"And this out of your own, pure desire?" was Snape's question when Harry told him he wanted to see Professor Patel, his book clutched behind his back.

Harry's reply had been short, simple, and straight to the point, just like both of them wanted.

"I have some things I want to tell her. And if you want me to go and see her, I want it to be out of my own freewill."

Snape did allow it, and was less grumpy than usual while he led him to Professor Patel's, urging Harry to hurry forward as to not leave Malfoy alone, lest his impulses lead to uncomfortable situations.

"Happens often, does it?" Harry asked just as he entered the house, accepting Snape's pointed look as a response.

"So you wanted to talk to me?" Professor Patel led him down the hallway wafting with the scent of spice, the aroma getting stronger with every step they took to the kitchen, "I must say, I wasn't expecting you to come so soon after your visit. Has something happened?"

"Uh," Harry glanced at the jars littering the counter, pulling a chair, "I think so. Has Mr Patel been cooking?"

"Not… exactly," Professor Patel said with a grimace, exchanging the book Harry slid towards her for an oval, metal case, both eyes observing their new trade, and both asking at the same time what it was.

"You first," Professor Patel, rising from her chair to open a window then headed towards the counter, "I'm listening. I just need to clean this… mess, won't take long."

Harry turned the case around in his hands, shaking it to get a cluttering sound, "At Malfoy Manor, I started to make a record -is that how you would say it?- of events that have taken place since I arrived?"

"Why since you arrived?" Professor Patel asked, closing the lids of jars, glancing at Harry above her shoulder when he went quiet, "Harry? You don't have to answer, if you'd rather not."

"No, I-" the lid opened, and Harry's hands trembled at the sight of a pair of round spectacles, sitting neatly on the base, the glass catching the specs of light that dared to slither between the white lace curtains, "I… didn't want to…"

The rag in Professor Patel's hand swept over the counter, nearly avoiding the steaming pot. It didn't smell particularly good, or bad, and was the sort of meal you'd eat if served but wouldn't choose from a better selection. Harry followed it while he put on his new glasses, a grin etched on his face, "I didn't know the curtain had individual patterns."

"Oh, dear, it's easy to miss. Once-" she paused, making a rapid turn, with a smile of her own, "Enjoying the view?" she asked with a hint of amusement,

"Yes," Harry said brightly, forgetting his reason for visiting momentarily, his improved vision allowing him to read the title of the book without pulling it close to his face, which he grabbed and opened to the last pages, "I wrote them to keep track of… things. And I… There's something peculiar going on."

"Peculiar?" Professor Patel asked, dishing out from the pot, pulling the frown directed at the bowl of broth into a smile his way, "Tell me more."

"I had this…" he licked his lip, gesturing wildly at the page, "I don't know what it is. Can you read?"

Professor Patel sat down, plate wedged between her elbows and the book she'd turned around, stirring her spoon mindlessly through the bowl. Her eyes first skimmed across the lines, before they narrowed and then she pulled the book closer to her face.

Finally, the book stood between her and Harry, Professor Patel's lips pulled into a firm line, "Well, you know, I'm not a great reader myself-"

"But… You talked about that Muq-Muq... book yesterday, and about three other authors."

Professor Patel nodded stiffly, again taking up to stirring the bowl while her eyes darted around the room, a shaky chuckle on her lips, "What I mean to say is, well, sometimes some people are better at reading than others… less better people?"

"You're the best reader I know after S- Professor Snape," Harry argued, a little amused because he knew his writing wasn't good and a little hurt because… he still knew his writing wasn't good. Professor Patel pulled the book closer again, taking care not to spill any of the food she was eating. But to no avail, the book was slid across once more, Professor Patel offering a close-eyed smile.

"I think it would be more productive if you explained what is happening. From the first entry."

So Harry did. About how he fell, about how he woke up and the beginning of the many little moments that…

That he didn't trust himself to speak of in detail yet, along with the nightmares and the scratches on his arm that he was thinking of stopping. Really.

It wasn't that serious.

Only he'd started to think that now, because back at the apothecary, the idea of asking for medicine or a cure for the wars in his head was so very tempting. Perhaps even Snape had a remedy at hand, tucked behind a shelf, one for those rare situations only Harry seemed to be feeling.

The fatigue. The lack of joy. The hope that rose with those small details in life before they were crushed beneath the weight of how terrible everything was.

"I… don't think I can talk anymore," Harry said, closing the book, "So, uh, did you try cooking again?"

Dumbledore did come back a few days later, on the 25th of August with a bright smile and an inextinguishable twinkle in his eye. Snape regarded him with a sour look, and exited the room they talked in, beckoning Harry forward with a shaking hand.

"The Headmaster has some delightful news for us, Patel," Snape said, voice uncharacteristically wavy and light, scraping a chair shakily across the floor, "Sit, lest your excitement grace us with faint."

Harry gleaned at Dumbledore, frowning in confusion, "Sir?"

"Harry, unfortunately, because you've been regarded as dead by the general population, it would do no good to declare anything now. However, I have preserved your account, and would have continued to do so until you were of age," Dumbledore gestures towards Snape, "Professor Snape has your key."

"Key? It's not like I have a vault full of gold," said Harry jokingly, glancing at the two to gauge a reaction. Dumbledore's smile, extraordinarily wide, glowed like the sun next to the dire frown on Snape's lips, which only made him look disturbed and uncomfortable.

Harry's eyes widened.

"I do have a vault full of gold?"

"Not gold, but I think you'll find a satisfying amount in the Potter vaults."

"But that means…" Harry trailed on, "That means I don't have to work or go to school. I can just buy a house and everything I need now!"

"That-" Dumbledore lifted a finger, eyes twinkling at Snape, who was pinching his nose and ready to strangle something, possibly Dumbledore, "-Is the second news I wished to enlighten you with. I have convinced the Dursleys to renounce their custody of you."

Harry blinked, "What?"

In all the hustle of yesterday, Harry had all but forgotten about… that. In fact, he'd gone for a few days, now, without thinking about that and them and all the things he'd rather keep well away from

"They will no longer be participating as your guardians."

"I don't understand, sir."

"And I have found a guardian, temporary, in the foreseeable future."

The words entered one ear and left from the other, leaving a brief touch from Dumbledore's explanation. Harry, of course, blinked again, looking more confused, "Professor Patel?"

"Ah, well you see Harry… In the event that your identity is revealed, there will be families that will apply to the Ministry to be your guardians, assuming there isn't anyone to look after you. Not all of them will be good. Professor Patel is…" Dumbledore clasped his hands, "A lady."

Harry nodded, "I know."

"A lady without a husband."

"She has to look after her brother, I'm sure that's why she isn't married. And I-I won't be any trouble," breathed Harry, voice desperate, ignoring the odd look on Snape's face.

"What the Headmaster means," Snape said from between his fingers, glancing at Harry sideways, voice still airy, "In the circumstance that the Ministry attempts to take over your custody, as a woman of no social standing, she would not be able to protect you."

"Oh," Harry said, defeated, "Who will… Who's my guardian then?" he continued, voice rising, excitement cracking like the smile on his lips, "When can I meet him?"

"I think-" Dumbledore faced Snape, brows creased in concern, "-You may have already met them."

Both Harry and Snape explained nothing about the frown on their lips, when they left for Diagon Alley, both lost in thought.

Snape in God alone knew what.

And Harry loitering around the broken remains of hope, having lost the chance at a parent.

Of course Harry wasn't able to concentrate on shopping, despite it being for the school he was looking forward to attending. Dumbledore had explained practically nothing, only that he trusted Snape with more than his life and with Dumbledore on their side, Snape was the one person the Ministry -or anyone- wouldn't be able to take him from.

Harry didn't know what to think about that, his murky mind following him into Madam Malkin's, Flourish and Blotts, and every shop in Diagon Alley imaginable.

It was when they were sitting in Florean Fortescue's Parlor that Harry remembered they hadn't withdrawn any money from any bank, Harry's expenses all paid from Snape's own pocket.

When he reminded him off this, though, Snape dismissed him with a wave of his hand, muttering that he'd take care of it, while asking Malfoy a little too harshly to stop tapping his finger on the table.

Malfoy was hurt by this -of course he was- and Snape pinched his nose as they left, stopping them with a hand on each shoulder, "If you want, I will take you both to a shop you want to visit?"

"Can we drop the bags somewhere?" Harry asked softly, adjusting the strap of his new school bag, "I don't think I can carry them for much longer."

Malfoy frowned at them, obviously put off by the way they were acting, "I'd like to visit the joke shop. I hear they have some delightful things. Fred and Goerge once…"

Harry just wanted to be back in his room with his pen and book, writing out how horrible things were going, and how close he felt to the time he was in Diagon Alley alone, miserable and afraid and feeling like he was drowning in his own blossoming darkness. So without looking where he was going, he bumped into someone, the force enough to knock him out if it weren't for Snape snatching him by the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, sir. I was. Oh."

"Patel, walking with your eyes on the road might be-"

Harry wasn't sure why Snape had stopped speaking, but the reason Harry had was because it was the same man in shriveled clothes who Harry briefly remembered from the Leaky Cauldron.

"I remember you. I bumped into him when I was in the Leaky Cauldron," Harry said, shrinking towards Snape at the wide eyes and open mouth expression of the man. The tall stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of clothes that had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted. Though quite young, his light brown hair was flecked with grey.

And he wasn't taking his eyes off Harry.

"Uh, Uncle Sev?" Malfoy pulled Snape's sleeve, whispering, "I don't think we should talk to him."

"Neither do I, even if he has anything to say," Snape said, keeping his narrow eyes on the man while wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulder, "Perhaps he will continue staring until we are gone."

"Severus?"

Snape closed his eyes, pulling both Harry and Malfoy behind him before turning to the man. "Or as luck would have it, he will not. Good day, Lupin. Do you have something to say?"

The man called Lupin extended a finger, pointing it behind Snape, "Is that-"

"None of your business? Precisely. Good day, Lupin, the Headmaster will have you for tea the first day of term, I don't doubt," he snapped, taking both Harry and Draco by the shoulder, steering them away from the Leaky Cauldron, "Do not linger, Draco, Ali."

Mr Lupin must have a lot to say, from the way he staggered after them a few steps, hand still extended. Harry continued to look behind his shoulder, all the while Malfoy pestered Snape on why they were heading the wrong way, and that his arms hurt too much.

When Mr Lupin turned around, hesitantly walking away, so did Harry, the questions ready on the tip of his tongue.

"At the shop," Snape said, just as Harry opened his mouth, his hand squeezing Harry's shoulder, "At the apothecary."

They did visit the joke shop, a place Harry would have rather come on a day he wasn't feeling in a damp mood, or damper than usual, running his hands over the merchandise and shaking his head no when Snape approached him, asking if anything had caught his eye.

The thoughts in his mind had caught his attention enough, because why had Snape become his guardian on such short notice anyway? Harry didn't know anything about law and guardianship, or how one person could give up their guardianship, and how another person could take over a child's guardianship.

So what did he know?

Harry turned to face Snape, who was looking at something in Malfoy's hand behind his shoulder, either very interested (in a Snape sort of way) or really good at pretending he was interested. That, for some reason, brought back the sour emotion of wanting to break something for his own convenience, stomping on it until every single piece was destroyed.

He didn't, of course, and placed the gadget in his hand back onto the shelf, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shuffling along the aisles, wanting to be as far as he could from Snape and Malfoy.

That, as luck would have it, didn't last long, and Harry followed Snape's voice out of the back shelves, shrugging when he asked him what he'd been doing there. Snape didn't pester, and ushered them outside, this time asking Harry if there was anywhere he'd like to go.

The refusal was almost out of his lips when Harry noticed a shop on the corner of his eye, worn out and seemingly invisible between the rows of shops squeezed together. Harry peered between the people (as he hadn't worn his glasses, planning to put them on the day they were meant to leave for Hogwarts to guarantee that no one could make him take them back), face brightening at least a little bit.

"Just one. I don't want to buy anything, I only want to talk to the man there."

"Which shop?" Snape said, looking at the wrong way.

"Ollivanders," Harry said without waiting for them, crossing to the other side. The shop was just as he'd remembered: Narrow, shabby. The peeling gold letters spelled the name of the shop, with a single brush laying on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. Pushing open the ancient door with his palm, Harry swept some dust into the room already in need of a sweep.

Mr Ollivander was exactly where Harry had left him, like he hadn't moved, and was waiting for his arrival.

"Ah, yes I remember you. Evans, was it?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, skimming the shelves, still filled with the narrow rectangular boxes, "I wanted to say hello, while we were in Diagon Alley."

Ollivander pressed backwards, pulling a hand ladder from under his counter and leaning it on the side of one shelf, "And you look much better, and, in a way, worse, than the last time I saw you."

Harry followed him on the other side of the counter, tilting his head, "How can I be better and worse?"

"Better, because you look certain of yourself," Ollivander filled him in, not lifting his head when the door's tinkling bell admitted Snape sans Malfoy, hand rummaging through the stack of boxes that looked like it would topple over any moment, "Worse, because you look like you have a lot on your mind. Ah, yes."

He stepped down from the ladder, carrying three boxes, dropping them all on the counter while Snape and Harry watched him without a word, "Well, I'm sure you'll like one of these. Good afternoon, Professor Snape."

"Mr Ollivander," Snape greeted with a nod, clasping his hands behind his back, "Have you two met?"

"I say we have," Mr Ollivander said, opening the lid of one of the boxes and examining it, picking up the brush and running a finger down its surface, "Here, young Evans. Hold it, give it a twirl."

Harry blinked, looking up at Snape who just shrugged, gesturing for him to continue. The brush was smooth to hold.

Feeling foolish, he waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Did I do something wrong?" Harry asked, his voice carrying through the shop. Mr Ollivander didn't respond, though, busy climbing a taller ladder, pushing the boxes from places he hadn't pulled them from, and humming as he did so.

Harry dropped his shoulders, placing a hand on the counter, "Did I do something wrong, Professor?"

"Better to let Ollivander do his work, than interfere," Snape said, leaning against the counter with a sigh, pinching his nose.

A pile of boxes fell in the corner, Mr Ollivander catching the heap just in time. Harry looked up, met Snape's eye and looked away, fingers leaving clean spots in the dust as he tapped them on the wood, "Sir?"

Snape hummed, dragging his hand down his face.

"You don't want to be my guardian, do you?"

Another pile of boxes fell on the other side, again caught with Mr Ollivander's questionable precision. Harry was still looking in front of him, though he felt Snape's eyes pinned on his face. He did try not to let it get to him. He really did, from the moment Dumbledore let him know of the news. Harry wasn't like Malfoy, who Snape had willingly taken into the apothecary, though he still gave awkward hugs and didn't know how to socialize, tripping over his words silently.

But Harry didn't need Snape's care. Snape didn't need Harry to be dropped into his life by Dumbledore, like the weight he was.

Harry scoffed, "I knew it."

"I didn't answer yet."

"You didn't answer at all," Harry snapped back, stopping his idle tapping, his hand folding into a fist, "I'm tired, alright? Tired of things falling into place just before it's wrenched away from me."

Snape glanced at Mr Ollivander, who waved and held up a finger to indicate one minute before disappearing behind the shelves. At the sound of shuffling, Snape turned around and crouched down to one knee. From this close, Harry could see the tired down-turn of his eyes, lined with creases and dark shadows. His skin looked unhealthily void of color, and despite not having smoken, he smelled of tobacco.

"I," he started in a whisper, closing his eyes, "I don't trust… myself. I don't trust myself with this."

Harry frowned, "That's not… That's not reassuring."

Snape matched a raised brow to the frustration on Harry's face, rubbing his eyes, "What would you prefer?"

"Not to speak of this here," Harry said, noticing Mr Ollivander approaching with a pile of boxes at hand, laying them on the counter, eyes bright.

"Right, then, shall we?"

Harry didn't remember agreeing to trying paintbrushes, or even buying one, but he dared not argue against the very happy looking Ollivander, who's joy only rose with each fruitless attempt.

"How do you know which brush I need?" Harry finally asked at the twenty-third brush, bored, "And I don't think I even have the money to buy a brush anyway."

Mr Ollivander shook his head, muttering under his breath, sliding open the box on his hands with three different paints and pushing it into his hands, "Yes, that would do, I think. Holly, nice and simple. Give it a try."

Harry held the wood in his hand, changing it to his right while he rubbed his other hand on his trousers. The wood had collected a fine layer of dust, staining Harry's fingers, making him cough.

"Am I holding it correctly?" he asked, pretending to twirl the brush over an invisible piece of paper.

"Absolutely. I believe we found the one," Mr Ollivander said, pushing the other boxes to the side, plucking the brush from Harry, and placing it back inside, right beside five small jars of paint: blue, red, yellow, white and black.

"One thing, Mr Ollivander," Harry said, eyeing him nervously while he packed the box, "I can't paint. And I don't have money."

"Young Evans," Mr Ollivander interrupted, sliding the bag across the counter, "I already have far too many boxes to sell, and already enough savings to live a comfortable life. Also-" he leaned forward, lifting a finger warningly, "-How could you know how to paint if you haven't before?"

"Because I'm-"

Stupid. Worthless. Arrogant. Arrogant. Foolish-

Harry shook his head, clutching his wrist, "Because I can't."

"I met a young, Dutch man in London's galleries," Mr Ollivander said, "Just last year. He seemed to admire the works greatly, though not an artist himself yet, only trained in art dealing. I believe his admiration and interest alone will get him to pick up the brush soon, and produce many great works worth admiring."

Harry pulled the bag back, the paper crinkling between his fingers, "What was his name."

Mr Ollivander rubbed his chin, narrowing his eyes, "Odd name, he had. Vincent van Gogh, I think, a very odd name."

"I've never heard of him," Harry said, glancing up briefly when Snape touched his shoulder.

Mr Ollivander waved them goodbye, as they walked out, saying under his breath, "I pray one day that we will."

The door closed behind them, Harry looking up, "Have you heard of him?"

"No," Snape said, nodding at Malfoy -who sighed in relief when they came out- and picking up some of the bags, continued, "I understand that Mr Ollivander is optimistic that we will. That is one judgement that wouldn't hurt to have."

The paper bag was still clutched in Harry's hand, the edge of the box touching his fingertips.

Snape caught Harry before he could excuse himself to his room to pack.

"You have no room, as I remember."

"I'd rather sleep on the sofa then hear Malfoy complain," Harry said, following Snape down to

the laboratory, their footsteps mismatched.

Snape, once down, seemed to relax, if his sagging shoulders and loose posture meant anything. He rid himself of the coat that made him look bulkier than he was, scratching his scalp while hanging the coat on the back of a chair.

"We're going to talk?" Harry said, not intending it to be a question. Snape's scoff wasn't patronizing, but sounded like a genuine reaction of humor, earning a dry smile from the man, "Not an ideal choice for someone such as myself, is it?"

Harry fidgeted in his chair, "You definitely are weird today."

"I'll be back to my sour self in no time, you rest assured Patel."

It was Harry's time to scoff, hunching forward with his elbows on his knees, palm supporting his cheek, "So, what rules am I to follow this time, sir? Or would you like me to call you something else?"

Snape narrowed his eyes, pulling his chair in front of Harry, "I would appreciate it, Potter, if you would return the patience I am offering you."

"It's not being very patient if you're expecting it in return," said Harry, clutching the seat of the chair with his hands.

Snape continued, either not hearing him or pretending not to hear him.

"This is an unaccustomed situation for both of us."

"I know."

"...And you have no complaints?" Snape said, raising a brow, "No expectations, no lines you wish to remain uncrossed?"

Harry crossed his arms, "I do. I just don't expect you to respect them, sir."

To some extent, Harry was being unagreeable on purpose. He had no intention of giving anyone an easy time, if it meant that he had to shut up about the things he didn't agree with, or go along with decisions that were being made for him. He knew Snape was aware of this tactic, though he was trying very hard to keep it behind his emotionless facade, itching to release his pent up emotions.

"Then," Snape bit out, closing his eyes for a moment, "I will start first. I do not want you to call me anything else other than Professor, or sir, while at school."

If he was being disagreeable on purpose, Harry wondered if Snape was being agreeable on purpose. Snape couldn't like the situation any more than Harry, given a child to practically look after until… well, until Harry grew up.

No. Snape was unbalanced, uncertain, and very easily annoyed.

He didn't like Harry, and he wouldn't accept Harry as his anything. And Harry was more than happy to return the sentiment.

"You know, sir, it's not like you to purposely put out loopholes," Harry said, arms still crossed, face scrunched up, "You're leaving me to choose what to call you when not at school? That's a dangerous move, Professor."

"Respect is still expected of you, Mr Potter. If I leave a loophole, as you so quaintly put it-" Snape leaned forward, his face as stoic as always, voice thin, "-It is a sign that I expect you to not exploit it."

"How are you sure I won't exploit it?"

"You had two chances to do so already," Snape explained like he had when teaching Harry to read, a hint of a grin on his face at Harry's expression, "I believe I've just heard you say Professor, insead of something you're too uncomfortable to say."

Trust Harry not to call Snape a paternal title, because he's too nervous to say it anyway.

Oh Harry wasn't letting Snape win this game.

He opened his mouth to answer, but Snape held out two fingers, "No one is to know of this arrangement, the exchange of guardianship, until the Dark Lord's death is announced to us by the Headmaster."

"What?"

"That is to say, no Professor Patel-" he counted on his hand, "-No Draco, no students, and no teachers."

I have no one to talk about it anyway.

"Do we need to revisit why you had been staying in the apothecary during the summer?"

"Malfoy thinks I'm an apprentice, so does Ron Weasley. Is that going to convince anyone?"

"Enough to not ask complicated questions," Snape said, running a hand down his face, "Keep the words simple. You're an apprantice under my care."

Harry scoffed, "I don't think Malfoy's convinced."

"If Draco was in fact suspicious enough, he would come forward with questions. Ask him to steer any complicated questions to me, as the last resort."

"Is that all?" Harry asked, wanting to get out of the room.

"Almost. There is the matter of- Oh I'm sorry Mr Potter, am I boring you? Would you like some tea and biscuits while we oh so idly chat? Sit up you're not sitting in front of your-"

"No, I'm sitting in front of my father aren't I?"

An odd expression took over Snape's face. Where Harry prepared for the shouting, he found silence. Where he expected anger or even hatred, he received an odd frown on Snape's lips that looked like genuine sadness, and a crease in his brow of true concern.

Harry didn't like the way it appeared, and it was quick to leave as well.

"You've had this on your mind since this morning."

"Are you playing Professor Patel's role? Because don't mind me, sir, but I'd appreciate it if you'd stop," Harry spat, dropping his hands beside him and squeezing them, grinding his teeth, "I think I liked you more when you were upfront about how you felt."

No movement, no noise. Harry's heavy breathing was the only disturbance in the room, while Snape's composure was the oddest. The chair creaked as Snape stood up, hand on the chair, "I believe this conversation is over for today."

"Not until I speak."

"Excuse me?" Snape turned around, for once anger edging his expression. Good. Harry liked it when people didn't hide things from him.

"I also have boundaries, like you said," Harry too stood up, lifting his chin, "And I want you to listen to them."

"It's not a successful attempt when you refuse to do the same to the other party."

Harry threw up his arms, "Well go on then! If you have things to say-"

"Respect."

The words willed Harry to stagger back, the back of his legs hitting the seat of the chair. Out of all the possibilities, Harry really wasn't expecting this to be the final condition on this unacknowledged peace treaty of theirs.

"Respect when I ask you to do something. Respect when I speak to you, and you speak to me. Respect for an adult, who will attempt to do what is best for you. And what is your contribution to this mutual agreement?"

The words that were ready to be spat out drowned in his thoughts, sinking out of sight. So Harry swallowed, once again raising his chin and puffed out his cheek and said:

"Honesty."

Snape nodded, "Very well. If that's all, you have a trunk to pack and-"

"So tell me, are you enjoying this? Are you really bothered by being my guardian, or is this something you actually look forward to?"

This time, the irritation on Snape's face was unmistakable, "You're trying to imply something."

"Nothing against you, Professor," Harry said, walking in front of him with a glare of his own, "I expected you to put up a fight with Dumbledore. So my only condition: Be honest with me. Do you really not mind being in this situation?"

Snape didn't say no. He didn't say yes, either, but just as Harry asked, he told the truth.

"Is it really lying when you have no answer to give, Mr Potter?"