Harry’s hand cramped slightly, but he didn’t mind. After all, he was the one who’d decided to trace out all of the runic combinations for different wards onto a separate sheet of paper so he could remember them better. There were several different types of wards; like personal, object, spacial, and property. Snape had explained the mechanics of this a bit, and Harry had noticed for himself that the type of ward affected the shape of the rune alignment. Object wards, like the one on the pendants he and Snape wore, were shaped in a basic pentagram. More complicated wards, however, like those placed on properties, had more points. He imagined how many points lay on the wards surrounding Hogwarts. There were several different wards on the castle, like anti-apparition and one to make it invisible to Muggles. The purpose of the ward determined the type of runes within the basic shape arrangement.

The door opened, and Harry’s head snapped up, hand prepared to tuck the pages out of sight if it was Mrs. Duncan. She normally knocked now that they were officially staying here, but he had been told to always be cautious. It was only Snape, however, so he relaxed.

“Continue,” Snape said, walking past him to where his bed was hidden by the privacy screens. Harry knew it was to change clothing before eating dinner.

Over the past week, they’d settled into a sort of routine. Snape had begun working at the local fish processing place, and came back everyday smelling of saltwater and seafood. Harry couldn't even imagine his proud professor standing at a counter cleaning fish all day; but he supposed that, if you turned off your brain and just worked, it'd kind of be like preparing potions ingredients. Snape had explained to Harry that this was necessary to get money to pay rent for their cottage, which was owned by Mr. and Mrs. Duncan, and to make them “active participants in the community”. Harry was supposed to act, at least for the first week, like he was recovering from a cold. Mrs. Duncan came by every day for an hour or so, but since he wasn't sure he could pull off a fake illness that long, he mostly just slept during her visits.

For the first four days of this new routine, Harry spent most of the time Snape was gone plowing through his summer homework. Now that was finally done, and he had negotiated with Snape to let him have the rest of August off from the regular classes, since it was summer. So, Harry would start dinner and have it ready by the time Snape returned, finishing the hour of extra work at the kitchen table while things simmered.

Snape emerged from the privacy screen wearing black muggle jeans and a nondescript grey shirt. Harry did his best not to stare, but even after a week, he found it incredibly strange to see his professor in anything but teaching robes.

Snape walked to the pot on the stove and lifted the lid for a peek at its contents.

"I know you're probably tired of fish," Harry said, "but there's some vegetables and herbs in it too."

Snape looked back at him. He replaced the lid on the stew and sat across from him. Rubbing his forehead as if he had a headache, he asked, "What are you working on?"

Silently, Harry turned the page to face Snape and slid it forward. The man picked up the paper and scanned Harry's diagrams of wards and the notes beside each. “How much more have you read of The Art of War?”

“I’ve read chapters two and three, ‘Waging War’ and ‘Attack by Stratagem’.” He handed over the book, which was underneath the warding guide. Snape found the notes and read through them.

Harry stood and checked on the stew. It seemed to be ready, so he brought down two bowls and ladled out some for each of them. He placed a bowl and spoon in front of Snape, who began idly eating as he read.

“Not terrible,” Snape admitted, returning the notes. “Although you might want to curb some of your more… colorful phrases.”

Harry tried, and failed, not to smirk. They discussed the first two chapters over dinner, although Harry thought that Snape seemed strangely quiet. Maybe he was just tired? 

“Are you alright, sir?” Harry asked quietly. A week ago, he would have hesitated to ask that. A month before then, and he couldn’t have cared less.

Snape looked at him oddly, as if he thought it was a strange question. Harry wondered how often people asked or cared about how Snape felt. Besides maybe Dumbledore, he couldn’t think of a single person that seemed to enjoy the man’s company. “Of course.” He set down his spoon, however, and looked at Harry very seriously. “I have been thinking about your scar.”

“What about it?” Harry asked nervously.

“These visions are… disturbing.”

Harry flushed. He’d had another scar pain that morning before Snape left for work, and finally admitted that he was also dreaming about empty corridors every few nights. “I’m not going crazy, sir.”

“I never said you were, Potter,” Snape said. There was the crisp tone Harry was used to. He might have been reassured if there wasn’t an underlying note of exhaustion. “I do not believe these dreams are your own; frankly, that would be preferable.” He looked at Harry intently then, as if sizing him up, before stating, “I believe it is imperative that you learn Occlumency.”

Harry shifted in his seat. He’d practiced his meditation on his own every day since Snape had taught it to him, but Occlumency itself was a different thing to learn. He’d flipped through the book on Mental Arts, scanning the section about Occlumency because he was curious about it. It required a close connection between student and mentor, and he couldn’t imagine sharing all of his secrets with anyone, Snape certainly included. They might get along better now by necessity, but that didn’t mean Harry was okay with baring his soul.

“However, it will be difficult to learn here, as I cannot cast a wanded Legillimens near you without alerting the trace.”

“Oh no,” Harry murmured, not in the least distressed. Snape raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. “So how do we start?”

Snape tilted his head at Harry, as if studying him. After a long moment, he said slowly, “This is new to me. I have never taught Occlumency to a student. If I had the choice, I would certainly not do so in these conditions.”

Harry was surprised by Snape’s candidness. He leaned forward slightly, sensing that whatever Snape was going to say, it would not be words lightly spoken.

“We will both be learning as we go. I ask that you be patient, but tell me if you feel that something is not helping you.”

Harry was practically floored as Snape got up to clean his bowl. Since when did Snape do anything but demand participation, much less ask his students to work with him rather than for him.

Spurred by this strange move toward cooperation, Harry decided to dry dishes while Snape washed. The man glanced at him in acknowledgement when he picked up a towel and rubbed down the clean bowl laying face-down on the towel near the sink but didn’t say anything. They worked together silently until the dishes were done.

Snape turned to him. “I assume you know how to play chess?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry blinked. Snape beckoned him toward the sitting area and brought over a chess board from the bookshelf. When the man handed Harry the white pieces, he set up his side of the board.

“Chess,” Snape began, in his lecturing voice, “is a game of strategy. Remember your notes on The Art of War. Deception, Potter. Deception is everything. Your opponent cannot counteract your strategy if he does not know what it is. Seem near when you are far and far when you are near.”

“But you can see all of my pieces,” Harry objected.

“As you can see mine.” Snape gave him a look, as if asking Harry to please stop being so thick. “Do not think of it so literally. Draw attention away from your strengths. Set traps by looking weak.”

Harry rubbed his nose. “Ron’s much better at all of that than me.”

“Mr. Weasley is not the one hunted by a homicidal maniac with a superiority complex and a fanatical following.”

“And Voldemort. Don't forget he's after me, too,” Harry quipped.

Snape snorted. “Just go.”

Grinning, Harry pushed a pawn forward.

The next few moves were made in silence. Harry was trying to think up a good strategy when Snape asked, “Where did you learn to cook like that?”

Harry knocked over the piece he was moving and righted it hurriedly. “Sir?”

“In my experience, most teenage boys do not know how to properly use basil and caraway seeds together in a stew.” Snape moved a piece idly, and gameplay continued.

Harry shrugged. The Dursleys hadn’t much liked spices or herbs in their food, preferring it bland and plentiful rather than deliberate and measured. Still, he’d experimented over the summers. He hadn’t really put much thought into tonight’s meal. It had just seemed simple. He’d been trying to make the taste of fish bearable for a man who had spent all day with them and was probably sick of it. “How could you tell what was in it? I didn’t overdo it, did I?”

Snape shook his head. “Cooking and potions, I find, are very similar.” He left it there, leading Harry to surmise that the man enjoyed cooking to some extent.

“I don’t know. I just threw stuff in there,” Harry said casually, realizing that Snape had maneuvered a knight for a trap and avoiding it.

“With accuracy, apparently.” Snape didn’t look put-out that Harry had sussed out one of his probably numerous traps. “Instinct is honed by experience. When have you ever had much chance to cook?” There was slight derision in his voice, and Harry bristled.

“My relatives had me cook all the time!”

“Did they?” Snape asked mildly, tapping his lip with a finger and looking up at Harry.

Suddenly aware that they had somehow gotten on the track of his relatives, Harry cleared his throat. “Not overly-complicated or anything.”

“Hm.”

Harry fidgeted, wondering if the man was going to say anything else about the Dursleys. Made uncomfortable by the silence, he said, “I didn’t mind it that much. There’s worse chores.”

“Such as?”

“Well, who likes weeding in the summer heat?” Harry asked, feeling defensive. “But someone’s gotta do it.”

“Is that someone always you?”

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t approve. You know, hard work and all that.”

“I never said something was wrong with it,” Snape said, raising an eyebrow at him, and Harry felt a bit stupid. “Is there?”

Why all the questions? Snape wasn’t the sort of man Harry thought enjoyed idle conversation, and asking questions was only encouraging more talk. “Of course not.”

“Of course,” Snape murmured.

Harry looked down at the board, not really seeing it. Why would Snape be asking all of these questions? This was Occlumency prep, wasn’t it? Maybe the man was trying to foster the “student-mentor” trust. Clearly he’s not very good at it, Harry thought grumpily, since all he felt right now was defensive.

“Checkmate.”

Harry peered closer at the board and realized that he hadn’t been paying proper attention to the game because of the conversation. He frowned, internally scolding himself for letting Snape distract him. That, in itself, was no doubt a not-so-subtle lesson in and of itself.

“It is still early. We will take a break. The rest of the lesson will occur before you go to sleep.”

Harry guessed that made sense, since he was supposed to be Occluding his dreams to prevent another vision. “Can I go out?”

“Is it dark out?” Snape asked, not looking up as he gathered up the board.

“No…” Harry said, glancing out the window.

“Then what do you think?” Snape asked, standing up straight.

Harry remembered the rule about curfew at sunset. “Yes?”

“Is that an answer or a question?” Snape rolled his eyes and shooed him away with a hand gesture. “Get out of here, Potter.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry smiled and left the cottage.