

After the last bite, he dropped the spoon into the bowl, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and wiping that on his trousers. Turning to the bed, he took a precious fifteen minutes to tiredly make the sheets, spending another ten to get himself to look somewhat presentable before walking out the room, tray in hand.

There was no Snape in the parlor. As the man hated Harry washing the dishes, thinking he'd waste the precious water they had, Harry left the bowl and spoon on the counter and stuffed the tray beside the corner of the counter.

The clock rang behind him, making him jump and narrow his eyes. It stopped at nine. Harry raised his brows, turning to the door in surprise. Snape had left Harry asleep this long. Then again, after last night…

Harry sighed. What had they even argued about? Harry couldn't even remember what had stemmed the angry outbursts. Was it seeing Oliver? Getting tired of Snape meddling with his life? Harry bit down on his lip, nodding furiously at the thought. That had to be it. Snape was meddling into his life, and Harry had enough of it, and was going to go down stairs and- But... it wasn't meddling. He stopped short of touching the door knob, pulling his hand back.

Harry recalled all the good things Snape had done, since the day he arrived while pacing around the room, dropping his face into his face. The only times he remembered being angry at Snape were at the comments he made, or when Snape didn't even flick him on the ear were he to answer back.

And, with that, Harry felt a complete idiot for thinking he could barge down the stairs and stand in front of Snape, wearing the clothes he had bought him, stomach full from the food he had made him after sleeping in the room he had given him.

No, Harry rubbed his arm, taking a deep breath and opening the door. He wouldn't say anything. In fact, he wouldn't apologise at all and wait until Snape said anything and act according to how the conversation went.

Even if it took them the whole day to get there.

Mind made up, he threw open the door, chin raised and feet firmly on the step. He wouldn't shrink away. He wouldn't. Harry would open his door, go down the stairs and greet Snape as he normally did before getting back to work and-

He barely reached the door before he pulled his hand back, feeling his cheeks burn as he slid down the wall.

A sigh left his lips, long and tired, leaving his body to slouch against the wall. Extending his legs, Harry leaned his head back on the wall, closing his eyes. This wouldn't work. Harry just couldn't see how he could make up for what happened last night, or the days before, without making a mistake and not letting Snape get the upper hand during the conversation either.

So he stayed there some ten minutes, paddling in a river of his own thoughts for a solution. None came. So when the bell chimed, of course Harry jumped to his feet, finding the customers an appealing alternative to speaking with Snape.

But that, too, made his shoulders drop in defeat.

"M-may I help you?" he asked shakily, the hand he placed on the counter to balance him tapping on the wood.

"Oh, who are you young sir?" said the man with balding red hair and blue eyes behind a pair of glasses, wearing an excited smile, "An assistant of the Professor's?"

"Uh, yes, I am, actually," he said, stopping his hand. Harry eyed the man, and then the child he had brought with him that looked his age, with his father's tall, thin and gangling frame. The boy also had freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose, which he pitched occasionally with a mild expression of pain, "Would you like me to get him for you, sir?"

"We just came to pick up an order," the man said, a hand over the boy's shoulder, who was looking rather hopeful, "If you know where that is-" Harry shook his head. The boy's eyes dropped, his hands folded over his chest, "-Well, in that case, please tell Professor Snape Mr Weasley came to collect an order."

Harry nodded, looking at the boy one last time before stepping towards the door. Hand on the handle, he bit down on his lips, nervously shuffling his feet.

Mr Weasley's voice pressed forward, "Is everything alright, young man?"

Harry turned his head sharply towards Mr Weasly, and gave a quick shake of his head. No, what could be so wrong as to stop him from opening the door, walk down the spiralling staircase and tell Snape he had a customer? Nothing. Unless one was Harry, or any entity that had gotten into an argument with him. Blinking, he pulled down the handle, the metal almost slipping past his sweaty fingers and stepped into the room.

He thought about calling him from the first step. The room wasn't very deep underground. He would certainly hear. But Harry feared that'd be rude, and rude was something he was not planning to become.

Unless he was provoked, of course.

So Harry took the stairs one step at a time, under the occasional shadow cast from the light on the metal steps. And when he reached the bottom, expecting to find Snape busy bent over his work, he paused at the last step with parted lips.

Snape was in the corner, sitting on a chair. His elbows were placed on his thighs, hands stippled in front of his face, balancing his head while his back arched forward.

Harry took the last step, his hand still on the rails, cool to the touch. This, seeing Snape like that in the corner, felt like an intrusion to his privacy. Snape was a stern man, with a strict composure and even harsher decorum.

Harry ran a hand numbly down his arm, eyes pinned on his shoes, "Sir?"

Harry, of course, didn't see Snape's response, but he heard some small movement, and a low but clear voice crossing the room, "Yes, Mr Potter?"

"Uh," Harry lifted a hand to stroke his hair, eyes now travelling up the length of the cabinets, "There is… Mr Weasley. He said he's here for an order."

"Mr Weasly?" he repeated, the chair sliding across the floor. Harry lifted his head to find Snape had stood up and was crossing the distance between them with lengthy steps.

Harry took a step back, taking a sharp breath. That stopped Snape, right in front of the spot the saturated light of the day hit. His abrupt stop sent dust spiralling in the air. And the room was cast into a silence, left to the tuneless dance of the dust particles catching the light.

Much like Harry's nerves, it was uneven. Rapid. A million things at once jolting his heart until time settled them, like the dust spreading a thin layer on the floor.

At that, Harry took a breath, wiping his forehead and clearing his throat, "I-I'll go up first, shall I?"

It wasn't a suggestion, and had all the implication to be an order, but Snape nodded along, waiting until Harry was halfway up before his footsteps joined Harry's, echoing evenly in the room.

The Weaslys hadn't moved at all. Harry offered them a smile, which only the elder Weasly returned, and stepped around the corner to stand in front of the counter, away from the chimney and where he predicted Snape would stand.

"Mr Weasley," came the greeting, a long leg sliding through the crack in the door, long fingers pushing the door closed, "How delightful to see you back from your trip.

Mr Weasley gave a heartfelt smile, moving forward to join Snape once he was close enough and taking his long fingers in his large hand, "Same for you, Professor Snape. Say, the shop looks a little empty compared to our last visit."

Snape gave a stern smile, "Does it? Pity. I would have hoped it would look far more… lively with an additional inhabitant."

"Ah, yes," Mr Weasley said, his eyes striding towards Harry, "Youth. They bring some excitement to life, wouldn't you agree?"

For some reason, the boy snorted, failing miserably to hide it behind a cough. Harry smiled at the twitch on the corner of his lips, visible with even his horrible vision, though his smile was wiped clean when Snape continued to talk.

"Most excitement I've had in twelve years," Snape said dryly, joining his hands behind his back, "The dangers my students subject me to can't even compare."

"A far more qualified chemist, I presume?"

Snape tossed Harry a glance, seizing him from head to toe before turning to Mr Weasley, "Far more competent than young Mr Weasley's in-class performance. Which does remind me-" he then turned to the boy, hands still behind his back, arching forward, "-Your trip to Egypt does not exempt you from homework."

The boy coloured as dark as his hair and gave a jerky nod, pushing his father's hand from his head when it came down to pat his hair, "Yes, Professor..."

Harry didn't listen after that, as Mr Weasly was engaging Snape in all sorts of enthusiastic conversation, even ones Snape was clearly uninterested in, but was politely nodding along to. Harry took the opportunity to walk around the two once they started to talk about the boy's eldest brother who was an archeologist working in Egypt, and stood right next to him.

The boy turned to face him, and Harry lifted a hand in greeting, "Hello."

"Hello," the boy said awkwardly, shifting his eyes from Harry to the adults (who were now talking about the convict, Sirius Black) and back to Harry again. He then extended a hand, rubbing his neck shly with the other, "My name's Ron. How 'bout you?"

"Harry," he replied, taking Ron's hand with a smile.

Ron, while shaking his hand, pulled Harry to the side, near the fireplace. He didn't notice Harry turning his back to the fireplace, or the way he squared his shoulders, and that was fine with Harry. Ron did, however, lean forward, a hand covering his mouth as he whispered into Harry's ear, "Are you really Snape's assistant?"

Harry glanced above his shoulder, "You can say that, yeah."

"Blimey, he must be less of a git than school, if you can put up with him. Do you work here all summer?"

"Only since a week before July," Harry admitted with a shrug, grinning when Ron took the maths to his fingers.

Ron dropped his fingers, "So, sixteen days?"

Harry grimaced, remembering the week spent at Diagon Alley, "Almost, yeah. Is today the eighth?"

"Seventh," Ron corrected, straightening his posture after looking behind Harry, "Do you go to Hogwarts?"

Harry sighed, shaking his head, "No. I want to, though," he said tiredly, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "What's it like there?"

Ron laughed, lightly patting his shoulder, "You need to be a lot more specific, mate."

So first, Harry asked about the teachers, and what lessons they had there. Ron fell into a long speech about each subject and their teachers, at the end of which Harry only remembered Professor McGonogall, who taught something called physics.

"I'm not good at any of them, though. But this year we'll have different electives, and I'm thinking about choosing art with Professor Trelawney, but Hermione's -she's my friend, at Hogwarts- choosing everything! Can you believe it?"

"She must be smart," Harry said, folding his arms, a pang of jealousy from hearing how Ron could study all these subjects.

Ron nodded, fiddling with his coat pocket, "Too smart for her own good-" he pulled out a small brown paper bag from his pocket, taking out a small ball with a white coating and offering it to Harry, "-Here."

"What is it?" Harry asked without taking it.

"Dates," Ron said, popping it into his mouth, chewing a few times before speaking, mouth still full, "Well, candy. My brother 'aught us the recep'. 'ry some."

Harry took the second offered candy and gave it a smell, immediately wrinkling his nose, "Smells like cinnamon," he said, putting the candy back into the bag.

"Oh," Ron said, swallowing, "It does have cinnamon. How'd you smell it so well?"

Harry shrugged, suddenly very interested to go up to his room, curl into a ball under the sheets and pretend he didn't exist, "Keen nose."

"Are you done, son?" Mr Weasley called from behind them, holding a large cloth bag in his hands. Harry hadn't heard Snape bring up the order, and Ron mustn't have either, because he choked from his third candy, stuffing the bag clumsily into his pocket, "No, da," he then turned to Harry, a a flushed smile on his face, "I hope we meet again. It'd be great, having you at Hogwarts. Bye Harry."

Harry waved him goodbye, nodding politely at Mr Weasley and watching them walk out the door, the bell ringing behind them. Harry waited with Snape until they disappeared down the street, mingling with the crowd.

The two didn't speak. But when the silence grew unbearable, Harry spoke at the same time Snape opened his mouth.

"Professor-"

"Potter-"

They shared a glance, and Harry gestured towards him, reluctant to speak first, "Y-You first, sir."

Snape tapped the counter three times with his long fingers, before pushing away and walking around it. Harry followed close behind, the door open behind them as they went down the spiralling staircase.

Back downstairs, Harry sat down on his chair as gestured, pinching his arm. The room echoed with the sound of a chair being pulled from the corner, which quickly ended as Snape instead lifted it. Harry wondered if Snape didn't like loud noises until the man dropped the chair in front of Harry and sat down.

"I wish to talk about last night," Snape said without giving Harry time to adjust himself, hands clasped on his lap.

"Me too, sir," Harry said, because he agreed. But mostly he didn't have anything else to say.

"You must understand that it cannot happen again."

Harry bowed his head, squeezing his arm, "I do, sir."

"And for that…" Snape's words lingered, silence dragging forth, "We both have a part to play."

Harry lifted his head, "Sir?"

Snape leaned back in his chair, looking very tired, "You cannot expect me to be the lone participant in this… truce."

"I wasn't. I mean-" Harry twirled his fingers, "Is that all we're going to do?"

"Have you any other ideas?"

"I don't. But I don't want to leave last night…. Unresolved."

"You find it unresolved?" Snape said in the tone that wanted clarification and often got on Harry's nerves, face void of emotion.

Harry took a deep breath and held it there, releasing it loudly into his hands, "Yes, I do."

"And so do I. What part of it have you found the most conflicting?"

Harry too leaned back, fiddling with his hands, running last night's argument in his mind. After a few minutes, when Snape waited surprisingly patiently, he started.

"First I want to say… It was a mistake, telling Professor Patel," Harry squeezed the fabric of his trousers, "I thought you trusted her, so… I wasn't careful. Careful enough."

"Yes, I have noticed. That is…" Snape narrowed his eyes, pulling his lips into a thin line. Harry thought he looked conflicted, a few hundred thoughts running inside his head. He did, however, pull out of his thoughts with a blank expression.

Harry often felt Snape never showed how he really felt.

"Last night cannot happen again. We... both were at fault. You, with telling Professor Patel -let me finish, Mr Potter- who you are, with my exact instruction to not do so, followed by an argument which I did not, and currently do not, appreciate."

Harry ran a hand deftly through his hair, fingers pulling his bangs over his scar.

"But I am willing to listen to your reasoning, just this once-" Harry's eyes widened "-Under the conditions that you speak coherently, and listen to me after you break down your argument. Understood?"

A nod. Snape sighed, loosely gesturing for him to speak, "I will not interrupt you."

"And will you-" Harry swallowed thickly, the ghost of a touch brushing his upper arm, "Nevermind. I just… I feel confused. Confused on how to act. Like I-I said yesterday. I don't know whether to act this way or that way, because you don't tell me what to do."

Snape nodded curtly. Taking a deep breath, Harry avoided Snape's eye as he continued, "I feel like you're controlling me. Having a say in everything I say and do. And I realize that for some things, you're right in what you do. But I don't… I don't want to be a servant."

"I haven't been treating you as such."

"I know but what I mean is…" Harry sighed, running a hand down his face, "Please don't act like every mistake I make is killing you. I know- Some things I did, they weren't good. But stop acting as I'm going to put you in danger every second you leave me unsupervised."

Snape dropped his hands, "It's not myself I'm concerned about," he whispered slowly, quiet enough that Harry almost missed it. But without a second pause, and allowing Harry to speak, Snape crossed his legs taking on a much relaxed poise.

"Regarding the way I act, I will make a conscious effort to give clear instructions, steering you in the right direction should I fınd you're wavering without extreme… commentary."

The words, forced through a clenched jaw, left no convincing impression. Harry made it known by blinking rapidly, hands squeezing the edge of his chair. There came no acknowledgement.

"I am inclined towards authority and discipline, and find no issue in being as such. You are a liability I will not risk endangering. My actions, which you interpret as 'meddling' will not change until Headmaster Dumbledore arrives, bearing the news of your future."

Harry blinked, "You're… A stranger is going to decide what's going to happen to me."

"You'll be surprised at how involved the Headmaster is with your affairs, well-being or otherwise."

"...Do you trust him, sir?"

The pause was enough to get Harry doubting the answer. However, Snape replied with an air of sincerity readily apparent behind his intended ambiguity.

"More than I trust anyone."

"That's not enough reason to get me to trust him."

"No," Snape agreed, "I would not expect it to, either. But that is neither here, nor there. I have one more request."

"Request?"

Snape nodded, "You may regard it as a condition, if you're intending to treat the word any less than the rules I have set before you. You are to continue having weekly sessions with Professor Patel, until we agree for you to stop."

"Who is 'we'?" Harry asked, voice very quiet and very cautious, like he was approaching a wounded animal.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor Patel and myself."

Harry crossed his arms, "But why?"

"Because-" Snape bit out, closing his eyes and releasing a deep breath "-Because I said so, and because time will let you know."

"That is not at all relieving."

Snape smirked, standing up and pulling the chair up by the back, "I wasn't intending for it to be. Back to work, Potter, and no interruptions."

Sometimes it was very hard to forgive.

But in this instance, Harry smiled, because the pair of them had at least made it easier to forget.

Standing up as well, he walked towards the cabinets where his books and newspapers were. His back to Snape, he spoke, the words heavy on his tongue.

"I don't know if I have the right to say this, sir, but I am sorry. For the… unjustified words I spoke."

He didn't see Snape, but heard the pause in the ruffling papers, "You're expanding your vocabulary. How comforting."

Lifting his book and not knowing how to respond, Harry collected the rest of the materials in his arms, ready to go back to his chair.

A hand extended in front of him, slowing his step.

He didn't look up.

"My actions were regarding your... " Harry looked up at the right time to catch Snape glancing at his arm. Their eyes met, and Harry instinctively ran a hand down his upper arm, shifting his gaze.

"It won't happen again."

"I know sir."

"And I apologise for it."

Harry fiddled with the side of the pages, stroking the finger he had cut on the edges, "Thank you, sir."

Snape dropped his hand, clasping it with the other behind his back and said, "You may work on the table, if you wish," before turning around towards his work.

The rest of the day was mostly silent.