Harry stared at the thin, ugly curtains of the room he was staying in, which had begun to glow with the reddish early light of dawn. An old saying he’d once heard came to mind: red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning. Harry grimly reflected that he didn’t need the sky to remind him of the troubled territory he was navigating. He was, after all, staying in Snape’s house. The whole situation was inherently perilous.

 

Harry sighed quietly and decided to finally give up on sleep and get dressed. He always tended to rise with the sun - his entire childhood had consisted of Aunt Petunia sharply rapping on his cupboard door as soon as daybreak struck so he could make breakfast for the family. She didn’t believe in lazing about and sleeping the day away.

 

Of course, Dudley was always allowed to stay in bed until the early afternoon if he wished.

 

Harry stared at the ticking hands of Malfoy’s alarm clock. Six-thirty, it read. Snape had said that they would eat breakfast at eight, and Harry felt far too uncertain about his place in the household to dare to leave the room before then. He was a little more confident about sneaking around Privet Drive in the small hours, but that was because he knew what floorboards creaked and which doors squeaked. He did not have that knowledge of Spinner’s End, which made that sort of activity far riskier.

 

Still, Harry was itching to go downstairs and get a glass of water. His mouth was bone-dry, and it was really starting to bother him. Besides, Snape hadn’t explicitly banned him, right? He’d certainly listed a lot of rules, but needing permission to get water hadn’t been one.

 

And, Harry thought, he could have a poke around before anyone was awake. That way, he could see where the food was stored, so he knew where to look if Snape started banning him from meals as a punishment. Maybe he could even squirrel some away in his trunk. Following his horrific summer before second year, Harry always kept a small store of food in the bottom of his trunk for when the Dursleys banned him from eating. It was mostly things that didn’t spoil, like Chocolate Frogs and a few Pumpkin Pasties. They had some sort of spell on the packaging that stopped them from going stale, which was extraordinarily useful for the long stretches between meals he often experienced.

 

Still, Harry knew it wasn’t really smart to rely on a meagre store of sweets to get him through the summer, and even Chocolate Frogs started to get old after a while, so he tried to nick whatever he thought the Dursleys wouldn’t miss. Dudley wouldn’t notice if an apple vanished, after all. It would be smart to start doing that here, especially if he was going to be spending all of August at Spinner’s End. That was a long time to go without eating if Harry accidentally made Snape really angry.

 

With a sigh, Harry slid out of bed and cautiously started making his way towards the door. A floorboard squealed and he cringed, casting a fearful look over at the sleeping Malfoy. Luckily for Harry, the noise didn’t wake him. He mumbled something that sounded like “Hinkypunk” before rolling over to face the wall. That was another thing Harry had discovered about Malfoy - he talked in his sleep. A lot. It was slightly irritating, and had contributed to Harry waking up so early that morning.

 

It was rather odd to see Malfoy sleeping, though. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen Malfoy with a hair out of place, but it actually became quite messy overnight. It had flopped over his eyes, partially obscuring his face, which looked a lot younger without the usual scowl affixed to it.

 

Harry cautiously slipped through the doorway and stared across the hallway at Snape’s closed bedroom door. He hoped the man stayed asleep and crossed his fingers as he stepped onto the staircase with the softest tread he could manage, and made a mental note of which steps creaked as he continued the agonising journey to the kitchen. Harry could barely breathe through his nervousness. It felt like his lungs had shrunk to half their regular size.

 

Finally, Harry made it to the kitchen and carefully shut the door. He leaned against the cupboard, breathing a sigh of relief. He’d made it down unhindered.

 

After a moment, Harry gathered himself and scanned the kitchen, trying to remember which cupboard contained the mugs and glasses. He managed to locate the correct one on his second try and took the glass over to the sink. The pipes groaned as he wrenched on the faucet.

 

Harry had just filled the glass when the kitchen door abruptly slammed open. “What exactly are you doing, Potter?”

 

Harry jolted so violently that the glass slipped out of his hand and clattered noisily into the basin. The only small mercy in the situation was that the glass didn’t shatter, Harry thought, as he turned around to face Snape. Despite the fact it was so early in the morning, Snape was already fully dressed in his dark, high-necked robes. He didn’t look quite normal, though. His oily hair was strangely mussed, like he hadn’t bothered to brush it before hurrying downstairs.

 

“What are you up to?” Snape demanded, eyes narrowing. He looked very irritated. Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. Snape would just like it more if he was freaking out, since he took such pleasure in Harry being miserable.

 

“I was just getting a glass of water,” he managed at last. “I swear.”

 

Snape glared at him suspiciously, like he didn’t fully trust Harry’s answer. “If you’re going to skulk around at such an early hour, you could at least do me the service of respecting my crockery. I do not want to have to replace all of my glasses because you’re incapable of holding things properly! Not all of us are endowed with large fortunes that allow us to throw away kitchenware without due care.”

 

Harry just nodded, not daring to respond. There had been a couple of incidents where he’d dropped plates or cups at Privet Drive, and they almost always resulted in Aunt Petunia slapping him and screeching at him about how useless he was. He raised a hand to his cheek, the ghost of that smarting strike prickling across his flesh. If he was just going to get off with a sharp lecture about caution, Harry would gladly take it.

 

Of course, he wasn’t quite out of the woods yet. Snape was still glowering at Harry like he wanted nothing more than to catch him doing something truly outrageous.

 

“Well, get your water, then,” Snape growled, shutting the kitchen door behind him and storming over to a cupboard. Harry quickly refilled the glass and retreated to the corner of the kitchen. He pressed himself into the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible while he sipped his water and attempted to relax some of the pressure building up in his chest. He felt horribly anxious, since he had no idea how he was supposed to proceed in this situation. Harry felt a little like he was a soldier on a battlefield, valiantly attempting to avoid the active landmines dotting his path, all buried and hidden so he wouldn’t know he was even stepping on one until everything exploded, blowing him to smithereens.

 

As Harry watched Snape, trying to work out if he was allowed to leave the kitchen or not, he realised Snape had retrieved a frying pan and some eggs, which he made crack themselves with a flick of his wand. They instantly began to sizzle as soon as they hit the pan despite the fact that Snape had only just turned on the stove. More magic, Harry presumed. He bit his lip. Should he offer to help? He always had to make breakfast at the Dursleys…

 

Snape noticed Harry watching him and scowled unpleasantly. “What?”

 

“Er… do you want me to do that?” Harry offered, shuffling his feet.

 

Snape scoffed. "If your Potions work is anything to go by, I wouldn't trust you within a mile of a kitchen, Potter. You'd likely poison us, or burn the place down. Set the table and wait for me to be done."

 

Resentment surged through Harry. He’d been helping Aunt Petunia cook since he could reach the stove, and had been doing meals entirely on his own since the age of eight! He might struggle in Potions, but Harry was certainly capable of putting together what looked like scrambled eggs!

 

None of these thoughts could be voiced to Snape, of course, so Harry pressed his lips together and gathered up the knives and forks, taking great care to stay as far away from Snape as was physically possible.

 

Snape didn’t fetch Malfoy once he’d finished cooking. It was only just past seven in the morning, Harry realised. Too early.

 

Instead, Snape and Harry sat opposite one another, dining in complete silence save for the scraping of cutlery. There was no small talk, of course - Harry couldn’t stand Snape, and that feeling was certainly mutual. Besides, even if he’d wanted to chat with the greasy git sitting opposite, Harry couldn’t think of a single thing he could even talk to Snape about. They had literally nothing in common. Still, Harry wondered if the stifling silence felt just as awkward and oppressive to Snape as it did to him.

 

When they'd both mostly finished, Snape cleared his throat. "So, Potter."

 

Harry looked up and nodded slowly, unsure of what Snape could want with him.

 

“I have been doing my best to think up a suitable punishment for your appalling treatment of your aunt,” he said. Harry felt the blood in his veins turn to ice. “Ideally, you would be forced to apologise to the woman in person, but the Headmaster has informed me that Marjorie Dursley has been Obliviated and has no memory of the incident. As it would be unwise to remind her, she will be saved from suffering through what I presume would be a pathetic and insincere attempt at an apology.”

 

Harry had to concede to Snape there - it would be a rather pitiful apology, since Harry wasn’t sorry in the slightest about Aunt Marge, considering the way she treated him. Anyone who has to suffer through days of being called a subnormal idiot in need of a good thrashing ought to be forgiven for snapping when their long-dead parents started being openly and wrongfully insulted!

 

Despite Harry’s silence, Snape had somehow picked up on Harry’s clear lack of remorse. His scowl intensified. “You may not be feeling particularly penitent at the moment, but you’ll certainly be more than contrite when I’m through with you, Potter.”

 

Harry shrank back as Snape’s lips curled back into a snarl. “Perhaps we should start with a good lesson in the value of hard work.” He pointed into the brown, wilted garden beyond the glass sliding door. “Starting today, you will be weeding, mowing and clearing up that entire garden until it is pristine. Without magic, I might add.”

 

Harry presumed Snape had forgotten he was Muggle-raised in his efforts to make Harry look like a lazy wimp. He hadn’t even known magic existed until his eleventh birthday, for God’s sake! He didn't naturally go to use magic for things even when he had access to spells!

 

“I’ll have no weaponised incompetence, either,” Snape warned, shaking his finger. “You will complete the task to a standard which I am pleased with, or I will have you out in that garden working from dawn to dusk until I’m satisfied with your work.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Harry ground out.

 

“Don’t dawdle, then,” Snape said, waving a hand. “The tools are outside."

 

Harry grabbed his empty plate and shoved his chair back with more force than was strictly necessary. He began to walk in the direction of the sink, but the plate flew from his hands before he could reach it and started to wash itself. Harry looked over his shoulder and saw Snape emphatically rolling his eyes as he tucked his wand away. Harry’s cheeks heated up as he stalked out of the kitchen. He really didn’t think it was fair that people expected him to know all this magic stuff instinctually…

 

 

---

 

 

Harry wiped the sweat from his brow as he wrestled another weed out of the ground. He'd gardened for Aunt Petunia for years, but the garden at Privet Drive was never in the state that Snape's was in. The grass was long and overgrown, while the weeds were hardy and practically everywhere. Harry was deeply unimpressed. It was as if Snape hadn't touched it in years!

 

Harry flexed his swollen, scratched fingers and winced. Snape’s garden was almost entirely thistle, and the thorny plants had turned his hand into a painful mess. Of course Snape would give him an impossible task like this, Harry reflected bitterly. It had been a favourite trick of his aunt and uncle. Give Harry a long list of chores, tell him he wouldn't be able to eat until they were done, and let him go hungry after spending all day slaving away.

 

Harry glanced at his watch. It was half-past one, and he'd barely made a dent in the garden. Snape hadn't called him in for lunch, so he assumed that he was going off Petunia rules - no eating until you were done. Harry certainly wasn’t stupid enough to help himself, so he simply sighed, ignored his rumbling stomach and got back to work.

 

 

---

 

 

"Potter!"

 

Harry's head snapped around at the sound of Snape's voice. He hadn’t seen the man all day.

 

Harry felt his heart speed up - he was nowhere near done! Was he going to be in trouble for not working hard enough? He probably would be - Snape just loved any excuse to tear him down, after all…

 

“What on earth are you still doing out here?” Snape asked angrily. “I believe I told you yesterday that you’re expected to dedicate appropriate time to your summer assignments?"

 

“I didn’t know I was allowed to stop,” Harry bit out, brushing the dirt from his oversized jeans.

 

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Snape snapped. “I don’t appreciate you playing the fool. Stop trying to worm your way out of your schoolwork and come inside.”

 

Harry felt his shoulders slump. Now he didn't even have a chance to fix his lack of work. Still, he was absolutely exhausted. It was almost three o'clock, and Harry had been at it since about half-past seven that morning. His arms were jelly-like and trembling from all the work, while the scrambled eggs he'd eaten for breakfast felt very distant.

 

As he walked into the kitchen, where Malfoy was already sitting at the table doing homework, Snape frowned. "Potter, what on earth have you done to your hands?"

 

Harry gave him a confused look as he glanced down at his reddened and cracked hands. They were stinging and itchy, but that was nothing new. "I was weeding, sir. That's just what happens."

 

"Why didn't you use the gloves I left out?" Snape asked icily.

 

Harry shrugged. Aunt Petunia didn't like him using gloves to weed - she said it made him do a worse job. Still, it made his hands get chapped and irritated, especially when he had to deal with the nasty thistles that Snape's wrecked garden was teeming with.

 

"Idiotic child," Snape growled, shaking his head. "Do you really think this little martyr act you’ve conjured up is going to garner my sympathy? Resorting to this type of self-injurious behaviour to prove a point is really quite pathetic, even for you."

 

"I wasn't doing it on purpose!" Harry said loudly, hoping the 'you git' he'd left off the end of his sentence was implied. Judging by Snape's stormy expression, it translated.

 

"I should have assumed I'd need to explain such a basic activity as weeding to a spoiled brat like yourself," Snape drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You'll need gloves, surprisingly enough! I didn’t leave them out for you to wear as a fashion accessory! Ensure you wear them next time - and yes, there will be a next time. This attention-seeking stunt has only confirmed my opinion that you are in desperate need of some correctional manual labour…"

 

"Whatever," Harry muttered, crossing his arms and glowering up at Snape. His eyes narrowed and his large nostrils flared.

 

"You're filthy. Go upstairs and shower," he ordered, jabbing his finger in the direction of the hallway. "You can get started on your homework after."

 

Harry fled upstairs, grateful to be finally free from the man's scorn. Why did Snape insist on being an insufferable prat at any given moment?

 

Harry slammed the bathroom door as loudly as he could, stripped his dirty clothes off and wrenched the water on, wincing as it pounded the bruises and welts on his back. Still, he relished the sensation of the delightfully warm water massaging his sore muscles after all that labouring in the garden.

 

He used the smallest portions of soap and shampoo that he could. At Privet Drive, if Harry used too much of either, Petunia would notice and go on at him about wastefulness for hours. Harry was actually quite shocked Snape even owned shampoo - he didn’t think Snape had actually washed his hair in his life. It was probably Malfoy’s, Harry decided. That only reinforced his decision to use as little of the stuff as possible.

 

Harry didn’t dare to take too long in the shower, since if he spent longer than five minutes in the water at Privet Drive, Petunia would start banging on the door and screeching about the hot water bill. He had a brief moment of internal struggle where he debated what might make Snape angrier - using a towel without permission, or dripping water onto the bathroom floor. In the end, Harry glumly realised Snape would probably punish him for whatever he decided to do and made the decision to dry off, since he’d rather not walk around in soaked clothes. When he was finished, Harry grabbed his Charms textbook. It wouldn't hurt to get started on Flitwick's essay next.

 

As he approached the kitchen table, where Malfoy was writing something in a notebook, Harry noticed Snape leaning against the counter with his arms folded. He shivered involuntarily - here came the punishment for not finishing the garden…

 

But Snape only reached out to a small pot on the counter and opened it. It was filled with a light green paste that smelled faintly of liquorice.

 

"For your hands," he said. "I ought to let you suffer the consequences of your daft decisions, but this may be the only way your already appalling handwriting has a chance of being legible. Apply it liberally."

 

"Oh. Um, okay," Harry said, feeling a little confused about how to proceed. It seemed far more Snape's style to leave his hands, make him write the essay, and then redo his work on account of Harry's awful penmanship like he had last night. Harry still doubted Snape's motivations were rooted in kindness, though. In all likelihood, he just wasn't creative enough to curate the same punishment Harry had just thought up.

 

Snape simply made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat and swept out of the kitchen as Harry started rubbing the paste into his hands. To his shock, they instantly felt better. The angry red scratches faded, and the chapped, flaking skin knitted itself back together. Harry flexed his fingers and smiled. He’d have killed for this stuff back at Privet Drive.

 

Malfoy sneered at him. "Having fun with your house-elf work, Potter?"

 

"Yeah. Loads," Harry bit out, feeling a surge of annoyance. He'd been slaving away in the garden all morning, all while Malfoy spent his time swanning around and doing whatever he pleased. Even at Spinner’s End, he seemed unable to escape a Dudley-like presence.

 

While it was typical of Snape to favour Slytherins over Gryffindors, especially when it came to Harry and Malfoy, that didn't stop it from being utterly infuriating. Harry ground his back teeth, struggling to resist the urge to fight back properly. Luckily for him, Snape swept back into the kitchen and shot a sharp look in their direction which silenced any further snide comments from Malfoy.

 

That was another weird thing Harry had noticed about Snape's behaviour. Typically at Hogwarts, Snape's reaction to Malfoy's nasty remarks had ranged from ignorance to outright support in the form of points from Gryffindor or detentions when Harry and his friends dared to fight back. Here, though, Snape wasn't letting any insults or bickering fly on either side. Granted, he was still blaming Harry for the majority of it, but it was an improvement in what Harry had expected from the rule. He'd assumed it meant Malfoy could say whatever horrid things he wanted to Harry without him being allowed to respond, but that just wasn't the case.

 

Once again, Harry still doubted that it was out of any kindness on Snape's part. It seemed far more likely that as he'd said, he just didn't want Harry and Malfoy to burn his home to the ground in a vicious battle or something. That was probably smart of him, since Harry had been here a grand total of twenty-four hours and was already on the verge of plotting murder. Malfoy's snarky comments were a surefire way of earning the number one spot on Harry's hit list.

 

Harry was only able to work on his Charms work for half an hour before Snape abruptly cleared his throat.

 

"That will be all for today," he said. Harry shut his Charms textbook, curious. "We will be going out."

 

"Where?" Malfoy asked, his eyes glinting with anticipation.

 

"To the shops," Snape said. "We are running low on food, so we have to stop by the Muggle supermarket."

 

A comically horrified look crossed Malfoy's face. "Severus!"

 

"Draco!" Snape echoed Malfoy’s dramatic tones and rolled his eyes.

 

"I can't go to a Muggle shop, sir!" Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose with disgust.

 

"You have two legs and the ability to walk on them, correct?" Snape inquired acidly. "Then I believe you can."

 

"I refuse to rub shoulders with filthy Muggles!" Malfoy spat. "It is unacceptable!"

 

Snape’s lips thinned, and Harry scoffed. Malfoy's ridiculous attitude was really starting to get to him. Malfoy heard this and snapped his head around to glare daggers at Harry. “And what’s your problem?”

 

"Are you too chicken to go?" Harry jeered. “Scared of a few shopping trolleys, Malfoy?”

 

"Oh shut up, Potter," Malfoy snapped. "I know you must be used to the foul stench of Muggles, but some of our family lines aren’t polluted by mudbloods-"

 

"Lavare!” Snape barked, jabbing his wand in Malfoy’s direction. His eyes widened and he let out a muffled yelp as his mouth was suddenly filled with foaming white suds. Malfoy sprinted over to the kitchen sink and spat the bubbles into it.

 

"I've told you a dozen times now, Draco!" Snape shouted, clenching his wand in his fist. "You are never to say that disgusting word inside of my house!"

 

Malfoy looked up and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, glowering at Snape the whole time. "Fine. Sorry."

 

"You will go to the shops," Snape said in a quiet dangerous voice, "and you will do it now. I've coddled this ridiculous prejudice of yours long enough. Potter!"

 

Harry jumped as Snape's narrowed eyes darted to him.

 

"Get Draco some of your Muggle clothes to wear out," he ordered. "Preferably something presentable? It's enough of a tragedy that you choose to traipse about in those ridiculously oversized rags, and I'd prefer it if I didn't have two scruffy children trailing behind me."

 

"Okay," Harry said, quickly jumping up and exiting the kitchen. As he walked up the stairs, Snape and Malfoy following closely behind him, Harry pondered what he'd just seen and tried to stop his twitching lips.

 

Snape just told off Malfoy! he thought gleefully. Pigs would fly next!

 

And, shockingly enough, he’d told off Malfoy for an insult towards Muggleborns. He’d always assumed Snape was just as bigoted as the rest of the Slytherins towards anyone who wasn’t a Pureblood, but apparently he was mistaken. Actually, Harry realised, he’d never seen Snape openly condone any of the Slytherin bigotry. Still, it surprised him that Snape actually felt so strongly about the matter, and went to such extremes to try and correct it. It shocked Harry even more that he still did that when it was linked to an insult towards Harry’s family - after all, Malfoy had essentially just insulted his mother. Since Snape hated Harry so much, he was surprised the man hadn’t actually given Malfoy an approving pat on the back for making rude remarks about Harry’s family.

 

Once they arrived upstairs, Harry quickly rooted through his trunk while Snape loomed over his shoulder, watching closely. He did his best to make quick work of it, since having Snape so close to all of Harry’s worldly possessions was making him rather uncomfortable, especially considering the way he was glaring at the trunk’s contents. Finally, Harry found his nicest pair of jeans and his smallest t-shirt for Malfoy. Naturally, he gave Harry a thoroughly dirty look as he handed the clothing over.

 

"I can't believe you actually wear these things," he said sniffily, holding the clothes as far away from himself as possible.

 

"I can't believe you go around in those weird-looking robes," Harry shot back.

 

Malfoy opened his mouth as if to respond, but Snape held up a hand for silence. "Go and dress."

 

Malfoy huffed and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

 

Snape, who appeared to be in a thoroughly foul mood by now, raked his eyes over Harry and raised his wand.

 

"Parvos!" He jabbed his wand at Harry, and Dudley's cast-offs suddenly shrank to fit him snugly. Harry eyed his top with wonder. The only other clothing Harry owned that actually fit him was his school uniform.

 

"Don't complain," Snape hissed, clearly mistaking his look of fascination for something else. "I do not care one whit for these preposterous teenage fashion fads. If you choose to wear such disgraceful Muggle clothing on your own time then so be it, but I refuse to be seen with you in public when you’re in such a state."

 

"Okay," a confused Harry said. He was just glad to be rid of at least one pair of the oversized clothes. He felt just as embarrassed wearing them as Snape apparently felt being seen near them. Fashion fad indeed... Harry didn't know how clothes that utterly dwarfed you could ever be considered trendy.

 

Snape scowled at him before sweeping out of the room. Through the open door, Harry watched as he disappeared into his bedroom. He twiddled his thumbs until Snape resurfaced about two minutes later, having changed his usual black robes for a white button-down shirt and black trousers. If he’d added a suit jacket and tie, Harry wouldn’t have thought him out of place with any other Muggle businessman.

 

They stood around in awkward silence as the two of them waited for Malfoy to finish changing. Harry could have sworn the alarm clock on Malfoy’s bedside table was actually ticking more slowly than usual.

 

  How long does it take a person to put some clothes on?!

 

Over five minutes later, the bathroom door finally unlocked and Malfoy skulked out of the bathroom. He had his robes bunched up in his arms and dumped them unceremoniously on his bed.

 

Snape frowned at him. "You'll be folding those later."

 

Malfoy shot Snape an utterly withering look, which the professor ignored. Harry thought that was slightly unfair. Snape had a go at him over imaginary looks, but Malfoy could do that and get away with it?

 

"Let's go," he said briskly. "We're walking."

 

After they went down the stairs, Harry tied his shoes and stepped out onto the street. The scorching August heat hadn’t relented much, even though it was very late in the afternoon by now.

 

Snape began to walk swiftly through the maze of run-down streets, while Harry and Malfoy did their best to keep up. Since Snape had much longer legs, it meant that both of them were half-jogging. They were so focused on matching his pace that they didn't even have time to bicker or glare at one another, which was a small mercy. Malfoy was clearly simmering with badly-contained resentment, and Harry didn’t want to get dragged into the crossfire when he inevitably decided to take it out on someone.

 

Soon enough, they reached a large Tesco. Much like the rest of the Muggle town, it wasn’t particularly well-maintained. As they walked through the car park, Harry noticed multiple broken bottles scattered across the concrete, as well as a discarded trolley that had been unceremoniously rammed into a bush.

 

These were all fairly normal sights for Harry, but Malfoy looked completely disoriented as he took in the area. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and he was looking around wildly at the passing Muggles. A car roared past, clearly speeding, and he almost jumped out of his skin.

 

"What, you've never seen a car before?" Harry asked, snorting.

 

Malfoy scowled. "I've seen them on occasion… I'm just rarely up close."

 

That was absolutely unbelievable to Harry. If it wasn’t for the barely concealed anxiety hiding in Malfoy’s eyes, he’d have been convinced the other boy was having him on. Cars were just such a normal part of life to Harry that he found it hard to believe you could go through life without really interacting with them.

 

The automatic doors of the supermarket opened, and Malfoy flinched.

 

"Severus!" he said in an accusatory tone, wheeling around to stare at Snape. "Muggles can't use magic! How did those doors open without us touching them?"

 

"Electricity," Snape said simply. “And keep your voice down.”

 

"Is that a Muggle version of magic?" Malfoy asked, much more quietly this time.

 

"No," Snape said. Harry thought he was being surprisingly patient for a man being asked such ridiculous questions. "It's similar, I suppose. It's a kind of power they use, but it doesn't have as many uses as magic does."

 

Malfoy scoffed. "Obviously not. Muggles would never be as capable as wizards."

 

Harry rolled his eyes and started tuning out Malfoy while Snape grabbed various food products off of the shelves. It was odd to see him like this, wearing a normal if rather Snape-like Muggle outfit, doing the weekly shop. It was strangely humanising.

 

Harry didn’t like that.

 

"Is there anything specific you two want to eat?" Snape asked. Malfoy began rattling off kinds of meals, many with complicated foreign names. Harry stayed silent, his eyes drifting to the nearby toy aisle. A mother was shopping with her small son. He couldn't have been older than six.

 

"Mummy! Mummy!" the little boy waved a toy truck he'd picked up in her direction. "Can I have this? Please?"

 

The woman hesitated before her face softened. "I don't see why not. You've been a very good boy lately!"

 

The boy jumped up and down excitedly and ran at his mum, hugging her tightly. "Thank you!"

 

She smiled, holding her son close, and Harry felt something in his chest twist unpleasantly. He had a similar memory from when he wasn't much bigger than that boy.

 

Aunt Petunia had taken Harry and Dudley with her to go shopping. It was before the days where she'd kept Harry locked in the cupboard for those occasions. She was afraid the neighbours would notice her leaving Harry home alone so young and judge her, especially since Dudley always accompanied her.

 

When they’d walked through the toy aisle, Harry had discovered a wonderful stuffed monkey with silky, soft fur. He could still remember the feeling of the glossy fur brushing against his fingers as he’d picked it up and hugged it close to his chest. At that moment, Harry had thought the stuffed monkey was the most amazing thing ever created. He had hopefully presented it to his aunt.

 

"Could I maybe have this please?" he asked shyly. After all, Dudley got toys all the time. Maybe, just maybe, Harry would finally be allowed something of his own!

 

Aunt Petunia's face darkened and she snatched the monkey from Harry's grip. She shoved it back onto the shelf, higher than he could reach. "No. I’m not spending any more of Vernon’s hard-earned money on you than I have to.”

 

Harry lowered his gaze to the ground as his lip began to tremble.

 

"Oh don't start snivelling!" Aunt Petunia snapped. "Whiny brat. Go stand by the trolley, and don’t move."

 

That same day, Aunt Petunia had bought Dudley a whole new Lego set. It was typical.

 

"Potter!"

 

Harry flinched as Snape's hand clamped onto his shoulder, wrenching him from the unpleasant memory.

 

"When I say your name, I expect you to respond," Snape said irritably. "No wonder your Potions work is so appalling! You need to learn how to pay attention when someone talks to you!"

 

"Sorry, sir," Harry muttered, shaking himself. He tried to push away the aching sadness rather unsuccessfully.

 

"As I was saying," Snape continued, "I asked you what food you'd like for dinner."

 

"Oh."

 

In all honesty, Harry didn't know. He'd gone from the Dursleys, where he was lucky to get their scraps, to Hogwarts, where every food you could possibly dream of was on the table during meals. He'd never really had a choice about what food he consumed. Besides, he was almost certain Snape didn’t actually care what Harry did or didn’t want. It was a trick question.

 

"I don't know, sir."

 

"You don't know?" Snape repeated incredulously.

 

"I eat pretty much anything, sir," Harry mumbled, shuffling his feet. He got the impression that whatever this test was, he’d somehow failed it.

 

Snape seemed incredibly confused and slightly irritated. "Well, I don’t want to hear any complaints in future, then. You’ll eat what you’re given.”

 

“Um… okay.”

 

Harry, who considered a day where he was actually fed three meals to be a good one, was never going to be one to complain about what food he was presented with. It was oddly accommodating of Snape to even ask. Strange, since Snape was the least accommodating person Harry knew…

 

Snape in general was being weirdly hospitable, and Harry wasn’t entirely sure why. He’d gone on that massive rant yesterday about how miserable he was going to make Harry this month, but so far, he’d fed Harry, gave him a place to sleep, and had even gone so far as to give him that balm for his hands after he’d hurt himself weeding. Sure, he also insulted everything Harry did, but that was almost expected, really. It was ironic; Snape despised Harry and was hell-bent on punishing him for simply existing, but as things stood, he was actually treating Harry better than his own family did.

 

Well, this was still Snape, Harry reflected. Things would probably get worse once he had a few days to cook up something truly miserable.

 

After a brief stop in the appliances section, where Malfoy was momentarily fascinated by an electric kettle before he remembered it was Muggle technology and conjured up an exterior of cool indifference, Snape finished the shopping and headed towards the checkout. Harry noticed Malfoy staring at the conveyor belt carrying their items with intense fascination. He looked like he was barely restraining himself from asking Snape how it worked.

 

That was just endlessly odd to Harry. How did someone go thirteen years of his life without ever going to Tesco’s? Or any supermarket, for that matter? Did wizards even have supermarkets? He couldn’t remember Mrs Weasley ever going to one last summer, but she had to have gotten her food from somewhere…

 

Harry annoyingly found himself in a similar position to Malfoy; buzzing with a million questions he didn’t dare ask Snape. His were about the wizarding world, not the Muggle one, however.

 

"Would you like a bag?" the cashier asked, snapping her bubblegum.

 

"Yes, please," Professor Snape said, ripping off some of the plastic and beginning to put the shopping inside. "Harry, Draco, help."

 

Malfoy shot Snape a resentful look and muttered something about 'house-elf work' before he began putting the food away. He was doing it slowly and badly, to Harry's annoyance. He was almost entirely certain it was on purpose, too. Harry would almost rather do it all on his own.

 

The shop assistant frowned at them. "Draco? That's an odd name."

 

Malfoy scowled. "Well I wouldn't expect a filthy Muggle like yourself to -"

 

Snape clamped a hand down onto Malfoy's shoulder, and he abruptly stopped speaking. Despite his terrible attitude, Malfoy could obviously sense Snape’s outrage. Either that, or he was just aware of the man’s fingers, which were visibly digging into Malfoy’s shoulders. Snape was certainly unhappy. Even though he was attempting a strangled smile for the shop assistant, a twitching muscle in his jaw indicated that an explosion was brewing.

 

"He's my sister's son," Snape lied smoothly. "She has… interesting taste in names."

 

"Oh." The shop assistant shrugged, unperturbed. "Would you like to pay with cash or card?"

 

As Snape paid, shooting a furious look back at the scowling Malfoy, Harry just tried to make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible. He could sense a fight coming and he did not want to be in the line of fire as it went down.

 

Snape shoved a couple of shopping bags at Harry before he led them out of the store. As soon as they reached the car park, he stopped walking and glowered at Malfoy, his lips pressed into a thin, white line.

 

"We will be discussing that little slip when we get home," he hissed through gritted teeth. Snape walked off at an even quicker pace than he'd taken on the way to the shops. Harry was practically sprinting as he tried desperately to keep up, the shopping bags smacking uncomfortably into his legs.

 

As they went in the direction of the house, Harry noticed a peeling sign saying Cokeworth's Finest Fish and Chips! Harry guessed that Cokeworth was the name of the town, then. It faintly rang a bell, although he wasn't sure why. In fact, it gave him an incredibly strong sense of deja vu. Why did Harry think he’d been here before? He couldn’t have been, obviously, since the Dursleys never took him anywhere…

 

Eventually, they arrived back at Spinner's End. Snape ushered them inside and slammed the front door shut before rounding on Malfoy. He jabbed a single finger in the direction of the living room. Malfoy unceremoniously dumped the shopping on the ground and stormed into the living room. He threw himself down on the sofa and crossed his arms with a huff. Harry quietly slipped into the kitchen to start putting the shopping away as an irate Snape followed Malfoy inside. Their voices were easily loud enough for him to hear.

 

"How irresponsible can you be?" Snape growled.

 

“I’m not irresponsible, I -”

 

"You called a shop assistant a filthy Muggle!” he said angrily. “I know that you aren't stupid enough to do that accidentally, Draco! What on earth were you thinking?"

 

"Well maybe I wouldn't have done that if you hadn't dragged me to that disgusting place to begin with!" Malfoy seethed. "I didn't want to go to some stupid Muggle shop, I told you!"

 

"Sometimes in life we have to do things we don't want to do," Snape said in a low, dangerous voice. “Seeing as you live with me now, that includes going to Muggle shops so you can adapt to the Muggle town you will be spending your summers in until you reach your majority. It’s not exactly a lot I’m asking of you!”

 

“I don’t even want to live with you!” Malfoy shouted. “I want to go to the Notts, or the Parkinsons, but nobody asked me what I wanted, did they?!”

 

Harry paused in putting away a packet of biscuits and creeped into the hallway so he was just out of sight from within the living room. He wanted desperately to know what on earth Malfoy was doing here and this might be an opportunity to find out, since Malfoy and Snape didn’t seem particularly keen to tell him on their own terms.

 

“As a matter of fact, you did agree to live with me,” Snape pointed out icily. “Don’t forget it just because I did something you disagree with.”

 

“Well I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, then!” Malfoy said. “I assumed you’d be normal, not the secretly Muggle-obsessed fool you’ve turned out to be!”

 

“Remember who you’re talking to,” Snape said sharply. “And I consider it normal to try and weed out any bigotry my ward is possessed by!”

 

“It’s not bigotry if it’s true! We are better than Muggles!”

 

“Like it or not, you need to learn to get along with people from all walks of life, and some of those people might just so happen to be Muggles or Muggleborns,” Snape said, ignoring Malfoy’s shouted protests.

 

"I’d never choose to spend time with Muggles when I’m old enough to be on my own!” Malfoy hissed. “You know, my father wouldn't have ever made me go into the Muggle world. Unlike you, he knew a wizard's place! He understood the proper way for men of my status to behave!"

 

"Well your father's not here, is he?" Snape said through gritted teeth. "And as you're living with me until you reach adulthood, you will be following my rules."

 

"It's not my fault my father's in Azkaban!" Malfoy shouted. “I shouldn’t have to suffer because of it!”

 

Harry’s jaw dropped. What?! Whatever he'd thought was the reason for Malfoy being here, that certainly hadn’t been it! Once again, he lamented the complete lack of news he received at the Dursleys. Surely Lucius Malfoy being locked up in prison would be well-known news, given his prestige. Curious, Harry crept closer to the living room, wanting to get a better view of what was going on.

 

"No, it's not your fault, but unless you get your behaviour under control you'll go down the same Dark path that he did!" Snape yelled. "I'm trying to help you so you don’t do something stupid and get yourself locked up like Lucius!"

 

"DON'T YOU DARE INSULT MY FATHER!" Malfoy screeched. Harry winced as he heard something shatter. "I HATE YOU, SEVERUS, I HATE YOU! I WISH I'D NEVER COME HERE!"

 

"Draco, stop!" Snape shouted as something else loudly smashed. Harry looked up just in time to catch sight of something flying out of the doorway and towards his head. He ducked and staggered back into the wall, instinctively throwing his arms over his head as broken glass rained down from barely half an inch above him. Harry crouched on the floor, arms still protecting his face and knees drawn close to his chest, trying to make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible, waiting for it all to be over, breathing hard and fast. They lost interest if you kept quiet. That was what worked with Vernon, and with Dudley, and it should work with Malfoy…

 

But after a couple of minutes, Harry realised no more projectiles were flying at him and he chanced a glance up and into the living room. The shouting and fighting had completely stopped. Snape was now holding Malfoy, who had started to cry, with his arms pinned tightly to his sides.

 

What on earth is going on?

 

It sort of reminded Harry of when Dudley threw tantrums. Petunia would always comfort him, and try to placate him with promises of toys and sweets if he stopped screaming. That wasn't what Snape was doing, though. He appeared to be restraining Malfoy, probably so he didn't smash anything else. Harry was grateful for that, at least. He didn’t particularly enjoy having things lobbed at his head.

 

"Let’s go upstairs," Snape grunted, moving one arm to Malfoy’s shoulder and steering him out of the living room. As they walked through the hallway, Harry cringed away on instinct, worried Malfoy would lash out again. This finally seemed to bring him to Snape's attention. His dark eyes raked over Harry, whose arms were still raised protectively, and a strange expression that Harry couldn’t quite interpret twisted his features. He almost looked disturbed.

 

"Don't move, Potter," he ordered. "There's broken glass everywhere, you'll cut yourself."

 

Harry nodded, watching carefully as Snape led Malfoy up the stairs. He still had tears trickling down his face. That, he reflected, was a very odd sight. He’d never seen Malfoy show any kind of emotion apart from rage or hatred. Seeing him cry of all things felt incredibly wrong. Malfoy never displayed that kind of vulnerability, especially in front of Harry.

 

It was actual, proper crying, too. Whenever Dudley threw tantrums, they were all crocodile tears that disappeared as soon as Aunt Petunia gave him what he wanted. Malfoy seemed genuinely upset…

 

What was going on with him? Why had the conversation he’d been having with Snape made him lose control like that?

 

Harry remained crouched in the hallway, still as a statue. Every single one of Harry’s instincts were screaming at him to leave - normally, after an outburst of Dudley’s or a fit of rage from Vernon, the best thing to do was to get out of sight so they forgot you were there. Still, Snape had instructed him to stay and he didn’t want to get in trouble for disobeying…

 

In the end, Harry remained paralysed by indecision on the hallway floor until Snape came back down alone a couple of minutes later. He got out his wand.

 

"Evanesco." The broken glass on the floor vanished, as well as several pieces that had been caught in Harry’s hair. Snape crouched down next to him and observed him closely. "Are you hurt?"

 

Harry shook his head. He'd managed to duck whatever Malfoy had thrown at him before it connected, so he'd only gotten a cut on his arm from some of the falling glass. Snape certainly wouldn’t care about that, though.

 

"What were you doing out here?" Snape asked, frowning.

 

"Just putting the shopping away," Harry said, resenting the fact that this was still somehow his fault. "Is it true that Malfoy's dad is in Azkaban?"

 

Snape grimaced, and glanced to one side. He hesitated for a moment before responding. "Yes. So is his mother."

 

"Why?" Harry asked.

 

"It's none of your business, Potter," Snape said sharply. "If Draco wants to tell you, then he can. It’s incredibly rude to pry into his private affairs, so don’t."

 

Harry sighed, realising that he wasn't going to get any further with Snape. Maybe if he wrote to Ron, he'd be able to tell Harry something more. Since Mr Weasley worked in the Ministry of Magic, he might have heard something, even though he was on holiday at the minute.

 

Snape’s eyes narrowed and he snatched up Harry’s wrist, quick as a flash. Harry tried to jerk away, expecting Snape to twist his arm back painfully, as Dudley was so fond of doing, but instead the man began closely inspecting his forearm. "You’re bleeding."

 

Harry looked at the cut on his arm and shrugged. "It's not that bad."

 

"Please don't lie to me when I ask you if you have any injuries, Potter!" Snape said, huffing exasperatedly. "Is that the only one?"

 

"Yes," he said truthfully.

 

"Really?" Snape asked in a disbelieving voice. "Do I have to check myself, or are you being honest?"

 

"No! I mean no, I'm being honest, sir. I'm fine. It's just a scratch, anyway."

 

Snape raised an eyebrow, and Harry felt his cheeks heat up. If Snape checked Harry over for injuries he could potentially see the bruises from Privet Drive, and that was an entire uncomfortable conversation that he really didn't want to have.

 

Luckily, Snape left it, and got his wand out of his robes again. He waved it in the air and a small first-aid kit flew through the kitchen door and into Snape’s hand.

 

“You do realise,” Snape muttered, clicking open the box, “there could be broken glass embedded in the wound, no matter the depth? That causes infection, which potentially leads to sepsis! That can be deadly, even with the aid of magic, you idiotic child!”

 

Harry couldn’t help but think Snape would be pretty thrilled if Harry dropped dead from blood poisoning, but he nodded anyway. The man seemed pretty serious about it. He’d probably get in trouble with Dumbledore if Harry snuffed it on his watch, after all. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely fair, Harry realised reluctantly. Snape had saved his life a few times back in first year, hadn’t he? That was even considering how intensely he hated Harry…

 

As Snape continued to lecture about infection while Harry attempted to look like he was paying attention, he took a peek inside the first-aid kit. Instead of containing the usual contents Harry would expect, like bandages and plasters, there were instead several small vials of various different potions. Snape uncorked one containing a viscous, blue liquid, and poured a drop of it onto Harry’s arm. The cut began to smoke and sting. Snape then drew his wand and dragged it in a line beneath the cut, muttering a spell under his breath. The skin knitted itself together, leaving Harry’s arm unblemished.

 

"It's literally that easy, Potter,” Snape said, shaking his head. “I don't know why you'd lie about it."

 

He wasn’t just being snide, Harry realised after a moment. Snape was genuinely confused. He was staring at Harry like he was a puzzle he couldn’t quite fit together. Harry just decided to nod, unsure of what he should say. He was suddenly aware of the fact that he was having a borderline civil conversation with Snape, and he was afraid of putting a foot wrong and starting an argument.

 

"You should go out into the garden while I speak with Draco," Snape said, inclining his head towards the kitchen.

 

"Why did he flip out like that, sir?" Harry asked tentatively.

 

Snape paused for a moment before he started speaking. "Draco is having a hard time adjusting to living here and is processing his parents’ incarceration. The difficulties working through these things that can occasionally make him rather…aggressive. It is not something to be concerned about - that sort of violence is not a regular occurrence here.”

 

"Okay," Harry said hesitantly, although he was still pretty worried.

 

“Do you understand?” Snape said, his tone oddly urgent. “That is not going to happen here again. Ever.”

 

“I understand,” Harry said quickly. Snape’s fervour was the thing beginning to scare him, now. He seemed strangely shaken by the whole incident, and Snape was never shaken.

 

"Leave," Snape instructed. Harry got to his feet and headed through the kitchen. He cast one last glance over his shoulder before pushing over the sliding door and realised Snape was watching him. At first, Harry thought his features were twisted into the usual expression of disgust, but upon closer inspection, Harry realised it was a different emotion entirely. No, Snape looked worried.

 

Snape looked away moments later and swept away, out of sight. Harry slipped onto the patio and sat against the wall of the house, staring into the overcast sky. He took a few breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. It didn’t help.

 

Harry wondered why Snape looked so concerned about the whole situation when all of it really wasn’t that serious. He’d had ornaments and other objects thrown at his head before when Vernon got very angry. Sure, it wasn’t nice, but he could cope. He wasn’t a baby. You just needed a good sense of when to duck, which Harry was blessed with.

 

It all seemed to have really freaked out Snape for some reason, though. So much so that he’d been civil with Harry, something which he’d never previously been capable of. Maybe it was because he wasn’t used to things being thrown around in his house, but in Harry’s opinion, that was pretty normal behaviour and not something to fret over.

 

He sighed and drew his legs close to his chest. Malfoy’s crying was still lingering in his mind. It felt really wrong to see the other boy lose control of himself the way he just had, and Harry felt slightly uncomfortable. He never knew how to deal with tears. Crying at Privet Drive always got you into more trouble. He’d learnt pretty quickly how to keep his emotions in check. If he dared to lose control of himself in the manner Malfoy just had, he didn’t even want to imagine what Uncle Vernon would do to him.

 

Snape couldn't have had a more contrasting reaction. He had been strangely nice to Malfoy, even though Harry was fairly certain he’d thrown one of those ornaments right at Snape. That seemed unusually considerate of the foul-tempered Potions Master. He’d have expected Snape to completely flip in a situation like that, but he’d been incredibly calm. Harry didn’t know he was capable of that kind of emotional control.

 

With Malfoy, Harry reminded himself. There was no telling if Harry would be hexed within an inch of his life by Snape if he dared to put a toe out of line while he was stuck here. He was well-versed in favouritism, after all.

 

Well, Harry reflected glumly, things could always be worse. Things at Spinner’s End were strange, and uncomfortable, and altogether unpleasant, but so far, it had been a bit more bearable than Privet Drive. That wasn’t shining praise, and Harry still hated it here, but he wasn’t one to reject life’s small mercies.