Over the course of the next few days, Harry, Snape and Malfoy settled into something of a routine. Snape, unfortunately, was a man of his word, and made good on his promise to force Harry and Malfoy into proximity whenever he possibly could.

 

After breakfast, Harry and Malfoy would make their way upstairs to Snape’s laboratory, where they would be put to work either cleaning equipment or fulfilling various disgusting tasks, like gutting toads or extracting slug slime. After about an hour or two of this, Harry would be dismissed for a precious bit of solitude while Malfoy remained behind with Snape. He assumed the two of them brewed during that time, considering the conversations they’d have at lunchtime about Potions which inevitably went over Harry’s head.

 

Following lunch, Harry and Malfoy would do homework together at the kitchen table under Snape’s supervision. Harry found this a little less unpleasant than it had been before he’d run away, since Snape didn’t spend the entire time constantly criticising what Harry put out like he used to. Granted, he was still rather harsh in his notes for improvement, but there were now complementary elements when he gave Harry feedback.

 

Malfoy would then do as he pleased for the remainder of the afternoon while Harry and Snape spent some time together. They tended to spend it playing chess for a little bit before cooking dinner. They’d normally talk, too - occasionally about the Dursleys, mostly about other matters. Snape, of course, was far more knowledgeable about the magical world than Harry was, and seemed to realise he had a lot of unanswered questions because of the way Harry had been raised. He taught Harry about all sorts of things, like the enchantments he used in the fridge instead of electricity to keep food cool, or the magical schools people from foreign countries attended. It was all really rather fascinating.

 

But the best conversations of all were the ones where Snape would open up about Harry’s mother. It was only small details, really, such as Lily’s proficiency in Potions and brewing, or her favourite flower - daffodils - or her tendency to hum while she worked. Snape was always strangely apologetic for the limited things he found himself able to speak of, but it didn’t bother Harry in the slightest. In fact, he thought he preferred these little quirks and characteristics of his mother’s to any larger stories, since they made her feel like more of a real person, and allowed Harry to picture her more clearly in his mind’s eye. It was more than he’d ever hoped to get, too.

 

Following dinner, Snape would always make Harry and Malfoy spend even more time together over an activity. Most of the time Snape would leave the two of them to it on their own, although he normally remained nearby, either in the kitchen or in the living room, reading a book of some sort, ready to intervene if necessary. Malfoy had continued to beg Snape to join them for the promised game of Monopoly, but he had so far evaded them. Harry was a bit worried about what that would be like, so he didn’t push it, even though chess games were fairly decent with Snape. He just didn’t know how things would be when Malfoy was added into the mix.

 

Harry and Malfoy were quite evenly matched in whatever they played, be it Monopoly, Exploding Snap, Wizard’s Chess or the various card games they tried out. Because both of them were so terribly competitive, it resulted in a lot of yelling and insults, much to Snape’s irritation. He would occasionally shout reprimands from the other room when things got too heated, and even went so far as assigning lines when Harry let out an impressive string of expletives after a particularly narrow victory of Malfoy’s. He was forced to copy out the phrase ‘I will use appropriate vocabulary befitting of my education level instead of swearing like an ill-tempered sailor’ for the entire next morning until his hand was black with ink, and was once again threatened with an experience with the Soaping Spell.

 

Even though they were fighting viciously during the evening games, Harry and Malfoy’s usual behaviour towards each other was changing. Somehow, the ability to get out their general dislike of one another through Snape’s post-dinner activities was a key tool that allowed Malfoy and Harry to remain mostly civil with one another during the rest of the day, since they knew their frustrations could be aired later on. That newfound civility even allowed for the two of them to have actual conversations. Granted, those conversations were just stilted comments about the weather or occasional questions about homework but still, it was progress.

 

It wasn’t all smooth sailing, though. Harry and Malfoy almost never got a break from one another, since they were forced together at all hours during the day and had to share a room at night. Such close proximity magnified the irritating qualities that Malfoy possessed in spades, and he was truly doing Harry’s head in. Harry presumed that the reverse was true for Malfoy, so the two of them still had their fair share of arguments, and they were having one on the fifth morning after Harry had punched Malfoy.

 

“I don’t see why you have to do so much bloody primping!” Harry hissed as they walked down the stairs. “I’m sick of you hogging the loo all morning!”

 

Malfoy raised his nose into the air. “Some of us actually care about our appearance, scarhead. You wouldn't understand. I doubt you've ever seen a comb before, judging by the state of your hair…”

 

“At least I don’t drown my hair in gel!” Harry retorted. “It’s like you take a bath in the stuff or something!”

 

“Oh, shut up, Potter!” Malfoy snapped.

 

Harry glowered at him. "Git."

 

"Tosser."

 

"Knobhead."

 

“Well, good morning to the two of you as well,” Snape said pointedly as they entered the kitchen. He fixed them with a withering look that promised trouble if their bickering continued. Malfoy and Harry shot one last glare at each other before sitting down for breakfast. Harry, who had managed to get the last word, started in on his toast with immense satisfaction.

 

“I have a new rule,” Snape announced.

 

Malfoy and Harry groaned simultaneously; even if they had nothing in common and couldn’t stand one another, they were at least united in their dislike of Snape’s irritating attempts to make them get on.

 

“This surnames business certainly isn’t helping with the animosity between the two of you,” he said, spreading butter across his toast. “I insist you stop.”

 

“Oh, that’s so stupid!” Malfoy snapped.

 

Snape’s eyes flashed with something dangerous. “I beg your pardon?”

 

Malfoy’s cheeks flushed pink. “Er - sorry.”

 

“We do live together, gentlemen,” Snape said tersely. “Perhaps you should start behaving accordingly and refer to each other as Harry and Draco.”

 

“I don’t see why I have to call him Harry when you don’t even do that half the time!” Draco protested. “It’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think?”

 

Snape paused for a moment, expression thoughtful. “I suppose I ought to lead by example, then. Very well. Harry, I will try harder to refer to you by your first name while you live here.” He grimaced slightly, like he’d just tasted something sour. “And since Draco does it, I suppose you may call me Severus.”

 

Harry choked on his water and started coughing and spluttering, his eyes burning. Snape had not just suggested that!

 

“Do try not to drown yourself in my kitchen, please,” he commented snidely, wrinkling his nose at Harry.

 

“I - I don’t think I call you that,” Harry gasped through a final few coughs. “It’s too weird!”

 

“As long as you don’t do it publicly at Hogwarts, I see no issue with it,” Snape said, lacing his fingers together.

 

“But it just feels - I don’t know, disrespectful!”

 

Snape’s eyebrows rose. “That hasn’t been a conflict you’ve particularly struggled with in the past, has it?”

 

Harry looked away, pressing his lips together. “I really don’t know if I can do that.”

 

Snape sighed. “At least make something of an effort and see how you feel, please?” Harry reluctantly nodded his assent. “I do, however, insist upon you and Draco calling each other by your first names.”

 

“I don’t want to,” Harry bit out.

 

“And I don’t care,” Snape said icily. “Both of you will do it. Unless you want me to come up with a punishment suitable for your disobedience, of course? No? I didn’t think so.”

 

Harry moodily picked at his breakfast after that, his mood only worsening when Snape not-so-subtly tapped the stretch of table next to Harry’s plate. He'd taken to doing that these last few days when Harry stopped eating and started staring off pensively during meals. It was a subtle enough sign that Malfoy wouldn’t pick up on it, at least, but one that obviously meant he wanted Harry to eat more. He resented that, since it felt far too much like micromanaging to him, but Harry was still rather reluctant to push on the food issue so he did his best to brush the annoyance off. He’d drastically prefer someone who was too obsessed with him eating than being stuck with relatives who didn’t feed Harry at all, anyway…

 

While all of this was happening, Malfoy was doing the thing he did best - complaining.

 

“I just wish I could fly,” he sighed melodramatically, casting a glance towards the garden. “I feel utterly chained, Severus.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. It looked like Snape was barely restraining himself from doing the same. “Well, even if you cannot fly at the moment, perhaps it would be good for the two of you to get outside and take some exercise. It has stopped raining at last, after all.”

 

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “Is there anything specific you want done in the garden, sir? I think I’ve finished the weeding…”

 

“You are utterly obsessed with gardening, Potter!” Malfoy said, giving him a scornful look. “I certainly won’t be mucking about in the dirt with you -”

 

“No one is gardening,” Snape said, loudly speaking over Malfoy. “I think the two of you have been punished enough by now, unless you decide to start fighting one another again. Or if you continually use each other’s surnames, Draco.”

 

No more cauldrons. That was a relief. Still, Harry frowned. “What are we doing out there, then? Don’t you want work done, or…”

 

Snape gave him a slightly incredulous look. “Can the two of you seriously not find a way to occupy your time for a mere few hours without my input?”

 

Harry didn’t respond immediately, since he certainly couldn’t think of a single thing he could spend a few hours doing with Malfoy in the garden that wouldn’t result in them eventually killing one another. After the silence had stretched on for too long, Snape very loudly exhaled. “I am quite certain you two shall be the death of me. I’ll attempt to find something for you to do, I suppose… Draco, can you go upstairs and stir the Ocular Serum? Five counter clockwise, Halifax method.”

 

Draco nodded and headed upstairs. Snape turned to Harry and crooked a finger. “Come with me.”

 

Harry followed Snape as he made his way through the garden and towards the shed at the back. Even during his time gardening during the first week, Harry had never had occasion to enter it, since he was fairly certain the door had rusted itself shut.

 

“Perhaps you can attempt to teach Draco the rules of football?” Snape suggested, running his wand along the shed door.

 

Harry wrinkled his nose. “He’s never going to agree to that. Football’s a Muggle sport, he’ll hate it!”

 

“I don’t believe I am giving him a choice in the matter.” Snape cast a glance over his shoulder towards the house. “I am simply asking you to do your best to work with his reticence, as I am not going to be here to supervise.”

 

“Oh?” Harry said nervously.

 

“I am expecting company,” Snape said. “I will just be in the living room if there are any significant problems, but I was hoping I could simply ask you to be patient with him for a few hours this morning.”

 

“Yeah, sure.” Harry shrugged. He supposed that wouldn’t be too unbearable. Ever since he’d realised Malfoy got so nasty because he just didn’t understand Muggles after years of being lied to about them, Harry did his best to just grit his teeth and ignore Malfoy’s occasional rude comments about Muggle things being stupid or below his notice. After all, once he got into the groove of a game, he normally forgot to be derisive. He’d probably grumble a little but stop complaining once they actually started playing football, Harry thought. Besides, Harry knew Snape had some sort of long-term plan to get Malfoy to stop being so negative about Muggles and Muggleborns, so Harry was more than happy to leave the responsibility of sorting Malfoy out on his plate.

 

“I’m not making any promises if he starts calling people Mudbloods, though,” Harry warned.

 

“And I would not expect you to,” Snape said, doing something to the shed door that made it briefly glow gold. “You are to fetch me if he says that word. I will not tolerate it.”

 

“Okay.” Harry still found it rather shocking when Snape actually punished Malfoy. After two years of him refusing to ever punish a Slytherin for misbehaving, it always felt really out of character. Still, Snape meant business when it came to Malfoy now. He’d used the Soaping Spell on Malfoy when he’d said ‘Mudblood’ on Harry’s second day at Spinner’s End, so there was no reason why he wouldn’t use it on Malfoy again.

 

Of course, Harry didn’t really expect to need to get Snape for anything that morning. Malfoy hadn’t actually said that horrid word for a while, even if he was still making slightly snide comments about Muggles or Muggleborns. Harry supposed in Malfoy’s own way, that counted as progress.

 

Snape wrenched open the shed door with a visible struggle. A great cloud of dust exploded out. Harry covered his mouth as he coughed, eyes watering as the dirt stung them. Snape took one look at the cluttered, neglected shed interior and shook his head disapprovingly. "Accio football."

 

A few moments later, a deflated, dirty football slowly rolled its way out of the shadows of the shed and came to a stop at Snape's foot. It was so airless that it had completely caved in on itself, and was more concave than round.

 

"That is the most depressing football I've ever seen," Harry said.

 

"Yes, it is rather pathetic." Snape examined it with visible distaste. "It was gifted to me as a child, I believe, and was never used.”

 

Harry still had his doubts that Snape had actually ever been a child at all, even though he had to have been to know Harry's mother. Harry tried picturing it but ended up with the slightly creepy mental image of a tiny version of the current Snape scowling up at him and immediately banished the thought from his mind’s eye.

 

"Well, it definitely looks like it's been sitting in a shed for like fifty years,” Harry said.

 

"Fifty years?" Snape's eyebrows rose. "Precisely how old do you think I am?!"

 

Harry shrugged, realising that any number he guessed would probably come off as rude. Snape obviously put this together and shook his head. “You are aware I am the same as your mother. She died at the age of twenty-one, twelve years ago. I would like to think you are capable of the basic arithmetic required to calculate my age with that information, although I fear I am being overly optimistic about your mathematical ability.”

 

“I can add twenty-one and twelve!” Harry said indignantly.

 

“Congratulations,” Snape said dryly. He smirked as he jabbed his wand, and the football reinflated back into a spherical shape. “While this football has not lasted half a century, I will concede that it is rather old, and outdates your thirteen years at the very least. It should work for now, but I’ll buy you a new one the next time I go out.”

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Harry said quickly.

 

"It is not as though I'm buying you a signed football from a premier league club." Snape rolled his eyes. "I doubt it would cost me more than five pounds, a sum I can easily afford.”

 

Harry was making his mind up about whether or not he should continue arguing, but Malfoy emerged from the house moments later and effectively put an end to the discussion. He noticed the football sitting on the ground and screwed up his face. “Severus -”

 

“You have only just finished being punished, and I am assuming you would rather not earn yourself yet another day of dissecting dragon eyeballs?” Snape said, crossing his arms. “Then I think you will find it in yourself to, as the Muggles say, suck it up.”

 

He stalked into the house without another word, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone with the football. Malfoy stared at it with no small amount of distaste. “Well, I suppose this is your area of expertise, Pot - Harry.” 

 

He drew out Harry’s name for over two seconds, his reluctance obvious.

 

“He can’t hear you,” Harry pointed out. “Just call me Potter, I really don’t care.”

 

“This is Severus,” Malfoy said, glancing towards the back door. “I really wouldn’t put it past him to have some sort of Eavesdropping Charm that tells him when we say the wrong names.”

 

Harry grimaced. “Yeah, you might have a point.”

 

Malfoy tentatively reached one foot out, as if to tap the football with it, before abruptly jerking it back. “So what is this thing, then? Some sort of weird, black and white quaffle?”

 

“Er - actually, I suppose it is,” Harry said. Perhaps if he could explain things in Quidditch terms, Malfoy might be a bit more receptive. “You’re only allowed to touch it with your feet, though. That’s why they call it football.”

 

“That’s a stupid way to play a game.” Malfoy scowled, and Harry took a deep breath, remembering Snape’s request for him to be patient.

 

“Look, it’s just the way it’s played. And we can’t actually play football, anyway, there’s only two of us,” Harry said. “It’s done in teams. Like Quidditch is. And you need a goal, and I don’t think Snape’s got one of those buried in his shed.”

 

“You should try and call him Severus, really,” Malfoy commented.

 

Harry made a face. “Ugh, why?”

 

“Because it would annoy him.” Malfoy smirked. “Now, what do we do with that thing?”

 

Harry shrugged. “Kick it, I suppose.”

 

Malfoy deftly darted out and kicked the football so it glanced off Harry’s shoulder and smacked into the shed wall with a loud thud. He glowered at the other boy. “Oi!”

 

“You didn’t say where I had to kick it,” Malfoy said innocently, leaning against the fence and looking rather smug. This made him the perfect target for Harry to easily kick the football back into Malfoy’s stomach as hard as he possibly could. Malfoy grunted as the football smacked into him and made a rude hand gesture at Harry, too winded to shout abuse at him.

 

“Come on, you deserved that!” Harry laughed.

 

“I’ll show you deserved,” Malfoy growled, making a beeline for the football. Harry started racing him to it.

 

What followed was a rather prolonged game that did not follow any of the regular rules of football. It just consisted of Malfoy and Harry struggling to gain control of the football so they could kick it at each other as hard as they possibly could. Harry was fairly certain this wasn’t what Snape had wanted them to do, but repeatedly kicking a football at Malfoy was incredibly fun, even if it involved also getting whacked around himself when Malfoy managed to get the ball from him.

 

Eventually, they both ended up rather worse for wear. Malfoy had scraped his hands while attempting to dive for the football, while Harry had ripped open the knee of his jeans and was bleeding slightly. Their activities were put to an abrupt end when Malfoy kicked the ball into Harry’s face, and the impact threw his glasses off.

 

“Hey!” he shouted, feeling around in the glass with one hand and rubbing the sting out of his nose with the other. “Time out, okay? Don’t hit it at me while I can’t see -”

 

“I’m not going to kick a ball into your face when you’re blind!” Malfoy said exasperatedly.

 

Harry looked up and did the best attempt at a sceptical look he could manage with his throbbing face. “Yeah, right, Malf - er, Draco.”

 

“I’m not that much of a dickhead!” His features were fuzzy at best, but Harry was almost certain Malfoy had just rolled his eyes. “Besides, it takes all the fun out of it if you can’t fight back! Well, the ball’s gone over the fence, anyway. Here, I found your glasses.”

 

He stepped forward, and placed them into Harry’s palm. He tried to put them on his face, but groaned as they came apart in his hands. The bridge had completely snapped. “Great, they’re broken again.” He sighed. “Do you know where Snape keeps the sellotape?”

 

“Why on earth would you use Spellotape for glasses?” Malfoy asked, nonplussed. “I didn’t realise those were enchanted!”

 

“No, I meant regular Muggle tape,” Harry said, trying and failing to balance the broken glasses on his face before giving up and accepting his new, blurrier world view.

 

Malfoy scoffed. “What would you use that for? Just ask Severus to fix them!”

 

“Oh. Right.” Harry often forgot how easy it was to repair things with magic. Still, the idea didn’t really appeal to Harry, since it would involve asking Snape to do something for him. He felt remarkably nervous.

 

“Maybe don’t tell Severus we were kicking that football at each other, though,” Malfoy said hesitantly.

 

“I wasn’t going to!” Harry said indignantly. “I’m not thick! I don’t want him to flip out at us again either, you know.”

 

“Just checking!” Malfoy held his hands up. “Because if I have to go through another one of his bloody lectures I will get my wand and shoot a Killing Curse at myself.”

 

“Do me a favour and take me out, too, before you finish yourself off.”

 

“It wouldn’t even work on you, scarhead.”

 

“Since when am I immune to all Killing Curses?” Harry asked exasperatedly.

 

“What, have you tested it out? You weren’t meant to be immune to the first one!”

 

“Kill me with something else, then,” Harry suggested. “A meat cleaver would probably still work.”

 

“Don’t give me inspiration. You’re an annoying git, and I know where you sleep.”

 

“Creepy, murdery Slytherins,” Harry muttered, trying and failing yet again to sort his glasses out. He didn’t particularly enjoy sitting around blind while Malfoy was plotting his imminent death.

 

Malfoy craned his neck. “One of us should probably go through that gate to get the football back.”

 

Harry realised it must have rolled into Maureen’s garden. “I can’t go over there again. Snape’ll kill me.”

 

“Right, Black’s got it out for you or something, hasn’t he?” Malfoy sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll do it, then…”

 

He walked over to the gate, muttering something about Muggles that sounded vaguely insulting which Harry chose to ignore. He watched Malfoy’s blurry figure move across Maureen’s garden and pick up the football, only to jerk back suddenly and look in the direction of the house.

 

“Hello, love!” Maureen’s voice called. “Is everything alright?”

 

Malfoy’s shoulders visibly tensed. “My apologies. We just kicked our ball over your fence, Mrs - er…”

 

“Oh, just call me Maureen!” she said pleasantly. Harry watched over the fence, fingers crossed, hoping Malfoy wouldn’t say anything explicitly rude as Maureen headed out into the garden. “You’re that nephew of Severus’, aren’t you! He told me a little about you, what was your name again?”

 

“Draco,” he said stiffly.

 

“Ah, I knew it was something like that!” Maureen said. “I must admit, it was a right shock. I hadn’t a clue Severus had a half-sister, and I’ve been living next door to the Snapes for coming up on forty years! You must come over for tea some time, you and that little friend of yours, Harry…”

 

She smiled at Harry, who was trying not to look too visibly horrified that she’d just referred to him and Malfoy as friends. 

 

“Well, I can’t at the minute,” Malfoy said through gritted teeth, backing towards the gate.

 

“Of course, you’re in the middle of your game!” Maureen said, gesturing towards the fence. “Well, you boys have fun!”

 

Harry waved to her over the fence as she went back into the house. She waved back while Malfoy scurried away before turning back into her house.

 

Harry’s shoulders slumped with relief as Maureen shut her door while Malfoy hurried back into the garden, football under his arm. Crisis averted.

 

Malfoy glared at Harry. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m not going to shout abuse at Severus’ elderly neighbour, even if she is a Muggle…”

 

“Hey, I never said anything.”

 

Still, Harry was a little surprised, even if he refused to admit it. The Malfoy he knew really wouldn’t have had it in him to be polite to a Muggle, even a particularly kind one.

 

Things really were changing.

 

Harry frowned, remembering what Maureen had just said. "Since when is your mum Snape's half-sister?"

 

"She's not." Malfoy pulled a face. "Merlin, imagine! No, it was just a convenient lie for me to be his nephew."

 

"Oh. That makes sense, I guess."

 

Malfoy cocked his head thoughtfully. “She’s the one who told you Severus and your mother were friends, wasn’t she?”

 

“Er - yeah.” Harry flipped his glasses over in his hands. He’d completely forgotten that Malfoy had been in the kitchen the day he’d shouted at Snape for not telling him anything about Lily, since Harry had been a bit preoccupied with the business of hating Snape. That was a bit embarrassing…

 

“You know, I really don’t think it was right of Severus to keep something like that from you,” Malfoy declared.

 

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

 

“Of course!” Malfoy put his hands on his hips. “I mean, she is dead after all. I really think you have the right to know more about her, since I doubt you remember. He should have said something - it’s the right thing to do.”

 

“Wow.” Harry would have never in a million years expected Malfoy to take his side on something, and it was oddly touching. He felt a layer of tension that had been sitting between the two of them suddenly melt away.

 

“Thanks, Draco.” For the first time, that name came naturally. Maybe Snape had a point with this first names business; it did feel a bit more friendly. Perhaps Harry could make a more enthusiastic attempt with it all.

 

“Well, it’s just the decent thing for a person to do, isn’t it?” Draco frowned. “Especially if you didn’t know anything about her. Why didn’t you, by the way? I thought you lived with your mum’s Muggle sister or something?”

 

Shockingly, that question didn’t bother Harry as much as he’d expect it to. “Erm… she and Aunt Petunia didn’t really get on. She wouldn’t talk about my mum all that much.” Ever, Harry gloomily added to himself.

 

“That’s a little mean of her,” Draco commented.

 

“Yeah, her and I don’t really get on, either.” Since Harry was almost certain Draco could already guess that from the fact that his relatives had kicked him out a few weeks ago, he didn’t really mind saying that. Draco could put that together on his own, anyway.

 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I know all about aunts you don’t quite get on with,” Draco muttered darkly. He didn’t expand any further, but Harry didn’t dare to ask for more detail, as curious as he was. This was the second time he’d heard mention of Draco’s mysterious aunt who the Malfoys didn’t speak to. Unfortunately, Harry couldn’t bring himself to pry. He thought asking about her would open him up to potential questions about Aunt Petunia, and that wasn’t a sacrifice Harry was willing to make to satiate his curiosity.

 

“We should probably find Severus to fix your glasses now,” Draco said, putting the football on the ground.

 

Harry winced. “He said to me he has company, though.”

 

“So what?” Draco asked. “It takes about thirty seconds.”

 

“But I really shouldn’t bother him -”

 

“You’re blind, Potter!” Draco tutted. “Just go and ask, come on…”

 

He started briskly walking in the direction of the kitchen door and Harry reluctantly followed, since Draco would think it was weird if he kept arguing.

 

“It would be so much easier if you could just fix it yourself,” Draco grumbled. “But no, Severus had to go and ban both of us from using our wands…”

 

“Well, it is illegal,” Harry pointed out. He tripped over the step up from the garden to the kitchen before barely catching himself on the counter.

 

“Oh, it’s one of those bendy laws,” Draco said dismissively, heading in the direction of the living room. Harry, who had an Underage Magic warning on his record that proved it wasn’t a bendy law whatsoever, simply tutted to himself before struggling through the hallway. Draco knocked on the living room door and pushed it open without waiting for a response.

 

“Yes?” Snape said tersely. Harry couldn’t see him from the angle he was standing at in the hallway.

 

“Pot - um, Harry broke his glasses,” Draco explained.

 

Snape sighed loudly. “Give them to me.”

 

Draco moved to one side, revealing the blurry figure of Snape heading towards the doorway. He outstretched his hand, and Harry placed his broken glasses into them. “Oculus reparo.” 

 

He handed them back, good as new, and Harry placed them onto his face, an odd feeling in his chest. Aunt Petunia would without fail shout at Harry for breaking his glasses, despite the fact that Dudley was almost always the one to break them, not him. It was strange to have someone around who didn’t have a go at Harry about it.

 

Of course, Harry’s newly cleared vision still revealed a rather disapproving-looking Snape. His eyes darted from Draco’s scraped palms to Harry’s bloodied knee. “What on earth have you two been doing out there?”

 

“Football,” Harry said nonchalantly.

 

Snape did not look entirely impressed by this answer and made an exasperated sort of noise, but before he could comment further, a voice behind him said, “Oh, boys will be boys, Severus!”

 

Harry gasped - he recognised that voice! He looked past Snape’s shoulder and saw Professor McGonagall, sitting with a cup of tea and smiling slightly. “Good morning, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy.”

 

“Hello, Professor,” Draco said with a nod.

 

Harry did his best to wipe the shocked look off his face. “Er - hi.”

 

“I trust you’re well?” she inquired, setting her teacup down.

 

“Um. Yeah?” Harry said stupidly. He was still reeling from the fact that Professor McGonagall was even here. Adjusting to the idea of spending time with Professor Snape outside of Hogwarts had been difficult enough, but the sudden appearance of his Head of House during the summer was just one step too far. Harry’s brain had seemingly overloaded.

 

“Well, we’re in the middle of something right now,” Snape said pointedly. “Do try not to kill each other in the next twenty minutes, please?”

 

“Alright. Goodbye Severus, Professor McGonagall.” Draco said, inclining his head.

 

“Bye, professor,” Harry added, awkwardly sidling away as Snape firmly shut the door. Draco started heading back into the garden, and Harry followed him closely.

 

“What do you think she was doing here?” he asked.

 

“Oh, she visits every now and then,” Draco said with a shrug. “Her and Severus are colleagues, you realise. It makes sense that they’re friendly.”

 

Harry supposed that was reasonable, but it still weirded him out a little. He didn’t often think about Snape or McGonagall and the various friendships they may or may not have. Harry suddenly found himself wondering what McGonagall got up to during the summers, then…

 

Harry headed over to the football and picked it up, and spun around to face Draco. “Let’s get started, then. You owe me for those broken glasses.”

 

Draco actually smiled before bracing himself for battle.

 

---

 

By the time lunch came around, Harry was absolutely ravenous. The morning of rather strenuous physical activity had left him starving, and he practically inhaled his sandwich. As usual, Snape was looking at Harry out of the corner of his eye like his dining habits were causing him physical pain, so Harry made a little bit of an effort to slow down. Not for Snape’s benefit, obviously. He was just a bit sick of being stared at while during meals, whether it was because he wasn’t eating enough or was eating too quickly.

 

“When you two have finished, you should change,” Snape said, eyeing their muddy clothes with a reasonable amount of distaste. “We’re going out.”

 

“Where?” Draco asked. Judging by the tension in his shoulders, he was anticipating it being something Muggle.

 

“To buy you two some Muggle clothes,” Snape said, flicking his wand at his plate so it began to wash itself in the sink.

 

Draco made a disgusted face. “No, thank you.”

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t recall asking you,” Snape said, arching an eyebrow. “If you are to travel out into the Muggle world - which you will be doing before this summer concludes - would you not prefer to wear something that hasn’t been lent to you by Harry?”

 

“I suppose,” Draco grumbled.

 

“Then you will come with Harry and I,” Snape said. “Change out of your robes and wear the Muggle clothes Harry gave you last time.”

 

He sighed and exited the kitchen, leaving Harry alone with Snape, feeling rather conflicted.

 

“Er - I have Muggle clothes,” he pointed out. 

 

“Yes,” Snape said with a sneer, eyeing Harry’s oversized shirt with no small amount of distaste. “Unless those rags are yet another abominable teenage fashion fad that I cannot get my head around, I think you are in sore need of some new ones.”

 

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. He’d almost rejected the idea on principle, but it would be nice to be free of Dudley’s horrid, oversized hand-me-downs that he had to roll up dozens of times to make even vaguely fit.

 

Truth be told, the idea of buying himself new Muggle clothes had never really occurred to Harry. Hagrid and Mrs Weasley had pretty much taken care of the wizarding side of things the last two years when they’d taken him into Diagon Alley, and Aunt Petunia normally threw a pair of Dudley’s old clothes into Harry’s room whenever what he was wearing started to disintegrate. Even though Harry had money of his own now, he’d never bothered to get it changed so he could buy something that actually fit him.

 

Which reminded him. “Sir?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“We need to go to Gringotts or something first,” Harry said.

 

Snape gave him a confused look. “Why on earth would we need to do that?”

 

“None of my money is converted into Muggle money,” Harry explained. “The shop vendors obviously won’t take it -”

 

“There is no need to worry about it,” Snape said, waving a hand dismissively. “It has all been taken care of.”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s none of your concern, Harry,” he said. “We can go straight to the high street - money is no issue.”

 

“But… but how -”

 

Harry abruptly cut himself off as Draco came thundering back down the stairs, dressed in the shrunken set of Muggle clothing he had been given on the day of the last disastrous shopping trip.

 

“Change and meet us down here,” Snape ordered Harry. As he walked past Draco, he heard Snape say, “Now, Draco, there won’t be any little slips like last time, will there?”

 

“No,” Draco said somewhat reluctantly as Harry headed up the stairs, and the conversation grew muffled.

 

After changing out of his muddy clothes, Harry returned downstairs to meet Snape and a rather chastised-looking Draco before the three of them left the house to begin the journey to the high street. Like the time they’d gone to Tesco, they walked. After all, as far as Harry could tell, Snape didn’t own a car, and he wasn’t entirely sure if you could Apparate two people with you. It was probably too much effort if your location wasn’t really all that far.

 

They quickly reached the actual high street, which was incredibly run-down. Half of the storefronts were abandoned and emblazoned with crude graffiti, and the ones that weren’t were still a little seedy and neglected. The place stank from a nasty combination of overflowing bins and a haze of stale smoke. Judging by the way that Snape was glaring at the clumps of teenagers lurking in corners and alleyways and the earthy undertone of the haze in the air, they weren’t just smoking cigarettes.

 

“So this is the Muggle world?” Draco asked in a low voice, sidestepping a broken beer bottle and wrinkling his nose.

 

“I’d consider it more akin to the Knockturn Alley of the Muggle world,” Snape explained. “Now, Harry. Any preferences for where you’d like to buy your clothes?”

 

Despite that being a rather simple question, Harry was left reeling. “I - what?”

 

“Your clothes?” Snape gestured to the row of shops and gave Harry a confused look. “Cokeworth isn’t exactly the fashion capital of Britain, but they have most of the major high street brands…”

 

Unfortunately for Harry, who had literally never been clothes shopping in his life apart from at Madam Malkins, he had no clue about where to go. There seemed to be about fifty different stores, all with different styles, and of course different prices… Snape said arrangements had been made to pay, but Harry should still be economical! He didn’t have a clue what stores would be cheapest!

 

“Harry?” Snape prompted.

 

“Er - what charity shops do they have here?” he managed eventually.

 

“Charity shops?” Snape asked blankly.

 

“Er - you know, the ones who sell second-hand stuff for -”

 

“I know what a charity shop is, I’m not stupid,” Snape spat. For some reason, his expression had darkened significantly, and Harry shrank away from him slightly. “Seeing as you can’t make a reasonable decision, follow me."

 

Snape stalked off at a breakneck pace and into a nearby shop, nearly knocking over a terrified employee in the process. Draco turned to Harry and gave him a bemused look. “What’s his problem? Did you offend him or something?”

 

“I don’t think so?” Harry whispered, slightly resenting Draco’s automatic assumption that this was somehow his fault.

 

Snape stopped in front of a series of plain t-shirts and held up a red one. “Do you like this?”

 

“Yes?” Harry said.

 

Snape scowled. “Is that a statement or a question?”

 

“Er - a statement.”

 

“Good. We’ll be getting that, then.”

 

Snape proceeded to pick up a series of different items of clothing before asking Harry and occasionally Draco if they liked them or not. Harry tended to say yes to everything (something Snape quickly caught onto, judging by the way his nostrils flared every time he agreed to something) while Draco was a bit more picky with his clothing selections. They must have spent over an hour in there, after which Harry ended up with a sizable pile of clothes, ranging from pyjamas to jeans to even underwear, to Harry’s complete embarrassment. He didn’t think he’d owned this much clothing in his life, even hand-me-downs.

 

“Sir,” he said in a small voice. “I really don’t need all this stuff…”

 

Snape shot him a stormy glare. “I don’t particularly trust you to know what you need.”

 

“But this is surely going to be expensive -”

 

“And as I said, arrangements have been made,” Snape said shortly, and Harry was finally cowed into silence.

 

Luckily, Snape only picked up a few more items before they at last made their way over to the checkout. Harry’s eyes practically goggled at the price as the cashier finished ringing up their items - it was in the hundreds of pounds! - but this didn’t seem to faze Snape, who handed over a wad of cash without so much as a second thought. As he did so, Harry noticed Draco staring at the number on the register with a puzzled frown and realised with a jolt that he probably had no concept of Muggle money and expense, since wizarding currency worked so differently. That was really weird…

 

As they traipsed out of the shop, all weighed down by heavy bags of clothes, Snape gave them a thoughtful look before turning into a nearby Sports Direct. Inside, he retrieved a new pair of trainers for Harry, whose shoes were two sizes too small, pinched horribly and leaked in puddles because they were full of holes. He then picked up the aforementioned football.

 

Harry hung back, feeling completely overwhelmed. This was all just too much for him.

 

After that too was paid for, Snape obscured their bags with his body so he could shrink some down. Once he was done, he asked, “shall we head back, or are there any other shops either of you are interested in visiting?”

 

“I’m fine,” Draco said with a shrug.

 

“Harry?” Snape asked, looking at him pointedly.

 

“Er - yeah. I’m done.” Harry still wouldn’t have known where to go anyway.

 

As the three of them set out on the journey home, Harry couldn’t help but get stuck on the issue of the money. Snape had said it was taken care of…but what kind of person made the unilateral decision to spend so much of another person’s money? But then, Harry realised, he had also been spending money on Draco. That raised a second and rather concerning question for Harry - what if Snape was spending his own money?

 

“Sir,” Harry began, even though part of him knew it was a bad idea.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Where did the money for this come from?”

 

“Are you a parrot?” Snape inquired icily. “This seems to be the fiftieth time today you have raised that very question and for the fiftieth time, I tell you it has been taken care of!”

 

“It’s just, see, the money in my vault has to last until I’m of age,” Harry said hesitantly. “I don’t think I can really be spending so much of it and stuff…”

 

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “It did not come out of your vaults.”

 

“So - so you paid for it?” Harry asked, horrified. “You can’t do that!”

 

“Are you suggesting I am too poor to provide for the wards under my care?” Snape demanded, his face flashing with fury.

 

“What? No!” Harry said indignantly. “You’re twisting my words!”

 

“What, then?” Snape asked irately. “What exactly is the issue?”

 

“Just - you shouldn’t have to!” Harry said. “I already had perfectly good clothes -”

 

“Perfectly good?” Snape repeated disbelievingly. “You look at that pile of rags and think it’s perfectly good?” 

 

“I managed!” Harry said defensively. His clothes had always been an acute area of embarrassment for him, and it almost felt like Snape was judging him over it at that moment…

 

“Well, now you don’t have to manage.”

 

“At least let me pay you back -”

 

“You will do no such thing!” Snape hissed, spinning around to face Harry. He somehow seemed a lot taller than usual. “What happened to your precious vaults that so desperately need to be preserved, hmm?”

 

“Well, it’s better than spending your money!” Harry shouted as they approached Snape’s house.

 

“You are ridiculous!” Snape growled, jamming the key into the door lock and wrenching it open with such force that Harry thought it would snap. He placed the bags he was carrying at the foot of the staircase.

 

“Draco, take all of these up to your room and put your clothes away,” Snape ordered, placing a firm, unshakeable hand on Harry’s shoulder as he stepped over the threshold. “Harry and I need to have a little chat.”

 

“Alright,” Draco said, giving Harry a very confused look before heading up the stairs with some of the bags. Harry, for his part, was half-dragged into the kitchen. Snape shut the door tightly before turning to Harry and folding his arms.

 

“Explain,” he said shortly.

 

“I have nothing to explain,” Harry muttered.

 

“You surely don’t think that was normal behaviour!” Snape said incredulously.

 

“I don’t know!” Harry said, crossing his arms defensively. “What the hell is normal, anyway?”

 

“It certainly would not involve a loud and public argument about what I can and cannot spend my money on,” Snape said shortly.

 

Harry felt his cheeks flood with heat as he thought about the argument they’d had. He must have seemed so childish! Then, Harry realised that he hadn’t actually said thank you at all, and the guilty feeling worsened. Sure, Harry detested the idea of Snape buying him things, but it was still very rude to not even thank him…

 

“Look. Thank you for doing that,” he said quickly, “but you didn’t need to buy me clothes."

 

Snape opened his mouth before slamming it shut. A great deal of emotions seemed to flicker across his face, like someone was rapidly clicking through them with a remote control. Snape whipped around and jabbed his wand in the direction of the kettle, which instantly began to whistle. Snape then looped the wand in a corkscrew motion, causing two mugs and two tea bags to fly out of their respective homes before being promptly filled with boiling water.

 

As the tea bags steeped, Snape turned around and presumably noticed Harry’s blank stare. “I’m making us tea.”

 

“Yeah, I picked up on that.” Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

 

“Because this conversation is going to be longer than I anticipated,” Snape said. He had become weirdly calm. Harry didn’t like it. “I appear to have opened up a can of worms. Take a seat.”

 

Harry groaned loudly. “I don’t want to have anymore stupid chats with you!”

 

“Well, too bad, because we’re having one,” Snape said shortly. “Sit. Don’t make me force you, because I most certainly will.”

 

Harry had learnt by now to take Snape at his word, and sat down at the kitchen table with as much clattering and chair-scraping as he could possibly cause. Snape sat across from him and slid one of the steaming mugs of tea in Harry’s direction.

 

“So, I’m curious,” Snape began. “You told me you didn’t need clothes, is that correct?”

 

“Yeah. I have the hand-me-downs,” Harry said, gesturing to himself. “They’re crap, but they work.”

 

“Yet when I give you the option to free yourself of these ‘crap’ hand-me-downs, you fight me kicking and screaming every step of the way.”

 

Harry frowned at him, confused. “Because I don’t need them.”

 

“Your cousin is obviously far larger than you,” Snape said with a frown. “I would say you need clothes that come even close to fitting you.”

 

“Technically no,” Harry said with a shrug. “I mean… the Dursleys only had to clothe me, right? And they did. No one ever said the clothing had to fit…”

 

“Harry, has it ever occurred to you that you may be entitled to more than just basic needs?” Snape asked.

 

Harry shuffled in his chair, an uncomfortable feeling slowly building in his gut. “Yeah, but you don’t have to buy stuff for me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you’re not my guardian,” Harry pointed out.

 

“Would your actual guardians buy you anything outside of basic necessities?” Snape asked. “I doubt it, considering they don’t even provide the bare minimum.”

 

“Well that’s not your problem!” Harry said defensively.

 

“I think you’ll find it is,” Snape said. He sipped his tea and regarded Harry closely. “Considering you are living here for the summer, I am acting in loco parentis. That means I get to do things that a guardian does, which shockingly involves buying my ward clothes when it’s warranted.”

 

“I just think it’s excessive,” Harry mumbled, picking up the tea and sipping on it so he finally had something to do with his hands. It scalded his tongue.

 

“If you saw Mrs Weasley buying your friend clothes, would you think that was excessive?” Snape asked.

 

“Well no, but -”

 

“What about Miss Granger?” Snape asked. “If her parents bought her a new outfit, would that be the height of indulgence?”

 

“It’s not the same!” Harry said loudly. He’d gotten to his feet at some point, although he didn’t remember when that had happened.

 

“Why not?” Snape asked, still maintaining that infuriatingly calm exterior.

 

“Because they have parents!” Harry shouted. “Parents do that for their kids! And I don’t have parents, okay? I know I don’t, and I never will have that, so I just have to suck it up and cope with the cards I got dealt with instead!”

 

Snape fell silent for a moment, as did Harry. He hadn’t meant for that to slip out…

 

“The Dursleys should have provided you with the same amount of care and support that any parent would give to their biological child,” Snape said softly. “Just because Petunia did not give birth to you does not make her responsibility towards you as a guardian lesser. You and your cousin should have been treated equally, Harry.”

 

“But I’m not their kid,” Harry said bitterly. “I’m the freak nephew that they never wanted to take in, as they like to remind me.”

 

“You are not a freak,” Snape said sharply. “Stop calling yourself that.”

 

Snape pointed to Harry’s vacant chair, and he slowly sat down, previous anger giving way to dull despair. “Harry, let me tell you something. You deserve to be taken care of. You should have been adequately fed and clothed, and you certainly should have been treated with kindness, not scorn. The way that your relatives treated you was wrong.”

 

Harry simply shrugged. No matter what Snape said, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to believe that. Snape scanned his eyes over Harry’s face and sighed, clearly picking up on this.

 

“I will keep telling you this until you believe it, even if I have to make you write lines for the message to sink in,” he added.

 

“Fine, sure,” Harry said wearily. The argument earlier coupled with such an emotionally taxing conversation had left him feeling rather wrung out.

 

“I do wonder,” Snape said in a carefully measured voice, “what they did with the War Orphans Stipend.”

 

Harry abruptly jerked his head up. “The what now?”

 

Snape’s hand clenched around his mug. “Ah, of course, you don’t know. The War Orphans Stipend is a fund that was set up by the Ministry of Magic after the Dark Lord’s downfall. It was specifically set up for children who lost parents while they were in service fighting the Dark Lord and his followers. It is paid out to the guardians of the orphans to contribute to their care as thanks for their parents’ service.”

 

Harry’s jaw had dropped by now. He closed his mouth, but it took him a few moments to manage to speak. “You’re not serious.”

 

“Does that not seem rather elaborate of a premise for me to invent?”

 

“Oh my God!” Harry said indignantly. He hadn’t realised the Dursleys could reach a new low, but of course they could. They’d complained his whole life about how expensive Harry was to feed, house and clothe, and all along they’d been paid to look after him! "They've had money for me this entire time? Really?"

 

“That is why I am rather irritated,” Snape said, watching Harry closely. “The Stipend isn’t exactly a large sum of money, but it’s similarly not a mere pittance. I do believe your relatives could afford to buy you clothing that could actually fit you, and simply chose to give you those oversized things.” His lip curled into a sneer.

 

“Oh my God,” Harry repeated numbly. He was completely, utterly reeling.

 

“I should have realised something wasn’t quite right sooner, but I’m afraid I didn’t realise the state of your clothing was out of your control until Minerva suggested it may be an issue this morning.” Snape grimaced.

 

“Professor McGonagall noticed?” Harry frowned. “Why?”

 

“We were discussing you.”

 

“Again - why?” 

 

“Because she is your Head of House, she is one of the people who needed to be informed of the issues with your relatives,” Snape explained.

 

Harry balked. “What are you doing, spreading all that around everywhere?!”

 

“I am not spreading it around!” Snape said irritably. “I told you I would keep your confidence, and I do not make promises lightly, especially about matters such as these. There are only three people who need to be informed of your circumstances - Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey and the Headmaster. I cannot singlehandedly remove you from the Dursleys’ custody, you realise?”

 

“It’s not like they’ll be any help,” Harry muttered, rubbing his arms and staring into his lap. He’d already asked Dumbledore for help once, and he’d said Harry absolutely had to go back to the Dursleys, no matter what. It was hopeless. As for Professor McGonagall - she’d signed off the Hogwarts letter addressed to the cupboard under the stairs, hadn’t she?

 

“Do not be disrespectful,” Snape said sharply. “Professor McGonagall has been of immeasurable aid, particularly in the areas of some tricky paperwork. She was also, I might add, utterly horrified by what I told her, and intends to take the Headmaster to task personally for his role in placing you there when we eventually tell him.”

 

“Seriously?” Harry asked. He tried to imagine Professor McGonagall at her angriest, when her lips went white and her nostrils flared, staring down Dumbledore.

 

“She described your relatives as ‘the worst sort of Muggles’, I believe,” Snape added. “So don’t be so hasty to condemn her.”

 

“Alright,” Harry said rather guiltily. “It’s just - I don’t know, I thought she knew and wasn’t interested…”

 

“What on earth gave you that impression?”

 

“Nothing,” Harry muttered, looking steadfastly away from Snape.

 

“This whole business with your clothes has made me realise something,” Snape said, steepling his fingers. “I overlooked it, which suggests I may be overlooking other issues you experienced in that household. I can’t help you if I don’t know what problems you’re facing, Harry. Is there anything else I don’t yet know about your relatives that you wish to tell me?”

 

The cupboard, Harry thought almost immediately. He’d recounted the majority of what the Dursleys had done, but Harry just couldn’t bring himself to mention that. Even Ron and Hermione, the people who knew the most about his relatives, didn’t know about that. It just felt oddly embarrassing to admit to, and Harry couldn’t possibly understand why. All he knew was that he couldn’t talk about it. Not yet, maybe not ever.

 

“No. There’s nothing else.”

 

It wasn’t technically a lie, Harry convinced himself. Snape asked if there was anything he wished to mention, and Harry certainly didn’t want to tell him anything. Still, he was aware that his answer was rather economical, at best, so he didn’t meet Snape’s eyes. He didn’t know if the other man believed him or not as Harry was at last released to go upstairs.

 

“Please put your clothes away,” Snape said as Harry hurried away. “In the wardrobe provided, if you will. I’d rather you stopped living out of your trunk like a nomad.”

 

“Sure,” Harry said, finally slipping out of the kitchen. He felt so off-kilter from that conversation that Harry was worried if he stayed in the kitchen for a moment longer he’d do something weird, like start shouting or crying again. He had a rather large amount to think about.

 

It had always been taught to him that Harry didn’t deserve as much as Dudley because he was Vernon and Petunia’s child, and Harry wasn’t. He was a burden, and a leech. It wasn’t something that Harry questioned - it was just a fact of life. Any prospect of Harry actually being cared for had died with his parents.

 

Now here Snape was telling Harry that it didn’t matter if the Dursleys were his parents or not, and his entire perception of reality shifted at once. Logically, he could see it. People were adopted all the time, weren’t they, and they got treated decently! That included being raised by family members other than your parents.

 

He even had examples. For instance, Neville was raised by his gran, and she could be stern but almost certainly loved her grandson. Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff girl in Harry’s year, often spoke fondly of her Aunt Amelia who she lived with. Harry, who was in a very similar situation guardian-wise, would never be boasting about his fabulous relationship with Aunt Petunia…

 

And how could he be a leech if the Ministry of Magic provided the Dursleys with money? For a moment, Harry wondered if the Dursleys had simply refused to claim it. It was freak money, after all, so they wouldn't want that, or maybe they couldn't change it from galleons, knuts and sickles…

 

But the way Snape had phrased things suggested they had claimed the money. And, now that Harry thought about it, he'd had some sort of special credit that provided his school dinners in primary school, hadn't he? The other children in the queue had always had cash, and Harry hadn't… It wasn't like Aunt Petunia gave him money to make sure he ate. She didn't care if he went hungry. He’d only eaten because of those mysteriously funded free school meals.

 

The Dursleys had pocketed money that was rightfully Harry's for all these years.

 

Harry pressed his trembling lips together as he walked into the bedroom, which was currently a disorganised mess of bags and half-folded clothing. Draco was staring at him, obviously baffled by his earlier behaviour.

 

"Don't you dare ask," Harry snapped, clenching his hands into fists. The anger at the Dursleys was practically choking him, and he felt dangerously on edge again. He couldn’t bear a probing question from Malfoy…

 

"You significantly overestimate how much I care about you and your life," Draco drawled, turning around and continuing to attempt to shove his new clothes into a drawer without folding any of them.

 

Harry opened up the bags at the base of the bed and felt his insides twist as he set eyes on the t-shirts within. It really wouldn't have cost the Dursleys that much to buy him just a few t-shirts that actually fit. They'd have lasted him a long time, and more importantly, actually fit his proportions. Especially if it wasn’t even with their money, but with money specifically provided for Harry’s care!

 

But, Harry thought, even if it was with the Dursleys' money and not funding from the War Orphans Stipend, they could certainly afford a couple of shirts. Before he'd screwed it up, they'd been in talks with Mr Mason that could have netted them a second home in Majorca. That wasn't even considering the pricey, fee-paying boarding school they sent Dudley to! The Dursleys weren’t exactly impoverished by any means…

 

Harry bunched up the plastic bag in his first. Snape was right. None of it was fair, and none of it was right.

 

After taking a deep, shaky breath in a futile attempt to loosen the tightness in his chest, Harry began to put away his own new clothes. He even made the effort to transfer some of his belongings from his trunk to his wardrobe after the nomad comment Snape had made. Harry felt like a massive arse for complaining so vocally the whole shopping trip, so maybe Snape would appreciate the gesture…

 

Harry shook himself suddenly. What was he doing, caring what Snape thought of him? Had he gone mad?

 

While Harry continued to try and sort through the entangled mess that was his feelings, Draco cleared his throat and turned to him. “Did he stick you?”

 

“What?” Harry asked, baffled. Even if he wasn’t quite with it at the minute, Harry was fairly certain he’d missed something.

 

“To the chair,” Draco said. “Did he stick you to the chair?”

 

“How is that any of your business?” Harry said shortly. He didn’t want to talk about that chat, especially with Draco…

 

Draco shrugged. “He’s done it to me a couple times.”

 

Harry turned back to him with renewed interest. “Really?”

 

“He can be very insistent about his chats.” Draco scowled. “He’s a big fan of Sticking Charms. Nosy git.”

 

For the first time in his life, Harry felt an odd sense of camaraderie towards Draco.

 

“He’s threatened it multiple times over the last few days,” he admitted.

 

“Well, don’t let it get that far,” Draco advised. “He keeps you there way longer when you’re stuck down…”

 

Harry chuckled a little bit, despite himself. "He's so insistent, isn't he? Snape can't just leave something!"

 

"I know!" Draco said rolling his eyes. "And he's such a nag, too, it's a bloody nightmare!"

 

“And the endless, wordy lectures are doing my head in!” Harry added. “Oh, and don’t even get me started on his micromanaging…”

 

Something which might just be a smile crossed Draco’s lips. "Well, at least I'm not the only one putting up with this crap now."

 

"Yeah…"

 

It was oddly relieving to know Harry wasn't in this alone. He didn't quite know what was going on with Draco, but he had to be just as messed up as Harry was to get stuck with Snape, after all. Maybe the man had been right in one of his many lectures; Harry and Draco did have a fair bit in common, between their lack of parents, anger issues and general circumstances.

 

There were other similarities Snape had overlooked, though. The biggest bonding agent of all was having to put up with him.

 

Harry shared another commiserating grimace with Draco before returning to his new belongings.