Snape was on his comfortable sofa, reading by the light of a softly glowing white sphere hovering over his shoulder. A fire crackled in the hearth. It was a chilly June night and rain splattered the window. The occasional flash of lightning highlighted the cozy sitting room in silver and white. A clatter sounded against the window before it flew open.

Snape snapped his head up.

A sodden white owl blew into the warm room with a few wet leaves and a gush of water. Snape dropped his book on the cushion and stood as the window closed and latched. The owl hopped to her feet and shook her round head dry. There was only one person he knew with a snow white owl.
“He sent you out in this mess?” Snape murmured. Hedwig flapped over to the perch beside the fire, fluffing her wings. Water sprayed everywhere and the fire hissed. She hooted, tired, and held her leg out. Surprisingly, the thin paper was only a little bit damp around the edges. Her thick feathers must have kept it dry.

Snape unfolded the muggle notebook paper and cast lumos to see better in the dim room.

Professor,

I’m unwell. I have a bit of a cough. Could you send some potions?

-Harry

Snape flipped the page over. Nothing.

When he gave Harry his contact information at the end of the last school year, only two weeks ago, he wasn’t sure if the boy would use it. Snape knew Harry’s relatives were…undesirable and he’d wanted to give Harry a way to communicate with the magical world if the kid wanted it. He didn’t expect much, certainly not more than a handful of conversations by mail. He reread the short message. Knowing Harry and how well the boy dealt with discomfort and pain, the “I’m unwell” was likely more akin to “I’m on my deathbed” and the “bit of a cough” likely a lung infection. He’d prefer more information. Was he vomiting? Did he have a sore throat? Was he coughing anything up? There was no mention of fever or a rash or chills or aches or anything. It could be a mild cold or it could be something worse.

He debated about sending a healing potion and calling the case closed.
But.

He peered out the window. The wind had picked up and the rain lashed the glass. Owls didn’t fly well in wet weather and Hedwig wasn’t in a fit state to go all the way back to bloody Surrey tonight. He wasn’t going to send his own owl out in this either.

He conjured the required potion from his personal stores and the vial appeared in his hand. He rubbed his thumb over the glass, thinking, then called his house elf.

“Teeley!”

Pop!

“Yes, Master Snape?”

The little elf clasped her hands and looked up at him with moon-bright eyes. There was a jaunty blue bow in her wispy hair.

“Teeley, do you know the boy Harry Potter?”

“Yes, sir! Harry Potter is being famous among the house elves, sir!”

He nodded. “Could you bring this to him?” He handed her the vial.

“Of course, sir.” She took it reverently.

“Make sure you go directly to the boy. He lives with…unpleasant muggles so it is imperative you’re not seen.”

She nodded.

“Also report back on how ill he is. He says he’s under the weather. You know what to look for.”

“Certainly, sir! Teeley will be seen by no muggles!”

“Thank you.”

Teeley vanished and Snape sat on his sofa, watching the rain while the white owl slumbered.

Teeley appeared silently in the corner of Harry’s small bedroom. The room was poorly lit and a teenage boy laid twisted in the bed sheet, breathing deeply in a restless sleep. Teeley hopped up onto the bed and touched Harry’s knee.

“Mister Harry,” she said in her high voice.

Harry tossed his head back and forth on the pillow.

“Mister Harry, please, I’s have your potion!”

The word ‘potion’ seemed to wake him up and he blinked a few times before fumbling for his glasses. “Dobby?” He croaked.

“No, sir! Teeley!”

Harry stared at her.

“I haves a gift from Master Snape.”

Hearing Snape’s name roused Harry further. He sat up. The movement made him cough violently. He hacked into his fist, a deep barking cough that made Teeley gasp.

“You is very ill,” she said.

“Boy!” Vernon’s voice thundered down the hall. “Shut yer gob—can’t hear the telly!”

Teeley popped open the healing potion. She had no time to lose. The ‘bad muggles’ could enter at any moment. Harry pressed on his sternum, his face screwed up in pain. He’d been coughing so much his ribs were sore and there was a sharp smoldering sensation deep in his chest that he was starting to get worried about. “Snape...” he murmured.

Teeley thrust the potion at him and Harry took it, gulping it. The small effort wearied him and he laid back down, resting fitfully. Teeley put her small hands on his damp chest, feeling his breath rattle. She laid a floppy ear on him and listened to the deep wheeze. She touched his face. Hot. His hands were cold and clammy.

Harry grimaced and tried to get comfortable in the lumpy bed.

“Rest well, Mister Harry.” Teeley vanished.

She popped back into the sitting room.

“Is he ill?” Snape asked.

“Oh sir, he be very weak. His cough is deep and his lungs is struggling. His core is burning bright and I’s thinks he has a fever. Mister Harry needs help he does. He needs more than healing potion.”

Snape surged to his feet. “The muggles?” He barked.

Many elves quailed under Snape’s snarls but Teeley, his elf for more than a decade, was used to him and made of stern stuff. “I weren’t seen!” She said proudly. “I’s heard a voice—an angry man telling Mister Harry to shuts up. Teeley gave Mister Harry the healing potion, sir. He was asking for you.”

“Asking?”

“He said your name, sir.”

That was all Snape needed. Gritting his teeth, he summoned a few more potions and apparated all the way to Privet Drive.

Snape appeared on the pavement and closed his eyes as a wave of nausea passed through his gut. He hadn’t apparated that far in a long time. He glanced around the quiet neighborhood, made even quieter by the soft falling rain. Which house was it? Three? No, four. The homes all looked identical. Neat and trim and clipped to within an inch of their lives. Snape appreciated tidiness and order but this was a bit much. He strode up the narrow walkway and slammed his fist into number four’s door three times.

“What the blazes?” A short, portly man with a massive mustache answered.

“You must be the uncle,” Snape said by way of greeting, lip curling. He glanced over the man from head to foot and saw nothing of worth. He grunted in his throat and pushed past the man, not caring that he was getting water on the floor. In a sitting room to the side he could see a boy on an ugly floral sofa, watching telly with a large bowl of ice cream in front of him. Not Harry. Snape stormed up the staircase.

“Who’s at the door, mummy?” The boy asked absently. His eyes stayed locked on the screen.

Snape stuck his head into a doorway at the top of the steps. “Harry?” No, it was a loo. He moved on. Another door, open. He looked in and saw a messy bedroom occupied by a massive bed, two televisions and a pile of games and snacks on the floor. No Harry.

“Who is that?” A woman’s voice.

“I don’t bloody know!” The uncle was following Snape, sputtering. “Oy, you can’t just come in here—I’m going to call the police!”

“Do it,” Snape challenged, dark eyes flashing. “It’s been a while since I hexed someone.”

Petunia gasped. “Vernon, he’s…!?”

“One of Harry’s kind,” Snape growled, injecting as much venom as he could into the words. He moved on and twisted the knob on another bedroom. It didn’t budge. He looked down at the knob. Locked. A bolt and a padlock were fastened to the door, ensuring that should one lock fail, two others were ready to go. Snape gave both Petunia and Vernon a disgusted look. It appeared he had found Harry’s room.

“There had better not be a sick boy behind this door,” he told them in a soft, dangerous voice. “Or you will be very, very sorry.”

They both had the sense to look uneasy.

He removed his wand, causing the muggles to gasp and step back. Vernon got in front of Petunia.

Snape smirked. As much as he wanted to hex them into oblivion, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

“Alohomora,” he whispered. He touched the wand to the three locks and they glowed softly before each popping open.

“Enough of this!” Vernon shouted. “I’ll not have you doing such unnatural acts in my home.”

Snape ignored him and pushed the door open. The room was dim. A desk lamp on the floor illuminated the sparse space in sickly pale light and sharp dark shadows. Harry was on the small bed, sweaty and tangled in the single sheet on the bare mattress. The boy coughed, a deep wracking bark that sounded inhuman. He fell back to the flat pillow, his chest heaving with fast breaths.

Snape froze, shocked by the sight in front of him. Harry was thin and was swimming in the large grey Tshirt he wore that went down past his lean hips. The room was hot and stuffy. There were bars covering the window, nothing on the walls, and a rickety desk and wardrobe in one corner. This was what Harry came back to every summer? A jail cell?

“Harry,” Snape leaned over him. He didn’t move. “Potter?” Snape put a hand on the boy’s chest. He was so thin. He could see the lad’s collar bones. His face was flushed and his skin burning hot.

“Little attention whore,” Vernon sneered from the doorway, seeming to have forgotten about his fear of Snape once he laid eyes on his ill nephew. “He’ll snap out of it when he’s hungry enough.”

Petunia sniffed in a way that managed to sound arrogant, agreeing with her husband.

“You disgusting, bloody fools!” Snape growled at them. “Can’t you idiots see how ill he is?! Surely you’re not so thick?” He pulled another healing potion out of his pocket and popped the cork. He sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress. “Harry,” his voice was soft again, “open your eyes?”

Harry stirred. “Sn…Snape?”

“Indeed. Open your mouth.”

Harry stared up at him, his eyes glassy with a fever, and Snape slid his arm behind the boy, lifting him into a semi-sitting position. Vertebrae pressed into Snape’s forearm. Snape put the vial to Harry’s lips. “Drink,” he commanded. Harry managed to get most of it down. A bit of the red liquid ran out the side of his mouth and streaked down his neck. Snape tilted the violet fever reducer towards his lips and Harry blanched at the taste.

“Drink it all,” Snape said, his voice soothing. Harry choked and spat up some of it onto Snape’s sleeve but got most of it down. “Good lad.” Snape slid his other arm under Harry’s knees and lifted the boy out of bed. He weighed as much as a dried leaf. Harry groaned and huddled into the warm body, teeth chattering. Snape clenched his jaw. Harry had lost so much weight. Did these idiot muggles feed him at all? He turned, his cloak flaring around his booted feet, and glared at Harry’s gaping relatives.

“Harry is no longer your concern.” He had much more to say, indeed his voice trembled with fury. He imagined the whole house going up in flames, preferably with Petunia and her kin trapped inside, but he could daydream later. Harry was ill and needed attention.
Snape adjusted his grip on Harry, holding him tight, and apparated away from Privet Drive.

***

He apparated directly into one of Crowcaster House’s large guest bedrooms. Teeley had made herself useful in his absence and the fire burned bright, taking the chill out of the rarely used room. The large bed was turned down invitingly and Snape laid Harry in the sheets. He said the incantation for the medical assessment and the soft blue network of webbing appeared over Harry’s body, gathering data.
“Teeley,” he called.

The little elf appeared.

“Get some towels, tissues, and a glass of water.”

“Yes, Master Snape.” She vanished.

Snape held up his hand and closed his eyes and visualized his neat potions storage space upstairs. With an elegant twist of his hand he wordlessly conjured two potion vials directly from his stores. The heavy glass vials clinked in his palm. One potion was for coughing specifically and the other was a general lung tonic cure-all. The boy had already taken a fever reducer and healing potion. Without an exam of some kind Snape had no idea what else he’d need. Teeley appeared and stacked towels on the bedside table along with a large glass of water and a generous supply of tissues.
“Thank you,” Snape told the elf, who was wringing her hands and shifting from foot to foot as she watched Harry. Snape picked up a damp towel and wiped the remnants of the healing potion and fever reducer from Harry’s mouth and neck.

Harry opened his eyes. “Snape?”

“Yes.”

“Why’re you here?”

“You’re ill, Harry.” Snape used a dry towel to blot the sweat from Harry’s neck and face.

“Did’j y’get my letter?”

“Yes. I’ve given you some potions. I need to give you more. Are you—”

That horrible barking cough erupted from Harry and Snape slid his arm behind the boy to lift him up to sit and lean forward. He put his hand on Harry’s chest to brace him and thumped his other hand next to his spine. Harry clutched Snape’s arm and coughed violently, whimpering in between gasps.

“What hurts?” Snape asked. He gave Harry a tissue to spit into.

“Throat. Chest.” Harry’s voice was raspy and Snape leaned over to grab the water glass.

“Drink,” he said. He put the glass to Harry’s lips and the boy drank obediently.

“I’m going to give you a lung tonic and a cough potion.” he said, pulling the vials from his pocket. He ripped the stopper of the first one out with his teeth and tipped it towards Harry’s mouth. He drank it without spilling.

“Good boy. The other now.”

Harry drank it down.

Snape put the water glass on the side table and the empty vials in his pocket. After a moment’s hesitation he lifted the back of Harry’s shirt and did a quick visual exam of the skin. Heads of house were given special training to notice physical signs of abuse and with Harry having been at his rancid relatives for a fortnight already he could only suspect the worst. Harry was bony, probably malnourished, but he wasn’t bruised or cut or anything. He lifted the shirt further and looked at Harry’s chest and belly and prominent ribs. No bruises. Nothing unusual. He pulled the shirt into place and eased him down to the fluffy pillows. Already the tonic was working and Harry looked a bit better. He wasn’t quite so flushed. “Rest,” Snape told him. “That’s the best thing for you now.”

Harry hummed and closed his eyes. Snape gently took his glasses off and put them on the bedside table. Teeley had been waiting patiently in Harry’s room, on hand in case Snape needed anything, and they both glanced at the assessment web. Harry’s temperature was thirty-eight degrees. Snape was glad he got the fever reducer into the boy. His blood sugar was low, he was malnourished and he was deficient in a few vitamins. He otherwise seemed to be in decent health despite Petunia’s best efforts. Snape made sure the water glass was topped up and he left the room with the elf, leaving the door ajar. His own bedroom was across the hall and if Harry started coughing or needed anything in the night, Snape would hear.
Out in the corridor, he said, “you’ve done splendid work, Teeley. I’m pleased.”
She bobbed her head. “Thank you, Master Snape.”

“Could you please go back to the boy’s room at his relative’s house and gather his trunk, owl cage, broom, and any spare clothing?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Off she popped.

***

Harry’s roiling stomach woke him up. He gulped and sat up in bed and looked around. There was a fireplace in this room. Why was there a fireplace in the room? His room never had a fireplace before. His hand moved over the dark green comforter. This wasn’t his. A large dog was in the bed with him. For a moment he thought it might be Sirius as this dog was the same size as his animagus godfather, but it wasn’t. This dog was grey and black and white. It lifted its head and whined softly. More confused than ever, Harry looked out the windows. His windows had bars on them. These didn’t. The dog jumped off the bed and trotted out into the corridor. Harry heard it’s clawed paws scratch at a door. A hovering blue medical assessment web floated over his bed and he stared at it, trying to think. Was he in hospital? He’d been ill at the Durselys. Maybe it got so bad that they brought him to a muggle hospital. Did muggle hospitals have dogs and fireplaces and floating assessment webs? His stomach churned. He picked up the glass of water next to the bed and drank. That only seemed to encourage his stomach. He looked around, desperate. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know where the loo was. There was no bucket or anything nearby—

His stomach decided his brain was done thinking and he vomited bile and water all over the braided rug on the floor beside the bed. He coughed a few times and put his hands on his stomach, regarding the mess with a mix of disgust and humiliation. There was a stack of towels next to his bed and he grabbed one and wiped his mouth. A light in the corridor and then a figure moved silently into his bedroom. The figure turned the room’s light on low.
Harry fumbled for his glasses. “Snape?!” He rasped, baffled. He wouldn’t have been more surprised if Voldemort himself walked in wearing Petunia’s frilly pink apron.

Snape glanced at the sick on the floor.

“Sorry…” Harry muttered. He coughed.

“No matter.” Snape waved his hand and the mess vanished.

“Where am I? Is this Hogwarts?” He knew it wasn’t the moment he said it. He cleared his throat.

“You’re in a bedroom at Crowcaster House.” Snape said.

“Crowcaster House.” Harry coughed. Why did that name sound so familiar. “What is that?”

Snape raised a brow. “My home.”

“Oh, right.” He’d seen it before written in the letter Snape gave him at the end of last year that contained his address. Harry wasn’t sure what to feel about waking up in Snape’s house in the middle of the night and then vomiting on his rug.

“What are your symptoms?” Snape asked. “Other than nausea?”

“Stomach feels better.” He coughed. “I’m—” he coughed again. He couldn’t get more words out as a coughing fit consumed him. An arm clad in a dark blue dressing gown sleeve appeared in front of his chest. A firm hand on his back tilted him forward and Harry braced himself on Snape’s arm as he thumped in exactly the spot needed to loosen whatever was clogging his chest. Harry hacked and spat into a tissue. He took a deep, ragged breath.

Snape checked the assessment web. His fever had dropped a bit. “It’s too early to give you more potions.” Snape said. “Is your stomach better?”

“For now.”

Snape transfigured a tissue into a bucket. “Can you get back to sleep?”

“I think so.” Harry laid back in the bed. He shivered and pulled the comforter up to his chin. “I have questions.”

“I imagine you do. I will answer them tomorrow.” Snape stood and moved for the door. “Sleep well, Harry.”

“Mm, night….” Harry muttered as Snape left.
He had so very many questions.


Harry didn’t get to ask those questions the next day, as he took a turn for the worse in the night. Snape was awoken a couple hours later by Harry coughing fitfully. He laid still, listening, counting the seconds in between coughs. He heard Harry gasping for breath and then another round of heavy coughing, ending with a gagging sound.

Snape got up, threw his dressing gown on, and went into the room.

Harry was curled on his side, coughing heavily into his fist. There was a bit of blood on his hand and on the sheets. The white of one of Harry’s eyes was streaked red. He probably burst a capillary coughing. The pain in his chest, a vague smolder at the Dursleys, was now an inferno of searing heat. He breathed raggedly, rubbing his sternum and trying not to cry.

“C’mon. Up.” Snape pulled him gently into a seated position and tilted him forward again, bracing him with his forearm as before. Harry grabbed his arm and hacked into a wad of tissues. He thumped Harry’s back until he hacked up more crud and the coughing fit passed. Snape had left a few vials of cough tonic on the dresser and he summoned one, popping it open and tilting the potion down Harry’s throat.

Snape stood there rubbing that spot on Harry’s back and supporting his weight with his arm. “Just give that a moment to work and then I can fix the pain in your chest. It’s probably your core,” Snape said. Harry was clinging to his arm taking deep, shuddering breaths as Snape rubbed up and down the spot he’d been pounding (Snape was soothing him, rubbing his back? What?) “This could be some form of bronchitis,” Snape said.

“I did have a cold,” Harry said. “Got worse. Could,” he sniffed and looked up at Snape, “could this be from the antidote?”

“That’s unlikely. Some people are allergic to the angelica ingredient but if you were you would have shown signs of a reaction much earlier than now. You could have picked up something at King’s Cross or some latent bug on the train. Maybe you caught it from one of your relatives. Regardless, the potions will help.” He moved his fingers up Harry’s back to his neck and laid his hand flat between Harry’s shoulder blades. He was offering comfort but also feeling Harry’s breaths. They seemed more even and less rattly than before. “Where is the pain in your chest?” Snape asked, though he had a guess.

“Here.” Harry pressed his fist into his sternum and grimaced. “It burns!”

“Yes. That’s your magical core burning to try and control the fever. Your magical energy is low. Take your shirt off. I have a salve.”

Harry pulled his big Tshirt over his head and Snape conjured a wooden pot of cream from his stores upstairs.

Harry laid down and Snape popped the cream open. “I’m going to apply this to your chest.”

Harry nodded and Snape scooped a couple of fingers of cream and smoothed it across the skin at the bottom of Harry’s prominent ribcage. The cream tingled on Harry’s warm skin and then a cooling sensation sank into his flesh, reaching into his body to breathe icy air over his burning chest.
Harry sagged into the mattress with a long exhale.

“Better?” Snape said.

“Yeah, a lot better.” Harry said.

“Excellent,” Snape said, capping the pot. He picked up Harry’s shirt and frowned. It was massive. The pair of white boxer shorts he wore sported a waistband worn through and frayed holes all over the legs. They reminded him of the clothes he’d worn as a child. His family had been so impoverished that new clothing was rare. He’d often been made to do with his mother’s and father’s old things, transfigured to fit him better and repaired with a muggle needle and thread. Petunia and her beast of a husband were obviously not poor. Did Harry not have good clothes?

Teeley had brought back a bundle of clothes for Harry a few hours ago that Snape had immediately dismissed. They were rags. A few Tshirts threadbare or riddled with patches. Stains that wouldn’t come out. Ragged hems and edges. The jeans and underpants were in an even sorrier state. He couldn’t in good conscience put Harry in those clothes. Fortunately, Snape owned muggle clothes. Harry could make do with some borrowed things until Snape figured out the next steps.

He’d sent his patronus to Dumbledore to inform him of Harry’s location. He’d armed the doe with a scathing message that suggested Dumbledore didn’t know what the hell he was doing and only a fool would leave a vulnerable child with muggles such as Petunia and Vernon Dursley, blood wards or not. He’d told Dumbledore too that he was going to keep the boy in his home until proper, sensible arrangements could be made.

It wouldn’t be difficult to convince Harry to stay put in Crowcaster House for now. He was so weak and tired that Snape was certain Harry would gladly stay in bed and be waited on hand and foot. Snape laughed to himself. He’d always thought James Potter’s son was a spoiled little celebrity, used to having servants indulging his every whim. Snape never would have thought he’d be so wrong and that he’d be the one who stepped up, unasked, to do the waiting on and indulging.

He summoned a clean pair of dark green sweatpants and a white Tshirt.

“Harry,” he shook out the Tshirt and approached the bed. “You need to change your clothes.”

Harry nodded and Snape pulled the clean shirt over Harry’s head and helped him feed his arms through the sleeves. Harry hugged the fresh soft knit fabric to his thin body.
“Stand a minute.” Snape said, helping him to his feet. “I have sleep trousers for you. Hold my shoulders.”

Snape crouched and instructed Harry to lift his feet into the trouser legs. Harry’s clammy hand balanced on his shoulders as Snape tugged the fabric up and pulled the drawstring to tighten around the hip bones. They were too long as Snape was much taller than Harry but they were better than what he’d had on.

Harry’s teeth chattered and Snape helped him sit on the bed again.

Snape knew more about medicine than the average wizard. Part of the requirements for the Potions Mastery included an eight-month stint at St. Mungo’s so he knew a little more beyond the basics. For years he’d been brewing and administering potions to ailing students and staff. He’d brewed a thousand cold relief potions, fever reducers, headache tonics, calming draughts and the like, but he was no healer. He knew the magical and muggle ways to take vitals and give an injection, find blood pressure and insert an IV. He could not however, look inside a body. He lacked the skill and tools to do so. All he could do was treat what he could see and rely on his body of experience and medicinal knowledge to diagnose an issue.
He looked at the clock above the fireplace. It was too early to give the boy any more potions. He lifted the covers and Harry huddled against his pillow. “Go back to sleep. I’ll check on you later.”

He didn’t have to tend Harry again in the night. Early in the morning, a thump against the wall woke Snape up. Blinking awake, he got back out of bed, slipped into his deep blue dressing gown, and headed for Potter.

The boy was leaning against the wall, out of breath and rubbing his chest again. He seemed totally winded. He looked up at Snape. “Loo.”
Snape took Harry’s elbow and guided him to the bathroom. “I’ll be just outside when you’re done.”

Harry nodded. He was too tired and ill to be mortified by what was happening. He did what he needed to do without collapsing and washed his hands.
“How often do you get this ill?” Snape asked, holding him steady as they went back to the room.

“Never,” Harry said. “Why’m I so exhausted?”

“It’s your core,” Snape said. “It’s working extra hard to eliminate your cough and it’s using your energy to do that. Good sleep is the best thing for you now.”

Snape was going to deposit him back in the bed but thought better of it.

“Sit here a moment.” He let Harry slump into the armchair. Snape waved his wand. The damp bed linens stripped themselves from the mattress. He waved his wand again and a fresh set peeled themselves in place. Harry stared at him. His brain was working in fits and starts. If he’d been completely cogent he would think this utterly surreal: Snape, the scary dungeon-dwelling Potions Master, playing nursemaid to him in his own home. The bed was remade in seconds and the old linens vanished to the laundry. Harry got up on his own and crawled into the bed. Snape grabbed the fever reducer and half dose of sleep draught. Harry had only coughed a few times, not like that horrible barking cough of the night before. Snape held the back of Harry’s head in one hand and tipped the first vial to his mouth. Harry gulped it down.
He hummed in approval. “One more.”

Harry downed the second one and burrowed into the blankets. Snape dropped the vials into his dressing gown pocket and went back to bed. They both slept late into the day. Snape had never been a morning person so he was perfectly content with sleeping in a few extra hours before rising and getting ready for the day. He glanced into Harry’s room and saw the mess of dark hair poking out from under the blanket. Asleep. He listened. Breathing sounded better.

He went downstairs and ate breakfast, glad to be sitting quietly with the newspaper. He lingered at the table with his tea. He debated about waking Harry to make him eat but reasoned that when he got hungry enough he’d wake up and Snape would deal with it then.

Harry slept.

And slept.

And slept.

The sun was beginning to cast long afternoon shadows when Snape, comfortable in the sitting room with a book, heard movement on the second floor. He marked his page and went upstairs, reaching the landing as Harry exited the bathroom.

“Feel better?”

Harry nodded and whispered, “yes, sir.”

“Hungry?”

Harry hummed and shrugged. Snape bit back his annoyance at the lack of a proper answer. Patience. The boy was ill.

“I want you to try eating. Toast?”

“Okay,” Harry whispered hoarsely. That triggered a coughing fit and he leaned on the wall, gasping for breath.

“Come on.” Snape guided him up and brought him back to the bed. Harry coughed again and once more Snape slid his arm in front of Harry’s chest as a brace and thumped his back. Harry coughed deeply and then hacked into a tissue.

“Gross,” he muttered. Snape released him and Harry fell back in the bed, staring at the hovering assessment web Snape had cast the first night. The interlocking net-like pattern of it was dense with data. “What time is it?”

“Nearly five.”

“At night?!”

Snape smirked. “You’ve been asleep for almost fourteen hours.”

“Shit.” Harry rubbed his forehead.

Snape summoned Teeley.

“Yes, sir!” She popped into the room.

“Please make up a plate of dry toast for Mister Potter.”

“Certainly, sir!” She vanished.

“When did your relatives last feed you?” Snape asked.

“I don’t even remember. They shoved some cold eggs under my door…don’t remember when.”

Snape grit his teeth. No wonder Harry was skin and bone. Those bastards starved him!

A plate containing four triangles of toast appeared alongside a glass of water. Harry dragged himself up and leaned against the cushioned headboard. He nibbled the toast and sipped the water. When he didn’t cough or vomit he started taking bigger bites. He was barely aware of Snape vanishing the used pile of tissues and casting a freshening charm in the room. Harry put the empty plate and glass aside and and laid back down.
“How’s your chest?” Snape asked. “Burning?”

“Still there but better.” The small action of eating seemed to take it out of him as no sooner had Harry answered was he snuggling back into the pillows. Snape waved his hand and refilled the water. He also applied another measure of salve to Harry’s chest.
Harry rolled over when he was done. “Thanks, Pr’fes’r….” his voice was low and moments later he was asleep.

Once again Harry slept.

And slept.

And slept.

He woke up late the following morning. He looked around. He was feeling loads better. His mind finally felt clear and the persistent burning in his chest had cooled. He grabbed the water on his bedside table and drank the whole thing, then sat on the edge of the bed and took in his surroundings properly for the first time. The room was simple but nice. The bed was huge. Four big windows let in plenty of light on this sunny day. The fireplace, lined in river stone, was dark and cold. There was an armchair and a small round table, a dresser, and a wardrobe. Harry saw his trunk at the foot of the bed. He dug into his mind, trying to remember the series of events that had ended with him in Snape’s home. He remembered laying in his bed. Oh. He’d written Snape. He’d been ill, his relatives hadn’t cared, and he wrote Snape. He’d expected, at best, an owl delivery of a healing potion or fever reducer but now he was in Snape’s house.

He had questions.

He looked down at his chest. Oh so that hadn’t been an absurd fever dream. Snape had actually changed his clothing for him like he was an infant. Awesome. Brilliant. Really wicked. This wasn’t his shirt. Also, these sweatpants? Not his.

He had a lot of questions.

His wand! Harry dropped to his knees with a loud thump and dug through the mess of his trunk. He’d never cleaned it out from last year and he tossed used parchment, broken quills and sweets wrappers over his shoulder. Where was his wand? He found last year’s potions workbook and threw that aside. It slid across the floor and came to a stop at Snape’s feet, standing in the doorway.

Harry glanced up at him and did a double take. He was in dark trousers and a dark blue buttoned shirt, looking at Harry in an intense way, like he was sizing him up. Harry had never seen him in muggle clothes. He had never been able to ever imagine Snape in anything other than the black robes he always wore. Even now the sight before him was clashing with the image of Snape he had built into his head over the last near-six years. Snape looked marginally less imposing in the muggle clothes but only just. A large mean-looking dog was sitting, watching Harry with a tilted head.
“Feeling better?” Snape raised a brow.

“Yeah, loads.” Harry turned back to his trunk and cleared his raspy throat. “I can’t find my wand!”

“I put it aside for safekeeping.” Snape opened the top drawer of the dresser and pulled it out, offering it to Harry handle-first. He took it with a sigh of relief. The familiar soft sense of magic slipped up his arm and he sat on the floor, examining the length of holly.
“Nice to see you taking care of this,” Snape picked up the ragged potions workbook and flipped through the blank pages. He snorted. “Did you even use this last year?”

“Sometimes,” Harry said, defensive. He looked at the oversized clothes in his trunk. One item was a yellow Tshirt for a football team he didn’t care about. The other item was a pair of truly wretched jeans, faded from repeated washings, three sizes too big, raggedy at the cuffs and worn threadbare at the knees. He frowned at them and for some reason, felt incredibly sad looking at them. Harry didn’t like wearing these clothes. They were ugly and it was annoying to have to hike up his trousers all summer long but he dealt with it. Now though, removed from the muggle world and put firmly back in the magical world where he belonged—in Snape’s house, Snape’s house!, no less—the huge ugly clothes screamed neglect. He didn’t want to wear these in front of his Professor. If this bedroom was anything to judge by, Snape’s house was probably big and nice and the man himself was always dressed impeccably. Harry was embarrassed to even be holding these rags.
“Take a shower,” Snape said, “you’ll feel much better. Come downstairs after.”

Harry nodded and rose. Snape showed him to the bathroom down the corridor with its gleaming silver fixtures and a white tub, toilet and sink. Harry showered quickly and used only the smallest amount of soap and shampoo, not wanting to take too much advantage of Snape’s hospitality. He cleaned his teeth with the spare toothbrush set out for him and put on the fluffy ivory dressing gown hanging on the back of the door that Snape told him to use. He looked at himself in the mirror, charmed to stay fog-free. A gaunt face stared back at him. His cheekbones stood out and his lips were chapped. Despite all his sleep his eyes had a weary, heavy look about them. He looked awful. Ah well. Snape had seen him in some low moments loads of times last year.

He went back to his room to put on clean clothes from his trunk and found a neatly made bed with a stack of clothing resting on it. The sweatpants he’d been wearing were there, laundered and smelling faintly of the fresh, bright scent he’d noticed sometimes on Snape’s clothes last year. He dug underpants out of his trunk and pulled the sweats back on. He unfolded the black Tshirt, making a face at the green and silver Slytherin crest stamped on the chest.

“Very funny, Snape,” Harry said. He pulled the shirt over his head and left the room. He glanced up and down the wide hallway.
“Snape?” He called. He coughed.

A house elf in a snow white toga appeared before him and bowed. The letters “CH” were stamped onto the fabric in swirly green script. A massive green and pink bow adorned her scant hair. “Please come with me, Mister Harry. Master Snape is waiting for you at the breakfast table.”

Harry lit up at the sound of breakfast and followed the elf down some stairs, across a landing and down more steps. He passed a parlor and what was probably the front door. Several doors they passed were closed and he finally came to a small, homey kitchen area. Snape was at the table reading the paper.

He folded the paper and set it aside before he ran an assessing eye over Harry. Content with whatever he saw, he gestured to the chair opposite him.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said, sitting across from the man.

Snape stared at him. “You’re welcome.”

A plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit appeared in front of Harry and he grabbed his fork in anticipation. He glanced up at Snape. He was sipping his mug of coffee. Harry fidgeted, waiting.

“I ate already,” Snape said.

“Okay,” Harry said. He cleared his throat. It was still dry and raspy.

Snape stared at him for a few more seconds. Harry was fiddling with his fork and glancing about the kitchen and the adjacent sitting room.
“Problem?”

“No, sir.”

“How come you’re not eating?”

Because I’m waiting for permission to start?

“Oh. Um, okay.” Harry took a normal-sized bite, then immediately began shoveling it into his mouth.

“Slow down!” Snape said sternly. Harry froze, the fork halfway to his mouth.

“Your system’s not used to it,” Snape explained. “Smaller bites, please. Do you want tea? Or juice of some kind?”

“Pumpkin juice?”

Snape waved his hand and a glass of the faint orange juice appeared. Harry took a long gulp.

“Okay,” Harry set the cup down. He had about a million questions. They all jostled in his head for first position until he managed to get out a broad, “what happened?”

Snape took a deep breath and relayed how Harry had written to him asking for potions, how Teeley had told him how sick Harry really was. “Teeley was worried. I trusted her judgment so I went there myself.”

Seeing that Harry was nearing the end of his meal, Snape summoned a few items off the kitchen counter: A white mug, a knife, three small bunches of dried herbs, some kind of wet, wrinkly, bubbly pod in a bowl of what looked like blood, a wooden cutting board, and a glass jar of honey. Snape cleared the board of everything save the herbs and started chopping them as one bundle.
Harry watched the bits of dead leaf flake across the pale board. “You came to my uncle’s house?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“Something about calling the police.”

Harry’s eyes widened.

Snape finished chopping and pushed the herbs together into a little pile. He picked up a spoon and scooped the lot of it into a tiny mesh bag. Harry wondered what the hell he was doing.

“He said nothing useful,” Snape said. “I found you, feverish, coughing, very ill. I picked you up, literally, and brought you and your things here. What do you remember?”

“Um,” Harry watched him point his wand at the empty mug and mutter a word. It filled with steaming hot water. Snape dipped the mesh bag into the mug and left it there with the burlap drawstrings dangling on the table.

“Darkness. Coughing. A dog?” He glanced down at the large creature at Snape’s feet. He paused, “you giving me potions.” Harry shrugged. “I was either sleeping or coughing or I was drinking potions. I don’t remember much detail. How long have I been here?”
“This is your third day.”

“Whoa, okay.” Harry nodded. He’d finished his food and was sipping the water that had refilled his glass once the pumpkin juice was gone.
Snape scooped the red pod thing out of the bowl and put it on the board. He pierced it and Harry frowned. It looked gross. The thing bubbled and Snape quickly held it over the steaming mug. A brown, viscous goo dripped into the mug with a soft plat sound. When the pod was empty, Snape put it back in the bowl. The dollop of honey he added to the concoction seemed oddly normal after the pod juice. He removed the mesh bag, dropped it in the bowl with the used pod, and levitated the mug across the table to sit in front of Harry.
“Drink that.” He nodded at the mug. “Before it gets cold.”

Bewildered, Harry picked it up and sipped. It was sweet and tasted like fennel and something heady and dense he couldn’t quite place. He felt a tingle deep in his chest, not unlike the faint sweep of magic he got up his arm when he picked up his wand. The hot liquid coated his throat and seemed to soothe his wheezy chest.

“I,” Snape began, “would like you to stay here a little while.”

“Sir?”

“At least until you’re better,” Snape finished.

“Alright,” Harry said, unsure why Snape wanted him underfoot. Why not just kick him back to his aunt? “What, er, what is this?” He tapped the mug.

“That’s a cough tea I combined with extra ingredients to give your magical core a boost,” Snape said. “It’s more effective when brewed fresh.”

Harry nodded and finished it. Snape waved his hand and a vial of orange potion appeared next to Harry’s mug. “Drink this next.”

“What is this now?”

“A vitamix potion. You’re malnourished. I want you to drink both of these for the next few days, the vitamix especially.”

Harry knocked it back. It tasted like oranges.

“Sir….” He absently recorked the empty vial. “Why?”

“Why?” Snape repeated.

“Why do you want me to stay? You could just send me back. I don’t want you to go out of your way...”

“You need to recover, Harry. Your core is weak and your cough isn’t yet gone. You’ll improve a great deal faster with these teas. I don’t think Petunia is going to bend over backwards to brew you something like that,” he nodded at Harry’s empty mug.

Snape had also heard back from Dumbledore. Fawkes, plumage a brilliant gold and scarlet, had been on the perch in his study this morning, preening. A rolled scroll tied with a purple ribbon was on Snape’s desk. Dumbledore said he would be by within the week and to keep Harry in his home. He also advised Snape not to tell anyone the boy’s location. Snape had rolled his eyes at that. Of course he wouldn’t tell anyone. Now, Harry had agreed to recuperate here where Snape could watch him and make sure he got healthy and more importantly, stayed out of trouble.

“Are you still hungry?”

“No.”

“Going forward you don’t need my permission to eat. When we’re at the table together, you may eat.”

Harry nodded. “Er, sir?” He ran his fingers over the Slytherin crest on his shirt. “Can you make this a Gryffindor shirt?”

“And what is wrong with Slytherin?”

“Nothing’s wrong with Slytherin, ‘cept Malfoy, but it’s…it’s awfully green.”

Snape pointed his wand at Harry’s chest and Harry wasn’t sure if Snape was about to blast him or vanish the shirt or what. Snape said an incantation. The serpent transformed into the Gryffindor lion and the decorative crest shifted to match Gryffindor’s but the Slytherin green and silver remained. The red and gold tones of Gryffindor house were nowhere to be seen.

“Hey,” Harry frowned down at the lion. “That’s not right.”

“I think it suits you.”

“The colors are wrong!”

“Drat,” Snape said dryly. “I must have said the wrong spell. Dear me.”

Harry let out a small sigh, looking up when Snape rose to his feet. Harry did too. The dog hopped up and looked at Snape. Its tails wagged.
“Two tails?” Harry said, watching the long tails swivel back and forth.

“He’s a mutt. Part crup, wolfhound, and shepherd.” Snape explained. “He helps me forage for certain hard-to-find ingredients. Hugo is also an excellent guard dog.” He laid his hand on the dog’s head and the dog licked at his wrist.

Harry nodded. Hugo was enormous and scary looking but his fur was soft. Memories of the large dog laying in bed with him trickled into his brain.

“Come on, I’ll show you around the house,” Snape said. The plates and all the tea detritus vanished. “We’ll continue to take our meals here in the kitchen.” He gestured to the cozy space. He pointed out a door on the side of the room. “That goes down to the scullery. Through here,” he brought Harry down a short flight of steps to an area containing sofas and armchairs. “My sitting room.” He brought Harry around the house, showing him the parlor near the front door and the huge floo-connected fireplace it contained. They ducked into a dining room that held a long table big enough to seat ten.

They went upstairs. “Guest rooms are that way,” he pointed to the left. “Our rooms are down this way, as you know.” Snape lead him to the right down the now-familiar corridor. He gestured to the bathroom Harry had used. “This will be your bathroom and only yours. I have one attached to the master suite, just there.” He gestured to a door at the end of the hall across from Harry’s. “So I have no need of it.”
“Okay,” Harry said, biting back a grin. He’d never had his own bathroom before!

They went further down the hallway. The door to the study was open. Snape brought him to just inside the doorway. “This is my study.”
Harry glanced around. There was a big desk in the center of the room. There was a soft sofa next to a window, a tiny fireplace, and loads of black wood bookshelves packed with tomes. Many of them looked dark and ancient. A prickly violet plant trembled by a windowsill.

“You must never come in here without my express permission, Harry.”

Harry nodded, glancing around.

“Understood? Answer me,” Snape prompted.

“Yes. Yes, sir.”

They left the study. Snape closed the door behind and pointed to a thick wooden door studded with iron rivets at the end of the hall. It looked strong enough to stop a herd of galloping centaurs. “That leads up to the third floor. That is another space you must never enter without my express permission.”

“Why?”

“There are dangerous things up there. Come.”

They went back downstairs and out the back door that was off the sitting room, stepping onto a bricked patio in the warm June day. See that ridge of pine trees?” He pointed to the distant row of green trees.

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s the edge of my property. There’s some walking paths.” He gestured broadly at a nearer copse of trees. “I also keep gardens.”

Harry looked down a shallow hill and saw a load of flowers and plants in rows outside a small greenhouse.

“Brilliant. For ingredients?”

“Precisely. You may walk the paths but there is one more place you must never go. See that pond?” Snape pointed to the body of water nestled under some oak and birch trees.

“Yeah.”

“There is a small island there. You must never go near that island.”

“Oookay, why?”

“It’s very dangerous,” Snape said simply. “My property is ancient. A vampire once resided on this land and there are…unpleasant things about the grounds.”

“A vampire!?”

“Yes. My property is also surrounded by a couple century’s worth of protective enchantments and shields. They extend up quite a bit, much taller than the pitch at Hogwarts. Flying should not be an issue but I want you careful out there regardless.”

“I can fly?” He blurted.

Snape raised a brow. “When you’re feeling better. I certainly have the space for it and I didn’t purchase that broom to be admired like a museum piece.”

“My broom!” He gasped. Where was his broom? Where was— “Hedwig!?” Harry put his hands on his head as a sick feeling of utter dread rose in his chest. “Oh fuck, oh sh—Hedwig…” He dropped into a crouch, his heart hammering and the edges of his vision shimmering. The Dursleys hated Hedwig. If she’d been left behind Dudley would have, oh Merlin Dudley would have killed her for sure. Panic shot through Harry’s chest. His arms weakened. His heart slammed in his ears and all he could hear was a high-pitched whine. “No, no—”

Snape’s hand gripped his forearm. His voice broke through Harry’s wild thoughts. “Harry, listen to me. Listen! Breathe! Listen to my voice and breathe. Inhale…exhale…good, inhale…okay. Good. Your broom is in the kitchen and your owl is asleep in this tree. Look.”

Snape stood up and Harry did too, shaky. His breaths were fast and shallow.

“Good boy, keep breathing.” Snape guided him under the tree. “Right there. See?” He pointed up and sure enough, Harry saw the snowy owl through the oak leaves, unblemished and unharmed, with her head tucked under her wing. His head swam in relief and he nodded. Hedwig seemed to notice that her master was looking at her and she woke up, blinked, and hooted softly. She flapped down to him and Harry crooked his forearm to make a perch.

“I shrunk her cage and put it your wardrobe.” Snape’s hand was on his shoulder, anchoring him. Harry stared at the owl through teary eyes and stroked her soft breast.

She’s okay, she’s okay. They didn’t get her. She’s fine. She’s not dead…

Snape was watching him. Harry’s lower lip trembled and Hedwig nipped him affectionately before going back to her branch. His brow glowed with perspiration and he had the peaky look of someone about to pass out. Snape carefully released Harry’s arm as his breathing got back to normal and his color returned. “I didn’t want her in the room while you were ill,” Snape explained. “Birds, even magical ones, can cause respiratory problems in some people and I didn’t want anything interfering with your recovery. She’s plenty safe here. Like I said, my grounds are extensive and warded and she has acres of hunting at her disposal.”

Harry nodded, relieved. He took a deep, shaky breath and exhaled slowly. Snape held up his hand. A thin vial appeared in it. “A low dose of a calming draught,” Snape explained. “It’ll take the edge off.”

Harry nodded and downed the vial’s contents in one shaky gulp.

“All of your belongings are here,” Snape assured him, vanishing the empty vial to the sink in his potions lab. “I had Teeley go check that bedroom at your aunt’s house. She was thorough and she brought everything of yours.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. Thanks. Thanks, you know, for everything, sir.”

“You’re welcome,” he paused. “I think you should rest.”

“No. I’m fine, that was just a panic attack. A little one. I’ve had them before. I was due.” He looked back up at his sleeping owl and smiled like what he had just said was a joke.

“How often do you have these?” Snape asked after a moment.

“Not that often.”

“How often is ‘not that often?’”

“Er, usually when I get back to Privet Drive.”

“That’s it?”

“Uh, sometimes at school right before term ends. It’s happened too when I get back to Hogwarts after the summer. Sometimes at Christmas.”
It had happened once on the train from Hogwarts to King’s Cross for the summer. He’d done his best to hide it but Hermione gave him a funny look before he’d excused himself to the loo to let it pass. He was gone so long that Ron noticed and Harry made a joke about the leaving feast not agreeing with him.

Snape was still. That was pretty often to have panic attacks.

“Did it happen this summer when you went back to Privet Drive?”

“No,” Harry said with a smile. “I wasn’t nervous or weird about it at all.” His gaze lingered on Snape’s for a few seconds longer. Harry didn’t admit that it was Snape’s letter that had quelled the annual looming panic attack. The man had provided him a potential escape which was something he’d never had before when facing a full summer with his awful relatives.

“Okay,” Snape said. “If you have another one, or feel one coming on, tell me. I can give you something for it.”

“Thank you, sir. Er, you said Dumbledore was coming?”

“Yes. I’m not sure when. He may suggest moving you to the hospital to finish recovering. He’ll likely want you back to your aunt’s once your health is back up. He may not even want you here now.”

“No,” Harry said quietly. He didn’t want Dumbledore to stick him in the hospital, or worse—send him back to Privet Drive. He wanted to stay, well, maybe not here—it was Snape’s house after all and honestly Harry had no idea where he stood with the man—but somewhere! Anywhere but Privet Drive.

As if reading his mind, Snape asked, “do you want to go back to your aunt? I didn’t…” he trailed off, a touch uncomfortable with his rash actions. He was usually more in control of himself. He had to be to survive. Spontaneous, rash spies didn’t last long. Grabbing Harry and dragging him here had been impulsive and dangerous.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “No way. I hate it there. I always have.”

Snape nodded. “I don’t want you back there either, however, that decision is not up to me. I imagine Albus will be here in the next days.” He glanced over Harry’s haggard expression and tired eyes.

“Why don’t you rest on the sofa in the sitting room? I have a muggle television in there.” They went back inside. “I’ve a muggle phone too, for that matter.” Snape nodded at the dusty rotary phone on the corner of the counter. The long curly cord was piled beside it.

“Can I call Hermione?” He asked. “Maybe?” He needed her number first.

“Yes.”

Harry perked up at that. He wondered if Ron’s dad still had the phone working. Talking to his friends would be brilliant. Maybe, Harry thought, just maybe he would be okay.

Harry was soon on the comfortable sofa with a light knit blanket draped over his body courtesy of Teeley. He had a cup of hot cocoa, also from Teeley, and was watching a muggle game show about guessing prices of groceries. He was half-watching the telly and half-thinking about his and Snape’s conversation. That panic attack had been beyond embarrassing. Of course Snape had seen him many times at his lowest: when he was crying and snotty and blubbering about how he liked being called ‘Harry,’ when he was enduring the horrible smacks last year, and most recently, when he was coughing and ill and pathetic. A panic attack was pretty low on the embarrassment meter compared to all that.

If Snape was going to send him packing he wished the man would just rip the plaster off and do it already. Surely he wouldn’t want such a nervous, jittery weirdo in his house for too long. Snape had said that he didn’t want Harry back with his aunt but that certainly didn’t mean he wanted Harry here all summer. The wild little thought, you’re in Snape’s house! kept repeating in a loop. He was in the home of the meanest, strictest teacher at school…and he was curled on his comfy sofa with a big mug of the best hot cocoa he’d ever had. No one at school would believe it. He could barely believe it. It had been alright here so far. If he was being honest, Harry already preferred Snape’s house over his aunt’s. It hadn’t even been a week and Snape had proven himself to be loads better than his relatives. Harry could fly his amazing broom, he had a large bedroom and his own bathroom, he didn’t have to worry about Vernon or Dudley killing Hedwig. He was back in the magical world where things just made sense.

He hadn’t been in very many magical homes. The Burrow was the only place he’d spent a significant amount of time. He wondered what sorts of magical things Snape had in his house. He had the dog. Hugo was part magical beast. Snape also had a whole bunch of forbidden places on his property that sounded really mysterious and wicked cool. What was out there on that island that was so dangerous? Was it the same kind of thing that was behind that riveted door? What was so terrible Harry wasn’t allowed to go through there? Some weird old vampire thing? Probably some really dark death eater stuff…some really disgusting things….

He woke up and blinked a few times. He glanced at the window. The midday news was on the telly. He sat up and, after a brief coughing fit, rubbed his face and used the loo off the sitting room. He stood in the hallway after, listening. “Sna—er, Professor?” He called. Silence. He popped into the parlor and stuck his head into the huge formal dining room. Nothing. Harry went into the little kitchen where they’d eaten. Empty. Maybe he was out?

Harry’s stomach grumbled. He was hungry but he was always hungry all summer. He could deal with it. Unless…Snape had a house elf, right? She would have to have a space somewhere in the house to prepare meals. Where would that be? At Hogwarts the kitchens were near the Hufflepuff common room, a few floors down and directly under the tables in the Great Hall. Maybe the kitchen here was the same? If Snape took meals in this room, maybe the prep room wasn’t too far. Hadn’t he mentioned a scullery?

He opened a door he found to his right. It was a utility closet of sorts. To his delight, his Moonshot was leaned on the wall inside. He touched the cool, smooth handle, hoping Snape would soon deem him well enough to fly. He opened another door around the corner that revealed a set of narrow, uneven stairs leading down. Excellent. He crept down the steps. Surely Snape would have loads of rules in his house and he could absolutely deny Harry food too. He wanted to stock up on snacks while he had the chance in case he had to go hungry later. Snape had told him he wanted Harry to eat and not ask permission and all…but Harry would feel better knowing he had some food tucked away. Snape had a temper and Harry envisioned the man losing patience and locking him in his room for ages on end. Maybe not, but, it was best to be prepared.

Harry landed at the bottom of the narrow staircase and found exactly what he was looking for. This was the food preparation area, with cabinets, a glowing fire, utensils and the like. There was an exact replica of the table in the kitchen. The room was impeccably clean. Snape probably settled for nothing less. Harry silently slipped over to a cabinet. Plates, cups. He closed it and opened another. Things in cans, boxes of dried pasta and rice. Harry moved on. A few bottles of wine. Did the man not have snacks? Bars, sweets, or bags of crisps? He did find a single box of what looked to be some kind of foreign-made, healthy protein bar. He took two and stuffed them deep in the pocket of his sweatpants. He saw a fruit bowl on a work surface and he pounced on it. He ripped off a banana and ate it and then he slipped a small apple into his other pocket and grabbed another banana and an orange. That should last for the next day or so. He couldn’t take too much without Teeley or Snape noticing. He went up to his room undetected and threw the fruit and wrapped bars in his trunk. He hid them under one of Dudley’s old shirts. There. Good. If Snape denied him meals or got upset with him and locked him up he’d be alright with this stash of snacks. He hid food in his room at the Dursleys all the time. He’d learned to do that when he was about eight. Snacks were better than nothing. He was used to going without full meals all summer long.

Harry heard noises in the corridor and then Snape appeared outside his open door. That familiar potion-scent spice was radiating off his clothes. Harry could smell it even from his place by the trunk.

“Hungry?” Snape asked.

“Er, yea—well, not too much, I-I can wait—”

“C’mon,” Snape cut off his blathering and tilted his head to the side in a ‘let’s go’ motion. “Let’s have lunch.”

They resumed their seats from breakfast and Snape tapped the table. Two huge salads appeared, along with bowls of a creamy yellow-orange soup. A small plate of crusty bread appeared between them. At the Dursleys, his aunt would force salad on the family now and then when it was decided that Dudley needed one of his diets. This would last as long as Vernon’s patience and then the family would go back to their normal fare. Harry had never had a salad like this on Privet Drive. It was big, first of all, and Harry could see cheese crumbles and chopped egg, bits of tomato and…was that purple lettuce? It glistened, tossed in a light dressing. It smelled vinegar-y and looked really good. Nothing like the wilted anemic lettuce leaves in a tiny dish at Privet Drive, of which Harry was only allowed leftovers. The soup had some kind of seeds sprinkled on top and Harry remembered that Hogwarts provided seeds for students to drop on their pumpkin soups, the few times it was served in autumn.

“Problem?” Snape said softly, picking up his fork. He put his napkin in his lap and Harry did the same.

“No,” Harry said. He picked up his fork and waited.

So did Snape.

“Is the food to your liking?” Snape asked.

“I think so, sir.”

“What did I say at breakfast?”

“Um…you wanted me to take the vitamin potion every day?”

“You don’t need permission to eat,” Snape reminded him.

“Oh, right.”

Harry speared a forkful of leaves and slowly brought it to his mouth. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Snape to shout? Once, his aunt put food in front of him after depriving him for a day and when he started inhaling the food, she snapped at him that he was being rude to eat like such a pig and had taken it away. The memory of his aunt taking the food, leaving him with a burning belly was strong and painful. He glanced at Snape and chewed before grabbing another forkful. Satisfied, Snape did the same. Harry relaxed and they both tucked in.

“I don’t want you hungry in this house,” Snape said after a few moments. He paused, trying to figure out how to be delicate. “I know your relatives didn’t care if you ate regular meals, but I do, and so should you.” Snape glanced at the collarbones he could see peeking under the collar of Harry’s huge shirt. He was way too thin for a boy his age. Teenage boys had voracious appetites and Snape hoped Harry would take advantage of being in a house filled with food.

“Yes, sir.”

Over the next few days Harry slept more than he ever had. He slipped into a schedule of sleeping twelve or so hours a night, taking an afternoon nap, and then pulling another full night’s sleep. Snape assured him the long hours were because his core was regenerating. Snape made sure that Harry joined him for three meals a day and always had his fill. The man was diligent about making the fresh pod tea every morning and Harry, though he appreciated it, wondered why he was bothering. Maybe he felt guilty for last year and all the times he had to hit him because of the potion. Maybe Dumbledore or McGonagall put him up to it. Whatever it was, Harry wasn’t going to complain. The tea helped his cough and he felt loads better since drinking a fresh cup everyday after breakfast. When Harry wasn’t sleeping or eating his time was his own and at one point Snape brought him to the library at the top of the stairs.

“I need to do some work today in my lab. It will take a couple hours.” Snape gestured to the open door and Harry entered the library. It wasn’t large, simply a converted bedroom, but there were a few packed book cases, a sturdy table and chairs, and a window with a bench seat built in. “You may read any of these books. Get a start on your summer work, perhaps. If you are hungry, call for Teeley and she’ll bring you a snack.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Stay out of trouble.” Snape gave him a look and swept down the corridor.

Harry expected the shelves to be filled with dusty old potions tomes, but to his delight there was plenty of fiction—even some muggle fiction. Harry ran his fingertip over the spines of Swiss Family Robinson and Fahrenheit 451. He found a book about a wizard who was contracted out by the Ministry to the muggle government to be an undercover spy. It sounded like it’d be funny and he took it to the parlor and stretched out on the sofa. Hugo trotted into the room and, after giving Harry a thorough sniff, curled at the end of the sofa at Harry’s feet.

The wizard spy was hilariously inept at snooping on muggles and Harry spent the next few hours happily reading about Alistair Dots and his ridiculous spying foibles. He so rarely read for fun that he had forgotten he enjoyed it. When Harry was at school he spent so much time reading textbooks that he didn’t want to read more in his free time. The Dursleys had a set of encyclopedias and a dictionary in their sitting room, as those were ‘normal’ books to have on display for company. Harry on occasion saw his aunt with a paperback but they would never keep funny books like this. If his aunt did decide to get more books they would probably all be about how to keep a house clean.

Harry was continually surprised by how comfortable he was in Snape’s house. Last year, before he’d gotten to know Snape, he would have guessed the man lived in a dungeon like at Hogwarts and had a cauldron in every room. Thumbscrews, chains, bats in the rafters, the whole lot. In reality though, Snape’s house was actually cozy. He had comfortable sofas and armchairs, soft blankets, throw pillows. There was even a telly. Harry’s bedroom was perfect. The bed was bigger than his dorm bed and just as soft. It wasn’t a massive manor like the Malfoys had but it was certainly spacious. There was plenty of natural light inside and loads of space outside. It felt right in a way the Dursleys never had.

Harry was developing a whole new view of Snape, too. He wasn’t the snappish dungeon bat in this place. He was more relaxed, slightly softer somehow around the edges. He didn’t stride around the house with billowing black robes and a tight frown on his face. He wore muggle clothes and soft house slippers and hadn’t shouted at or insulted Harry once. He’d been attentive and present while at the same time giving Harry plenty of space. As far as Harry was concerned it was basically perfect here and as long as things stayed like this he could see himself spending as much time here as Snape was willing to allow.

The fireplace glowed green and then roared to life. Harry froze. Who was coming? Who knew he was here? He had a wild thought that the Dursleys were coming back to collect him before logic intervened.

Albus Dumbledore, clad in a loud blue and silver spangled robe, stepped out of the fireplace. He saw Harry on the sofa and regarded him for a moment, serious, calculating, a touch perturbed, before a warm smile spread over his face. “Harry,” he said, “how are you feeling, my boy?”
“Better, sir.” Harry set the book pages-down on the end table and stood to properly greet the Headmaster. Hugo hopped off the couch and went to sniff Albus, who offered a hand to the big dog.

“How are you faring under Severus’ tender ministrations?” His eyes held their usual twinkle. “I daresay you’ve not been in Crowcaster House before.”

“No, sir. I’m faring well. He’s been…he’s been great, actually.”

“Excellent, excellent.” Dumbledore patted him absently and looked past Harry, his blue eyes flicking around as he searched for Snape.

“Am I going to have to go back to my aunt?” Harry asked.

“That’s what I’m here to discuss with Severus! Where is our favorite Potions Master?”

“Here, Albus,” Snape strode into the room, “apologies for my delay.”

“Not at all! Harry was generous company.”

Snape hummed. “My study, I think.”

They started for the stairs.

“Can I come?” Harry asked.

“No,” Snape said. Albus went up the steps ahead of him and Snape pointed at Harry from over the banister. “Stay here and behave.”

They thumped up the stairs and Harry frowned. What were they gonna talk about? Him? School? No matter what they did talk about, it was bound to be interesting….bound to be worth listening in on…Harry crept to the bottom of the steps. Silence. He hurried up on quiet feet and poked his head around the corner of the hall. Snape’s study door was closed. Damn. Harry frowned, then brightened. He had an idea…

***

“Have a seat, Albus.”

Snape waved his hand and a full tea tray appeared. Teeley had added a bowl of lemon drops and Snape silently praised her ability to remember his guest’s favorite rubbish. He certainly wasn’t going to bother to learn who preferred what sweets and snacks. The teapot immediately hovered and busied itself with pouring tea into the two porcelain cups—another thing Snape was glad Teeley had thought to include. The hardy ceramic mugs he favored were fine for the day to day but Snape wasn’t sure how pissed off Dumbledore was going to be. Snape had basically ripped Harry away from whatever shield charm Albus had put on Petunia’s home. Surely Albus wouldn’t be too pleased about Snape’s impulsive actions and he appreciated Teeley pulling out all the stops for his powerful guest.

“Not at all, Severus.” Dumbledore said, transfiguring the hard wooden chair Snape put out into a squashy wingback armchair. “It seems you’ve had quite the summer holiday.” His voice held an uncharacteristic hint of irritation. He caught the teacup and saucer that floated over to him.

“Potter,” Snape said, taking that tone as his cue and cutting right to it as his own cup settled at his elbow. “How much of a problem is his being in my home?”

Albus gave Snape a long look. “The blood enchantments on Privet Drive protect Harry, Severus.”

“From what, precisely?” He said, trying to stay if not polite, then civil. “His relatives abuse him.”

Dumbledore sipped, thoughtful, and said, “the blood enchantment is the charm Lily’s death created to protect Harry from a direct attack from Tom Riddle. I cast this powerful charm onto Petunia’s home, binding it to Petunia and that dwelling. As long as Harry can call home where his mother’s blood dwells, he will be protected. The charm also protects him from magical creatures who may wish him harm.”

Snape raised a brow. “Him and his cousin were attacked by dementors.”
Albus’ beard twitched as he smiled. “I never claimed it was a perfect charm, dear boy. For the most part he has been protected.”

“From the Dark Lord.”

“Yes.”

“So the abuse that he has endured at the hands of his relatives means nothing?”

“What Riddle would do to him is far worse than anything Petunia Evans could possibly do.”

Not necessarily, Snape thought. He picked up his teacup, his fingertips pressing into the thin porcelain. The heat seeped through, burning his skin. He allowed the sensation for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “Harry suffers there. Every year of his life that he has spent in that house, he has suffered.” Harry had told him as much last year and the state of his prison-cell room proved it.

“You’ve grown to care for him,” Dumbledore stated it as fact.

“Yes,” Snape said after a moment. No point in denying it.

“Interesting.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “You’re a better man than I am, Albus, and I find Potter’s situation frustrating. How can you leave him there knowing that he’s suffering?” Snape sipped his tea.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that, Severus. You keep the best of you hidden away. Perhaps Harry will get to see some of that?”

Snape stared at him, refusing to be put off by this cheap attempt at sentimentality until his question was answered.

Dumbledore picked up on this and gave him a level stare. “It’s for the greater good.”

“Oh please!” Snape snorted, putting the cup down with a loud rattle in the saucer. “That is your explanation? That’s the reason you’ve allowed him to be abused for fifteen years? ‘The greater good?’ Transfer the blood enchantment here, I’ll take him in.”

“I cannot.” Dumbledore raised his cup to his lips.

“Because…?”

“The charm cannot be picked up and moved,” Dumbledore said, aborting the sip. “It is not a suitcase. Even if it could be moved, it has to stay at the place Harry calls home. Does Harry call Crowcaster House home?” Albus gave him a condescending little smile and Snape clenched his jaw.

“No,” Snape admitted. Harry’s agreeing to temporary residency in this ancient house with his mean, stuffy old potions professor certainly didn’t qualify anything as a home. “Harry has never referred to Privet Drive as ‘home.’” Snape said, remembering his various conversations with the boy over the last year. Harry had called that house “my aunt’s” and “the Dursleys” and even referred to his relatives as “the muggles.” He rarely if ever said their first names, instead saying my aunt, my uncle, my cousin. He kept them at a distance even in conversation. After seeing the locks on the doors when Snape rescued Harry he didn’t doubt for a second that Harry didn’t call that place home. Who would call that prison home?

“Regardless of what he calls it, it is his home. That’s where his family is.”

“Rubbish,” Snape said, picking up his cup again. “Family doesn’t mean home.” He thought of the house he grew up in. Never once had that Cokeworth hovel occupied by his father been his home. “Privet Drive is not home for him.”

“Would Harry say that?”

Snape truly had no idea. He hoped not.

“Regardless of what Harry says, the shield disagrees,” Albus grinned, proud of himself, and tapped his fingertips together. “It was a difficult piece of magic to get in place, I grant you, but I am pleased with the way it turned out.”

Again Snape grit his teeth. This charm that had changed Harry’s entire life, damning him to those foul muggles, was nothing more for Albus than a notch on his metaphorical magic wand.

“The charm,” Snape said, reining in his temper. His hand tightened around the dainty cup. It all kept coming back to the bloody charm. “So you placed this charm and that was that? Does Petunia even know about it?”

“Yes. I explained it all in the letter I left with Harry.”

“The letter?” Snape repeated. “Do you mean the letter you left pinned to an infant on a stranger’s doorstep?” His voice dripped in sarcasm.

“Severus.”

“You put something that important in the ruddy letter? That was low, Albus. Lily’s child deserved better than to be left outside with a letter.”

“He wasn’t left outside. Gracious, you make it sound like he was abandoned! We made sure he was taken inside the house.”

“Where you then proceeded to explain a complicated and incredibly specific life-changing charm—the details of which even educated magical people would struggle to understand—in a letter. To a muggle.”

“Petunia understands magic,” Dumbledore said in a dismissive tone. He waved Snape’s concerns away. “She saw it in her sister.”

“Petunia doesn’t understand magic. Petunia hates magic,” Snape countered, leaning forward a bit over his desk. “Petunia was always snobby and small-minded but she became spiteful and mean the day Lily received her Hogwarts letter. Whether out of jealousy or disgust, both, I don’t know but I guarantee she threw your letter into the fire that very night and started to complain about how much Harry’s care would cost.”

“They received a monthly stipend.”

“Oh?” Snape leaned back and tilted his head to the side. He hadn’t known that.

“Exchanged into muggle currency of course.”

Snape paused. “How much?”

Dumbledore told him and Snape snorted and shook his head in disbelief, his fury at this whole situation growing. The sum was generous, more than enough to keep the boy fed and in clothes. They’d received a tidy sum from the Ministry, no strings attached, yet those bastards still had the gall to treat the child like dirt. It seemed they hated all things magical except the money.

“If Harry were to live elsewhere,” Snape said, swirling the dregs of his around the bottom of the teacup, “call somewhere—or anywhere at all—home…”

“Here, you mean?” Albus raised his brows.

“Not necessarily,” Snape said honestly. It wasn’t so much a matter of whether or not he wanted to keep the boy in his home, it was mostly a question of whether or not Potter wanted to stay here and also whether Snape had the time to watch a teenager in his home. The truth was, he was busy both over the summer and during the school year. His reputation as a Potions Master stretched far and wide beyond the British Isles. He spent the scant summer months brewing for private clients willing to pay top coin for dark, rare, and complicated potions not sold in shops and he often got a little extra cash for not asking too many questions. Last year he’d made several new foreign contacts through his Draught of Asphodel research. This had garnered him a fresh crop of interested clients so his summer docket was rather full up. Yes, he would be busy this summer, like every summer. Would he be too busy to brew his potions and keep a weather eye on Potter? Not if he handled everything carefully, he supposed. Being self-employed over the summer gave him the freedom to pick and choose clients at his leisure. He could limit himself to the ones willing to pay the most or the people who requested the more interesting brews. He had no qualms about the school year—he could easily look out for the boy in the castle. He already had all of last year. He made a comfortable salary as a professor but if the stars aligned he could earn two thirds of his annual Hogwarts wage in one summer. His conscience was hardly clean but he’d not sleep well knowing Harry was back with those awful people, not after what he and Harry went through last year, not since his eyes had been peeled open to the reality of Harry’s abuses, and not if he could do something to fix the problem.

Snape decided to be candid. “I wouldn’t mind having Harry for the summer. I would keep him safe and out of trouble.”

“Ah, I wonder how ‘safe’ he’d truly be.”

Snape narrowed his eyes. “What are you implying, Albus?”

“Nothing, my boy, simply that without the blood enchantment protecting him and with him living in the magical world, Tom can, I’m afraid, access him.” Dumbledore gave a useless little shrug that rubbed Snape entirely the wrong way. He shifted irritably in his chair. “If Harry were to live in a new place and come to call that place ‘home,’ would the blood charm protect him?”

“That’s only part of the charm. He needs to dwell in the place where his mother’s blood lives. Hence Petunia.”

Snape paused and then asked, quietly, “how much of her blood?”

“Pardon?”

“You said as long as Harry can call home the place where his mother’s blood dwells, he’ll be protected.”

“Yes.”

“What does the wording mean by ‘her blood?’ What was your intent when you cast the charm onto Petunia’s house?”

Dumbledore looked startled. “Just that Harry would be safely housed in her home, wherever that may be.”

“What about a non-relative who has Lily’s actual blood in their veins? Did you specify in the charm that Harry had to stay with relatives or can he dwell with anyone who shares her blood?”

“What are you getting at, Severus?” Dumbledore sounded a touch concerned.

“Amicitia aeternitas.” Snape said.

Albus raised his eyebrows.

Snape smiled without humor. “A bond of eternal friendship.”

At Dumbledore’s silence he continued, “when Lily Evans and I received our Hogwarts letters, we performed a friendship bond. Say an incantation, slice the skin and press the wounds together so the blood ‘mixes.’”

“A touch dark for eleven years old,” the twinkle in his eye was long gone. He seemed not just disturbed by this news, but annoyed.

Snape shrugged. “It was her idea. She found the spell. Granted, it was in one of my mother’s books…”

“So you think that because of this spell so long ago, Lily’s blood dwells in you?” He sounded suspicious.

“Possibly. I don’t know the nature of the protective enchantments, hence my asking.”

“Do you still have this book?”

In response, Snape lifted his hand. A book on the shelf behind Albus flew to his upraised palm. Snape flicked to the index, having only remembered the name of the spell and not the page. He found it and glanced it over quickly before handing the book to Albus.

He read it. It was a short and simple spell.

“This is hardly appropriate for children, Severus.”

Snape shrugged. “My mother always gave me free access to her books. I was never one to shun the darker arts, even as a boy.”

“Did you use a silver blade to make the cuts?” Albus asked, reading the spell.

“I believe so. I’ve had my own potion supplies since I was seven. Silver blades are standard.”

Dumbledore was silent. “It’s…possible the protective enchantment would recognize her blood in you. Since the term ‘blood’ is fairly unspecific I suppose the spell could include you.”

“Is there any way to test that without putting Potter’s life on the line?”

“Unfortunately, there’s not.” Albus snapped the book shut. His tone was firm as he said, “it’s in Harry’s best interest to go back to his aunt, which he will.”

“Is it though?” Snape asked, trying and failing to keep the insolent tone at bay. This was Dumbledore he was speaking to, not a simple-minded colleague.

Albus regarded him and said, “how close are you with Harry, truly?”

Snape frowned, unsure what Dumbledore was getting at. “At the end of last term I found him companionable. He no longer inspires the ire in me that he once did.” Even as he said it he couldn’t believe it was true. “If he did I wouldn’t have bothered bringing him here. I’d have left him for dead the way your precious muggles did.”

“Regardless of his living situation, the charm will fall July thirty-first of next year.”

“His seventeenth birthday.”

“Precisely. Are you willing to extend this relationship until then at the very least?”

Snape hadn’t thought that far in advance. With the type of life he lead it was difficult for him to plan. He couldn’t guarantee he’d make it to the end of each day. And now he was seriously courting the idea of taking care of a teenager all summer long and if he was truly honest, beyond the summer and potentially into the school year? Had he taken leave of his senses?

“Sure,” Snape said. Assuming I live that long.

Dumbledore sighed and ran a fingertip across the edge of the thin book. “Amicitia aeternitas is likely not powerful enough to rival the strength of the shield enchantment, given that literal children were able to successfully create it.” His voice was softer, resigned, when he said, “given your relationship with Harry that burgeoned over the last year, he can stay here for now. When he is at full health however,” Dumbledore’s blue eyes met Snape’s, “he will go back to Petunia.”

Snape pressed his lips together and clenched his jaw.

“In the meantime,” Dumbledore said, “it is of utmost importance that his whereabouts stay among trusted individuals. I shall tell the Order.”

Snape nodded. “What of the boy’s friends?”

“I think Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley have proven themselves trustworthy.” Dumbledore nodded slowly. “Yes, they can know as well.” Dumbledore sipped his tea and asked, “how did you come to acquire Harry?”

“He wrote me for a healing potion.”

Dumbledore raised a brow. “And that results in his staying in your home?”

Snape scowled. He felt like he was eleven and being interrogated by the Headmaster about the origins of a prank gone awry.

“I saw Harry’s deplorable living situation and rectified it.”

“Ah.”

“I’d like to learn more about the blood shield.” So I can figure out a way around it so Harry doesn't have to go back to them. “Is anything about it written anywhere?”

“Of Lily’s original shield, no. I used a casting enchantment to bind it to her home. I modified the casting method a touch but I shall send you a written copy of the original.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I’m allowing Harry to stay here, Severus, strictly until his health is at full capacity. I will instruct Poppy to check in on the boy in a week’s time.”

“Don’t trust me to tell you?” Snape muttered. Smart man.

“I trust you with my life, Severus, and I trust you with Harry’s, but I hope you know what you’re doing,” Dumbledore said. “It’ll be far harder to protect him in the magical world than in the muggle one,” Dumbledore said.

“My home is unplottable and few people know where I live. No one has yet questioned the strong wards on my home. You know how powerful they are.”

“I do. Which is why I’m allowing this. And anyway, moving him around too much would draw unnecessary attention. Is there a chance his illness will return?”

“It’s clearing up but there’s no telling if it will flare again,” Snape said, being vague on purpose. He wanted to confirm with Harry that he actually wanted to stay here for a few more days. Harry seemed content and hadn’t even gotten into trouble yet, amazingly. Teeley had reported that Harry had taken some food to his bedroom, which Snape was fine with. The boy was taking food without permission and Snape saw it as a win, even if he was squirreling it away in his room.

“The sooner he goes back to Petunia, the better,” Dumbledore said.

The study’s door flew open and banged on the wall, startling both men.

“No!” Harry burst into the office.

“Harry!” Snape scolded.

“I’m not going back to them!” He declared. His fists clenched and the panic that had been circling his chest earlier had evolved into fury. He shook his head at Dumbledore. “You can’t make me go back there!”

I guess I don’t have to ask Harry if he’d like to stay, then. Snape’s face was a strange mix of annoyed and smug as he turned his gaze on Albus.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said calmly, “the blood charms protect you from people who would wish you dead.”

“The Dursleys want me dead,” Harry shot back, “I could’ve died if Snape hadn’t done anything. Er, maybe. I was really sick and they didn’t care! My core was depleted and Snape gave me some weird potion to make it better!”

Snape would normally snap at Harry to show some respect to the Headmaster, but in this case Snape agreed with Harry. He leaned back in his chair, watching Dumbledore. The older man exhaled a long breath. His blue eyes had lost their twinkly warmth long ago. “Professor Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore corrected.

Harry huffed.

Dumbledore continued, “the blood charm protects you—”

“—not from them it doesn’t,” Harry interrupted, shaking his head. “What’s the point of the wards if my aunt is going to kill me anyway? Snape has all these powerful old vampire wards on this place. Voldemort won’t find me here!”

Snape pushed his chair back and shot to his feet. “Professor Snape, I mean,” Harry corrected himself nervously as Snape approached him. Harry stiffened as Snape drew near, half expecting him to bend him over and let him have it, Dumbledore be damned. Snape moved behind Harry and gathered the loose fabric of his Tshirt, pulling it back tight so it was stretched across Harry’s torso.

“Look at how malnourished he is, Albus,” Snape said. He put his splayed fingers across the side of Harry’s rib cage. Each finger nestled in the space between the bones. “Do you see? He wasn’t fed enough. School ended three weeks ago. He left Hogwarts hale and hearty and this happened while he was at Petunia’s.”

Harry didn’t particularly like being manipulated about like a doll but Snape was making good points so he kept his mouth closed. He was also so bloody touch-starved that the warmth of Snape’s hands bleeding through the cotton shirt sent bolts of frisson up and down his legs. That sometimes happened when Hermione hugged him too.

Snape let the gathered fabric loose and pulled down Harry’s collar, exposing the prominent bones so Dumbledore could see. “Believe it or not, he looks better now than he did when I picked him up a week ago.” Snape stepped back from Harry and folded his arms.

“Harry, you will stay here until fully recovered,” Dumbledore decreed. “Not a moment longer.”

Snape inclined his head. This was as good as it was going to get, it seemed. “Harry? Alright with you?”

Harry shook his head, nearly frantic, “I don’t want to go back there—”

“Harry,” Snape said in a low tone.

Harry went silent and looked away. “Fine.”

“Good,” Snape said, “Get out. Go back to the parlor and stay there this time.” He grit his teeth and lowered his voice. “You and I are going to discuss this later.”

Harry darted off. He didn’t dare disobey. Hugo followed him down the corridor and happily trailed Harry back to the sofa where he curled up. The big dog sat in front of him, panting with his tails swaying. Rather than pick up his spy book Harry hugged the big dog’s soft neck. His mind was too full to focus. This was such bullshit. Snape and Dumbledore would send him back to Privet Drive so he had to enjoy every second he could. A thought popped into his head. Why not just…be sick longer? He could easily fake the occasional cough and sniffle. Could he really fool Snape though? He had some fever fudge left. Fred and George had been eager for volunteers and they’d let Harry have a crack at whatever products he wanted. Snape wouldn’t kick him out until he was better but still. Harry shook his head. Snape was smart and he’d see through any ruse Harry could come up with and toast his arse if he lied. It wasn’t worth it.

Harry sighed into Hugo’s neck. “I hate this, boy. I really hate this.”

Hugo whined.

***

The floor upstairs creaked and Harry looked up. Snape’s and Dumbledore’s voices grew louder until they were thudding and thumping down the old wooden steps. They moved for the fireplace and the two men exchanged words about keeping in touch. Dumbledore bid goodbye to Harry and left through the floo.

Snape turned to him. Harry put the book down.

“I don’t want you going back to the muggles,” Snape said.

Harry nodded, relieved.

“However, that decision is not up to me. Or you. Professor Dumbledore thinks that your aunt’s home is the best place for you.”

“Professor Dumbledore is wrong,” Harry countered. “They hate me! They actually, really hate me!”

Snape stared at him for a few moments. He wasn’t going to disagree. “Be that as it may, we need to have a discussion about eavesdropping.”

Harry scoffed and Snape folded his arms and looked down at Harry with a stern expression. “Up,” He said, as if commanding a broom to rise. Harry unfolded himself from the sofa and stood in front of his professor. He stared at Snape’s elbow. “Eavesdropping, Harry, will not be tolerated. I know that you know eavesdropping is not on. If something is meant for your ear, you will be invited.”

“But I thought you were gonna talk about me—and you did.”

“Look at me when you’re speaking.”

Harry looked up at his dark eyes.

“How did you eavesdrop? A spell? If it was one of those blasted ears again, so help me…”

Harry frowned and reached into his pocket, pulling out the fleshy extendable ear string.

Snape snatched it from him and muttered something about “those bloody twins” and “terrible influence.” He shoved the ear into his pocket. “Never again, Harry.”

“If it’s about me, I have a right to know!” Harry hated how whiny and childish he sounded.

Snape let his arms drop from their folded position and he looked like he wanted to grab Harry and shout but instead he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I know that adults in your life have not always kept you well informed,” Snape opened his eyes. “When you were younger this seemed to be the best course of action. However,” he said carefully, “you will be of age soon and I do think that you should be privy to some of the decisions people are making about your life.”

“Thank you. Finally,” Harry muttered.

“Some of the decisions, Harry. Not all. Not everyone thinks you should be informed.”

“Dumbledore,” Harry muttered.

Snape neither confirmed nor denied it. “I will tell you what I can and will include you in conversations when appropriate. If I respect you enough to include you when necessary in conversation, you need to respect me and believe me and obey me when I say that a discussion is not for your ears.”

Harry’s boiling indignation had cooled and he nodded. “Okay.”

“Good. You know that sort of behavior is inappropriate. You’ve attempted to listen in on enough Order meetings to know that. You’ve been warned about eavesdropping, yet you still persist, so you will be punished. You’ve earned yourself lines.”

Harry took a deep breath. Writing lines wasn’t bad. He could handle some lines.

“Two hundred times: “I will mind my own business and never eavesdrop on conversations not meant for my ear.”

Harry frowned. That was a long sentence.

“Be grateful it’s nothing something worse,” Snape suggested.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“You have until Sunday to complete them.” Snape added.

Oh, well that wasn’t too bad. It was only Tuesday.

“How much did you hear?”

“Dumbledore said Ron n’Mione are trustworthy and he asked you how I got here and he said I could stay here ‘til I’m better and that he’d tell the Order. That’s it, I swear!”

Snape gave him a final glare. “No more eavesdropping.” Snape pushed his dark hair away from his face. “I think we should have a chat about rules and consequences so you know exactly what to expect while you’re in my home.”

Harry looked away but nodded. It’s not like I’ll be here long enough to break many rules anyway.

“We’ll talk over lunch. What would you like? I usually have a sandwich or something light.”

“That’s fine,” Harry said. He followed him into the kitchen and Harry saw a pile of post on the table. Snape flipped through it. He put aside some envelopes and a magazine. Harry glanced at the title of the magazine.

“PoMo?” He asked, tilting it towards himself and reading the four large letters at the top of the cover.

“Potions Monthly.” Snape said absently, flipping through the rest of the small stack. To Snape’s surprise, Harry opened the magazine. Harry read some of the dry text on one page, then flipped to a different page and found more dry text. Snape wondered if he could order a subscription of some magazine or something for Potter to read. Anything to keep the boy out of trouble this summer. He knew that Harry—or any student not deeply interested in potion brewing—would find the professional journal edition of PoMo tortuously dull. Harry closed the magazine and sat at the table. Snape tapped the table and a plate of sandwiches appeared, along with some sliced fruit and crisps and two glasses of water.

Harry waited, looking at the food rather longingly until Snape served himself before Harry glanced up at him as if looking for permission. “Go on,” Snape said. Harry took half a sandwich and a few apple slices. He looked at the strawberries but paused and eyed Snape as if expecting him to protest. Snape suppressed an exasperated sigh. Hadn’t they been over this? What did Harry expect he would do? Shout? Smack his hand away? Snape said nothing, curious to see what Harry’s next move would be. Harry pulled his hand back and sat still, looking heart-wrenchingly lost.

“Harry,” Snape said, summoning his best patient voice. It wasn’t a voice he pulled out very often. “Take anything you want. Here.” He pushed the strawberries and crisps across the table. “The strawberries are very good. They’re in season.”

Harry grabbed three strawberries as well as a generous handful of crisps.

“You don’t have to wait for my permission to eat. Ever,” Snape said again. “You can take as much as you want of anything on the table. There’s more of everything. I appreciate you waiting for me to go first but it’s not necessary.”

“I really like berries,” Harry said. “My aunt would buy them if they were on sale, but, I wasn’t allowed to take any before Dudley. He would grab all the best ones and leave the bruised and bad ones behind. I would sneak them sometimes, at night.” He smiled as if this was a fond memory.

“Sometimes he’d miss one of the good ones. They were so juicy and sweet.”

Harry put the whole berry in his mouth and hummed as the sweet juice flooded his tongue.

Snape made a mental note to tell Teeley to keep a steady supply of fresh berries in the house.

They were quiet for a moment, eating, before Snape began speaking. “If you are going to stay here for the time being, we need to lay ground rules. I trust I don’t have to tell you that if you disobey me, there will be consequences.”

Harry nodded and looked at the remaining half of his turkey sandwich. “What will you do?” They weren't at school anymore. He was in Snape's house, which was still weird and daunting but somehow becoming okay. Outside of the realm of Hogwarts rules, Snape could do anything at all to him and there was no McGonagall or Hermione to run to.

“You know you are not allowed in either my study or the third floor or the island unless accompanied by me or with my permission. Clear?”

“Yes, Snape—er, sir.”

Snape sipped from his mug. “You can call me sir, or Professor. I’d prefer you call me Severus. We rather…have gone a touch beyond the typical student-professor interactions.”

Harry snorted. They’d left those ‘typical’ interactions in the dust months ago.

“Given our…recent history,” Snape continued, “I think we can use first names, yes?”

Snape didn’t think Harry would immediately start using his first name, if he ever did at all. He wanted to give Harry the option, however. Harry was in his home for Merlin’s sake. Barely anyone knew where he lived and he hardly ever brought anyone here. Crowcaster House was his sanctuary and his fortress, his place away from all the hubbub of Hogwarts, away from all the whining, ridiculous students and loud colleagues. He’d rather not be called ‘Professor’ in this place that he kept so separate from his in-school self.

Harry blinked. Referring to a professor by their first name was as foreign to him as ancient Sanskrit. “I’ll try,” Harry said. He almost added, ‘Severus’ but couldn’t force it. He’d never once said the man’s name out loud and didn’t want to do it now. He was surprised Snape had offered it and the extension of familiarity lit up something warm and twisty in his gut.

“I will endeavor to continue with 'Harry,' as you expressed a preference for my using your first name?"

"Yes, sir."

"My rules and consequences are simple and easy to understand,” he added in a lighter tone, “even for a Gryffindor.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Don’t lie to me,” Snape said. “Ever. We got into the habit of white lies last year.”

Harry grinned. “Remedial potions lessons.” He reached for another strawberry.

Snape inclined his head. “That was to protect your hide from Umbridge. I don’t normally condone lying but in her case it was well warranted.” He paused, thinking. “Obviously don’t play with fire or shoot off random unknown spells. As I don’t want your brain turning to mush you’ll practice your spellwork and your potions under my direct supervision.”

“My spellwork? I’m underage.”

“I don’t care about the Ministry’s idiotic rules. They can only detect if magic has been used, not by who, and this place has centuries’ old shields on it. If they kick up a fuss, I’ll handle it. You’ll practice your magic and that’s final.”

Harry nodded, excited. He popped the rest of the berry into his mouth. He was allowed to do magic! Snape would brew potions with him! He liked when he brewed with Snape. He remembered brewing the Draught of Peace in detention last year and how calm and encouraging Snape had been. It was so different from the snappish way he acted in class. Harry had loved that soft moment between them and wanted badly to recapture it.

“Those are the big rules,” Snape said. “Nothing you can’t handle. I’m sure more things will come to me or more situations will arise. Don’t do anything barmy. Don’t do anything dangerous. Oh, and don’t whine. I hate whining. You’re almost of age so I expect you can entertain yourself in an intelligent way that befits a wizard of your age and intellect.” Snape finished his sandwich.

“Okay.”

“I am just as busy over the summer as I am during the school year, if not more so,” Snape continued.

“Really? What do you do?” Harry asked, curious.

“I brew potions for private clients. These potions are usually difficult and require much of my time and attention. Like I said, I expect you to stay out of trouble and keep yourself busy. I assume you don’t have your sixth year books yet?”

“Uh-uh.” Harry shook his head.

“Use words, please.”

“I do not have my sixth year books.” Harry barely suppressed an eye roll.

“Better, but lose the tone. Next time I go to Diagon Alley I’ll pick them up for you.”

“Can I go with?”

Snape regarded him. “Maybe. If your behavior is acceptable, you manage to keep the sarcasm at bay, and if you’re feeling well enough.”

“Why d’you keep thinking I’m gonna get in trouble?” Harry asked.

Snape stared at him.

“I don’t get into that much trouble.”

Snape continued staring at him. One brow went up.

“I don’t!” Harry said.

“For someone who doesn’t get into ‘that much trouble’ I sure seem to remember tanning your hide several times last year.”

Harry scowled and took another strawberry.

“That,” Snape leaned back in his chair and crossed his leg over the other, “leads us to consequences. If you break any of these rules, you will get punished.”

Harry slumped down with a resigned expression on his face. He expected as much.

“You know I’m not opposed to physical punishment. In fact, I find it very effective. Despite our interactions last year, you can still expect a spanking as a consequence.”

Harry huffed and leaned his head back on the chair, groaning at the ceiling.

“Something to say?”

“I hated that!”

“Then the threat of “that” should be a good incentive to behave. If you don’t want to experience “that,” then follow my rules.”

“C’mon, Snape, er, sir. That asphodel potion is over with. Don’t you think I’m too old for it? I’m sixteen!”

“You’re fifteen.”

“Well, I’m almost sixteen. That’s for little kids….”

“Hm,” Snape nodded thoughtfully. “You know? I do think you’re too old to go over my knee.”

“Really?” Harry grinned. “Just like that?”

“Yeah.” Snape smiled. “You know, when I was a student at Hogwarts, naughty children above the age of fourteen weren’t smacked with a paddle or hand.”

“Yeah!” Harry nodded. Snape was agreeing with him! He couldn’t believe it.

“Instead,” Snape continued. “They were made to bend over their professor’s desk to receive the cane or the strap.”

Harry’s smile vanished and his eyes went wide.

“So, yes, Harry, at fifteen you are far too old to go over my knee. And at sixteen, as you insist you are, it would be outrageous to expect you to endure something as childish as a mere few whacks with my hand.”

Harry was shaking his head back and forth the whole time Snape spoke. Oh no.

“I can certainly put you across the table and take a strap to your backside if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“No! No, your knee is fine. I don’t want to go over the table.” Harry frowned at his empty plate. Effing Slytherin.

“No?” Snape pretended to sound shocked. “Hm.”

Harry took a deep exasperated breath. He wouldn’t win if he kept arguing. He knew from painfully personal experience what Snape was capable of. The man had said and shown him as much last year.

“If you do anything dangerous and endanger your life or jeopardize your safety, you will get spanked. If you lie to me, you will get spanked. For smaller infractions, you would lose flying privileges, I’d give you lines, or restrict you from contacting your friends.”

“That’s a lot of punishments,” Harry said.

“They wouldn’t all be at once,” Snape said with an eye roll. “Unless you do something colossally stupid even by Gryffindor-ish standards. Also, those three places I mentioned—the ones you’re not allowed to go to?”

Harry nodded.

“What were those places?”

“The island, third floor, your study.”

“Set foot anywhere near those three areas without my permission and you will have difficulty sitting, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I won’t take you by surprise,” Snape assured him. “Or at least I’ll strive not to. If you’re unsure about something, ask me. If you commit a sin that we’ve not discussed and I decide you need to be punished for it, we’ll talk first.”

Harry blinked. Snape was being downright reasonable.

“Okay,” Harry said.

Snape looked him steadily in the eye. “Despite what you may think I don’t actively want you to be unhappy.”

“No, sir. I know that now. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome but you don’t need to thank me.” Snape picked a crisp off his plate. “And we’ll both work on the use of first names.”

Rules-wise, Snape was being more than fair. Harry found that he was fully expecting him to be unreasonable, probably because they were no longer in Hogwarts and under the rules familiar to both of them. Snape could have come up with anything but had only offered: Don’t lie, don’t whine, don’t do anything really stupid or dangerous and don’t go to a few specific places. Snape hadn’t said anything about enforcing a bedtime or tidying the house or cooking meals or keeping him from eating or seeing his friends. Had he not thought of it? That seemed unlikely.

“Have you always lived here?” Harry asked.

Snape looked up at him.

“I mean,” Harry said, “did you, er, grow up in this house?”

“No,” Snape said. “Why?”

“Just wondering.” Harry glanced around. “It’s a nice house.”

“I grew up in Cokeworth, a few streets over from your mother.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “Oh. I know you said you guys were friends, but, I didn’t realize you knew her that long.”

“Mm, yes. We were six or seven or so when we met.”

“Is, do you know, are any of my mum’s relatives in Cokeworth?” There was a touch of hope in his voice that made Snape wince.

“No,” Snape said quietly. “Your grandmother passed some time ago, and your grandfather before that.”

“Oh,” Harry said, “and then you moved here?”

“Eventually, once I made enough money.”

“What about…er…”

“Yes?”

“Your parents?” Harry said, shifting. He glanced up at Snape.

“Both deceased.”

Harry nodded and didn’t ask anymore questions. They finished eating and Snape sent the dishes to the scullery with a wave of his hand.

“Are you tired?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna go read some more?”

“Of course.” Snape would never say no to an interest in reading.

“Can I read outside?” Harry asked, eying the beautiful June afternoon beyond Snape’s window.

“Yes,” Snape stood.

Harry decided to push his luck. “Can Hugo be out there with me?”

Snape nodded. “Get your book.”

Snape brought him out to the bricked patio shaded by the large oak Hedwig was currently sleeping in. Hugo darted off across the big expanse of lawn, barking at a flock of birds that were pecking in the grass. Snape conjured a comfortable chaise lounge in the shade. He also added a small table and a pitcher of water with a glass.

“Keep your fluids up. Don’t leave the book outside when you’re done, understood?”

“Yes, er, Se—Professor. Thank you.”

*Tap-tap-tap*

Harry woke up slowly as the little taps poked holes in his slumber. He fumbled for his glasses and pressed them to his face, squinting at the noise in the bight morning light flooding his room.

Pigwidgeon, Ron’s owl, was hopping around on the table. Harry threw off his bed covers.

“Heya Pig,” Harry said. The little owl flapped onto his foot board and lifted his leg. Harry untied the letter and package and Pig flapped over to Hedwig’s bowl for some water. With Harry on the mend Snape had allowed him to set up her cage near the window. Harry could tell Hedwig was thriving here at Crowcaster House. Her eyes were bright, her feathers thick, and she too had gained a bit of weight probably because she had regular access to hunting grounds and was no longer shut up in her cage if she hooted too loud. She often slept in the big oak outside beside Snape’s ornery black barn owl that seemed to hate every living thing that wasn’t Snape or Hedwig.

Harry sat on his bed, hitching a knee up. He turned the package over in his hand. It was something lumpy wrapped in brown paper and loads of spell-o-tape. He set it aside and unrolled Ron’s letter:


Harry!

MATE. Dad said the greasy git kidnapped you?! Bloody hell! Don’t worry — we’ll use the car again. Fred and George are on board. I told Hermione too but I haven’t heard back from her.
We’ll do it the same way we did with the muggles. Give me the address and tell me what window you’re in and we'll get you out!
Don’t let him poison you!

-Ron

Harry couldn’t help it, he laughed. He read the letter again and smiled. He ripped open the package and three slightly crushed chocolate frogs spilled across the bed. Harry summoned a quill and parchment and sat at the small table in his room. He bit into one of the frogs before it could hop away and jotted a note back to his concerned friend.

Ron, I’m fine. No need for a rescue. I can explain later. Will I see you soon? Maybe we can hang out in Diagon Alley before school starts?

Harry figured it would be best to explain his new situation in person. He finished with,

Thanks for the frogs. Write soon!

-Harry

He gave the note to the little owl and it took off. Harry also decided to write to Hermione. He grabbed a second sheet of parchment.

Dear Hermione,

I hope your summer is going well. Mine is. You may have heard from Ron. No matter what he suspects, I ’ m fine. I ’ ll tell you more when I see you. I hope we can hang out this summer, that would be brill. I ’ m available. Oh! I have a muggle phone now. I could call you, send me your number.

Talk soon,

Harry

He stared at the words. He was being awfully optimistic that Dumbledore would allow him to stay in Snape’s care long enough to exchange phone calls with friends. The opportunity to have a normal summer was too tantalizing to pass up. If he could communicate with this friends even once without having to worry about sneaking around his relatives or fearing punishment for attempting to contact anyone in the magical world it would be worth it. He smiled. He would send this off with Hedwig once she woke up this evening.

His window shot open again, startling him. A large brown speckled owl flew into the room, dropped an envelope on Harry’s head, looped around the ceiling, and flew out the window again. Frowning, Harry turned the envelope over in his hands. It had his name on it but no address or bedroom or anything. He tore it open.

Dear Harry,

I trust this letter will find you recovered from your ailment. As I said at Professor Snape's home, upon your bill of clean health it will be time to return to your aunt. Playtime is over, Mr. Potter. I know you and Professor Snape have forged some kind of camaraderie but you cannot stay at his home. He is a busy wizard and he maintains a critical role in the Order. He cannot be distracted by babysitting a teenage wizard with a penchant for naughtiness.

I have explained the blood charm to you and I know you understand its importance. Your parents both gave their lives to ensure your protection. I trust you don ’ t want to denigrate that sacrifice by childishly abandoning your family. I will pick you up from Professor Snape's home this Saturday and I expect you to be packed and waiting.

No more foolishness,

Albus Dumbledore


Harry read it, then read it again, his heart sinking lower and lower with every word. He felt hot with shame upon reading the blistering letter. Each word on the innocuous tan parchment was like a lash, cowing his pride and cutting down the small joys he’d experienced since coming to stay with Snape. Harry had heard howlers in the Great Hall with less scold than this. Harry took a shaky breath, his eyes lingering on the phrases,

'Playtime is over'

'he cannot be distracted'

‘ Childish ’

'a penchant for naughtiness'

Harry supposed he was distracting Snape. The man was often away in the house somewhere or writing letters in his study. Sometimes he left and Harry could only assume he was off doing important Order stuff. Suddenly their conversation about rules and consequences, which at the time had been reassuring, now seemed embarrassing. Snape had thought of all these rules for him and Harry wasn’t even going to be living in this house very long. He must think Harry was going to get in lots of trouble in the few days he had left in this brilliant old house. Harry folded up the letter and put it on the shelf next to his bed, quiet and humbled. He could be well behaved for Snape. He didn’t want to be a distraction if Snape had important stuff to do for the war.

Honestly too, going back to his aunt wouldn’t be so bad. Dumbledore was right in that his parents had died to save him. He bit his lip and his eyes filled with unexpected tears. He knelt before his trunk and dug out the photo album Hagrid had given him. He flipped to the page of his parents, smiling and laughing and looking so young and in love. He dragged a fingertip over the edge of the photo.

“M’sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to, I, I’ll try to do better.”

He put the album away and dabbed his eyes. He hadn’t expected a letter like this, following so closely on his friends’ fun missives and putting a damper on the joy those notes had inspired. It was fine. It would be fine. He could go to his aunt’s again. He’d put in eleven years there before his Hogwarts letter arrived. He smiled at the memory. That had been an incredible day, once he actually managed to open the letter. Even just receiving post had been a thrill, but when Hagrid showed up at that lighthouse and he could finally properly read the letter, when he had left that crappy old lighthouse and the crappy people inside of it and stepped out into the first night of his new life at Hagrid’s side….it was the stuff of dreams, honestly. Harry counted himself lucky that he’d been able to spend nine months a year in school and away from their house for the last five years.

He’d done it for so long he was certain he could continue doing so. It would suck as it always did but if he could get a few letters to his friends, maybe spend some time at Ron’s, he’d be fine. He always was. He bounced back. He was resilient. He would manage.

They settled into a routine. Harry woke up around mid-morning and came down to breakfast. Snape was always in there already, reading the Prophet with a cup of coffee or tea. Harry was a night owl by nature, preferring to keep hours as late as one or two in the morning and then sleep in. Snape kept similar hours and Harry wondered if this is why the man didn’t insist on a bedtime for him. Harry’s cough faded and he found himself napping less in the afternoons, usually short sleeps out on the transfigured lounger on the patio when the weather was good.

Harry, to his surprise, found that his favorite activity in Snape’s big comfortable home was when they would read together in the evenings. The first time this happened was something of an accident. Harry had noticed Snape could be found after dinner oftentimes in the sitting room, usually with a huge dusty book in hand, reading by the light of a strategically placed luminous sphere hovering over his shoulder. Harry didn’t know why, but he made it a little rule for himself to not disturb Snape during this time. He was already intruding on the man’s home and Snape had been more than decent to him. Harry kept out of his way on these nights and occupied himself outside or playing with the dog, not wanting to upset him.

One night Harry was curled on the comfortable sofa reading his wizard spy book. Hugo was at his feet, having taken something of a shine to him, and Snape had entered the room with the recent edition of PoMo. Snape sat on his usual end of the sofa, crossed his legs at the knee, and started to read. Harry thought of leaving the room, reminded once again that the man wouldn’t want him underfoot. Harry knew his time here was limited. Dumbledore wanted him back at his aunt's and Harry didn't want to do anything to enrage Snape and make him go back to Privet Drive even one second before Dumbledore absolutely demanded it.

Harry’s stomach turned to anxious knots at the thought of facing the Dursleys after the wonderful time he’d had here at Crowcaster House. He’d never felt so relaxed in summer, able to sleep as much as he wanted, read and watch television at his leisure, move about the grounds and play with Hugo. He had adjusted to life in Snape’s home faster than he ever thought he would. Prior to last year the thought of living in Snape’s house would have sent a chill up his spine. How wrong he would have been and it had everything to do with the stupid Draught of Asphodel from last school year. Weird how such a nasty potion had brought something good into his life. Too bad it was all going to come to end but it would be fine. He would be fine.

Harry bit his lip and glanced over at Snape as he created the light ball for himself, chasing away the lengthening shadows as the sun began to set. Harry closed his book and put both his feet on the floor. He was about to get up but paused when Snape duplicated the light ball and sent it to float over Harry in a silent invitation to stay. Harry looked at the friendly little glowing ball, then at Snape. He was ignoring Harry, already engrossed in his thick journal. Harry leaned back into the squashy sofa corner and curled his feet up under him, opening the book again to resume the ridiculous adventures of Alistair Dots. They read in comfortable silence for half an hour until Snape closed his journal and glanced over at Harry. Harry looked up at him. Snape beckoned him closer with a wave of his finger and reached his hand out. “Let me feel your forehead.”

Harry leaned forward and Snape pressed the back of his warm hand to Harry’s brow. Again Harry got that prickly pleasant goose bump sensation down his back. Never once had his aunt or uncle touched his forehead to gauge his temperature.

“How is your chest?” Snape asked after pulling his hand back. “I haven’t heard you coughing much.”

“I’m getting better.” He said in a small, dejected voice. “I didn’t know you knew how to do the forehead temperature thing.”

“I use it on the Slytherins all the time to tell if they are truly ill or merely faking. You don't sound very happy about getting well. You’d prefer to be coughing your lungs out?”

Harry shrugged and picked at a ragged corner of the spy book, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Dumbledore said I’d go back when I was better.” He so badly didn’t want to go back there he thought he would scream. He wished Snape had never even taken him from that house. At least before he didn’t know the difference. Now when he went back he’d know what he was missing out on. His eyes started to fill with tears again and he blinked them away, irritated. There was no point in feeling sorry for himself.

“Ah.” Snape went silent, regarding Harry with a searching gaze. “That he did. He wants Madame Pomfrey to have a look at you.”

Harry rolled his eyes, annoyed. “Why?”

“Because she’s a trained healer with experience working with magical children,” Snape said. Harry leaned back on the sofa and stared up at the shadowed ceiling. He really, really didn’t want to go back to Privet Drive, so much so that anxiety was biting into his belly. He couldn’t help but say, “it sucks there, Snape. I mean, sir.”

“I know.”

“They hate me, like they actually hate me. Fucking servant for them in that hellhole.” He leaped to his feet and paced the room, agitated at the thought of setting foot in that house one more time. “They kept me locked in a damn cupboard until I went to Hogwarts. Did you know that?” He laughed bitterly and shook his head. His hands curled into fists. “Dumbledore did. My letter was addressed to me ‘under the stairs.’ Like, did no one think that was weird? Because I think it was!” He shouted the last bit and the television flickered on, blinked, and went off again. “Merlin, it wasn’t until I got to the dorm and started talking with Ron and Seamus and them that I realized it wasn’t bloody normal for the kid to cook every meal for the family, or to work in the garden until they passed out, or repaint the loo by themselves, or put up with shitty little comments about how fucking unnatural and freakish they are!”

The throw pillows on the sofa exploded in plumes of feathers. The small explosions startled Harry and he stared at the floating white and grey feathers, glanced at the black telly that was emitting a high-pitched whine. He gulped and his ebbing anxious rage was replaced by horror. Oh shit, what had he done? He couldn’t look at Snape, who had just sat there statue-still the whole time he ranted. Harry sank to the sofa amidst the piles of down and put his forehead on the heels of his hands, elbows on knees. He just needed to breathe for a minute, get himself under control. An accidental magic slip at his age was mortifying. No one his age did this, Merlin, that only happened to little kids. Why did he keep embarrassing himself in front of Snape?

A whisper of clothes and then a weight on the cushion beside him as Snape shifted nearer. The warmth of the man against his side was soothing and the faint scent of herbs and potions ingredients melted some of the tension out of his shoulders. Tears burned Harry's eyes. “We’ll make this right,” Snape said. His voice was a low rumble and something eased inside Harry. “If you were able to stay with anyone other than your relatives, would you prefer that?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Snape said nothing and after a moment Harry lifted his face out of his hands. He blinked back the tears and nodded. “I’d like that, sir, but Dumbledore won’t.”

“I’ll speak to him.” Snape reached into his pocket. He handed Harry a handkerchief.

“It’s fine, sir. You don’t have to talk to him. I’ll just go back.”

Snape paused, remembering Harry’s outburst in his office about how he didn’t want to return to his aunt. The muggles starved him for pity’s sake. Why on earth did Harry want to return to that? “You’ll ‘just go back’?”

“Yeah.”

“They didn’t feed you.”

“I can get food there. They do feed me, I mean, I’m still alive, right? It’s fine, sir. Really. I’ve lived there my whole life and like, it’s usually not that bad.”

“Harry—”

“Snape, just drop it will you?” Harry snapped. He clenched his teeth, muttered “sorry,” and rubbed the kerchief across his nose. He looked around at the feathers. Hugo was sniffing the mess of down, his nose quivering. A bit of fluff stuck to his wet nose and he sneezed. Harry swallowed. His anger ebbed and a hot wash of embarrassment heated his face. He he really blown up Snape’s things? He worried the kerchief in his hands and closed his eyes. The telly was still making that awful high-pitched noise.

“Um,” he slide his watery gaze warily to Snape and back to the floor, “sorry for the mess. Did I break your television?” His hand clenched around the kerchief.

“No,” Snape said after a beat. He waved his hand and the feathers all threw themselves back into the limp pillow cases. The whining television went silent.

Harry bit his lip as the pillows plumped themselves up. “How much trouble am I in?”

“Trouble for accidental magic?” Snape clarified. He’d had a few accidental magic slips as a child. Every magical child performed accidental magic and it was usually a time of celebration in the family. Most magic presented itself for the first time when a witch or wizard was aged five or under. Snape had been five. He had a hazy memory of it. His father had been shouting at his mother and Snape, distressed, had accidentally broken his father’s beer bottle sitting on the rickety kitchen table. His mother had been ecstatic but his father…less so. Children had accidental magic slips and so did teens and adults. The slips grew rarer as people aged but it wasn’t unheard of at any age. Punishing a child for accidental magic wasn’t done. Magic slipping was a natural function and to punish him for it would be as absurd as punishing him for needing the loo.

“Did your aunt punish you for accidental magic?”

Harry nodded.

Snape bit back a sigh. Petunia had certainly done a number on the boy.

Snape stood and glanced out the window to the grounds. The sun was setting but it was summer and there was still plenty of light. Harry would probably appreciate a bit of flying time after his outburst. Harry loved flying and the fresh air would likely clear the boy’s head and calm him. Snape didn’t want to resort to giving him potions after every emotional outburst. Too much Calming Draught would have side effects.

“With me,” he said, moving for the kitchen. Harry hopped up, nervous, and followed Snape.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, his voice tight and raw. Snape opened the utility closet and pulled out the Moonshot Silver broom. Harry’s heart dropped to the floor.

“No, Uncle Vernon, please don’t! I’m sorry, I’ll be good! No! NO!” Crackling flames, singed fabric, the acrid reek of burning synthetics. Bitter sobs and more sadness than he thought his small body was capable of handling. He clutched his shirt, hugging himself since no one else ever did.

The memory came out of the depths of his subconscious and a wave of nostalgia and pain hit Harry so hard he thought he’d crumple to his knees. He’d won a stuffed blue dragon toy at school for some reason or other and he’d named the thing Ollie. He loved that little dragon and would hold him tight to his chest when he was locked in his cupboard. Burying his nose in the blue fur always calmed him down. Then one day Vernon had thrown it in the fire as punishment for something Harry couldn’t even remember. He remembered the soul deep ache of the loss though, the death of a beloved friend.

“I’m sorry, Professor.” Harry croaked, watching him handle the broom. Harry clenched his fists around the hem of his shirt, trying not to give in and wrap his arms around himself. “I’m sorry,” he said again, sounding hoarse. His arms found their way up his sides and his squeezed his own ribs. That felt a bit better. “I, I didn’t mean to ruin your stuff, please don’t…” He stared at the broom, imagining Snape slashing it to small pieces with his wand and chucking them all into the fire the way Ollie had been.

Snape stood very still. “What do you think I’m going to do?” Snape asked.

“I don’t know, sir.” Harry shook his head and swallowed.

Snape handed the Moonshot carefully, slowly to Harry. He grabbed it and let out a sigh of relief and hugged the expensive broom to his body. He looked like he was about to cry again. His eyes were red and shone with brimming tears. Snape wondered what the hell minefield he’d just stumbled into here.

“I’d like you to go flying,” Snape said as neutrally as he could.

“Sir?” Harry was startled. He swallowed down his impending tears.

“Clear your mind. Relax.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Come with me.” Snape brought him out to the back patio.

“There’s wards around my property but before you go I’m going to strengthen them a bit...” Snape said, pulling his wand out of his pocket. Harry stared at the pond in the distance, still and shimmery in the golden evening light. He still clutched the broom as if he expected it to be torn from his hands. Beside him Snape muttered under his breath and Harry felt a sort of crackle in the air as the magic fizzed around the place. Snape put his arm down. “There. You’ll feel a tickling sensation when you get too close to the barriers. If you try to fly through you’ll get zapped, so stay clear.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry threw his leg over the broom and patted the smooth wood like he was settling a horse.

“Wait,” Snape said before he could take off. “I don’t want you overdoing it. Half an hour, then you come in. I don’t want you doing any silly, dangerous tricks either.”

“Yes, sir!" Harry was grinning now, tears long gone, excited to fly. "Can I go now?”

Snape waved his hand. “Go.”

Harry took off. Snape said another incantation as the boy zoomed away, blanketing the entire ground with a cushioning charm, even over the water. Snape had seen enough quidditch games to know that Harry was excellent on a broom. He wasn’t doubting the boy’s abilities, but it never hurt to be thorough. He watched Harry grow smaller and smaller as he zoomed away before turning and going back into the house. Whatever that reaction had been it had seemed to pass pretty quickly. Harry had obviously thought he was going to do….something….to the broom. Destroy it, most likely, possibly deny him from ever using it again. Snape knew all to well the pain of losing treasured items to the wrath of an authority figure. He’d learned at a young age to hide his favorite items: a pressed dried flower of asphodel, a silver bracelet Lily had gifted him, a sparkling rock his mother had assured him contained magical properties, a postcard of the fjords Lily had sent him when her family traveled to Norway. He shook his head of the memories. It wouldn’t do to get maudlin. The past was the past and there was no point in dwelling there.

Snape went back on the sofa and opened his book. He stared at the words though his mind was far away. What the hell had that reaction been? Harry had acted like Snape was going to snap the broom in twain, and for what, a punishment because of the accidental magic? He shook his head, the implications of that reaction couldn’t mean anything good.

He’d never once been granted an ounce of the forgiveness he just gave Potter. If he had shouted in the presence of his father and magically destroyed anything, even if he had snapped a bloody pencil his father would have slapped him across the face and then thrown him in the dingy little cellar of their home in Cokeworth. He couldn’t imagine Tobias handing him a broom--or in his case, a cauldron--and offering any sort of support. There was no support in that house. Any problems he had he was left to deal with himself. His father worked long hours and his mother was always trying to stretch his income to the snapping point. She constantly worried about putting food on the table and keeping them all in clothes and the bills paid. Severus’ emotional needs, while not completely ignored, were not catered to. They all had their own problems and they all dealt with them alone.

It wasn’t until much later, when he was nearly done with school that he realized they could have just used magic to power their home. It would have saved a great deal of money. He had no utility bills at Crowcaster House. Everything, from the water in the pipes to the crystals that powered the muggle phone and television, was generated magically and he was completely off the muggle grid. No doubt his father wouldn’t approve of such ways. Tobias had been too proud and hateful of magic to ever rely on it. Snape had never quite figured out why his father detested magic so. Magic made everything easier. Had he liked seeing his family struggle? Had he not wanted to put on airs around all his factory working colleagues? He’d always been a controlling bastard, maybe he couldn’t stomach the thought that his bookish, quiet son and his hard-working wife, had they put their minds to it, could provide as well as he could but magically instead of financially.

Maybe Harry’s relatives feared Harry’s power. Maybe they resented the fact that the boy had been left on their doorstep—even though they did get a generous stipend for care. Maybe they were all just petty arseholes. The reasons didn’t matter. They had been cruel to the boy and Snape wanted to do his damndest to keep Harry from going back there. Harry had seemed delighted to not be going back until today when he had said he was go back to his aunt and it would ‘be fine.’ It wouldn’t be fine. It would be terrible. Why was Harry suddenly okay with going back to Petunia after he had so dramatically burst into his study and vehemently declared to Albus and himself that he didn’t want to go back? He claimed he was willing to go back to his aunt’s ‘care’ but that outburst in the sitting room said otherwise. He’d had a change of heart somewhere between bursting into the study and this morning. Snape couldn't parse Harry’s sudden shift in attitude. It didn’t make sense and Snape didn’t like when things didn’t make sense, especially in his own home.

Snape gave up on the book and put it aside. He went into the kitchen and watched Harry through the window as the boy dropped into a steep dive and pulled up at the last moment. Hugo was barking up at him joyfully and darted off across the grass as Harry shot away again. Snape shook his head. It was amazing more students didn’t break their necks playing that fool quidditch game.

Harry had an unusual few weeks on top of an unusual school year. He expected the boy to possibly write him once or twice this summer and then next year he’d wait for Harry to make the first move. Do tea in his office, or something. It wouldn't be the first time. As a head of house, he, more often than most people thought, would invite students for tea. It was mostly the younger ones who had trouble adjusting and Snape knew that a few well placed words and a cup of bracing tea helped some of the more sensitive firsties adjust. Harry wasn’t the only student that came from an abusive home and over the years Snape had aided many a troubled Slytherin. Of course, he’d never experienced anything with a student like what he did last year, and he’d never invited a student to his home before. He rarely ever saw a student’s home but nothing would have prepared him for the locks on Potter’s bedroom. Or the flap on the door. He realized that had Harry told him there were locks on his door Snape may have thought the boy was exaggerating. And really, what kind of nutter installed a cat flap on a child's room? Petunia was always bitter, even as a girl. Once Lily was accepted to Hogwarts, she was branded a ‘freak’ by Petunia and the sisters, never especially close, drew apart further.

Harry had been ill. Harry had taken a horrible potion last year. His relatives had mistreated him and Albus wanted him to go back to them. He'd had an anxiety attack. Snape couldn't stomach the thought of denying him the broom or his friends out of some misguided attempt at punishment when the boy had just gotten those things back.


Sometimes people, even Potter, just needed a little grace.

Late the next morning after breakfast, Snape stood in the kitchen window sipping a cup of tea. He was watching Harry romp in the grass with Hugo. Harry threw a stick and Hugo joyfully ran after it, retrieving it and bringing it back. His fluffy grey and black tails were whirling. The pair engaged in a sort of tug of war and Harry fell on his arse. The dog bowled him over with licks and the pair rolled around on the ground.

Harry was not behaving like a sick child. Snape would describe himself as whatever the opposite of paternal was but in thirteen years of teaching he had seen plenty of ill children. He knew how sick children behaved. As a skilled Potions Master who was certified to brew for St. Mungo’s, he had seen his share of malady-stricken people. Harry, rolling in the hot sun with the dog, eating a dragon's weight in food, and thundering up and down the stairs in his home, was clearly feeling much better. He’d recovered quickly once Snape had introduced the steady stream of various healing potions to his system. Now that he was well on the way to full health, what would happen? Snape took another sip of tea.

He really didn’t want Harry to go back to his irresponsible muggle relatives but there was little he could actually do to ensure that. He had no say in where Harry ended up. That was always Albus’ department, one Snape paid no attention to. Before last year he didn’t give a good goddamn about the boy. He shook his head slightly, remembering the hell that potion put them both through.

Snape felt like he owed it to the boy to make up for the terrible way he treated him in the last school year. He didn’t just feel like he owed it to Harry as a sense of duty, he actually wanted to make it up to him. He had rather let that cat out of the proverbial bag when he’d stormed Harry’s relative’s home and retrieved him. He admitted to himself that he cared for Harry and that caring didn’t end when the school year did. Harry had said he was fine going back to Petunia but Snape wasn’t buying it. Maybe he just didn’t want to stay here all summer and didn’t know how best to say so. After all, living with his grouchy old Potions Professor all summer? What student would want that?

So if, somehow, Harry didn’t go back to those horrible muggles, who could take him in?

Black would be willing to take the boy. He loved telling everything that stood still long enough that he was Harry’s godfather. What teenage boy wouldn’t love hanging about with a hellion like Black? Frankly Snape thought the man’s personal lack of discipline and rough and ready attitude would be a horrible example for Harry. Not to mention Black was obviously still struggling from his stay in Azkaban.

The Weasleys would likely take Harry in. Snape shuddered. Living in the Weasley home was his idea of one of the levels of hell but Harry would probably enjoy it there. The Weasley home was safe, Molly and Arthur were good parents, but that house was crowded and Snape knew Harry would better thrive in a less populated environment where he could get more singular attention.

Ultimately anyone at all was a better fit than the muggles. A group of trolls was a better fit than those muggles but that blasted blood charm tethered Harry to his aunt. Albus had sent him some information on the spell he had used to bind the blood shield to Petunia’s home. Even with the explanation it was all frustratingly vague. It was possible the wards could be removed from Privet Drive but completely unknown if they could rebuilt elsewhere. Removing the binding charm Albus had used could cause the shield to fall completely and vanish, or it was possible the shield would stay in place and all would be fine. There was no way to know unless they did it and now that he’d read the complicated binding charm Albus had used, with it’s many steps and rigid detail, Snape didn’t trust the strength of Amicitia aeternitas to be as powerful as the blood shield. Two magical children mucking about with spells and knives on a summer afternoon was no match for the power of a loving mother sacrificing herself for her child in the face of a Dark Lord.

If the very people who were supposed to protect him were abusing him then as far as Snape could see, the blood shield had already failed.

Dumbledore didn’t see it that way. Albus was a sentimental coot who believed too strongly in the bonds of family. Lily would be heartbroken if she could see her son now. Starvation, panic attacks, locked up like a criminal. Snape downed the last of his tea.

Witnessing Potter’s panic attack had been a shock. He too suffered such attacks as a teen. Stress from dealing with his angry father and his mother whose interest in him ran hot and cold was a constant source of summertime issues. Hogwarts had been an escape for him just like it was for Harry. Minerva was right last year. He and the junior Potter did have a great deal in common. He wished he’d had someone like himself in his life when he was Harry’s age.

“Sir, can I go flying again?” Harry asked Snape during lunch.

"No, you're seeing Madame Pomfrey after lunch."

"Oh." Harry looked down at his plate. "Yeah, I'm pretty much better, thanks to you. The potions and that tea you gave me really helped."

"How does your chest feel?”

“Better, sir.”

"Have you tried any magic?"

"Just the summoning stuff and when I exploded your pillows."

"She’ll probably test the strength of your core."

Harry nodded. He picked at the food on his plate and didn’t eat another bite. He didn’t want to go back to the muggles. He closed his eyes and thought of the letter Dumbeldore had sent him, still folded on his shelf and seeming to scold him every time Harry so much as looked at it. Dumbledore was right, he was being childish. Fifteen years he’d been there, he’d survived, and he could stay there for the rest of summer. Be a Gryffindor, dammit! Be brave and suck it up! When the plates were empty Snape vanished them to the scullery.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Yeah." Harry followed him on slow feet to the parlor.

"I'll accompany you there. You go first, just say 'Hogwarts hospital.'”

Harry took some floo powder and chucked it into the empty hearth. It blazed green and he stepped into the warm dancing flames. He said his destination and moments later stumbled out of the floo across from Pomfrey's office. He brushed ashes from his shoulder.

"Mr. Potter." She came from the office and greeted him.

"Hi, Madame Pomfrey," he said.

Snape stepped gracefully out of the floo behind Harry.

“Afternoon, Severus,” she said with a nod. “Well, young man,” she glanced Harry over, “I hear you were taken ill.”

“Uh, yeah, I had a cough and a fever…”

She began leading him into the main hospital space where the beds were. “Sorry to interrupt, dear, but would you like Severus present during your exam?” She asked kindly.

“Er, I, um.” Harry looked back at Snape, hovering in the doorway with his his hands clasped behind his back. “I, sure?” He said. “He did that assessment.”

“Yes, he sent that over this morning,” she said Harry sat on one of the neatly made beds. Snape stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded, watching Madame Pomfrey speak. “Your assessment showed you had a high fever at one point and were underweight and malnourished.” She cast another hovering assessment net over his head as she spoke. A quill and piece of parchment flew into view and began scribbling. Harry was reminded horribly of Rita Skeeter’s quick-notes quill and he looked away from it. Pomfrey tapped his shoulder with her wand, then pointed it at his forehead. She said a word Harry couldn’t make out and a puff of black steam danced across his face. The quill kept scribbling. “You seemed to have recovered in body but my concern today is for your magical core. Per your assessment it burned itself near to the ground to fight your fever—no, no, don’t look so shocked!” She said with a laugh. “It’s typical for a wizard’s core to fight off magical maladies. To explain it in muggle terms, a fever burns off the infection, yes?”

Harry nodded.

“In magical folk it’s similar, though in addition to our bodies burning with fevers we have our cores that work extra hard to bring down the illness in tandem with the body. That’s why if muggles caught any of our diseases they would become overwhelmed and die quickly since their bodies lack that extra strength that we have with our cores. So it is vital that we wizards and witches are diligent about our vaccines and preventative potions, lest we unleash some disease on the poor muggles.”

She turned to Snape. “What did you give him?”

“Fever reducer, chest tonic, healing potion. I used a burncore salve on his chest.”

She nodded. “It was effective?”

“Yes.”

“Sn—Professor Snape has been giving me vitamin potions, too.” Harry said. “And that tea for my core.”

Madame Pomfrey glanced at Snape.

“Licorice, fennel and slippery elm tea mixed with dried passionflower and lion’s tail, fermented shrivelfig aged in salt, dragon’s blood, and Abyssinian oil.”

Madame Pomfrey turned back to Harry, looking impressed. Abyssinian oil was rare and expensive and shrivelfigs fermented in the stuff were used as currency in some pockets of Asia. “You were very well cared for, young man. Did you get plenty of sleep?” She asked.

Harry said, “oh yeah, loads,” at the same time Snape said, “twelve to fourteen hours at a stretch.”

“Wonderful!” She said. “Remove your shirt, please. I’d like to take a reading of your core before we move on to the test.”

Harry pulled his shirt off. It was one of Dudley’s old Tshirts that he’d shrank down and attempted to spruce up. It had sort of worked but the shirt was still threadbare along the collar. He shivered and Madame Pomfrey cast a quick warming charm over him. She placed the tip of her wand against his sternum. “Hold still, love...” She said an incantation and repeated it three times. Harry felt a tingling sensation reaching into his chest and itching from the inside before Madame Pomfrey pulled back, satisfied. “Your core seems perfectly normal and strong.”

She stepped back and gestured for him to put his shirt back on. “I’d like to see you use your magic, Mr. Potter. Do you have your wand?”

“Yeah.” Harry pulled his wand out and stood.

She had him do some basic spells, wingardium leviosa, accio, aguamenti, incendio. She asked him to produce his patronus and the ghostly stag galloped the length of the room before vanishing through the stone wall. She also had him transfigure the bed pillow into pair of shoes, then into a rabbit, and back to the pillow again.

“How do you feel, magically?” She asked when he was done.

“Fine,” Harry said with a shrug. The pillow started hopping across the bed. “Hey!” Harry grabbed it before it could hit the floor and Madame Pomfrey put it to rights. She tested his core again, declared him magically fit, and grabbed the hovering sheet of parchment from the air to read over the notes.

“When was your last physical?” Snape asked.

“Huh?”

“When did you last see a healer or muggle doctor?”

Harry shrugged.

“Did you go after you got your Hogwarts acceptance letter? I know a full physical and dental visit are recommended.”

“No.” Harry said. “Hagrid and I bought all my school stuff and I got on the train.”

“When was your last eye exam?” He pressed.

“I think that was the year before I came to Hogwarts?”

“You’ve had those glasses since you were ten?”

Harry shrugged. “I guess.”

Snape nodded. “Have you been vaccinated? I know muggles ask for a few vaccines.”

“I don’t know.” Harry said.

“I take it you didn’t get the recommended Hogwarts inoculations either?”

Harry shook his head.

“Hm, I see that here.” Madame Pomfrey said absently, reading the parchment. “You’re due for some vaccines, young man.”

“Can he get them today?” Snape asked.

Madame Pomfrey looked apologetic. “I haven’t received my order for the school year yet. It’s still too early.”

Snape nodded. “We’ll come back.”

Something squirmed pleasantly in Harry’s chest. Snape wanted to see him again before they went back to school? Snape would take him for his shots even when he was back with the muggles? Harry found he quite enjoyed that idea. Well, not the part about getting shots, but seeing Snape again. Snape, weirdly, seemed to get him in a way no one else did. Hearing that Snape was interested in continuing to stay in Harry’s life was, well, it felt good. Really good.

After they got back from Madame Pomfrey, Harry flew around the grounds for an hour until he got peckish. He grabbed an oat bar and banana from where he’d stashed them in his trunk and was watching television in the sitting room. Snape was up in his lab and he’d told Harry that he was working on a delicate potion and to interrupt him only if there was an emergency.

Harry didn’t need to interrupt him. In fact, he appreciated the alone time. He had got to thinking outside, wondering why Snape was being so nice. Harry couldn’t believe he’d let the accidental magic go unpunished like that. Harry had not only lost control but he’d sworn and shouted. If he’d shouted like that or sworn in class there was no way Snape would let that go unpunished. The man wasn’t going soft, was he? He certainly hadn’t been soft a few weeks ago when he’d whacked him after the quidditch match. When he’d taken the Moonshot out of the closet Harry had thought for sure he would snap it half or set it aflame to teach him a lesson. He hadn’t expected Snape to hand it to him and tell him to go fly. Harry glanced it, leaning in the corner. Just when he thought he was figuring Snape out, the man let him swear, let him destroy his furniture, and offered lines as a punishment instead of smacks. What was going on?

The floo in the parlor flared to life. Harry got up, Hugo at his heels, and poked his head around the corner. Snape’s floo was barred to most traffic and Harry smiled, pleasantly surprised when Remus Lupin strolled out of the fireplace.

“Harry.” He said after a surprised pause as Harry entered the room. “How are you?” He brushed a stray bit of ash from his grey cardigan.

“I’m better now, sir.” Harry said, coming over to him. Lupin looked a bit wan and thin. Dark shadows were under his eyes and he had a washed out look about him, like he was fading. The full moon must be nearing.

“Better? Were you ill?” Remus looked him over. He was awfully skinny.

“I was, yeah. I had some kind of cough. I was pretty sick.”

“Gracious. That’s not how you want to start your holidays. How long have you been in Severus’ home?”

“About two weeks.” Snape strode into the parlor with a steaming goblet. “Harry, please be elsewhere.”

“I’m talking to Lupin!” Harry snipped.

Snape glanced at him, one brow up at Harry’s tone.

“And I’m telling you to go elsewhere,” he said, staring him in the eye.

Harry pressed his lips together but grabbed his magazine and trudged away. The door to the backyard slid open and closed with a bit more force than necessary.

If Remus noticed Harry’s attitude he didn’t say anything. “Thank you, Severus.” Lupin took the potion and gratefully drank it. He’d long since gotten used to the foul taste and he drained the goblet easily before handing it back. “Obliged, as ever. So, Harry is, ah, staying with you?” He nodded in the direction Harry had gone.

“For now.”

“Albus told us Harry was here, but I didn’t expect—”

“What? That I wouldn’t have him strung up by the thumbs?” Snape said, snide and cutting. “That I knew how to take care of a near-adult?”

“No,” Remus said, ignoring Snape’s tone. “I didn’t expect to learn that he’d been so ill. What happened?”

Snape sighed, and, using as few words as possible to appease the incorrigible man, told him about retrieving Harry. Remus, of course, filled in the rest himself.

“So you broke into a muggle’s home, kidnapped their underage nephew and brought him to your heavily warded house where you have been dosing him with homemade medications?”

“It sounds terrible when you put it that way,” Snape said, recoiling.

“It does sound terrible.” Remus admonished, “If his relatives want him back and press charges with the Ministry that will be their exact accusation! You don’t have a leg to stand on, Severus!”

Was he always so irritating? “His relatives,” Snape spat, “are completely foul. They starved the boy. They locked him up. They didn’t care one whit about him and they never have.” His eyes narrowed. “Why the sudden interest in his welfare, Lupin?”

Lupin shrugged, casual. “Harry deserves good care from people who love him.”

Snape snorted. Remus sounded annoyingly like Albus, even more holier-than-thou if possible.

“You won’t have to fret over the boy for long, he’s returning to his precious family on Saturday.”

“Oh! Well, that’s good then.”

“Good that he’s returning to a house filled with people who hate him? Hm, you must detest the boy.”

“Surely, they’re not so bad—Albus would never allow it if they were.”

Snape rubbed his temple, trying to keep the impending headache at bay. “And yet,” he muttered to himself.

“Perhaps it’s for the best that he’s not your responsibility?” Remus said. “You’re busy with the Order as well as the other tasks he has set you to?” Remus spoke delicately, trying not to be too obvious in pointing out that Snape was still a death eater and servant of Voldemort.

Snape dropped his hand from his head, not wanting to have this conversation anymore. How could he explain to Lupin that Petunia was cruel to her nephew? That Harry was abused there? That Snape actually did prefer Harry to spend the summer with him—at least he would be fed! “Perhaps,” he said, wanting this to end. Severus wasn’t usually this impulsive. He wasn’t an impulsive person by nature and playing on both sides of this war, his very life literally depended on his patience and Slytherin cunning.

Apparently the plight of dark-haired bespectacled boys was the bane of his control. At least one was, anyway. Logistically he was discovering that grabbing Potter had possibly been a mistake. There were, obviously, the blood wards to consider. Also, Lupin wasn’t wrong. Snape was close with the Dark Lord. It would be of utmost importance that the Dark Lord remain unaware that Harry was now in the possession of Severus Snape. Albus had said it would be more difficult to protect Harry in the magical world than in the muggle one. Voldemort literally couldn’t attack Harry at his aunt’s (even if it seemed his aunt and her kin could). However, Harry had been in Crowcaster House for a fortnight and no death eaters had come to call. Perhaps the Dark Lord didn’t have his followers actively looking for the boy at this moment. Who knew how the man’s mind operated? It was a stroke of good fortune if he thought Potter was still tucked away with the muggles.

It was also possible Harry still thought of Privet Drive as ‘home.’ Dumbledore had said that as long as Harry’s blood resided in the place where he calls home, Voldemort could not touch him. Though how Harry could ever see that place as a home was beyond him. Harry had said he wanted to go back though, so maybe it truly wasn’t as bad as Snape thought. Maybe if Harry was still thinking of that place as home, then he thought he had to stay there for the blood shields to work? Maybe he thought he had to stay there to be protected. Snape had no idea.

Once Lupin left and they’d had some supper Snape vanished the plates down to the scullery and stood.

“With me,” he said to Harry. “You’re going to do your lines while I work. Have you started?”

“Yes,” Harry said. It wasn’t a lie. He had written the sentence twice.
They went up to his study and Snape transfigured an unused potions stool into a small table. He put it across from his desk and set the armless chair to the side of the table. Harry would face his desk while doing his lines so Snape could make sure he wasn’t slacking. Snape waved his hand.

“Sit.”

A couple sheets of parchment, quill, and inkpot appeared. Harry sat and picked up the quill, eying the tip. Snape sat at the desk and opened a drawer, removing a thick book stuffed with papers.

“How many lines have you completed?”

“Uh, two.”

Snape rolled his eyes. He waved his hand and the sentence I will mind my own business and never eavesdrop on conversations not meant for my ear appeared at the top of the parchment.

“Best get started,” Snape said, opening the book.

“Yessir,” Harry said quietly. He dipped the quill in the ink and, after a moment, wrote the first two words slowly. He stared at the back of his hand. Did Snape take a page from Umbridge’s book? This innocuous brown feather quill wasn’t some relative of the evil blood quill was it? When cuts didn’t appear on his flesh he wrote more confidently.
Snape, who hadn’t looked over at him once since sitting down, snorted. “I would never subject you to something so cruel, Harry.”

“I know, sir.”

Snape drew a sheet of parchment towards himself, read something in his book and then began to write. For a few long moments the only sound to be heard was Harry’s repetitive scratches along the parchment, punctuated by the occasional scratching flourish of Snape’s quill as he penned his letter.

A silver tray holding a teapot and two mugs appeared on the corner of Snape’s desk. A plate of a variety of biscuits accompanied. Snape finished his letter, dropped the quill into the inkpot, and poured the tea first into one mug, then the other. He levitated the mug and plate of biscuits to Harry.

He gave Snape a surprised, delighted grin and put a whole biscuit into his mouth, chasing it with a deep sip of tea.
“Not too many of those.” Snape said, writing a second letter.

Harry turned back to his lines.

I will mind my own business and never eavesdrop on conversations not meant for my ear

I will mind my own business and never eavesdrop on conversations not meant for my ear

I will mind my own business and never eavesdrop on conversations not meant for my ear

He filled the front of two sheets and stopped, giving his hand a rub. He started counting each line quietly under his breath to see if he was anywhere near two hundred. At one ninety-three Snape said, “Close enough. Give it here.”

Harry handed the inky pages to him and Snape stood. He eyed the pages, tore them in half, and flung both halves into the fire. Harry crunched a rosemary shortbread biscuit, watching the edges of his work curl up in the flames. It wasn’t the first time a teacher had chucked his lines into a fire but it was the first time he wasn’t annoyed by it. Writing lines with a mug of sweet tea and a plate of crunchy biscuits in Snape’s company wasn’t bad at all. Snape didn’t say anything as he sat down and scrawled the letter again. He finished and signed his name at the bottom.

“Sir.” Harry said. “What are you working on?”

“Correspondence with clients.” Snape said. “People write to me looking for difficult-to-acquire potions or ingredients. I’m notifying clients I’ve chosen that I’ll take their request, or that I need more information, or that such-and-such ingredients will cost extra, things of that nature.”

“Is anyone asking for the Draught of Asphodel?” Harry asked, joking. “I can give advice to whatever poor sod drinks the bloody nox rubrum.”

The side of Snape’s mouth went up as he wrote a reply. “No. I doubt many know it exists.”

“CanIhelpyoumakepotions?”

“Pardon?” He said, pausing and looking up.

“Can I help you make some potions?” Harry was looking into his tea mug, slowly swirling the dark liquid at the bottom of his cup. “Although, I’m leaving…”

“At some point this summer we can brew together,” Snape said. “If you’d like. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be interested.”

Harry shrugged with one shoulder. “My mum was good at potions.”

Snape nodded. “She was. When we were in school and the Gryffindors and Slytherins had Potions class together, she and I would be partners. She always earned points in class and got top marks on exams. In her later school years, she tutored younger students in all manner of subjects.”

Harry smiled. “Was my dad good at school?” The memory the occlumency lesson and his father bullying Snape popped into his head and he hissed, backtracking. The last thing he wanted was to bring up that horrible night. “S-sorry, sir. I didn’t think—I, I know you wouldn’t know, er—”

Snape seemed more amused at Harry’s reaction than annoyed. “From what I recall, your father was one of the top students in his house.”

“So I should be smart,” Harry said.

Snape regarded the boy. “You say that as if you are not.”

Harry shrugged. “My marks are okay. I’m nowhere near top of my house. That’s Hermione.”

“You can’t expect to get top marks if you coast along,” Snape told him. “Part of being smart is applying yourself to all your studies.”

“Even the rubbish ones?” Harry mumbled.

“Which of your courses are the rubbish ones?”

“History of Magic.”

“Every course has its place,” Snape said. “History of Magic simply requires you to pay attention and memorize.”

“It’s still boring though.”

Snape stood up. “I’ll be right back. Don’t touch anything.” He gave Harry a severe look and left the room, Harry assumed to use the loo. Alone now, he glanced around the room. Snape’s study was one of the forbidden places and, well, Harry was hardly going to sit on this chance.

Snape had only said not to touch anything.

He didn’t say a word about looking.

Harry got to his feet. He immediately went to the dark wood bookshelves and read the spines.

Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts Volumes 1-3
Fiends moste Foul
Darkest Potions
Darkest Potions II
Dark Compendium of Defensive Curses, Hexes, and Jinxes
Not your Grandmother’s Potions Tome
Occlumency and Legilimency
Creatures that go Bump in the Night

“Looking for some bedtime reading?” Snape asked from behind him. Harry spun around. He hadn’t heard him come back.

“Just, just looking…” Harry said, defensive. “I didn’t touch anything!”

“I didn’t say you did,” Snape said. “You’ve finished your lines, you can go do something enjoyable if you’d prefer. I have a few more letters to write.”

He said it like a suggestion but Harry could tell it was more or less a command.

“Okay.” Harry left and headed for the sitting room to watch some telly before bed.