Harry stared into the dregs of tea at the bottom of his cup, a strange buzzing in his ears drowning out the chatter of the Leaky Cauldron. His chest felt tight and crushed, like Dudley was sitting on it. Had Harry recently suffered a blow to the head? Perhaps he’d concussed himself during the chaotic Knight Bus journey last night. That seemed like the only plausible explanation for Professor Dumbledore showing up here and telling Harry that he was going to spend all of August living with Professor Snape. 

 

“Harry?” he glanced up at Dumbledore. The Headmaster was watching him with an expression of slight concern.

 

“Can’t I just stay here, sir?” Harry asked, gripping the mug so tightly he thought it might shatter between his palms.

 

Dumbledore sighed. “I’m afraid not, Harry. You’re too young to be left in Diagon Alley alone for such a long time. It’s just not appropriate.”

 

Harry bit his lip. “But - well, you know that Snape doesn’t really like me, right?”

 

“Professor Snape,” Dumbledore gently rebuked him.

 

“Right. Well, I’m sure he’d much rather I stay here!”

 

“Professor Snape has already agreed to watch over you for the rest of the summer at his home,” Dumbledore said.

 

Harry was now wondering if Snape had been the one to suffer a recent head injury, as he could not imagine any other circumstances that would compel the man to agree to allow Harry to stay with him. After all, as far as Harry knew, full personality transplants were not possible yet.

 

“I assure you, everything will be fine," Dumbledore said in a tone that was probably intended to be soothing. As he'd just used the phrase 'everything will be fine' while referring to Harry and Snape being forced to cohabit for a month, it ended up falling a bit flat. "I’ll be keeping on top of the situation, and will deal with any potential problems that arise.”

 

“But sir, if I’m staying at his home, couldn’t I just stay in Gryffindor Tower or something instead? I bet we'd both prefer that!”

 

“Professor Snape doesn’t live at Hogwarts during the summers,” Dumbledore said, a hint of a smile playing around his lips. “Us teachers do have lives outside of school, you know!”

 

Huh. For some reason, Harry had always imagined his professors staying in their Hogwarts quarters year-round. That was ridiculous, of course, but still…Snape in Harry’s mind was inextricably tied to the dungeons. Of course, there was nothing stopping Snape from living in some sort of dungeon or cave outside of Hogwarts. That certainly wouldn’t surprise him.

 

“Just - are you sure there isn’t anyone else?” Harry said, a hint of desperation shining through into his voice.

 

“This is the only solution,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. Harry’s heart sank. “Professor Snape is the only person who I’d trust with your safety.”

 

Harry tried not to groan as he nodded, lips pressed tightly together. This was just his luck, really.

 

“We really ought to get going,” Dumbledore said, glancing at his watch. Harry noticed it didn’t have any numbers - instead, it was lined with different planets, floating across the face. “Professor Snape is expecting us. I have some spells that can help you pack quickly, if you’ll direct me to your room?”

 

Harry nodded again. He felt strangely drained and couldn’t bring himself to speak as he led Dumbledore to the stairs of the Leaky Cauldron and took him upstairs to the room he’d been staying in since last night.

 

Things had been looking bright for the first time in a while. He wasn't in trouble with the Ministry for blowing up Aunt Marge, he didn't have to stay with the Dursleys and he had weeks of time in Diagon Alley at his fingertips.

 

Of course it was too good to be true. Now he was staying with Snape, of all people, for the whole of August? He couldn’t think of a person he’d like to stay with less! Well, maybe Voldemort would be worse. That thought unsurprisingly didn't help Harry feel any better. After all, Snape really, really hated Harry. It was bad enough spending two hours of Potions with him every week, but actually living with the man, in the confined quarters of a house? It sounded positively hellish.

 

He watched distantly as Dumbledore waved his wand, causing the few belongings Harry had bothered to unpack to fly through the air and settle into his trunk, which shut with a noisy click. Dumbledore tapped it with his wand, and the trunk and Hedwig’s empty cage shrank until they were small enough for Dumbledore to place in his pocket.

 

"Now, Harry, have you ever Apparated before?" he asked as they headed back down to the main floor of the Leaky Cauldron. Tom gave them a toothless grin and a wave as they walked past the bar.

 

"No, sir," Harry said.

 

“It shouldn’t be too bad, although it may feel a little odd your first time," Dumbledore said, stopping in the pub's foyer. "Now, please take my arm."

 

Harry nervously complied. He was suddenly overcome by the sensation that he was being squeezed through a very small, very narrow tube that crushed the air out of his lungs. They landed with a crack and Harry doubled over, hit headlong by a wave of nausea.

 

"Apparating can have that effect for a first-timer," Dumbledore said serenely as Harry took deep, gasping breaths, trying not to lose the contents of his lunch. "Now, Professor Snape's house is just a few streets away. If you'll follow me…"

 

Harry hurried after Dumbledore, still feeling a bit ill, and did his best to take in his surroundings. They were on a road lined with terraced brick houses, all in various states of disrepair. A group of teens were standing on a street corner smoking. They looked Harry and Dumbledore up and down as they walked by and started snickering behind their hands. Harry assumed it was because of Dumbledore's bright magenta robes, which looked very out of place in such a mundane, Muggle area.

 

Eventually, Dumbledore turned down a road named Spinners End and walked up a cracked driveway to the front door of one highly derelict house. As Professor Dumbledore knocked on the door, causing flakes of grey paint to fall to the ground like dirty snow, Harry was half-afraid the door would fall back off its hinges. He thought such a dingy place was appropriate for his most hated Potions professor.

 

The door swung open almost instantly, revealing Professor Snape. He’d been so quick that Harry half-suspected he’d been waiting by the door, prepared to pounce. Snape was wearing the same high-necked black robes he always wore when school was in session that reminded Harry so much of a bat.

 

"You're late," he hissed, beady eyes darting between Harry and the Headmaster. Snape was glaring at Harry in particular, like he was a bug that Snape would dearly love to stamp out.

 

"My apologies, Severus," Dumbledore said, stepping forward and into Snape's hallway. Harry noticed he didn't look particularly happy with the Headmaster, either. "We had some things to discuss."

 

Ah, yes, the discussion. That had mostly consisted of Harry listing every possible person he knew that lived in Wizarding Britain who might let Harry live with them, while Dumbledore shot each and every one of them down. It had taken a while before Harry had reluctantly accepted defeat.

 

Dumbledore resized Harry's trunk and Hedwig's empty cage in Snape's hallway. Harry remained on the doorstep. He really didn't want to step inside. Harry remembered hearing that vampires could only attack you if you invited them into your house or something. Perhaps that was still true if Harry went inside of Snape's house; he'd always been half convinced that Snape actually was a vampire, after all.

 

"I trust you'll also remember our conversation, Severus?" Dumbledore said rather pointedly, his head inclining ever so slightly in Harry's direction.

 

"Yes," Snape said in a tightly controlled voice while shooting daggers at Harry. He felt his stomach flop like a fish. Yes, the old hatred was certainly still there...

 

And now Harry had to actually live with the man that despised him so intensely.

 

"I do apologise, but I’ve got an important appointment at the Ministry soon, so I’m afraid I must take my leave," Dumbledore said, sounding far too cheerful for a man that was sending Harry to his doom. "I'll see you soon, Severus! Goodbye, Harry."

 

He stepped past Harry and began to walk back down the road. Harry longingly watched as the Headmaster left, wishing he was accompanying him.

 

"Well, don't just stand there dawdling like an idiot!" Snape snapped, jolting Harry back to his senses. "Get inside!”

 

Harry hopped over the threshold, feeling his sense of foreboding grow as the door slammed shut behind him. The slightly medicinal smell of herbs hit him immediately. The whole house smelled faintly like the Potions storage cupboard back at Hogwarts.

 

Harry barely had time to take in the dark, dingy hallway he was standing in before Snape rounded on him in a flurry of black robes.

 

“Now you listen here, Potter,” he growled. “The Headmaster has filled me in on your little stunt, and he has given me free reign to do whatever I please about it. Blowing up your aunt? I already knew you were an insubordinate, spoiled child, but this is a new extreme even for you!”

 

Harry ground his teeth and didn’t reply.

 

“Of course, you would spit in the face of your relations’ goodwill,” Snape sneered, “but because you decided to push your family too far, I’m the one stuck with you in my house for the rest of the summer. I’m highly displeased and believe me, you’ll soon be just as unhappy as I am.”

 

“Already getting there,” Harry muttered mutinously.

 

“Do not talk back!” Snape barked. Harry couldn’t help but jump back, suddenly feeling horribly certain the man was about to strike him across the face. Snape did no such thing, however. “I will have none of your insolence, is that understood? I have complete control over you and your life for this month, and I can make you utterly miserable if you choose to misbehave."

 

Harry scoffed. He could be the model of manners and decorum, but Snape wasn't able to see past his overly large nose when it came to Harry. It was pointless trying, really.

 

"Rule-breaking will not be tolerated here, Potter, let that be known," Snape said, shaking his finger at Harry. "You’ll soon be sorry you ever left your relatives’ tender care.”

 

Harry resisted the urge to snort. Tender care. Anyone who spent more than five minutes in the company of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would be quickly corrected about that assumption, particularly when it came to their relationship with Harry.

 

"Do not test me, Potter," Snape said in a soft, dangerous voice. "I can happily make your life hell."

 

It was with that final ominous statement lingering in the air that Snape finally stepped back and gestured towards the rest of the house. On the left hand side of the tiny hallway Harry was standing in was a rickety-looking staircase. His eyes automatically went straight to the cupboard underneath it. The hallway also contained two doors, both of which were closed.

 

"Leave your trunk," Snape ordered. Harry quickly did so as Snape briskly stepped forward. He threw open the furthest door.

 

"The kitchen," he said, gesturing to the interior of the room without making room for Harry to step inside. The kitchen was rather grimy, with scratched-up wooden cupboards and a cracked tile floor. A small table was crammed against the wall at the far side of the room. A sliding glass door revealed a brown and weed-ridden garden that Harry thought would have sent Aunt Petunia into a fit. It looked truly wretched, and was a far sight from the perfectly manicured lawns of Privet Drive.

 

Snape seemed to pick up on Harry's disapproval and scowled. "I don't live in a mansion like you're no doubt used to, Potter. See, some of us have to actually work for our money instead of getting everything handed to us on a silver platter. If this doesn't meet your oh-so high standards, you'll just have to find a way to cope."

 

"It's fine," Harry muttered. This seemed to be the wrong thing to say, judging by Snape's hostile glare, but it was always the wrong thing with him, wasn't it?

 

Snape spun on his heel and opened the second door.

 

"The living room," he said brusquely. Snape was apparently determined to give Harry a tour while using as few words as humanly possible. Harry peeked through the doorway, almost toppling over with shock when he saw who was sitting on the sofa like it was a throne, scowling up at Harry.

 

It was none other than Draco Malfoy.

 

Malfoy?" Harry gasped.

 

Malfoy shut the book he was reading and glowered at Harry. "Potter."

 

"Did Professor Dumbledore not mention?" Snape asked silkily. He seemed to be greatly pleased by Harry's horrified face. "Draco is also staying with me at the moment."

 

Harry hadn't known it was possible to dread the rest of August more than he had been since Dumbledore had told him about this awful arrangement. How wrong he'd been…

"Why are you staying here?” Harry asked, well and truly baffled.

 

"None of your business!" Malfoy snapped, his grey eyes flashing. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll keep your nose out of it!"

 

"Now, now," Snape said lazily. "Potter, with me. We aren’t finished."

 

Harry bit down on his lip as he followed Snape out of the living room, trying to resist the urge to hit back at Malfoy with a sharp retort that would almost certainly get him into trouble. Had Harry done something to upset Dumbledore or something? That was the only reason Harry could think of for the Headmaster to dump him in what was Harry's own personal hell.

 

They walked up the creaky staircase, to a cramped, dark landing. Snape pointed to two closed doors opposite to the staircase.

 

"My bedroom and my study respectively," Snape said. "You are not to enter either of them without permission unless you are on the brink of death. You will only disobey me if you aren’t particularly fond of keeping all of your limbs attached to your body. Are we clear?"

 

"Yes," Harry muttered.

 

"Yes sir," the man snapped. "It may be summer, but I am still your professor and I deserve some respect. I know you get away with not having any manners back at home, Potter, but that kind of behaviour will not be tolerated here."

 

Harry was starting to think that Professor Snape would get on remarkably well with Uncle Vernon. He also spent a lot of time banging on about respect.

 

"That is the lavatory," Snape said, gesturing to a cramped bathroom full of cracked tiles and a combined bathtub and shower. "And this is where you will be sleeping."

 

He strode through the open door closest to the staircase, and Harry followed. The room was a decent bit bigger than Harry's bedroom back at the Dursleys. It was painted a light blue, and there were two twin beds set against opposite walls with a small desk in between them. Across from the desk were two dressers and a half-full bookshelf. The bed furthest from the door was already sloppily made, and on the part of the desk closest to that bed was a photograph of Malfoy with his parents. Despite the fact that wizarding photographs moved, the Malfoy family were barely more animated than they would have been in a Muggle photograph. They were so stiffly posed they appeared practically statuesque.

 

Harry got the impression that Malfoy had been here for a while, judging by how well-decorated it was. Why was that, though? Why wasn’t he at home with his parents? Of course, any curiosity Harry was feeling was overcome by the waves of dread pounding him. He and Malfoy were sharing a room. It couldn't get worse…

 

Once again, Snape scowled at Harry.

 

"The two of you will be sharing," he said, clearly noticing Harry’s trepidation. "You both share a dormitory with four other boys when school is in session, so I don't doubt you'll find it in yourselves to manage. Accio Potter's trunk."

 

Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage flew up the stairs and landed neatly at the foot of the unused bed.

 

"You'll be expected to look after your owl, Potter," Snape said, glaring at the empty cage. "I won't be picking up after her."

 

"Of course, sir," he said irritably. What kind of person did Snape take Harry for? Of course he’d look after Hedwig! Harry just hoped she’d know how to get to him here. He’d just sent Hedwig to Egypt with a letter for Ron explaining his situation the night before Dumbledore had come with his terrible news. Still, she'd managed to find Harry at the Leaky Cauldron, so hopefully she'd work it out.

 

"You can unpack later," Snape said as Harry headed in the direction of his trunk. "Come back downstairs now. I want to make sure my rules are perfectly clear so you can’t claim ignorance when you misbehave."

 

Here we go, Harry thought wearily as he trudged down the stairs. His relatives just loved to make rules, particularly ones that were completely impossible to obey so Harry had no real chance of abiding by them. They always loved to find fault with him. Harry sat down on one of the ugly cream sofas, as far away from Malfoy as he could get, while Snape sat in a wing-backed armchair nearby.

 

"Now, the rules," he said, steepling his fingers and regarding Harry closely. "First of all, you will be expected to do plenty of work around here, Potter, as punishment for blowing up that aunt of yours. Whatever pampered life you were leading at home is well and truly over. There will be chores, and you will do them to a level that I am satisfied with or else I will be highly displeased."

 

He glared at Harry, who was overcome by the sudden knowledge that Snape would probably go out of his way to find fault no matter how much work he did.

 

Malfoy looked up, a gleeful expression affixed to his pointy features. “Are you serious? Potter, you blew up your aunt? How ridiculous!”

 

“Stuff it, Malfoy,” Harry snapped.

 

"Second of all,” Snape said loudly, “you will be respectful. You will address me as ‘professor’ or ‘sir’ at all times. You will be polite to Draco, who will likewise be polite to you."

 

To Harry's surprise, he actually gave Malfoy a stern look. His expression of joy about the incident with Aunt Marge quickly faded.

 

"I am aware of your contentious relationship at Hogwarts," Snape said sternly, "and I would prefer if my house wasn’t reduced to rubble while you stay here together. I'm not asking for you to be friends, but I am asking for you to be civil. Do you understand me?"

 

"Yes, sir," Malfoy muttered, folding his arms and sinking back into the sofa.

 

"Yes, sir," Harry added.

 

"You will not go into my Potions lab,” Snape said, counting off the rules on his long, pale fingers. “You will be in bed with the lights out by ten-thirty each night. You will dedicate a reasonable portion of your day to completing your summer assignments, which I will be checking. If you want to keep your wand in your possession, you will not dare to use magic. You will not leave the property without my permission."

 

Harry felt like his head was spinning as Snape listed rule after rule after rule. The man must be doing this because he was on some sort of sick power trip, Harry reasoned, because there was no logical reason for a person to have this many rules unless they were setting you up to fail. Another favoured tactic of his relatives…

 

Harry also highly doubted that Malfoy was subjected to any of these rules, even if Snape claimed he was. Snape favoured the Slytherins during term time - why would this be any different? No, this was just a new way to make Harry miserable. How typical.

 

"You may now go and unpack, Potter," Snape said when he finally finished his spiel. "I expect you for dinner in half an hour. Do not be late."

 

As he went back upstairs, Harry wondered if he was going to be making the meals here, like he did at the Dursleys. From the sounds of it, though, Snape was the one cooking. That was certainly different. Still, judging by Snape’s chores comment Harry would certainly be doing enough as it was.

 

Harry wondered if Snape was any good in the kitchen. He was certainly decent at brewing, but Harry wasn’t exactly a bad cook and those skills certainly hadn’t translated to his Potions lessons. He couldn’t be sure if the opposite would be true.

 

Harry didn’t bother to put anything away once he entered the bedroom. Malfoy, on the other hand, had quickly decorated what was clearly his half of the room. There was a Quidditch poster in the bright yellow and black striped colours of the Wimbourne Wasps, as well as a Slytherin pennant. For some reason, there was also a page of sheet music stuck to the wall.

 

He certainly wasn’t just staying for a visit. Malfoy looked rather settled in this room…

 

Harry didn't dare retrieve any of his things from his trunk. He didn’t trust either Snape or Malfoy not to damage his belongings like Dudley used to - in fact, Harry was almost certain Malfoy would take just as much pleasure in ruining what precious little Harry owned as his cousin did. Still, Dudley at least had been too scared of ‘freaky tricks’ to actually go into Harry’s trunk, which wouldn’t keep Malfoy out. He needed the layers of Dudley’s cast-offs to keep his more precious belongings hidden at the bottom, like the photo album of his parents or his father's cloak. 

 

So, after a quick trip to the bathroom to put his toothbrush away, Harry had essentially finished unpacking. He didn't dare go downstairs - the Dursleys had always gone by the rule that Harry needed to be out of sight at all times unless he was working - but he didn't really have anything else to do, so Harry flopped onto his bed. It was reasonably comfortable, but he still winced as his bruised parts of his back made contact with the mattress. Things at the Dursleys were never ideal, but Aunt Marge’s presence at Privet Drive always tended to stir up Uncle Vernon’s more violent side. Most of the time, he was satisfied with simply shoving Harry around unless he did something wrong, but whenever Aunt Marge was there, Uncle Vernon tended to hit Harry a lot more. It was as if he was proving some strange kind of point to her, since Aunt Marge didn’t think Harry was properly disciplined.

 

Then, of course, was Dudley, who always liked to use Harry as his personal punching bag. While he could generally outrun his cousin, Dudley occasionally managed to corner Harry, which was never pleasant for him. There had been a particularly nasty incident involving the stairs a couple of days ago which had left Harry rather sore.

 

Harry just hoped Snape didn't share his relatives’ violent tendencies.

 

He didn't think Dumbledore would let Snape beat him or anything, but to be fair, Harry also hadn't thought Dumbledore would banish him to Snape's house in the first place. Anything was fair game, especially considering how much Snape hated him, and he had said that Dumbledore had given him permission to deal with Harry however he wanted for blowing up Aunt Marge. Since Snape despised Harry perhaps more than his aunt and uncle did, which was quite a feat, he’d almost certainly take pleasure in hurting Harry. That wasn’t even considering the magic he had at his disposal, which Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia didn’t possess. There were probably hundreds of unpleasant hexes and curses Snape could throw at Harry which he’d be completely defenceless against.

 

Harry shivered, rolling over onto his side. As he did so, the door swung open, revealing a scowling Malfoy.

 

"Potter," he spat, looking Harry up and down and wrinkling his nose.

 

"Malfoy," he said with equal disdain.

 

"Now listen here," Malfoy said, leaning against the door frame. "I was here first. This is my room, got it? You touch any of my stuff and you're dead."

 

"I wouldn't want to touch your stupid stuff anyway!" Harry said, voice rising. "You leave me alone, I leave you alone. What are you even doing here, anyway?"

 

Malfoy's face flushed. "I could ask you the same question. Couldn't go to that dump Weasley calls a house this year? Is it true they all share one bedroom? Although I doubt they could afford that, even…"

 

"You take that back!" Harry shouted.

 

"Make me, scarhead."

 

"You stupid, inbred git -"

 

"Boys!" Snape's ringing voice echoed through the house. "Come down here immediately!"

 

After exchanging one final glare, Harry and Malfoy silently trooped down the stairs. An irate-looking Snape was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, arms folded.

 

"What did I just say about being civil, gentlemen?" Snape asked icily. "Potter, is your thick skull so impenetrable that not even my simple list of rules can get through to you?"

 

The unfairness of Harry's whole situation finally boiled over. "But sir, he started it! I-"

 

"Silence!" Snape shouted, cowing Harry. "I do not care for your whining and excuses! Are you three? No? I thought not, although your behaviour suggests otherwise. Now, since I clearly can't trust the two of you to be out of my sight without it ending in a shouting match, you can go set the table and sit quietly while I finish making dinner. Get on with it."

 

Harry stormed into the kitchen with Malfoy as the two of them started laying out the cutlery and plates, jostling and elbowing each other the whole way. He hated this whole situation so much.

 

A few minutes later, Snape flicked his wand and three portions of spaghetti bolognese appeared on the plates he and Malfoy had placed out. Harry had only arrived at the Leaky Cauldron the previous evening, so he hadn’t had a lot of time to catch up on meals after the pitiful portions he was given at the Dursleys. As a result, he practically inhaled his food. Harry had been right - apparently, Potions skills did translate to the ability to cook. The food was delicious.

 

He was about halfway through his meal when he looked up and noticed Snape was watching him and looking vaguely disgusted. Harry was aware he was probably eating a little quicker than was strictly polite, but in the Dursley household any food on his plate was fair game to Dudley, so he typically tried to finish as much as he could before his cousin got bored of his own food and started coming after Harry’s already meagre scraps. That coupled with the general lack of meals at Privet Drive meant Harry really couldn't bring himself to care about table manners most of the time.

 

Besides, Harry would much rather wolf down his food so he could get back to sitting silently in Malfoy’s room where no one would bother him, since eating with Snape was weird. He and Malfoy were making polite conversation with one another, much like Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley would do, but it was still strange hearing Snape engage in dinner talk instead of barking brewing instructions and making snide remarks about Harry’s parentage.

 

Of course, his and Malfoy’s discussion was still very Snape-like.

 

“So, the billywig stings we added earlier,” Snape said. “What were they a substitution for?”

 

Malfoy paused for a moment, his forehead wrinkled with concentration. “Doxy fangs?”

 

Snape nodded. “Correct. It should increase the potency of the brew.”

 

“I don’t quite understand why, Severus,” Malfoy said, tilting his head to one side. “Aren’t doxy fangs filled with far more venom than billywig stings?”

 

God, it was so weird hearing Malfoy call Snape by his first name. Harry wondered what Snape would do if he did the same thing. Explode, probably.

 

“Typically yes, but due to the lower level of acidity present in billywig stings there is a better interaction between them and the rest of the ingredients in the Wideye Potion,” Snape explained. "It lessens the potential side effects of nausea."

 

"Interesting," Malfoy said thoughtfully.

 

Harry, of course, understood exactly none of this. He didn't have a clue what doxy fangs could be, and Harry could only remember what billywig stings did from an incident back in February where Neville had accidentally stung himself and had levitated all the way to the dungeon ceiling. He’d needed to be dragged by the arms to the hospital wing like a strange, boy-shaped helium balloon.

 

Once Harry had finished eating he remained awkwardly at the table, even though he desperately wanted to leave. Was he supposed to ask permission to be excused? He never had to at the Dursleys. It was understood he’d immediately begin washing up the pots and pans after eating, since they couldn’t stand the sight of Harry for any longer than they had to. Still, Snape had a slight obsession with manners, but simultaneously Harry didn’t dare to interrupt his conversation with Malfoy…

 

In the end, Harry just sat quietly, paralysed by indecision until Snape and Malfoy had finished their food. Snape raised his wand and twirled it in a corkscrew motion, causing the knives, forks and plates to fly into the sink and begin scrubbing themselves. Harry made a conscious effort to not look too shocked, since Malfoy would surely pounce on that, but it was strange to see such casual magic being utilised after such a mundane summer. Of course Snape wouldn’t stand around and do the washing up, would he? Harry was suddenly overcome by a rather vivid mental image of the man in yellow rubber gloves and struggled to control his twitching lips.

 

Of course, as soon as Snape noticed Harry experiencing any sort of positive emotion, he had to ruin it. When he noticed Harry trying to suppress his laughter, Snape’s eyebrows contracted sharply. “So, Potter. I’m assuming you haven’t bothered to crack open a single book this summer?”

 

Harry ground his back teeth. If Snape only knew the amount of sneaking around he had to engage in just to get a peek at his summer assignments! Most people wouldn’t go to nearly that much effort for homework!

 

“I’ve done some of it.”

 

“Bring down whatever pitiful work you've produced,” Snape ordered. “If I’m stuck with you for the rest of August, I shall at least make an effort to make the lives of my colleagues slightly easier by remedying whatever sorry excuse for homework you’ve scraped together.”

 

Harry walked out of the kitchen without another word, taking deep, calming breaths. It really wouldn’t do to explode at Snape in his own house, but it was mightily difficult to keep his temper, especially since he didn’t have Ron or Hermione here to pointedly nudge him or stamp on his foot when things got too bad like he would have in Potions.

 

Harry gathered up his Astronomy homework and his half-finished History of Magic essay, as well as the required textbooks. He walked back downstairs and found Snape leaning against the kitchen counter, looking remarkably unimpressed. Malfoy had somehow obtained a History of Magic textbook of his own in the time Harry had been away, and was sitting cross-legged on a kitchen chair with it open in his lap.

 

Harry handed his Astronomy homework over to Snape and turned to sit at the kitchen table, but Snape also snatched the History of Magic essay from his hands and started reading it. As his eyes darted back and forth across the parchment, his lips curled into a sneer.

 

"And what exactly is this?" Snape asked icily.

 

"My homework," Harry said.

 

"You call this homework?" Snape hissed, waving the essay about. "Honestly, Potter! This is a pathetic attempt at a History of Magic essay. Your presentation is utterly appalling! It's as if you wrote it in the dark!"

 

Because I bloody well did! Harry wanted to scream. Snape didn't have a clue what it was like to tiptoe around your relatives, trying to sneakily do your homework under the covers at night and listening out for a break in your uncle's snoring as a cue to turn the lights out. No idea.

 

"You will redo this immediately," Snape growled, slamming the parchment onto the kitchen table. Harry hated himself for flinching. He picked up the essay and threw himself down opposite Malfoy to get started. The sooner this essay was finished, the sooner he could get away from these horrid people.

 

 

---

 

 

Harry sighed and put down his quill. He'd spent the entire evening rewriting the stupid History of Magic essay, and he was bored out of his mind. Writing three feet about the witch burnings of the Middle Ages was bad enough the first time around, but twice? It was ridiculous, the essay was fine! Besides, Harry highly doubted that Professor Binns even read the essays he was given.

 

He glowered at Snape, who was leaning against the kitchen counter and writing on a piece of parchment that was somehow suspended in mid-air. He was probably tearing a Potions essay to shreds and covering it with nasty, red-inked feedback, judging by the aggressive scratching of his quill. Harry could easily imagine the cruel comments. A dunderheaded fool like you shouldn't be allowed within a mile of a cauldron, or I'm sure the world would be a better place if you met an early demise drinking a Befuddlement Beverage full of asphodel. Snape's marking was rather infamous in Gryffindor Tower, and it had become something of a game for Harry and his dorm mates to compare what vicious insults the man had conjured up and vote on which was the vilest. Harry and Neville were generally the ones fighting for first place.

 

Of course, laughing off Snape's mean-spirited feedback was a lot more difficult when he didn't have his friends around him. Harry couldn't help but glower in Snape's direction as his simmering resentment towards the man grew hotter and closer to an explosion. He just wanted to be far away from Snape and stupid Malfoy, and getting stuck in the same room as them all evening was rather vexing. Still, the History of Magic essay was at last completed. It may have taken him all evening, but he was done, and if it wasn't good enough for Snape he could just go -

 

"Potter!" Snape was now staring at Harry; he'd noticed him watching.

 

"What?" Harry said, hoping Snape couldn’t somehow read his thoughts.

 

"What did I say about slacking off?" Snape asked irritably. "You seem to have a great struggle with terminal laziness, Potter. I'll happily keep you here all night if you don't get on with that work."

 

"I’m already finished, sir," Harry said through gritted teeth, trying to resist the urge to ball up the essay and hurl it straight at Snape's oily nose.

 

"You'd better not have rushed it," Snape warned. Harry didn't respond; Snape was just trying to goad him, and he wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

 

"Give it here, then," Snape ordered. Harry handed over the essay, sitting back with his arms folded as Snape's eyes raked over it, obviously trying to find fault.

 

"You spelt Ulgurg the Ugly wrong," he said. Once again, Harry didn't respond. If he could just keep his mouth shut for a couple more minutes, he’d be free…

 

Snape's expression twisted into a contemptuous, unpleasant smile. "Well look at that! It turns out you are actually capable of writing a coherent essay, Potter. I'd never have thought it, considering the appalling Potions work you turn in on a regular basis."

 

Only Snape would be able to turn a decent History of Magic essay into an insult, Harry reflected.

 

"Fix the spelling mistakes and then you're free to leave," Snape said, turning away from him. "Draco, how are you finding it?"

 

Harry couldn't help the surge of irritation coursing through him as Snape helped Malfoy sort through some dates he was confused about. The difference in treatment was just so unfair, and it infuriated him.

 

Still, he’d been released at last. Harry wasn’t one to overlook small mercies. He slunk upstairs, sat quietly on his bed, and watched the windows of a dozen houses light up while the sun sank below the horizon. Harry wished he was sitting in one of those houses, or quit literally anywhere else on the planet that wasn't here.

 

Where was he, anyway? Dumbledore hadn't said, and he certainly wasn’t stupid enough to ask Snape about anything. Even if Harry didn’t know their exact location, though, it was certainly a Muggle town. Harry was quite surprised that Snape lived in such a normal place, actually. He’d thought Snape would live in some fancy wizarding house, like the majority of the Slytherins seemed to. Malfoy was always going on about his peacock-guarded Manor, after all. Snape was a pureblood (wasn’t he?) and so Harry had assumed he’d live in just as magical of a place. Snape, shockingly enough, just lived in your everyday, slightly run-down Muggle town. The house itself wasn’t even particularly magical, like the Burrow had been. It was certainly strange.

 

There was also a bigger question bothering Harry. What on earth was Malfoy doing here, living at Snape's house? Harry didn't get the impression that he was just visiting Snape, considering how many personal belongings he had strewn about the bedroom. Malfoy had been oddly defensive when Harry had asked about it earlier, too, although that could just be chalked up to his general hatred of Harry.

 

Part of Harry wanted to investigate and go rifling through Malfoy's things while he was in here alone, but he stopped himself at the last minute. If Malfoy walked in and caught Harry poking around, all hell would break loose. Besides, he was sure to let the truth slip over the course of the next… well, month. Harry shivered. He had to survive a month here…

 

With a sigh, Harry retrieved his quill and a piece of parchment and sat down at the rickety desk in between his and Malfoy’s beds. Time to try and find a way to explain all this to his friends for whenever Hedwig got back from Egypt…

 

At quarter-past ten, the door, which Harry had been irritated to discover did not have a lock, swung open again. It was Malfoy.

 

"What do you want?" Harry asked suspiciously.

 

"To get changed? Are you forgetting this is my room too, you brainless twit?" Malfoy shot Harry a disgusted look before he began rifling through his drawers. As Harry was unable to think up a better retort than 'takes one to know one', he made the wise decision to remain silent as Malfoy pulled a pair of silk pyjamas out of his drawers and stormed off to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

 

Harry decided he might as well get changed while Malfoy was out, and quickly threw on his pyjamas; cast-offs from Dudley, of course. He couldn’t help but feel a little underdressed in the hand-me-downs. From what Harry could tell, all of Malfoy’s clothes seemed rather expensive and well-fitted, while Harry’s were barely serviceable and certainly didn’t fit him. It was always a humiliating experience to wear clothing that dwarfed you so terribly, especially around people like Malfoy who would laugh at you for it.

 

After a quick trip to and from the bathroom, Harry began to settle into bed just as Snape walked into the room.

 

"Neither of you shut this door," he warned. "I don't want you two arguing while you're in here alone. When you prove you can be civil, I'll let you shut the door at night. I'll see you at eight o'clock tomorrow morning for breakfast. Do not be late."

 

With that, he walked off down the corridor, leaving the door ajar. It sounded like he'd gone into the off-limits laboratory. With a sigh, Harry rolled over, keeping his back to Malfoy.

 

He'd gone from one extreme to the other, it seemed. At the Dursleys, he may have been locked in his room from the outside, but at least he was able to have some privacy to do as he pleased while in there. Here, Harry didn't even have a room to himself where he could escape from Malfoy and Snape. And a bedtime, too! Harry couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been told to go to bed at a certain time! The Dursleys couldn’t care less if Harry was tired. As long as he was out of their sight, he could stay up as late as he liked. Of course, Spinner’s End bore some similarities to Privet Drive; namely the fact that Harry was once again going to be living with people that deeply, truly hated him.

 

  This is going to be a long, long summer.

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.

Harry sat outside for a long time until afternoon turned to evening, unsure if he was allowed back in. Aunt Petunia had the tendency to lock Harry out of the house for hours on end back on Privet Drive. Harry would normally just wander around Little Whinging when she did that, though. It was alright, since it meant Harry wasn't stuck at home with his horrid relatives, but on hot days it could get pretty miserable between the thirst and Dudley’s gang. Harry didn't dare leave the garden here, however; Snape seemed to care a little more about what Harry did in his free time, for whatever reason. He didn't feel like getting in even more trouble than usual by leaving without permission. Besides, Spinner's End was terraced, so there was no way for Harry to leave without going through the house.

 

Eventually, after an indeterminable amount of time, Snape opened the back door. Even though his expression was often difficult to read, Harry could easily tell he was exhausted.

 

"Dinner," he said curtly, pointing to a steaming bowl of spaghetti on the kitchen table.

 

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, hurrying over to the table. He hadn't eaten since breakfast and he was utterly famished.

 

As he started cramming spaghetti into his mouth, Harry noticed that Snape had already left the room. There wasn't any sign of Malfoy, either. It wasn’t like Harry particularly wanted to see either of them, but he did think it was a little odd that nobody else was here eating. Was Snape punishing Malfoy for throwing things by taking his dinner away? That was incredibly worrying, since Snape liked Draco a fair bit more than Harry. What would he do to Harry if he got in trouble? Starve him for the rest of August?

 

Besides, where had Snape disappeared to himself? So far, all three of them had taken meals together. Harry just thought it was strange that if Snape could avoid Harry at mealtimes, he'd only start doing it tonight. What was he up to?

 

Harry spent the entire meal pondering these things, but no one returned downstairs before he finished eating. He stood up and quickly washed his plate in the kitchen sink. Even though Snape could clean it in a second with magic, Harry still didn’t think it was wise to leave dirty dishes lying around. After a moment's hesitation, he also made the decision to grab a pear from a fruit bowl Snape kept on the kitchen counter. He slipped it into his pocket. Just in case. 

 

Since Dudley's hand-me-down clothes were so large there was no telltale bulge in his pocket, but Harry thought it might be better to hide the pear in his food store at the bottom of his trunk, so he made to go upstairs.

 

He’d just left the kitchen and reached the bottom of the staircase when Snape emerged from the door on the upstairs landing that led to his laboratory. He noticed Harry moving around and stared down at him, frowning as usual.

 

"Draco has been confined to his room for the evening," Snape explained, jerking his head in the direction of the closed bedroom door. "You aren't to go in there at the moment."

 

"Alright," Harry said with a shrug. "Er - do you want me to carry on gardening?"

 

Snape scowled. "Cut the martyr act, Potter. It would be absurd to garden at this late hour!”

 

Harry thought that was rather unfair, since Snape had threatened to have him working from dawn to dusk if Harry didn’t meet his impossible standards, but obviously didn’t say so.

 

“I’m sure at the grand age of thirteen you can figure out something to occupy your time,” he said with a sarcastic bite. “Just stay down there. I have an important potion to attend to.”

 

Harry just rolled his eyes and walked away down the hallway. Snape was back to being his usual, nasty self, it seemed. At least he was staying far, far away from Harry while he did it. Harry walked aimlessly into the kitchen and back again. Snape’s snarky comments unfortunately held some truth - he really didn’t know what to do with himself, especially while in Snape’s house.

 

In the end, Harry ended up standing in the hallway, staring at the cupboard under the stairs. It didn’t look like the one at Privet Drive. For one thing, there was no grate in the door. Nothing that could provide Harry with weak slits of light to see by when the lightbulb in the cupboard gave out while he was locked inside…

 

But Harry couldn’t be locked in there. For one thing, there was no lock. Normal people didn’t install locks on cupboard doors to keep their nephews in.

 

Wizards don’t need regular locks to trap people inside.

 

Harry angrily shook himself, hating that little voice in the back of his head. Snape was a bastard, but he wasn’t going to lock Harry up in a cupboard. After all, Malfoy had just broken some of Snape’s belongings, and he’d only been sent to his room.

 

  But Snape favours Malfoy over you. If you did something like that, who’s to say he wouldn’t lock you in a cupboard?

 

  Well, then don’t throw a massive fit and break his stuff and he won’t do it, then!

 

  Snape’s never treated you fairly. He’ll find fault somewhere…

 

Harry gave an exasperated sigh and smacked his head against the wall behind him, squeezing his eyes shut. The problem with being raised by the Dursleys was that Harry couldn’t just go through life feeling secure in the knowledge that adults wouldn’t lock him in cupboards when he did something they didn’t like. The Dursleys were Harry’s family, after all - he was their nephew, for crying out loud! That was a pretty close blood relation, and even if Harry wasn’t their son, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were the closest thing to parents Harry had ever known.

 

And they’d locked him in a cupboard for things he couldn’t control.

 

If Harry’s own family treated him that way, who was to say Snape wouldn’t? A man who truly despised Harry, and didn’t even have the flimsy tie of family to restrain him from truly vile treatment?

 

So he had to check. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Harry reached out a hand, grabbed the knob of the cupboard door and yanked it open.

 

It was far smaller than the cupboard at Privet Drive. It was full to bursting, too, with mismatched household paraphernalia. A bucket and mop. An old bottle of bleach with a faded label. Stacks and stacks of empty plastic bags. A few dusty cardboard boxes.

 

Nothing else could be shoved in there.

 

Harry shut the door and sank against it, staring at his shoes. He did his best to breathe, but it felt like his lungs had locked up, banning the entry of any oxygen. He was being so stupid. Why did Harry always end up freaking out whenever he stayed at someone else’s house? The same thing had happened at the Burrow last summer. Harry remembered just being so shocked that there were so many people in the house who actually wanted to spend time with him. He should have been happy about that, but for some reason it had evoked such a heart-wrenching sadness in him. He hadn’t been able to properly enjoy it as a consequence.

 

Then, there was the food. Mrs Weasley was such a lovely woman, and Harry knew intellectually that she wasn’t going to starve him, but he’d just been so hungry. He’d been living off of one stone-cold can of soup a day that he’d needed to split with Hedwig for a long, long time, and when he’d seen all that food, Harry’s brain had just been screaming at him to eat it all, eat it now while it was still there, just in case. In the end, he’d excused himself after the meal to throw up in the loo, unable to keep the rich cooking down. Nobody had heard, luckily, except Fred and George. They apologised profusely - a prank meant for Percy must have made him sick, they’d said. Harry was just relieved they hadn’t guessed the real reason.

 

Harry didn’t understand why he couldn’t just forget about all of this. He wanted not to think, to ignore all of the crap things that had happened to him while he was at the Dursleys. He wasn’t there, now, was he, so why did he just keep thinking about it? Why did these awful feelings of anxiety always rear their ugly heads at the most inopportune of moments?

 

In the end, Harry decided the best thing to do was to take himself away from that stupid cupboard and try to distract himself in Snape’s living room. It didn't look like the one at Privet Drive, mostly because of the glaring absence of a television. Harry assumed that was something to do with magic. He vaguely remembered Hermione mentioning something about magical frequencies messing up electricity.

 

No, instead Snape's living room was completely crammed with bookshelves, floor to ceiling ones without a single gap in the volumes lining them. Unlike the rest of the house, which had a general air of neglect, the books on the shelves were pristine and completely free of dust. Most of them were thick, leatherbound Potions manuals, many in French or Latin which Harry couldn't even read, but he smiled to himself as his index finger ran over Most Potente Potions. Snape loved to rag on Harry's brewing abilities, but he had helped Hermione brew that Polyjuice. He couldn't be completely useless.

 

Potions books weren't the only topic of research featuring on Snape's shelves, though. There were a couple of novels, including, oddly enough, Pride and Prejudice, as well as textbooks and journals from other areas of magical study. Harry paused his scan of the shelves at the title Manipulation of the Dark Arts. Now that certainly looked interesting…

 

But to Harry's immense disappointment, when he tried to open the book, the cover wouldn't budge an inch. It was as if it had all been glued together, although Harry had a gut feeling it was actually linked to some more sophisticated magic. Snape, of course, would be able to guess that Harry or Malfoy would be interested in his Dark Arts books and would have locked them up.

 

All the other Dark-looking books Harry picked up had that same spell on them. Well, at least the first three did. Harry had been on the verge of picking up a fourth book when he realised that if Snape could bewitch the books shut, he could probably hook them up to some kind of spell that let him know if other people touched them. Harry really didn't want Snape to find out he was poking around what essentially was Snape's own personal restricted section, so he dropped his gaze and looked over to the small side table next to the armchair Snape seemed to favour. Behind an extraordinary ugly-looking lampshade was yet another book, which caught Harry's attention because of how simply mundane it was.

 

While the majority of the books in Snape's shelves were leatherbound volumes with gold-lettered titles, this book was a paperback with the same cover art style of the self-help books and diet guides Aunt Petunia occasionally bought but never read. It even had a photo of a woman with a slightly choppy fringe on the front. Harry knew then this had to be a muggle book, since wizarding photographs always moved. Above the woman was a large, bold-lettered title: A CAREGIVER’S GUIDE TO ADOLESCENT TRAUMA.

 

Now that confused Harry. This seemed remarkably out of place amongst Snape's other reading material. What was he doing with a Muggle psychology book, of all things? Curious, he walked over and turned over the book to read the blurb.

 

  Whether you're a new foster parent or a seasoned veteran, this book will help you find new ways to help the children in your care. Whatever background the child you're caring for originates, Dr Stephanie has a number of handy tips and tricks for helping them flourish, in her new novel specifically geared towards foster care of teenagers…

 

Harry tilted the book to one side and noticed several pages were dog-eared. He flipped to one.

 

  …displaced teens may lash out, but that is to be expected. Leaving behind everything they've known, including parents or siblings, is an incredibly distressing and traumatic experience that can manifest itself in a number of behaviours…

 

Harry flipped another page and found it opened to a whole section on 'navigating parental incarceration'.

 

  Dealing with the implications of a parent in prison can be difficult. Here are some helpful ways to navigate this sensitive area…

 

It was then that the penny dropped.

 

Snape had gotten this book to figure out what was going on with Malfoy!

 

Interest flared up in Harry as he held the book out before him. Snape wasn't the only one who wanted to work out what the hell was going on with Malfoy; Harry was wondering that same thing himself, especially since no one here could be bothered to tell him anything. Maybe if Harry looked through these dog-eared passages, he could start to understand Malfoy's behaviour a bit more.

 

But Harry had just started flipping through the pages to the next marked one when a chapter title practically screamed out of the page at him, stopping Harry in his tracks. 'CHILD NEGLECT'.

 

All of a sudden, he was violently slammed back in time, to a memory from Dudley's seventh birthday party.

 

It had taken place in the garden of Privet Drive. Harry had been hiding at the sidelines while the other children played, because if Harry tried to join in the party games, Dudley would beat him up. It was easier to hide in the alleyway down the side of the house, out of sight and out of mind. That obscured alleyway also had remarkably good acoustics. Harry could easily hear the conversations of the mums on the patio who didn't know he was there listening.

 

"They neglect that poor nephew of theirs terribly, don't they?" Mrs Lambert clucked.

 

Harry didn't know what neglect meant, of course, but the world felt cold and sharp as he rolled it around in his mouth. He knew it was a bad thing.

 

"He's never dressed properly, is he?" Mrs Ashton said sniffily. "They could certainly afford to get him some decent clothes, just look at all the presents Dudley's gotten…"

 

Harry tugged on the base of his t-shirt and bit his lip. He couldn't help not being dressed properly. He was so scrawny that Dudley's hand-me-downs just always looked so monstrous and ugly on him…

 

"Petunia doesn't even touch him, have you noticed?" Mrs Smith said in her rather nasally voice. "She fusses over Dudley at the school gates every morning, and he just stands there like a lost little lamb. It's downright strange, I'll tell you that."

 

"Well, the boy is disturbed," Mrs Ashton said in low, dramatic tones. "You've heard the stories of him, he's a terror! Just imagine what it's like dealing with him at home!"

 

"But, they don't get like that on their own, do they?" Mrs Lambert murmured. "Maybe if Vernon and Petunia were a little more attentive…"

 

"Well, how much can you do with brain damage involved?" Mrs Smith asked. "His parents were drunks, I heard. They died in a drink driving accident, while he was in the car and all! I’ve always thought it knocked his head wrong, you’ve seen that nasty scar…"

 

“Speaking of scars, have you seen Debbie?” Mrs Ashton said, her voice dripping with horror.

 

Harry had continued to unwillingly listen in as Mrs Ashton, Mrs Smith and Mrs Lambert had gossiped viciously about every other child and parent at that party, saying things that were just as vile as the things they'd said about Harry, but those words still stuck with him to this day. The Dursleys may have been neglectful, but it was Harry's fault, since he was such a terror.

 

Harry put the book to one side, his mouth bone-dry. All of a sudden, digging into Malfoy's mysterious psychological issues felt far less interesting and more of an invasion of privacy. He didn’t want to act like those nasty, nosy women.

 

Harry shook himself and moved to the opposite end of the living room. He'd done more than enough thinking about his relatives for one evening, that was certain. Instead, Harry did the only thing he could think of to distract himself - he took out a pencil and paper from his pocket and began to draw.

 

Drawing had been one of the only things Harry could do for fun as a child. Any of his toys had been broken, discarded things of Dudley's that almost always ended up being broken further when Dudley noticed Harry playing with them. Pencils, paper and crayons, on the other hand, could be easily nicked from school whenever Harry needed them, and the drawings themselves could be hidden under his mattress in the cupboard. He never showed them to his aunt and uncle, of course; Harry had a vivid and painful memory of the time he'd made the mistake of giving Aunt Petunia a scribbling of a dragon when he was little. He'd thought she would have put it up on the fridge, like she did with Dudley's drawings. Instead, she’d ripped it up and threw it in the bin.

 

Harry always hid his drawings now.

 

So, he sat alone in Snape's living room, time blurring around him as he sketched away. He'd been drawing the view from his room in the Leaky Cauldron before Dumbledore had so abruptly sent him here, so Harry was doing his best to fill in the gaps from memory. He'd gotten quite good at doing that, since being locked in a cupboard while you drew meant there wasn't a lot to look at for inspiration. He scribbled away, forming the spiralling, cobbled streets twisting between the narrow buildings, the pointed hats of the witches and wizards doing the shopping, the brick arches of the Diagon Alley entrance…

 

He'd just finished off the distant train tracks when a creaking noise from the door broke Harry out of his focus. He shoved the drawing under one arm and looked up at Snape, who had materialised behind him. As usual, he was frowning.

 

"What is that?" he demanded.

 

"Nothing," Harry said a little too quickly, dragging the drawing further away from Snape. Of course, he once again forgot about magic. Snape flicked his wand and the drawing flew straight into his hand.

 

"Hey, that's mine!" Harry said angrily, trying to grab it back. Snape quickly moved it out of his reach, and a strange expression that Harry couldn't quite read settled over his features.

 

"I didn't know you drew," he said finally. His tone of voice was odd. Harry was expecting him to immediately begin criticising it like the drawing was a Potions essay, but no follow-up comments came. As a matter of fact, Snape looked oddly spooked, like he’d just seen a ghost.

 

"Yeah, well you really don't know anything about me, Snape," Harry muttered, still feeling resentful about the stolen drawing.

 

Snape's eyes hardened and the corners of his mouth twisted downward. He dropped the drawing back on the table.

 

"Oh, I know plenty about you, Potter," he growled. "Namely about the endless bounds of your disrespect and cheek. What are you even still doing down here?"

 

"You told me I had to stay down here!" Harry said loudly. How was he getting in trouble for following Snape's rules?

 

"Keep your voice down, Draco is asleep," Snape hissed, "and you should be, too. It's past eleven. Go."

 

Right. Snape and his stupid ten-thirty bedtime. Harry snatched his drawing up and stalked away up the stairs, feeling exceedingly glad when Snape didn't follow him up. Harry wasn’t sure if he’d have been able to control himself if that had been the case. As soon as he entered the darkened bedroom, Harry picked up a pillow and punched it as hard as he could, anger surging through him.

 

Harry was so worked up over Snape's unfairness that it took him well over an hour to get to sleep. The next morning, he awoke with a groan. Every single muscle in his body ached horribly from the weeding he'd been doing yesterday, the bruises from Privet Drive were throbbing with renewed vigour, and his eyes were oddly sticky. He rubbed them before putting his glasses on to check the time.

 

It was 7:55.

 

"Shit!" Harry hissed, all tiredness replaced by adrenaline as he jumped up from bed. Sleeping in always earned a punishment from his relatives, and Snape was almost certainly looking for a reason to make Harry's life even more miserable than it already was. Even Malfoy was awake by now, for God's sake! Harry needed to get downstairs as quickly as possible.

 

He threw on some clothes as quickly as he could, ran down the stairs and skidded into the kitchen, where Snape was frying something at the stove. Malfoy was already at the kitchen table, scowling at the wall. Well, at least someone here looked as miserable as Harry felt. Of course, he quickly noticed Harry’s entrance, and turned his ire upon Harry.

 

“Great Merlin, Potter, have you ever seen a hairbrush in your life?” Malfoy sneered at Harry’s hair. He self-consciously started trying to flatten it with his hands as Snape finally turned around from the stove. Harry felt his heart speed up, expecting a sharp reprimand for being late to breakfast or something, but Snape's eyes only momentarily glanced over him before he returned to cooking.

 

Harry slid into his seat at the kitchen table, barely believing his luck. He was still half-expecting Snape to make some sort of snide comment and punish him as he served up breakfast, but nothing of the sort happened. It almost felt too good to be true.

 

"So," Snape said once they'd all made decent headway into their meal. "You will both be doing chores today."

 

Malfoy pointedly refused to look up.

 

"Potter, you can continue in the garden," Snape ordered. "Perhaps you could deign to actually put some gloves on this time so I don't have to waste potions on a perfectly preventable injury."

 

Harry nodded and did his best to look like he even slightly cared about anything Snape had to say.

 

"And Draco." Snape turned his beady black eyes towards the other end of the table. "As punishment for your behaviour yesterday, you will be cleaning this entire kitchen without magic. You will mop the floors, clean the countertops, anything and everything that needs to be done will be done. I'll be writing a list for you."

 

"I don't know how to do any of that," Malfoy groused, folding his arms.

 

"I will be here to show you," Snape said briskly. "When the two of you have finished eating, you can get on with it."

 

Harry finished his food as quickly as possible, eager to get away from the glowering Malfoy who appeared to be on the verge of another explosion. Unlike Harry, he was eating as slowly as humanly possible, probably to procrastinate his chores. Snape seemed highly displeased with this, of course, so Harry was rather relieved to be outside and away from the two of them. He didn't want to be caught in the crossfire of another fight.

 

Occasionally, Harry glanced up from his gardening and looked through the sliding glass door into the kitchen. Malfoy was, in fact, being made to work. Harry tried to be as inconspicuous as possible while he watched the other boy half-heartedly drag a mop across the kitchen tiles as Snape supervised, occasionally giving some pointer.

 

The surprises just kept coming. What was this strange world where Malfoy actually faced consequences for his actions? Aunt Petunia would never have punished Dudley for throwing something at Harry…

 

After about an hour of work, Harry heard the back door creak open. It was Snape.

 

"I'm going to a meeting," he said. Harry got the vague impression that Snape wasn't particularly happy to be attending this, judging by the depth of his scowl. "I'll be back before lunch. You two boys behave yourselves… if you don't, believe me I'll know."

 

"Yes, sir," Harry said quickly. He was half-certain that Snape could find out how many times Harry blinked if he so desired.

 

As the back door shut behind Snape, Harry heard a woman chuckle.

 

"He's being rather stern with ya, isn't he?" Harry looked up and saw an elderly lady watching him from the other side of the fence. She had flyaway white hair and large, round glasses, which gave her an owl-like appearance. She also had a very strong Yorkshire accent. As they made eye contact, her mouth gaped open slightly before closing into a thoughtful frown.

 

"You're not…no, you can't be…" the woman muttered, raking her eyes up and down Harry.

 

"Can't be who?" he asked curiously.

 

"Would you be of any relation to Lily Evans?"

 

Harry felt his heart speed up. "Yeah?" he said, feeling a bit confused. How could Snape's neighbour know his mother's name? "She's my mum."

 

"Ah!" The woman's face brightened. "I knew it! I'd recognise those eyes anywhere…the exact same as Lily's, they are. Absolutely striking."

 

"Did you know her?" Harry asked eagerly.

 

"Ah, a little," the woman said with a smile. "Lily lived right around the corner from here, she did. She and Severus were quite good friends, as I'm sure you know!"

 

Despite himself, Harry's jaw dropped. Snape knew his mum? How would that have ever happened?!

 

"How is Lily doing, by the way?" the lady asked, unaware of Harry's shock. "I haven't seen her around here in years!"

 

"She's dead," Harry said, swallowing hard. "She died when I was a baby."

 

"Oh dear!" The woman's face fell. "I'm so sorry, love. What a shame! She was a lovely girl, she was…"

 

"Do you think you could tell me a bit about her?" Harry asked hopefully. He knew so little about his mother - all he really had were the photos Hagrid had given him in the album and a couple of stories from his Hogwarts professors who had taught her.

 

"Oh of course, my love!" The woman beamed. "She was just the sweetest girl, your mother. She used to water my plants for me when she popped round to see Severus. Your mum always had a knack for flowers…my late husband, Robert, well he would always kill the poor things, but I swear Lily could bring them back from the brink of death! She had a real knack for things like that. I'd always give her a couple of my cookies to get her by as a thank you. She'd always say to me, Maureen, it's my pleasure! You don't need to give me anything! But I liked to spoil her a little, I did."

 

Maureen laughed and sighed a little.

 

"Warmest heart she had, too," she said fondly. "Always picking up strays! She was ever so kind to young Severus, you know. The other boys round here gave him a hard time, but Lily was always in his corner. She had quite the temper, you know! I saw her slap a boy silly when he tried to poke fun at Severus' clothes once. She was a feisty little thing! I tell you, once Lily made a friend she would defend them to the bitter end."

 

Harry stayed silent, drinking in every last detail. He tried to imagine his mother's face from his photographs, fiery with fury as she faced down a bully. Of course, the image was rather tainted by the presence of Snape, sneering in the background.

 

Snape, who had never once mentioned knowing Harry's mum.

 

"You two must be rather similar," Maureen commented. "I saw you out here all day yesterday weeding! Do you like to garden?"

 

"I do," Harry said. It wasn't entirely a lie. Out of all the chores the Dursleys had him do, it was by far his favourite, since it got him as far away from his relatives as possible.

 

Harry peered over into Maureen's garden. It wasn't anywhere near as bad as Snape's, but it was still a bit overgrown and the flowers were looking rather wilted.

 

"Tell you what," Harry said with a sudden surge of determination, "let me at your garden. I can water the flowers for you, if you'd like?"

 

"Oh you don't have to do that, my love!" Maureen protested.

 

"No, but I want to," Harry said firmly. "I insist."

 

From what he could tell, Harry’s mother seemed to like Maureen, if she'd taken care of the woman’s plants all the time. Harry really wanted to carry that on. Perhaps it would help him feel closer to her, something which Harry struggled with at the best of times. He had no real memories of his mother, after all.

 

He walked over to a small, overgrown gate at the end of Snape's garden which allowed passage between the two fences. It took a lot of huffing and puffing, but eventually the gate opened with a noisy screech. The thing clearly hadn’t been oiled or even used in quite a while.

 

"Thank you very much, young man," Maureen said, putting a hand on her heart. "I haven't been able to properly take care of the poor things in years, I tell you! I'm getting up in the years, and I've neglected them terribly, and there's only so much my granddaughter can do when she stops by to visit.”

 

"Well I'm here for the rest of the summer," Harry said, filling up a watering can with the hosepipe. "I'd be happy to do it for you while I'm here."

 

"Oh you're too kind my love, too kind," Maureen said, patting Harry on the shoulder. "Goodness, I haven't caught your name! What is it?"

 

"Harry," he said. "Harry Potter."

 

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Harry," Maureen said warmly.

 

---

 

Tending to the plants with the background of Maureen's stories was an exceedingly pleasant pastime. She’d led an extraordinarily interesting life, Harry found. She had all sorts of tales from World War II, where she'd worked in an ammunitions factory making bullets for the soldiers. Still, the best of her stories had to be the ones about Harry’s mother. It wasn’t a lot, since Maureen had only seen Lily occasionally over the course of many years, but since Harry had scarcely heard anything of his mother’s childhood, it still felt precious.

 

Maureen also dropped frequent references to Snape that Harry was too scared to pry into; he didn't want to raise any questions about why he didn’t know that the man he was currently living with used to be friends with his mother. Because what kind of person didn’t tell an orphan that?

 

Severus Snape, apparently.

 

As Maureen told him more and more stories, a hot core of anger began to burn in Harry’s stomach. From what she was saying, Snape and his mum hadn’t just known each other - they’d been best friends! How could Snape just never mention that? Harry knew so pitifully little about her as it was, and it was just another layer of cruelty he hadn’t anticipated from the professor. This stung even more viciously than the constant insults and unfair treatment. This was personal.

 

Eventually, Harry finished watering Maureen’s plants, and ran the lawnmower through her garden, but he decided not to go back to Snape’s house just yet. After all, why should Harry weed the garden of a man that didn’t even have the decency to tell him that he knew Harry's dead mother?

 

Luckily, Maureen seemed perfectly happy to have him.

 

“Oh, do come in for a cuppa, dearie!” she said once Harry was done. “I don’t get many visitors these days, and it would be my pleasure after all you've done for me.”

 

As Harry sat in Maureen’s kitchen while she pottered around, brazenly refusing all his offers of help, he reflected how strange it was that a house identical in build to Snape’s could have such a different feel to it. Snape’s house was all browns and greys and dirty creams, while Maureen’s was filled with colour, and small trinkets, and pictures of her family. It felt far more lived in and homely.

 

“So, dear,” Maureen said, sitting down with two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits, “I've been going on and on at you all morning, but you haven’t told me a thing about yourself yet! I suppose you live with your father? Is he a nice man? He’d have to have been to marry our Lily!”

 

“He’s dead, too,” Harry said, his eyes glued to the gingham tablecloth.

 

Maureen clucked her tongue. “Oh, that’s awful, my love. I’m so sorry.”

 

He shrugged. “I don’t really remember them. I was only a baby when it happened."

 

Harry sometimes felt like people expected him to be sadder than he was about his parents, to miss them more. The thing was, Harry didn't actually have anything tangible to miss. The only thing he really knew to grieve about his mum and dad was the life he ought to have had with them. A world of possibilities that had been ripped away when Voldemort had murdered them.

 

Grief was more to do with the absence of someone from your life, he thought. The pain of someone who you were so used to having around suddenly disappearing. When all you knew was the absence, it didn't hurt as badly. Harry had gone his whole life with that sadness and grief hardwired into his brain. It made it easier to bear when you didn't know any other way.

 

“If you don’t mind my asking, how did it happen that you lost both your parents so young?” Maureen inquired.

 

Harry took a sip of his tea, ignoring the fact it was still too hot to drink, trying to buy himself some time to think of a reason.

 

“They died in a car crash,” he lied. That was the old tale Aunt Petunia had told him when he was younger, and would work well enough here. He couldn’t exactly tell a Muggle woman that they’d been murdered by a dark wizard, could he?

 

“So who have you been living with all these years?” Maureen asked. “Any of your father’s relatives?”

 

“No,” Harry said. As far as he knew, James Potter had no living, close relations. “I’ve been staying with my Aunt Petunia.”

 

“Oh.” Maureen pursed her lips. “I remember her, too.”

 

From her reaction, she clearly didn’t think much of Harry’s aunt. Seeing as he felt the same way, this only made Harry’s opinion of Maureen grow.

 

After a brief silence, Maureen cleared her throat. “So why is Petunia letting you visit with Severus at the minute? From what I knew of her, she and Severus didn’t exactly, ah…get along.”

 

Harry once again raised the teacup to his mouth, further burning his already scalded tongue. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say here. What if Snape had a specific cover story that Harry was going to ruin somehow? He was so secretive about everything, after all…

 

Just as he put down the teacup, still trying desperately to think up a lie, there was a loud knock at the front door.

 

“Goodness me!” Maureen said, starting. “I’m not expecting anyone…let me get that.”

 

She got to her feet and shuffled in the direction of the front door, and Harry’s shoulders sagged with relief. That had been close.

 

Of course, all that relief immediately disappeared when he saw who Maureen opened the door to.

 

“Is Potter here?” Snape inquired icily.

 

“Why, yes,” Maureen said, gesturing behind her. “He’s out in my kitchen! We were just having a cuppa and he was telling me a bit about himself.”

 

“Was he now?” Snape asked, his beady eyes glaring down the hallway at Harry. He gulped. Snape was visibly fuming.

 

“He’s really a lovely boy, Severus!” Maureen gushed. “His eyes are the absolute double of -"

 

“Indeed. He's just a pleasure," Snape drawled, his voice positively dripping with sarcasm as he cut across Maureen. "Potter! Get over here!”

 

Harry jumped to his feet and ran over to where Snape was standing, not daring to dawdle. The man looked even angrier than he had yesterday following Malfoy's filthy Muggle comment, which was rather frightening to behold.

 

“It was lovely to meet you, Maureen,” Harry managed. Speaking was a little difficult with Snape standing right beside you looking prepared to begin your slow and painful murder.

 

“Oh it was my pleasure, love,” Maureen said. She patted Harry on the head, even though he was quite a bit taller than her. “Do come over and have a chat with me again sometime! I get so lonely in this big house, all by myself.”

 

“I’d love to,” Harry said genuinely. Although, judging by the look on Snape’s face, that was unlikely to happen since Harry was almost certainly going to be thrown into a dark cellar for the rest of his sorry life.

 

“Goodbye, Maureen,” Snape said, grabbing Harry’s shoulder so hard that his nails dug in and half-dragging him back into the house next door. As soon as the front door slammed shut, his icy yet polite facade disappeared, replaced with a look of utter outrage.

 

“What the hell were you thinking, Potter?!” Snape said loudly, shaking Harry’s shoulder. He wrenched himself away as the man continued ranting. “There is a mass-murderer on the loose and you just went wandering off without telling anyone where you were! I knew you were stupid, but this blatant lack of self-preservation is shocking even for you!”

 

“I was only next door!” Harry shouted. He was done with being polite to Snape. The fury at his silence over Harry's mother was practically all-consuming, and he certainly didn’t think Snape was worthy of even the most basic civility.

 

“Next door is not protected against Sirius Black by my wards!”

 

“Oh, don't even bother with that!” Harry said with a scornful laugh. “What would some random nutter want with me? You’re just making excuses so you can control me, you stupid git!”

 

“Don’t you dare call me stupid,” Snape growled. Harry thought that was pretty hypocritical, seeing as Snape had called him the exact same thing not one minute ago. “I know that the famous Harry Potter is used to being able to do what he wants when he wants to, but that ends here. You aren’t in charge, I am.”

 

“I don’t get to do what I want!” Harry yelled.

 

“Oh, please!” Snape snapped. “I’ve seen you! Precious Potter, running around at night like he owns the castle, breaking rules like it’s a hobby, believing the whole wizarding world needs to be saved by a thirteen-year-old boy… you’re so arrogant, just like your blasted father.”

 

Harry crossed his arms and glared at Snape with all the venom he could muster, too furious to even speak. He hated Snape so much. He was the worst.

 

“Go to your room!” Snape ordered, pointing a finger at the staircase. “You aren’t to leave. And from now on, let me make it explicitly clear that you are banned from putting a toe off of this property, understood? You aren't to so much as look in the direction of the neighbours, and if you dare to disobey me again I will happily chain you to the house if that's what it takes to keep you here!”

 

“Fine!” Harry shouted, clenching his hands into fists. He stormed up the stairs and slammed the bedroom door shut so hard that it rattled. He furiously kicked the frame of his bed before throwing himself on top of the covers. The unfairness really rankled. Not only had Snape kept Harry in the dark about knowing his mum, he was now barring Harry from the one woman available who could actually tell Harry things about her! It was downright cruel.

 

Realising that he was still filthy from all the gardening, Harry sighed and jumped up from the bed, kicking his muddy trainers off. He obviously couldn’t shower, since Snape had confined Harry to the bedroom, but a change of clothes would probably stop him from feeling quite so wretched.

 

Harry had just taken his shirt off when he heard the bedroom door bang open. He turned around and locked eyes with Malfoy, who had frozen in the doorway.

 

“Hey! I’m changing here!” he shouted indignantly. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking? Get out!”

 

Instead of apologising and leaving the room, (like a normal person would, in Harry’s opinion) Malfoy just stood there with his mouth agape.

 

“What happened to you, Potter?” he asked, his eyes drifting down Harry’s torso. With an unpleasant jolt, Harry suddenly realised that all of the injuries Vernon and Dudley had given him that summer were on full display.

 

“It’s - it’s nothing!” he stammered, crossing his arms defensively over himself, feeling horribly exposed. “I… I got into a biking accident. Yeah. And if you tell Snape about it, I will murder you in your sleep. Seriously, Malfoy, if one word of this gets out, I will end you.”

 

“Okay, okay!” Malfoy said, holding his hands up and looking mildly alarmed. “Calm down, Potter! I wasn't going to anyway… I'll just come back in bit, then.”

 

He finally left the room, shutting the door behind him. Harry quickly threw a shirt on and collapsed against the side of his bed, before he buried his face in his trembling hands. Harry's heart was beating a frantic rhythm against his ribcage, and no matter how many shallow, rasping breaths he took, he couldn't stave off the feeling of light-headedness or the ringing in his ears.

 

Malfoy had seen the bruises. Would he believe the lie Harry had told him? If he didn’t everything would go so horribly wrong, Harry just knew it. If he worked out that the Dursleys had caused them, Malfoy would tell all of his Slytherin friends, and they’d laugh at him mercilessly. He’d tell Snape, who would have even more material for his Potions lesson taunts. Harry could practically hear them already. Poor little Potter, can't even defend himself from his Muggle relatives…

 

Worst of all, it could even get back to the Dursleys, who would definitely not be happy if they thought Harry had been spreading facts of their private family life around. His mouth turned dry at the mere prospect. Harry still remembered what had happened when a teacher had been concerned about some finger-shaped bruises on his arm and had called a social worker to check in on the Dursleys. They’d branded Harry a liar, of course, because what kind of well-to-do family like the Dursleys would hurt a child? No, Harry was just their disturbed, traumatised nephew who had whacked his head a little too hard in the car crash that his parents had died in. Sure, they’d stopped hitting him for a while after that, too scared of being caught, but the Dursleys were adept at expressing their fury in ways that didn’t necessarily leave a mark. He’d been locked in his cupboard without food for over a week after the visit.

 

Even when the Dursleys hit him, Harry had never actually thought they’d cause him irreparable damage. That long, long period without food, though? That had been the first time he’d been truly convinced the Dursleys were going to kill him. The incident had been second only to that awful summer before second year. If anyone found out again, Harry was almost certainly in store for a truly hellish summer when he was forced back to that awful place.

 

Everything was going wrong, and Harry didn’t know how to keep everything under control anymore. No matter how much he tried to calm himself down, nothing worked; the panic was too great. He felt like he was balancing on a tightrope, and at any moment, he could fall off into the murky depths beyond, right to his doom.

Harry spent the rest of the day confined to the bedroom. That suited him perfectly, seeing as he was still furious with Snape and utterly horrified that Malfoy knew his darkest secret. Harry was a bit concerned that if either one of them came within a mile of him then he'd do something horribly emotional, like scream, shout, or worst of all, cry.

 

Was his lie enough? Would Malfoy keep the bruises quiet? He'd said he would, but Harry wasn't so stupid that he'd trust the word of Draco Malfoy automatically. Instead, he just had to hope that Malfoy's general dislike of all things Potter meant he didn't care enough to dig deeper into Harry's reaction and work out why he'd reacted so explosively.

 

God, a biking accident? How thick was Harry? What an awful excuse!

 

But despite Harry's idiocy, the lie seemed to have worked. Malfoy didn't appear for further questioning, and neither did Snape. Harry was assuming the man's version of punishment was locking him in his room to think about what he'd done. It was really child's play to someone of Harry's background, especially when he realised Snape hadn't actually locked him in. He could leave at any time!

 

He didn't, of course. Despite what Snape thought Harry didn't actually have a death wish. Snape might be going easy on him now, but Harry wasn't stupid enough to push him.

 

Snape also sent up food for him, which appeared on the desk. Lunch and dinner, a laughable concept to the Dursleys even when they were happy with Harry. He didn't eat it. Whenever Harry got this upset, he couldn't bring himself to eat, even if he was hungry. Instead, Harry stared at the ceiling, a hurricane of emotions buffeting him from all directions, waiting until the plates vanished. He felt utterly wretched.

 

Too much had happened that morning for Harry to handle. Malfoy coming dangerously close to finding out about Harry's relationship with his relatives coupled with the revelations about Snape's friendship with Harry's mother had completely drained him.

 

And Harry still hadn't confronted Snape on that, had he? He'd been too busy getting shouted at about Sirius Black, oddly enough, and it had distracted him from the worst part of the whole situation.

 

Harry knew that you couldn't expect kindness from the majority of people. Being raised by family members who despised you tended to have that effect. That, alongside having his parents murdered and almost dying himself as a baby, had thoroughly convinced Harry that the world at large quite frankly couldn't care less about him.

 

But Harry's greatest fault was that he still hoped things would be different. He still believed in the goodness of others, but time and time again he was let down. Snape was a nasty bully who took pleasure in insulting Harry for reasons he couldn't really understand, but finding out he hated Harry so much that he intentionally kept these facts from Harry just to hurt him stung. That had to be the only reason, after all. Cruelty. Harry couldn't imagine any other purpose Snape would have for hiding that information from him if it wasn't linked to his seething hatred of Harry.

 

Part of Harry's mind quietly insisted this didn't quite add up, that he was drawing the wrong conclusions, but he staunchly pushed it away. He was too angry to believe Snape was anything more than a sadistic bastard right now.

 

He spent the day stewing and loathing Malfoy and Snape with renewed vigour. When Harry grew bored of sitting idle in his room, he drew angry images with harsh pencil strokes that nearly tore the parchment, then ripped the finished product to shreds. Parchment confetti surrounded Harry as he laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, anger giving way to self-pity. He thought he deserves to mope a little, all things considered.

 

When someone at last came in, well into the evening, Harry pretended to have fallen asleep. Whoever it was didn't need him badly enough to bother waking Harry. He continued feigning sleep a few hours later when Malfoy came in to go to bed. Harry certainly didn't want to talk to him. When Harry eventually did nod off, his sleep was fitful. He had nasty dreams plagued with images of a sneering Snape and Malfoy, leading a charge of pointing, laughing Slytherins. Harry ran from them through a maze of dark corridors until meaty fingers seized his arm. Uncle Vernon's livid, puce face roared obscenities at Harry as he dragged him into the hallway of Privet Drive and threw him into the cupboard under the stairs. Harry woke up with a gasp just as the door slammed shut with a resounding thud. His eyes shot open, and he saw Malfoy was standing at the end of his bed, giving Harry an odd look.

 

"Severus wants you for breakfast," he said on his way out of the bedroom. Harry did his best to shake off the last remaining dregs of his nightmare before heading downstairs to face the two of them.

 

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Harry's mind finally decided to settle on one emotion: anger. He glowered at Snape, who was currently hidden behind the newspaper, overwhelmed by the urge to scream at the man until his voice gave out. The fury was so all-consuming that Harry could barely find it in himself to nibble the edges of his toast. It was like his guts had contracted under the iron grip of his rage. Snape noticed this and stared at Harry like his reluctance to eat was a personal failing. He struggled to resist the urge to throw the slice of toast at Snape's head.

 

“Potter, you’ll be clearing the garden again today,” Snape said finally, after a prolonged glaring match. "Perhaps you'll actually deign to do as you're told instead of going on trips for tea."

 

Harry ground his back teeth and didn't respond. He knew if he spoke he'd say something unfathomably rude. Unfortunately, this didn’t seem to agree with Snape, who clearly didn't understand the valiant effort Harry was putting up in order to not throttle him. His eyebrows contracted sharply and he loudly slammed his newspaper to the table.

 

“Enough!” he barked. “You will answer me when I speak to you, Potter. I shouldn’t have to put up with this appalling attitude of yours in my own home!”

 

“I don’t owe you anything ,” Harry muttered, clenching his fists under the table.

 

“I have had quite enough of your disrespect -”

 

The talk of disrespect really got under Harry’s skin. He finally exploded and blurted out, “Why didn’t you ever say you knew my mum?”

 

Snape abruptly stopped ranting. All of the colour drained from his sallow face. “Excuse me?”

 

Harry crossed his arms and scoffed. “Maureen told me everything! She said you two grew up together! She said you were best friends! How could you never mention that? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

 

“I refuse to speak with you about this.” Snape shot up from his chair and stalked to the other end of the kitchen, hiding his face from view.

 

“Well, you’re going to!” Harry shouted, pushing his chair back so hard that it toppled over. There was a loud ringing in his ears. “How could you? I don’t know anything about my mum, anything! Why the hell would you keep that from me?! It’s downright cruel!”

 

“OUT!” Snape roared, pointing one trembling finger towards the back door. “GET - OUT!”

 

Despite all of his righteous anger, Harry couldn’t help but flinch back. Snape was finally looking at him now, and his face was contorted into a mixture of fury and some other agonised emotion that Harry couldn’t quite identify but immediately hated. He was yet again filled with the unwavering certainty that Snape was either going to hit him or hex him, so Harry made the effort to get out of the kitchen before either one of those things happened. He slammed the door to the garden, and heard a loud crunching noise. Harry spun around - the glass in the sliding door was full of tiny fissures, rather like a spiderweb. The kitchen window overlooking the back garden was also shattered. Harry knew slamming a door hard wouldn’t even be enough to do that - no, his anger had grown so all-consuming that his accidental magic had slipped out and broken something again.

 

Instantly, the hot core of anger burning inside him was replaced with icy dread. Accidental magic always merited a horrid punishment at the Dursleys. Snape was already flipping out, and he would surely go completely over the edge now!

 

Harry instinctually fled, hurrying to the end of the garden. He stumbled as he went, his vision going fuzzy at the edges, the ringing so loud it blocked out the sounds of car engines on the nearby road. He quickly reached the shed and squeezed into the small gap between it and the back fence, which more or less hid him from the view of the people in the house, and slid to the floor. Now he was sitting down Harry felt a little less like he was going to faint, but that didn't help the fear surging through him after that mistaken explosion of magic. Harry took a few ragged breaths as he waited for Snape to come out and find him here, cornered and ready for all sorts of Dark curses…

 

But no angry, stomping footsteps sounded up the garden. The only noise was the gentle cooing of a few pigeons and the occasional rumble of a car going past. The sun rose higher into the sky, and Harry gradually realised that no one was coming out to punish him. He eventually mustered up the courage to peek around the side of the shed and saw the sliding glass door and kitchen window were as good as new. Of course - Snape was a wizard. Broken things could be fixed with a wave of a wand.

 

Gradually, Harry’s anxiety gave way to anger once again as he stood idly in the garden, thinking of Snape. Well, no matter what the man ordered, Harry certainly wasn’t going to weed his garden after everything that had happened. Instead, he decided to start repeatedly kicking the side of the shed, not even caring if Snape saw him. It was the only way to channel his irritation he could come up with.

 

Harry hated this place. He hated Snape, and he hated Malfoy. He just wanted to be back at Hogwarts, where he only had to put up with Malfoy and Snape once a week for double Potions. He missed Ron and Hermione terribly, too. Since both of them were abroad, it took even longer than usual for Hedwig to get to them, and Harry was horribly lonely. He just wished that this awful summer could end already so he could get back to Hogwarts where he belonged…

 

“Potter.”

 

Oh, did Harry miss having a place where Malfoy couldn’t bother him.

 

“What do you want?” he muttered. Harry turned around to see Malfoy leaning against the back of the house with his arms behind his head. A smirk was playing around his lips.

 

“Severus still has me cleaning the kitchen,” he said finally.

 

“Why should I care?”

 

“I figured you could do it for me.”

 

“Fat chance!” Harry said, snorting. “I’m not doing your chores for you!”

 

“Well isn’t that a shame,” Malfoy said with a sigh. “It’ll make it ever so much harder for me to keep your little secret, then…”

 

Bruises. Malfoy meant the bruises. Harry’s mouth went bone-dry. “No! You can’t tell him.”

 

“Can’t I?” Malfoy asked, arching an eyebrow. "Why not?"

 

“Fine! I’ll do it,” Harry said quickly, desperate to shut him up. “I’ll clean the kitchen for you.”

 

“Wonderful.” Malfoy gave him a sinister smile. “Well, get on with it, Potter. Severus will be back in two hours and I want it done by then.”

 

Harry shot him a hateful look and trudged into the kitchen. Triumph was glittering in Malfoy's grey eyes. He had the upper hand, and he certainly knew it, which was going to be a problem. Even though he obviously didn't know why Harry didn't want anyone to find out he was injured, Malfoy knew Harry was hiding something, and that was enough. He had Harry eating out of the palm of his hand.

 

But it could be worse. Worse would be Snape finding out about a series of slightly suspicious bruises. Harry was used to cleaning, it wouldn’t be that bad…

 

As it turned out, though, cleaning a kitchen was a lot more difficult when your neurotic aunt didn’t already have it in a spotless state. As Harry scrubbed the floor, wiping the sweat off his brow, he could see why Snape had set Malfoy this task as a punishment. There seemed to be a permanent layer of filth caked onto every surface that Harry was struggling to lift, no matter how hard he scrubbed and scrubbed.

 

“Come on, Potter, put your back into it!” Malfoy said from the dining room chair he was lounging back on.

 

“Stuff it, Malfoy,” he snapped.

 

“That’s no way to speak to me at the minute, is it?” Malfoy said mockingly.

 

Harry gritted his teeth and just kept scrubbing, because Malfoy was right, wasn’t he? He did have all the power here, if Harry wanted to keep everything quiet, which he had to. It was just like the Dursleys, he thought. Don’t talk back and things will be…well, even if not alright, manageable. He just couldn’t believe he’d gotten himself into a situation where Malfoy of all people was blackmailing him…

 

“So, Potter,” he said. “I have to say, I’m a bit curious.”

 

If he asked Harry for a single detail about those bruises -

 

“What was all this about Severus knowing your mother?” he asked. “I have to admit, it piqued my interest; after all, what would he be doing with a Muggleborn?”

 

“Ask him yourself,” Harry muttered, wringing out a dirty rag so violently it slopped grey water out of the bucket and onto the kitchen tiles.

 

“I already tried that. Severus is a bit reluctant to speak about it.” Harry really hated the way Malfoy threw around Snape’s first name - a loud, abrupt reminder of the power differences in their relationships. “I thought you might be a bit more forthcoming, given your…situation.”

 

“Threaten me all you like, Malfoy, but I’ve got nothing to tell you,” Harry said, pouring the bucket's contents into the sink. Murky water swirled into the drain. “I wouldn’t have shouted at him if I knew what was going on, would I?”

 

“Yes, that was a rather impressive fit, wasn’t it?” Malfoy sniggered, and Harry bit down on his cheek to hold back a sharp retort. Considering Malfoy’s actions the other day, he wasn’t exactly one to get on his high horse about people throwing fits and tantrums, was he?

 

Luckily, Malfoy seemed to believe Harry when he said he didn't know anything, and was mostly quiet apart from the occasional snide comment over the next two hours while Harry scrubbed and scoured the kitchen. Eventually, Malfoy checked his watch and sighed. “Severus will be back soon, so I suppose our time together is over. Back outside, Potter, and thank you ever so much for all the help…”

 

Harry glowered at Malfoy before storming back out into the garden. For some reason, he hadn’t thought things at Spinner’s End could get worse. He should have known better than to jinx it; things always got worse for Harry…

 

That vein of thinking was what prompted Harry to finally start gardening. As angry as he was at the minute, he really didn’t want the other Snape finding out Harry had spent the morning doing literally nothing he’d been instructed to do. He was skating on thin ice as it was, and as reluctant as he was to admit it, the way Snape had lost control that morning scared him a little.

 

Harry had barely been working for ten minutes when the back door slid open. Snape was staring at him, his face completely devoid of emotion. It was almost unnaturally blank, especially when compared to the utter fury that had been scrawled across it earlier. “Lunch.”

 

Harry brushed himself off and trudged inside. He didn’t even look at Malfoy as he sat down at the kitchen table. The stupid git looked ridiculously pleased with himself, and Harry wanted to slap the smug expression right off his face, which would be unwise for a number of reasons.

 

Snape didn’t eat with them. He stood in the corner of the kitchen, staring out of the window. It seemed they weren't acknowledging the fight that morning, which suited Harry perfectly well. He was still on tenterhooks after the explosion of accidental magic.

 

“You’ve done well here, Draco,” Snape commented after a lengthy silence. “It’s very clean.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” he said, and Harry felt another surge of resentment. He dug his fingernails into his palms as the anger surged to almost unmanageable levels. “Will I be able to brew with you again this afternoon?”

 

“Not at the moment, I’m afraid,” Snape said. “I’m working with a very delicate potion on orders from the Headmaster which you can’t be involved with. I am also not to be disturbed - I trust that the two of you can behave for the afternoon and do your homework without killing each other?”

 

“Of course I will behave, sir,” Malfoy said smoothly, “although I don’t know if you can say the same for Potter. He’s been laying around all morning, not doing anything - I saw him.”

 

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but promptly shut it again when he saw the look in Malfoy’s eyes. The one that said I know all your secrets. 

 

“I see,” Snape said icily, glaring at him. “I don’t just ask you to do these things for the fun of it, Potter. You are a member of this household and need to pull your weight! Just because your relatives wait on you hand and foot does not mean that I will do the same!”

 

Waited on hand and foot! Snape couldn’t be further from the truth. Still, Harry didn’t dare protest, and settled for a wordless scowl. Perhaps a bit of silent treatment was appropriate here.

 

“Seeing as I cannot trust you to do as you're told, I suppose I’m going to have to inconvenience myself further and supervise you for the duration of the afternoon,” Snape said, visibly disgruntled. “You will do your homework at a desk in my laboratory.”

 

Doing his homework in Snape’s lab? That was it? Harry didn’t understand how that was supposed to be much of a punishment. Wouldn’t it be the same as doing his homework at the dining room table, with Snape watching, or any old Potions lesson?

 

Harry quickly grew to understand how wrong he was.

 

The desk Snape had described was a small, rickety table jammed in the corner of the laboratory. Harry took in the room as he sat down, since he’d never been in here before. The lab had definitely been magically expanded, as Harry didn’t think so many jars of ingredients and simmering cauldrons could be held in Snape’s tiny house without some kind of expansion enchantments. The whole place was remarkably similar to Snape’s Potions classroom at Hogwarts, with the main difference being the polished wooden floors instead of cold dungeon stone, as well as the windows, which the blinds were drawn down over. Harry’s observations of the room were abruptly cut off as Snape waved his wand, and a thin, wooden wall appeared to the right of Harry’s desk.

 

“Concentrate,” Snape ordered. “You should be doing your homework, not staring at me.”

 

It was torture, Harry decided, being confined by the three walls around him. There was no window, no clock, nothing to look at but the ugly wallpaper, the wooden slab Snape had conjured and the Charms essay in front of him. Harry was also fairly certain Snape had cast some sort of Muffling Charm, since the crackling of the flames and the bubbling of the cauldrons were almost inaudible. The room was also hellishly hot. The sole window behind Harry’s head wasn’t open, and the combination of the fire beneath Snape’s cauldron and the oppressive August heat meant Harry was sticky with sweat within about ten minutes of being in the lab.

 

Harry quickly grew bored of staring at his Charms homework, and started rocking on the back legs of his chair, trying to see if he could peer around the wooden wall and watch what Snape was working on. If Malfoy wasn't allowed in on it, whatever it was had to be pretty secret. Snape was chopping some kind of plant - was that Wolfsbane? - and wandlessly making a cauldron stir itself. Despite the intense focus obvious on his face, Snape noticed Harry watching him within seconds and immediately cast a Sticking Charm on the chair legs, keeping Harry glued to the floor no matter how much he tried to wriggle the chair free. Snape then proceeded to bark a sharp reprimand about Harry cracking his head open - even wizarding teachers had that rant ready, it seemed - and told him he’d be staying there even longer.

 

But Harry was so, so bored. When writing about Cheering Charms became too dull, he decided to start inventing more and more creative ways to torment Malfoy, who Harry had never hated more vehemently than he did right now as he was trapped in Snape’s awful lab. Harry hadn’t done anything wrong, and he was still being punished because Malfoy was blackmailing him!

 

He just hoped that Hedwig would be back soon. Ron’s dad was sure to know about whatever Malfoy’s parents had done to get themselves locked up - maybe Harry could use what he heard to blackmail him back? Part of him cringed at the thought of that, though. That sort of sneaky, underhanded behaviour never sat well with Harry. Still, desperate times called for desperate measures, and if that was what it took to buy Malfoy’s silence about the bruises, Harry would take it. At least it seemed like he hadn’t realised the Dursleys were behind them - that would be unbearable - but Harry was almost certain that if Snape found out, he’d put two and two together quickly. He’d always been too bloody perceptive…

 

After what felt like an eternity of torment, Snape finally cleared his throat. “Show me your work.”

 

Harry passed the completed Charms essay to Snape, who scanned it with his beady eyes. “Tolerable. Go.”

 

Harry was just about to turn around when all of the simmering hatred boiled over yet again. He clutched the essay in trembling hands and stared at Snape, who had returned to brewing and was pointedly ignoring Harry's continual presence. Once again, he was struck by just how cruel it was of him to hide his friendship with Harry's mum from him. Even though he knew it was a terrible idea, the words were tumbling out of Harry's mouth before he could stop himself.

 

"You should have told me, and you know it." Harry's voice was shaking, and he despised himself for it. It was betraying him, signalling to Snape just how angry, how upset he was.

 

Snape's hands clenched into fists, crushing the berries he'd been holding. Red juice seeped between his knuckles and dripped onto the floor as he drew himself to his full height, looking over Harry, eyes dark with hatred.

 

"Do you constantly have to be so melodramatic?" Snape demanded. "You live with her sister, Potter! She's obviously told you something, hasn't she?"

 

Harry, who had spent his entire childhood being told his parents were worthless, unemployed drunks who had died in a car crash, had to struggle against the urge to laugh derisively. Petunia Dursley never spoke about her sister if she could help it! Harry felt the sudden, random urge to shout that fact at Snape, but stopped himself at the last moment. The question in his voice had obviously been rhetorical.

 

Right?

 

"You are not entitled to my personal recollections," Snape growled. His voice was the one shaking, now. "Although you seem to think yourself entitled to everything, Potter, so I suppose you needed the extra clarification…"

 

"She's my mum," Harry hissed, his whole body trembling now with the force of his anger. "My mum."

 

"And I never get to forget that, do I?" Snape said through gritted teeth, his face twisted with something dark and painful. "Now leave!"

 

And Harry did, the pain coiling in his chest, burning like hot coals. That had been truly awful...

 

Still, despite his general indignation, Harry couldn’t help but sigh with relief as he left the lab. Even the distasteful wallpaper decorating the upstairs landing of Spinner’s End was a welcome relief from the three walls he’d been trapped between all afternoon. That had been truly miserable.

 

When he rushed into the bedroom, Harry’s spirits rose even more. Hedwig was sitting by her cage, a letter tied to her leg. She gently cooed as Harry approached her.

 

“Hey, girl!” he said happily, running a finger over her feathers before untying the letter attached to her leg. Judging by the handwriting, it was from Ron. “I’ve missed you…”

 

He slid a finger through the seal of the envelope and began reading the letter within.

 

  Hi, Harry! 

 

  I hope you’re okay. I can’t believe you actually blew up your aunt! Don’t tell Hermione I said this, but it sounds like she had it coming. I sent Errol with a letter explaining everything to her like you asked, by the way. Hopefully he actually makes it to France, but I’m not holding my breath. I tried to get Percy to let me use Hermes, but he’s too busy using him to write to his girlfriend. Ginny nicked a couple of his love letters, and they’re the soppiest nonsense I’ve ever read. I thought I was going to sick up! 

 

  Are you staying in Diagon Alley for the rest of the summer, then? If you are, we can meet and get our school things the week before term, which is when we’re all coming back from Egypt. It’s absolutely wicked out here. I got to ride a camel and everything today! Fred and George somehow made Percy’s run off into the desert with him still sitting on it, and it took half an hour to get him back. He was furious.

 

   Make sure you let me know about Diagon Alley!

 

  Best,

 

   Ron

 

Harry smiled and put the letter to one side. He found himself missing Ron and Hermione a lot in the summers, since they were the closest thing he had to a real family. As happy as Harry was that the Weasleys had won the lottery - no one could have deserved it more - a small, selfish part of him wished they were still in England, so he could have stayed with them again this summer instead of getting stuck with Snape.

 

After feeding Hedwig some owl treats and refilling her water bowl, Harry decided to sit down and complete his half-finished letter to Ron as soon as possible. He needed to let his friend know that he wasn’t going to be in Diagon Alley before the Weasleys made any plans, since Harry didn’t think for a minute that Snape would allow him to go. It would make Harry happy, which went against everything Snape stood for.

 

When was Harry going to get his school supplies, anyway? He hadn’t managed to pick up much in the minimal time he’d spent at Diagon Alley before getting dragged to Spinner’s End. He doubted that Snape was going to ban him completely, since he taught at Hogwarts, but the idea of shopping with Snape and Malfoy turned his stomach a little. Harry shuddered and returned to his letter.

 

  Dear Ron,

 

  It’s nice to hear from you. I wish I was in Egypt with you, since my summer’s just gone from bad to worse. Dumbledore decided I couldn’t stay alone in Diagon Alley for the rest of August, so I’ve been stuck with Snape, of all people. He’s a bloody nightmare to live with, I can tell you that. I feel like all we’ve done is argue. 

 

  If that wasn’t bad enough on its own, he’s also got Malfoy living with him at the moment. MALFOY! He’s being even more of a git than usual, and I can’t even get away from him like I could at Hogwarts because we share a room and everything. I’m looking over my shoulder while I write this to make sure he doesn’t barge in here and try to steal my mail.

 

  Did you know his parents have been sent to Azkaban? That’s the whole reason Malfoy’s even here. Apparently, Snape is his guardian now. Have you heard anything about what the Malfoys did to get themselves locked up? I obviously don’t get any news at Privet Drive, but I thought your dad might have heard something at the Ministry. I’m absolutely dying to know what happened, but Snape’s refusing to tell me anything. They’re both just so awful. Hopefully the two of them won’t kill me in my sleep or something, but if I go mysteriously missing, you know who did it. 

 

  I’ll ask Snape if he’ll let me go into London, but don’t get your hopes up. I bet he’ll say no just to spite me. Even if he doesn’t let me, I’ll see you on the train in September. I’m counting down the days!

 

  Enjoy the pyramids, 

 

  Harry

 

Satisfied, Harry sealed the envelope and deftly tied the letter to Hedwig’s leg.

 

“I’m not sending you off just yet, but if Snape or Malfoy come in here, you might want to fly off and avoid them.” Hedwig gave him a highly reproachful look, and Harry sighed. “Look, I’m sorry I keep throwing you out, but you really don’t want to be around Snape and Malfoy. Snape might chop you up for Potions ingredients. It might be best if you just stay with Ron for a bit, yeah? Sorry…”

 

Hedwig watched him indignantly for a few moments, her head bobbing. Moments later, she flew out of the open window with a none too gentle nip of his finger. Harry sighed, watching her grow smaller and smaller as she flew into the distance. Harry felt rather neglectful, since this was the second time that summer he’d sent Hedwig away, but considering Malfoy’s progressively worsening nastiness, Harry thought it was the smart thing to do. He didn’t want to come upstairs and find his only companion during those long summers at Privet Drive dead. Harry just wished he could sprout wings and fly away with her…

 

Harry was just returning to the bedroom after a trip to the loo when the topic of Malfoy reared its ugly head once again. He paused in the hallway as slightly muffled voices came through the door to Snape’s lab. Malfoy was in there, and despite the closed door, what he was saying was more or less audible.

 

“She’s still not writing to me.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“This is the fifth letter I’ve sent since it happened, Severus,” Malfoy said tightly. “I didn’t expect Greg or Vince to send much in the way of letters - they can barely read as it is - but Pansy? Are the rental owls just not reaching her?”

 

“I don’t think that’s the issue, Draco,” Snape said in a surprisingly gentle voice. Harry hadn’t known Snape was even capable of being gentle, and to hear that kind of tone coming from the man felt very wrong.

 

“I don’t understand why she’s angry with me,” Malfoy said in a small voice. “I’m not the one who did something wrong…”

 

“Sometimes, we can’t know the strength of our relationships until they’re tested in times of hardship,” Snape said. “There are people in the world who will turn out to be simply fairweather friends, as unfortunate as that may be.”

 

“That’s not Pansy,” Malfoy said fiercely. “She - she isn’t… I just need to write to her again. With a different owl, this time. Can you take me to the Post Office so I can rent another one, Severus? Please?”

 

“In a few days time,” Snape promised after a brief pause. “As soon as this brew is finished.”

 

"Alright," Malfoy said, sounding slightly dejected. The lab fell into silence and Harry crept back to his room, not wanting them to know he’d overheard. He sat on the edge of his bed, lost in thought.

 

So Pansy Parkinson was ignoring Malfoy, was she? That was interesting. From what Harry could tell, the two of them had always been close friends, bonded over their love of viciously bullying Gryffindors. What could have made them fall out?

 

And why was Malfoy renting owls, anyway? Harry was certain Malfoy had an owl of his own, a handsome screech owl that always brought him boxes of sweets from home. He was rather sure of this because Malfoy was fond of taunting Harry over the fact that he didn’t receive any mail of his own. There weren’t any owls at Spinner’s End, though… strange.

 

As much as he hated the other boy at that moment, Harry couldn't help but once again wonder what precisely was going on with Draco Malfoy.

The strange thing about living with people was that you ended up learning a lot about them through sheer proximity. After two years at Hogwarts, Harry knew that he had to get up at a certain time before Seamus started hogging the shower, and that you had to check before you stepped into your shoes in case Neville’s toad, Trevor, had crawled into them. It was one of those things you couldn't help, and this principle also unfortunately applied to living with people who you didn’t like.

 

He knew that Aunt Petunia had trouble sleeping most nights, and generally got up even before Harry because of her insomnia. He knew Uncle Vernon always read the Telegraph at breakfast and was allergic to bees. He knew about Dudley’s severe hay fever, which made his cousin’s eyes turn red and swollen without fail every spring. Harry couldn’t help picking up this information about his relatives, just as he couldn’t help learning more about Malfoy and Snape than he would have otherwise liked over his next few days at Spinner’s End.

 

Snape was always accompanied by a chipped blue mug, which was without fail full of steaming black coffee. He even drank it at night, which Harry was almost certain couldn’t be good for you.

 

Every morning and evening, Malfoy spent what seemed like forever hogging the upstairs bathroom, which was the only loo in the house, doing some sort of intricate skincare routine. There was more than one occasion on which Snape ended up shouting at him through the door, threatening to take away something called a Glow Elixir.

 

Malfoy also read a lot of books. Fiction, if the titles were anything to go off, although they all seemed to be wizarding books because Harry had never heard of them and the cover art moved. In fact, Harry almost never saw him without a novel tucked under one arm or open in his lap.

 

Snape was left-handed. He always wrote up their class instructions onto the chalkboard with a flick of his wand, so Harry had never noticed that until now when he actually had an opportunity to see the man write something down. Snape also often switched his wand between hands depending on what spell he was casting, which Harry thought was odd but didn't ask about.

 

Malfoy's fingers were often rhymically tapping away on a surface. Sometimes, when he thought no one was listening, he hummed.

 

Snape exclusively wore closely fitted, long-sleeved robes, even on the boiling hot day where it hit thirty degrees and the house felt more like a furnace.

 

Malfoy still talked in his sleep, and the words he was saying became more and more comprehensible with every night Harry spent here.

 

And Snape always seemed to be watching Harry. He had the ability to move soundlessly through the house, which was horribly unnerving, and sometimes Harry would turn around and catch Snape staring at him with one eyebrow arched, expression thoughtful. It made Harry wonder if he and Malfoy had picked up on any habits of Harry’s during his stay at Spinner’s End. He almost immediately dismissed the idea, but Snape's watchful behaviour was starting to get under Harry's skin. What was he doing? What was he trying to work out?

 

Of course, Snape and Malfoy didn’t have much opportunity to learn things about Harry because he was doing his best to make himself as unobtrusive and invisible as physically possible in order to avoid any further confrontations with Snape. The twisted rage on Snape’s face when Harry had dared to ask about his mum had thoroughly scared him into silence. As much as Harry was aching to find out why Snape had never mentioned knowing her, he was far too worried about what Snape might do to him if he dared to bring up the topic again.

 

So, they had settled into something of a routine. The three of them generally ate breakfast, lunch and dinner together, excluding the times when Snape was upstairs brewing. Malfoy and Snape would talk, Harry would sit in sullen silence and try to eat as quickly as he could so he could get away from them. Snape made Harry garden in the morning, then do his homework in the afternoon, which he generally insulted and occasionally described with words that almost sounded like compliments. Of course, as this was Snape giving feedback, Harry assumed they were just further insults he couldn’t quite understand. The evenings were free for Harry to hide in the bedroom he shared with Malfoy and pretend like he didn’t exist.

 

Malfoy and Snape tended to sit together in the living room while he hid upstairs, or they brewed together. That suited Harry just fine, as he didn’t want to spend any time with the two of them if he could help it. His problem was when Malfoy was left with nothing to do. While Snape was perfectly happy to hold up his end of the bargain and ignore Harry’s existence, Malfoy seemed to take vindictive pleasure in taunting Harry whenever Snape was out of earshot. Whatever fragile truce they’d had for the first couple of days had vanished the minute Malfoy had seen the bruises under Harry’s shirt. Harry was simply thankful that Malfoy hadn't guessed it had been Harry's relatives who had caused them. No, all he seemed to realise was that he had information Harry wanted to keep secret, and that was that. Now, he knew Harry had to sit by and take it whenever he wanted to make snide comments about Harry, his friends, his parents…

 

Just a few weeks, Harry told himself. That was it - a few weeks here, and then he’d be back at Hogwarts and his proximity to Snape and Malfoy would lessen. Just a few weeks of dealing with this, a few weeks was all…

 

And Harry did his best to control his temper, he really did. Unfortunately, the hellish environment that was Spinner’s End meant Harry was really struggling with that, and he felt his patience gradually wearing thin as his first week drew to a close.

 

After he seemed moderately satisfied that Harry wasn’t going to set the house alight, Snape had started spending all of his mornings and most of his afternoons holed up in the laboratory brewing that potion of his - whatever it was, it seemed to have a time limit. That left Harry and Malfoy alone to get on with either their homework or chores unsupervised. Malfoy had long since finished having Harry clean up the kitchen for him, leaving him with a lot of spare time. Naturally, he had taken to insulting Harry as he got on with whatever tasks he’d been set, since he knew Harry couldn’t fight back. It had been just about bearable so far, but today was different. Harry was rapidly running out of the ability to keep his cool, while Malfoy had woken up in a particularly foul mood, which he’d decided to take out on Harry, of course.

 

“Hey Potter, are you digging out a new hole in the ground for the Weasleys to live in?”

 

“Imagine if they could see the famous Harry Potter, digging about in a garden without magic…”

 

“There’s mud all over you, Potter, have you noticed? Of course you wouldn’t - you’re used to muddy things, considering your bloodline…”

 

“Oh, just shut up, Malfoy!” Harry shouted, the last comment finally pushing him over the edge. Draco had been sniping at him for days, and he was going to lose it and hit him over the head with a trowel if it didn’t stop -

 

“Potter!” Harry couldn’t help his groan at the sound of Snape’s voice. Of course he had to materialise now. “Stop being rude to Draco. Get inside, it's time for lunch.”

 

Why is everything always my bloody fault?! Harry wouldn’t be surprised if Snape had overheard the barely concealed slur towards his bloodline and just didn’t care. Nasty, bigoted Slytherins always stuck together…

 

Harry picked at his food, feeling far too angry to eat. This was becoming a frequent occurrence. Unfortunately for him, as the meal progressed, it turned out Malfoy wasn’t the only one with a giant stick up his arse.

 

“Potter, must you always engage in this infernal sulking?” Snape hissed, slamming his fork to the table. “I am sick of this sullen adolescent moping! Would it kill you to act politely?”

 

It was like something in Harry snapped. “Oh, will you just shut up for once in your bloody life!”

 

Snape’s eyes flashed dangerously. “What did you just say to me?”

 

“You heard me, or are you too stupid to understand me?” Harry asked snarkily. “You greasy, slimy old -”

 

The words leaving Harry’s mouth abruptly turned to silence before the string of expletives he’d been about to unleash. Snape’s lips curled up unpleasantly. “I’m sorry, Potter, what were you saying?”

 

Harry tried to shout, but was once again met with nothing but silence. Horrified, he grabbed at his throat.

 

“When you find yourself able to speak respectfully,” Snape said silkily, “I will lift the Silencing Charm.”

 

Unable to bear his smugness for another moment, Harry fled the kitchen and back out into the garden, where he hid in the narrow gap behind the shed again. He tried everything from whispers to flat-out screams that tore through his throat like ragged knives, but no matter what he did, sound wouldn’t leave his mouth. It was utterly awful. What was he going to do? Was Snape going to leave him like this for the rest of August, silenced and powerless?

 

Harry had just given up on his futile screaming attempts when he finally registered the sound of steady breathing behind him. He whirled around and saw Snape leaning against the shed, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. He still looked unbearably smug. “Finished?”

 

Harry glared at him, hoping his gaze could convey the depth of his hatred.

 

“Now,” Snape said, twirling his wand between his fingers, “When I lift the spell I want an apology. If I don’t get one, I’ll leave it on for the rest of the day.”

 

  Stupid old bastard…

 

Snape flicked his wand and looked at Harry expectantly. He half-considered remaining silent - the idea of apologising to Snape was utterly loathsome - but then Harry realised he’d be confined to silence during Malfoy’s taunting if Snape left the spell on, and he really didn’t think he could bear that.

 

“Sorry,” he ground out in a hoarse, strained voice. The screaming hadn’t done his throat any good.

 

“I will be brewing,” Snape said, turning around. “Do not disturb me with another one of your temper tantrums, or I will be highly displeased.”

 

He flounced back into the house without another word. Harry rubbed his eyes despairingly, feeling more miserable than he could have ever imagined.

 

After a little while longer of feeling sorry for himself, Harry just about managed to pull himself together. He wasn’t going to bother with lunch again - instead, he decided to go back to gardening, since the prospect of going back into that horrid house actually made him feel a little bit ill. Harry brutally chopped at a shrub with a pair of gardening shears, fairly mangling the poor plant, which he was currently imagining to be Snape’s stupid face.

 

“Well good afternoon, Potter.”

 

Someday, Harry reflected, he was going to murder Draco Malfoy. Between the sharp gardening shears he was currently holding and the simmering anger just waiting to boil over, Harry thought it rather likely that today might just be the day.

 

“You might want to show me some manners when I speak to you,” Malfoy said mockingly. “Severus is rather insistent on that, after all…”

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Harry snapped, grinding his back teeth.

 

“Aww, are you upset about a little Silencing Charm?” Malfoy asked, sidling closer. Harry did his best not to look at him. “Poor, little baby Potter…”

 

“JUST SHUT UP!” Harry roared, throwing the shears to the floor, blood pounding in his ears.

 

“I don’t think I will,” Malfoy said quietly. “I think I’ll just talk and talk, all about that biking accident…”

 

“Oh yeah?” Harry challenged, trying to think up anything he could use back. He was done tiptoeing around Malfoy, he just couldn’t take it anymore. “Well then I’ll tell the whole school about how your darling parents got themselves locked up."

 

Malfoy’s features twisted into a snarl. “Don’t you bring up my parents -”

 

“Or I’ll tell them about your little tantrum!” Harry shouted. “Poor Draco Malfoy, throwing fits and crying like a three-year-old! Oh, or I’ll tell them about Snape’s book for traumatised teenagers -”

 

The sound of Malfoy’s blow hit Harry before he felt it connect with his face. Sharp pain blossomed in his cheek. He shoved Malfoy back, and Malfoy stumbled, struggling to keep his feet. Harry took advantage of his distraction and kicked him hard in the shins. Malfoy grimaced, then pushed forward and pinned Harry against the fence with surprising strength. Harry could feel him actually trembling with fury as his forearm pressed into Harry’s neck. His grey eyes were narrowed and glistening with hatred.

 

“At least my relatives actually want me!” Malfoy growled. He dug his arm in so hard that Harry couldn’t breathe past the pressure. “Those filthy Muggles you call a family threw you out, didn’t they Potter? No one can stand you - in fact, I bet your parents were glad they died so they didn’t have to put up with you anymore.”

 

He slammed Harry back against the fence one last time, knocking the wind out of him, before storming back into the house. Harry fell to his knees, gasping for air. He half-considered chasing after Malfoy and getting another blow in, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, Harry sank backwards against the wall.

 

He was surprisingly hurt by Malfoy’s words, and he hated himself for it. It was stupid - Malfoy didn’t know a thing about Harry’s parents, after all - but he’d always been very skilled at getting under Harry’s skin. Being unwanted…that was something Harry had struggled with his whole life. The Dursleys had hardwired it into him that nobody wanted anything to do with Harry.

 

And they were right - nobody did. That was why he was stuck at Spinner’s End with a man who hated Harry with a passion, since Snape was the only person who Dumbledore had managed to force into looking after Harry. That was why he’d originally been planning to live above a pub for the rest of August. Harry didn’t have anyone.

 

For what felt like the hundredth time that week, Harry considered just dragging his trunk out of the house and taking the Knight Bus back to the Leaky Cauldron, away from this horrid place. The only thing that had stopped Harry was the fact that Snape would probably hear him dragging his trunk down the staircase and stop Harry before he got out the door.

 

Harry's face was throbbing from where Malfoy had punched him. He raised a hand to it and gingerly ran his fingers over his cheek. Uncle Vernon had certainly hit Harry plenty, but never in the face. Aunt Petunia's slaps certainly stung, but she never hit Harry hard enough for it to bruise by any stretch. They were too scared of someone noticing something like that. The only person who dared to go anywhere near Harry's face was Dudley, who declared it a win every time he managed to break Harry's glasses when trying to bloody his nose.

 

Harry really hoped Malfoy’s punch wasn’t going to bruise. Knowing Harry's luck, Snape would see it and go completely nuclear. How bloody fantastic.

 

Snape didn't spend very long brewing, considering how vehemently he'd insisted on being left alone. It had to have been just shy of an hour since his and Malfoy's fight when Snape resurfaced and wrenched open the back door. His face was the picture of outrage. Harry wearily got to his feet, preparing to be shouted at…

 

But Snape didn't say a word. He stalked over to Harry, grabbed him by the upper arm, and practically dragged him inside. He only released Harry once the back door was tightly shut. A muscle in Snape's jaw was ticking.

 

"Where is it?" he said through gritted teeth.

 

Harry gave him a blank look. "Sorry?"

 

Snape's lips drew back into a snarl. "Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm referring to! Where did you hide it?"

 

"Hide what?"

 

"The necklace!" Snape shouted, slamming a hand onto the kitchen counter. Harry flinched. "Where did you hide his blasted necklace?"

 

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Harry protested.

 

"Do not lie!" Snape bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth.

 

"I'm not!"

 

"Perhaps I ought to jog your memory, then!" Snape took a step closer, until his hooked nose was barely an inch from Harry’s face. "Instead of employing a fraction of basic empathy, you decided to follow in the footsteps of your arrogant bully of a father and pick on Draco in regard to the situation with his parents.”

 

“What?” Harry demanded. He went to continue protesting, but Snape wasn’t done.

 

“If that wasn't cruel enough, you then decided to steal one of the only items Draco has of his parents!” Snape yelled. His face had gone rather red by now. “So, tell me now, where did you put the necklace?!"

 

"I didn't put it anywhere because I didn't take it!" Harry shouted. "I didn't even know he had a necklace!"

 

"And what makes you think I would trust a single word out of your mouth?" Snape asked angrily.

 

"I don't know, but you certainly shouldn't trust Malfoy!"

 

"Why are you fighting this?" Snape asked, crossing his arms. "We both know perfectly well that you took it. Just give it back."

 

“You’re a wizard, aren’t you?” Harry challenged. “Don’t you have some sort of spell to find things you’ve lost?”

 

“A Summoning Charm would not work on heirloom jewellery like that, as you knew perfectly well when you took it!” Snape growled. “Stop trying to wriggle your way out of this and say where you’ve hidden it!"

 

A sudden wave of despair washed over Harry. He took a step back from Snape and leaned his head against the kitchen wall dully. He hadn't taken the necklace, but Snape was never going to believe that Harry was telling the truth. As far as he was concerned, Harry was a nasty bully, and nothing he said was going to change Snape’s mind. He couldn’t even tell Snape about Malfoy’s horrid taunts over the last few days, since Malfoy was still blackmailing him. This was all a part of that torment, wasn't it? As revenge for Harry's comments earlier, Malfoy was intentionally getting him in trouble with Snape, knowing he couldn't get out of it.

 

It was so viciously clever, and Harry hated Malfoy even more for it.

 

"Well? Potter?"

 

Harry didn't respond. He just didn't have the energy to fight anymore. It was so pointless…

 

"This really is extraordinarily cruel, Potter," Snape muttered. His hand shot out, quick as a flash. Harry tried to duck away from the blow, but Snape's hand instead latched onto his upper arm. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Considering your own parental circumstances I'd have liked to imagine you could muster a modicum of understanding for Draco's situation, but I suppose an expectation of basic human compassion from the likes of you was far too much to ask for. Perhaps some time in your room to contemplate your actions will loosen your tongue."

 

Keeping a vice grip on Harry's arm, Snape began to stalk from the kitchen. For a single, heart-stopping moment Harry thought Snape was about to throw him into the cupboard under the stairs, but they went straight past it, as well as the living room. Harry caught a glimpse of Malfoy’s white-blonde hair through the open door and felt a sudden surge of rage. Snape had the whole situation backwards, and it was entirely that git’s fault! He wrenched himself away from Snape and stormed into the living room, pushing the door so hard it hit the opposite wall with a loud bang.

 

“You’re a right lying arsehole, Malfoy!” Harry shouted. Malfoy didn’t reply - he stared at Harry imperiously, a single eyebrow raised. Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. Moments later, Harry felt Snape seize him and yank him back into the hallway. He shook Harry’s shoulder and glowered at him.

 

“Enough!” he said through gritted teeth. “You’ve done enough to him already! With me, now.”

 

He pulled Harry along, up the stairs and onto the landing before he was finally released in the bedroom.

 

"I will be in my laboratory when you are ready to confess," Snape said irritably. He slammed the bedroom door shut.

 

Harry immediately buried his face under the pillow on his bed, hating how close to tears he felt at that moment. He should have predicted Malfoy doing something like this when Harry had made the stupid mistake of attempting to threaten him back. Of course Malfoy would always be two steps ahead of him when it came to sneaking around and being horrid; he was a Slytherin, after all. This was their bread and butter.

 

What had Harry been thinking? He wouldn’t be surprised if Malfoy kept the necklace hidden wherever he’d put it for the rest of August, just so Snape dredged up whatever miserable punishments he could think of to torment Harry until he finally got back to Hogwarts. Although, Harry thought gloomily, even the start of term didn’t necessarily put an end to this nightmare. He wouldn’t put it past Snape to stick Harry in detention at school indefinitely until he confessed to stealing the necklace. Harry was even half-considering confessing just to get it all over with, but there was no point, since Snape almost certainly wouldn’t leave Harry alone until he gave the necklace back, and he couldn’t do that since he hadn’t actually taken the stupid thing in the first place!

 

He contemplated trying to find where Malfoy had hidden the necklace, but there was no point. Harry had only been living at Spinner’s End for a week, and Malfoy would certainly know hiding spots he couldn’t weasel out since he’d been here for so much longer.

 

Instead, Harry remained in the room and stared blankly at the ceiling as afternoon stretched into evening, trying to think of ways to prove his innocence, but none of his ideas amounted to anything useful. Every explanation about how Malfoy had been just as nasty to Harry as he was supposedly being to Malfoy somehow led back to what Malfoy was blackmailing him about, which Harry couldn’t let Snape find out. If he got the Dursleys in any kind of trouble, next summer with them would be hell, and Harry would much rather be stuck scrubbing cauldrons all year because of a false accusation than stuck at Privet Drive getting the stuffing beaten out of him.

 

Harry was in the middle of trying to come up with some sort of plot to get back at Malfoy when the door was wrenched open. Snape strode over to the bed Harry was lying on and loomed over him, arms crossed. “Well? Are you going to put a stop to this ridiculous stand-off and just tell me already?”

 

“No, sir,” Harry said in a perfect monotone. “I’m just a cruel little bully, after all, and I want Malfoy to suffer as much as possible.”

 

Fury flashed in Snape’s eyes. “Don’t you dare cheek me.”

 

“Why shouldn’t I?” Harry asked, leaning back on his elbows and staring up at Snape, feeling dangerous. “I’m just like my arrogant father, aren’t I, with no respect for anyone, including you.”

 

“Then you will stay in here until you see fit as to change your attitude,” Snape growled.

 

“Fine by me!” Harry said loudly. “I can do this all day and night if you want me to! Locking me in a bedroom, that’s nothing! I've had far worse!"

 

Snape didn’t respond. He was looking at Harry with an odd expression on his face, which gradually smoothed into a crafty smirk. “Do you know what Legilimency is, Potter?”

 

Harry obviously didn’t, but the triumphant glint in Snape’s eyes let him know it couldn’t be good.

 

“Legilimency is the art of magically navigating another person’s mind,” Snape explained softly. “A skilled Legilimens can interpret the memories of their subject directly from the brain." He took a step forward. "I am a Legilimens, Potter.”

 

Harry jumped to his feet at once, his heart speeding up to a frantic beat. “You can read minds?”

 

Snape scoffed. “Only a naive fool would refer to it as such. It is far less straightforward - a Legilimens has to trawl through all sorts of memories in the journey to find the information they are looking for.” Snape took a menacing step forward. “So you have a choice, Potter. Either tell me where you hid that necklace, or I will comb through every single little memory in your mind until I find what I need to know.”

 

Harry couldn’t breathe. If Snape really went through his mind, looking for information Harry didn’t have, he’d see every single one of Harry’s most embarrassing memories. He’d see Dudley beating him up, Petunia screeching at him about how he was a lazy brat, Vernon throwing him into the cupboard under the stairs with a bruising grip…

 

“You have half an hour to give me the necklace,” Snape said quietly. “If you still refuse, then I will start looking for myself.”

 

He strode from the bedroom in a flurry of black robes, and slammed the door to his laboratory shut, leaving Harry alone, feeling like an elephant was sitting on his chest. He was in an impossible situation. There was no way for him to get that necklace back to Snape, who absolutely could not see those memories.

 

Maybe he could beg Malfoy to take pity on him and tell Snape Harry hadn’t taken anything? No, that would never work. Snape was surprisingly strict with Malfoy, and if he found out that Malfoy had lied to him to get Harry in trouble, he’d almost certainly be furious. Malfoy wouldn’t dare incriminate himself.

 

Maybe he could ask Malfoy to give Harry the necklace so he could confess to stealing it and hand it back in? Snape almost certainly had some sort of miserable punishment that Harry would be stuck with either way, so that would make Malfoy happy…

 

But Malfoy wanted Harry to feel as wretched as physically possible, so he was probably thrilled that Snape was going to read Harry’s mind. No, there was no way to get out of things that way, so there was only one thing to do. He had to get away from Snape before he could see those memories and use them to torment Harry for the remainder of his Hogwarts years.

 

Harry grabbed a worn old backpack that he’d inherited for Dudley which he’d used for primary school. With his heart in his throat as he glanced at the alarm clock on Malfoy’s desk, ticking away the precious seconds until his half an hour was up, Harry started to pack. Nothing but the bare essentials, of course. A change of clothes. His Gringotts key and any money he had. His food stash. The photo album of his parents. He was loath to leave his other belongings, like his Nimbus Two-Thousand and the broomstick servicing kit that Hermione had given him for his birthday, but Harry had to pack light if he was going to get out of Spinner’s End undetected. He had to leave his trunk and Hedwig’s cage behind, too, if he was going to successfully manage to escape.

 

When the backpack was full, Harry zipped it up and slung it over his shoulders. Taking one last look around the room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, Harry snatched up his wand and threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself. Harry did his utmost to try and control his frantic, panicked breathing as he crept across the landing and towards the staircase. The only thing that Harry thought would get him in more trouble than what he was in right now was if Snape caught him running away. Harry was certain he’d at last hit Harry if that happened. Thank goodness he’d memorised which parts of the house creaked. He was able to get all the way downstairs without making a sound.

 

Now came the more difficult part. The living room door was open and judging by the occasional rustle of a page, Malfoy was currently in there reading. Harry may have been invisible, but the cloak wasn’t soundproof. He’d hear the door opening. Would he tell on Harry to Snape? Almost certainly.

 

Biting the inside of his cheek so hard it drew blood, Harry reached out a hand and placed it onto the doorknob. Slowly, agonisingly, he twisted it. When the moment felt right, Harry crouched, ready to run…

 

And he yanked on the handle. The door swung open, and the sound of a sputtering motorbike engine filled the hallway.

 

“Who’s there?” Malfoy called. Harry didn’t even bother to close the front door as he sprang forward, running out of the house on Spinner’s End and into the street. Years of Dudley’s Harry Hunting had prepared him for this moment as he sprinted forward, his trainers slapping against the pavement, occasionally causing the corners of the Invisibility Cloak to flap up. Harry prayed there weren’t any attentive Muggles eyeing the street. There was a reasonable chance they’d notice a lone pair of trainers running by themselves, and that could cause all sorts of problems.

 

It was easy to get lost in Cokeworth, and even easier to lose any people that were potentially tailing you. Harry almost immediately ran down an alleyway that completely hid him from anyone who might have been watching from Snape’s house. As far as he could tell Snape wasn't following him, but Harry couldn’t be too safe. He didn’t stop running as he navigated a maze of narrow streets and alleyways, even when he nearly tripped over an irate fox rooting through an overflowing dustbin. It was only when Harry could no longer breathe through the stabbing stitch in his side that he dared to stop. He slumped against the brick wall of someone’s driveway and took deep, gasping breaths. He wasn’t out of the woods yet - he was still in Cokeworth after all. Harry needed to get away from this town and go somewhere Snape couldn’t follow him.

 

When he was fairly certain no Muggles were around to see, Harry yanked off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it under his shirt. Holding it in place with one hand, he stuck out his wand arm. The violently purple Knight Bus appeared with a loud bang moments later, screeching to a halt right next to him. A familiar figure jumped from the doors.

 

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this -”

 

Stan abruptly stopped speaking, when he finally realised who he was talking to. His jaw dropped. “No way! Bloody ’ell, Ern, Harry Potter’s come back!”

 

“Yeah, yeah, hi,” Harry said impatiently, jumping onto the bus and shoving a fistful of silver at the conductor. “Is that enough to get me to London?”

 

“Should be, yeah,” Stan said, counting the Sickles in his palm. “You’ve got enough for an ’ot chocolate, if ya like?”

 

“Nah, I’m alright,” Harry mumbled, flattening his fringe down over his scar. The few other witches and wizards on the bus generally didn’t seem to care who had just gotten on, but a couple of witches at the back had glanced up curiously - probably when they’d heard Stan shout his name out, Harry realised with a wince. He sat down on a rickety-looking chair that nearly shot out from under him as the Knight Bus jumped forwards with a bang. The beds Harry had seen last time had all been replaced by a number of these mismatched chairs, which also weren’t nailed down when Harry rather thought they ought to be…

 

“’Choo doing all the way up here, eh, Neville?” Stan asked, still calling Harry by the name he’d given last time he’d ridden the Knight Bus. “I fought we already dropped you in London! How’d ya get up north?”

 

“I’m up north, then?” Harry asked blankly.

 

“’Course you are!” Stan snorted. “You need to ’ave a good look at a map, Neville! That Cokeworth place is right ’round Leeds. We was actually driving through when you flagged us down, eh, Ern?”

 

“Ar,” Ernie commented from where he was driving.

 

Leeds. That explained Maureen’s strong Yorkshire accent, then. And the accent of the shop assistant who Malfoy had called a filthy Muggle, come to think of it. But Snape had grown up in Cokeworth, based on what Maureen had told Harry, and he certainly didn’t have a Yorkshire accent. That was strange…

 

Harry suddenly found himself wondering what his mother had sounded like.

 

But any curiosity Harry was feeling was quickly quenched by the thought of Snape’s snarling features bearing down at him. Harry shivered. He was really beginning to regret his badly thought-out plan to just sprint straight out of the door. He’d had that whole half an hour to sneak out quietly, but by wrenching the door open and bolting he’d probably alerted Snape to his absence within about three minutes of his departure. Was there any way for Snape to figure out that Harry had taken the Knight Bus? He hadn’t seen him, sure, but Harry was certain that with the aid of magic Snape would be able to quickly ascertain that Harry was not in Cokeworth any longer, and there were only so many ways you could travel magically. Harry couldn’t Apparate yet obviously, and if Snape knew he’d taken the Knight Bus when he’d run away from Privet Drive he’d almost certainly check… and the Knight Bus appeared as soon as you flagged it down! Snape could appear and swoop down on Harry at any moment -

 

“You ’eaded back to the Leaky, then?” Stan asked.

 

“What?” Harry said distractedly. “Er - yeah, I suppose…”

 

Harry hadn’t actually given much thought to where he was headed, just that he needed to get as far away from Snape as was physically possible.

 

“You’re in luck, then!” Stan beamed. “Mr Knowles is gettin’ off there, and ’e’s next in the queue, so you can ’op off with ’im soon as we’ve dropped these lovely ladies in Bath…”

 

He attempted a pitiful wink directed at the two witches in the back who had stared at Harry when he’d gotten on the bus. They both giggled and cast sidelong glances at Stan.

 

Harry stared at his knees, thinking hard. He supposed the Leaky Cauldron could do - he would just pay to be put up in a room for the last few weeks of August like he’d originally planned. If Snape came looking and tried to take him back, he’d just refuse to go until the man was forced to get Dumbledore. He hadn’t argued hard enough originally, but after spending one terrible week living with Snape, Harry was perfectly willing to shout at Dumbledore himself if it meant he got to stay somewhere else.

 

Besides, Harry was rather angry with Dumbledore. Hadn’t he promised to check in on Harry at Snape's house in the Leaky Cauldron before he’d sent Harry packing to live in hell on earth? Well, it had been a whole week, and he hadn’t seen hair nor hide of Dumbledore! In all likelihood, Dumbledore had meant he would be checking in with Snape, who obviously wouldn’t say if he was being a complete and total git…

 

The witches at the back of the bus were quickly dropped in Bath, and both craned their necks to try and get a good look at Harry as they got off. He sank down into the seat, wishing he could disappear. With every passing minute, as Stan happily chatted with Ernie, Harry felt his dread only grow. At any moment, Snape might summon the Knight Bus and find Harry sitting here. He would then proceed to murder Harry right here in front of Stan and Ernie. He was desperate to get off as soon as possible.

 

Luckily, the bus finally pulled up to the familiar street outside of Diagon Alley before that happened. Mr Knowles, a stooped old wizard with a few lonely strands of grey hair clinging to his bald forehead, made to get off first. He ended up blocking the door, having a go at Stan for how long the Knight Bus had taken to get him there. Harry rolled his eyes, since waiting around to shout at the conductor was making the man’s journey take even longer, and glanced past Mr Knowles to take a look at the Leaky Cauldron. He froze as he saw who was standing at the entrance. 

 

Why was the bloody Minister for Magic always at the blasted pub? Did he ever work?

 

Fudge was chatting with a blonde, square-jawed witch who was scribbling away in a notebook with an acid-green quill. The Muggles walking past somehow didn't notice this.

 

While Harry didn't get the impression that Minister Fudge was looking for him like he had been last time, he still was reluctant to get off the bus and walk past. Fudge had given him a stern talking-to about staying in Diagon Alley and not wandering into Muggle London, Harry didn't think it was the best idea for the Minister to see him waltz back into Diagon Alley like that. Harry didn’t know if he knew he’d been moved to Spinner’s End, but he was almost certain that Fudge would send him straight back to Snape if he was aware. Harry wasn't exactly about to get in a shouting match with one of the most important men in magical Britain, especially as he'd just let Harry off lightly for blowing up Aunt Marge, so he knew Fudge absolutely could not see him right now. He considered using the Invisibility Cloak, but Harry couldn't put that on while he was on the Knight Bus, or on the street that was positively crawling with Muggles. He was stuck.

 

Stan poked Harry’s arm, jolting him out of his thoughts. "Aren't you gettin' off 'ere?"

 

"Er," Harry said, taking a step back so he wasn't visible through the door, "actually…I'm super sorry, I just remembered I need to pick something up. Um, a birthday cake for my friend. We're having a party in Diagon Alley, see…"

 

"Blimey, Neville, you're a right scatterbrain!" Stan said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Didja leave it back in that Cokeworth place?"

 

"Oh, no!" Harry said quickly. "No, it's actually in, er - in Hampstead! Yeah. I need to pick it up from a friend's house."

 

"Well, that ain't too far…" Stan said thoughtfully. "Tell ya what. Since it's you and all, we'll make a quick detour and drop you, eh? Let's go, Ern!"

 

The bus shot off moments later. Harry generally tried to avoid using his fame for things, but at moments like this it did happen to be extraordinarily useful to use his name to try and get to Hermione’s house. It was the only other place he could think of to go…

 

"Where d'you want to be dropped?" Stan asked.

 

"Um," Harry said. The panic about someone coming after him was making Harry's brain short circuit, and he was completely blanking on Hermione's full address. "Just - just the general area?"

 

Stan frowned at him. "Pretty big area, innit? Well, we're comin' up to the high street now…"

 

"Yep, that's it!" Harry said quickly. The bus came to a sudden stop, nearly toppling Stan over. "It's right around the corner from here. Thanks guys."

 

"Orright," Stan said, tipping his cap to Harry as he jumped off the bus. "Bye, Neville!"

 

Harry took a deep, shaky breath as the bus zoomed away down the street. He'd been on the verge of some sort of nervous breakdown ever since Snape had threatened to Legilimise him, and for the first time since he'd left Spinner's End, Harry felt like he could actually breathe again. He still didn't understand why he got like that sometimes - it felt like Harry's lungs stopped working, and every time Harry was fairly certain he would never be able to breathe again, and that he was going to drop dead from the stress of whatever was going on. He didn't know what was wrong with him, and he'd had the problem for as long as he could remember, but he obviously wasn't going to go to the Dursleys about it. They wouldn't care, for one thing, and they also tended to make Harry's breathing problem worse. He just had to get on with it, as unpleasant as it was.

 

Once Harry was feeling a little calmer, he decided it was time to start moving. Without the all-consuming panic of getting off the Knight Bus and away from Snape taking up the majority of his headspace, Harry could at last recall Hermione's address. Unfortunately, that wasn't very helpful since he didn't have a clue where this random high street the Knight Bus had dropped him off at was in relation to Hermione's road. Well, there was nothing for it. Harry hitched his backpack up his shoulders and started walking.

 

His plan was patchy at best, Harry knew that. He wasn't even entirely sure if the Grangers were actually back from France yet - it had either been the 15th or the 19th, Harry couldn't quite remember. If it really was the 15th, Harry would be just about fine, but if it was the 19th it would still be days before anyone got home. Harry desperately wished he'd packed his friends' letters so he could just check. If they weren't back…maybe Harry could break into their shed or something? It was summer, so it wasn't like he'd freeze to death. Besides, Harry was used to sleeping in uncomfortable places. He hoped the Grangers wouldn't be too angry, but he could probably get out of the shed and act like he hadn't been staying there before they got back. Or, he'd head back to Diagon Alley in the morning when the Minister would have finally cleared off and when there wasn't a chance of Snape finding him riding the Knight Bus.

 

Still, if Harry wanted to sleep in the Grangers' shed, he actually had to find their house first, which was becoming increasingly difficult as the sun slowly set. All of the houses here looked the same.

 

He walked, and walked, and walked some more. No luck. Harry considered calling the Knight Bus again, but was overcome by the vivid image of Snape jumping off in a purple conductor uniform to seize him and immediately decided against it. Apparently, he was just going to walk around north London for the foreseeable future. All night, if he had to…

 

Harry groaned. In his journey through the maze-like streets, he'd found himself in a dead end alleyway. For some reason, that filled Harry with crushing despair as the implications of his situation really started to sink in. He was thirteen, alone in a strange part of London, penniless and homeless. He was no closer to finding Hermione's house than when he started.

 

He leaned his head against the wall of a house and shut his eyes. Now that the panic had worn off, Harry was starting to realise how stupid what he'd just done was. Maybe he should just go back…maybe Harry could pretend he'd been hiding at Maureen's the whole time so Snape didn't know just how far Harry had strayed? Sure, he'd be in a load of trouble…but at least he had a roof over his head at Spinner's End. It might be kind of miserable there, but it was a far sight better than being stranded on the streets. Harry was surprised he thought that - even when he’d been stranded in Magnolia Crescent with no way to get out of Surrey,  he’d never even considered for a second going back to Privet Drive. In fact, it had been the least appealing of his options, since Harry could only imagine what awful things Uncle Vernon would do to him for blowing up his sister…

 

No, even though Spinner’s End was a pretty grim place, it was a far sight better than Privet Drive. In fact, if Harry was forced to choose between the Dursleys or Snape and Malfoy, he’d choose the latter every single time. As much as Harry hated Snape, with the distance he had from the situation now Harry could reluctantly admit to himself that Snape hadn't been completely terrible. He didn't like Harry, but unlike the Dursleys, he didn't take that hatred out through beatings and starvation. In fact, the only missed meals Harry had faced at Spinner's End had been the ones he'd skipped himself. The worst Snape did was shout and send Harry to his room. And threaten to Legilimise him, but he did think Harry had stolen something that was apparently deeply precious to Malfoy, even if his reasons for thinking that were completely stupid. And Snape hadn't done it immediately, like Harry had expected. He'd just threatened it…

 

And maybe, just maybe, if Harry begged enough, Snape wouldn't do it. Snape himself had even said at the start of his stay at Spinner's End that he knew about Harry and Malfoy's relationship. Perhaps Harry could convince him that Malfoy really had hidden it himself, or -

 

"Potter!"

 

Harry wheeled around and clapped one hand over his mouth.  Snape was standing at the end of the alleyway, blocking Harry’s exit. His expression was strange - clear, obvious panic, and something else. Something deeper, lurking in the depths of his dark eyes. Terror coiled in Harry’s chest.

 

   I am in so much trouble.

“What on earth are you doing out here?” Snape hissed, his nostrils flaring. “Are you truly mad?!”

 

Harry pressed himself up against the back wall of the alleyway, his heart beating frantically.

 

“Of all the foolish, impulsive -” Snape cut himself off and huffed loudly. “You could have been dead for all I knew! You didn’t inform a single person that you left the house! Do you have any idea how worried -”

 

Snape abruptly stopped speaking again, and looked away, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He was obviously angry - furious, really. Harry was completely dead. He was really in for it now, wasn’t he?

 

“How did you even find me?” he whispered.

 

“I have my ways,” Snape said cryptically. He remained at the entrance of the narrow alley. There was no way to slip past him unless Harry ran past and ducked under his arms, but he expected Snape would grab onto him if Harry tried to do that. He braced himself for Snape to continue his angry rant, but for some odd reason, the man remained silent. That was unexpected. Shouldn't Snape have started in on a cutting lecture by now?

 

But Snape hadn't really reacted at all, yet. He was just staring at Harry rather intensely, with a slight frown tugging at his lips. It wasn’t an irritated frown, though - well, not entirely. In fact, Harry got the unmistakable impression that Snape was a bit confused, and trying to work something out.

 

No one spoke for a long time, until Harry dared to break the silence. “Can you just leave?”

 

Snape gave him an incredulous look. “I’m not going to allow you to wander Muggle London alone at night! Are you truly deluded? You are coming back with me immediately! What prompted you to engage in such an utterly foolish stunt?”

 

“I was trying to get away from you and Malfoy, actually,” Harry growled. He expected Snape to snap out a biting reply, but once again, he didn’t say a word. He just continued to stare at Harry with that odd, inscrutable expression.

 

Snape slowly took a step forward.

 

Harry plunged a hand into his pocket and pointed his wand at Snape. “Don’t! Stay back!”

 

Snape muttered an oath under his breath and slowly raised his hands in a placating gesture. The expression on his face morphed into something new - a look that was equal parts horrified understanding and dread. “Merlin’s beard, I’m not going to hurt you, Potter! Put the wand away, now.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” Harry challenged. His hand was trembling. “Forgive me if I’m not so sure about that.”

 

Snape seemed to deflate somehow. He sighed very loudly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me take a different approach, then. If you cast a single spell, the Ministry will once again swoop down onto you for a violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. I’m sure you would rather not risk expulsion for a second time this summer?”

 

Shit. Snape was right - Harry couldn’t cast any spells without getting thrown out of Hogwarts, could he? Harry certainly wasn’t willing to risk that, and that meant Snape was free to do whatever he wished here…

 

Harry bit down hard on his lip, tried to calm his shaky breathing, and slowly placed his wand back in his pocket. Snape nodded at him. “Thank you.”

 

"Oh, fuck you," Harry spat, trying to mask his terror with anger. It was easier, less vulnerable, especially when he felt so out of control here. He didn’t have a single thing he could do to defend himself against Snape, who was bigger, stronger, and had more magic at his disposal. Harry was shaking, and hoped it was too dark for Snape to tell.

 

"I'm really not going to hurt you," Snape repeated, and if Harry didn't know better he'd say Snape was the scared one. His eyes were strangely wide. "Potter, why do you think -"

 

“Leave me alone,” Harry whispered. He felt defenceless without access to magic, and Snape's repeated assurances weren't ringing true. He had to be lulling Harry into a false sense of security. “Please.”

 

“No. That would be dangerous and negligent.”

 

Harry hugged himself with his arms and tried to make himself as small as possible. He watched Snape like a cornered animal, prepared in case he tried to step forward again, but the man didn’t move an inch.

 

“So, Potter,” Snape drawled, not budging from the exit. “What exactly was the plan here, hmm? Did you even have one?”

 

“Yes, actually,” Harry said defiantly. “I was going to go to Hermione’s family.”

 

“Miss Granger, who is currently abroad with her parents?”

 

“She said they’d be back by now!” Harry protested, even though he wasn’t entirely certain if Hermione had returned from France or not.

 

“Well, you clearly misunderstood her,” Snape said. He tutted, and shook his head. “Her house is empty. It is also, I might add, half an hour by foot in the opposite direction to where you were walking. If this was your plan, you really need to sort out your appalling sense of direction…”

 

Harry didn’t respond to that final comment - he was too focused on the first. “You were at Hermione’s house? What?”

 

“I was looking for you.”

 

It was strange to think that Snape had been at Hermione’s house. Or that he even knew where she lived, actually. Where else had Snape gone while looking for Harry? How many places had he been before he ended up on this particular street? Harry had been out for a few hours by now.

 

“How about we go back to Spinner’s End so we can talk somewhere a bit more civilised than a dark alleyway?” Snape suggested when Harry's silence dragged on for too long. He rolled his eyes.

 

“Oh, we’re going to talk, are we?” Harry said, his words positively dripping with sarcasm. “Or are you just going to read my mind?”

 

Snape exhaled loudly. “I was never actually going to do it, Potter!”

 

“You sure sounded like you were planning to!” Harry said indignantly.

 

“It was an empty threat to make you confess!” Snape said, the frustration in his tone clear. “When you still refused to say anything, I did start to realise I could have misjudged the situation, but by the time I came to speak to you about it you’d vanished!”

 

“Well what was I supposed to do?” Harry shouted. “You were going to go through my memories, you wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said or did!”

 

“That was wrong of me.”

 

Harry fell silent, his mouth hanging open with shock. Had Snape seriously just admitted fault?

 

“I had no reason to believe you a liar outside of my pre-existing prejudices," Snape continued, expression inscrutable. Only the slight tension in his jaw alerted Harry to how reluctantly this apology was being given. "I spoke to Draco, and he told me that he framed you for stealing the necklace so that you would get in trouble. I have been rather unjust, I fear.”

 

Harry didn’t respond to any of that. Snape was only now realising he’d been unfair? What a joke.

 

“Potter, come on,” Snape pleaded. "You obviously can't stay out here. You realise that, don't you?"

 

“Why do you even care?” Harry asked, the volume of his voice climbing. “You hate me, I know you do! Stop acting like you give a damn about what happens to me and leave me here! I’ll manage by myself. I always have.”

 

“No. I am not going to leave,” Snape said for the third time.

 

Harry just wished more than anything that Snape would stop staring at him the way he was. Normally, he glowered at Harry like he was a bit of scum on the toe of his shoe. Not anymore. The look he was giving Harry now was something softer, kinder, and Harry absolutely hated it. He didn’t know what it meant, and that worried him.

 

“Harry.”

 

He jumped slightly. Had Harry just heard that properly? Had Snape seriously just used his first name?

 

“I… I first met Lily in the park one day,” Snape said finally, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Harry stiffened, and strained his ears to listen. “We were both nine years old at the time. I instantly knew she was a witch, because she simply had the most wonderful magic. She used to grow flowers in the palm of her hand, or jump from the highest point off a swing and just float down… you have her eyes, you know.”

 

A look of great pain had now crossed Snape’s face, and Harry didn’t dare to speak as the man trailed off, turning his face away from view, hiding in the harsh shadows cast by the streetlights. Harry inhaled shakily, his chest tight, and waited, praying Snape would continue. He was hanging onto his every word.

 

“What I mean to say from all this," Snape murmured, downcast eyes lifting to meet Harry's, "is that your mother was one of the only true friends I ever had in my life. She was nothing but kind to me despite my many flaws, and I would be dishonouring her memory if I allowed you to rot on the streets in the cold. In fact, I already have been dishonouring her by treating you so unfairly, and I owe both Lily and you an apology. I’m sorry, Harry.”

 

That got his attention. Not only had Snape actually apologised, but he’d called Harry by his first name again. That had never happened before. He wasn’t hearing things, then…

 

What was going on here? What could have possibly prompted Snape to abruptly realise how horrid he was? Surely it couldn’t just be the necklace incident?

 

“I’d appreciate it if you came back to Spinner’s End with me so we can talk properly,” he said quietly. “Things are not going to continue in the manner they have for the past week, I promise you. Can you please just come with me already?”

 

I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Harry thought wearily. As much of a bastard as Snape was, he seemed pretty insistent that he wasn’t going to abandon Harry in this alleyway. Besides, even before Snape had shown up, Harry had been considering heading back. A house containing two people he hated was still a house, after all. Sleeping rough wasn’t all that appealing.

 

But still, Harry was so scared to go back to Spinner’s End. Even after everything Snape had said, Harry still felt like he was in a world of trouble, and that Snape would flip the switch and go ballistic as soon as he was back in the privacy of his own home. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were always lying when they promised Harry wasn’t in trouble. He’d learnt very quickly never to believe them.

 

“Harry?”

 

His first name again. That broke Harry out of the anxious loop of his thoughts for a moment. The usage of his name seemed to have the unique ability to gain Harry’s undivided attention when it came from Snape.

 

“If I do come back, will you tell me more about my mum?” he asked in a small voice.

 

Snape sucked in a breath and pressed his lips together. His eyes seemed overbright, but Harry convinced himself it was just a trick of the light. A moment later, Snape gave Harry a tight nod, intentionally not looking at him. “I will endeavour to, yes.”

 

Harry’s hope instantly died. That wasn’t even a real, sincere promise, and that one small tidbit would be all he ever got -

 

Snape noticed Harry’s reaction and his shoulders slumped. “You have to understand that this is a very difficult matter for me to discuss. That is the reason I reacted in the manner which you witnessed when you confronted me the morning after visiting with Maureen. Lily’s life and death is an area of great pain for me, and I struggle to speak about her.”

 

Oh. Harry hadn’t considered things from that angle at all. He’d automatically assumed that Snape’s refusal to talk to Harry about his mum had been entirely motivated by spite; that he hated Harry so deeply that he wanted to keep any last scrap of his mother’s memory away just to hurt him. Harry had never considered that Snape’s reluctance actually came from grief, of all things. Seeing this display of such deep, raw emotion which was currently written all over Snape’s face was incredibly humanising, but it also made a strangely guilty sensation squirm in Harry’s stomach.

 

“If it’s too painful for you, I don’t want to make you talk about her -”

 

“No.” Snape interrupted, holding up a hand. “That is not what I meant. I will talk to you about Lily if you return with me now, I am simply asking for a bit of patience in the matter.”

 

“Well yeah, of course.” Harry would take any scrap of information about his mum that he could get, even if it took Snape a little time to manage it. He honestly couldn’t believe Snape was offering this at all.

 

Snape outstretched a hand, palm facing up. “Shall we return, then?”

 

“Fine,” Harry said reluctantly, rubbing his hands across his arms to try and suppress his shivers. He could do this - if he was going to hear stories about his mum at last, he would try again at Spinner’s End. That could make it worth it.

 

“Splendid.” Snape was visibly relieved. “I will now take your arm to Apparate us back, then.”

 

Harry stood frozen in place as Snape slowly walked down the alley towards him. He reached his outstretched hand and gently took hold of Harry’s bicep. Even though Harry knew Snape was going to take his arm, he still automatically tensed up. Adrenaline was pumping through him, and he felt jumpier than usual. He was relieved when Snape didn’t comment, but that strange, unidentifiable emotion that had been stirring in the depths of his eyes throughout their entire conversation seemed to intensify.

 

What was going on with Snape tonight? Why wasn’t he shouting and raging at Harry for running off after he’d been explicitly warned against it? Why was he being so… nice?

 

Moments later, Harry’s surroundings vanished, and he was once again overcome by the unpleasant sensation of being squeezed through a tight tube that he was entirely too big for. When it was finally over Harry’s legs crumpled out from under him, and it was only Snape’s steadying grasp of Harry’s arm that stopped him from toppling to the ground as he gasped for air, struggling to force down the looming nausea.

 

“You don’t Apparate often, do you?” Snape remarked.

 

Harry shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. “No…first time was with…with Dumbledore.”

 

“Professor Dumbledore,” Snape corrected absently, but it was clear his mind was far from the conversation. He was currently scanning the streets closely. “Come on, let’s go. It's not safe out here.”

 

He began to walk, casting nervous glances into shadowed corners as they made their way out of the side road Harry had Apparated into with Dumbledore the week before. Harry couldn’t help but notice that Snape hadn’t let go of his arm, but didn’t dare ask the man to. He supposed he wasn’t trusted to walk along by himself without doing another runner, and was scared asking to be released might make Snape finally explode and snap back to his usual angry self.

 

What the hell had Harry been thinking, agreeing to come back here? Had he suffered a temporary lapse of sanity?

 

A mounting sense of fear rose in Harry as they walked along, drawing closer to the house. What was Snape going to do to him when they got back inside? He’d clearly been looking for Harry quite intensively, and was surely furious that Harry had interrupted his evening… Perhaps Snape was just hiding it, waiting to flip out and smack Harry as soon as they were out of the watchful eyes of the neighbourhood. The Dursleys had been the same way. They’d never hurt Harry publicly, but in private…

 

Harry tried in vain to look for an escape, but how could he get away with Snape holding onto him? He was screwed. He’d had one runaway attempt and had completely and utterly butchered it.

 

All too soon, they reached the front door of Snape’s house, which Harry was escorted inside of. Snape locked the door behind him with his wand, and Harry’s mouth went dry. No escape. He was stuck in here with no way out…

 

“Go into the living room and wait for me,” Snape ordered, oblivious to Harry’s growing panic. “We still have a lot to talk about."

 

Talk. Yeah, right. Harry sat himself on the piece of furniture situated farthest from Snape’s usual high-backed armchair. The professor didn’t come in right away, which only worsened Harry’s anticipatory dread. Was Snape getting a cane to beat Harry with, or something worse? Some magical tool of punishment that inflicted pain Harry couldn’t even begin to imagine?

 

But when Snape finally walked into the room, causing Harry to jump a little, he was simply carrying two opaque white pots, each no bigger than the palm of his hand, which he set down on the coffee table before taking a seat in his armchair. He examined Harry closely with his dark eyes. They were like two black tunnels - you didn't have a clue what was happening on the other side.

 

“Before we discuss any of this running away business, I have something quite important that I need you to explain immediately,” Snape said, leaning forward slightly. “You see, when Draco informed me about the circumstances which forced your departure, I also found out something else. A secret that you’d asked him to keep from me.”

 

A sudden wave of nausea hit Harry as he realised what Snape was referring to.

 

“He’s lying,” he said quickly, desperately. This was worse than any of his nightmares. Snape couldn’t know about the bruises, he couldn’t. He was too smart, he’d easily put it all together!

 

“How can you know that Draco is lying if you haven’t heard what this secret is?”

 

Damn. Harry was really panicking, and it was making him sloppy. He had to think, he had to think quickly and come up with something convincing, but his brain was full of fizzling static and the words weren't coming -

 

“According to Draco,” Snape said carefully, “he walked into your bedroom a few days ago and saw a series of strange injuries on your back and torso, which you seemed very defensive about. Can you explain to me how you sustained these contusions?”

 

“I - I fell out of a tree,” he lied.

 

“Why would you feel the need to go to such drastic lengths to hide a tree-climbing accident?” Snape asked, giving him a piercing look. It felt as though he could see into Harry’s very soul. "Cease with the lying, Potter."

 

“I’m not!" Harry said desperately, digging his fingernails into his forearms, "I’m not lying!”

 

“You are,” Snape said quietly. “And I would appreciate it if you didn’t. As I said to you earlier, I have no reason to distrust your word or to brand you a liar at the moment, and I would not like for that to change.”

 

That was completely unfair. This wasn’t lying, it was Harry doing what he had to so the Dursleys never found out how dangerously close to the truth Snape was!

 

“You informed Draco that you were involved in a biking accident, which is where you claimed the injuries came from,” Snape added, rhythmically tapping one finger against the arm of his chair. “Not that he knew what that was, of course… I doubt that’s what really occurred, however.”

 

“Malfoy doesn’t know what a bike is?” Harry asked blankly.

 

“No, he does not. Don’t change the subject,” Snape said sternly. “I need you to tell me what actually happened to you.”

 

“Nothing’s happened!” Harry shouted. Maybe, just maybe, if he screamed it loud enough, Snape would finally give up and let it go.

 

“These injuries can’t have appeared out of thin air,” Snape said with a shake of his head. “There has to be some sort of explanation, and I demand to hear it. What happened, Potter?"

 

“It’s none of your bloody business what happened to me!” Harry protested, glowering at Snape. “I’m fine, he’s exaggerating, so just leave it!”

 

“It is my business, as a matter of fact,” Snape said coolly, steepling his fingers, “and your reluctance to explain is only confirming my suspicions. As the person with authority over you currently, I need to ensure you are safe. Tell me what happened to you, and tell me now.”

 

Despite Snape’s stern tones, Harry was undeterred. He knew that any amount of irritation Snape was feeling was nothing in comparison to what would happen to him if he ratted out the Dursleys. “I - I got into a fight. Back in Little Whinging.”

 

“No, you didn’t!” Snape made a frustrated noise, got to his feet and began to pace.

 

“I did!” Harry said, praying the man would believe him. “I just didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to get in more trouble!”

 

“What have I said about falsehoods?” Snape hissed, halting his movement across the living room. He put his hands on his hips and glared down at Harry. His face was even sterner than it had been the time Harry had thrown a firework in Goyle's cauldron to steal Polyjuice ingredients. “I know you’re not telling the truth, it’s written all over your face!"

 

He took a few steps forward, and crouched down so his face was level with Harry's, so Harry had no choice but to meet Snape's dark, fervent eyes. "Your reluctance to explain coupled with your general behaviour over this past week has told me almost everything I need to know, do you realise that? Now are you going to say what we both know happened here, or do I have to come out and say it for you?”

 

“You don’t have to say anything because there’s nothing to say!” Harry’s heart was pounding in his ears as the situation continued to spin further and further out of his control. This couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t -

 

“Harry,” Snape said in that awful, gentle voice, using his first name once again. “Your relatives were the ones who hurt you, weren’t they?”

 

Harry didn’t respond, he could feel himself shaking, and he wrapped his arms tightly around himself, not meeting Snape’s eyes, because he knew. Snape, of all people, knew Harry’s darkest secret.

 

“I need you to tell me, Harry,” Snape said in a strained voice. “Am I right?”

 

Wordlessly, finally, he nodded, barely registering the way Snape crumpled in on himself after his confirmation, too consumed by the torrent of his own emotions. After all, what was the point in lying anymore? The truth was out, it was weighing down on Harry’s shoulders like heavy chains, and he didn’t know how he was expected to carry it.

 

And now Snape knew that Harry was pathetic, that his relatives hated him. What if he told all the Slytherins? What if Snape used it as a weapon in his arsenal of verbal taunts? Harry didn’t think he could bear that, he just couldn’t. What was he going to do now? Harry couldn’t breathe, it felt like his chest was caving in on him and there wasn’t a single molecule of oxygen travelling to his head, he couldn’t breathe and he was going to die -

 

“Take a deep breath,” Snape said. He’d put his hands on Harry’s forearms. When had that happened? “Breathe in and out with me.” Snape started inhaling and exhaling in a very exaggerated manner. “Copy me.”

 

At first, Harry thought it was slightly stupid, because nothing could ever dislodge what felt like a rock sitting directly in the centre of his chest. He copied Snape all the same, though, since Harry thought if he couldn’t get his lungs to start working properly soon, he would collapse.

 

To his immense shock, Harry was wrong. Eventually, somehow, his breathing slowed and his heart calmed, leaving Harry feeling a lot less like he was going to die, yet incredibly embarrassed. He yanked his arms away and stared at a fixed point on the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible while he waited for Snape to taunt him somehow over that spectacle. Shockingly, he didn’t say a word. He just kept watching.

 

“Sorry,” Harry whispered eventually, utterly mortified.

 

“There is no need to apologise,” Snape said briskly. Harry couldn’t read his face because he refused to look up until the fierce burning in his cheeks died down. “This sort of discussion would send anyone into a panic attack, I believe. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

A panic attack? Harry had never heard his weird breathing problem referred to as such before. He supposed that made sense as a descriptor, since whenever Harry couldn’t breathe, the sensation was accompanied by a feeling of all-consuming anxiety and dread. Filled with a sudden rising disgust with himself, Harry slumped back into the sofa, burying his face in his hands. He couldn't believe that had just happened in front of Snape. How completely and utterly humiliating…

 

But what happened now? Where did you even go after something like this got brought out into the open? Harry felt well and truly sick to his stomach.

 

At long last, Snape cleared his throat. “I need to see these injuries.”

 

“Oh, hell no!” Harry said, throwing himself to the other side of the sofa and putting his arms up defensively, feeling the fear flood straight back.

 

“Harry…”

 

“No!” he hissed. “I’m fine, just leave it!”

 

“I can help,” Snape said, gesturing to the pots on his table. They had to be potions, then. “And I need to look at them so I can properly ascertain their severity. Diagnostic Charms can only take you so far.”

 

I’ve been here ages, now, they barely hurt anymore!” Harry lied.

 

“I cannot allow you to remain hurt without doing something about it,” Snape said, moving closer. “The injuries could be infected, or something that can’t heal without medical intervention -”

 

“Why do you even care?” Harry shouted, terror and disgust practically choking him. “You’ve been nothing but awful to me the whole time you’ve known me, what’s changed?! Why do you suddenly care about any of this?”

 

He suddenly stopped himself, remembering that this was Snape he was shouting at. A sudden surge of anxiety hit him. What on earth was he thinking? Harry was almost certainly getting on Snape’s last nerve, especially since he’d just run away, and he was only making things worse, getting himself into more trouble. What was Snape going to do to Harry now?

 

Snape seemed to notice Harry’s anxious reaction and his shoulders stiffened. “You won’t be in trouble for getting upset. In fact, if shouting at me makes this process easier for you, feel free to carry on.”

 

“There isn’t going to be a process because you’re not seeing them!” he said angrily. “It’s not like I’m on death’s door, it’s just a couple of bruises! I’m fine!

 

“I need to see them so I can be assured of that and treat the injuries as needed,” Snape said, lacing his fingers together. “I have a duty of care, you realise? I promise you that I will be as quick as possible.”

 

“I don’t want to.”

 

Snape sighed, and rubbed his hands over his face. He looked exhausted. “Do you want me to try and track down Madam Pomfrey so she can do it instead? I believe she is currently holidaying in Ibiza, but she would in all likelihood come over here and -”

 

“I don’t want her seeing anything either!” Harry protested hotly.

 

“Your choice is either myself or Madam Pomfrey,” Snape said firmly. “You get to decide who, but somebody has to look at these injuries and treat them.”

 

“I hate you,” Harry growled, bunching his hands into fists.

 

“You can hate me all you like, but it does not change what needs to happen,” Snape said tonelessly.

 

“You’re a stupid bastard, and you can fuck off.”

 

That sort of disrespect normally would have made Snape completely lose it, which is what Harry desperately wanted to happen. He knew how to deal with Snape when he was angry, not when he was like this. To his immense shock, Snape’s expression didn’t even flicker. He remained collected as he expectantly waited for Harry to choose.

 

“How the hell are you so calm?” Harry demanded, slamming his palm onto the sofa arm as his frustrations boiled over. “You’ve spent all week having a go at me if I so much as look at you funny, and suddenly you’re in complete control of your emotions? How?!”

 

“Occlumency,” Snape said simply.

 

Harry frowned. “Ocky-what?”

 

“Occlumency,” Snape repeated in a flat voice devoid of inflection. “It’s a form of mental arts I am currently employing which assists me with emotional regulation.”

 

“Oh." Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "I’ve never heard of that.”

 

“I wouldn’t expect you to have,” Snape said. Harry couldn’t work out if that was meant to be an insult or not. “If you’d like, I can tell you more about it after your injuries have been seen to.”

 

Harry groaned. “They’re really not that bad! Just drop it already!”

 

“I am not going to drop it!” Snape said fiercely. “Harry, I understand this is the last thing you want to happen, but nonetheless, it is happening. This is by no means a pleasant matter for either one of us, and I would also like for this to be done with, but I cannot let this go until I make sure your health is attended to. Dragging this out is not going to make this any easier, so I would highly recommend you stop fighting me and make your decision. Would you like me to deal with your injuries, or would you like me to try and find Madam Pomfrey so she can do it?”

 

Harry pressed his lips together and stared at his hands, which were trembling. He knew, deep down, that no matter how much he railed against Snape there was just no getting out of this. He was going to make Harry show someone, and now all there was to do was to decide who.

 

His immediate instinct was to ask for Madam Pomfrey, but Harry had to dismiss that idea rather quickly. If she was on holiday, he’d feel terrible about dragging her away to deal with him. Besides, she didn’t know about the Dursleys right now, but Snape did. Harry would really prefer to limit the number of people who did and didn’t know about his home life. Right now, it was only Snape, and Harry would vastly prefer to keep things that way.

 

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “You, then.”

 

If Snape was surprised by Harry’s answer, he didn’t show it. “Alright. I need you to remove your shirt.”

 

Harry nodded, biting down on his lip so hard it drew blood. He hated this so much, but he just needed to get it over with. Just do it, like ripping off a plaster. It was over more quickly if you didn’t drag it out, right?

 

But it was so difficult for Harry to motivate his hands to move to his shirt and pull it off over his head, leaving his overly skinny frame and the half-healed injuries that marked it visible to Snape’s prying eyes. He felt so awfully, horribly exposed, and screwed his eyes shut. He couldn’t look at Snape; Harry was terrified of seeing pity if he dared to do so.

 

Snape didn’t say anything at first. Harry eventually opened his eyes but didn’t look at the other man. While Snape cast some sort of spell, which made a piece of parchment appear in the air next to him, Harry focused his attention on a small smudge of soot on one of the skirting boards by the fireplace. It looked a little bit like a star.

 

Finally, Snape took a deep breath in. “Come forward and sit on the ottoman so I can apply this healing salve and some bruise balm. It will get rid of these bruises and end any residual pain.”

 

His tone was calm and clinical. Harry breathed out - that was almost bearable. He stood up from the sofa and settled himself on the ottoman with his back to Snape, staring at the ugly curtains dully while Snape opened the white pots sitting on the coffee table. The lids clicked as they popped off.

 

He flinched as Snape’s fingers started rubbing something cold into a bruise on Harry’s shoulder, but he was very gentle. Still, Harry was unable to relax. He dug his fingers into the ottoman and stared off, wishing he were anywhere else, doing anything else, hating it even more when Snape took him by the shoulders and turned him around to heal the bruises on his ribs. Harry had to look at Snape, then, but there was no pity, or disgust, or anything, really, on Snape’s face, which was a blessing. It was a blank mask, and Harry could almost pretend like he was staring at the empty, lifeless face of a doll instead of Professor Snape, a man he hated who was currently dealing with Harry’s darkest secret.

 

And Snape was right - his potions helped. Harry wasn’t in pain for the first time since he’d left Hogwarts for the summer. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to be able to move his body without gingerly working around a sore injury. Harry rolled his shoulders, marvelling as his skin didn’t tug painfully between his shoulder blades from the scab that had formed over a large scrape that he’d gotten when Dudley had shoved him into the corner of a table. He could take a deep breath in without the bruise on his ribcage from a door handle Vernon had shoved him up against throbbing unpleasantly. It was remarkable.

 

Once Snape was done, he pressed the pots into Harry’s hands. “Are there more injuries below your waist that you’d like to go and take care of in the bathroom?”

 

Harry nodded mutely, grateful for this one modicum of privacy amongst everything.

 

“Come back when you’re done,” Snape called as Harry walked out of the room, shirt clenched tightly in his fist. “I’ll be up to check on you if you don’t. Our discussion isn’t over.”

 

Of course it isn’t, he thought bitterly. Was this torment ever going to end?

 

When Harry had taken care of the last couple of injuries, he donned his shirt again. It stuck to his skin where Snape had applied his salves. God, Harry did not want to go back down there. He considered hiding in the bathroom, but Snape had said he’d be up to check on Harry if he took too long, and he didn’t want that to happen, either…

 

Reluctantly, Harry walked back into the living room with the pots in his hands, passed them back to Snape and sat back down on the sofa with his knees folded into his chest. Snape moved from his armchair to sit on the other end of the sofa, too close to Harry for comfort. The air was thick with tension.

 

“This has been going on a while, I presume?” Snape asked.

 

“I’m not telling you anything,” Harry muttered. “You’ll just use it against me.”

 

“I would never use this against you.”

 

“Oh, really?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. “After the way you’ve treated me? Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that, sir.”

 

Snape sighed heavily. “I deserve that. You have no reason to trust me, of course... I can promise you, however, as someone who has had similar life experiences as you, I would never use this against you. Never.”

 

That caught Harry off guard. “Similar life experiences?”

 

Snape hesitated, and took in a halting breath. “My father… well, my father was a deeply unpleasant man.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Harry immediately understood what Snape was alluding to, and tried not to look too visibly shocked. Why would Snape tell Harry, somebody he utterly despised, something that personal? The only explanation Harry could think up was that Snape genuinely wanted Harry to trust his word; so much so that he’d tell Harry something so private.

 

But why? Why did he care?

 

“I really do understand what you’re going through, Harry,” Snape said earnestly. “And I will keep your confidence. I thought you should know that, if it helps you feel more comfortable speaking to me."

 

“I don’t want to talk at all,” Harry whispered. “It won’t help, it just gets you in more trouble.”

 

Don’t ask questions. The most important of Aunt Petunia’s rules, which Snape was breaking. You just didn’t speak of these things! They were private!

 

“How would it get you in more trouble?” Snape asked, leaning forward.

 

“It did the last time I told someone,” he said, thinking all the way back to the flurry of social services when he was six, and the subsequent starvation and cupboard confinement. Harry wasn’t stupid enough to get himself into that kind of trouble again.

 

“Rest assured, nothing you say here will get you in trouble with your relatives,” Snape said. “I am simply aware of the fact that these things fester if they aren’t addressed, so talking would be beneficial to your mental health. Additionally, I require some kind of detail about their treatment of you so I can ensure you do not ever have to return to live with them.”

 

The hope blossoming in Harry’s chest was almost sickeningly cloying. “Are you serious? I might not have to go back?”

 

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Snape growled. His calm exterior wavered for a moment, to be replaced by a look of dark, seething hatred. For the first time in his life, Harry could sit here and feel truly certain none of that was aimed at him, though. “I have removed children facing similar circumstances from their homes, Mr Potter, and I should be able to do the same for you if you simply provide me with the necessary evidence. The Dursleys are additionally at a significant disadvantage due to their status as Muggles, which will stack the deck against them in any sort of legal battle.”

 

“Oh, they wouldn’t fight to keep me,” Harry said with an odd, slightly hysterical chuckle. “They can’t stand me, I think they’re more likely to throw a party or something…”

 

Snape didn’t reply to that - if anything, the slightly dangerous edge he had to him intensified. “As I said. Simply tell me what you experienced under their appalling rendition of care, and I can start the process.”

 

Harry wanted to, he really did. But overshadowing the hope of escape was an overwhelming sense of exhaustion and weariness. The emotional toll of the night was too much, and Harry had an awful burning sensation behind his eyes that alarmed him to potential oncoming tears. Snape couldn’t see him cry - he’d already seen enough of Harry’s emotional baggage for a lifetime. Besides, Harry didn't trust Snape, he just couldn't, and so he couldn't bring himself to talk about anything to do with the Dursleys.

 

“Can’t we do all this another time?” he asked finally, struggling to push down the surge of feelings. “I’m really tired, sir, I’d just like to go to my room and rest…”

 

“Very well, but I think it would be best for you and Draco to remain separate for the time being,” Snape said. “He’s currently in the bedroom either contemplating his actions or sleeping, as it’s rather late. He will be sufficiently punished for his absolutely abhorrent behaviour today, I can assure you.”

 

Harry scrunched up the hem of his shirt and stared at the floor.

 

“Something’s wrong,” Snape said flatly.

 

“No, it’s nothing -”

 

“What?” Snape’s voice cut across him. “Tell me, now.”

 

“Just - don’t be too hard on him, alright?” Harry mumbled. “What he did was bad, but…”

 

Something unpleasant settled over Snape’s features. “You seem very convinced I am going to hurt either you or Draco.”

 

Harry cringed. “I don’t mean it like that, I just -”

 

“You meant it in exactly the way I interpreted it,” Snape said through gritted teeth. His shoulders were tense. “Do not lie to me. You think I’d treat the two of you in the same manner as those despicable Muggles.”

 

“It’s just on my mind, obviously!” Harry hissed, shrinking back slightly from Snape. His tone was utterly venomous, and he looked like he wanted to punch something. “And you get kind of scary when you’re angry, okay? You can’t blame me for thinking you might do something!”

 

Snape sighed heavily, and some of the anger faded from his face. A general air of haggardness replaced it. “Considering our history and your upbringing, you’re right - I cannot blame you whatsoever.”

 

Considering your upbringing. Harry grimaced, his emotions surging to almost unmanageable levels once again. Snape knew about his upbringing. It was positively unbearable to contemplate.

 

"Harry."

 

He was never going to get used to Snape using his first name. The man came closer and fixed him with a fervent, intense expression. "Let me make this clear to you now. I am not going to hit you or cast any sort of spell to hurt you, no matter how angry I am. I haven't done it this week, have I? There has been more than one instance where I was rather furious, too.”

 

"You put a Silencing Charm on me this morning," Harry muttered, crossing his arms. He was still rather cross about that, even if it hadn’t actually hurt, per se.

 

Snape glanced to one side. "Not my best decision, I will confess. I regretted it rather quickly, which is why I came out into the garden to remove it as soon as you left the kitchen. I apologise, and give you my word I will not cast that on you again."

 

Harry's jaw dropped, despite himself. That apology had come surprisingly easily…

 

And in a way, that Silencing Charm had saved his bacon. He had been seconds away from calling Snape a series of very foul and rude names that certainly would have merited a worse punishment than being unable to talk for ten minutes.

 

"I understand it will take time to realise that you are safe here," Snape said in a strangely calm and measured voice, "so for now, I will simply give you my word. I will not be violent towards you or Draco, no matter what you do or how angry I am. It completely goes against my principles."

 

Harry nodded, pushing down the choked sensation in his throat. Why did he have to be so emotional tonight? What was wrong with him?

 

"If I'm not allowed in the bedroom, where do I sleep?" Harry asked in a small voice. He was desperate to get away and be alone.

 

"You will use my bedroom for tonight."

 

“What?” Harry’s jaw dropped. “But where will you sleep?”

 

“Here,” Snape said, gesturing to the sofa.

 

“No, you don’t have to do that!” Harry said, feeling slightly horrified. “I can sleep on a sofa - I fall asleep anywhere, it’s really fine…”

 

“I’d rather be downstairs so I can hear if you try to leave again, Potter,” Snape said, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. Harry’s cheeks flushed - clearly his runaway attempt had not been forgotten…

 

“We’ll certainly be talking about that in the morning,” Snape said sharply, “and the rest. But for now, you need to eat something, and then have a good night’s sleep.”

 

“I’m not hungry,” Harry mumbled. Whenever he got upset, his appetite vanished.

 

“You haven’t eaten all day,” Snape said, pointing at the door. “This is non-negotiable. Come on, into the kitchen.”

 

Defeated, Harry stood up and followed Snape out into the kitchen and sat back as the man prepared a sandwich for him. His shoulders slumped, and he ran one finger over the nicked and scratched wood of the table.

 

To his horror, Harry felt tears begin to pool in his eyes. Harry didn’t even know why he was crying, specifically. He just felt consumed by a vortex of grief, and terror, and worst of all, hope, a desperate, yearning hope that his hellish summers at the Dursleys stood a chance of being over forever, all while the desire to believe that Snape was telling the truth about helping him was battling against the natural distrust he had for the man. All of it was just too much, and Harry couldn’t hold the emotions inside him anymore. He pressed his lips tightly together to try and hold back the tears, but despite his best efforts, a few spilled over and trickled down his cheeks. Before he had time to wipe them away, Snape turned around from the kitchen counter. He froze, staring at Harry with what could only be described as alarm. It would have been a little funny if Harry didn’t feel so utterly wretched.

 

Harry ducked his head as Snape started walking over, not wanting him to see any more embarrassing outburst of emotions while he did his best to blink away the remaining wetness in his eyes. Snape placed the plate of food down in front of Harry and tapped the kitchen table with his wand. A box of tissues appeared, which he slid towards Harry.

 

Mercifully, Snape didn’t say anything, positive or negative. Platitudes would have been lost on Harry, either way - nothing in the world could make him feel better at that moment. Snape somehow seemed to understand that. He stood silently behind Harry while he viciously scrubbed at his face with a tissue before struggling through the sandwich. He took deep, gasping breaths in a vain attempt to regain control of himself so no more tears would escape, and scrunched the tissue up into a crumpled ball in his fist. When Harry had at last finished eating, the food tasteless and chalk-like in his mouth, he stood up and walked over to the bin to throw the ragged tissue away. Harry didn’t return to the table straight away, though. Instead, he stared into the pitch black garden beyond, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter tightly, trying to squish all of his emotions into a small box he could lock away in the darkest recesses of his mind. His eyes ached.

 

“Are you ready to go upstairs?” Snape asked after about a minute.

 

Harry nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak as he turned around to follow Snape through the hallway and up the staircase. There was no light coming from the gap beneath Malfoy’s door; he was probably asleep, then.

 

Snape pushed open the door to the one room in his house that Harry had never entered - Snape’s bedroom. Harry had been expressly forbidden from going in here at the beginning of his stay, so it felt completely wrong to step foot across the threshold.

 

When Snape turned the lights on, Harry’s immediate thought was that this place did not look lived in. There were no decorations, no photographs, no haphazard piles of papers. The whole room was really quite spartan with just a bed covered by a plain white duvet, a wardrobe and a dresser. The emptiness reminded Harry a little of the spare bedroom at Privet Drive, which was rarely used outside of Aunt Marge’s sparse visits.

 

The spare room that Harry may never see again if Harry’s summers in Little Whinging were really, truly coming to an end.

 

Harry sucked in a breath and dug his fingernails into his palms. No matter what Snape claimed, he just couldn’t truly believe that was going to happen. Harry had already asked Dumbledore at the end of first year if he could live elsewhere, and he’d refused Harry’s request because of that blood protection that kept him safe from Voldemort. Harry had even told the bloody Minister for Magic himself that he never wanted to go back to Privet Drive, and he’d also dismissed Harry immediately. No one ever cared enough to actually help Harry when he did ask, so what was the point in asking? He’d bet Snape would give up by tomorrow morning.

 

No one ever cared. No one ever bothered, and they never would.

 

“I’ve conjured some nightclothes for you,” Snape said, interrupting Harry’s musings. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

 

He didn’t move immediately - he was watching Harry still, and irritation surged through him.

 

“You don’t have to hover,” Harry snapped. He felt very embarrassed over the tears, and anger was far easier to manage than mortification. “I’m not an invalid.”

 

Snape nodded. “Of course not. Well - goodbye, then.”

 

He hesitated for a moment, like he wanted to say something else, then shook his head and stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. As soon as Snape was gone, Harry sat on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands. Finally the tears flowed in earnest, and he didn't bother to try and push them down this time. He was very good at crying without sound after all those years at Privet Drive, and Harry thought he'd earned the right to a few tears. After all, this had quite possibly been the worst day of his life.

 

Unseen by Harry, a box of tissues appeared on top of the dresser. He convinced himself they'd been there all along.

When Harry woke up the next morning, it took him a minute to remember where he was. The sheets were unfamiliar, the bed too wide, the colours all wrong…

 

But as he sat up and took in his surroundings, the memories of the previous night hit Harry like a ton of bricks.

 

Snape knew about the Dursleys.

 

Harry jumped out of the bed like he’d been electrocuted. This couldn’t really be happening, it couldn’t! This was the worst possible thing that could have happened to him! Snape, cruel, hateful, Professor Snape, was the last person Harry wanted to know any of this. In fact, there wasn’t a single person Harry could think of that would be worse than him. Malfoy, perhaps, but he already had all the clues, just waiting to be put together. He as good as knew, too!

 

Harry tried to take deep, gulping gasps of air, but it felt like Hagrid’s three-headed dog was currently sitting on his chest. He hurried into the bathroom, feeling a bit lightheaded, desperate to get out of Snape’s room. Harry wrenched on the tap and utterly drenched himself in the icy water pouring out. The sharp chill stung Harry’s skin, and helped a little to jolt him out of his panicked musings.

 

He observed himself in the mirror. As he watched the rivulets of water trickling down his neck, Harry couldn’t help but notice his red, puffy eyes. They were yet another sick reminder of all that had occurred the night before. Harry couldn’t believe he’d actually let Snape, of all people, see him cry. He never cried! It was mortifying!

 

And now he was going to have to go downstairs and face Snape in the kitchen for breakfast, wasn’t he? Harry desperately wished he could hide in his bedroom instead, but Snape had banned him from there the night before, so he didn’t know what to do. Harry didn’t really feel like pushing things at the minute, considering the weird dynamic shift that had occurred when Snape had taken him home from London. Sure, he was being decent and calm for now, but perhaps disobeying that one rule could be the thing that caused the other shoe to drop. Harry didn’t even dare to go in there for a change of clothes, and reluctantly redressed in the clothes from the previous day. As he tugged off the mysterious pyjamas Snape had conjured for him, Harry abruptly realised these pyjamas were the first he’d ever owned that actually fit him. Something horrid lurched in his stomach.

 

Harry dressed quickly and descended the staircase, but lingered in the narrow hallway. He really didn’t want to go in there and face Snape. The prospect of it was making Harry’s heart thud and his palms grow sweaty, and he hadn’t a clue why.

 

He mentally shook himself. You’re a bloody Gryffindor! Grow a pair and get in there already!

 

It still took Harry a good minute to gather the courage to push open the kitchen door, but he eventually managed to square his shoulders and walk inside. Snape was leaning against the kitchen counter, holding his usual mug of coffee and watching Harry with an expression that was annoyingly unreadable. Harry somehow got the impression that Snape knew he’d been lingering outside and grimaced.

 

To Harry’s immense relief, Snape didn’t comment on his hesitance. He simply nodded his head and said, “Good morning.”

 

Harry just nodded back, unsure of how to proceed. He couldn’t help but think that was a stupid thing for Snape to say to him, since this was quite clearly a terrible morning.

 

“How are you feeling?” Snape asked.

 

Harry shrugged, feeling like his words had been locked up behind the tight knot in his chest. Besides, he didn’t quite know what he was feeling, apart from intense embarrassment over the previous night’s events. Even if he did have the sufficient words to explain what was going on inside his mind, though, he certainly wasn’t going to talk emotions with Snape.

 

“Have your injuries healed well?” Snape asked.

 

Harry tensed at the reminder. “Yes.”

 

“Do you require any more bruise balm?”

 

“No,” he said shortly.

 

“Would you tell me if you did?” Snape asked, arching an eyebrow.

 

Harry felt his temper rapidly beginning to flare. “If you don’t trust me that much, why don’t you take another look, then!”

 

Snape either didn’t pick up on the sarcasm Harry’s tone was laced with, or intentionally ignored it. Either way, he moved across the room with surprising speed and lifted Harry’s shirt, scanning his eyes over where the bruises had once been.

 

“Happy?” Harry hissed. Snape nodded and stepped back as Harry sat down at the table, cheeks burning. He hated the way Snape was treating him - he was acting like Harry was made of glass, or something! What happened to the man that thought Harry was a spoilt, famous brat, and refused to give him a single inch?

 

Luckily for Harry, that was the end of any further talk from Snape. The kitchen fell into merciful silence. As Harry poured himself a bowl of cereal and started picking at it, he realised why it was so strangely quiet; the chair Malfoy usually occupied was empty.

 

Harry frowned and turned to Snape. He inclined his head towards the other end of the table. “Where is he?”

 

“Draco was woken up early,” Snape explained. “He’s currently scrubbing cauldrons in my laboratory as punishment for his behaviour. I can assure you he has been thoroughly reprimanded for what he did to you.”

 

“Oh.” The reminder of the previous day’s events left Harry fidgeting in place. He swirled his cereal around in the bowl, appetite now completely gone. Snape knew, Malfoy almost certainly knew or had guessed, and everything was spiralling out of control…

 

“You don’t eat much,” Snape stated. Harry looked up from his bowl and saw the man’s dark eyes were narrowed.

 

“No,” he replied shortly. “I don’t. Now, can I be excused?”

 

“No, you cannot.” Harry, who had already started to get up, froze halfway up from his chair. “Sit back down. We still need to talk, as you’ll recall.”

 

“I already told you I don’t want to talk about the Dursleys,” he muttered, slumping back into his seat and gripping the edges of the chair tightly.

 

“Not about that,” Snape said with a shake of his head. “Yet, at least. This is about you running away last night. We need to address it.”

 

Of course it was. Harry kept his eyes glued to the table as Snape reached into his pocket and slid a thin silver bracelet across the table. There were some odd markings carved into it. “Put this on.”

 

“Oh?” Harry raised his eyebrows. “Is it our anniversary?”

 

A low growl rumbled in the back of Snape’s throat. “Potter…”

 

Harry quickly picked up on the dangerous undertone and slid the bracelet onto his wrist without further snark. As he did so, the carvings in the silver glowed a dark blue, and the bracelet suddenly shrank in size to fit snugly against his skin. Harry attempted to twist it down his arm and over his hand, but it remained stuck. There was no clasp to remove it, either.

 

“What is this?” he demanded, sticking his arm out.

 

“A device typically used by witches and wizards who have children with Apparition-based accidental magic,” Snape explained. “It allows the parent to locate their offspring using the corresponding bracelet’s runes.”

 

He tugged up the sleeve of his dark robes, revealing an almost identical silver bangle around his right wrist. Harry jumped up from his chair, staring at Snape with nothing short of abject horror. “You’ve got a tracker on me?!”

 

“When you left the garden last time, I told you I’d take measures to ensure you wouldn’t wander off without my knowledge again if you left the property for a second time,” Snape said, crossing his arms. “I am not one to make empty threats. This is for your own safety.”

 

“I wouldn’t have gone anywhere if you and Malfoy weren’t such bullying gits!” Harry shouted, clenching his hands into fists. He heard the sound of glass breaking as he stormed out of the kitchen and slammed the door behind him as hard as he could. Harry doubted he’d be able to leave the house again - Snape would have almost certainly locked him in after last night. It certainly fit the pattern…

 

But Harry so desperately wanted to be alone, and he was sure Snape would angrily follow him for storming off no matter where he went. So, he went to the one place in the house that actually did lock: the bathroom. Harry perched on the edge of the bathtub and buried his face in his hands, breathing heavily. He yanked at the tracker until it dug painfully into the flesh of his wrist, and growled in frustration as it still stubbornly refused to budge.

 

About a minute later, there was a sharp knock. “Open this door immediately.”

 

Harry scoffed. He wasn’t going to do that for anything.

 

“I’m not going to ask a second time,” Snape said, his voice low. “If you don’t unlock that door, I will. You have ten seconds.”

 

Harry didn’t move, and moments later heard Snape sigh loudly. “Alohomora.” 

 

The lock clicked open and Harry jumped up from the edge of the bathtub and pressed himself against the wall as Snape blocked the doorway with his body, eyes narrowed.

 

“You had no right to do that!” Harry protested hotly. “You can’t just barge in here! Leave me alone!”

 

“Are you telling me where I can and cannot go in my own house, Potter?” Snape asked softly. Somehow, Snape managed to be far more intimidating when he was quiet than when he was shouting and raging. As angry as he was, Harry sensed that his patience was running quite low and fell into sullen silence. The blood was pounding in his ears.

 

“As much as you may dislike it, Potter, we are going to talk,” Snape said in a carefully measured voice. His face was blank, but a muscle in his jaw was twitching slightly. “The quicker you stop running off, the sooner it will be over.”

 

“Or what?” Harry bit out.

 

“Well, you have two options,” Snape said, twisting his wand between his fingers. He still hadn’t moved from the doorway. “You can either follow me downstairs, sit down, and have a mature and calm conversation with me, or I will use whatever means necessary to make you sit and listen to me while I talk at you. Is that understood?”

 

Harry considered shooting back with a ‘you can’t make me’, but then caught sight of the wand in Snape’s hand and remembered he actually could make Harry. He grimaced. If Snape would stick a tracker on him, he could only imagine what unpleasant things he’d come up with next to get Harry to do what he wanted, like a Sticking Charm, or some kind of enchanted leash, maybe…

 

“Potter?”

 

“I’ll go down,” he muttered, not looking Snape in the eyes.

 

“Splendid,” Snape said rather snidely. “Come with me downstairs, then.”

 

Harry shouldered past him and stormed down the stairs. Snape was hot on his heels - presumably to stop Harry from fleeing again, he thought resentfully. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, and stared into the kitchen. A stiff breeze shifted his fringe, blowing in through the jagged gap in Snape’s sliding glass door. Harry’s heart dropped - that shattering noise he’d heard when he’d stormed out of the kitchen must have been his accidental magic again. Snape held his wand aloft and Harry tensed, preparing for a spell to shoot at him…

 

But the jet of white light sailed over Harry’s shoulder and lit up the jagged edges of the broken door, causing the glass to slowly grow over the gap, leaving the door good as new. Snape saw him watching and raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I ought to invest in a different kind of door.”

 

Harry fidgeted with his hands. “It really was an accident, I promise -”

 

“Of course it was.” Snape frowned. “It’s called accidental magic for a reason. You obviously wouldn’t be punished for that.”

 

Harry scoffed. “Obviously? You’ve had me weeding your garden for like a week because of what I did to Aunt Marge!”

 

Snape looked away. If Harry hadn’t known better, he’d have said the man looked a little abashed. “That’s different. I had previously been labouring under the misapprehension that the incident involving her was an intentional attack.”

 

“Why would you think I’d do something like that on purpose?!” Harry hissed, glowering at Snape.

 

“Because it is highly abnormal to punish a child for losing magical control under any circumstances, and seeing as your relatives refused to have you back I assumed that they were angry with you for an intentional incident of Muggle baiting!” Snape said irritably. “I am now realising I was wrong.”

 

“Yeah, you were.” Harry bit his lip, reeling from one particular thing Snape had said. “Are you being serious? Other people don’t punish their kids when they do freaky things?”

 

Somehow, Snape’s scowl managed to deepen. “Of course not! In fact, it is incredibly dangerous for children to be punished over accidental magic, since it can result in the development of an Obscurus.” Harry had no idea what that even was, but it didn’t sound good. “The opposite is often true in wizarding families - accidental magic is generally celebrated as a sign that a young witch or wizard is growing into their powers.”

 

“Oh.” Try as he might, Harry couldn’t imagine a world in which his relatives actually celebrated his magic, of all things. Doing weird things had been the most brutally punished wrongdoing in the Dursley household. He’d obviously not meant any of his accidental magic as a child, like turning his teacher’s wig blue or ending up on the school roof, but it still merited a punishment because those things were abnormal.

 

“So your relatives would punish you for accidental magic, then?” Snape asked in a misleadingly placid voice. As Harry was most certainly not discussing the Dursleys, thank you very much, he didn’t dignify that with any sort of response or reaction.

 

Snape waited in expectant silence for over a minute until he finally seemed to accept that Harry wasn’t going to respond. “So, our discussion. Living room or kitchen?”

 

Harry glanced through the open living room door and shivered slightly at the awful recollections of the previous night the place brought back. No, he wasn’t going anywhere near that room right now if he could help it. “Kitchen.”

 

Snape nodded, and Harry walked back inside and took a seat back at the table. Snape sat opposite him and sat stiffly with his hands folded. “Potter…I believe I owe you an - an apology.”

 

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

 

“Stop gawking at me,” Snape said roughly. “Yes, I do. I… well, I made no discernible effort to hear out your side of the story when Draco came to me with the necklace incident, and automatically assumed fault on your part. That was wrong of me.”

 

“Oh.” Harry, who had never imagined himself to be in a position where Severus Snape of all people would apologise to him, wasn’t quite sure how to react. “Thank you?”

 

“You are therefore not being punished for running away,” Snape added. “Seeing as I drove you to it, as it were…”

 

“So you’ll take off the bracelet?” Harry asked hopefully.

 

“Just because you were pushed does not change the fact that you have proven yourself to be a flight risk,” Snape said sternly. “At any rate, a location tracker is a useful tool in case you were to be kidnapped by Black -”

 

“Why are you so convinced this random mass-murderer is coming after me?” Harry demanded. “It’s ridiculously paranoid!”

 

“I know it's always a struggle when it comes to you, but do try and use your head, Potter!” Snape said sharply. “You know of Black’s affiliation with the Dark Lord, correct?”

 

“Yeah - he was Voldemort’s right-hand man.”

 

“Do not speak his name!” Snape hissed.

 

Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t press the issue. People could be so stupid about their ‘You-Know-Who’ and ‘Dark Lord’ nonsense.

 

“While I think right-hand man is a bit of a push for Black’s importance in the cause -” Snape wrinkled his nose, like he’d just caught a whiff of a bad smell, “he was nonetheless a supporter of the Dark Lord. As you’ll recall, you defeated him. I can assure you that Black will not look fondly upon the boy who destroyed his master and netted him a life sentence in Azkaban!”

 

Harry couldn’t outright agree with Snape on sheer principle, but after thinking for a moment, he could reluctantly see where the man was coming from. Reluctantly. Harry still thought the measures Snape was taking were stupid and paranoid, but he supposed it did make sense for them to assume Black would be after him specifically…

 

“Even discounting magical threats such as Black, it is still extraordinarily dangerous for a thirteen-year-old boy to strike out into Muggle London alone after dark!” Snape said severely. “What if you had been mugged, assaulted, or otherwise injured? Nobody knew where you were, so it would have been hours before you could have gotten proper help!”

 

“Okay, okay!” Harry snapped. For some reason, Snape’s lecturing had him feeling oddly guilty, and it was making him horribly uncomfortable. “I won’t do anything like that again.”

 

“No, you won’t,” Snape said sternly. “Although, as I said, I will concede that the incident was exacerbated by my handling of the situation with Draco. Still, if you ever do something that reckless and impetuous again, I promise you I will be far less lenient.”

 

Harry ground his back teeth and stared pointedly out of the window at the storm clouds building in the sky above. He wasn’t going to respond. Snape was surely trying to bait him again - trying to get Harry to fly into another rage so he had a decent excuse to punish him.

 

He’s already had loads of valid chances this morning, though, a small voice in the back of his head said. But he hasn't done anything. He's being patient.

 

Harry ignored this and returned to seething quietly.

 

“On a similar note, I thought it might be useful to clear up on the house rules,” Snape said when the silence had dragged on for too long.

 

Ah, here was the nasty git Harry was used to. Of course he was seizing the chance to flex his authority and come up with more impossible standards Harry could never live up to…

 

“The rules I gave you at the beginning of your stay here still stand,” Snape said, “but I am going to add a new one about meals. You will be obligated to attend all of them, and to clear your plate. I’ve noticed your sporadic dining habits over the last week and that needs to stop.”

 

He shot a pointed look in the direction of Harry’s abandoned cereal bowl. By now, the cornflakes had dissolved into mush.

 

“I don’t need to be micromanaged,” Harry muttered resentfully. He wasn’t a child, and even when he had been one, he’d been responsible for his own eating!

 

Snape sighed loudly and got out his wand. Harry tried to duck away as the man flicked it in his direction, but no painful Stinging Hex or whatever other nasty affliction he’d been expecting befell him. Instead, a strange icy sensation that reminded Harry of walking through Nearly-Headless Nick coated his skin. It gradually began to fade, and a piece of parchment appeared in Snape’s hand which he quickly glanced over.

 

“As it happens, you do need to be micromanaged,” he said stiffly. “You are significantly underweight, and deficient in a number of key nutrients. This will need to be rectified before it becomes even more dangerous to your health.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

 

“I beg to differ.” Snape placed the parchment in the centre of the table, and his eyebrows rose. A bunch of complicated medical terms Harry didn’t understand swam before his eyes, and he only managed to pick up a few random words and phrases, like ‘iron deficiency’ and ‘bone density’ before Snape took back the document, folded it up and placed it in the pocket of his robes.

 

“You do not get a choice in this, Potter,” Snape warned. “This needs to be sorted immediately. Call it micromanaging if that’s what you insist upon, but mealtimes are a priority from now on, is that understood?”

 

“Okay. Whatever.” Snape seemed weirdly insistent about the whole thing, and it wasn’t exactly the worst thing that had ever been asked of Harry. He’d rather be full than hungry, after all.

 

“I thought it might also be…helpful to know that I will be implementing a number of rules for myself so that we can cohabit with less friction,” Snape added.

 

Harry shuffled in his seat. “Okay…”

 

“I will stop insulting you and your parentage,” Snape said. Harry had to hold back a snort - as if that would ever happen!

 

Snape noticed his reaction, pressed his lips together for a moment, and continued speaking. “If there is another altercation with Draco, I will not automatically take his side over yours, although I would appreciate you making more of an effort to be civil with him -”

 

“I never start things!” Harry protested hotly.

 

“Just - please?” Snape said wearily, running his hands over his face. That look of exhaustion made Harry stop with his scoffing and general derision for some odd reason he couldn’t quite put a finger on. “Now, my final two rules. If I do need to punish you for any reason, it will not be a, ah… physical punishment. I will not hit you, deprive you of meals or otherwise injure you as discipline. It will be nothing outside of the realm of what you would experience at Hogwarts, understood? Nothing worse than lines or cauldrons.”

 

Harry nodded while staring at the cracked kitchen tiles, unable to meet Snape’s eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to hope those words were the truth.

 

“Finally, I will listen and do my best to help when you open up about your relatives.”

 

“When?” Harry asked incredulously. “You’re delusional if you think I’m talking about any of that!”

 

“The more you tell me, the more likely it is that I am able to stop you from ever having to go back to that place,” Snape said quietly.

 

Harry bit his lip. The prospect of that did appeal to him…but it was a pipe dream at best, wasn’t it? No one was ever going to save Harry from the Dursleys. He had four more summers with them ahead of him, and then he’d finally be free and would never have to speak to them again. He’d already managed for ten years, and now he had Hogwarts as a disruptor. It was bearable enough, but it might not be if Harry engaged in a badly-executed attempt to remove himself from their custody before he was of age.

 

And, the most key and pressing issue, he would have to tell his troubles to Snape. 

 

“I can’t trust you!” he said incredulously. “You’ll just tell the Slytherins all about it all and use it against me, I know you will!”

 

Snape made a strangled sort of noise. “I understand we haven’t had the best of relationships, but do you really think I’d use child abuse against you?”

 

Harry cringed at that word - abuse. He wasn’t abused…

 

Snape seemed to take his silence as a confirmation and abruptly stood up from his chair and stalked over to the kitchen window. Raindrops splattered against the glass. Harry watched him nervously, unsure of what he was going to do next. Was he going to explode? Was he angry? He certainly didn’t seem happy, but Harry couldn’t try and read his face from here…

 

“I understand you cannot currently trust me, Harry,” Snape said eventually, voice tight, “but I need you to try. I promise that nothing you tell me will ever be mentioned to anyone outside of a few key adults who need to be apprised of your situation. Excluding that, I will not tell a single soul without your consent. I would never do that to you - never.” 

 

The amount of strength and vehemence in his tone sent Harry reeling with confusion. Despite the distrust and hatred that came to mind whenever he thought about Snape, it was just so transparently obvious that he really was being sincere. But why?

 

Harry suddenly remembered that brief, murmured comment from the previous night about Snape’s father. That, more than anything, helped Harry feel assured Snape was being honest. He’d told Harry something truly personal, something he’d never want Harry mentioning to another person, and that meant something.

 

“This will be the final part of the discussion,” Snape said, and Harry withered slightly inside. “You can go once we address it, if you’d like.”

 

“I really, really don’t want to talk about this,” Harry whispered, his voice ragged.

 

“It is important I know, Harry,” Snape said. Back to Harry, he supposed. Snape kept switching names, and it was horribly confusing. “I don’t want to pressure you, but there are some things I need to know immediately.”

 

“What does it matter?” he hissed. “I’m away from there, anyway! How is any of it relevant? How many times do I have to say I don’t want to tell you, Snape?!”

 

“It is not all about you!” Snape hissed. “Merlin’s beard, Potter! This constant, obstinate -”

 

He abruptly stopped speaking and inhaled very loudly through his nose, the angry expression on his face abruptly and unnaturally relaxing into the blank expression he'd described as Occlumency last night. Harry wondered how much effort that front took to keep up.

 

After a few moments, Snape began to speak again. “You have a cousin, correct?” He said in a tightly controlled voice. “I need to ensure there isn’t an immediate risk to his safety while he continues to reside with your aunt and uncle.”

 

“Oh, Dudley’s fine,” Harry grumbled. “They worship the ground he walks on, they’d never treat him the way they treat me. He's their actual kid. I’m the abnormal nephew they never wanted to get stuck with.”

 

A muscle twitched in Snape’s jaw. “Do not refer to yourself in that way.”

 

“It’s true,” Harry muttered, feeling the usual twinge of hurt that accompanied memories of the difference in treatment.

 

“Nevertheless, I still must insist we discuss certain things about your life with the Dursleys,” Snape said with a tone of finality. “Your perspective is skewed, and as an outsider to the situation I need to draw certain conclusions, which I can’t do if I don’t have all the relevant information.”

 

Harry exhaled loudly and gripped the edge of the kitchen table so hard his knuckles turned white. He really didn’t understand how he was expected to manage any of this.

 

“I am not going to needlessly probe you,” Snape said, walking back over from the counter and retaking his seat across from Harry. “You can open up about the rest in due time. We will stick to a few topics that are linked to immediate safety risks, understood? Just a few questions.”

 

Harry stared out of the window at the steadily intensifying drizzle and didn’t respond. Snape sighed. “First is the matter of your eating.”

 

“What about my eating?” Harry said through gritted teeth.

 

“The lack of it,” Snape said. “How did meals work at your relatives?”

 

“They worked.” He didn’t see how it was relevant to Snape either way how much or how little Harry was fed. He’d never actually dropped dead from hunger, even if it had felt like he would sometimes. He was just a bit skinny, that was all…

 

“Harry, there are two ways about this,” Snape said bluntly. “Your eating patterns are incredibly disordered. Either you are choosing not to eat due to some sort of untreated mental illness, or you were raised by people who did not feed you sufficiently, which has altered your hunger cues and affected your relationship with food. Tell me what’s going on so I can proceed accordingly.”

 

“Fine!” Harry hissed. “They’d punish me sometimes by taking away my meals. Happy?”

 

“And did they do this regularly?”

 

Harry thought of that long, lonely summer before second year when he’d been half-certain he and Hedwig would starve to death and didn’t respond. He stared at a nick on the kitchen table, heart thudding horribly.

 

“I’m presuming from what I read on my diagnostic spell that it was often enough to significantly impact your body weight, then,” Snape said briskly. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

 

Harry didn’t say a word.

 

“Now, my other question,” Snape said in a softer voice. Harry, who sensed where this was going, tensed. “The injuries I discovered. Who was responsible, and how were they inflicted?”

 

“If you think I’m answering that you’re thicker than you look,” Harry growled. He was half-hoping his insult would steer the man away from the line of questioning. He had no such luck. Snape seemed immune to his goading.

 

“I need to know what happened. It’s for your safety.”

 

“If you need to know so badly, why don’t you just Legilimise me?” he said snidely.

 

“I will not use Legilimency on you,” Snape said, a hint of frustration seeping into his tone. “And I apologise for threatening you with it yesterday. The only time I would ever use Legilimency on you is if I believed there to be an immediate threat to your safety or the safety of someone else that I could only prevent by going through your memories. This is not such a situation, but I still need you to tell me who was hurting you at Privet Drive.”

 

Harry squeezed his hands into fists and raised his head to the ceiling, trying to persuade himself into speaking. Snape already knew someone was hurting him, right? If he could just screw up his courage and say who, the tosser would finally be done with all of his probing questions and Harry would be left in peace.

 

“Did your uncle do that to you?” Snape pressed. “Your aunt?”

 

“Most of it’s from my cousin, actually,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

 

“Your cousin managed to do all of that to you?” Snape asked disbelievingly.

 

“No, not all of it!” Harry shouted. “I still don’t get why it matters!”

 

“It does,” Snape said simply. “So - your cousin. Does he attack you regularly?”

 

“Well, he and I aren’t exactly best friends, professor,” Harry ground out.

 

“He hurts you?” Snape asked. “And your aunt and uncle, they allow this?”

 

“Well, sir, I’m sure you can answer that question yourself - you certainly have experience favouring one kid in your house over the other,” Harry said scornfully, crossing his arms.

 

Snape’s face didn’t even twitch. “The current situation with Draco will not be continuing. Now, these injuries. How did he give them to you? They’re rather significant.”

 

“You want the truth?” Harry said loudly, the aggravation surging. “Fine! Dudley loves beating me up, and I’m never allowed to fight back or I get in trouble. He punches me, he shoves me into stuff, and last week he shoved past me on the stairs, and I fell down them! That’s why I was in such a state."

 

Harry was being a bit economical with the truth there, admittedly. Shoved past implied something of an accident, and Dudley had more so just pushed Harry while he was halfway up so he tumbled all the way to the bottom of the staircase. He had then applied several sharp kicks to Harry’s ribs as he lay crumpled on the landing, gasping for breath, before slipping out of the door to beat up a ten-year-old in the local park.

 

Harry was still grateful he hadn’t broken something that day, since the few times in his life that Dudley had actually gone far enough to fracture or break bones, Aunt Petunia felt forced to take him to A&E for treatment. Harry had a theory that she only did that because broken bones made her squeamish, and she didn’t want that on display in the house.

 

Sometimes, Harry thought he’d prefer to be left with the injuries, though. Going to A&E meant spending an uncomfortable six or so hours in a stinking hospital waiting room with a woman who utterly despised him, all while she hissed threatening comments in Harry’s ear about what would happen if he dared mention that his broken finger was caused by Dudley slamming his hand in a door. That was why Harry only told his relatives about an ailment if he was in a real tight spot. He was fairly certain there had been a couple of fractured ribs caused by Dudley over the years, but he just got on with it and muscled through the pain.

 

After Harry’s rant, Snape’s expression had turned incredulous. “You fell down a staircase and your relatives didn’t take you to a doctor?”

 

“Did it look like they took me to a doctor?” Harry yelled, jumping to his feet. He’d been lucky that Aunt Petunia had thrown a bag of frozen peas in his direction after watching it happen! “They never want to admit that precious Dudley can do anything wrong, and I’m not stupid enough to go to them with my problems unless I’m really desperate!”

 

A dark expression crossed Snape’s face. “I did not realise you were also experiencing medical neglect there.”

 

Harry shuddered - if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was that word - neglect. It just reminded him of those awful mums at Dudley’s birthday party, whispering snide comments about brain damage and behavioural issues.

 

“I’m not experiencing anything!” he said furiously. “I’m not neglected, I’m not abused, none of that! We just don’t get on.”

 

“Tell me, then,” Snape said, lacing his fingers together. “If you weren’t neglected, give me examples of occasions where you were taken to any sort of healthcare professional.”

 

“I can, actually,” Harry said defiantly. “When I was seven, they took me to A&E after I fractured my wrist.”

 

That was the third time the Dursleys had bothered to take him to the hospital, but not from a bone Dudley had broken. That time Uncle Vernon had fractured his wrist, actually. He’d thrown Harry into his cupboard a little too hard and he’d landed awkwardly on it. But it had just been an accident. Aunt Petunia had frantically said that over and over when Harry wouldn’t stop crying, no matter how much she told him she’d give him something to cry about if he didn’t shut up. Aunt Petunia had quickly realised something was wrong, and it had panicked her. After all, Harry didn't normally dare to show signs of tears in front of his relatives, but the stabbing pain in his wrist had been too great for him to hold it in.

 

That had been a really weird day. Aunt Petunia had actually shouted at Uncle Vernon, who had quickly gone from puce to white when he realised what he’d done. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen his uncle be that quiet. Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, was more noisy and shrill than ever. She’d been busy screeching about social workers and police and things that Harry was in too much pain to understand or remember properly. It had been six months since the teacher had called social services on his relatives, he realised now. That was why Aunt Petunia had hissed instructions at him from behind the steering wheel to say he’d fallen off the monkey bars at the playground. Harry assumed she was terrified this broken wrist would make them come back, and was desperate to do anything to stop that from happening, even if it involved being nice to Harry.

 

She’d promised to take him out for ice cream if Harry just did as she said and Harry, who was never allowed ice cream, had eagerly obeyed her. There was another horrid waiting period in a hospital waiting room, where Aunt Petunia had spent the entire time anxiously tapping her foot, glaring suspiciously at the other parents, and barking at Harry if he strayed away from her to touch the toys. The doctor had easily believed the lie and had splinted Harry’s fractured wrist. Aunt Petunia had never actually taken him out for ice cream - she dug up a freezer-burned, half-eaten tub Dudley wouldn’t touch out of the kitchen at home, which Harry clumsily fed to himself left-handed. He hadn’t cared. To Harry, it was ambrosia.

 

Now, Harry could see it for what it was - bribery. The Dursleys needed to ensure his continued silence. They hadn’t felt bad, they’d just been scared of being found out by the neighbours or social services for the people they really were behind closed doors. Harry had actually gone along with the lie because for once, his relatives were being nice to him. He didn’t have to do as many chores on account of his broken wrist, and his aunt and uncle didn’t lay a finger on him for months. They were too scared. That tended to happen when they went too far; it was as if they were struck by sudden fits of conscience. Aunt Petunia had even started distracting Dudley when he tried to beat Harry up, buying him toys and food. He’d thought that maybe, just maybe, things were finally getting better.

 

Harry wasn’t stupid enough to think good times like that lasted now. He was older, and so he knew better. The cast had come off, the memory of the night Uncle Vernon had hurt him grew fainter in his relatives’ minds, and he’d turned a teacher’s wig blue during a fit of accidental magic at school. The Dursleys had gone to normal pretty quickly after that, and it had almost been more painful than if they’d never stopped being horrid at all.

 

"Potter?"

 

Although Snape had promised not to Legilimise him, Harry couldn’t help his suspicions that Snape somehow knew the details of the incident, even though Harry hadn’t - couldn’t - mention them. Perhaps he’d plucked them from the surface of Harry’s mind. After all, he was scowling something fierce by now.

 

“Did they ever take you to a doctor for non-emergencies?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

It wasn't a lie. They'd taken Harry to the doctor once or twice. It was a bit of a rare occurrence, though. Most of the time, the Dursleys just left him to tough it out. Which was fine, although Dudley was taken to the GP over every little ache or sniffle. They actually cared about Dudley, though, so it was different.

 

They’d taken Harry along, too, when he and Dudley both had simultaneous ear infections when they were four. Harry shivered - another unpleasant memory. They’d been prescribed antibiotics. Aunt Petunia had sat with Dudley for ages until he took them, coaxing him with cuddles and sweets and toys.

 

When she was done, Aunt Petunia was tired and irritable. Then, it would be Harry’s turn. She would pin Harry down when he tried to run away and pinched his nose shut so he’d have to open his mouth for air and swallow the nasty-tasting medicine. Harry had been too small to fight back, of course. He'd laid there with silent tears trickling down his cheeks while Petunia growled at him about how whiny and ungrateful he was. He could still feel the ghost of her bony fingers clamped over his mouth, her acrylic nails digging into the flesh of his cheek.

 

“Give me an example of when they took you, then.”

 

Harry shook himself. He wasn't four years old now, too weak to break out of his aunt's hold. He was in Snape's kitchen. It was somehow hard to keep himself fixed there when such unpleasant memories were bombarding his mind. He took a deep breath. Snape needed an example so he’d let Harry go. Okay.

 

But the memory Harry had recalled was so horrid that he couldn't bring himself to give the example of the antibiotics. So, when else had Harry gone? Surely he had? The NHS was free, it wasn't like he was taking away money from Dudley by visiting the doctor…

 

But he hadn't gone. Petunia didn't bother unless it was something significant - something broken, something that repulsed her enough to take Harry to a doctor so she didn’t have to look at it anymore. Sickness didn’t qualify, since that only affected him. Harry had many memories of lying in his cupboard, coughing, barely able to breathe, sweltering with fever.

 

No, Aunt Petunia hadn’t bothered to waste her valuable time on Harry.

 

"They didn't take you, did they?" Snape said, lips pressed into a thin line.

 

“No, no, they did. Erm… I have glasses, don’t I?” Harry gestured to his face.

 

Well, it wasn’t exactly like Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon had been the ones to notice he couldn’t see. A teacher at school had realised Harry couldn’t read the blackboard and brought it up. Aunt Petunia had taken him to an optometrist and had bought the cheapest frames available, the ones Harry still had today. Piers Polkiss had called him four-eyes in front of the whole class, and everyone had laughed at him. That final, miserable memory drained the small reserves of patience Harry had been drawing on to get through this, and at last made him fly over the edge.

 

“What happened to a few questions?” he shouted, his voice oddly raspy. “You’re such a nosy git, you know that?! I’m done with this, I’m not talking about it anymore!”

 

Unable to bear being trapped indoors for another moment, Harry darted out of the kitchen, through the sliding door and into the garden beyond. He relished the sensation of the rain, which had now turned into quite the downpour. Harry let the cool water pour down his face, breathing hard like he’d just run a marathon. He was fuming. What right did Snape have to be poking into his personal life? Who was he to pull faces at Harry’s upbringing when he’d just spent the last two years making Harry’s life a living hell? He was a right bastard!

 

He’d said this would help. How was that true? All Harry wanted to do was lock his nasty memories of the Dursleys into a tiny box, push it deep down, and never think about any of it. Instead, he was stuck reminiscing about all these nasty memories from his crappy childhood and feeling awful about himself. Sure, the Dursleys were by no means nice to him, but they weren’t nearly as bad as Snape was making them out to be, right? They couldn’t be that bad, they just couldn’t. Harry couldn't accept it. He couldn’t handle understanding how awful it had all been.

 

The door to the garden loudly slid open. Harry turned around and saw Snape staring him down, obviously piqued. His nostrils were flaring. Snape pointed at the kitchen behind him with a sharp jabbing motion. “In.”

 

“I’m good, actually!” Harry called, struggling against the urge to make a rude hand gesture.

 

“Potter, it is pouring!” Snape said exasperatedly, waving a hand towards the grey sky. “You’ll catch your death of cold!”

 

“Great! I’d love that!” Harry said contemptuously.

 

“Get inside before I make you.”

 

Harry, who was still feeling too annoyed to go within a ten-foot radius of Snape, kept his feet firmly moored to the muddy grass. While he didn’t particularly want to be soaked with rainwater, he felt the need to prove this point.

 

Snape sighed loudly and jabbed his wand in Harry’s direction. He yelped as his feet seemed to leave the ground of their own accord, leaving him floating in the air. Moments later, Harry shot towards Snape and the kitchen with the speed of a bullet, before he came to an abrupt halt in the centre of the room. Harry made to run back outside, but Snape kept him floating in the air as he locked the door with a wave of wandless magic.

 

“Why do you insist on keeping me locked in your stupid house?” Harry demanded, trying and failing to look dignified. It was rather difficult to manage when you were floating in the air, he found.

 

“Because when you decided to leave my ‘stupid house’ you thought it would be fun to spend the rest of your summer with a case of pneumonia!” Snape hissed. He shot a hot jet of air at Harry, ruffling his hair and clothes, which turned warm and dry in an instant. “Somebody needs to keep your underdeveloped adolescent brain in check, since you are clearly incapable of doing so yourself!”

 

“You let me down right the hell now!” Harry yelled.

 

“If I do that, will you be rational and calm yourself down, or will you body slam yourself through my back door in an ill-fated attempt to get away from me?”

 

“I’ll be rational, whatever!” Harry’s feet finally touched the ground, causing him to stumble slightly. He was off-balance. Snape quickly placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. Harry wrenched himself out of reach and the man dropped his hand like he’d been burned.

 

“I understand you have had a trying day,” Snape said testily, “but you will stop with these ridiculous outbursts immediately.”

 

“Fine.” It wasn’t the sorry Snape was almost certainly looking for, but if Harry was forced to apologise properly right that minute he knew he’d completely go over the edge.

 

"As I am making a concentrated effort to be more civil with you, I think it's best if we leave things there for now," Snape said. His face had gone back to the smooth mask from the night before, but Harry could now recognise a slight tightness around his jaw which indicated his annoyance. "We can continue this conversation at a later time, when I am calmer and you are less upset."

 

"I'm not upset!" Harry shouted. Snape raised his eyebrows, and Harry felt his cheeks heat up. Okay, so maybe shouting that wasn't really proving his point. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I just have a lot to get my head around. This is hard for me. But look, if you're worried about Dudley, don't be. He's fine there."

 

"From your description, I am willing to believe that," Snape conceded.

 

"Great. Can I go, then?"

 

"If you wish," Snape said, taking a step back. “As long as you don’t enter any of the restricted areas, that's fine. Your room is open to you again - Draco is in my lab and will stay there."

 

“Great. Bye.” Harry instantly began to stalk from the kitchen.

 

"Harry?"

 

Why did Snape using his first name always make him stop and listen?

 

"If you need anything, feel free to come and find me."

 

Harry curled his trembling hands into fists. "I don't need anything from the likes of you."

 

  I don't need anything from anyone. I've been taking care of myself for a long time.

 

But as Harry stormed up the stairs and into the empty bedroom, a small, fragile part of him almost wished he'd answered Snape differently.

Harry was left alone for the rest of the morning, which certainly suited him. As promised, Malfoy did not come into their shared room, which left Harry alone to try and distract himself from all the memories of his crappy childhood that Snape’s stupid talk had brought up. There was a reason Harry didn’t talk about this stuff, even with Ron and Hermione; because it meant he had to think about it.

 

And Harry didn’t want to do that. So, instead he drew. It was the Quidditch pitch, this time, since Harry really missed flying. Drawing was all well and good, but he did really enjoy taking his broom out and soaring through the air. After a long summer without access to his Nimbus, Harry was even starting to miss Oliver Wood’s early morning Quidditch drills that he usually grumbled about.

 

Maybe he should take up jogging or something. Perhaps that would help with how antsy Harry felt. Unfortunately, that would involve leaving the house, which Harry really couldn’t do without permission since Snape was now tracking his every move. He certainly wasn’t going to ask Snape to let him, either, so he was pretty much stuck. Harry sighed and ran a finger across the coarse grooves of the runes carved into his tracker, feeling thoroughly miserable.

 

Harry spent the entire morning half-expecting Snape to burst into the room unannounced and declare another mandatory conversation that Harry was in no place to tolerate. He felt like his emotions had been rubbed red-raw by the events of the last twenty-four hours, which made every strong feeling painful and amplified. Harry didn't know how he'd react if he was told he had to talk about the Dursleys again, and that volatility scared him. He despised feeling so sensitive.

 

Luckily, Snape kept to his word and left Harry to his own devices. The only indicator Harry had that the other man was even in the house was the occasional open and shut of the door to his laboratory, which was often accompanied by the low-voiced murmuring of two individuals.

 

It was midday before there was at last a knock at Harry’s door, but it was only Snape summoning him down for lunch. Harry walked into the kitchen and came to a sudden halt, wrinkling his nose when he saw who was already waiting at the table.

 

“Well hello to you too, Potter,” Malfoy muttered, refusing to look at him.

 

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, pulling a face.

 

“He is eating lunch, as are the two of us,” Snape said, abruptly coming up from behind Harry. “Well? Sit down, then.”

 

Harry did so, casting suspicious looks at Malfoy the whole time. He was still refusing to look at Harry, and wasn’t touching his food.

 

“Draco, I believe you have something to say,” Snape said, crossing his arms and eyeing Malfoy expectantly.

 

“I…I apologise for blackmailing you into doing my chores,” Malfoy said quietly, eyes fixed on his lap. Harry had to struggle to hold back a scoff. “And for framing you for stealing my mother’s necklace. Oh, and for punching you.”

 

Snape turned to Harry. “Do you have any sort of response?”

 

Harry wasn’t sure if Snape knew about him kicking and shoving Malfoy yesterday, but he certainly wasn't going to apologise for that. Malfoy had started it! Instead, he simply tutted. “Okay, then. You’re sorry? For a Slytherin, you’re a terrible liar, Malfoy.”

 

Malfoy slammed his fork to the table. “See, Severus? I told you it was pointless!”

 

“You are not entitled to an acceptance of your apology, Draco,” Snape said, giving him a piercing look.

 

“An apology he doesn’t even mean,” Harry muttered.

 

“And you ought to stop assuming you can sufficiently determine Draco’s sincerity,” Snape said sharply. “Given your fractious relationship, I highly doubt that you are an expert in his mannerisms.”

 

"Oh and you would definitely know when he's lying," Harry muttered, crossing his arms.

 

"Potter," Snape said, the warning clear in his voice. Harry sighed to himself but didn't say anything further. He could sense Snape was losing patience and didn't feel up to another lecture that day.

 

While he was eating, Harry noticed something strange - the overpowering, strong smell of vinegar lingering in the air. He frowned, since that wasn't in any of the food they were eating. He glanced to his left and realised that the smell had to be coming from Malfoy, oddly enough.

 

Malfoy noticed him watching. His fingers tightened around his cutlery. “And what fascinating thing has caught your eye, Potter?”

 

“Why do you smell like a fish and chips shop?”

 

Malfoy gave him a vaguely disgusted look and ignored Harry’s question.

 

“Draco has been pickling toad livers this morning,” Snape explained. Harry made a face. “He has been around a rather significant quantity of vinegar.”

 

“I knew it was going to stick to me, Severus!” Malfoy said irritably. “I told you it would!”

 

“And I believe you are familiar with the concept of showering and laundry?” Snape raised his eyebrows. “You’ll recover, I’m certain. At any rate, I do not design punishments to be pleasant, particularly punishments for nasty, bullying behaviour like that which you have been engaging in for this last week.”

 

Malfoy’s cheeks grew rather pink. He stared at his plate and didn’t meet either of their eyes. Harry tried not to look too visibly shocked that Snape had actually just called out Malfoy’s behaviour and returned to his food, mulling things over. So Snape was telling the truth - about Malfoy, at least. He genuinely wasn’t happy that Malfoy had been so horrid to Harry this past week…

 

After a couple of minutes, Harry realised that Snape was closely watching him while he ate. He scowled. “Can you stop staring at me? It’s creepy!”

 

“I’m sure it has not failed to come to your attention that this table is rather small,” Snape said, pointedly continuing to stare down Harry. “There are only so many directions in which I can look. It is also, I might add, good manners to look at the people you are eating and conversing with."

 

Malfoy scoffed. “Potter wouldn’t know good manners if they hit him over the head.”

 

“It shocks me how you fail to notice the rank hypocrisy in that statement when you yourself have exhibited appalling manners through your lack of respect and decorum while speaking with Mr Potter this past week,” Snape said waspishly. “And congratulations, Draco. On top of everything else you’re dealing with, you just earned yourself an earlier bedtime.”

 

"Oh, come on, Severus!" Malfoy snapped. "I'm not five!"

 

"Really? Your behaviour would suggest otherwise!" Snape said caustically. "Keep complaining and I can make it earlier, if you'd like?"

 

Malfoy sat back with a loud huff, clearly disgruntled. Harry stuck his tongue out at him, feeling rather smug. Snape saw this and let out a very loud, very long sigh. “I don’t know why I even bother. For my sake, will the two of you limit yourselves to silent glaring for the duration of this meal and cease with the other childish theatrics? I am beginning to think a prolonged stint under the Cruciatus Curse would be more bearable than this…”

 

They both nodded. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what the Cruciatus Curse was, but it certainly didn’t sound pleasant. Besides, he could make do with staring. In fact, Harry took it upon himself to make it his personal mission to give Malfoy the dirtiest looks he could possibly muster, which the other boy did his best to return. Snape looked like he wanted to throttle them both, but otherwise didn’t comment.

 

They dined in silence until the end of lunch, when Snape cleared his throat and banished the dishes to the kitchen sink with a wave of his wand. “Draco, you’re to clean those.”

 

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking!” Malfoy shouted, kicking his chair back. “You can do it easily with a spell! I understand I’m in trouble, but making me do house-elf work in addition to slaving away in your laboratory is just excessive!”

 

“Considering the fact that your rule-breaking consisted of blackmailing Harry into doing your previous punishment for you, I think it’s very apt,” Snape said calmly. “Washing a few dishes will not kill you.”

 

“It’s the principle of it!” Malfoy yelled, the volume of his voice reaching new heights. Harry nervously eyed the glass of water still sitting on the table and prayed Malfoy wouldn’t throw it.

 

Snape didn’t reply immediately. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small vial of purple liquid, and walked over to Malfoy. Snape uncorked the vial and held it out to him. “Drink.”

 

“Shove off!” Malfoy snapped, turning his head away. “I don’t need any of your stupid Calming Draughts, I’m fine.”

 

“Nonetheless, you will drink it,” Snape said in a tone that beggared no argument. Malfoy shot Snape a withering glare and downed the Calming Draught in one gulp. Harry noticed the potion worked nearly instantly. The tension in Malfoy’s shoulders and the tightness in his jaw faded, and he stared at the floor, a faint pink flush staining his cheeks. He stormed over to the sink and started washing the dishes with more force and clatter than was strictly necessary, but didn't complain again.

 

“Er - what did you do to him?” Harry asked a little nervously.

 

“I gave him a quarter dose of a Calming Draught,” Snape explained.

 

Harry frowned. “You’re drugging him?”

 

“No, I am not drugging him!” Snape said exasperatedly. “While Draco works on long-term strategies to manage his self-control, we both came to the decision that it would be wiser to reign in his temper through potions when his anger gets too out of hand so he does not break anything else in my house.”

 

“You know, I don’t appreciate you going through all my personal issues with him, Severus,” Malfoy said, pausing his scrubbing to scowl at Harry.

 

“Considering you threw something at his head not one week ago, I think Mr Potter is entitled to know what we’re doing to deal with your little temper issue,” Snape said pointedly. Malfoy huffed and returned to pouring what Harry thought to be a rather excessive amount of washing up liquid onto a plate. He really didn’t know how to do any housework, did he? How odd…

 

"This is only a temporary measure,” Snape added. “It is not advisable to use Calming Draughts long-term to dull one's emotions, which is also why Draco is taking a lower dose. This method generally allows the drinker to take the edge off of powerful emotions so they can control themselves without fully dulling all feelings, which is what a regular dose would do."

 

Harry nodded. He vaguely remembered writing a Potions essay about the addictive nature of Calming Draughts, but all he could remember about it was that Hermione and Ron had gotten in an argument that day when Hermione wouldn't proofread his homework for him.

 

“What summer assignments are you working on today?” Snape asked. It was as if Harry’s thoughts about school had turned his teacher-mode on.

 

“I was going to take a stab at Astronomy,” Harry said.

 

Snape nodded. “Perhaps you should begin, then.”

 

Harry glanced out of the back door to the rainy sky above. This was the first day in a week he’d not done any gardening, and it felt strange. Almost itchy, Harry decided. The sensation of a guilty conscience.

 

“What’s happening with chores and stuff?” he decided to ask. “I didn't do my gardening this morning.”

 

“It’s predicted to rain for a fair few days, so none of that at the moment,” Snape said, waving his hand dismissively.

 

Harry frowned. "What housework do you want me to do instead, then?"

 

“I’ll work something out."

 

Malfoy looked up from the sink, his mouth hanging open slightly. “Why are you asking for housework, Potter? Are you mental?”

 

Harry made a rather rude hand gesture at him. Unfortunately, Snape noticed this. His eyes narrowed. “Do not let me catch you doing that again or I’ll have you writing lines until your hand cramps. Go do your homework.”

 

Harry nodded glumly and trudged up the stairs.

 

---

 

Harry sighed and put his quill to one side, finished with the essay. As he’d not wanted to be anywhere near Malfoy that afternoon, he had elected to do his Astronomy homework in his bedroom. Harry had a feeling that the Snape from before his runaway attempt would have forced Harry to do it downstairs anyway, but as things stood, Snape was practically tiptoeing around Harry. He was giving Harry far more free reign to do as he pleased with his time, it seemed. He’d become almost lax.

 

Well, except when it came to being polite to Malfoy.

 

God, Harry was furious with Malfoy. He’d had all afternoon to think about why, and had come to something of a realisation. He wasn’t necessarily angry about the punch, or the insults, or even the blackmail, really. That was typical Malfoy nastiness, and didn’t bother Harry all that much.

 

No, he thing that really incensed Harry about the whole situation was the fact that Malfoy had chosen to reveal the information he’d been blackmailing Harry with to Snape. After Harry had spent all week doing Malfoy’s chores for him and putting up with his horrid, nasty remarks, it had all been for nothing. Even though Malfoy’s blackmail had been tangentially related to the necklace at best, Malfoy had still snitched about the bruises to Snape! He’d probably done it for the sole purpose of getting Harry in trouble, too, not even realising the problems he was going to cause.

 

This whole situation was entirely Malfoy’s fault. If he’d kept his big mouth shut, Snape never would have found out about the bruises, or subsequently the Dursleys. Harry wouldn’t be stuck at Spinner’s End having his childhood and home life constantly dissected for the next two weeks if not for him. Everything would be normal, but now it wasn't and never would be again, and Harry hated Malfoy for it.

 

Harry exhaled loudly and banged his head against the desk. The other problem that was becoming increasingly more and more pressing was how bloody bored he was. It had been a solid week of hiding in this room at all hours so Malfoy and Snape wouldn’t remember he was there, and Harry was really running out of interesting things to do with himself. The rain outside wasn’t helping, either; Harry couldn’t even go out into the garden to find something else to do without Snape pitching a fit and levitating him inside.

 

Just so he wasn’t stuck staring at the same four walls for even more time, Harry decided to finally go downstairs into the kitchen for a change of scenery and to get a glass of water. Malfoy was conspicuously absent but Snape was inside, chopping vegetables. He looked up as Harry walked in.

 

“How are you finding your Astronomy homework?” he asked.

 

“Er - alright. I think it’s done.”

 

Harry got a glass out of the cupboard and went over to the tap to fill it, trying very hard not to think about how Snape’s relatively mundane question had made him feel. It was strangely parental, and for some reason immediately reminded Harry that the Dursleys couldn’t give a fig about how Harry was finding his homework, even when that homework hadn’t involved wand-waving and magic tricks.

 

“If it’s completed, bring it to me later to look over,” Snape instructed. Harry nodded, watching closely as Snape sliced a spring onion. He couldn’t help his twitching lips. Snape even cooked like a Potions Master! Harry had never seen someone cut vegetables with such surgical precision!

 

Snape noticed Harry’s amusement and his eyebrows contracted. “Do you have something to add?”

 

“That is a really weird way to cook,” Harry said with a snort.

 

“Really?” Snape drawled, putting the chopping board to one side to turn and look at him. “Does this come from your perspective as some sort of Michelin Star chef, Potter? What makes you such an expert?”

 

“I cook all the time, actually!” Harry said indignantly. Snape's constant implications that Harry would either cause severe food poisoning or a catastrophic explosion really irked him, especially since he most certainly did know his way around a kitchen.

 

“Indeed?” Snape picked up his wand from the countertop and waved it, causing another chopping board and knife to appear next to him. “Well, be my guest. Those peppers need to be diced.”

 

Harry almost refused automatically, but stopped himself at the last minute. He really was quite bored, so much so that even cooking with Snape sounded like a more appealing activity than just sitting in his room. Besides, Harry was feeling incredibly antsy. He hadn’t done any chores today, and he was worried if he didn’t do something, Snape would flip out over Harry being a lazy, good-for-nothing leech. So, instead of declining, he simply nodded and picked up the knife. He intentionally started dicing the pepper into noticeably uneven chunks, just to prove a point while next to Snape. He was watching Harry with his nose wrinkled.

 

“The subpar quality of the potions you turn in is beginning to make far more sense.”

 

“Well we’re not making a potion, are we?” Harry pointed out. “A stir fry isn’t going to explode if the spring onions are slightly different widths.”

 

“But a Befuddlement Beverage would,” Snape said.

 

"Which we aren't making!"

 

"Don't be so contrarian." Snape rolled his eyes. “At any rate, when you become used to preparing ingredients in a certain way, it becomes habit and leeches into other aspects of life.”

 

Harry supposed that made sense. Snape slid a second pepper over to him. “Dice this one as precisely as you can manage. Perhaps you can use this as an opportunity to hone your ingredient preparation skills for Potions next year without some of the external pressures of the laboratory.”

 

“Can’t you ever turn off being a teacher?” Harry said grumpily. He wasn’t entirely certain how he’d just been roped into an impromptu Potions lesson, but he wasn’t particularly happy about it.

 

“Consider it another habit that has seeped into other aspects of my life.” Snape raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to give it a go, or do you not think you can manage it? Is that why you’re protesting?”

 

“No, I can do it!”

 

Harry was never going to turn down an opportunity to prove Snape wrong, so he began to slowly dice the pepper, taking extra time and care to make sure each cube was equal in size. He obviously knew how to dice something properly, he just didn’t have the patience for it most of the time.

 

When he was finished, Snape looked the pepper over and nodded. "Those are very even. Well done."

 

Harry didn't know how to respond to that. Snape actually complimenting him, of all things, just felt so incredibly wrong. He just stood there, mouth hanging open stupidly, until he shook himself. "Well don't expect more of it. It's stupid to cook like that, it's inefficient."

 

"To each his own." Snape had stopped chopping and was watching Harry. "Where did you learn to cook, then? You speak as if you know what you're doing."

 

"I do know what I'm doing," Harry grumbled. There was a borderline insulting undertone to Snape’s words that Harry was itching to start an argument over, but he just about restrained himself. He’d spent the past twenty-four hours almost exclusively fighting with either Snape or Malfoy, and was honestly exhausted by the constant quarrelling. Maybe it would be easier to just let this one go.

 

"I've been cooking for years now, actually."

 

"Really?" Snape asked. "When did you begin?"

 

"When I was tall enough to reach the stove." Harry couldn't remember a specific age. He’d done excesses of chores at Privet Drive for as long as he could recall, and couldn’t pinpoint the year when washing up and cleaning had melded into preparing food.

 

"Did your aunt or uncle teach you?" Snape asked. He waved his wand, and three chicken breasts flew through the air and onto his chopping board.

 

"My aunt, and 'teach' is a strong word." Harry wrinkled his nose at the memories. Learning to cook had just consisted of a lot of shouting, oil burns, sharp knives that he couldn’t wield properly, and general misery at the hands of Aunt Petunia. "She goes by your teaching style in all the worst ways."

 

"I see."

 

Harry winced, realising he had just insulted Snape to his face. He prepared himself for some growled reprimand about respect, but no such scolding came. After a moment, Harry looked to his left and realised Snape had stopped chopping the chicken to watch him carefully. With an odd swooping sensation in his stomach that reminded Harry of missing a step on the stairs, he had the sudden realisation that he'd just let slip something about the Dursleys without even thinking about it. To Snape.

 

"Don't do that!" he snapped, defensiveness flaring up in him. Harry stared at the chopping board, his heartbeat uncomfortably rapid. Snape was a Slytherin at the end of the day. Harry should have expected him to use some kind of sneaky, underhanded methods to squeeze the information he'd wanted out of Harry. Now he was probably going to ask some horrid follow-up question, and Harry was almost certainly going to lose his temper again and shout at Snape, and then he'd have to spend the rest of the evening feeling even more emotionally wrung-out than he already did…

 

But to Harry's immense shock and relief, Snape didn't ask. He simply slid some garlic over to Harry and instructed him to mince it. Harry crushed the clove beneath his knife in something of a daze. Maybe Snape had suddenly learnt how to respect boundaries that afternoon.

 

Or Harry wasn't out of the woods yet, and the awkward, probing questions would drop at any minute. He needed to change the subject.

 

"So I'm confused," he began, staring at the chicken. "I’ve seen you use your wand for some things, like heating the stove or summoning the ingredients, but then you chop them by hand. Why not just use a spell for that, too? It would save loads of time."

 

Harry knew cooking spells existed. Mrs Weasley could make potatoes shed their skins untouched, or pots stir themselves, or beef mince itself. It was quite simple compared to some of the other magic he'd seen, but Harry still thought it was amazing, especially when he recalled the hours of preparation some of the meals he’d made could take back at Privet Drive.

 

Snape's lips thinned. "In all honesty? I find household Charms such as that rather difficult."

 

Harry's jaw dropped for the second time that evening. "You find magic difficult?"

 

Snape scowled. "Close your mouth, Potter, unless you're trying to catch flies?" Harry obeyed. "Don't act so surprised. The majority of witches and wizards are not Albus Dumbledore, you know! Everyone has an area of magic they struggle with, including myself. Watch. Poultry talis."

 

The chicken breast did not dice itself, which was what Snape must have intended. Instead, a few lines scored the surface of the skin in a grid shape, leaving a few chunks of slightly ragged chicken half-attached to each other. Snape gestured to it. "It is impractical for me to do things this way, especially when my proficiency with brewing means I can prepare ingredients by hand very efficiently."

 

"Huh." Harry frowned. "But wouldn't practising the spell actually help in the long run?"

 

He highly doubted that he could get out of extra homework for a tricky Transfiguration spell by saying to Professor McGonagall that turning beetles into buttons just wasn't his strong suit.

 

"No." Snape scowled as he began to correctly chop the chicken by hand. "Are you aware of the Muggle bias surrounding left-handed people, Potter?"

 

Harry nodded, unsure of how this linked. "Yeah. They used to force people to write the other way, did they? Because they thought being left-handed was a sign of the devil?"

 

"Indeed. Unfortunately, the wizarding world held some similarly unfounded beliefs in the early twentieth century, although this was more linked to the casting of spells than any religious factors."

 

As Snape spoke, he finished chopping the meat, picked up the chopping board, and headed over to the stove. He flicked his wand at the waiting pan, heating it instantly so the cubes of chicken sizzled as they hit the oil without much influence from the spluttering gas burner beneath.

 

“There was a false claim that the only natural and correct way to cast spells was using your right hand, despite much evidence to the contrary that many witches and wizards could perform magic of the same calibre with their left hand. Hogwarts consequentially enforced a regime of exclusively right-handed spellcasting for a fair few decades until it fell out of fashion, when people finally began to realise it significantly hampered one's magical ability to not cast with the correct wand arm.”

 

“Was that still happening while you were at school, then?” Harry asked.

 

Snape shook his head. “Hogwarts completely abandoned the practice in the early sixties. However, even though this school of thought was thoroughly disproven, a large sect of witches and wizards still had these views internalised to a degree when I was growing up, including my mother. As she was the one to teach me household Charms, she insisted on making me learn them with my right hand. I had no reason to refuse to follow her methods."

 

"And you can't get the magic to do it properly because it's not with your wand arm," Harry said, understanding dawning. "Couldn't you just teach yourself it left-handed now, though?"

 

Snape shook his head. "Once you learn a spell a certain way, it is extraordinarily difficult to change how you perform it. Imagine trying to fit a square peg through a round hole. It comes from a mixture of your wand disliking the change, depending on the core and wood, and a degree of mental blockage. It is honestly easier for me to do it with my opposing hand, even with the impaired quality of my spell outcomes."

 

The wand switching Harry had noticed earlier in the week now made a whole lot more sense. As he cast his mind back, Harry realised that all of the spells Snape cast with his opposite hand had actually been household-related ones.

 

"I can't believe they used to enforce that sort of thing!" Harry said indignantly. "There's probably a load of witches and wizards who got stuck not able to cast everything properly because they were lied to and told they were doing spells wrong! That's so bad!"

 

"I agree," Snape said, shaking his head. "Demetrius Diggle, the man responsible for the falsified research which contributed to the widespread misinformation, was eventually found out as a fraud, thankfully. He was fined thousands of galleons and essentially exiled from magical British society."

 

"Good riddance," Harry muttered.

 

"Indeed," Snape said, pursing his lips. “Go and set the table. This is almost ready."

 

As Harry placed the knives and forks down, he had a sudden, strange realisation. He'd just spent time with Snape…and it hadn't been entirely unbearable. At a push, Harry might even reluctantly admit that he'd enjoyed their conversation. That stuff about left-handed magic had been really interesting, and Snape had actually dropped the conversation about Aunt Petunia when Harry wanted him to.

 

So far, Harry had only experienced two extremes of Snape: angry, nasty Snape, and overly pushy, Dursley-obsessed Snape. Harry hated both these iterations, but this Snape who he'd cooked with? That man was possibly bearable.

 

Or he was lulling Harry into a false sense of security by pretending to be friendly so he'd slip up and tell Snape more stuff about his childhood. That certainly seemed like something Snape would do. He was incredibly manipulative, after all…

 

No, Harry couldn't let his guard down. He had to remember who he was dealing with here. It was Snape. The other shoe was going to drop eventually, and it would be all the more painful if Harry actually started changing his opinions on Snape only to realise how wrong he was. He had to remain vigilant.

 

As if the universe was reminding Harry of how careful he had to be at Spinner’s End, Malfoy flounced into the kitchen just as Snape was serving up the food. He immediately looked daggers at Harry, and Harry scowled right back. Snape pointedly ignored this behaviour, although he speared a piece of chicken on his fork with more force than strictly necessary as he sat down to eat.

 

“So, Draco,” he began. “How many lines have you completed?”

 

“A hundred and twenty,” Draco muttered. Harry looked closer at the other boy and noticed the edge of his hand was smudged black with ink.

 

“Reasonable progress,” Snape said.

 

“It would be more if you hadn’t assigned me a bloody paragraph!” Malfoy growled.

 

“I can make it longer, if you’d like?” Snape asked, his voice dangerous. Malfoy at last fell silent, but he continued to glare at Harry like he was personally responsible for the lines he’d been set, which Harry didn’t think was entirely fair. Malfoy was the one who had utterly wrecked Harry’s life, after all. He had no right to act like he was hard done by!

 

Dinner was a silent affair after that, as Harry and Malfoy had something of a staring contest from their opposite ends of the table. In fact, Harry was so laser-focused on matching Malfoy’s withering glower that he actually ended up missing the food on his plate with his fork multiple times because he wasn't paying attention to what he was doing. He could see Snape out of the corner of his eye, pressing his lips into a thin white line like he was barely biting back an insult.

 

Because he thinks you’re some pathetic, half-starved little orphan, an annoying little voice in the back of Harry’s head reminded him. He’s too obsessed with you eating to say anything.

 

His shoulders tensed. If there was one thing Harry couldn’t stand, it was pity. It wasn’t like Harry was going to drop dead because he’d missed a few meals in his time! He wasn’t some fragile little creature that Snape needed to tiptoe around, he just wasn’t. While Harry didn’t exactly like when Snape was horrid and mean to him, the knowledge that the changes in his behaviour were because of what he knew about the Dursleys made Harry shrivel up a little inside for reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

 

Malfoy finished eating before Harry did and hurried away upstairs, presumably to do more lines, judging by his general huffiness. Harry went to leave as well, feeling vaguely irritated, but stopped in the doorway when Snape cleared his throat.

 

“Do you remember what I told you,” he said, “about Demetrius Diggle’s falsified research into left-handed wizardry?”

 

“Yeah?” Harry turned around to face him.

 

“Why do you think people would believe him in the first place?” Snape asked, steepling his fingers.

 

Harry frowned, thinking hard about both the question and why Snape was asking him this. “Um… well, I’m guessing it was some sort of official-seeming research?” Snape nodded. “Right, then that means they’d think it was true. I mean, it’s not like they’d have any reason to think Diggle was lying?”

 

“Indeed,” Snape said. “And the myth persevered amongst a large portion of the British wizarding population, even after his fraudulent data collection methods had been exposed. Why do you think that is?”

 

“Er… I guess once people believe a certain thing, they find it hard to change their minds about something,” Harry said slowly.

 

“Correct,” Snape said with a nod. “Now, this long-lasting misconception came from just one misleading study. Imagine, I suggest, what the wider magical community would think if there were dozens upon dozens of researchers claiming that casting left-handed was an inferior method of sorcery. How difficult do you think it would be to convince a group of people that these facts, which they had internalised into their belief systems, were completely unfounded and they needed to change their minds immediately?"

 

“Pretty hard,” Harry said, furrowing his eyebrows.

 

“Now, change left-handed spellcasting into Muggleborn magical ability,” Snape said. “Imagine going through life being presented with what appears to be very valid, rigorous research telling you a group of people are inherently magically inferior -”

 

“Muggleborns are not magically inferior!” Harry shouted, anger surging in him. “Don’t be stupid! I know you don’t like her, but Hermione alone completely proves that’s a lie -”

 

“Will you let me finish before you start yelling at me, Potter?” Snape’s voice wasn’t loud, but it cut across Harry’s shouts. He fell into mutinous silence. “If you’d bothered to listen to me more carefully, you’ll recall I stated that this research appeared to be valid, not that it actually was.”

 

“Oh.” Harry stared at his shoes, feeling his cheeks heat up.

 

“Now, the majority of magical Britain had no way of knowing this research into Muggleborn and half-blood magical ability was invalid, you know,” Snape said, mercifully overlooking Harry's outburst of temper. “In fact, the researchers and academics producing these reports were generally quite renowned scientific figures, who were not yet known to be Death Eaters with biases that were leaching into their research. The idea that Muggleborn blood was not as magically concentrated as that of pureblooded wizards became a rather ingrained ideology amongst certain groups of the population over the last few decades, particularly in the run up to the war. Even though all of these studies have now been disproven, the seed has still been planted in many pureblood minds.”

 

“I still don’t think that’s an excuse for people to be so nasty to Muggleborns today,” Harry muttered. “It’s not true, so Muggleborns should be treated equally!”

 

“No, I quite agree,” Snape said, “but my point here is that some people quite genuinely do not know any better. Take Draco, for example.” Harry screwed up his face. “He did not get this way on his own, you realise? Imagine you have spent your entire life being told that Muggleborns are inferior to you in every way. Imagine hearing that they are stealing a place in a world that rightfully belongs to you, and that they are less powerful in every conceivable manner. Then, imagine being told you have to completely change these worldviews overnight. He is currently deconstructing beliefs that are ingrained into every corner of his psyche, and that does take time.”

 

“Is he really?” Harry asked sceptically. Malfoy seemed like just as much of a nasty bigot today as he had been since first year.

 

“Yes, he is,” Snape said firmly. “I am making sure of it. Finding out that everything you stand for is a complete sham can come as something of a shock to the system, though. Draco is obviously rather defensive, but he is starting to reconsider what he’s grown up being told.”

 

Harry scoffed. “I get what you’re trying to do, but I’m not going to feel sorry for Malfoy. I just won’t. I don’t have to be nice to him, especially when he goes out of his way to be nasty to me for no reason.”

 

“No reason?” Snape arched an eyebrow. “I recall you calling him an ‘inbred git’ at some point.”

 

“He started it!”

 

Snape sighed very loudly. “I am simply suggesting that it might do for you to reconsider the constant exchange of vitriol. I am working to help Draco improve his ways, but it might make all our lives a bit easier if you weren’t both so focused on constantly aggravating each other. Perhaps try to give him a little bit of grace while you continue to reside here?”

 

“It shouldn’t be my responsibility to do that, though!” Harry protested.

 

“No, and it is not your exclusive responsibility,” Snape said tersely, “but wouldn’t you rather put an end to the contentious relationship between yourself and Draco in the long-term by making a few sacrifices in the short term? I am simply wondering if you can find it in yourself to extend an olive branch for both your sakes.”

 

“I’m just not convinced he’s actually going to change,” Harry said, feeling a bit exasperated. “I’m still not convinced he’s sorry about any of the stuff he did, either.”

 

“Draco is more sorry than you are able to understand,” Snape said quietly. “As I mentioned, he tends to put up quite a defensive front about these sorts of things, especially with you. In private, he is quite remorseful for his behaviour.”

 

Harry shook his head dismissively, and Snape sighed again. “There are things you don’t know about Draco that I do know, which is why I am so assured of his sincerity. I might add, Harry, that there were many things I did not know about you that caused me to behave towards you in a way that was not entirely fair. Do not make the same mistakes that I did with you and presume something about another person without knowing the full picture.”

 

Harry’s hands clenched. “I am nothing like you,” he growled, “and I’m getting pretty sick of you trying to convince me how nice Draco is.”

 

He stormed out without another word, fuming. Harry didn’t need the full intricacies of Malfoy’s life to get a good read on him! All he needed to know was that Malfoy was a horrid little bully who called Hermione awful names and wouldn’t give Harry the time of day if their roles were reversed. He wasn’t worth the effort.

 

Snape didn’t come after Harry as he hid himself away in the bedroom, but annoyingly enough, his voice was still whispering away in the back of Harry’s mind. After all, he had made a very good point - Malfoy really must have spent his entire life being told terrible things about Muggleborns. Harry had had the unfortunate opportunity to meet Lucius Malfoy on a few occasions now, and could admit the man was far nastier than even his son. Draco really didn’t know better, did he? Not with a man like that for a father. Somehow, Harry had never really thought about Malfoy’s behaviour from that perspective…

 

But even though Malfoy couldn’t help it, Harry was still angry. It shouldn’t be his responsibility to do anything to help that prat.

 

A little voice in the back of Harry’s head still quietly argued that maybe, just maybe, he should try and help anyway. He didn’t have to like Malfoy to want him to change for the better. And if Harry was somehow able to help, maybe he should…

 

But it was hard to think that way when the residual anger about everything from the past two years and especially the past two weeks was still rammed in the forefront of Harry’s mind. No, he decided, Harry was not going to forgive Malfoy.

 

Not even when late that night, while Harry was struggling to sleep, Malfoy sat up and whispered, “I did mean it, Potter.”

 

Harry ignored him, but Malfoy continued to speak. “It’s just - it’s hard, in front of Severus, but… I am really sorry. I shouldn’t have done any of that. I just get so angry sometimes…” He sighed mournfully. “Severus said… look, if I’d known those bruises weren’t caused by whatever biking was - that it was something actually serious, whatever it is that hurt you, I mean, then…”

 

And with those words, Harry hardened his heart. “Just shut up, Malfoy.”

 

He had ruined Harry’s life by telling Snape about those bruises, and Harry was never, ever going to forgive him for it. It didn’t matter that Malfoy apparently hadn’t even known what biking was, or that he still didn’t seem to realise what was behind the injuries. He’d still told, and Harry was furious.

 

“Fine,” Malfoy snapped. “Be that way.”

 

Harry heard the rustling of the covers as the other boy turned over, leaving Harry alone in irritated silence, trying not to wonder if he should have answered differently.

The next morning, it was as if Harry’s fury had coalesced into a low-burning, dangerous outrage. He wasn’t sure how much Malfoy either knew or had figured out about Harry’s childhood, but he certainly knew something was off. Harry had to be angry because if he wasn’t, he’d just be scared out of his wits that Malfoy was so dangerously close to learning his darkest secret.

 

While Harry was steadily growing more confident that Snape wasn’t going to tell anyone about the Dursleys - or, at the very least, that he intended to keep things quiet - Harry absolutely did not believe for a second that Malfoy would behave with any sort of discretion. Harry could already hear Malfoy describing the bruises in a drawling voice: “Can’t even defend yourself from a bunch of Muggles, Potter? You really are a pathetic wizard.” Pansy Parkinson’s shrieking cackles would rise above the laughing Slytherins, and Harry would never be able to show his face at Hogwarts again.

 

So yes, Harry was livid. If that meant he elbowed Malfoy so roughly out of the way on his journey to the loo that he stumbled into the wall, then so be it. Or if it meant Harry ‘accidentally’ trod on his foot with as much force as he could muster as they sat down for breakfast, Harry rather thought he should be forgiven.

 

Malfoy, who never avoided an opportunity to grass someone up, especially Harry, shockingly didn’t say anything. He only let out a small squeak of pain. That surprised Harry, especially since Snape was right there and ready to swoop in and take Malfoy’s side, like he was so fond of doing. Why wasn’t he kicking up some sort of fuss?

 

Harry didn’t know, and not knowing made him even angrier. He didn’t know what was wrong with him today, but it felt like the slightest provocation would make him absolutely explode. In fact, he was so consumed by his wrath that all the conversation turned to buzzing in his ears, so he didn’t even notice that Snape was trying to speak to him until he felt the man tap him on the shoulder. Harry was so out of focus that he cringed away from the contact before he had time to think about what he was doing. That display of utter weakness, of pathetic fear and vulnerability, just vexed him further. He wanted to slap someone - preferably Malfoy…

 

“What did you say?” he managed.

 

“I said to wait down here for a moment while I establish Draco upstairs.” Snape’s jaw was tense. Harry hoped he didn’t think that Harry had been intentionally ignoring him. It just felt impossible to even think clearly at the moment, let alone listen. “We need to talk.”

 

Harry was glad that he’d already finished eating, since his stomach contracted uncomfortably at that idea. While Snape escorted Malfoy away, he was left to ponder what this talk could be about. It wasn’t too difficult of a question, though. Harry had a pretty good idea - it was time for his daily interrogation about the Dursleys.

 

And unfortunately, he was right. Snape sat down opposite to Harry and fixed him with that awful, piercing look of focus. “Now, Harry.”

 

First names again. It was always 'Harry' when it came to the stupid Dursleys, wasn’t it? Then right back to Potter when Snape didn't want something. The manipulativeness of the man sitting before him only served to worsen Harry’s foul mood.

 

“I would like to continue our discussion from yesterday morning, if you would.”

 

“I wouldn’t like to, actually,” he bit out.

 

Snape exhaled loudly. “I told you yesterday morning that we would be continuing it, and I am a man of my word.”

 

“Don’t care, don’t want to talk, leave me alone,” Harry muttered, glowering at Snape. The man was beginning to look just as frustrated as Harry felt.

 

“Burying all of your feelings will do you no good, you know.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Harry challenged. “Well it’s been working perfectly nicely for me for the last twelve or so years, so I think I know what I’m doing better than you, Snape.”

 

“As the adult in this situation with far more knowledge about emotional regulation and mental health, I would argue that I do, in fact, know what I’m doing here,” Snape said sharply. “I can see firsthand what effect your relatives’ treatment has had on you, which is why it would be wise for you to unload some of it.”

 

“You don’t see anything about me!” Harry shouted. That had to be some kind of record - he’d not even managed five minutes before flipping out this time. “You don’t know anything about my mind, and you certainly don’t know shit about the Dursleys!”

 

“Language,” Snape growled, “and perhaps I would know more about the Dursleys if you cared to enlighten me further about their treatment of you?”

 

“NO!” Harry yelled. “I actually don’t care to! I’m not telling you, I’m not telling anyone, so you can just leave me alone about everything already!”

 

Harry sprang to his feet, and without touching it, the chair he had been sitting in exploded backwards and hit the back wall with a noisy bang. Instantly, the rage building up in his chest turned to icy dread. More accidental magic. Why did that keep happening? He was supposed to have better control over his emotions at this age!

 

He dared to look at Snape, whose mouth was pressed into a thin, white line. Oh God, he was pissed. Furious, really. All of that stuff he’d said yesterday was definitely about to go out of the window, he was going to completely snap, and Harry didn’t want to be there when it happened so, paying no mind to Snape’s orders for him to stay and talk, he fled the room, heart thudding.

 

To his immense relief, the bedroom was empty. Harry, who was feeling rather lightheaded after the accidental magic, sank to the floor and leaned his head against the bed, chest almost painfully tight. Privet Drive was a horrible place, but at the very least, he knew where he stood there. Harry was perfectly aware of what Uncle Vernon would do to him for accidental magic of that kind. Snape was an unknown entity, and Harry didn’t like those.

 

Five minutes passed, and then ten. Snape did not appear. Harry remained on the floor, counting the nicks in the wooden boards, heart thudding. By the time his bedroom door actually swung open, some of the fear from his outburst had faded slightly, although it all came flooding back when he took in Snape’s dark, irritated features.

 

“You are not in trouble,” Snape intoned. Harry didn’t believe that for one second, but he nodded anyway, feeling rather numb. Snape stared at him in silence for several moments before raising a hand. A moment later, a large glass of water sailed into it, which he handed to Harry. “Drink.”

 

Harry stared at the glass in his hand but hesitated before raising it to his lips. Was this Snape's way of punishing him? Some kind of colourless poison?

 

Snape somehow picked up on the track Harry's thoughts were going down and scowled. "If I was trying to poison you, this isn't how I'd go about it. That is just water. Drink it all."

 

Harry wasn't sure if sort of threatening to poison someone more subtly in future was the best method of coaxing another person into drinking something they'd just handed to you, but it somehow worked. Harry began to sip the water without further complaint, and if there was something hidden in it, Harry certainly couldn't taste it. It was difficult to drink all of it through his ragged breathing, but by the time he finished drinking it, his breathing had actually slowed and his heart was beating more gently.

 

Did you put a potion in that or something?” Harry asked, setting the glass to one side. It was shocking how well that had worked in making him relax.

 

“No,” Snape said. “That was plain water. Cold is effective at slowing the heart rate and calming the nervous system, and drinking it rapidly as you just did helps to regulate breathing."

 

That was a bit interesting, Harry thought, but he couldn't think about it too much because he was still so worried about the consequences of shouting at Snape downstairs. It was a far cry from the all-consuming anger he'd woken up with. In fact, he felt a bit like a startled deer, ready to bolt at any moment. A large change, certainly…

 

At the minute, Harry felt a little bit like an emotional yo-yo, constantly swinging between sizzling outrage and sickening fear, or even both at the same time if things were particularly bad. He wasn’t normally so volatile, and he absolutely hated feeling that way.

 

Snape, who was turning out to be far more perceptive than Harry had ever given him credit for, picked up on his badly-hidden anxiousness. He moved from the doorway and sat down next to Harry on the ground, which completely shocked him. That wasn't particularly Snape-like! What on earth was he doing?

 

Still, the lack of a dark, irritated figure looming over him helped relieve some of the lingering tension in Harry's chest, as did the shock of seeing Snape lower himself in such a way. It almost made Harry feel as though they were on even footing.

 

"Are you alright?" Snape asked finally.

 

The question was so odd that Harry couldn't help but indulge in a hoarse chuckle. "Does it look like it? No."

 

"That is… reasonable, given your situation," Snape said slowly. His eyebrows were creased into a look of bemusement.

 

Harry simply shrugged and went back to staring at the floorboards. Snape continued to stare at him, while Harry ignored him. Silence fell over the room.

 

After a long, awkward pause, Snape sighed loudly. "Harry, has it ever occurred to you that I am just as unsure about how to proceed under these new circumstances as you surely are?"

 

That got Harry's attention. He looked up, shocked. Snape, unsure? He always seemed so…controlled. Knowledgeable, even. But no, Snape just looked visibly frustrated at the moment.

 

"You need to talk about this with someone," Snape said, words punctuated with sharp hand gestures, "but I can't take you to someone else because of your position in the wizarding world. You are vehemently opposed to talking to me. I cannot and will not use Legilimency or Veritaserum on you, as this needs to come naturally. I also sense that bombarding you with questions is not the right course of action to take."

 

You've got that right, Harry thought grumpily.

 

“I don’t know what to do with you!” Snape hissed.

 

“I don’t know what to do with me, either,” Harry admitted reluctantly, crossing his arms and staring anywhere but at Snape’s face. “I just don’t think about it. It works well enough.”

 

“It doesn’t, as a matter of fact,” Snape said tersely. “Take the small instance of accidental magic you had in the kitchen, as well as the one from yesterday. You bottling up your emotions is directly contributing to you losing control over your magic."

 

Harry bit down on the inside of his cheek. "Sorry, I didn't mean to -"

 

"I know you didn't mean to!" Snape said, his voice a low growl. Harry jolted away, and Snape visibly tried to school his features. "I've already told you that you are not and will not be in trouble for instances of accidental magic, even if you blew out every single window in my house."

 

"But what if I hurt someone again?" Harry asked, not meeting Snape’s eyes. "Like Aunt Marge?"

 

"You didn't technically hurt your aunt in the first place," Snape said. "You merely inflated her. However, if you were to hurt someone with accidental magic, it would in all likelihood be self-defence as your magic responded to a perceived threat. We might discuss it, but you will not be punished."

 

Harry swallowed, hard. Right. Snape was a wizard. It made sense that another wizard wouldn’t find accidental magic weird and abnormal. Harry knew this logically, but he had a hard time getting himself to believe it.

 

Snape was watching him closely again, his gaze piercing. "If you are so deeply concerned about this accidental magic, though, perhaps it would be advisable to discuss your experience with the Dursleys instead of shoving it down so it all bursts out at inopportune moments."

 

Even though this was coming from Snape, who Harry didn’t want to take any advice from on principle, he couldn’t help but reluctantly accept that he was making a good point there. The idea of continually losing control of his magic was utterly repellant to him, and Harry was desperate to just make it stop. He was pretty sure he’d take on just about any plausible advice, even if it came from a man he hated.

 

Still, there was one issue.

 

"I just don't know how to talk about it," Harry mumbled, picking at a loose thread in his jeans. “I know logically that I should, probably, but when you’re actually there asking, I can’t.”

 

"That much is clear," Snape said with a shake of his head. "And bombarding you with questions isn't working, either, so I propose more of a two-way conversation. I can ask you questions, and you can similarly ask me what you'd like."

 

"That just seems like a slower way of interrogating me about the Dursleys," Harry grumbled.

 

"I do not mean we only discuss your relatives," Snape corrected. "There are other things we could talk about, so we may begin to…get to know one another better.”

 

“...Okay?”

 

Snape seemed to think hard for a moment. “Do you have a favourite colour?"

 

“Sorry, what?”

 

“I don’t understand how that’s a particularly difficult question to answer,” Snape retorted sharply. “So?”

 

The question was so jarringly mundane that it took Harry a decent moment to cobble together an answer. "Um. Red?”

 

Snape's lips twitched slightly. "Ever the Gryffindor, I see. I should have expected as much."

 

"It's not just because of Gryffindor!" Harry protested. "I've liked red since before I knew about the Hogwarts houses, actually."

 

"Very well," Snape said, inclining his head. After a moment's silence, he added, "Now, is there anything you wish to ask me?”

 

"Er…" Harry ripped the loose thread in his trousers free. "I don't know. I don't think I can just sit here and chat with you, sir. It's properly weird."

 

"Perhaps it would be easier if we were engaged in another activity while we spoke?" Snape suggested. "You seemed to find it easier to speak to me last night while we were cooking."

 

"Yeah, it was better,” Harry agreed. “That might be alright. Are we going to cook again or something?"

 

"No, I have something else in mind." Snape waved his wand. Moments later, a small wooden box flew through the air and into Snape's hand. He got to his feet, placed the box down on the desk crammed in between Harry and Malfoy's beds, and lifted the lid. Inside the box was an old, faded chessboard.

 

"You know how to play chess, I presume?"

 

"Yeah," Harry said. "I'm terrible at it, though. Ron always beats me."

 

"Constantly disparaging yourself and your abilities is not what I would consider to be a great exhibition of self-preservation," Snape remarked, setting out the chess pieces. "Much of the world will already take it upon themselves to tear you and your abilities down. You would do well to not give your enemies weapons."

 

"Oh. Sorry?" Harry couldn't be entirely certain, but he thought that was Snape's way of telling him to…have confidence? How odd.

 

"At any rate, comparing yourself to young Mr Weasley is not a fair measurement of your own chess ability," Snape continued. "After all, he defeated Professor McGonagall's enchanted chess set when he was just a first-year, a feat many grown wizards would struggle with. That requires a degree of talent."

 

Harry's jaw dropped. "You did not just compliment Ron!"

 

Snape's gaze remained steady. "I can look at things objectively, you know. Through that lens it is impossible to overlook the bald facts of Mr Weasley's chess ability."

 

I really have gone through the looking glass, Harry thought blankly. A world where Snape was not taking every opportunity to insult Harry and his friends was not a world he was used to living in. It was almost impossible to reconcile with reality.

 

But if Snape just kept up this strange, new, polite demeanour, maybe a chess game with him would be…bearable. Spinner's End did get rather boring, and it was something to do. Besides, there was still half of August left before Harry got back to Hogwarts. Maybe if Snape didn’t hate him so much, that time would be a bit less rife with tension. Perhaps a game of chess was the first step towards civility. It was like Snape had said; he didn’t know how to navigate these new circumstances, either. Harry had to give a little back, and maybe he could start here.

 

"This is only a Muggle set, but if you enjoy it, I’ll dig out my Wizard’s chess," Snape said, taking a seat at the desk. “Do you want black or white?”

 

"I don't mind," Harry said, rising from the floor and perching on the edge of his bed so he could better access the chessboard.

 

"I'll take white, then," Snape said, giving Harry a slightly disdainful look. "There is nothing noble about turning down a basic advantage. You've just lost an opportunity by giving me the first move."

 

"Oh, just play already," Harry snapped.

 

He couldn't help but be shocked that Snape remained composed - in fact, his face didn't so much as twitch as he reached out and slid a pawn forward on the board. That was strange, too. The Snape Harry knew would have immediately barked out a sharp reprimand about his tone. He'd been like this ever since he'd found out about the Dursleys. Harry hadn't known Snape was capable of such scrupulous self-control.

 

He didn't like it. 

 

"Is this whole game just going to be you trying to turn me into a Slytherin or something?" Harry asked eventually, shuffling a piece forwards.

 

"Do you consider notes about basic self-preservation to be Slytherin?" Snape countered.

 

"I don't know. Maybe."

 

"Forgive me. I was labouring under the misapprehension that self-preservation was a basic instinct possessed by all humans," Snape said dryly. "I forgot I was talking to the boy who took it upon himself to slay a Basilisk at twelve unaided."

 

"Unaided? I went and got Lockhart!" Harry protested angrily. "Seeing as he was the Defence Against The Dark Arts professor I sort of assumed he'd be qualified to deal with the problem!"

 

"You attended the duelling club, as I recall," Snape said contemptuously. "You personally witnessed how Gilderoy was incapable of blocking a simple Disarming Charm. Qualified indeed…"

 

Harry couldn't help but admit that Snape unfortunately had something of a point. Lockhart had been extraordinarily useless.

 

"I don't just run headlong into dangerous situations," he still insisted. "I've always tried to get someone, but no one ever listens to me!"

 

"Very well," Snape conceded. Harry couldn't help but get the general impression that Snape didn't quite agree with that statement, but since he hadn't outright called Harry an idiotic Gryffindor with a penchant for getting himself into trouble, he decided to just let it drop and focus on the chess.

 

"Remember, you are free to ask me questions if you wish?" Snape prompted.

 

"Right." Harry did his best to rack his brains for a really interesting question, but of course came up blank. In the end, he settled for asking, "So what's your favourite colour, then?"

 

"Blue," Snape said immediately.

 

"Really?" Harry asked. "But you're always in black! I'd have thought that was your favourite!"

 

Snape's eyebrows rose. "You mentioned your favourite colour was red. I do not see you wearing it constantly."

 

"Hmph. True." It was still a slightly strange idea for Harry to reconcile himself to.

 

"Now, time for my question." Harry dug his nails into his palms, dread coiling in his stomach. Here came a new interrogation about the Dursleys…

 

"Why is it that you and Draco despise each other so intensely?"

 

"Huh?" Harry didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't that.

 

"I've asked Draco, but he is extraordinarily reluctant to give me a satisfactory answer," Snape continued. "I thought you might be more inclined to explain."

 

"Oh. Well, he was actually one of the first wizards I ever met," Harry said, casting his mind back to his eleventh birthday. "We were getting our robes fitted at the same time and he was just being kind of stuck-up, and he kept saying all these rude things about Muggleborns, and Hagrid, and it put me off. Then, he came up to me and Ron on the train and was nasty to him, and then he told me he wanted to be my friend. He said he could help me avoid "the wrong sort' or something. I quite liked Ron by that point so I turned Malfoy down. He's hated me ever since."

 

"I see." Harry couldn't help but think Snape sounded a tad surprised by his story. "And you had developed a bond with young Mr Weasley so quickly?"

 

"Yeah," Harry said. "His family helped me get through the barrier at King's Cross. I couldn't find it."

 

"No one told you how to get through the barrier?" Snape's surprise was far more obvious that time.

 

"Nope," Harry said glumly. "Hagrid forgot to tell me how, and my aunt and uncle obviously weren't going to help me. I was fending for myself until I spotted the Weasleys."

 

Harry still remembered the dying echoes of the Dursleys' laughter carrying over the breeze as the car had screeched away following Vernon's snide comment about platform nine-and-three-quarters not existing. He could still feel that terror he had felt at eleven, standing in the middle of King's Cross with a trunk, a birdcage and the overwhelming certainty that this had all been a huge mistake and he was now stuck in central London with no way to get home.

 

Harry abruptly came back to himself and realised Snape was scrutinising him closely. Harry had mentioned the Dursleys, all without even meaning to.

 

"Hey, you said we would both be asking questions, but you've just asked me like three in a row and I've not asked you anything," Harry said, feeling a little defensive.

 

"I was not aware this little chat had such strict rules," Snape commented. "Go on, then. Ask me something."

 

"Alright, then," Harry said, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Why is Malfoy staying with you?"

 

"I believe this is a conversation about the two of us, not Draco," Snape said sharply.

 

I was not aware this little chat had such strict rules," Harry said, doing his best to mimic Snape's ironic, deep tones. He expected some sort of reprimand for it but to his shock, Snape made an odd noise that sounded like a suppressed chuckle.

 

"Besides," Harry continued, "you just asked me a question to do with Malfoy!"

 

"I believe I asked you about Draco in the context of his relationship with you, which means it's relevant to the matter at hand," Snape said.

 

"And I asked about Malfoy in context of his relationship with you," Harry countered. "So it's still… relevant to our conversation or whatever it is you said."

 

"Touché," Snape said, taking one of Harry's bishops with his knight.

 

"So why is Malfoy living here?" Harry asked again.

 

"Because I've been assigned guardianship of him."

 

"Yeah, that much was obvious," Harry said, glaring at Snape. "You're supposed to answer properly!"

 

"You never made that a condition of our conversation," Snape said, raising his eyebrows.

 

"Can I?"

 

"Only if you agree to the same terms," Snape said. "If I answer your questions with a reasonable amount of detail, will you do the same when I ask you questions?"

 

That meant when Snape asked about the Dursleys, Harry realised glumly. All of a sudden, his questions about Malfoy became a lot less pressing.

 

Snape tapped the side of the desk, regaining Harry's attention. "I've already given you my word that I will not needlessly bombard you with questions about your relatives during this conversation. This new condition does not change that."

 

Harry sighed. "Fine…"

 

"Very well, then." Snape advanced his queen before he continued speaking. "Draco is living with me because he has no other appropriate relatives to reside with. Lucius Malfoy is the only child of an only child, and both of his parents are deceased, as are Narcissa's mother and father. Narcissa Malfoy does have two sisters, but one of them is also in Azkaban, and the other Narcissa hasn't spoken to since her teenage years. They are not close whatsoever. Instead of delving into the business of other distant cousins and aunts, the Malfoys determined that I should take guardianship of Draco in the event of their deaths or incapacity due to a slew of personal and political reasons that would almost certainly go over your head."

 

Harry sat back, reeling. Snape had really kept to his word - that was a lot of detail, just like he'd promised.

 

"Why hasn't Malfoy's mum spoken to her sister in years?" Harry asked curiously.

 

Snape fixed him with a stern look. "That, as I'm sure you can recognise, is entirely Draco's private family business and does not pertain to either one of us. Your previous question was tangentially related at best already. It would be very impolite and, more importantly, a breach of Draco's trust for me to go into detail with you about the intricacies of his relationship with his aunt."

 

"Right. Sorry," Harry said quickly, feeling oddly chastised. He couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit guilty, since he could of course recognise that Snape was actually right… The idea of Malfoy knowing anything about Harry’s private business was positively revolting, after all. Since the hatred between the two of them was decidedly mutual, Harry had to assume that Malfoy also hated the prospect of Harry knowing anything about his personal life.

 

The information he had gleaned was still quite interesting, though. Who’d have guessed Malfoy had so many relatives locked up in prison? And why was he estranged from the other, mysterious aunt Malfoy’s mother didn’t speak to?

 

Snape cleared his throat, dragging Harry from his musings. “Next question: what would you like to do after Hogwarts?”

 

Harry paused for a moment before responding. “Er - what do you mean?”

 

“I mean exactly what I said,” Snape said. “When you finish school, what are you going to do? Do you have a career or field of study that interests you, perhaps?”

 

Harry, to his shock, was absolutely stumped. No one had actually asked him that question before, and he’d never really asked it of himself. Before he’d known about magic, his life goal had really just been getting away from the Dursleys at eighteen, since spending your entire childhood being told you’d never amount to anything didn’t do wonders for career aspirations. Even the magical world wasn’t much better, since Harry’s entire life’s accomplishments were irritatingly defined by something he’d done as a baby. He didn’t quite know what he wanted to do.

 

“I’m not sure,” he admitted eventually. “I’ve never really thought about it…”

 

“Well, give it some thought now,” Snape said. “It’s always good to have something to work towards.”

 

Jobs. Wizarding jobs. They were different, Harry knew, since he and the other second-years had spent a lot of time at the end of the last year looking through career leaflets to help determine their elective subjects. What careers appealed to him?

 

Harry’s main examples of prominent wizarding careers came from his time with the Weasleys, he realised. Mr Weasley was in the Ministry, which Harry didn’t think interested him. Curse-breaking in Egypt like Bill sounded cool, or a job like the one Charlie had on a dragon reserve in Romania… Harry had never been outside of Britain, as a matter of fact. He’d always wanted to see the world.

 

“Maybe something abroad,” Harry said eventually.

 

“Interesting.” Snape gave him an approving nod before taking one of Harry’s knights. He pulled a face. Snape was irritatingly good at chess…

 

“Er… so I get a question now?” Harry asked in an attempt to distract himself from his failures.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Once again, Harry found himself stumped for something to ask. Snape seemed very reluctant to give him a full answer when it came to questions about Malfoy, which were the ones he wanted to ask, so that was a dead end. He also hadn’t spent much time thinking of Snape as an actual person, as opposed to an irritating Potions teacher who lived to make his life hell, so it was hard to scrounge up questions that weren’t outright rude. Harry waited several moments, looking around for inspiration, until his eyes landed on the rows of houses outside of the window. An idea struck him.

 

“You grew up here in Cokeworth, but you don’t have the accent,” Harry said, cocking his head to the side. “Why?”

 

Snape gave him a contemplative look. “My mother was from London, so I supposed picked up on a few of her speech patterns as a child. Then, once I began at Hogwarts, I intentionally modelled my manner of speaking after the Received Pronunciation used by many Purebloods who I admired.” After a moment of hesitation, Snape added, “your mother kept far more of her original accent than I did once we started at Hogwarts.”

 

Harry froze and stared at Snape, wide-eyed. He almost couldn’t believe those words had just left Snape’s mouth, and felt his heart rate spike. He’d never properly thought about how he didn’t know what his mother's accent sounded like...

 

But now, he could start to imagine Lily’s voice with more clarity. That made an odd, warm sensation spread through Harry’s stomach. He’d spent many long hours as a child imagining that very thing, but it had always felt intangible and difficult to truly believe. This extra little detail helped in unimaginable ways.

 

"Now, although I promised not to bombard you, I wonder if you'll indulge me with just one question about your relatives?" Snape asked, turning away from the chess game and fixing Harry with his beady eyes. Harry bit his lip and didn't respond immediately.

 

"This is important information I need to have so I can ensure you do not have to return there,” Snape added in a brisk, almost business-like voice. “Just try, for your own sake.”

 

Harry sighed, and forced himself to nod, the prospect of freedom from the Dursleys and help with the accidental magic spurring him on. "Fine. Ask away."

 

"I gather that there is a level of physical abuse." Harry cringed slightly. "We discussed your cousin's violent streak yesterday, but did not get onto the elder Dursleys before we were unable to continue. Would you be able to describe it for me now?"

 

Harry turned his eyes away from the chessboard and stared at his shoes, chest uncomfortably tight. "Well it's not like they beat me or anything. Not really. Lots of people smack their kids, right?"

 

  They never hit Dudley, though.

 

"They hit you hard enough for it to bruise," Snape said quietly. "That is not right."

 

"It's just - it was particularly bad this last summer because of Aunt Marge," Harry added a little desperately. He didn't know why, but he was beginning to feel strangely defensive of his home life.

 

"Aunt Marge. This is the aunt you blew up?"

 

"Yeah." Harry swallowed, his tongue dry as sandpaper. "Uncle Vernon’s sister. She hates me more than they do, actually. Thinks I need a good hiding. Uncle Vernon would be rougher with me when she was visiting."

 

"Did she ever hurt you?"

 

"Sometimes. She has a walking stick." Aunt Marge enjoyed thwacking it against the backs of Harry's legs and barking at him to stop slouching.

 

"I see." Harry still didn't look up and meet Snape's eyes. "I'm assuming from your descriptions that your uncle would hit you, then?"

 

"Yeah." Harry remembered his promise of detail and took a deep breath. "Never where it showed, really. But he'd sort of rough me up a bit when I did something bad. Or throw me around." Into my cupboard. "Like I said, it was never too bad. Weird stuff always happened to Uncle Vernon if he went too far, he'd jolt back like he got electric shocked." The time he tried to choke me. "I'm pretty sure it was my accidental magic, but it protected me. He was scared to do more in case I did something abnormal, so he never did too much damage."

 

"Oh, I'd say he did plenty of damage," Snape growled. Harry got the sense he wasn't just referring to physical injury, and shuddered a little. That thought made his insides go cold. "And for the love of Merlin and Morgana, stop defending the awful treatment you received in that place!"

 

"Er - sorry.”

 

"And stop apologising," Snape added. "I never thought I'd say this, but I almost prefer you in a defiant rage to this unwarranted contrition!"

 

Harry almost apologised again but quickly stopped himself. He was fairly aware of the fact he sounded like a broken record, but it was pretty difficult to switch off. He didn’t have a clue what else to say apart from mindless apologies.

 

"Was it just your uncle who hurt you, then?" Snape prompted after a minute's silence. “Or was Petunia involved?”

 

"No, Aunt Petunia did too." Harry bunched up his oversized jeans in his fists. "She never did anything much worse than slap me, though." She hates me too much to ever want to touch me, even when I was bad. "Um. Actually, she swung a frying pan at my head a few times. It never really connected with my head, though. I’m good at ducking."

 

“I see." Snape's face had slipped back into that blank, emotionless mask, but Harry was getting better at seeing through it now. A muscle was ticking in Snape's jaw, the surefire sign that he was on the verge of losing his temper. His voice remained toneless and even, though. “Thank you for your candour, Harry. I understand this isn’t an easy topic for you to talk about.”

 

“It’s really not,” Harry mumbled, rubbing his hands over his arms. This supposedly helped? While Harry was at least somewhat relieved that it wasn’t hanging over him anymore, it was by no means pleasant to talk about Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon to Snape. Even though it had been a little easier with the distraction of the chess game that Harry was currently losing, talking about the Dursleys - to Snape! - was never going to be easy for him. Harry had twelve years of training screaming at him that what he'd just done was dangerous and so, so wrong. In fact, just thinking about it too thoroughly made Harry feel a little sick.

 

“Harry. Look at me.” With no small amount of difficulty, Harry ripped his gaze from the floor and met Snape's eyes. They were filled with a strange sort of fervour. “What your relatives did to you was wrong.”

 

No one had ever said that to him before. Ever.

 

Something odd twisted in Harry’s chest. As simple as those words were, they managed to lift a weight from Harry's shoulders that he hadn't even realised he was carrying. He felt lighter, somehow.

 

“Do you know that?” Snape asked.

 

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled. “I mean, I saw the differences in how they treated me and how they treated Dudley. I know it wasn’t quite normal.”

 

“But knowing and believing it are very different things,” Snape said quietly.

 

Harry nodded again, not trusting himself to speak. He knew, somewhat, that the Dursleys were nasty people. That they were cruel, even.

 

But Snape was right. Harry didn’t believe it. Every time Harry’s head tried to convince him that something was wrong with the Dursleys and not with him, his heart screeched out in protest that he was the problem. After all, it wasn’t like the Dursleys were incapable of love, or something. They adored Dudley, that much was clear.

 

But they’d never loved Harry. No one wanted him.

 

“I don’t think I’ll ever believe it,” he said thickly, daring to admit it at last.

 

“You will someday,” Snape said, leaning forward. “It will take time, but it gradually becomes easier.”

 

“But how can you know that?”

 

“Experience,” Snape said simply.

 

My father was a very unpleasant man. The words echoed in Harry’s head again, and he felt the weight of Snape’s confession hanging between the two of them. The trust behind such a statement was strangely precious, and Harry couldn’t stop thinking about what it could possibly mean in regard to the change he'd witnessed in Snape…

 

“Check.”

 

Harry winced. The game of chess was really not going in his favour, so he switched to silence in order to concentrate. That was for the best, really. So many emotions Harry couldn’t even label has started swirling around in his mind, and he thought if he spoke about these topics for another moment he’d do something stupidly emotional, a prospect which repulsed him.

 

Eventually, when Harry thought he could remain composed once more, Snape looked up from the board and cleared his throat. “I believe I owe you a question, then?”

 

Harry thought for a moment. After that last remark about personal experience, he had a couple of nagging questions to ask about Snape’s father that he’d be compelled to answer if his agreement held up. But somehow, Harry felt like there was an invisible line there that would be unwise to cross. Despite all of Snape’s promises to remain civil that he had so far kept, Harry still had a sneaking suspicion that Snape’s childhood was a potential landmine that could blow their fragile trust to smithereens.

 

Instead, a different line of questioning rose to mind. One that Harry suspected was just as risky, but couldn’t quite resist following once he came up with it.

 

“So you knew my mum.” Harry scanned Snape’s body language for signs of anger, but apart from a stiffening in his shoulders and a slight twitch in his fingers as he moved his king, nothing too obvious was apparent. “You said she met you in the park one day, but how did that even work? I know she was a Muggleborn, but aren’t you a Pureblood? How did you ever run into each other as kids?”

 

“I notice you assume I’m a Pureblood. That is untrue.”

 

Harry’s jaw dropped. “But you’re the head of Slytherin! How can you be if you’re a…?”

 

“Half-blood, like yourself,” Snape said. “My father was a Muggle, my mother a Pureblood.”

 

“I had no idea…”

 

“Well, it’s not exactly something I make public knowledge,” Snape said. “It isn’t easy being a half-blood Slytherin.”

 

Harry could imagine.

 

“As my father was a Muggle, I grew up here,” Snape said, gesturing to the house. “Your mother lived a few roads over, and we attended the same primary school, although we were in different classes. I had been watching her for a while, as I’d noticed she was magical. I was the one to tell her about it all when we were both around nine years of age. After the original shock of me telling her she was a witch - not ideally phrased on my part, I'll confess - we developed a fast friendship.”

 

“Wow,” Harry said softly, staring out of the window. Spinner’s End was uphill, so he had a reasonably good view of the houses stretching out in front of him. He wondered which one was his mother’s, if it was even visible from here.

 

“Checkmate.”

 

Harry turned his attention back to the board and groaned. “I told you I was bad.”

 

“If you were truly as bad as you imply, you’d have lost the game long before now,” Snape commented, swiping the pieces back into the box. “Still, perhaps we should have a rematch soon, so you can hone your skills and take on Mr Weasley with more confidence come September.”

 

That surprised Harry, somewhat. That someone - let alone Snape - would actually want to spend time with him. He wasn’t used to adults bothering to pay much attention to him, outside of the Weasleys, and even they were exceptionally busy.

 

What was even more shocking was the fact that Harry didn’t wholly hate the prospect of a rematch.

 

“Okay.”

 

“We cannot now, as I need to take care of some business,” Snape said, getting to his feet. “But perhaps soon.”

 

Harry nodded as Snape headed towards the bedroom door and opened it. Before he left, Snape turned back and watched Harry for a long moment, expression inscrutable.

 

“Thank you for telling me about the Dursleys,” he said finally. “I promise you I will keep your confidence, and I will do my best to make sure you never have to return there.”

 

Harry nodded. It still felt wrong to be trusting Snape with any of this, but Harry didn’t exactly have a choice, did he? Snape, for better or for worse, had been the one to work out what was happening. That meant that Harry was forced to trust him to a degree, even if he wouldn’t have under any other circumstances.

 

“Thank you for telling me about my mum,” Harry said softly.

 

Snape didn’t respond. His face was normally so controlled, but those words caused the usual mask to flicker. An expression of true sorrow and pain drew his mouth into a thin, white line, and he gave Harry an oddly jerky nod before withdrawing from the bedroom.

 

In that moment, Harry abruptly realised Snape didn't just know his mother. He'd known her well enough that her memory still packed that much of a gut punch, even twelve years after her death.

 

He'd never have expected it.

 

---

 

The rest of the morning after Snape left was more difficult for Harry to get through than he would care to admit. Once again, the stifling silence of the empty bedroom left Harry with no way to drown out his thoughts. A certain air of ennui hung over him, so drawing, reading, or cards couldn’t hold any of his attention. He was too distracted by his inner turmoil.

 

Harry desperately wanted all of the horrid memories to go away, but then he remembered what Snape had told him. If the sudden increase in accidental magic he was experiencing really stemmed from him trying to lock all of his emotions away and never think about them, then Harry absolutely had to stop doing that. He could not, under any circumstances, keep doing accidental magic. He knew what pain that brought.

 

Unfortunately, not suppressing his memories of his childhood on Privet Drive meant that Harry had to actually sit there and think. He spent all morning mulling over dozens of incidents where he’d done something to upset his relatives, resulting in some horrid punishment.

 

But had he done something? Dudley had been the one to hit Harry first the time Harry had fought back. In fact, he’d whacked Harry over and over and over before he’d dared shove his cousin away. Uncle Vernon had lost it. He’d rained his fists on Harry until he’d been gasping for breath, cowering away from his uncle’s wrath, all while Aunt Petunia had screeched in the background about how ungrateful he was, how worthless, how everyone would be better off if he’d died with his parents.

 

  What your relatives did to you was wrong.

 

And all of a sudden, the suffocating anger from that morning surged back with a vengeance. If Severus Snape, a man who had hated Harry since he’d had the audacity to breathe the same air as him, thought the Dursleys’ treatment of him was wrong, didn’t that say a lot? And yes, a part of Harry thought he deserved it. A loud, vocal part.

 

But some of the stuff they’d done couldn’t be explained away by Harry’s inherent rottenness. The lies they’d told him about his parents all his life, for example. That they’d died in a car crash. That it had been his father’s fault. That his parents were drunks, and layabouts. That, more than anything, truly infuriated Harry. He could take the Dursleys insulting Harry and his character, but not that of his parents. That was completely and utterly unfair! They were good, noble people, and the Dursleys had stolen that knowledge from him out of blatant spite.

 

By the time Snape stuck his head back into Harry’s bedroom to let him know it was time for lunch, he was practically trembling with outrage. It seemed the pendulum of his emotions had swung straight back to anger, and Harry felt as though he were made of flaming fury, ready to burn the whole world down with him.

 

Then, as he turned to walk down the staircase, Malfoy exited the laboratory. All of a sudden, Harry’s rage had a focus. Malfoy glared at him, and Harry glowered back, his hands clenched into fists. The Dursleys weren’t here for Harry to be angry with, but Draco Malfoy was, and Harry certainly hated him with a vengeance. He despised every aspect of Malfoy’s personality, and most of all, he was still utterly seething over everything he’d told Snape. That was truly unforgivable, and truly evil in Harry’s eyes. He was the lowest of the low.

 

He wasn’t entirely sure what happened at the base of the stairs; Harry was too riled up to pay attention to his surroundings. All he knew is that Malfoy’s shoulder roughly bumped past his - by accident or on purpose, Harry couldn’t be certain, but in Harry’s frenzied state, he perceived it as an intentional attack, and after a long week of bullying, Harry was done putting up with Malfoy’s behaviour. He grabbed Malfoy by the front of his robes and slammed him into the wall of the hallway with as much force as he could possibly muster. He dug the edge of his arm into Malfoy’s chest, pinning him in place, a sick mirror of their fight in the garden the other day, and wasn’t that truly karma? Harry pulled his fist back, drove it hard into Malfoy’s jaw, pulled it back for another blow -

 

But before his hand could connect, a rough hand seized Harry by the back of the collar and yanked him backwards. He fell away from Malfoy, barely kept his feet, and the anger faded to panic, Vernon was somehow here -

 

But the hand spun Harry around, and he found himself being pulled away by Snape, not Uncle Vernon. It wasn’t exactly much better to have Snape’s livid face mere inches away from his, though.

 

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” Snape shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. As Harry stared into that horribly familiar look of fury, he realised he’d finally managed what he’d been subconsciously trying to do since Snape had picked him up from that London alleyway. He’d pushed Snape over the edge. He’d made Snape explode.

 

Harry had thought he’d wanted this. He knew how to deal with Snape angry, after all - that was what he was trying to get back to, the comfortable status quo.

 

But as he stared into the man’s fierce, narrowed eyes, all Harry could think about was how much he regretted ruining everything.

“What is your problem, Potter?!” Malfoy shouted, tearing Harry from his terrified stupor. He was cupping his face in his hand and glowering fiercely.

 

“I would also like to know that!” Snape growled. “I witnessed that entire altercation, and I am appalled! What has gotten into you?"

 

Harry didn't respond. The overwhelming surge of anger had left him buzzing with adrenaline, and he felt oddly woozy. He could hear his pounding heartbeat in his ears.

 

"With me, now!” Keeping a firm hold on the scruff of Harry’s neck, he unceremoniously yanked Harry through into the living room and shut the door tightly before at last releasing him. Harry immediately scrambled backwards, away from him.

 

Snape crossed his arms and remained firmly in front of the living room door. He somehow looked far taller than usual.

 

“I want an explanation!” he shouted. “That was needless, unprovoked violence! Why did you do that, Potter?”

 

“I don’t know,” Harry said hoarsely. He found himself backing away until he hit the far wall of the living room.

 

“You don’t know?” Snape asked incredulously. “You don't know? Then I’d suggest you start racking your brain for some sort of reasoning! I gave you my word I would hear out your side of things from now on, but I am struggling to understand what could have possibly caused that! How dare you! That was unacceptable, Potter! Explain yourself immediately!”

 

But Harry didn’t have an explanation. What had even happened, a nudge into Harry’s shoulder? Why had he flipped out like that? It just felt like all the anger he’d been harbouring had erupted in a violent explosion, and all he’d wanted was for Malfoy to hurt as much as he did. It was like he wasn't even in control of himself…

 

“Well?” Snape demanded. “Answer me, Potter!”

 

“I already said I don’t know!” Harry shouted, his voice cracking. “I don’t know why I did it, I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

 

Snape didn’t respond immediately as he continued to stare at Harry. Sizing him up. Cataloguing all his faults and failings. Harry could feel his heart beating in his throat.

 

Suddenly, Snape strode forward. Harry tried to back up, but he was already pressed against the wall. Before he had time to dodge or flee, Snape had grabbed Harry’s upper arm with one hand so he couldn’t writhe away and was reaching into his robes with another. For his wand? No, for a small vial filled with lilac liquid. He uncorked it with his thumb and held it towards Harry’s face. “Calming Draught. Drink it.”

 

“I don’t need a Calming Draught!” he hissed, trying to twist his head away.

 

“You’ve spent all day swinging between a panic attack and a violent rage, and you’re currently rattling my bookshelves,” Snape said in a tightly controlled voice. Harry could tell he was just barely holding back his temper, and shrank away slightly. “You are obviously incapable of controlling your emotions without aid, so I am forced to intervene. Just drink the damn potion!”

 

Snape pushed the vial forward so the glass rim was pressing against Harry's lips. He stopped protesting and drank the Calming Draught without further argument, not wanting to make Snape even more upset than he already was. It tasted like toothpaste, and worked quickly. Harry felt his heartbeat slow and his breathing calm, and some of the tension faded out of his muscles. It was a strange sensation, to feel like the edges of your emotions were fuzzy. It felt like the anger and fear were waiting to one side instead of choking Harry with their ferocity. Still palpable, but manageable. He didn't particularly like the sensation after a couple of minutes, though. Being so numb to all emotions, not just the negative ones, wasn't a particularly pleasant sensation.

 

Snape clicked his fingers, regaining Harry’s attention. “Can you control yourself?”

 

Harry nodded, refusing to meet his eyes. He felt rather embarrassed now that he was less fired up.

 

“A verbal answer,” Snape ordered. “I’m thoroughly sick of all this nodding and shrugging you do. Can you control yourself, Potter?”

 

“Yes…”

 

"You'd better," Snape said, his voice dark and low with warning. He jabbed a finger at the living room door. “Into the kitchen, then. I think the three of us need a little chat.” 

 

The last thing Harry wanted was to be stuck sitting in the kitchen being yelled at, especially in front of Malfoy, but he got the sense that fighting Snape right now would be extraordinarily stupid and so went on without further complaint. Malfoy was already sitting down at the table. He glared furiously at Harry while Snape handed him something wrapped in a tea towel.

 

“Hold that ice on your face,” he said. “I’ll give you a salve for it soon. Potter, sit.”

 

Harry sat across from Malfoy, staring hard at his lap. Even with the Calming Draught dulling the extremes of his feelings, he felt utterly sickened with horror. He’d done that, and he’d done it for no good reason. What was wrong with him?

 

Snape didn’t speak for a long time, and the only sound in the kitchen was the ticking of the clock and an occasional rustle as Malfoy readjusted the ice on his face. When Harry dared to look up, he saw Snape’s furious scowl slowly melting away into the blank, empty expression that signified Occlumency. Even with that, however, he still looked rather cross. Snape's eyes were narrowed and his jaw was tight when he at last began speaking.

 

“I do not understand,” he said through gritted teeth, “why the two of you hate each other so bitterly! Your animosity towards one another does not make any sense! Draco, did you seriously begin a two-year feud based on one simple denial of friendship? Was that genuinely all it took?”

 

“It’s more complicated than that!” Malfoy hissed, his cheeks turning pink. “And I don’t see why you’re shouting at me! I’m the victim here, Potter attacked me!”

 

“Oh, I’m getting to him,” Snape growled, snapping his head to stare pointedly at Harry. “You claim so vehemently that the incidents involving Mr Malfoy are entirely prompted by his misbehaviour, then you turn around and attack him completely unprovoked! That is not the action a helpless victim of circumstance would take!”

 

“I never claimed to be his victim,” Harry muttered, smarting a little at that.

 

“Well, you’re going to explain to me what happened, then!” Snape said, visibly seething. “You can’t just go around punching people with no explanation, Potter. What happened?”

 

“I don’t know,” Harry said miserably.

 

“Yes, you’ve mentioned,” Snape said sarcastically. He crossed his arms. “But you are going to figure it out, and soon. I am sick of this constant sniping, fighting, and refusal to address your issues! No one is leaving this table until the two of you have had it out and some sort of détente is established.”

 

Malfoy groaned loudly, while Harry sank back into his chair and rolled his eyes so far back he thought he'd managed to catch a glimpse of his brain. This promised to be thoroughly miserable.

 

“You first,” Snape said, taking a step forward so it was impossible for Harry to successfully avoid meeting his gaze. “Despite your vehement claims to the contrary, I am not entirely convinced you stand clueless as to your motivations."

 

"The only thing I'm clueless about is why speak like you're stuck in Victorian England!" Harry hissed, feeling another surge of frustration. Why did Snape have to be so bloody nosy?! "Just talk normally!"

 

Harry wanted to kick himself as soon as the words left his mouth. Why couldn't he stop digging himself into this hole? He was just getting himself in more trouble!

 

Snape, visibly vexed, placed his hands on the edge of the kitchen table and leaned in so his face was inches from Harry’s. "Very well, then. I will speak clearly. Tell me what was going through your mind when you attacked Draco, and if you say 'I don't know' one more time, I swear to all the Gods I will -"

 

"I was angry!" Harry finally said.

 

"Ah, progress!" Snape said icily. "Although as I was shockingly able to infer that on my own, I need a little bit more. Why were you angry? Is it because of the events of last week? The blackmail and rude remarks?"

 

Harry didn't answer - couldn't answer - and Snape seemed to take his silence as confirmation. "Perhaps, given that you have perpetrated your own act of unwarranted violence, you might want to rethink your staunch refusal to even consider Draco's apology?"

 

That last remark allowed the anger to burst through the shroud of the Calming Draught fully.

 

"No!" Harry shouted, clenching his hands into fists. "Don't you understand? I don't give a damn about what happened last week, I'm angry because my life is ruined and it's all his fault!"

 

"What are you even talking about?" Malfoy demanded, eyes flashing. "What did I do to ruin your life, of all things?"

 

"Yes, I'd similarly care to be enlightened,” Snape said, pulling out a chair and sitting at the table perpendicular to Harry. He propped his elbows on the table and gave Harry a piercing look.

 

"Well, I'm not telling you," Harry muttered.

 

"Oh yes you are," Snape said in a low voice. "I was serious when I said I would happily keep you here all day. Tell me, or sit here for hours until I manage to…persuade you."

 

Harry imagined the hours of lecturing that would entail and balked. Well, there was nothing for it.

 

"Fine! You want to know so badly?" he hissed, staring daggers at Malfoy. "I'm angry because he's a dirty little sneak! It wasn't enough to lie about the necklace and spend all week being a complete and utter tosser, you just had to get one last dig in and tell him about those bruises, didn't you!"

 

Malfoy's anger turned to disbelief. "That's the part you're angry about?"

 

"Yes!" Harry shouted, jumping to his feet. "You'd be angry too if someone ruined your life by telling your secrets to him, all for their own personal satisfaction!"

 

"I didn't tell him about those bruises, you dimwit!" Malfoy shouted, shoving his own chair back with a loud screech.

 

"Oh, so now you're a liar as well as a grass!" Harry said accusingly. "He sure found out, that much is certain, and you're the only person who knew!"

 

"I didn't tell him!" Malfoy yelled. "Why on earth would I, especially since it got me in a ton more trouble, I might add! He was Legilimising me when you ran away and he saw the memory! Perhaps you could have found that out if you weren't such a thick, incompetent, half-blooded -"

 

"Gentlemen!" Snape barked, cutting off their argument. "Both of you sit back down now."

 

Malfoy dropped into his chair with a huff of exasperation, but Harry remained on his feet. There was a strange buzzing in his ears like a swarm of irritated bees.

 

"You - you Legilimised him?" Harry eventually managed.

 

"Yes," Snape said evenly. "If you sit back down, I will give you more detail."

 

Harry couldn't sit, he was reeling. "You told me you wouldn't ever Legilimise people! You lied!"

 

"I did not lie," Snape said quietly. "And if you would like an explanation for my actions - and I can assure you there is one - then you will have to take a seat. Don’t make me ask again, Potter, or you won’t like what happens."

 

It was only the dulling impact of the Calming Draught that helped Harry manage his emotions enough to lower himself. He stared at Snape, horrified. "You lied!"

 

"I did not lie to you!" Snape repeated rather irritably. "I said I would never Legilimise you - as long as someone's safety was not at risk, that is. That was a specific stipulation to my promise that you’ll recall I mentioned to you. When you ran away, your safety was compromised, and every wasted minute was another in which Black could find and attack you. I did not have ample time to get an answer out of Draco, and I had to go through his memories so I could ascertain what was going on and where you possibly could have gone, as it was very apparent he was hiding something from me. Isn't that right, Draco?"

 

"Yes," Malfoy admitted, somewhat reluctantly. "I wasn't going to tell him anything, I'll have you know! You could have thought about that before unilaterally blaming me for everything-"

 

"And Draco," Snape said loudly, "has there ever been another occasion in which I used Legilimency on you?"

 

"No."

 

"Have I used Legilimency on you, Harry?" Snape asked, leaning his elbows on the table. "Even in certain situations where I have been very eager to get answers from you, did I at any point go through your memories?"

 

Harry thought for a moment, and then shook his head. Even if Snape had times where he was freakishly perceptive, he'd never actually gone the full length of actually reading Harry's mind. Even when he was trying to get Harry to talk about the Dursleys…

 

"No."

 

"Therefore, I did not lie," Snape said.

 

“Why did you say he told you about it, then?” Harry demanded.

 

“I never said that, as a matter of fact,” Snape said evasively. “If you think back to our conversation the other night, I never explicitly told you that Draco said these things to me -”

 

“Oh, come on!” Harry said loudly. “You just lied by omission and you know it! That’s complete bullshit!”

 

“Watch your language, Potter!” Snape snapped. “I am extraordinarily close to losing my patience, and it would be very unwise to test me right now!”

 

Harry made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and ground his back teeth.

 

“I’d like to know what you think I should have done in the situation we found ourselves in!” Snape added. “Seeing as the last time I brought up using Legilimency you ran away, I didn’t think it was wise for you to draw the conclusion that I regularly go through people’s minds, which I’m almost certain you would have done. You can be unhappy about it if you like, but it wouldn’t have been wise for you to know if I planned on you actually staying put in this house.”

 

“I wouldn’t have run away again,” Harry muttered, trying to prove a point.

 

“I don’t know you well enough to make that assumption, especially since I didn’t exactly expect you to do it in the first place, Potter,” Snape said, rolling his eyes. “But the long and short of this is that Draco did not voluntarily tell me about those bruises, if that’s what you’re so hung up on.”

 

“That’s right, I didn’t!” Draco said irritably. “I still don’t even know what they came from, by the way! Would anyone care to inform me?”

 

“No, as I fail to see how it’s any of your business,” Snape said with a tone of finality.

 

Harry would have been grateful for that putdown if he wasn’t so horrified by all the information that had just come to light. His remaining annoyance about Snape's misdirection was nothing in comparison to the sheer disgust Harry was feeling towards himself. He'd spent the last three days absolutely furious with Malfoy for telling Snape about the bruises, but he hadn't. Harry had punched him in the face, and would have kept going if not for Snape’s intervention, over something that hadn’t even happened! A hot wave of self-hatred rose up in Harry as he thought about that. Sure, Malfoy was a nasty bully at the best of times, but when Harry did something like that, he wasn’t any better. He felt like everything Snape had said about him for years was true; Harry was a spoilt bully.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, because he truly was. “I thought - if I’d known you hadn’t… I’m just sorry.”

 

Malfoy scoffed. “Oh, that’s a bit rich! How does it feel to be on the other foot with apologies, hmm? Perhaps I should hold this over your head for days and days, even though I -”

 

“Draco,” Snape said in a low voice, and the other boy fell silent. “After all of the griping and moaning about your own unaccepted apology, I think it would be better for everyone in this situation if you could be a tad more graceful.”

 

“Fine.” Malfoy sighed. “I suppose, considering everything, we could… try and start over?”

 

“Sure.” Harry was feeling so wretched at that point that he’d probably agree to just about anything.

 

“Are we done, then?” Malfoy complained.

 

“No,” Snape said, folding his arms. “Far from it. I wish to understand why you’ve been so hostile towards Mr Potter while you’ve been living here together. I’ve noticed you still haven’t told me.”

 

“I have,” Malfoy grumbled. “I don’t like him.”

 

“Not good enough,” Snape said, waving one hand. “I think, much like Mr Potter, you are projecting some of the underlying anger at your situation and are taking it out on him. Would that be a fair assumption?”

 

Malfoy’s eyes flashed. “Of course I’m angry! Is that suddenly not allowed, either?”

 

“Why should Potter suffer as a consequence of your circumstances, though?” Snape asked, arching an eyebrow. “He isn’t at fault for the problems occurring in your personal life. You should not take out your anger on him, just as he should not take out his anger on you.”

 

“Oh, Potter can cope!” Malfoy snapped. “He doesn’t have a clue what it’s like to be in my shoes! My life is an utter wreckage, Severus! I’ve lost absolutely everything, I’m stuck living here instead of with my family where I belong, so of course I’m miserable! You know that, I’ve told you about it already! I’m not going to be in the best of moods all the time, especially around that prat!”

 

“What, do you think I asked to come here, then?” Harry demanded. “You think I want to be stuck here with the two of you? I’m not happy about it, either!” Harry suddenly realised Snape was still watching and felt his cheeks heat up. “Er - no offence, sir -”

 

“Believe me, Potter, I am fully enlightened about your feelings towards myself and Draco,” Snape drawled with a shake of his head. “If you were pleased to be here, I’d be concerned about brain damage.”

 

“Er - right.”

 

“Both of you are here because you have experienced remarkable hardships in your life,” Snape added. “One would think you could come together over that, but instead you tear each other down and use each other as punching bags!”

 

Malfoy scoffed. “Potter’s experienced hardship? Please.”

 

The anger exploded through the Calming Draught again, and Harry curled his hands into fists. “You’re one to talk! You’ve had everything handed to you, and now you’re going to stand here and say -”

 

“Gentlemen!” Snape shouted again, cutting off Harry’s rant. “As a matter of fact, both of you have experienced incredible hardship during your short lives! Draco, would you not consider having one’s parents murdered as a small child to be an event of great adversity?” Malfoy looked away from them both, rather shame-faced, as Snape rounded on Harry. “And you! Having grown up without parents, you can surely understand how miserable it must be to be ripped from your family with no opportunity to even say goodbye!”

 

Harry felt his cheeks heat up. He hadn’t thought about things from that angle at all. As much as he personally disliked Lucius Malfoy, Draco was obviously going to be quite fond of him…

 

“I want this behaviour to stop,” Snape growled. “I understand you dislike each other, but clearly my requests for your civility are clearly not enough of a motivator. You will no longer avoid each other at every given opportunity - if I have to force you together all day, every day until you somehow overcome your differences, then I will do so happily! Consider any of your independent free time withdrawn until you sort yourselves out.”

 

Malfoy groaned loudly, and Harry ground his back teeth and dug his fingernails into his palms.

 

“I think scrubbing cauldrons will wear some of that anger out, don’t you agree?” Snape laced his fingers together. “Draco, you’re still in trouble for your own act of violence, as you very well know, and I think it would be prudent for Potter to join you as punishment.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Harry said dully.

 

“Eat your lunch so we can begin.”

 

Three plates of food appeared in front of them. Draco and Snape quickly tucked in, but Harry simply prodded at his food with a fork, feeling thoroughly miserable. Eating was the last thing on his mind right now…

 

After several minutes of Harry playing with his food without eating a bite of it, a long, pale finger tapped the table next to Harry’s plate. He glanced up and saw Snape pointedly incline his head towards Harry’s food. Right. Snape was weirdly obsessed with what Harry ate.

 

Since he didn’t want to get in even more trouble, Harry speared a chunk of sausage and ate it, even though his stomach was so entwined into knots of misery that he thought no food would be allowed passage down his throat. For some reason, Snape still caring whether Harry ate or not even though he was so angry just made Harry feel even worse about himself.

 

---

 

After they ate, Malfoy and Harry were both put to work in Snape’s laboratory cleaning out some of the most disgusting cauldrons Harry had ever had the misfortune of coming into contact with. If scrubbing the caked-on potion crust wasn’t bad enough, Snape had decided to supervise the entire activity, because he apparently couldn’t trust Harry and Malfoy to be alone in a room together without ‘violating the Geneva convention’, which Harry thought was a bit dramatic. To be fair, Snape was a rather dramatic person, but Harry was still a little put out. He felt horribly guilty about the whole incident earlier and really wasn’t planning on doing anything to hurt Malfoy again. The other boy, surprisingly, seemed similarly chastened. He barely said a word apart from occasionally asking Harry to pass a brush or some cleaning fluid, and looked just as miserable as Harry felt.

 

None of this mattered to Snape, of course. He had decided the ideal form of punishment was to also lecture Harry and Malfoy at length about self-control and anger management for hours on end. Harry really hated this for two reasons: it was remarkably tedious, and it also made him feel even worse about himself than he was already feeling. Snape’s rather harsh words about emotional volatility and violence were really getting under Harry’s skin, and by the end of the afternoon Harry had practically taken a vow of pacifism because he felt so awful about what he’d done.

 

But as unpleasant as it all was, Harry couldn’t help but think that things could be a lot worse. After all, he’d attacked Malfoy outright. While Snape had lost his temper and had done a lot of shouting, he still hadn’t reverted to the Snape of before, who would needlessly taunt Harry at length and tear him down. He’d been angry, sure, but he hadn’t been wholly unreasonable. One mistake from Harry hadn’t actually ruined everything.

 

Maybe that was a sign things really were changing, then?

 

After hours of cauldron scrubbing in the stiflingly hot laboratory, Snape at last cleared his throat. “I think that’s more than enough for now. Pot - Harry, with me. I require your assistance with dinner.”

 

Harry nodded and got to his feet, stretching his aching shoulders. He didn’t miss the fact that Snape had just used his first name.

 

Malfoy was looking between the two of them incredulously. “He can cook?”

 

“Surprisingly, yes,” Snape said, placing a jar of berries onto a shelf of potions ingredients.

 

“You two don’t have to sound so shocked about it,” Harry muttered, brushing his clothes off.

 

“With me, then,” Snape ordered. “I shall summon you when the food is prepared, Draco.”

 

Malfoy nodded and made a beeline straight for the bathroom. As Harry walked down the stairs behind Snape, he heard the telltale groan of pipes that meant the shower had turned on. Harry, who was rather hot and sticky from the combination of the laboratory heat and the manual labour, wished he could do the same.

 

They entered the kitchen, and Snape pointed his wand at the cabinets. The doors burst open, and a line of potatoes flew from the depths and uniformly lined themselves up on the kitchen counter. They were promptly followed by a peeler.

 

“Peel those potatoes,” Snape ordered. Harry stepped forward, picked up the peeler and started removing the skins. Meanwhile, Snape busied himself standing in front of the fridge.

 

Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye. Did wizards generally need fridges? The Weasleys certainly didn’t have one, but this was a Muggle house, so maybe Snape did things differently. You needed something to keep your food cold, after all. Didn’t electricity go a bit funny around magic, though? Snape was always Summoning stuff out of the fridge, and that much use would surely mess up the wiring… or maybe the fridge had been enhanced with magic? Harry’s mind was practically exploding with questions, but he suppressed them. He wasn’t really in the mood to chat to Snape right now.

 

Snape, of course, was prepared to turn around and quiz Harry at any point, it seemed.

 

“There are some extra things to do with the incident earlier I wish to discuss with you without Draco present,” Snape said. After making sure Snape couldn’t see his face, Harry rolled his eyes. He’d spent all afternoon listening and discussing things, and he was getting thoroughly sick of it. “Namely, the aspects of it which relate back to your aunt and uncle.”

 

Harry groaned, clenching the potato so hard in his hand that he was surprised it didn’t explode between his fingers. Why did Snape think everything had to do with the stupid Dursleys?

 

“Your anger stemmed from the fact that you thought Draco had told me about your injuries,” Snape said, “but I would like to make the point that even if he had told me of his own volition, that would still not be a justifiable reason for you to be angry with him.”

 

“It would be because it was none of his fucking business!” Harry growled.

 

“Language!” Snape said sharply, his eyes narrowing. "If you continue to swear so habitually, then you will find yourself becoming intimately familiar with a Soaping Spell, Mr Potter. I will not warn you again."

 

Harry gritted his teeth and scraped off a great chunk of potato rather irritably.

 

“And no, it would not be a valid excuse for your anger, as whether or not he could divine the real cause of those injuries, you were still hiding them from everyone, which is odd behaviour at best and downright dangerous at worst.”

 

“They were just some bruises,” Harry muttered resentfully. “They weren’t serious.”

 

“I’m sorry, I was not aware you’re a medical professional!” Snape said sarcastically. “Considering the fact that you were pushed down a staircase, those bruises could have easily obscured a fractured rib! Do you even realise how serious this all is?”

 

“Well, that didn’t happen!” Harry pointed out.

 

“You are intentionally missing my point,” Snape said, his voice heated. “I am telling you that upon seeing a series of unexplainable injuries that you were insistent on keeping from the person in charge of your care, Draco would have been well within his rights to inform me. Why, then, were you so upset about it?”

 

“Because,” Harry said, his throat oddly tight, “because…well, if you hadn’t found out, none of the stuff about them would have come out. Things would still be normal! Now you know everything, and I have to think about it, and I can’t keep my magic under control because I’m either just so angry, or…”

 

Or scared, Harry’s brain finished as he trailed off. He wasn’t going to admit that to Snape in a million years, though.

 

Snape was regarding him, the irritation that had previously been so clear on his features conspicuously absent. He was frowning, but his eyes were crinkled with concern instead of narrowed with anger. “I think I am beginning to understand. Have you fully considered that this anger you were feeling towards Draco was not actually related to his actions whatsoever, but rather comes from you processing the trauma you endured at the hands of your relatives?”

 

“I am not traumatised,” Harry growled, flexing his fingers and trying to suppress his annoyance. The Calming Draught he had taken earlier had worn off towards the end of Snape’s afternoon of lecturing, and if Harry lost control and blew up Snape’s glassware again he thought he might actually die of embarrassment.

 

Snape looked like he wanted to argue the point, but simply exhaled loudly before continuing. “Would you or would you not agree that you are angry about your family situation?”

 

Harry hesitated for a moment before slowly nodding. That was what he had been thinking about before punching Malfoy, wasn’t it? He’d been outraged about what the Dursleys had spent his childhood telling Harry about his mother and father, and that fury had directly caused his explosion.

 

“I think,” Snape said quietly, “that since you have no means to express your outrage towards your relatives, you have instead settled on what your mind determines to be a more palatable and accessible target. Since you thought Draco was the reason your relationship with the Dursleys came to light, you directed your anger towards him instead.”

 

Harry gripped the counter and pressed his lips together, disgust rising in him because Snape was right. He’d been shoving Malfoy around that whole morning for no good reason, even before he’d punched the other boy. It wasn’t like Malfoy was still being horrid to him, after all. In fact, Malfoy had pretty much been on his best behaviour since Harry had been retrieved from London. He’d even apologised!

 

And Harry had responded to that like some sort of violent thug. He felt like Dudley. Harry did his best to swallow down his shame, but he couldn’t quite press away the lump in his throat.

 

“I told you yesterday that Draco takes Calming Draughts when his anger gets out of hand,” Snape said, pausing his cooking preparations to fix Harry with a piercing look. “Do you think it would be wise to do something similar in your case, while we wait for your life to settle down?”

 

Harry nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak. He didn’t particularly like the sensation of a Calming Draught, but it was a hell of a lot better than devolving into fits of violent rage.

 

“You need to make a concentrated effort to sort out your reactions,” Snape said sternly. Harry couldn’t bring himself to look at the man. “It is not Draco’s fault you have been mistreated by your relatives, and you shouldn’t take your anger out on him.”

 

Harry thought if Snape kept talking for another moment he’d do something awful, like burst into tears, so he let the frustration and self-hatred morph into irritation. “Oh, like you’re one to talk!”

 

“I beg your pardon?” Snape’s eyes narrowed, and Harry felt the awful choked sensation in his throat ease. Yes, anger was easier.

 

“You’ve spent the past two years being horrible to me for no reason!” Harry hissed. “You’re always angry at me, even when I haven’t done anything wrong! Like how the hell was I supposed to know about the Draught of Living Death as a first year? I’d only known about magic for a month at that point! Then, I come here and you’re even more of a git than usual! I don’t understand how you can stand there and say I shouldn’t take out my anger on other people when that’s all you’ve done to me the entire time you’ve known me!”

 

Harry finally finished ranting, his chest heaving, while Snape stood by the fridge with his mouth hanging open slightly. It was about a minute before he finally responded. “I… I would like to apologise.”

 

That took the wind out of Harry’s sails. “What?”

 

“I apologise for the way I have treated you for the last two years, and for my behaviour towards you while you have been staying here,” Snape said evenly. “You’re completely right; I was taking my own anger out on you. I am throwing stones in a glass house, one might say.”

 

Harry was the one with his mouth hanging open, now. “You - you’re - what?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Snape said again. “You are not expected to accept my apology, but I thought you should have it nonetheless.”

 

There was no sound in the kitchen apart from the scrape of the potato peeler as Harry tried to collect himself after that shocking admission. He had never, not in a million years, expected Snape to apologise for the way he treated Harry during Potions. It was such an unlikely scenario that Harry didn’t even know where to begin. Eventually, he managed to collect his wits enough to attempt to speak again.

 

“I’m… well, I still don’t understand why you did all of it, though.” Snape inclined his head, and Harry rushed on. “I mean you’ve spent all afternoon wanting to know why Malfoy and I were doing the stuff we did to each other, so why were you always so mean to me? I don’t remember doing anything specific -”

 

“No.” Snape cut Harry off quickly. “It was nothing you did.” He tugged down the sleeves of his black robes before continuing to speak. “It was your father. I’m sure you can gather from some of my insults that I intensely disliked the man.”

 

Harry frowned. “Why?”

 

“Because he was an arrogant, pig-headed -” Snape abruptly cut himself off and took a deep, shuddering breath. “No. Don’t ask me, because my retelling may be… inaccurate. At any rate, I was taking out my dislike of him on you. It was wrong of me.”

 

“Yeah. It was,” Harry bit out, scraping the peeler against the potato rather forcefully.

 

“That is why I am so insistent that you process your own anger,” Snape said after a moment. “Consider me something of a cautionary tale. I do not want you to go down the same path I did.”

 

Harry shivered slightly. That, more than anything, was a pretty compelling reason to sort himself out. It felt a little rude to think of things that way, but it was true; Harry didn’t want to end up like Snape.

 

They cooked in silence for a while, and Harry moved on from peeling potatoes to carrots, thinking all the while about Snape’s own apology. He still couldn’t quite believe it had happened.

 

Snape had said Harry didn’t have to accept his apology. Did he accept it yet? Harry wasn’t sure. Harry really didn’t like holding grudges, so he was inclined to do so, but he didn’t know if Snape was just going to go back to being his usual self when they got back to Hogwarts, so he was a bit wary of getting over things too soon. At any rate, he was still reeling from the fact that Snape had even said sorry in the first place.

 

Harry wasn’t even particularly certain about how he felt about Snape in general these days. He’d been surprisingly decent. It wasn’t just the basic necessities, like three full meals a day, a bed to sleep in, and the absence of his relatives’ manhandling that made living at Spinner’s End preferable to Privet Drive.

 

No, Snape was actually nice to Harry. He’d spent time with Harry, cooking and playing chess. He took an interest in Harry’s life, and asked him what he wanted to do when he grew up, and told Harry about his mother, even though he obviously found it hard to do so. He’d insisted on healing Harry’s injuries, no matter how vehemently he protested, and he’d given his word that he was going to stop Harry from going back to his relatives. Nobody had ever cared enough to do that for Harry before Snape, and as much as he didn’t want it to, that meant something.

 

Harry didn’t think he was quite over their past quite yet, but to his shock, he realised he didn’t hate Snape anymore. And, he thought, Snape no longer hated Harry, either. He didn’t spend all day standing around glaring at Snape and thinking up insults, at any rate. Harry didn’t want to anymore. The longstanding, mutual dislike between the two of them was gradually giving way to something different, something that Harry didn’t quite have words for. It was still early days, but Harry was starting to realise how far a bit of common decency and kindness could go towards thawing an icy relationship. At any rate, living at Spinner’s End wasn’t utterly unbearable like it had been the week before. Harry was actually settling into their odd routine.

 

It was a long time before someone spoke again. Snape was the one to break the silence. “I noticed you mentioned you didn’t know you were a wizard until a month before you began attending Hogwarts?”

 

“Oh. Yeah.” Harry shrugged as he chopped the carrots. “You’ve probably guessed they don’t exactly like magic. Hagrid was the one to tell me everything when he came to deliver my Hogwarts letter.”

 

Snape didn’t respond immediately, and Harry turned over his shoulder and realised Snape was regarding him strangely. His eyes were dark with something - pity, Harry thought with no small amount of horror.

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, unable to bear looking Snape in the eyes for another moment. “I don’t need to be pitied. Plenty of Muggleborns started Hogwarts in exactly the same position as me.”

 

“I was not pitying you,” Snape said tersely. “Feeling sorry for people is not in my nature. I was simply reflecting on some of the shortcomings of Petunia’s character. I see she hasn’t improved in the slightest since I knew her…”

 

Harry dropped his knife as he gasped. It hit the floor with a loud clatter, narrowly missing his foot. Snape rolled his eyes as he waved his wand, causing the knife to fly back onto the counter. “Pay attention! I’d prefer it if you didn’t mutilate yourself while cooking, as reattaching toes is a rather tiresome process…”

 

“What do you mean you know Aunt Petunia?” Harry demanded.

 

“Knew,” Snape corrected. “Given my friendship with your mother, I occasionally came across her when she was young.” His lip curled. “She was not particularly fond of me, or of magic.”

 

Harry stared at Snape, wide-eyed. “She was always like that?”

 

“Indeed.” Snape’s expression had developed into a full sneer. “She was always a remarkably jealous, spiteful person, even as a child. She hates magic because she cannot have it. In fact, I recall her writing a letter to Professor Dumbledore begging him to allow her to study magic at Hogwarts.”

 

“No way!” Harry exclaimed.

 

“It’s true,” Snape said. “Your mother and I found the Headmaster’s reply and rejection in her room one day. She envied Lily terribly, and never quite got over it, apparently. Although, to not even tell you magic exists when she knew a decent amount of detail about it is an extra layer of cruelty I’d have hoped Petunia did not possess.” Snape frowned. “If you didn’t know about magic, then how did she explain your parents’ deaths?”

 

“Oh, I always thought they died in a car crash,” Harry said. He deliberately excluded the part about them being drunk drivers, but that didn’t seem to help the look of outrage on Snape’s face.

 

“Now that is truly ridiculous,” he snapped, slamming a pot onto the stove.

 

“Yeah. Hagrid was pretty angry with them when he found out.”

 

“Rightfully so,” Snape growled, turning back to the cooking. He jabbed his wand at the stove, and tall flames began licking at the sides of the pot. Snape muttered an oath under his breath and waved his wand again, reducing the flames to a regular size. To Harry’s immense relief, they didn’t speak of the Dursleys again as they finished up the meal, although Snape was still quite clearly angry about everything Harry had told him. He didn’t think he minded that, though. In a weird way, it was quite comforting to know there was somebody out there who disliked Petunia Dursley just as much as Harry himself did.

 

---

 

After a rather silent dinner, mercifully free of the lecturing Snape had engaged in all afternoon, Harry and Malfoy both got up almost simultaneously to leave, presumably to different parts of the house.

 

“Not so fast,” Snape said, holding up a hand. Harry groaned, as did Malfoy. “I will not have you two slinking off to separate corners of the house to sulk. I meant it when I said I wanted you to spend some time together.”

 

Harry sighed. “More cauldrons, then?”

 

Snape shook his head, and pointed his wand in the direction of the open doorway. “I had something else in mind.”

 

Moments later, an incredibly faded Monopoly box landed on the kitchen table. Malfoy frowned. “What is that?”

 

“A board game, which the two of you will be playing together this evening,” Snape said briskly.

 

Malfoy’s face wrinkled with disgust. “I’m not playing a Muggle board game!”

 

“And just for that little comment, you will be playing at least three games of it before the week is up,” Snape said, his eyes narrowing. “Watch yourself, Draco. I will not tolerate the constant spew of anti-Muggle rhetoric.”

 

Malfoy groaned. “But don’t you have any proper board games? House-elves and Hinkypunks? Floo Fighters?”

 

“Do I look like I collect board games?” Snape asked icily. “As it is, I am rather surprised I even own this one. It shall simply have to do for now. You may set it up in the living room.”

 

Malfoy stalked out of the room and Harry followed him, carrying the Monopoly box. Snape didn’t come, he noticed, but Harry was almost certain that he was listening in on them from the kitchen.

 

“So what do we do with it, then?” Malfoy asked. He was nervously eyeing the box like it was a bomb, and Harry had to suppress a snort.

 

“We put it on the floor and set up the board, I suppose.” Harry raised an eyebrow. “Have you really never heard of Monopoly before?”

 

Malfoy scowled. “Well, my parents never exposed me to that kind of Muggle nonsense -”

 

“Draco!” Snape’s sharp voice shouted from the nearby kitchen. “What did I just say?”

 

“Er - that just slipped out.” Malfoy stared at the carpet. “No, I’ve not heard of it before.”

 

As Harry unfolded the board, he had a sudden, jarring realisation. Perhaps, the reason Malfoy was so hostile about all things Muggle wasn’t just because he was a nasty bigot - well, not entirely, at least. Maybe he was actually just out of his depth in Muggle Cokeworth, which he had to be completely unfamiliar with. Harry still remembered how terrified he’d looked in the supermarket, how he’d not even known about automatic doors…

 

And that unfamiliarity was making him defensive. Harry, who had experience of his own with being thrown into a world that he had no understanding of, couldn’t help but be the tiniest bit sympathetic, even if it was Malfoy.

 

“I’ve never actually played it before, either,” he admitted, hoping the confession would relax the other boy. “I know the rules, mostly, but my cousin never wanted anything to do with me, so I didn’t have a chance to play it until now. We can figure it all out together.”

 

Something that could have been a smile twitched around Malfoy’s lips as Harry finished setting up the board. “So what do you do, then?”

 

“Simple - you try and bankrupt the other players,” Harry explained. He pointed to the various properties at the edges of the board. “Each player starts off with 1500 in Monopoly money. You use that to buy up these properties on the side. If the other player lands on the property you own, they have to pay you rent. Oh, and if you get all of the properties of the same colour, you can put houses on them and that makes the rent go up.”

 

“Hmm.” Malfoy cocked his head thoughtfully. “That doesn’t sound too bad…”

 

“Well, then pick up a token and let’s get started,” Harry said, taking the small metal boat and placing it at the beginning. He also gathered the dice as Malfoy took the dog token and placed it down. Harry smiled to himself. He had always wanted to try this game and was excited to finally do so, even if he was playing with Malfoy, of all people.

 

Harry rolled a five, landing him on King’s Cross. He smiled to himself as he paid 200 to the bank. It seemed like a pretty appropriate place landing, he thought.

 

Malfoy eyed him suspiciously. “What are you doing? Are you giving yourself more money?”

 

“No, I’m paying for something,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. Trust the Slytherin to assume he was cheating. “I own King’s Cross now.”

 

“So what does that mean?”

 

“If you land on it, you have to pay me, then,” Harry explained, placing the property card in front of him. He dropped the dice into Malfoy’s palm. “It’s your roll.”

 

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at the dice in his palm. “Muggles don’t have Self-Rolling Dice?”

 

“Nope, you have to do it yourself.” Harry scoffed. “I’m sure you’ll live.”

 

Malfoy glared at him and rolled the dice so aggressively that one flew under the sofa. After Harry craned his neck and retrieved it from the dusty depths, Malfoy re-rolled and got an eleven. After he moved his token forwards, he looked up at Harry and tilted his head to one side. “So I buy this?”

 

He shrugged. “If you want to.”

 

“I do. Here’s the money.” He handed Harry the cash, which he exchanged for a property card. Malfoy held it in his hand, looking rather thoughtful. “This isn’t so bad…”

 

“We told you so,” Harry said, trying not to sound too smug.

 

“At any rate, it’ll be dreadfully easy to win,” Malfoy drawled, jutting his chin out. “My father instilled excellent business sense in me, you know. This clearly isn’t that different, so you’re really at quite the disadvantage.”

 

“Oh really?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. Competing against Malfoy - this was something he knew how to do. How different could a board game be to Quidditch, really? “You’re on, Malfoy.”

 

---

 

“Yes!” Harry crowed, sliding his token over to Strand. He finally had all three of the red properties!

 

“That is ridiculous!” Malfoy shouted, slamming his hand against the floor. “These dice must be rigged!”

 

“They weren’t rigged when you got your monopoly, were they?” Harry said smugly, taking the property card. “All my shiny new houses can be a nice surprise for when you get out of jail…”

 

“You shouldn’t get stuck there just for rolling three doubles,” Malfoy grumbled. “You made that rule up, you little cheat!”

 

“These rules say otherwise!” Harry said, waving the paper in Malfoy’s face. He felt borderline euphoric. “Now, are you getting out this turn?”

 

Malfoy rolled the dice and groaned loudly.

 

“You have to pay now,” Harry said, crossing his arms and grinning.

 

“I’m going to get you for this, Potter,” Malfoy growled, slamming the money down so hard it rattled Harry’s houses. “When I buy Mayfair, you’re going to be on your knees and begging for mercy.”

 

“Not if I get there first!” Harry said, picking up the dice and starting to shake them. He nearly threw them over his shoulder when someone cleared their throat from behind him, startling Harry. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Snape watching them closely, leaning against the open door.

 

“Enjoying yourselves?” he asked, clearly amused.

 

As Harry thought about the question, he had an abrupt realisation. He’d been in the living room playing Monopoly with Malfoy for almost two hours, and they actually hadn’t gotten into a fight. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; they had been shouting at each other constantly and saying how much they hated one another, but as far as Harry could tell that was just a side-effect of playing Monopoly. Anyway, Harry was giving it as good as he got, and being called a cheating, money-hungry git was a significant step up from having Malfoy jeer at him about his dead parents.

 

“For a Muggle game, it’s… not entirely unbearable,” Malfoy admitted reluctantly. Coming from him, that was rather high praise.

 

“Er - we aren’t in any trouble, are we?” Harry asked nervously, thinking of the large amounts of insults he and Malfoy had exchanged over the course of the evening.

 

“No.” Surprisingly, Snape’s lips twitched. “Although I must admit, if I had remembered how emotionally charged Monopoly can become I may have selected a different activity.”

 

A thoughtful expression crossed Malfoy’s face. “So Severus, you seem to know how our game works. You’ve played Monopoly before?”

 

“Why else would I own a Monopoly board?” Snape said.

 

“Can you do Monopoly with more than two people?” Malfoy asked Harry. He slowly nodded, unsure of where this was going as Malfoy turned back to Snape. “You should play with us sometime, then!”

 

Harry let out a shocked splutter that he sort of managed to turn into a hacking cough. Snape rolled his eyes at him, but other than that didn’t comment. “Perhaps I will, Draco.”

 

“Really?” Harry asked disbelievingly. While living with Snape he’d had to reconcile a lot of incredibly disturbing domestic images of his most-hated Potions Professor, but the thought of the man crouched down next to a Monopoly board and getting into bickering matches with Harry and Draco about whether or not the dice face had landed on four or five was just one step too far.

 

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Are you scared I’ll beat you?”

 

Harry started coughing again, before he finally managed to croak out, “No!”

 

“Perhaps tomorrow night, then.” Snape said, retreating back into the hallway outside. “By the time the two of you are finished, it will be far too late to start a new game.”

 

He began to walk down the hallway, and Harry noticed the creak of footsteps against the staircase. He quickly refocused his attention back on the game, and ended up landing on one of Malfoy’s railroads. He was suitably gleeful.

 

But in the end, Malfoy was the one to lose overall. His defeat came following a gloriously drawn-out process of mortgaging properties while Harry watched his pile of money grow larger and larger. Finally, Malfoy was bankrupted, and Harry mercilessly mocked him while the other boy flipped the board, causing the money to float through the air like confetti. It was intensely satisfying to beat him.

 

It was slightly less satisfying when a scowling Snape caught the tail end of this and made them clear up the mess and neatly repack the board before promptly sending them to bed early. Still, even that couldn’t quash Harry’s satisfaction. He may not like Malfoy, but he certainly liked beating him.

 

As they laid in the darkness of their room, Malfoy cleared his throat and propped himself up on one elbow. “Potter…those bruises you were so angry about. Where did they actually come from, anyway? Were you in some sort of fight? Is that why Severus was so upset?”

 

Harry sharply inhaled. He quickly tried to quash down the enjoyable time he’d had that evening, and did his best to resummon all the familiar animosity and harden his heart. “Look, Malfoy. We may have a truce or something now, but we certainly aren’t friends. I’m not having some kind of heart to heart with you.”

 

Malfoy huffed. “Fine. Whatever…”

 

There was the sound of rustling - presumably, he had turned over. Harry stared at the long shadows stretching across the ceiling and bit down on his lip until the coppery tang of blood flooded his mouth.

 

“I honestly don’t get why you wanted it secret,” Malfoy whispered. “I didn’t know what biking was. I just thought it was some embarrassing Muggle thing, and I was really going to leave it, but then Severus saw and was so upset about it, and - well, if I had known it was so serious, whatever it is, at the time…”

 

“You don’t know anything, Malfoy,” Harry bit out, cutting off the other boy’s babbling. “It was nothing.”

 

Stifling silence followed his statement, but Harry couldn’t fall asleep. He just knew that no matter how much he protested, Malfoy wasn’t going to let it go. It was simply a question of how long Harry could push things off until Malfoy finally put it all together.

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.

Harry was distracted from his breakfast by the sound of an owl screeching. He looked up, half-expecting to see Hedwig back from Egypt before he remembered that he’d told her to stay with Ron. Harry winced. He regretted doing that now, since he’d realised Draco and Snape weren’t actually going to do anything to Hedwig, which was what he’d feared originally. It wasn’t like he could tell her to come back, either. He was stuck without her for the rest of August.

 

Two owls ended up flying in through the window; one for Draco, and one for Snape, which had a copy of the Daily Prophet. Snape handed a couple of knuts to the barn owl and unrolled the newspaper. Harry shivered slightly as Sirius Black stared back at him from the front cover. He couldn’t believe he still hadn’t been caught yet. They had the Muggles looking for him, and everything!

 

“Who wrote to you, Draco?” Snape asked, setting the newspaper to one side after a cursory scan of its contents.

 

“Pansy,” Draco said, sliding a finger under the envelope’s wax seal and taking out the letter within. Harry went to continue with his breakfast, but he noticed Snape didn’t carry on eating. Instead, his eyes were focused closely on Draco with a strange intensity. Harry frowned. He’d only seen that look on Snape’s face when he was trying to puzzle out something about Harry’s childhood that he hadn’t quite put together yet. Something about that letter had to be important, then.

 

Harry's eyes also drifted to Draco, just in time to see his face change. The small smile he’d worn while opening the envelope abruptly vanished, and was replaced by a scowl. His cheeks flushed to a dark pink and his eyes became oddly glassy.

 

Draco’s lips twisted downward and there was a sudden flash of white light between his hands. He violently swung out his arm, flinging the letter away, and kicked his chair back so it clattered to the ground before storming from the room. Snape muttered an oath under his breath and followed him. He was surprisingly swift and managed to grab onto Draco’s shoulder before he got too far away from the kitchen. He pulled the boy into the living room, out of sight.

 

Harry, who was frozen in place, became suddenly aware of the fact that he wasn’t breathing and did his best to inhale, even though his chest felt horribly tight. He didn’t like how Draco could just explode like that. Harry was very attuned to his uncle's body language, and almost always knew when Uncle Vernon's violent, raging side would pop out, so he could get out of the way in anticipation. Harry didn't know Draco well enough yet to be able to predict when he'd lose it, and that put Harry on edge.

 

What had been in that letter? It had obviously been the thing to upset Draco…

 

No one came back to the kitchen, and Harry became aware of ragged breathing in the living room that sounded a bit like sobbing. He considered going in to check what was happening, but Harry was fairly sure his presence would just make things worse. Instead, his eyes drifted to the sink. Draco’s letter was lying on the floor nearby. The edges were singed and blackened - Draco had to have done that, presumably with accidental magic. He must have been really angry, then…

 

Harry bit his lip, glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was coming back in, and got to his feet to go and pick it up. He doubted anyone would explain what had just happened unless he looked into it himself, after all. Harry had just wrapped his fingers around the parchment when a sharp, fiery sensation shot through his hand. It was the same red-hot pain you might get from touching a hot stove. Harry hissed and yanked his hand away, cradling it close to his chest. He examined his fingers, which had turned red and shiny with a newly formed burn. What was that?

 

Not wanting to get hurt again, Harry squatted down and stared at the letter on the ground without touching it. The writing was just about legible.

 

  Draco,

 

  I don’t know how many ways I can tell you this - stop contacting me. Don’t owl me, don’t floo me, I want nothing to do with you. The rest of us in Slytherin feel the same way. Greg and Vince would tell you themselves, but they aren’t as gifted with the written word, so consider this a message from all of us. 

 

  None of us are your friend anymore, so you need to stop writing. Nothing is going to change our minds, so don’t bother. We don’t want anything to do with a Malfoy. If you value the lives of your post owls, you’ll stop sending mail.

 

  Pansy Parkinson

 

Harry finished reading the letter and had to make a conscious effort to shut his mouth, which was hanging open. Had Draco really fallen out with Pansy Parkinson? She was his biggest supporter after Crabbe and Goyle!

 

But from the sounds of that letter, Crabbe and Goyle weren’t speaking to Draco, either. Harry was half-certain that Vince and Greg were their first names, after all. Harry wondered what on earth could have possibly happened to cause a massive falling out like this. Things had seemed perfectly normal between them all at the end of his second year…

 

It was so quiet in the kitchen that Harry was able to hear Draco’s voice with perfect clarity. “It’s just not fair!”

 

“It isn’t,” Snape said so softly that Harry had to strain his ears to hear.

 

“It’s - I didn’t d-do anything! None of this is my fault!” Draco’s voice had a choked quality to it that let Harry know he was certainly in tears. As Harry felt horribly uncomfortable whenever someone started crying, he began to sidle towards the back door. Somehow, he got the feeling that if Draco knew he was hearing all of this, all hell would break loose. Harry slipped outside and leaned against the wall of the house.

 

He stood there for a long time, staring at the overcast sky and thinking about what he’d overheard. He couldn’t help but think that Draco had really been through the wringer recently. Parents in prison, friends not talking to him… He abruptly remembered Draco’s shouts from the other day, when they’d been arguing in the kitchen after Harry had shoved him. My life is a wreck, Severus! 

 

Harry shook himself. This was steering dangerously close to ‘feeling sorry for Malfoy’ territory, somewhere Harry refused to stray. It didn’t matter if he was marginally more tolerable these days, or if Harry occasionally found himself enjoying their games. He was still a nasty git.

 

A nasty git who was having a pretty difficult time, though. Harry could at least give him that.

 

He was interrupted from his musings by the sound of the kitchen door loudly squealing open. Harry jerked his head around and saw Snape watching him.

 

“He’s gone upstairs to spend some time alone,” Snape said before Harry could ask after Draco. “Are you alright?”

 

“Er - yeah,” Harry said, surprised he’d even bothered asking. “Is he?”

 

Snape hesitated for a few moments before responding. “He will be, with time.” He sighed heavily. “You’re rather lucky to have the friends you do, Harry. I’d advise you to never take them for granted.”

 

Harry nodded. He doubted that would ever happen, anyway. He’d never had a friend before Ron and Hermione, since Dudley had spent their entire childhood beating the stuffing out of anyone who dared to so much as smile at Harry. Even if they occasionally got on his nerves, he would always be grateful to have Ron and Hermione.

 

“Is Pansy really done with him, then?” he asked.

 

“I believe so, unfortunately.” Snape turned sharply to look at Harry, frowning severely. “How do you know of that letter’s contents?”

 

Oops. Harry grimaced. “I… er, I caught sight of some of it.”

 

“Caught sight of it, did you?” Snape gave him a highly disapproving look, which quickly devolved into one of suspicion. “You didn’t happen to touch the letter, by any chance?”

 

“Er…no?” Harry made the stupid decision to try and hide his hands behind his back, which Snape immediately noticed. He grabbed Harry’s wrists in a tight grip and yanked them forwards, turning his hands over to examine Harry’s palms. The burn was still visible on Harry’s right hand, and had started to throb slightly. Snape’s scowl developed into an all-out glare.

 

“For heaven’s sake, Potter!” he snapped. “The Parkinsons curse their stationary against non-recipients. Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

 

“It’s just a little burn!” Harry protested, failing to hold in a hiss of pain as Snape jabbed his wand into Harry’s hand, drawing it into a circle around the burn. The swollen skin seemed to deflate and returned to its regular colour, and some of the soreness faded. Snape gave him a piercing look, his eyebrows furrowed with annoyance.

 

“Look, I’m sorry I looked at his mail, okay?” Harry said, trying to tug his hands away. Snape didn’t let go, and kept glowering at him. “I wouldn’t normally, I was just worried because he stormed away like that, so -”

 

“That is not what I have an issue with!” he snapped. “My problem is this continual insistence on hiding injuries!”

 

“I wasn’t hiding it -”

 

“Then why did you hide your hands behind your back when I asked you?” Snape demanded.

 

Harry felt his cheeks flood with heat. That was pretty damning.

 

“It wasn’t me hiding things like that, I just didn’t want you knowing I read his letter!”

 

“And perhaps I’d believe that if not for this very concerning pattern of behaviour!” Snape said irritably. “You keep doing this, Harry! You somehow come to some injury, or have an issue, and you won’t tell me about it! You even go so far as to lie to me about it when I ask!”

 

“I don’t do that -”

 

“Oh, yes you do,” Snape retorted. “Are you forgetting about how you hid the cut on your arm from me last week, even after I asked? Or, perhaps, your broken glasses from yesterday? And yes, I did notice Draco was the one to bring that up to me, not you! Or, of course, those bruises?”

 

Harry finally yanked his hands away and clenched them into fists. “That’s different, and you know it!”

 

“And that’s not even the end of it!” Snape said angrily. He was devolving into an all-out rant, Harry realised with no small amount of displeasure. “You constantly put yourself into dangerous situations! You ran away -”

 

“And that was your fault!” Harry shouted.

 

“But what of your behaviour at Hogwarts?” Snape said, crossing his arms. “Fighting mountain trolls, flying cars into trees, taking on basilisks… why do you consistently refuse to ever go to an adult with an issue?”

 

“Because I can’t!” Harry shouted. “Whenever I go to people, no one listens to me! No one! Professor McGonagall certainly didn’t care when I told her someone was after the Philosopher's Stone, Professor Lockhart tried to Obliviate me when I told him about the Chamber, and my aunt and uncle couldn’t give a damn about anything I do! Why the hell should I bother?!”

 

Harry’s chest was heaving by the time he’d finished his rant. The annoyance faded from Snape’s face, and was replaced by a look of genuine concern. “I see.”

 

Harry hugged himself with his arms, feeling very miserable all of a sudden.

 

Snape sighed. “I don’t want to shout and row with you over this.”

 

“Oh, well you’re doing a bang-up job of that,” Harry muttered, scowling at him.

 

“All of this ends now,” Snape said firmly. “If you have an issue with a Dark Lord or a possessed diary, be assured that I will, in fact, listen to you. For your part, I insist that you tell someone if you’re injured in any way.”

 

“You won’t listen to me,” Harry rasped, his voice oddly ragged. “No one listens to me. No one ever cares.”

 

“I care,” Snape said fiercely.

 

“Why?” Harry bellowed. “I just don’t get it! You’ve changed everything about how you treat me practically overnight, and I don’t understand what’s happened to you!”

 

Harry expected Snape to give some vague answer, or deflect away from the question as he’d done whenever Harry had asked him why he cared before, but Snape simply stared at him for a few heartbeats before beginning to speak.

 

“I made a promise when you were very young,” he said, turning away from him to look at the fence. “That I would protect you from harm. I have done a terrible job of it, and I’m doing what I can to remedy my mistakes in retrospect, especially now that I have fully realised how mistaken my assumptions of your character were.”

 

“So you pity me,” Harry muttered, feeling even more miserable. “You found out about the Dursleys and you feel sorry for me or something, and that’s why it’s all changed.”

 

“I do not pity people,” Snape said irritably. “Potter, I will not lie to you. It was mainly my discovery of the abuse you endured that prompted this change in my perceptions of you, but these changes are not ones borne of pity. Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I am justifiably horrified by the treatment you have suffered?”

 

“I haven’t suffered anything -”

 

“Don’t do yourself a disservice and downplay the disgusting treatment you’ve been subjected to,” Snape growled. “The Dursleys were horrible to you. But I do not pity you for it - as a matter of fact, I admire how well you’re faring in life despite your childhood. Still, Harry, no one is able to carry all of these things alone, even you. I am simply offering you help that you deserve and need.”

 

“But why you?” Harry whispered. “I just don’t get it…”

 

“Perhaps it would be easier if I showed you.” Snape turned around and headed towards the kitchen door. “Follow me.”

 

Harry followed Snape as he walked through the house and out of the front door, feeling more and more curious with every passing moment. Where was Snape taking him?

 

Snape didn’t say a word as he led Harry through the narrow streets of Cokeworth. They’d been walking in silence for about five minutes when Snape stopped outside of a white-painted house with large rose bushes lining the driveway. Even though it wasn’t too far from Spinner’s End, the area felt completely different. The houses weren’t too much bigger, but they lacked the general air of neglect that Snape’s area possessed, and the whole area felt far more hospitable.

 

Snape gestured to the house before them. “This is the house where your mother grew up.”

 

Harry inhaled sharply, and turned to look at Snape, who looked rather wistful. He pointed towards the window on the top left. “That was Lily’s bedroom, up in that corner. She had the walls painted yellow.”

 

Harry strained his eyes to look through the window. The curtains were open, and he could just about make out white-painted walls in the room beyond.

 

They’d painted over his mother’s bedroom walls. Something about that made a deep, resounding sadness ache in Harry’s chest. He closed his eyes, and tried to imagine a yellow bedroom. His mother would have lots of pictures up, Harry decided. Maybe a potted plant on her windowsill. He pictured the red-haired woman from the photographs waving at him out of the window, or tending to the rose bushes in the front drive, pausing to give Harry a quick, warm smile…

 

But then he opened his eyes, and Lily was nowhere to be found. Harry felt his shoulders droop.

 

“This seems like a nice place to have lived,” he said softly.

 

“Lily did like it here.” Snape turned to look at him, expression conflicted. “Do you recall me mentioning my own home life was - less than ideal?”

 

Harry slowly nodded, unsure of where this was going.

 

“Mr and Mrs Evans were very kind to me,” Snape said. He turned his head away and didn't look at Harry while he spoke. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the house. “Their home was a refuge when things with my father became too intolerable. They were generally good and decent people, and were simply there when I needed somewhere to go. They didn’t have to do any of that for me, but they did. I owe them and your mother a debt I can never repay for that kind of support.”

 

Snape at last looked at Harry, but his face was impossible to read. “This is why I care, Harry. Because you deserve somebody who does. Because Mr and Mrs Evans helped me when I needed it, and you’re their grandson. Because you’re Lily’s son, and I forget that too often. Even just common human decency from one person raised in less than ideal circumstances to another. All of that means something to me, and I want to help you. Not out of some sort of pity, which I hope you can at last see. Now, can you please just let me?”

 

Harry gave him a jerky nod, a strangely choked sensation building in the back of his throat.

 

“Thank you,” he eventually managed.

 

“I don’t want your thanks,” Snape said a little sharply. “I just want you to try and rely on someone. Can you do that for me?”

 

“I’ll try,” Harry promised, and he truly meant it.

 

“It’s imperative that you do, Harry,” Snape said sternly. “If you keep refusing medical treatment for injuries and lying to me when you get injured, I will have to start punishing you for it.”

 

Harry sighed and gave him an exasperated look. “Really?”

 

“If nothing else will impress upon you how serious I am about this, then yes,” Snape said, eyes narrowing. “Someone has to give you what you need, even if you don’t particularly desire it.”

 

“I understand,” Harry grumbled. As annoying as it was, he did sort of get where Snape was coming from.

 

“I’m just not used to letting other people help me.” Harry admitted. He steeled himself. “Erm… you can probably guess that my aunt and uncle weren’t the most sympathetic people. If I was hurt or injured or anything, they’d just tell me to stop whining and get on with it, so I did. And - and you were right when you thought they didn’t take me to the doctor before. They never did when I was ill, they’d just lock me up in my - er, room, until I sweated it out. And that obviously was pretty miserable, so I don’t like telling people when I’m not well, especially since before there was never any point because no one would care…”

 

He took a deep breath in. That was the first time that Harry had knowingly and willingly confided in Snape about the Dursleys without being forced or prompted, and he felt oddly tense about it. He waited to see how Snape would react.

 

“I see.” Snape was watching him very closely, now. His eyes felt piercing. “Thank you for confiding in me.”

 

“Yeah.” Harry rubbed his arms, which had broken out with goosebumps.

 

“If it means anything, I won’t be angry when you come to me,” he added. “If you’re injured, I can heal it easily. If you’re sick, you certainly won’t be locked up in your bedroom, either. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

 

“I know you wouldn’t, but it’s sort of instinct at this point to just deny,” Harry admitted.

 

“I understand. These habits take time to unlearn, I’m aware.”

 

“Yeah.” Harry sighed and stared at his shoes. They stood in silence for a little while, listening to the gentle rustle of the bushes in front of the house. A question bubbled up in the back of his mind, and Harry blurted it out before he could stop himself.

 

“But how long does it take, in the end? When did that stuff stop being so difficult for you?” he asked. Immediately after the words left his mouth, Harry wanted to smack himself in the forehead. God, what a stupid thing to ask Snape! He was obviously going to flip…

 

But Snape didn’t scowl, or glower, or shout. His face became oddly drawn, but to Harry’s shock, he actually answered the question. “It’s hard to pinpoint an exact moment where things became easier. I was a very angry young man, and I took this out in ways I deeply regret to this day, but some of that anger has faded with the years and with distance from the situation. There will always be certain things that bring back the bad memories, though, no matter how much time passes." He hesitated for a moment before subtly nodding to himself. "Alcohol, for me. I refuse to touch it.”

 

“Really?”

 

Snape nodded. “It’s the biggest association I have with the unpleasantry of my upbringing, so I prefer to stay away.”

 

Like me and cupboards, Harry thought, remembering the incident where he’d essentially talked himself into an anxiety attack over Snape’s cupboard under the stairs. Cupboards and wardrobes and other small, dark spaces were what Harry associated most strongly with the nasty parts of his childhood. He wondered if things would always be that way…

 

Snape didn’t expand further on his own experiences, but Harry had heard more than enough to fill in the gaps. He remembered a fair few occasions where Uncle Vernon had been significantly rougher than him after coming home late from work drinks with alcohol on his breath. From the sounds of things, Snape’s father had probably had something of a drinking problem…

 

Harry truly couldn’t believe Snape had told him all of that, but the confession was strangely powerful. Some of the lingering mistrust he felt towards the man seemed to simply melt away, and Harry looked at him with renewed perspective.

 

Snape really did understand.

 

“Thank you, sir,” he said. Harry didn’t say what for, but he got the sense Snape would get what he meant.

 

Snape nodded, and inclined his head in the other direction. “Shall we head back? I’d rather not leave Draco alone for too long at the minute…”

 

“Right. Good point.”

 

“Don’t read his mail again,” Snape warned, his voice becoming stern again. “You won’t like the consequences from either one of us.”

 

Harry cringed. “Sorry.”

 

They walked in silence for a few moments, until Harry dared to hesitantly look at Snape. “What’s she so angry about, anyway? Same for Crabbe and Goyle. They’ve always all seemed joined at the hip to me.”

 

“Appearances can be deceiving.” Snape regarded him thoughtfully. “You’re muggle-raised, so you won’t know too much about all of this, but there can be complicated politics entrenched in the relationships between old pureblood families. Weasleys and Malfoys despise each other on principle for events that happened centuries ago which no one can remember, certain families like the Greengrasses are friends to all and close to none, and money and power seep their way into the relationships of everyone involved, including children.”

 

“Oh. Erm, okay.” Harry just felt more confused now.

 

Snape grimaced, picking up on this. “I’ll try and put it more simply. Many people are severing ties with Draco because his parents are in Azkaban, and because the Malfoy family name has lost much of its power. People no longer want to be associated with him as the child of criminals because they think it will reflect badly on them and damage their reputations.”

 

Harry frowned. “But Draco didn’t do anything!”

 

“Precisely his point,” Snape said with a shake of his head. “But he cannot extricate himself from familial ties. People who Draco previously thought were friends are now shunning him because of his parents’ incarceration.”

 

“That’s horrible,” Harry whispered, feeling pity stir in his chest again. Damn it, he did feel sorry for Malfoy now! How ridiculous was that?

 

“It is rather unpleasant,” Snape said. He sighed again. “Does this give you any insight into why Draco has been so angry these past few weeks?”

 

“A little,” Harry admitted. He was all too familiar with anger after what he’d been through himself, but at least he knew he still had his friends to help him through it. He couldn’t imagine how awful it would have been to deal with Snape finding out about the Dursleys and losing all his friends in one fell swoop…

 

“Perhaps give him a bit of space today,” Snape suggested. “I’m sure you’d rather avoid a confrontation, and I’m not sure if he can control himself -”

 

“I’ll leave him alone,” Harry agreed quickly.

 

He had fully intended on following through on this. Harry didn’t particularly enjoy fighting with Draco on a good day, and on a day like this, when he was so clearly in pain, it just seemed cruel to not give him a break. When they returned to Snape’s house, however, Harry had occasion to talk to Draco far sooner than he’d meant to.

 

Harry had gone upstairs to the loo while Snape went into the kitchen, fully expecting his room to be locked off. Surprisingly, the door was wide open. Despite himself, Harry lingered on the landing, and looked through the open doorway.

 

Draco had his face buried in a pillow. The whole room looked significantly messier than it had earlier that morning; Draco’s belongings were scattered all over the room, like he’d been digging for something, and the floor and desk were littered with crumpled up bits of parchment. There were several snapped quills surrounding an inkpot on the desk. The infamous necklace was lying on the pillowcase next to Draco's head.

 

For a moment Harry thought the other boy was asleep, but Draco promptly dispelled that theory when he lifted his head. He must have noticed Harry. Draco’s eyes were red and puffy - he’d obviously been crying. His face twisted into a scowl when his eyes locked with Harry’s. “Oh. It’s you.” 

 

“I’ll get out of your hair, sorry,” Harry said, taking a step backwards.

 

“No. I could use some input, actually,” Draco said angrily, shoving himself upright. “Have I committed a crime, Potter?”

 

“Um. No?”

 

“Exactly!” Draco hissed, slamming his hand against the desk. “So why, pray tell, am I being treated like a criminal?!”

 

“Er… I don’t know,” Harry said rather awkwardly.

 

“Neither do I!” Draco shouted. “Seeing as all of Britain has decided that my entire bloodline is evil, maybe the Ministry of Magic should get this whole sorry affair over with and throw me to the Dementors already! After all, I’m Draco Malfoy. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve engraved my bloody name onto a cell in Azkaban in preparation for my arrival!”

 

“Um,” Harry said ineloquently, his brain fizzling as he tried to reach for the right words that he just didn’t have. Eventually, he came up with the slightly pitiful, “I don’t think you’re evil.”

 

Draco’s eyes flashed with icy fury. “Oh, what high praise! I’ve got the admiration of the darling Boy-Who-Lived, have I? Not evil, what a compliment! Is my Order of Merlin in the mail, Potter?”

 

“You’ve really not done anything,” Harry said, ignoring the biting sarcasm. “People shouldn’t blame you for stuff you didn’t do. It’s unfair.”

 

A look of deep, intense pain twisted Draco’s features. He snatched up a half-written letter from the desk, took it between his shaking hands, and tore it clean in two with a noisy rip.

 

“This is fucking ridiculous!” he shouted. The letter was torn into quarters, and the shredding sounds continued to punctuate Draco’s shouts as he ranted. “How are you the only one who doesn’t think I’m a Death Eater in training? The world’s gone barking mad! Harry fucking Potter is the only one on my side, and meanwhile my own bloody friends just abandon me at the first sign of trouble. Can you even imagine how that feels?! You hate me! I’ve known them since I was in nappies, and you’re the only one who can do me the courtesy of treating me decently? If you of all people can see that it’s not my fault, why can’t they? Why do they suddenly hate me?!”

 

Draco’s voice was hoarse and shaky with pain by the end of his rant, and Harry felt something uncomfortably sympathetic stir in his chest. Moments later, rapid footsteps ascended up the staircase, and Harry could have collapsed with relief. It was Snape, presumably drawn in by the shouting. Harry never thought there would be a day where he was grateful for Snape swooping in to intervene with something, but here he was.

 

Snape quickly assessed the situation, eyes darting between Harry’s slightly panicked expression and Draco’s agonised, heartbroken face. He took Harry by the shoulders and firmly moved him in the direction of the staircase.

 

“Downstairs,” he ordered. Harry nodded, and turned his head away just as Snape wrapped an arm around Draco and started murmuring something to him, the exact words inaudible.

 

Harry hurried downstairs, sat down on the sofa and heaved a loud sigh. There was nothing else for it but to admit it; he did feel sorry for Draco. This was going to be a problem.

 

This was all bloody Snape’s fault! Harry had been staunchly determined that even with all of the enforced time together, he would still continue with the Malfoy-hating, but the old hatred had just slipped away without him even realising it. Harry certainly didn’t like him, and definitely still disliked him, but every time he tried to conjure up the mindless loathing of before, it just wasn’t possible. He kept thinking of the evening games, and the slightly violent but fun football matches, and Draco’s tearstained face as he tore up that letter…

 

He knew too much about the Draco behind the mask of Malfoy, and it had changed the way Harry saw the other boy.

 

“For God’s sake,” Harry muttered, running his hands over his face. He wanted to take his mind off these new, complicated feelings. Harry needed a good distraction. As he looked up, he noticed a book, open on Snape’s coffee table. He walked closer, curious.

 

And then Harry saw the title. ‘CHILD NEGLECT’, written across the top of the page in bold, black letters. Harry flinched backwards, his mouth going dry. Snape was reading that stupid trauma book again, apparently.

 

The corner of the page was folded. This chapter hadn’t been dog-eared before.

 

But Snape had bought that book for Draco. It had been here before Harry had even arrived at Spinner’s End. This had nothing to do with him, right? So why was Snape suddenly reading about child neglect when he hadn’t been before?

 

  “They neglect that poor nephew of theirs terribly, don’t they?”

 

  “I didn’t realise you were experiencing medical neglect there…”

 

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

 

Harry stepped back, feeling slightly sick. The page hadn’t been dog-eared before, and now it was. He couldn’t stop thinking about that, and he definitely couldn’t rationalise this being about Draco… no, Snape was using this trauma book and reading about Harry. 

 

Something nasty squirmed in Harry’s stomach. Snape was doing something for his sake again. He thought Harry was neglected.

 

Harry’s general rule of thumb was to deny the facts, and do his best to push away any thoughts that what the Dursleys did was wrong, but after his conversation yesterday, he knew he couldn’t escape the reality of the situation. Not after finding out about that War Orphan’s Stipend. Harry found he just couldn’t get past that. The Dursleys had money, and they didn’t spend it on Harry. They could have, but they didn’t…

 

Harry had always thought that the neglect - if that was what this was, if that was the word Harry dared to use - hurt more than the punches and the slaps. It always had. The ill-fitting clothes, the untreated illnesses, the lack of food, the lack of kind words, of hugs. It was so stupid, why did Harry care about that?

 

  “Petunia doesn’t even touch him, have you noticed?”

 

Sometimes, Harry used to wonder if he had a disease, and that was why they wouldn’t come near him. When he was too young to understand that his relatives wanted nothing to do with him, and he’d try to hug his aunt and uncle like Dudley did, he’d always be shoved away and given a disgusted look. Harry hadn’t been able to understand why, and a part of him still didn’t understand. He’d try and try to be good, but nothing made them happy. They were always just so angry…

 

Why? Why wasn’t Harry good enough for them? Why wasn’t he worthy? Why, why, why -

 

“Harry?”

 

He jerked his head around. Snape was standing in the doorway, looking worried. “Are you alright?”

 

Harry nodded mechanically and shakily inhaled past the knot in his chest, which was terribly difficult to do. He felt a bit lightheaded. “Yep. Great. Fine, completely fine.”

 

Snape made an exasperated noise. “That question was more of a courtesy. Tell me what’s wrong. Draco again?”

 

“No, not that,” Harry said quickly. “He didn’t say anything rude to me, actually. He was just sort of ranting.”

 

“Yes, I caught the tail end of that.” Snape sat down in his usual chair, and Harry was suddenly struck by how utterly exhausted he looked.

 

“Are you alright?” Harry asked a little nervously.

 

Snape looked briefly stunned by the question. He let out a hoarse chuckle. “I’m managing, I suppose. So, what’s your issue, then, if not that incident with Draco?”

 

Harry’s eyes flicked to the book again, and he bit down on his cheek. Snape, who was annoyingly attuned to Harry’s body language, tracked where his eyes had darted. He stared at the open book, and his lips briefly thinned. “Ah. You noticed my reading.”

 

Harry stared at the floor. He didn’t know what to say, and his chest was hurting quite badly by now.

 

“There’s a lot about your background that I don’t yet understand, Harry, and I’m trying to expand my knowledge,” Snape explained. “You could read the book sometime, if you’d like? It’s quite insightful.”

 

“I can’t,” Harry said, feeling oddly panicked. “I can’t, no, I can’t -”

 

“No one is forcing you.” Snape said quickly, flicking his wand. The book flew back onto the shelf, out of sight. “Take a deep breath. It’s fine.”

 

“Right.” Harry tried to loosen the tightness behind his ribs with a shuddering breath, feeling furious with himself. This was so stupid. It was a bloody book! What was it about a book that was making him freak out? What was wrong with him?

 

“It gets easier,” Snape said softly. “All in due time, Harry.”

 

He nodded mutely. Harry had to trust that Snape was telling him the truth, because the prospect of always feeling this way was unbearable to contemplate. He knew he’d come quite far as it was, from that lonely boy in the cupboard to someone with friends and a place to escape Privet Drive, but there was still so much more Harry wished for. There were still so many things about the Dursleys affecting him which he wanted to be rid of, and he didn’t want to wait. Harry needed to know that it got better. He wished it could all be better now, actually…

 

“Would you like to do something?” Snape asked, disrupting Harry from the spiralling. “How does a game of chess sound? Perhaps today is the day you’ll finally beat me.”

 

“But what about Draco?” Harry asked, glancing towards the open living room door. “Don’t you need to go back up to him?”

 

“Draco will come down when he’s ready,” Snape said, summoning the chess board. “He wants to be alone right now.”

 

“Should he be?” Harry asked softly, staring at his shoes. Thoughts of Draco’s pained shouts were mixing together with the memories of his own horribly lonely childhood. The idea of leaving someone alone when they were that upset, even when that someone was his greatest rival, pained Harry a little.

 

“Draco needs time to process what has happened without feeling forced to put on a front of indifference,” Snape explained, setting out the chess pieces. “He needs a bit of time to himself. As desirable as it would be, these things can’t be fixed easily. It’s yet another thing which simply takes time.”

 

Harry nodded. “Right.”

 

“Onto the chess, then,” Snape announced. Several of his pieces saluted him. “Perhaps we should swap sets. Since I’ve been so thoroughly thrashing you, I’m a tad concerned your pieces are developing suicidal tendencies.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Harry grumbled. He glared at his chess set when they all tried to hurry over to Snape’s side of the board, and roughly shoved them back into position. “Stop it! I’ll have you all court marshalled for this!”

 

Snape raised his eyebrows. “I doubt your army could survive that drop in numbers.”

 

“Stop converting my pieces to your side!” Harry said, glaring at him. “I’m going to beat you this time, you know. I’m prepared.”

 

“Ah, Gryffindor optimism.” Snape smirked. “So fun to crush.”

 

Despite the insults being tossed, Harry couldn’t help but smile to himself as he moved the first pawn. He knew Snape was just trying to distract him, but it was working, so he certainly wasn’t going to complain. He focused hard on the chess game, and Snape’s rather eloquent jibes that accompanied their playing, until the tension in his chest eased and the book faded from his mind.

 

It was really quite nice to not be left to deal with his sadness alone now. Harry couldn’t put into words how much he appreciated that.

When Draco at last descended from his room, late in the evening, there was no evidence of his breakdown earlier that day. He’d washed the ink stains from his hands and had scrubbed the redness from his eyes, and his hair had been combed back into its usual, uniform style. The only difference in his behaviour was that he was more lofty and cold than usual, if that was even possible.

 

It failed to irritate Harry like it usually would, though. Draco was drawing the front of icy indifference around himself like a cloak, but beneath sat the smarting wounds of his friends’ betrayal, Harry knew. He knew because it reminded him a little of himself. Harry was quick to stoke the fires of his temper whenever the unpleasantness of the Dursleys flashed through his mind, because it was easier to cope with than giving into the sharp grief that was always swimming beneath the surface.

 

Harry didn’t want to think about how he was relating to Draco now.

 

Instead, he distracted himself with the usual evening Snape-enforced Monopoly game. Draco had once again begged for Snape to join them, and to Harry’s surprise, he had actually agreed for the first time. He settled on the ground opposite to Harry in a flurry of black robes, back rigid and hawk-like eyes narrowed as he observed the dice rolls and exchanges of money. At first, Harry was a little nervous with him there, but he gradually settled into the usual gameplay.

 

Harry had been planning to let Draco win the game, since he was having such a terrible day. Since Monopoly was partially luck-based, this mostly consisted of Harry agreeing to property deals that were far lower than what he usually would expect, but he thought it was the right thing to do and had been expecting Snape to do the same. To his shock, Snape played ruthlessly. He picked his properties thoughtfully, and took a great deal of vindictive pleasure in collecting rent and brokering utterly unfair property trade deals. Over an hour into the game, Harry was becoming incredibly frustrated by him.

 

“Come on, sir,” Harry said exasperatedly. “It’s an even trade! Fenchurch Street Station for Regent Street! Just accept it!”

 

“And allow you to obtain a monopoly so easily?” Snape’s eyebrows rose. “I think not. I’ll take nothing less than an additional five hundred.”

 

“That’s ridiculous!” Harry snapped. “You have three railroads, I’m giving you the fourth one! That’s such a good deal!”

 

“And I suppose the green properties are merely pocket change?” Snape smirked. “I’ll take nothing less than what I’ve offered.”

 

Harry groaned. “That’s basically all my money! I can’t give you that much!”

 

Snape thought for several moments. “I’ll drop the price to two hundred and fifty if you add in The Angel Islington.”

 

“I’m not giving you two properties and money!” Harry hissed. “Are you actually mad? No!”

 

“Then we don’t have a deal,” Snape said. “Very well. I believe it’s Draco’s roll?”

 

“Wait, wait, hold on!” Harry bit his lip and stared at the board. He really, really needed this monopoly. Snape only had one of the light blue properties, and it was only a cheap one…

 

“Fine,” Harry agreed reluctantly. “I agree.”

 

“Excellent,” Snape said, the sneer evident in his voice. Harry made sure to glare at him with as much vehement hatred as he could muster while he handed over the property cards. He didn’t even have the money for his houses after all that…

 

“He is completely ripping you off, Harry,” Draco announced after the money had been exchanged.

 

“You think I don’t know that?” Harry grumbled. He shoved the dice in Draco’s direction. “I hate you all. You’re evil people.”

 

“Oh, I love it when you lose,” Draco said with a delighted sigh. Harry scowled at him.

 

Draco’s glee was short-lived, as Snape proceeded to subject him to the same brutal property deals until his eventual victory. Harry, who hadn’t known that someone could be so good at Monopoly, made a mental note to never play against Snape again.

 

At least it seemed to make Draco happy, though. That pleased Harry, especially since later that night, he was fairly certain he could hear the muffled sounds of Draco crying into his pillow. He needed any small joys he could get.

 

Still, he decided to take after Snape and do two things: one, not acknowledge what had happened with Pansy and two, treat Draco as normal. Harry knew that if he was in the same situation, he wouldn’t want a fuss, and Draco certainly wouldn’t either. That meant playing their violent football knockoff with the usual vigour two days after the letter incident.

 

Usual vigour might have been a bit of an understatement, though. Despite the detached front Draco was putting on, he was clearly still angry about the whole situation with his friends. This, of course, manifested in an usually brutal match of their version of football, which was really turning out to be more like dodgeball with the way they were playing. Harry didn’t particularly mind, though. After all, he was more than capable of holding his own, and Draco did want to pretend like nothing had happened, so he had every right to punt the football at Draco as hard as he possibly could.

 

When Snape came to call them in for lunch, they were both rather worse for wear, caked in dirt and a fair bit of blood. The man’s face settled into a deep scowl as he took in their appearances.

 

"What on earth do you two think you're doing?" Snape hissed.

 

"Football," Harry said brightly, wiping away the blood under his nose. It had started bleeding a bit after a particularly hard kick of the ball to his face.

 

Snape glowered at him and got out his wand. He jabbed it at Harry, and after a brief, sharp sting, the blood dripping from his nose tapered off. "This is the second day running I have called the two of you in for lunch, only to discover you covered in filth and blood! I may not be an expert in sport, but I highly doubt whatever you're doing is proper!"

 

"We're Quidditch players at heart, Severus," Draco said innocently. "This is a rough sport, that’s all. We're fine!"

 

“Really,” Harry said with a vehement nod.

 

Snape stared between the two of them, lips white and thinly pressed together. He clearly knew they were up to something, but just couldn’t prove it. Harry couldn’t really understand what the problem was here. He and Draco had two years worth of pent-up hatred and rivalry that the football games were helping them channel. Snape had said he wanted them to get over it, after all…

 

Snape muttered something under his breath that sounded vaguely like 'idiotic teenagers' as Harry and Draco shuffled inside. He threw out an arm to stop them from walking any further than the bristly mat by the door.

 

“Do not trek mud through my kitchen!” he said severely. “Shoes off, now. Tergeo.” 

 

Harry and Draco both yelped in tandem as they were hit by twin Cleaning Charms. Harry’s skin felt rather tender and sensitive where the dirt had been cleaned, like he had been harshly scoured.

 

“Merlin’s beard, Severus!” Draco hissed, rubbing his arms and glaring around reproachfully. “Don’t put so much power behind that thing! You just took the entire top layer of my skin off!”

 

Snape sighed loudly and pointed to the kitchen table where their lunch was waiting without bothering to respond.

 

"You two are done with that football for now," he added as they sat down to eat. "I know you're up to something, and I don't like it."

 

"But Severus, we're both enjoying ourselves!" Draco protested.

 

“Do not argue with me," Snape said, glaring at Draco. "You will find something else to occupy your time."

 

Harry kept his eyes firmly fastened to his meal as all of this went down, feeling a little wary. As he reflected upon it further, he realised Snape had been in a completely rotten mood all day. He’d been snapping at both of them all morning for various minor incidents, including one hissed reprimand directed at Draco for breathing too loudly. Harry wasn't sure why Snape had suddenly decided to go back to being his usual, bastard self, but he wasn't particularly happy about it.

 

Lunch was rather silent after Snape’s football ban. Draco seemed irritated, while Harry was being careful so he wouldn’t set Snape off. While he felt reasonably assured by now that Snape wouldn’t do anything like Uncle Vernon when he was angry, Harry still wasn’t in the mood to get yelled at or dumped with a pile of dirty cauldrons.

 

Snape cleared his throat and examined them closely. “Perhaps it would be good for the two of you to get out of the house for a bit.”

 

Harry looked up, interested. Given Snape’s behaviour, he hadn’t expected much interaction between them and the irritable Potions Master that day…

 

“Where are we going?”

 

Snape hesitated for a moment, and Harry got the impression he was struggling with whatever he was about to say. “The park. There is a travelling steam fair company who have set up a number of rides and other attractions.”

 

Despite himself, Harry’s face lit up. There was a funfair company that visited Little Whinging in the summer, and Harry had never been allowed to go with the Dursleys! Even when he wandered over to the park to look around by himself, Harry didn’t have any money to spend. All he could do was look longingly at the rides and enviously watch the other children who had the funds to enjoy themselves. Dudley was almost always around, too, which was certainly not desirable, since he’d always start up an impromptu game of Harry Hunting if he caught sight of him.

 

But a funfair he could actually interact with, and a lack of vengeful cousins wandering around the place and looking for excuses to beat Harry up? It sounded idyllic.

 

Draco seemed far less enthused. He opened his mouth, as if to protest, before abruptly closing it again. Harry was fairly certain he’d just barely bitten back some sort of insult about Muggles.

 

“Now, I have some important business to attend to this afternoon,” Snape said, “so the two of you will be unaccompanied.”

 

Harry sharply jolted upright. Had Snape seriously just said that? Was he really giving them permission to go out, especially alone?

 

Wasn’t he really worried about Sirius Black, though? Why had Snape suddenly decided to relax his rules? Considering the horrid mood he was in, Harry would have expected a clamp down on rules and regulations, not a whole new amount of freedom that neither he or Draco had even asked for.

 

Harry just about restrained himself from asking any of these questions, too worried that Snape would change his mind if Harry pointed out any of the obvious flaws in this plan. He really did want to get out of the house, after all. Being locked up in Spinner’s End was very boring.

 

“That sounds amazing!” Harry said happily. “When can we leave?”

 

“After lunch, when Draco has changed into his Muggle clothes,” Snape said, raking his eyes over the green robes Draco was wearing, which were still quite muddy from his and Harry’s aggressive take on football. “And Draco, I will remind you to behave while in the presence of Muggles, or -”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine!” Draco rolled his eyes emphatically.

 

“Watch it,” Snape said sharply, his nostrils flaring. “Your abhorrent behaviour in the past has thoroughly stripped you of the right to brush off my reminders. If you violate the Statute of Secrecy while under my care, I will be truly furious, so you’d better be careful.”

 

He and Draco both scowled at each other, and Harry once again wondered what could possibly be going on with Snape. He had spent the whole of lunch wielding his knife and fork like they were weapons, not cutlery, and he was still clearly in a bad mood, judging by his snarling face. If he was so angry, why on earth was he actually encouraging Harry and Draco to get out of the house and do something fun? Snape in a bad mood was a happiness vacuum at best! Very weird…

 

Of course, it turned out Snape wasn’t by any means eager about the situation, even if he was letting them outside. As soon as Draco had changed into Muggle clothes, he began to fill them in on his long list of rules.

 

“As you are both aware, Black is still at large,” Snape said, lacing his fingers together. “As Harry is most likely a target for his violence, the two of you have to be inordinately cautious today.”

 

“How would Black even know he’s in Cokeworth?” Draco asked, gesturing to Harry.

 

Exactly, he thought grumpily to himself. The world really had gone topsy-turvy when he was thinking about how much sense Draco Malfoy was making…

 

“Black may have his ways,” Snape said sternly. “After all, he is an extraordinarily dangerous man. Therefore, the two of you will keep your wands on you the whole time. Harry will also be carrying this so you can escape in case of an emergency.”

 

Snape reached into his pocket and handed Harry a long, thin plastic tube filled with clear liquid. Harry frowned, and held it up to the light. “Is this… a glowstick? What on earth…?”

 

“It’s obviously a Portkey, Potter!” he said exasperatedly. “Use some sense!”

 

Harry stared at him, baffled. “A what?”

 

Draco whipped around to face Harry, his face the picture of incredulity. “A Portkey, you dolt!”

 

“I don’t know what that is!” Harry snapped.

 

He scoffed. “You’re having me on!”

 

“Draco!” Snape hissed. “Don’t be rude. I believe you’re aware that Harry’s relatives are Muggles? They do not have the ability to use Portkeys, so Harry may really have not been exposed to one before.”

 

“Right,” Draco mumbled, his cheeks colouring. Harry thought it was unwise to point out that Snape had been irritated at him for not realising it was a Portkey just moments earlier.

 

“A Portkey is an enchanted object that can be used to magically transport the person touching it to a secondary location,” Snape explained, his scowl easing. “Typically, wizards use rather mundane objects you would expect to see anywhere - things that could blend in with everyday litter, so Muggles don’t pay much attention to them. In this case, a glowstick is appropriate, since they’re sold at the fair. Snap it and it will transport you to a secondary safe location. Only use this if you fear your life is in danger, is that understood?”

 

Harry nodded, carefully placing the glowstick in his jacket pocket.

 

“And finally, the two of you are to stick together at all times,” Snape said, his tone extraordinarily stern. “I don’t want you arguing and running off, or disagreeing about what you want to do, or separating because you’re unsupervised. The consequences will be utterly dire if I found out you've left each others’ sides - and believe me, I will know.”

 

Harry nodded and ran his fingers across the runes carved into his tracking bracelet. He genuinely forgot it was there, sometimes, but at times like these, he remembered how Snape had such omniscient knowledge over his location.

 

“Here’s some money,” he said, handing Harry some notes. “Draco, Harry will help you with prices and payments. Ensure you ask. I’ll see both of you in a few hours - be back well before dark, and do not leave the park and go elsewhere.”

 

“Bye, Severus!” Draco said, getting to his feet. Harry followed him, and the two of them stepped out of the front door together. Harry couldn’t help his shiver of anticipation as he walked over the threshold and out of the driveway. Even though Snape had just given him permission, it still felt wrong to exit the property.

 

Snape still didn’t seem entirely happy about the situation, though. He watched after Harry and Draco as they walked down the road for a very long time, eyes dark with worry.

 

“I’m glad we’re shot of him,” Draco muttered when they were out of earshot and around the corner. “He’s been in a horrid mood all morning!”

 

“I know,” Harry said. “I’m pretty surprised he actually sent us out, actually. He doesn’t do that when he’s in a good mood!”

 

“Right - mass murderers are out for your blood.” Draco paused for a moment, then rounded on Harry. “Come on, Potter, tell me! Why is Black after you?”

 

Harry frowned. “How should I know?”

 

“Don’t try and push me off!” Draco complained. “Severus clearly thinks Black’s after you, and he wouldn’t get so panicked for no good reason! What does that madman want with you? Stop lying and just tell me already, it’s killing me!”

 

“I haven’t got any reason to lie, you know,” Harry said a bit irritably. “I don’t have a clue why everyone seems to think Black is interested in me, specifically. Snape told me that it’s because I’m the Boy-Who-Lived, and he’s not happy about me killing Voldemort -”

 

“Don’t say his name!” Draco snapped, putting his hands over his ears. His face had drained of all colour. “Are you mad? Do you have a death wish or something?!”

 

Harry rolled his eyes and didn’t respond. After two years of being friends with Ron, he was used to the strange panic of Purebloods when he said Voldemort’s name. As the man in question had tried to kill Harry multiple times in his thirteen years of life, he was not particularly concerned about upsetting Voldemort by saying his name. What was he going to do, try to kill Harry? He already wanted to anyway!

 

After a moment of glaring, Draco continued on. “That’s really it? Are you serious? Don’t you have people trying to kill you every other year for vanquishing the Dark Lord? What’s the issue with him specifically?”

 

“Good bloody question,” Harry grumbled. “But either way, Snape’s doing my head in with all the paranoia.”

 

“I wonder if there’s anything more he’s not telling you,” Draco said thoughtfully.

 

“Probably - this is Snape. But he’s certainly not telling me, whatever it is.”

 

Draco’s shoulders slumped. “He won’t tell me either, and believe me, I’ve been asking… I even eavesdropped on him and Professor McGonagall while they were talking about it a few weeks ago, but I got caught before I heard anything useful.”

 

“What did you hear?” Harry asked, curious.

 

“Nothing that made sense,” Draco grumbled. “Professor McGonagall said something about you being friends with Black, which was weird. Severus noticed me listening in right after and made me scrub the laboratory floor for listening in…”

 

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “But I’ve never met Black before! How could I be friends with him?”

 

“Beats me.” Draco shrugged. “I must have misheard, it was all muffled. Anyway, Severus was furious with me for eavesdropping, so I’m fairly sure he’s refusing to tell me about Sirius Black out of spite, now. It’s ridiculous! He’s related to me, after all, so if anyone has the right to know, it’s me…”

 

“He’s what?” Harry demanded, whirling around to face him.

 

“Did you not know?” Draco frowned. “I thought everybody did. Everyone of my status, at least, since we’re all taught the lineage. My mother was a Black before she married my father. Sirius is her cousin.”

 

“Did she ever tell you about him?” Harry asked eagerly. “You must know loads!”

 

“My mass-murdering cousin isn’t exactly breakfast conversation, so no, I don’t know much,” Draco said with a roll of his eyes. “Mother did say to me once that she was surprised he had it in him, though. They all thought Sirius was a blood traitor, since he’s the only Black to ever sort Gryffindor. He’s just as Dark as the rest of them, as it turns out…”

 

That surprised Harry a little. He supposed it was a bit ridiculous to assume that all of Voldemort’s followers were Slytherins, but it still shocked him to learn a Gryffindor had joined his ranks.

 

Draco seemed fascinated by other matters, though. He was staring at Harry, obviously surprised. “Did you really not know that I’m related to the Blacks?”

 

“I don’t particularly care about your ancestors, shockingly,” Harry said shortly.

 

“But I know all of yours,” Draco said with a frown. “My parents taught me the whole Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

 

Harry was half-certain if he told Draco he didn’t have a clue what the Sacred Twenty-Eight was, his head might explode, so he simply said, “I was raised by Muggles, remember? I don’t know much about any of that stuff.”

 

“Odd.” Draco stared at him for a long moment. “You’re distantly related to the Blacks too, you know.”

 

“I am?” Harry said curiously. The only relatives he knew of were on his mother’s side of the family, and even that knowledge was patchy since Aunt Petunia hated discussing her parents. His father’s ancestors were a complete blind spot.

 

“Yep,” Draco said with a nod. “Your great-grandmother was a Black. She and my great-grandmother were sisters, actually.”

 

“So we’re related?” Harry asked, feeling a small surge of disgust that he tried not to show on his face.

 

“We are - I think we’re third cousins?” Draco said, furrowing his eyebrows with concentration. “Most of us old pureblood families are related in some way, you know. That does include you, even if your own blood status is - well…”

 

“I can’t believe you learnt all of this stuff,” Harry said, shocked. If this wasn’t Draco, he’d have actually admitted how impressive that level of memorisation was. It rivalled even Hermione.

 

“Any good pureblood heir does.” Draco jutted his chin out slightly.

 

After a moment of hesitation, Harry asked, “So… would you know my grandparents’ names?”

 

“Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, I’m fairly certain.” Draco turned to him, obviously surprised. “How can you not know that?”

 

“My aunt didn’t know them,” Harry said, which wasn’t even a lie. Not that she'd have told him about his magical grandparents even if they had been intimately acquainted, of course…

 

Fleamont and Euphemia. Harry stored that precious nugget of information away in the back of his mind, smiling to himself a little.

 

Draco was looking at him like he was a puzzle piece that wasn’t quite clicking into place. “You know, I keep forgetting that you’re Muggle-raised. Since you’re Harry Potter and all… well. It’s baffling.”

 

“Look, we’re here,” Harry said quickly, gesturing to the park ahead of them, desperate to steer the topic away from his relatives.

 

It was an exciting thing to behold. Harry had walked past the park with Snape and Draco when they’d gone to Tesco on his second day here, and it had been a largely empty field containing nothing but a couple of tattered football nets, adjoined by a slightly depressing and neglected children’s playground. Now, the green had been covered with all sorts of funfair rides and food stalls. They were old-fashioned in style, and all were painted in metallic reds and golds. Harry smiled to himself at the Gryffindor colours - Draco was probably disgusted by the lack of green and silver.

 

Harry could spot a ferris wheel and a carousel amongst a number of small-scale rides that had been set up, as well as a few game stalls. Children were excitedly shouting and running around, while parents gathered in clumps at the corners and watched with smiles.

 

Draco, to Harry’s shock, looked utterly fascinated as opposed to the look of revulsion that Harry had been anticipating. Draco stared at the ferris wheel for several moments with his mouth hanging open slightly before he turned to Harry and hissed, “How do Muggles have ferris wheels? They don’t have magic!”

 

“They make them work with electricity,” Harry explained. He wondered where wizards stored their ferris wheels, since Draco seemed to actually know what they were. Maybe Harry could visit it sometime in the wizarding world.

 

Draco frowned. “You and Severus say that for everything!”

 

“That’s because Muggles use electricity for pretty much everything.”

 

“You’d think that someone would be able to tell me what it actually is, then,” Draco grumbled.

 

Harry shrugged. “I’m not an expert in science, so I’m really not sure. Anyway, do you want to try it out?”

 

Draco hesitantly stared up at the ferris wheel for several moments before his expression changed to a look of firm resolve. “You know what? I think I would like that. Let’s go!”

 

Harry grinned. He paid the attendant - Draco watched on with a puzzled frown as the man handed over their change - and the two of them joined the back of the queue. They were quickly loaded onto the ride.

 

It took some time for everyone to be loaded on, and eventually, Harry and Draco’s bench ended up at the top of the wheel while the people below were secured. Harry pointed out over the roofs stretching out before them to the horizon, where the abandoned factory was clearly visible. “Do you reckon we could see Snape’s house from here?”

 

“Possibly…”

 

It was rather windy at the top, and the carriage began to swing back and forth with a slight screech. Draco clung to the lap bar and stared at Harry with wide eyes. “Harry, er - this is safe, isn’t it?”

 

“I think so.”

 

“You think so?” Draco demanded, face going white. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Harry snorted. “Are you scared of heights or something?”

 

“I’m a Quidditch player!” Draco snapped. “Obviously not, you knobhead!”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry said quickly. “But yeah, it’s safe. They inspect these things all the time, I think.”

 

“Can these inspectors be trusted?” Draco demanded loftily.

 

“Yup. Muggles wouldn’t go on them if they couldn’t be.”

 

Draco continued to look vaguely sceptical, like he doubted the intellectual discretion of the other Muggles on the ride, but Harry noticed he just about managed to relax by the time the ride concluded. He still looked rather relieved to be free of the ferris wheel, though.

 

“What next?” Harry asked eagerly.

 

“No more of those just yet,” Draco said a tad faintly. Harry pulled a face, but remembering Snape’s instructions about sticking together, couldn’t do much about his refusal. It wasn’t too big of a problem, though; there were plenty of other things to do on the ground.

 

They both had a few goes on the high striker, where Harry was immensely irritated when Draco managed to hit the bell before he did. The other boy crowed about it incessantly and held it over Harry’s head until he threatened to take the hammer to Draco next. After, they took a trip through a funhouse full of oddly shaped mirrors on every wall that twisted and distorted their features, and Harry was vindicated when Draco smacked headfirst into his own reflection. He teased Draco all the way to the hook-a-duck, a game that ended up being largely unsuccessful when they hauled up the lowest possible point scores, so all they managed to win were two small lollipops. They finally ended up stalling near a claw machine, which Draco became very obsessed with.

 

“Draco, those things are rigged,” Harry said for the third time as the toy Draco was attempting to lift fell through the claw’s pincers once again. “Just give up already.”

 

“But I was so close that time!” Draco hissed, pressing his face close to the glass wall and squinting at the prizes below. “I just need a few more turns…”

 

“You’re going to spend all the money!” Harry complained.

 

“Half of it is mine,” Draco said, crossing his arms. “Come on, I’ll let you have the prize when I win it!”

 

“No.”

 

“Please, Harry, I don’t know what the coins mean! Give me a hand!”

 

“Only if you agree to let me teach you what the coins are,” Harry decided.

 

Draco huffed. “Fine.”

 

“It’s really not that difficult to figure out yourself, the numbers are literally on the pieces…”

 

A few painful minutes later (Harry grouchily thought Snape owed him a huge favour for suffering through teaching Draco the difference between a twenty pence coin and a fifty pence piece) the claw machine was loaded with coins, and Draco at last found luck. The claw held fast and dropped a prize.

 

“Finally!” Draco laughed as he bent down to retrieve his reward.

 

“You only had to bankrupt us for it,” Harry muttered, feeling around in his considerably lighter pockets.

 

“Have it, then,” Draco said with a shrug, pressing a keyring into Harry’s hand. “Why don’t we get some food? I’m starving…”

 

He began to walk in the direction of a stall selling fish and chips, but Harry remained frozen in place, the screams and shouts of the funfair dying into a dull drone around him.

 

In his palm was a small keyring of a stuffed monkey.

 

Suddenly, Harry was transported back to his five-year-old self, watching Aunt Petunia place a toy monkey far out of his reach while she scowled down at his crestfallen face. His chest hurt in the same way it had that day.

 

“I do wonder what they did with the War Orphan’s stipend…”

 

That stuffed monkey he’d wanted couldn’t have cost more than five pounds.

 

Someone grabbed the crook of his elbow, and Harry flinched rather violently. He jerked his head up from the keyring and saw Draco staring at him rather worriedly. “What’s your problem?”

 

“N-Nothing,” he stammered, shoving the monkey into his pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. The sting of the memory was harder to press down, though.

 

“Get a move on, then!” Draco said impatiently. “I don’t want Severus to storm over here and kill me for abandoning you to get blown up by Sirius Black. Come on…”

 

Harry followed him to a queue, where they each bought a styrofoam container full of steaming hot chips, drenched in salt and vinegar. They sat together on the grassy verge to eat, and watched the people milling about. After a few minutes, Harry glanced to the side and noticed Draco was staring at him with a slightly strained look on his face. He frowned. “What?”

 

Draco hesitated for several moments, and stared at the grass. “Pot - Harry. I…I know I have no right to ask you this, considering everything but - but please. Don’t tell anyone about my, er… my reaction to Pansy’s news the other day.”

 

Harry’s mouth fell open - not from the request, but from Draco’s tone. He sounded apologetic. He’d said please. Something about the desperation in his voice made Harry’s heart seize, and he quickly said, “I wasn’t going to.”

 

Draco gave him a dubious look, and Harry pressed on. “Look. While we’ve been with Snape, I think both of us have seen things about each other that we wouldn’t want people at Hogwarts to know.” The bruises. “Do you know about mutually assured destruction?”

 

“Of course,” Draco said loftily. “It’s the idea of attack deterrence because an attack on either side would result in the complete annihilation of all parties.”

 

“Well, it’s like that,” Harry said. “I won’t tell anyone about your personal stuff because you know too much about me that you could also tell everyone at school, and vice versa. Even if we don’t trust each other I think we can trust that we don’t want any of our personal stuff getting out.”

 

Draco looked visibly relieved at that statement. “Good point…”

 

“And for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have said anything anyway,” Harry added. “It would just be the wrong thing to do.”

 

Draco looked at him for a long stretch, and snorted. “You can be annoyingly decent, you know.”

 

“Care to reward my annoying decency with another go on a ride?” Harry asked, finishing his last chip and licking the salt off his fingers. “I want a go on the carousel.”

 

“I knew you had a Slytherin side buried somewhere,” Draco muttered, throwing their empty containers into a nearby bin.

 

“I nearly got sorted into Slytherin, you know,” Harry confessed as he started to walk over to the ride queue. Draco abruptly grabbed onto his arm and whirled him back around. His mouth was hanging open, and he seemed lost for words.

 

“You’re lying!” he shouted when he recovered his wits.

 

“It’s true!” Harry laughed, freeing his arm. “The Sorting Hat said I’d do well there, actually.”

 

“Why didn’t you get sorted into Slytherin, then?” Draco demanded.

 

“Er - dunno. Guess the hat just decided I’d do better in Gryffindor.”

 

Harry thought it probably wasn’t best to say he’d specifically requested anywhere but Slytherin, in large part because of Draco and his general prattishness.

 

“It was probably for the best,” Draco decided. “If we’d shared a common room and a dormitory, I think there’s a high chance we would have killed each other by now.”

 

“You’ve got that right,” Harry agreed, thinking of the tense atmosphere of the last few weeks. “Hurry up and get in the queue with me!”

 

“Fine, fine…”

 

Draco began to trail behind Harry as he headed straight for the carousel.

 

“Do me a favour, Harry,” Draco said.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Tell Severus you almost sorted Slytherin, and let me be there when you say it.” Draco smirked. “He’ll have a brain aneurysm.”

 

Harry chuckled. “I bet he would.”

 

“What is this thing you’re dragging me on, then?” Draco asked. He stared at the carousel, looking mildly alarmed. “Why have the Muggles stuck poles through horse corpses?”

 

Harry turned to him in horror. “They aren’t real!” 

 

“Really?”

 

“No way!” Harry said quickly. “It’s all mechanical, they’re made of metal! They move up and down and stuff, look. It’s more electricity.”

 

Draco watched closely as the carousel started. He looked utterly perplexed. “I just don’t get it. What’s the point?” 

 

“It’s just fun!” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “It doesn’t need to have a point! Just wait and see…”

 

---

 

“So?” Harry asked, as they stepped off the ride. “Any good?"

 

“It wasn’t an entirely worthless experience,” Draco admitted rather reluctantly. “It was sort of like riding a broom, but slower.”

 

“Will you try more of the rides, then?” Harry asked.

 

“I suppose,” Draco agreed. “If I’m being forced to live like a Muggle, I might as well partake in some of the more enjoyable activities, as well as the menial.”

 

Harry tried to hide his grin as they headed over to a faster-looking ride. Draco had just referred to something Muggle as enjoyable. Something about that was immensely satisfying.

 

“Are there no funfairs in the wizarding world, then?” Harry asked curiously.

 

Draco shook his head. “We have a couple of the same games and the ferris wheel, as I mentioned, but not much else."

 

Harry whistled. That was really quite strange to him.

 

“Well, let’s make the most of this one, then,” he decided.

 

Harry was also making up for a lot of lost time that night. Every single ride he went on felt like a great big middle finger to the stupid Dursleys, who would be irritated to know he was having any sort of fun. While Harry didn’t know how you were supposed to make up for the childhood you’d missed out on so long after the fact, at last getting to experience these things did help to ease a bit of the sting, strangely enough.

 

“So, what’s that pink stuff?” Draco asked, pointing at a young boy holding onto a stick of candyfloss.

 

“Candyfloss. Want some?"

 

“What is it?” Draco asked a little nervously.

 

“Just sugar, I think,” Harry said. He’d never actually had any himself, but Dudley seemed to enjoy it. “Let’s go buy some.”

 

Ten minutes later, a wide-eyed Draco was staring at the remains of his candyfloss in awe. “Now that is a Muggle thing I can get behind.”

 

“It is pretty good,” Harry remarked, smiling to himself.

 

“I can’t believe Honeydukes hasn’t patented this yet!” Draco said, clearly shocked. “It’s incredible! Can you buy this anywhere else? I have to ask Severus to get some!”

 

“He probably hates it, you know,” Harry said. “Miserable git that he is. He definitely won’t buy it.”

 

“I’ll wear him down,” Draco announced.

 

Harry sat back with a satisfied sigh, but his shoulders slumped slightly as he noticed the gradually pinkening sky. Snape had specifically ordered them to be back before dark, and sunset was drawing ever closer. And, shockingly enough, he’d just had a day out with Draco and had immensely enjoyed it.

 

A whole day with Draco, where he’d willingly interacted with the Muggle world with nary an insult. Harry was reluctantly coming to realise that maybe - just maybe - Snape was telling the truth when he said Draco was changing. Harry didn’t quite know what to do about it, or what to do about the fact that a Draco who was less focused on constantly degrading Muggles and Muggleborns was quite good fun. He had to keep reminding himself that Draco was also Malfoy, the nasty boy he knew from Hogwarts.

 

The two people were becoming more and more distinct in his mind.

 

Suddenly, Harry noticed an orange glow at the very edge of the fairground, where a small group of people had gathered.

 

“Hey, Draco, can you see that?” he said, pointing to the rising torrent of flames. “A bonfire! Let’s go have a look.”

 

Harry was almost halfway to the bonfire when he realised the sound of footsteps on the grass behind him had stopped. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Draco was frozen in place, the reflections of the firelight flickering in his wide grey eyes. He started to slowly take a few steps backwards before completely sprinting in the opposite direction.

 

Harry muttered an oath under his breath and started running after him, remembering Snape’s vaguely threatening instructions about sticking together. Draco was surprisingly fast, and it took him a good couple of minutes to catch up with the other boy when he finally stopped running and leaned heavily against a tree far away from the Muggles, gasping for breath.

 

“What are you doing?” Harry asked when he finally caught up. “Why did you -”

 

“Just go away, Potter!” Draco shouted.

 

Harry suddenly felt as though a heavy object had smacked into his chest. He stumbled back several steps before he lost his balance and fell to the ground with a thud. He grimaced and struggled to get his breath back, since the force of the impact had winded him a little, and gingerly lifted himself from the ground to try and see Draco. He had slid to the grass by now, although he was facing away from Harry and staring pointedly at the tree in front of him. His shoulders were heaving up and down with rapid breaths.

 

He hadn’t touched Harry, but that forceful shove had almost certainly originated from Draco. Harry wasn’t the only one struggling with occasional bouts of accidental magic, it seemed.

 

And as he got to his feet and started to slowly walk towards Draco, Harry realised Draco’s chest wasn’t heaving from the exertion of running. No, he seemed to be panicking. He was practically hyperventilating, actually.

 

Harry’s mind suddenly flashed back to a couple of weeks ago, when Draco had gotten into that explosive argument with Snape and started throwing things, or the shouting, crying breakdown he’d had just two days ago. After everything that had come out about the Dursleys, Harry often forgot he wasn’t the only one living at Spinner’s End who was grappling with some serious issues. No, Draco certainly had some significant problems of his own, even if Harry didn’t know the precise details of what they were…

 

So, he was rather hesitant and slow as he approached Draco, not quite sure what the right thing to do was. Harry intentionally took heavy footsteps so Draco knew he was approaching. The other boy didn’t look up, though.

 

“We can go back to Spinner’s End, if you’d like?” he suggested quietly.

 

“Fine,” Draco said in a tight voice. He got up from the ground and rubbed a hand across his face, intentionally not looking at Harry. “I’m sick of this Muggle nonsense, anyway.”

 

Somehow, the comment didn’t anger Harry like it usually would. Perhaps it was because of the hollowness behind Draco’s words, or the pinched, unhappy look of his face as he finally turned back to Harry. He knew Draco’s dignity mattered to him quite a lot, and certainly didn’t think it was right to start an argument with Draco when something was so clearly wrong with him, so Harry didn’t respond to the mean-spirited comment. They walked through the fairground in silence and emerged into the quiet streets beyond.

 

They were halfway to Spinner’s End when Draco suddenly wheeled around and glared at him. “Don’t you dare ask me about it.”

 

“I wasn’t going to,” Harry said with an intentionally casual shrug. “I’m not Snape, you know. I don’t have to drag every secret of your life out of you.”

 

“Good.”

 

Harry was, admittedly, dying with curiosity about the situation, but Draco had been very good about not asking prying questions when Harry had had his various minor freakouts over the last few weeks. He felt obligated to extend the same courtesy. It had been the bonfire that had triggered the incident, that Harry was certain of. Draco had been happy and laughing up until he’d seen that. It was like a switch had gone off.

 

But why?

 

Draco certainly didn’t want to provide him with answers. They walked back to Spinner’s End in perfect silence.

 

Snape opened the door to let them in just as Harry had raised his hand to knock. He had a strange knack for sensing when they were nearby. Either that, or he’d been stalking their location through Harry’s tracker. Snape raked his eyes up and down the two of them, before they gradually settled on Draco’s haggard face. He crooked a finger. “You. Come with me.”

 

Draco scowled. “I don’t need -”

 

“With me,” Snape said firmly. He reached out a hand, placed it on Draco’s shoulder, and steered him into the living room. As the door clicked shut, Harry decided to take himself upstairs. He shrugged his jacket off, sat back on the bed, and took the keychain out of his pocket. He squeezed it in the palm of his hand, the cool glass of the eyes pressing into his skin.

 

It wasn’t quite the one that Aunt Petunia had torn from his hands in the supermarket that day when he was five years old, but every time Harry looked at it, he felt a strange stirring sensation in his chest. Something about finally being given this object that had been so harshly ripped from him when he was young felt oddly meaningful.

 

Harry would never understand why that particular memory of the supermarket stung the way it did. The Dursleys had done much worse to him, after all…

 

It was quite a long time before someone came upstairs. It was Snape, alone, features devoid of emotion. By now, Harry had gotten quite good at recognising when his face was particularly blank, signifying that he was Occluding. Odd - Snape normally only started using Occlumency when Harry was frustrating him, or when he was discussing something about the Dursleys…

 

“Is Draco okay?” he asked

 

“Yes, but he wants to be alone,” Snape said. “Apart from that incident, did you two enjoy yourselves?”

 

“Yeah.” Harry smiled and glanced down at the keychain in his hand.

 

When he looked back up at Snape, the man's expression had completely shifted. Snape’s Occlumency had slipped, and the look on his face was one of deep pain, drawing his lips into a thin, unhappy frown. His eyes were downcast and oddly dull. When he noticed Harry watching, Snape shook the expression from his face so quickly Harry was half-certain he'd just been imagining it.

 

“Would you like to make dinner?” he asked.

 

“Er - we ate at the fair,” Harry said, nervousness rising up in him. Was that not allowed? Had he done something wrong?

 

“And filled up on sweets, I suppose,” Snape said, giving him a knowing look.

 

“They were selling chips at a stall and we ate there too, so…”

 

“If you find yourself hungry later, you are to help yourself to something in the kitchen, understood?”

 

Harry nodded, relieved it didn’t seem like he was in trouble.

 

Despite that, Snape was still looking at him really strangely. Even though his face was blank, there was something odd stirring under the surface as he watched Harry that he couldn’t quite put a finger on.

 

“Is everything alright, sir?”

 

Snape opened his mouth, then hesitated. That, more than anything, was incredibly peculiar. Snape was many things, but he was not a hesitant or doubtful person from what Harry had seen of him. Snape always knew what he wanted and what to say. This was completely and utterly out of character, and it set Harry’s teeth on edge.

 

In the end, Snape simply shook his head. “It’s nothing. I’ll be downstairs if you need something.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Snape stared at Harry for a very long moment, eyebrows knitted together, before he pulled the door closed. Harry frowned to himself, staring at the place where the man had been standing moments before. Despite what Snape was claiming, he knew something wasn’t quite right here. Anxiousness seemed to worm its way into Harry’s gut. Maybe it was all related to Draco, and the strange fit of panic he’d had earlier? That sort of made sense…

 

But Harry didn’t think that was quite right. No, Snape had been watching him. There was something going on. Harry just got the unshakeable feeling the man knew something he didn’t want to let onto quite yet.

 

---

 

A few hours later, Harry was woken from a sound sleep to someone shaking his shoulder. He blearily opened his eyes, only to jolt back when he saw Draco’s face mere inches from his own. Harry opened his mouth to shout out with alarm, but Draco clapped a hand over it.

 

“Shh!” he hissed. “You’re going to want to come with me - the Headmaster is downstairs right now, talking to Severus, and you can hear them from the landing. I think they’re having some kind of argument!”

 

Harry pushed himself up, snatched his glasses off the desk next to his bed and jammed them onto his face. “Really?”

 

“Yes,” Draco whispered, “and they’re talking about you. Come with me, now.”

Harry crept out of the bedroom with Draco, heart in his throat. He was suddenly very grateful that Snape was still forcing him and Draco to keep their door open at night so he could hear if they tried to kill each other in their sleep or whatever it was he thought was going to happen. It meant that the door’s hinges didn’t creak as they snuck through the open door and sat together on the top step of the staircase. Harry peered between the bannisters. The house was dark, but light was spilling through a crack in the living room door so a single golden beam slashed through the gloom, hitting the wall of the staircase right beneath Draco’s foot. He looked at Harry and slowly placed a finger over his lips before inclining his head in the direction of the living room door. Harry tried to quiet his breathing so he could make out the muffled voices of the people within.

 

“- shouldn’t have done it, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “You should have gone through me.”

 

“I didn’t have to, actually,” Snape said coolly. “Informing you is merely a formality. Minerva is the Head of Child Welfare and Safeguarding at Hogwarts, as you well know. I only needed her permission and support to investigate a child’s home life and potentially remove him from his guardians, and -”

 

“This was not just any child, and you know it,” Dumbledore interrupted. “This was Harry Potter.”

 

Harry stiffened. Draco sharply looked up at him, a question he couldn’t voice waiting in the contours of his frown.

 

“To me, Harry Potter is like any other child and deserves to be treated as such,” Snape said sharply. “His fame and legacy ought to make no difference when it comes to a situation like this.”

 

Dumbledore scoffed - an odd sound to hear the Headmaster make, Harry thought. “I did not realise you employed such a philosophy in regard to him, Severus. After all, you’ve spent the last two years treating him like the reincarnation of James Potter, haven’t you?”

 

“Don’t throw that in my face,” Snape growled. Harry could easily imagine the scowl that was almost certainly affixed to his features. “When I realised what that boy has been through, I recognised the errors of my ways and have been doing everything I can to make up for it. You would do well to recognise the error of yours! Still putting him with those awful people, even after Minerva warned you what they were like, that they were the most awful sort of Muggles, and you still left him there -”

 

“I knew they were not ideal people,” Dumbledore said, “but a flawed character does not automatically make someone a child abuser. You cannot truly expect me to have predicted their treatment of him!”

 

Harry tensed.

 

“You should have checked!” Snape shouted, his voice crisp and clear as it carried through the house. “Why, Albus, why didn’t you?!”

 

“Because Petunia expressly refused to have any kind of contact with wizards if she was to take the boy in,” Dumbledore said, his voice jarringly soft next to Snape’s bellows. “And it’s not as though I left him unattended, Arabella was there -”

 

“And she told you they didn’t get on, didn’t she?” Snape hissed. “Figg said as much to me earlier! You didn’t exactly do much after she wrote to you and said they were horrid to the boy!”

 

Harry’s jaw dropped. Mrs Figg, his cat-obsessed neighbour who babysat him, knew the Headmaster? And what did Snape mean he'd been talking to her?!

 

“Yes, Arabella told me they didn’t get on, but neither of us realised the extent of it!” Dumbledore said, the irritation clear in his voice. “And once again, Severus - I assumed he was unhappy. That was all I thought it was. Considering the importance of keeping him at Privet Drive for his safety, I had to overlook that so he would stay alive! Unhappy does not necessarily mean abused -”

 

“Oh, you wouldn’t know abuse if it hit you over the head with a Beater's bat,” Snape muttered. There was the faint creak and groan of floorboards - it sounded like he was pacing.

 

“That is a highly unfair accusation.”

 

“It’s not, since you decided to invite yourself into my house in the middle of the night, ready to lecture me about rightfully terminating their custody!”

 

“That is not my problem, Severus. My issue lies with you going behind my back,” Dumbledore said with the air of someone who was struggling mightily to maintain their patience. “My issue is with you single handedly destroying the blood wards that keep Harry safe from Lord Voldemort.”

 

Harry gripped the edge of the stair he was sitting on, feeling something in his stomach lurch. What did the Headmaster mean? Were those wards really gone? The ones linked to his blood protection? Why?

 

“You acted rashly, Severus,” Dumbledore said reproachfully. “Do you even realise what you’ve done? That was the one place he was truly safe during the summers, when he’s away from Hogwarts. Those wards were irreplaceable, and now that you’ve destroyed them, I cannot undo your damage.”

 

“My damage?” Snape said incredulously. “Petunia was perfectly happy to wash her hands of him when I asked her if she'd give him up! If these oh-so important blood wards were as strong as you imply, I shouldn’t have been able to destroy them with a few well-placed words! They wanted nothing to do with him, Albus! It was shocking!"

 

Harry pressed his lips together, his chest tightening. They wanted nothing to do with him. He knew the Dursleys hated him, though. It shouldn't still sting.

 

Moments later, the words Snape had said finally registered. When I asked her if she’d give him up. Harry’s blood ran cold. As far as Harry was aware, Snape hadn’t spoken to Harry’s aunt in over a decade. Why were the two of them suddenly talking?

 

Snape couldn’t have gone to Privet Drive, could he?

 

“If Lord Voldemort regains his powers, you’ve as good as killed that boy,” Dumbledore said coldly. “No amount of warding can replicate Lily’s protections.”

 

“My warding can still do a damn good job,” Snape growled. “I know spells, Dark spells, and I am more than willing to use them for Harry’s sake if I must. That’s why you entrusted him to me for this time period, as you’ll recall? Because of my aptitude for Defence Against the Dark Arts? I am able to keep the boy safe in a way no one else can, in a way that might parallel Lily’s blood sacrifice.”

 

“Are you forgetting that this is the same boy I had to argue with you for hours about when I was convincing you to take him in for less than a month?” Dumbledore said sceptically. “I highly doubt you’re willing to house James Potter’s son every summer until he reaches his majority…”

 

“I am willing to house Harry.” Snape paused for a moment. “You do not need to worry about the warding being broken. You know perfectly well I can keep him safe and I will do it, Albus. I will protect that child with my life if I have to. You remember my oath."

 

Harry was reeling. Was this really what it sounded like? Snape was willing to - to take him in? What did that even mean? Still, Harry shook himself and pushed the questions to one side for now. He had to keep listening.

 

"I believe you're incapable of safely guarding him if you're letting your emotions blind you to the important things."

 

"You didn't see the things I did, Albus," Snape said, his voice terse and shaky. "You know I am capable of Occluding my emotions to the Dark Lord himself, but what those people did to him, what I saw -"

 

"Ah, yes, the things you saw when you Legilimised a pair of Muggles, correct?" Dumbledore interrupted. “Without permission or consent?”

 

Harry felt like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. Suddenly, the confusing pieces of the conversation all fell into place.

 

Snape had gone to Surrey. He’d spoken to Mrs Figg, he’d spoken to the Dursleys, and he’d Legilimised them? What had he seen in their minds? Dudley’s bullying, his uncle hitting him, the starvation, the horrid comments, the cupboard? Harry thought he might actually be sick when he thought about Snape seeing that. This was a nightmare. This was hell.

 

Draco suddenly grabbed onto Harry's wrist and held his other hand in the air in a placating gesture. Calm down, he mouthed. Harry suddenly realised he was dangerously close to losing control of his magic and took a few deep, shaky breaths, biting down on the flesh of his cheek until the copper tang of blood flooded his mouth. This was the best information he'd gotten in weeks, and he couldn't screw it up now by having some sort of breakdown.

 

Snape was still speaking, and Harry did his best to tune back in. "- subsection 13J strictly stated that I can legally use Legilimency upon the parents or guardians of a child enduring suspected abuse."

 

"They're Muggles who were defenceless against mental attacks."

 

"Defenceless? Harry was defenceless!" Snape roared. Harry couldn't help but flinch back, even though the shouting was far away. "I saw everything they did to him, Albus, when he was far too young to protect himself! They hit him, berated him, neglected him. They locked him in a cupboard for ten years of his life, all with two perfectly serviceable and unoccupied bedrooms in their house! Don't you dare call those disgusting people defenceless, or I will hex you right where you stand."

 

Harry felt very ill by now. He had pins and needles in his hands and did his best to gasp past the rock that had lodged itself in his chest. So Snape definitely knew about the cupboard then. That, for some reason, was just too awful for Harry to bear. He felt like he could float out of his body at any moment, and the only thing tethering him in place was Draco's hand, still tightly clutching Harry's wrist.

 

Oh God. Draco. Harry whipped his head to the side and saw the other boy watching him with an expression of unmitigated horror. His silver eyes had gone wide, trained on Harry’s face.

 

Draco knew now, too.

 

Harry yanked his hand away and wrapped his arms around his knees, drawing them close to his chest. He buried his face in his arms, trying to make himself as small as possible. He felt Draco tapping him on the shoulder, but couldn’t look up. Dumbledore and Snape’s words continued to wash over him, even as Harry now found himself wishing he’d never overheard any of this at all.

 

"Albus, it is a miracle the boy is not an Obscurial," Snape growled. "The things they did to his magic…they punished him for his accidental magic, did I mention that? I didn't need to Legilimise those disgusting excuses for humans to discover that. The boy has a panic attack any time he exhibits harmless accidental magic. Do you know why? Because as a child, when he did the same thing all wizarding children do when he was scared or angry, they would lock him up and starve him. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

 

"If you think I am not utterly ashamed of myself, you have severely misjudged the situation," the Headmaster said heavily. “Do you think I wanted things to turn out this way, Severus? Do you think it brings me pleasure to discover all of this? I am just as disgusted as you are to learn this information. I had hoped Petunia would treat him like a second son, and I am bitterly disappointed!”

 

Dumbledore sounded angrier than Harry had ever heard him. He was normally so calm and serene, and the terrible edge to his voice made Harry shiver. It had also seemingly cowed Snape, and silence fell in the living room. Harry still didn't look up. He kept his face buried in his knees and clenched his hair in his fists so it tugged painfully at his scalp.

 

It was quite a while before someone spoke again. Dumbledore broke the silence. "Even if the wards were replaceable, I… I would not place him back there now, Severus. Not knowing what you've informed me. I simply wish you'd given me a little bit of time to work out a proper plan before destroying those wards. I don’t appreciate you going behind my back."

 

"I saw no alternative," Snape said. His voice sounded rather hollow. "We will never agree on how I handled this matter, Headmaster, so I think it best we simply drop it and look to the future to make these plans you speak of. You'll appreciate I intentionally did not inform the Ministry of this matter?"

 

"Indeed," Dumbledore said wearily. "And are you certain Vernon and Petunia will not mention relinquishing their rights to any questioning officials?"

 

"I believe I was rather…persuasive," Snape said eventually. "We'll face no trouble with them. At any rate, I doubt they would ever speak to a witch or wizard who showed up asking questions. Minerva and myself practically had to force our way in.”

 

Dumbledore sighed heavily and didn’t respond.

 

“Now, there is simply the matter of deciding Harry's future living arrangements."

 

"Indeed." Dumbledore made a slight humming noise. "And you're truly willing to take that on?"

 

"I believe I said as much earlier."

 

“But what if Lord Voldemort regains his powers?” Dumbledore queried. “Your role…”

 

“This, I think, is equally important.”

 

“True, true,” Dumbledore conceded. “Severus, I must admit I am confused. Your relationship with Harry is not exactly, ah… a close one, let’s say. Why are you suddenly so willing to look after him? I'd expect you to put up far more of a fight, not egg me on!”

 

“Things change,” Snape said shortly.

 

Dumbledore made a thoughtful sound, and Harry imagined him examining Snape over the tops of his half-moon spectacles.  “You’ve come to care for the boy, haven’t you Severus?”

 

“I think the answer to your question is rather obvious,” Snape said quietly. Harry felt a strange twinge in his chest. That almost sounded like a yes…

 

But it wasn’t.

 

“Well, I remember the promise you made me,” Dumbledore said softly. “I don’t doubt you would protect him with your life, if it came down to it.”

 

“Indeed I would.”

 

"And I want Minerva to regularly check in with Harry to make sure things are going smoothly if this is how we are going to go about things," Dumbledore said in a rather stern voice. "I am aware of the previous nature of your relationship, and if she even so much as suspects you're abusing your power over him -"

 

"Things between us have changed for good,” Snape interrupted. “That is really quite unnecessary."

 

"You've spent a quarter of an hour berating me for not doing my job properly for the last twelve years, so forgive me for wanting to do right by the boy for once."

 

"I won't fault you that, then, but let me assure you it will be an unnecessary precaution," Snape said.

 

"That is what I'm hoping." Dumbledore sighed again, a mournful sound. “Well…I suppose this is the most logical option. It’s rather late, so I shan’t stay and disrupt your night further, but we can iron out more of the details over the coming weeks, I suppose?”

 

“Yes, we can.”

 

"Severus…" Dumbledore sounded hesitant. "Do pass on my apologies to Harry for my part in what he has endured. I should have taken a closer look at precisely why he was so unhappy at Privet Drive instead of dismissing it. I have failed him."

 

"We've all failed him." Snape exhaled loudly.

 

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, so quietly that Harry had to strain his ears to hear. "I simply hope we can make up for it now."

 

"I am going to do my best, mark my words."

 

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said. Harry heard a shuffling noise. "I will not impose on you any longer. We shall speak soon."

 

"Goodnight, Headmaster." Harry heard the roaring sound that indicated the use of the Floo network. Dumbledore was gone.

 

Someone tugged aggressively on the sleeve of Harry's top. He finally looked up and saw Draco staring at him, wide-eyed, and pointing frantically in the direction of their room. Harry nodded numbly, got to his feet, and followed the other boy away from the landing. It was just in time, too; the golden beam of light started to grow wider as the living room door was opened, chasing their skittering feet. Harry and Draco both dove into their beds. Harry shut his eyes and pretended to be sleeping as Snape's footsteps made the ancient staircase groan. He was shaking terribly beneath the covers, and still felt like he could be sick at any moment.

 

The shuffle of Snape’s footsteps halted as he arrived upstairs, right in the doorway of their bedroom. Harry could hear the level sound of his breathing for a few moments before Snape quietly spoke. "I know both of you are awake, and that you both presumably listened to that conversation. I heard your footsteps as I came upstairs, and Harry, you're still wearing your glasses."

 

Harry winced.

 

"Both of you get up and come downstairs," Snape ordered. "We ought to discuss what you overheard…"

 

For once, Harry wasn't annoyed by the prospect of a chat with Snape. He had a lot of questions of his own, that much was certain.

 

As Harry stood up, he had to tightly grab onto the desk to steady himself as there was a strange rushing sensation in his ears. Once he regained his wits, he walked out of the room after Draco and realised Snape had watched this all unfold, his shadowed face frowning. He followed closely behind Harry as he walked down the stairs, like he was prepared to snatch him from the air if he lost his balance again.

 

It was the first time that Harry had seen Snape out of his typical black robes, or the very formal clothing he wore into the Muggle world. Dumbledore had obviously caught him by surprise, since Snape was instead wearing a dark green dressing gown over pyjamas. Well, it was late. As Harry and Draco sat down in the living room, he glanced up to the clock on the mantelpiece and realised it was half-past two.

 

"Draco, I am extraordinarily annoyed with you," Snape said tightly. "This is not the first time I have caught you listening in on things that are none of your business, and you know I do not care for it."

 

"Wasn't like you were trying to keep your voice down," Draco muttered.

 

"The majority of our conversation would have been inaudible if you had simply stayed put!" Snape said irritably. "It was none of your business, and you shouldn't have listened. And Harry." He turned to face him, face stern. "While we have not had an in-depth conversation about eavesdropping, I am certain you know it is something that would displease me?"

 

A hot wave of anger surged through Harry. "I don't care! It wasn't eavesdropping because you were talking about me, you prick!"

 

Suddenly, something on the mantelpiece shattered. Harry froze in place, his heart immediately speeding up. Snape slowly got out his wand and pointed it at the porcelain ornament which had split clean in two. "Reparo. Do you require a Calming Draught, Harry?"

 

"No," he said roughly. "I'm… I'm fine."

 

"If you begin to grow too upset, I will insist," Snape warned.

 

"I said I'm fine!" Harry hissed. "I'm just - well, obviously I'm a bit on edge, since you went and Legilimised my fucking relatives! How could you?!"

 

"If you continue to swear at me, I will count that as you growing too upset to continue," Snape said quietly. Harry bit down on his lip, struggling not to let loose another string of expletives. He was extraordinarily angry at that moment, and Snape’s unflappable calm was making him even more annoyed. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm down the loud pulsing in his ears.

 

“Yes, I used Legilimency upon the Dursleys,” Snape said. “It was not to be intentionally cruel, Harry. It was so I could determine precisely what had been done to you when Professor McGonagall and myself visited Privet Drive to finalise your removal from their custody. It was perfectly legal, you know.”

 

“That doesn’t matter!” Harry said loudly. “I didn’t want you to know all of it, Snape, it’s embarrassing!”

 

“There are many words I would use to describe what the Dursleys did to you, but embarrassing is not one of them.”

 

“Well it should be!” Harry shouted, his voice cracking. “You don’t understand!”

 

“Harry, it’s really not,” Draco said quietly.

 

“And you!” he whipped around to face Draco, who was looking rather concerned. “I didn’t want you knowing any of that, and now you do!”

 

“What are you annoyed at me for?” Draco demanded. “I’ve not done anything! I woke you up as soon as I realised they were talking about you and everything!”

 

“I’m annoyed because you’re going to tell everyone!” Harry shouted.

 

“No I’m not, you nitwit!” Draco hissed. “What kind of person do you think I am? I’m not going to tell people you live with abusive Muggles!”

 

Harry huffed. “Oh, sure, you’re saying that now, but the moment I do something you don’t like you’re going to spread it across the whole school, make fun of me again like you always do about my dead parents -”

 

“Oh, just shut up, Potter!” Draco shouted, jumping to his feet. “I’m not like that anymore, and if you think for a minute I’d tell people about that stuff you’re even more of a stupid little -”

 

“Gentlemen!” Snape bellowed. He got to his feet and placed himself in between Harry and Draco, his nostrils flaring. “Draco. This is hard enough for him without you making things worse. If you cannot pull yourself together, leave.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Draco muttered, sitting back down.

 

“And you,” Snape said, turning back to Harry. “Take a deep breath and calm yourself down before I have to intervene. I want to explain what has happened tonight, and things will go a lot more smoothly if you stop shouting at everyone.”

 

Harry nodded and drew his knees close to his chest, which felt like it was being crushed by an iron press. Breathing was hard, and his heart was a stuttering drumbeat in his chest.

 

“And if it helps you feel any better, if you are not assured of Draco’s sincerity, if he even so much as breathes a word about the Dursleys to anyone at Hogwarts, I will personally make sure he lives to regret it for the rest of his sorry life.” Snape shot a withering glare at Draco, who shrank back slightly.

 

“I’m really not going to tell anyone,” he said again, voice soft and uncertain.

 

“I’ll believe that when I see it, Malfoy,” Harry muttered, glaring at the other boy.

 

“Draco,” Snape corrected him sharply. “My rules still stand - no more last names. Now, would you like for me to explain what you overheard?”

 

“Yeah.” Harry rubbed his arms to try and press away the goosebumps and looked up at Snape. “I… I really don’t have to go back?”

 

“Never.”

 

Harry nodded jerkily, an odd lump in his throat. He felt a burning behind his eyes and tried to hide his face. Harry would not cry in front of Draco. Absolutely not.

 

“And - and I’m living with you, then?” he whispered.

 

“Yes,” Snape said. “And I don’t want a fuss about staying with Weasley or Granger. I know you may dislike me, but the Headmaster only wants someone who is sufficiently magically capable, and I am the only one who meets these requirements, so -”

 

“I wasn’t going to complain.”

 

“Oh.” Snape stopped speaking, and seemed to deflate slightly. He looked surprised. “Well, I’m glad you’re able to see things that way.”

 

Harry nodded, and leaned his head against the side of the sofa, feeling too weary to hold it up on his own. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about living with Snape, in all honesty, but he at least knew it was certainly a far sight better than staying with the Dursleys. Unless Snape reverted back to the way he usually acted, that was…

 

“Now, you may have picked up on the fact that this arrangement is… quite hushed up,” Snape said hesitantly. “Your fame and status complicates matters. If you were removed from the Dursleys’ custody through the mainstream government channels, the Ministry for Magic might try to take over your custody. I’m sure you can imagine the undesirable implications of such a situation…”

 

“Yeah.” Harry shivered. He had a sudden vision of himself sitting on a stage in front of a hundred witches and wizards, all bidding for his custody like eager buyers at an auction.

 

“The Dursleys agreed to sign away their guardianship rights to me in exchange for our silence in regard to their treatment of you.” Snape’s lip curled into a sneer. “There is no statute of limitations on their crimes, however, so if you wished to have them prosecuted, your opportunity has not passed you by. You simply need to wait until you’re of age and out of the Ministry’s potential reach.”

 

“Prosecute?” Harry said numbly. His ears were ringing again. “Like - like they could actually get in trouble?”

 

“A topic for a different day, I believe,” Snape said quickly, “but yes. For now, I must impress upon you - both of you - how important it is to keep my guardianship of Harry quiet. The Headmaster has some tricks up his sleeve in case this little arrangement becomes public knowledge, but things will be significantly simpler if the two of you do not mention this custodial situation to anyone.”

 

“Who am I even going to tell?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you forgetting about how everyone hates me now?”

 

Harry turned back to Snape, alarmed. “Er - sir. I…I already sent letters to Ron and Hermione and told them I was staying here with you. I’m really sorry, I -”

 

Harry stopped speaking as Snape held up a hand and pursed his lips. “I suppose that’s…acceptable. They’re capable of keeping a secret?”

 

“Oh, yeah, definitely.”

 

“It’s fine for them to know, then. They are your closest friends, after all. I simply request you keep the matter quiet from any of your other…Gryffindor compatriots.” Snape’s lip curled up ever so slightly.

 

“I won’t tell them,” Harry promised.

 

“And Draco?”

 

“Don’t have anyone to tell,” he said again with a shrug.

 

“Good. Ensure the two of you keep it that way,” Snape said. “Now Draco, tomorrow morning, you will be doing lines as punishment for eavesdropping.”

 

Draco scowled. “But Severus -”

 

“Don’t,” Snape said sharply. “Harry, consider this a final warning. Do not listen in on my private conversations again.”

 

“Or what?” Harry muttered. “You’ll hide the fact you prodded around in my private business?”

 

Snape sighed very loudly. “As a matter of fact, I was going to tell you everything tomorrow morning. Don’t accuse me of lying,” he said sharply as Harry opened his mouth to protest. “I was going to tell you everything in regard to your circumstances. I simply needed to consult with the Headmaster first to properly confirm where you were going to be living after I destroyed those blood wards. I wasn’t entirely certain he wouldn’t dispute my newly-acquired guardianship of you once he found out what I did. I didn’t want to throw your entire life into chaos without telling you how things would end up.”

 

“Sorry, but what exactly are these blood wards everyone’s going on about?” Draco asked irritably, crossing his arms.

 

Snape hesitated for a moment. “This is once again completely confidential, Draco, and I am only telling you this because I think you are more likely to respect my need for silence with more information.” Draco nodded and leaned forwards slightly as Snape continued. “When Lily - when Harry’s mother died for him, a powerful, protective blood magic empowered by her love for him came into being. This is what allowed Harry to deflect the Killing Curse when the Dark Lord tried to kill him all those years ago, and it continues to protect him to this day. The Dark Lord cannot touch Harry without experiencing incredible pain and potential death.”

 

Draco’s face lit up with fascination. “That kind of magic is incredible! Especially when you consider that she was - well, nevermind. But Severus, you broke it?”

 

“Not entirely,” Snape said, raising one hand to his chin. “The Headmaster cast some spells, and he believes there is still a degree of this protection in Harry’s blood despite the removal of the wards at Privet Drive. It is now dormant, though. We don’t know what would happen if Harry came into contact with the Dark Lord.”

 

“Why would you destroy these wards if they were so important?” Draco asked bemusedly.

 

“It was, in all honesty, quite accidental,” Snape said with a grimace. “It was never my intention to destroy the wards when I arrived in Surrey. See, they rely on Harry considering Privet Drive his home, and require Harry’s aunt to be willing to provide him a place to stay. Petunia and myself had, ah… an exchange, shall we say, and it undid the protections on her house before I realised what was happening. Harry… well, he never had a close relationship with his aunt.”

 

“She hates me,” Harry chimed in helpfully.

 

Draco looked rather like he was sucking on a lemon. “I mean - but you’re family! Surely she doesn’t hate you -”

 

“Oh, yes she does,” Harry said darkly. “You overheard everything about my life with them, didn’t you? But trust me, the feeling’s mutual.”

 

“Due to this strained relationship, it was very easy for these wards to be destroyed, far easier than I expected,” Snape said. “But I believe it was worth it. There is no point in trying to protect someone from external dangers when they are just at risk from the dangers within.”

 

Harry cringed. By now, Draco looked utterly appalled as the pieces began to come together. “So those bruises… they were from - Harry, I - I had no idea it was -”

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, glowering at Draco. “I don’t want your pity, so don’t you dare start -”

 

“Alright, alright! I just - I won’t tell anyone, okay?” Draco said in a small voice, shuffling in his seat. “I know you don’t believe me, but - I just really won’t. I promise.”

 

“Draco, why don’t you go back upstairs?” Snape suggested. “I need to speak to Harry alone, and it is extraordinarily late.”

 

“Er - alright, then.” Draco got to his feet and headed towards the door. He stopped just short of leaving and turned around to stare at Harry, expression pained and shocked. It was too unbearable for Harry to look at his face for too long so he stared at the floor instead, and refused to look up until Draco’s footsteps restarted.

 

As he began walking upstairs, Snape got to his feet and firmly shut the living room door. “That should take care of that. I apologise, Harry. I would have taken more precautions against prying, but the Headmaster admittedly caught me by surprise, and I had a lot on my mind.”

 

“Well, it wouldn’t have been a problem if we weren’t listening in,” Harry reluctantly admitted.

 

“Indeed,” Snape said, “although I do appreciate that Draco was the ringleader in the situation.”

 

“He probably was going to find out eventually.” Harry pulled a face. “Since we’re… living together now.”

 

“Do you now see why I am so insistent on the two of you trying to get on?” Snape asked, sitting back down and propping his elbows on his knees. “You have a fair few summers ahead of you, which you’ll be spending together. They will be far more bearable if the two of you simply drop this animosity.”

 

“I mean…he’s not that terrible,” Harry said reluctantly. “When we do football and Monopoly and stuff, I don’t mind him that much. It’s just the other stuff I have a problem with, you know?”

 

“Of course.” Snape nodded. “I am doing my utmost to make him change that.”

 

“I know.” Harry buried his face in his hands and groaned. “I wish he didn’t know. Oh my God…”

 

“He will behave with appropriate discretion, of that I can guarantee you.”

 

“But I still wish none of it happened,” Harry said miserably. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

 

“Unfortunately, Harry, you must simply accept that this is the reality of your situation.”

 

He stayed silent, face hidden. Malfoy, knowing about the Dursleys? It made Harry’s skin crawl. He’d only known a little about them before, and that had been enough for particularly hurtful comments in his verbal arsenal.

 

  “Those filthy Muggles you call a family threw you out, didn’t they, Potter?!” 

 

  “I do feel so sorry for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they’re not wanted at home…”

 

Harry grimaced.

 

“He may be able to understand more than you’d think,” Snape ventured.

 

He scoffed. “How could he possibly understand? His parents adore him. He can’t get it.”

 

“A parent can love a child, but that doesn’t always stop them from hurting their child,” Snape said softly. “And the Malfoys have hurt Draco, even though they care for him. For instance, the circumstances of their arrest were… traumatic for him, to say the least. And would you not agree that being raised in an environment that promotes the bigotry he believes is unhealthy, even if he doesn’t realise it?”

 

“I guess,” Harry said slowly. He supposed that Snape had a point there - the Malfoys had taught Draco terrible things, even though they loved him, and that had to do some damage.

 

He supposed it was a bit like Dudley’s relationship with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. They gave Dudley everything that he wanted and let him get away with murder so he’d turned into a spoiled bully. Even though they loved him, they were still hurting him.

 

“It reminds me of my cousin and Uncle Vernon,” Harry decided to confess, finally looking up. “I never looked up to Uncle Vernon because he’s… well, him, but I know Dudley does because they actually like each other, even though Uncle Vernon’s really not an ideal role model. It’s sort of the same with Draco and his father, isn’t it? And all of his family seems to be in Azkaban for something - he was telling me how he’s related to Sirius Black earlier. Does he have anyone to look up to in his family who isn’t in prison for some sort of terrible crime?”

 

“Draco’s aunt, Andromeda Tonks, is his only close relative who isn’t incarcerated or dead,” Snape said heavily.

 

Harry exhaled loudly. “Wow.”

 

“You two have a lot more similarities than you’d think when it comes to these matters,” Snape said. “Simply give him a chance, and he may be far more understanding about your family situation than you might expect.”

 

He shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

 

Snape didn’t respond, and Harry sunk back into the sofa cushions, feeling rather weighed down. He was still struggling to grapple with the fact that he was going to be living here, with Snape and Draco, and that was just it. No more Dursleys. He couldn’t actually believe this was happening. He’d just sort of assumed that Snape was going to get him away from them and then wash his hands of Harry.

 

But now Harry was living with him. What did that even mean? How would it all work?

 

“Sir…I’m confused.”

 

Snape inclined his head, and Harry ploughed on. “Look. You - you have to put up with me just because Dumbledore stuck you with me originally, okay? I know you hate me, and you shouldn’t get forced into living with me just because there isn’t anyone else around who might. I’m not your problem.”

 

Snape made a slightly strangled noise. “Harry, let me make one thing crystal clear. I do not hate you. Not anymore. Far from it, in fact.” He got up from his armchair and moved across the room so he was sitting next to Harry on the sofa. “I am not being forced into this in any way, shape or form. The Headmaster may be one extraordinarily powerful wizard, but he could not compel me to do this if I did not want to. In fact, as I presume you overheard, I had to quite vociferously argue him into the arrangement.”

 

“I just - I have so many problems, and I don’t think that you should have to deal with it -”

 

“Harry. Look at me.” Harry slowly raised his head and looked into Snape’s eyes. They were blazing with a fierce conviction. “I have seen everything the Dursleys did to you, and that does not change a thing. You can and will live with me, and I am going to help you through this. I give you my word.”

 

Harry looked away, the lump in his throat practically choking him, and tried to blink back the tears that had welled in his eyes. He didn’t want Snape to see them.

 

“I hope one day you will learn to trust me.”

 

Harry tensed. “I - I don’t not trust you -”

 

“Don’t lie to me. You don’t trust me…” Snape sighed, his shoulders slumping. “You never mentioned the cupboard, after all.”

 

Harry dug his nails into his palms. “That - I don’t talk about that to anyone. Not even Ron and Hermione, and they already know some of it. You - don’t you understand it’s difficult?”

 

There was a long silence. After a moment, Harry chanced a look at Snape’s face and noticed some of the pain on his features slowly fade into nothingness, to be replaced with the blank, slack expression of Occlumency.

 

“You’re right,” Snape said finally. “It is difficult. But you need to try and talk about it, for your sake. If not with me, then with Professor McGonagall, or one of your friends. Just someone.”

 

“I…I will try,” Harry said. “It just might take some time.”

 

“These things often do.”

 

“Um…the cupboard was why I said the stuff I did about Professor McGonagall not caring the other day,” Harry mumbled. “My Hogwarts letter was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs. Since she signed it and all, I sort of assumed she knew.”

 

Snape tutted. “Harry, Minerva does not individually address those letters. She has a spell that does it for her.”

 

“Oh.” Harry pressed his lips together, suddenly filled with extraordinarily powerful guilt. He shouldn’t have assumed that about Professor McGonagall, he supposed. Harry still forgot how much witches and wizards relied on magic.

 

“This is why it can be helpful to talk about these things, you realise,” Snape said, tapping a finger against his leg. “You can dispel misconceptions you didn’t even realise you had.”

 

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He knew Snape was right, of course. As irritating as Snape’s forceful talks could be, they’d already taught Harry a thing or two. He’d learnt things about the Dursleys and himself he’d always considered to be normal just weren’t, and he wouldn’t have figured that out by himself.

 

Like it or not, Snape had helped him. Nothing could change that.

 

“I was really going to tell you,” Harry said softly. “About the… the, um…”

 

“The cupboard?” Snape prompted.

 

Harry pulled a face and nodded. He hadn’t been able to force the words through, for some reason.

 

“I did sense that there was something you were keeping from me,” Snape sighed.

 

“I kept trying to say but I just couldn’t, you know? Sorry.”

 

“You don’t need to apologise for that!” Snape said exasperatedly. “Merlin’s beard…”

 

Harry stared at the ground and didn’t respond, feeling rather depleted.

 

“The fact that they did that, when there were two perfectly good bedrooms -” Snape made an angry growling noise at the back of his throat. “Petunia truly is a spiteful old shrew.”

 

Harry didn’t disagree. “They moved me into Dudley’s second bedroom eventually, at least.”

 

This answer did not seem to please Snape, whose expression turned into an all-out snarl. “Needless to say, nothing of that nature will ever happen in my house, do you understand me?”

 

Harry nodded, and wrapped his arms around himself. He just couldn’t believe Snape had actually seen it. Every time Harry thought about it he got cold all over, like he’d just walked through a Hogwarts ghost.

 

Snape glanced towards the clock and winced. “Unless there’s anything you’d like to talk about immediately, perhaps it would be best for you to go to bed, and save the rest of this discussion for tomorrow. It’s almost three - you must be exhausted.”

 

Harry nodded, and slowly got to his feet, relieved they didn’t have to talk about this anymore for now. “Right. Okay.”

 

He started walking to the door, but stopped when Snape cleared his throat. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

 

Harry almost immediately responded with a no, but stopped himself moments before the words left his mouth. He didn’t know if he exactly trusted Snape yet, but he still had something he needed to say.

 

“I just…I want to say thank you,” he said finally. “I know you had your issues with my dad, but you’ve helped me anyway. No one else tried this hard to get me away from the Dursleys.” He swallowed hard. “And you did, even though I’ve been really fighting you on it, so…thanks.”

 

“I don’t need your thanks,” Snape said stiffly. “It’s the least any adult could do for a child in your situation.”

 

“Yes, but…just thanks anyway, sir.”

 

Snape stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You know, if you’re living with me on a more permanent basis, perhaps Draco has a point about you calling me Severus. Would you be willing to give that a go?”

 

“Er…okay. Thank you, S-Severus.” Harry pulled a face. That felt completely and utterly wrong to say, and he was never going to do it again. Nope, never.

 

Snape, shockingly enough, smiled. It was thin and strangled, but still present. “We’ll work on it, I suppose. Goodnight, Harry.”

 

He nodded and finally left the living room, allowing the misery to fully spread across his face once the gloom hid his features. As Harry slipped back into his bedroom, he noticed Draco had fallen asleep on top of the covers. It looked like he had been waiting up to speak to Harry, but he’d been downstairs in the living room with Snape for too long.

 

Harry could not imagine calling him Severus. Ugh.

 

He laid back on his own bed - his bed for good, now, from what Snape was saying. Harry really couldn’t believe he was actually staying here. With Snape and Draco. Forever. He thought it should horrify him more than it did…

 

Harry knew his basis for judgement was skewed. He’d grown up with the Dursleys, after all, and they had been admittedly awful. Almost anybody would look good by comparison. He’d never have chosen to get stuck with Snape as a guardian, but all things considered, he hadn’t been utterly unbearable so far this summer. He was weirdly paranoid about mass-murderers, and he lost his temper and shouted sometimes, but compared to the Dursleys, he was practically a saint. Harry knew intellectually that none of this was ideal, but as far as things went in his life, this wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen to him. After all, Snape seemed pretty hell-bent on helping him, even when Harry didn’t have it in him to help himself. As hard as it was to admit, maybe he needed that.

 

But Harry just didn’t know for certain that everything would be alright. Snape obviously didn’t want this. After all, he’d been forced into it by Dumbledore originally! Just because he was saying he was willing to do it now didn’t mean he was telling the truth…

 

And from the sounds of things, Snape was only becoming Harry’s guardian because he was the only one qualified to do the job. The same had been true for Aunt Petunia - she was the only one who could make the blood wards work, so she was forced to take Harry in. She had hated every second of it, and had made that perfectly clear for his entire childhood. Snape would surely grow to resent this as much as Harry’s aunt had, and everything would switch. Life here would be just as bad as life at Privet Drive if he just gave it time, only this time, he wouldn’t have an escape through Hogwarts like he’d had with the Dursleys.

 

Unless Snape washed his hands of Harry, of course. That option was still far too likely.

 

He pulled the duvet over his head, suddenly overcome by the urge to hide from the world. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

Harry woke up late.

 

This was unusual for Harry, since he’d had early risings hardwired into him by his aunt and uncle. He was expected to be up and cooking breakfast for the family before they awoke most mornings, of course. The times in his life where he’d had a lie in were few and far between, even once he’d started at Hogwarts where sleeping in was actually an option on weekends.

 

But he’d done it today, even though Snape’s rule was that they had to be down for breakfast by eight. It was now almost half-past nine, and Harry had only been awoken by the sound of Draco shutting the bedroom door behind him to go and eat. Harry had completely overslept, and his insides twisted with nerves as he contemplated what would happen when he got downstairs. Would Snape be furious? Was the day already ruined by rule-breaking before it had even started? He was almost certainly in a bad mood already because of the eavesdropping last night…

 

Harry got ready as quickly as he could, afraid he would be in even more trouble the longer he delayed, and hurried down the stairs. It took him a few moments to get up the confidence to push open the kitchen door. When he entered, Snape and Draco were already partially finished with their food. Both of them looked up at Harry, and he scanned their faces for signs of annoyance but failed to find any.

 

Snape gestured to a plate of scrambled eggs. “I left a Heating Charm on it. I thought you needed some extra sleep after the events of last night.”

 

Harry nodded, and he felt a strange lurch in his stomach. That was so considerate, and he hated it. He didn’t want Snape to be considerate, because any sort of kindness like that was limited and came with strings attached. People always got angry if they were forced to take care of Harry for long enough, and Snape was certainly no exception. Things were all going to go horribly wrong again now that Snape was his guardian, and it would be even worse than Privet Drive had been if Harry dared to hope everything would be fine.

 

Harry wasn’t going to let himself get hurt again.

 

He poked the eggs, his stomach twisted in knots. This was all such a mess…

 

Harry didn’t eat a bite of food, and didn’t manage more than a monosyllabic answer when Draco or Snape asked him a question. He was so distracted by his worries that he barely even heard what they said half the times he was addressed. When they eventually realised he wasn’t feeling particularly responsive and started talking amongst themselves, Harry tuned their conversation out into a mindless drone that washed over his ears.

 

Even though Snape wasn’t explicitly addressing him, though, it was still clear that his attention was upon Harry. He could practically feel Snape’s eyes burning a hole in the top of Harry’s skull as he stirred the eggs into an unappealing mush, but he didn’t call attention to it. He never brought up Harry’s food issues in front of Draco, after all. That sort of consideration that he was normally so grateful for just made Harry feel worse. For one thing, it just reminded him that it was all pointless, since Draco knew, and for another, it was just another horrid kindness that Harry just couldn’t tolerate. He couldn’t look at either of them and just stared at his plate, wishing he could crawl back into his bed and hide from the day.

 

It wasn’t until Draco left the room that Snape finally addressed him directly. He tapped a finger next to Harry’s plate. “You need to start eating.”

 

All of a sudden, an unexpected flash of anger burst up in Harry. Who the hell was Snape to come into Harry’s life and start changing everything? Why did he have to be so controlling about things like this? It was ridiculous! Was this how things were going to be from now on? Snape constantly bossing him about, micromanaging his every action?

 

The idea of him being Harry’s guardian, of him having any sort of power over Harry’s decisions and autonomy, was truly terrifying. The Dursleys had tended to just leave him alone, but with Snape, it felt as though Harry’s every action was under a microscope, and he just couldn’t bear it. Harry wasn’t used to having any sort of attention from the adults in charge of his care, and it really chafed. He didn’t know how to do this, he didn’t understand how any of it worked, he didn’t know what to do…

 

“Harry.” Snape’s tone was laced with warning.

 

“I’m not hungry,” he muttered, pushing his plate away slightly.

 

“At least try -”

 

“No.”

 

Snape exhaled loudly. “At least try to eat some of it? You haven’t touched a thing.”

 

Harry crossed his arms and jutted his chin out, feeling furious and defiant all at once. “You can’t make me.”

 

“I think you’ll find I can, because you’re not leaving this table until you eat something.”

 

Harry scoffed and glared at Snape, whose jaw had gone quite tight. “No. You can’t tell me what to do.”

 

He went to push his chair out and leave, but found that he couldn’t pull his thighs up from the seat of the chair. The legs also didn’t have any sort of give when Harry tried to scrape them against the floor. All of a sudden, something Draco had said to him a few days ago sprung to mind. “He’s a big fan of Sticking Charms…”

 

Harry looked up at Snape, who had arched an eyebrow, and shot him the nastiest look he could muster, hoping it conveyed the full depths of his hatred. “Let me up.”

 

“Eat your breakfast,” he retorted.

 

“No.”

 

“Then we appear to have reached an impasse,” Snape said snarkily. He laced his fingers together and examined Harry closely, eyes cold. “I’ll release the Sticking Charm when you do as I say.”

 

“I don’t want it!” Harry said loudly. “It’s not a big deal if I skip a meal because sometimes I just don’t feel like eating! Calm down!”

 

“You cannot refuse to eat every time you’re upset,” Snape said levelly. “That sets a potentially dangerous precedent, and I am not willing to have you miss any meals, given how malnourished and underweight you are.”

 

“I am not going to drop dead from one missed meal!” Harry shouted, digging his nails into his palms. “I’ve had way worse, you know! I know what actual, proper hunger feels like, and I know when I do and don’t want something, and I don’t want to eat right now! Why is that so hard for you to understand?!”

 

“You are not leaving until you eat,” Snape said in a tone that beggared no argument. “Do you really want to have this fight with me? You’re not going to win, so eat your breakfast and we’ll be done with this.”

 

Harry, who had not stopped glaring at Snape for the duration of this, decided that he did want to have this fight. Yes, this was going to be the hill Harry would die on. He didn’t want Snape to be out controlling every aspect of his life, because he hated the man’s unique ability to send every one of Harry’s carefully suppressed emotions spinning out of control, and he couldn’t stand it any longer! It was the principle of the thing that made Harry want to disobey. This was a battle of wills, like Snape was implying, and Harry would not yield.

 

“I’d really suggest you reconsider your stance,” Snape said irritably, getting to his feet. “I’ll be back soon, and I want that food to be gone when I return.”

 

He swept from the room, and Harry had to resist the childish urge to pick up his plate and hurl it against the wall. It was only the uncomfortable parallels to Dudley that scenario brought up that made Harry restrain himself.

 

Anger was pulsing through Harry in waves, only intensifying as he was left alone in the kitchen. The more rational side of him knew that he should just suck it up and do what Snape said, since he didn’t want to spend all morning stuck to a kitchen chair, but he remained undeterred.

 

In all honesty, Harry didn’t quite know what the point of all of this was, but he knew he had to follow through. He wasn’t sure if he was proving a point to himself, or if he was trying to see what Snape was going to do to Harry for breaking a rule, or if Harry just needed to show Snape how much of a mess everything in his life was so Snape would realise what a horrible mistake he’d made taking guardianship of Harry and would leave. That would be for the best, because Harry couldn’t allow himself to get invested. It was unacceptable. He needed to see the point at which Snape’s tolerance would snap, causing him to turn into another version of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, and he needed to find it out soon.

 

Twenty minutes passed before Snape returned. His eyes flicked between the full plate up to Harry’s face, and his expression darkened. “Will you put an end to this ridiculous tantrum and eat already?”

 

“I already told you it’s not happening,” he said angrily, crossing his arms.

 

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “I do not tolerate disobedience, Harry. If you don’t do as I say, there’s going to be trouble. You won’t like what happens…”

 

Those words, as well as the tone they were delivered with, sent a chill down Harry’s spine, but he couldn’t back down now. He glared at Snape and muttered, “Wanker.”

 

A very dangerous look settled on Snape’s features. “You’d better watch your language.”

 

“No!” Harry said loudly. “I don’t want to watch my fucking language, so you can just fu - mmph!”

 

His words were cut off as something very bubbly and slimy seemed to coat the insides of Harry’s mouth. He spluttered, feeling like he’d stuck his tongue into a bottle of washing up liquid. It was remarkably unpleasant, and a horrid, soapy residue seemed to linger no matter how much water Harry swallowed from his glass.

 

“What did you do that for?!” he demanded, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

 

“You know perfectly well why I did it!” Snape said angrily, tucking his wand away. “How many times have I warned you these past few weeks that if you didn’t mind your language, I would use a Soaping Spell? You knew the consequences and chose to disobey me anyway. I am sick of your behaviour this morning, and I will not stand for it any longer, Harry! Do as I’ve instructed immediately.”

 

Snape was on the verge of really losing his temper, Harry could tell. A muscle in his jaw had started twitching, a surefire sign of an incoming explosion. Still, Harry was feeling dangerous. He glowered at Snape, and carried right on.

 

“No! I’ll gladly sit here all day!” Harry hissed, lacing his tone with as much venom as he could muster. “I could sit here for weeks, so shove off already!”

 

“Very well, then. You’d like to play this game?” Snape got to his feet, his hands gripping the edge of the table as he loomed over Harry. His face was white and livid. “Let me explain to you what I am going to do, then. If you do not begin to eat within the next five minutes, I will be forced to spell food directly into your stomach, a highly unpleasant process which I can assure you nobody will enjoy! I will then speak to Madam Pomfrey about your food issues, and you will be suspended from the Hogwarts Quidditch team until further notice.”

 

If Harry had thought he was angry before, it was nothing compared to the outrage he was feeling right now. “You can’t do that!”

 

“I think you’ll find I can!” Snape said loudly, his nostrils flaring.

 

This was exactly what Harry had been afraid of! Snape using his guardianship power to make Harry’s life a living hell, with absolutely no room for recourse on his part. Taking Quidditch away was just the beginning - what would he do to Harry next? Terror coursed through him, which Harry did his best to shove down. He gave into the anger instead.

 

“You’re a right bastard!” he shouted, the fury exploding inside of him like crackling fireworks. “I hate you, you’re ruining everything!” 

 

The fireworks of anger suddenly exploded out of Harry in a great wave of power. There was an almighty bang, and the high-pitched cacophony of breaking glass. As the sounds faded, Harry realised he'd somehow ended up on his feet, chest heaving with the exertion of his vexation. The Sticking Charm had broken.

 

It wasn't the only thing that was broken.

 

The kitchen door and window had been reduced to a glittering carpet of shards, which cast strangely shaped patterns of light onto the ceiling as the sunlight hit them. Any plates or glassware that were out of the cupboards had also shattered. Harry had seemingly destroyed almost everything that could be broken…

 

Snape was slowly getting to his feet at the far end of the room, where he surely must have been thrown, because he hadn't been standing there before. He winced and pressed a hand to his head, and with a sudden rush of sickening realisation, Harry realised that the bang he’d heard had been the impact of Snape hitting the far wall.

 

At last, Harry had done it. His freakishness had gone and hurt someone.

 

Revulsion crawled over his flesh. He couldn’t believe he’d just done that! What was Snape going to do to him? What the hell had Harry been thinking, pushing him to the extremes of temper like that? He was going to completely lose it!

 

Harry had never felt panic like this. It was as if someone had grabbed his lungs in their fists and was squeezing them, crushing them, and Harry was never going to breathe again. The rapid, shallow gasps he attempted seemed to stick in the back of his throat, choking and painful.

 

Snape turned to face Harry, opened his mouth, and he was going to say something, but Harry couldn't stay in this room and face whatever horrible thing Snape was going to do to him, so he ran. The sharp glass cutting into his feet barely registered as pinpricks in Harry's panic-ridden brain, since he had to leave, he had to flee to safety -

 

But Harry didn't get far before his vision began blackening at the edges. His ears rang, his whole body felt oddly fuzzy and leaden, and he just couldn't keep his balance for a moment longer between it all. Harry felt his legs buckle out from beneath him, and would have fallen fully onto the ground if someone hadn't caught his arms on the way down. Harry couldn’t see who, since it felt like he was tumbling into a great black tunnel.

 

After a moment Harry surfaced, and realised he was lying on his back on the floor now. His head was leaning against a leg while someone held it upright - Draco, he realised. He must have caught Harry during the fall. Draco’s eyes were wide and panicked as he looked down at Harry, who felt too weighed down to prise himself off the floor.

 

“Can you hear me?” he asked, in a tone that suggested that sentence had been repeated. Harry did his best to reply, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t even breathe -

 

“Severus!” Draco shouted, voice panicked. “Something’s really wrong with him!”

 

“No!” Harry gasped at last, trying to shove himself upright. His arms felt like jelly, and barely supported his weight. “No, don’t! Don’t, I hurt him, please don’t -”

 

“You did not,” a low voice said. Harry tilted his head upwards and saw Snape standing high above, holding two vials. The panic worsened with the man’s approach, especially as he crouched down next to Harry. He was within hitting distance. Harry felt like he was going to be sick…

 

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, unable to make his voice louder than a hoarse gasp.

 

“I know,” Snape said quietly, calmly. Too calmly. “I’m fine, see?”

 

He reached out a hand, and Harry jolted away so violently that his elbow sharply jabbed into Draco’s ribs. He grunted in pain, but Harry didn’t pay any attention, too busy watching Snape and trying to writhe away, but his limbs felt sluggish and out of control. His heart was beating so quickly it was a wonder it didn’t explode out of Harry’s chest in one great, violent rip.

 

“I didn’t mean to, it was an accident, I’m sorry, I -”

 

Any further words were cut off by the glass rim of a bottle pressing into Harry’s lips. He tried to turn his face away, but Snape reached out his free hand to hold Harry’s head in place, gentle but firm. It still just made him panic all the more, because he couldn’t get away, he was trapped, his arms and legs weren’t working, Snape had to be furious and Harry’s head was so fuzzy from the explosion of magic…

 

“What’s wrong with him, Severus?” Draco’s voice seemed to be coming from somewhere very far away.

 

“He’s hysterical, not now.”

 

The bottle tilted forwards insistently, and the potion within seeped between Harry’s lips. Snape was continuing to hold Harry’s head back, and he had no choice but to start swallowing. All of a sudden, the panic vanished, as if all sensation had dropped off a sharp cliff. Harry stared vacantly at Snape, feeling rather empty of any feeling, and absolutely, utterly exhausted. He felt as if he could sleep for days.

 

Harry’s chin lolled forward slightly, and he felt a pair of hands take his shoulders and move him so he was lying flat on his back, staring at the dancing dust in between the beams of sunlight. Someone - Snape, he supposed - poured more liquid into his mouth, and a heavy black curtain seemed to descend.

 

---

 

Everything felt fuzzy. That was the first thought Harry had when the darkness he was floating through at last softened, and he became aware of the sound of steady breathing beside him. A blanket was covering Harry, warm and soft.

 

He cracked his eyes open and realised the breathing came from Snape. He was reading a book in his armchair, which had somehow migrated next to the sofa that Harry was apparently lying on. He tried to sit up, unsure of why he was here. Snape noticed he was awake and reached out a hand, stopping Harry from moving up. He was surprisingly strong.

 

"Stay still," Snape ordered.

 

"Oh, he's awake?" Draco said from somewhere behind Harry's head. His body felt too leaden and stiff to attempt a look around at the other boy, wherever he was.

 

"Yes." Snape was staring at Harry with a look of unmitigated concern. "Fetch that Restorative Solution I left out, please. How are you feeling?"

 

Harry frowned, thinking hard. Did he feel anything? Not really.

 

“Floaty,” he decided.

 

"That would be the Calming Draught," Snape said. "You're on quite a high dose at the moment."

 

“Mmm.” Harry wriggled his arms out from under the blanket and held them straight out into the air, keeping his elbows locked. Moving them felt like he was dragging his limbs through thick treacle.

 

“What on earth are you doing?” Snape sounded both exasperated and amused.

 

Harry tried to think up a response, but his brain felt like it was made of cotton wool, and he couldn’t quite catch onto any particular words. He was overcome by a sudden vision of him with fluffy white wool tumbling out of his ears and giggled.

 

“Good grief,” Snape muttered. “I knew I gave you too much. Sit up a bit, you need an antidote. Do try to remain calm as it wears off…”

 

Harry obeyed and tried to sit up, but couldn’t quite support his weight on his hands. He ended up settling for leaning on his elbows while another vial was held to his mouth. Harry obediently drank it down, grimacing at the strange, grassy taste, and some of the layers of fuzziness wrapped around his brain seemed to be stripped away. He felt like he could finally string together a thought -

 

And then it all hit him.

 

Harry clapped a hand to his mouth as it all came flooding back. The argument. The explosion of accidental magic. The broken glass, and Snape pressing a hand to his forehead after Harry attacked him -

 

"Everything is fine," Snape said, keeping a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder.

 

"It's not!" he whispered, horror mounting. "I - I blew up your whole kitchen!"

 

"An exaggeration of the situation," Snape said with a casual shrug that was clearly intentional. "You blew up the glassware, which I fixed with five minutes of Repairing Charms."

 

"And I hurt you!" Harry said, feeling the panic mount.

 

"Not intentionally," Snape said, staring at him intently. "The accidental magic merely pushed me away from you. I fell because I was caught by surprise and lost my footing when I got to the wall. Accidental magic, Harry. At any rate, your magic was just trying to get me away from you, not injure me. This wasn’t intentional harm.”

 

"But I still did hurt you!" Harry said despairingly. "I'm so -"

 

"Do not apologise to me," Snape said in a low, intense voice. "I have told you time and time again now that you are never in trouble for accidental magic. You can't help it!"

 

Harry groaned and pressed his hands over his face, unable to bear the prospect of looking at Snape after everything that had happened. As the antidote to that overpowered Calming Draught coursed through his veins, peeling away the numb layers that had protected him, more and more was coming back to Harry, and he was mortified. Why had he taken things that far with breakfast? And why had he completely lost his head after the accidental magic in front of Snape and Draco? It felt like one of those panic attack things he’d been having on the day he’d run away, but far, far more severe. He’d been a babbling, hysterical mess! It was humiliating…

 

“If anyone should be making amends, it is me,” Snape said. Harry refused to look up, even though the man’s words were a shock to him, because he wanted to crawl into a hole and die from the mortification. “I grossly mishandled that situation."

 

"But -"

 

"Can you let me explain myself, please?" Snape asked wearily. Harry didn’t respond, and Snape seemed to take his silence as permission to continue. "It is no excuse, but I found visiting the Dursleys and speaking with the Headmaster yesterday to be incredibly exhausting, physically, magically and emotionally. That coupled with the lack of sleep meant I regrettably lost my temper and escalated things unnecessarily…"

 

"You didn't really lose your temper, though," Harry pointed out. He’d seen Snape go postal far more spectacularly than he’d done that morning.

 

Snape scoffed. "Please. I shouldn't have threatened to remove you from the Quidditch team over that."

 

"You could have done worse," Harry mumbled, finally removing his hands from over his face. He still couldn’t bring himself to meet Snape’s eyes, though. He was scared of what he might see…

 

"I could have also handled things far more calmly, and I did not," Snape said tightly. "Which is why I am apologising. I am fully willing to admit I make mistakes, Harry. I know I have a short temper, and I lost it."

 

"I lost mine…"

 

"Because you just found out your entire life as you know it is changing," Snape said. Harry fiddled with the edge of the blanket. "That's as good a reason as any to struggle with maintaining your composure, and I wish I’d realised that. If I had handled things in a calm manner, you would not be lying here with magical exhaustion."

 

Harry shot him a questioning look. "Magical exhaustion? What?"

 

"Destroying that much glassware and breaking a wanded Sticking Charm with accidental magic forced you to act as a conduit for a great amount of magical energy at once, more than your body could take," Snape explained. "The exertion caused you to faint."

 

"Oh." Harry stared into his lap. His cheeks were burning fiercely.

 

"It's similar to the state you were in after the Quirrell incident in your first year," Snape added. "Only this time did not put you in a coma for three days. You've been asleep for a little over three hours."

 

Harry nodded, and continued to twist the blanket's corner between his fingers, twirling and knotting it. His fingers and limbs still felt strangely leaden and clumsy, and his head was a swirl of guilt and embarrassment. Even though Snape had tried to assure him that there was nothing to be embarrassed about, Harry still felt ashamed.

 

"Why am I still doing accidental magic at this age?" he asked finally. "Isn't that kid stuff? Is there something wrong with me, or -"

 

"Everyone does it, actually," Draco said, pushing the door open. He was holding a canary yellow potion. "I had some at the fair, remember?"

 

Harry thought back to the odd gust of wind that had pushed him backwards and nodded slowly.

 

"It normally balances out by the time you're fully trained in magic when you reach adulthood," Snape added. "Mainly because your brain has matured and developed enough during adolescence to be better equipped in emotional regulation. Even fully grown adults may experience accidental magic in times of severe emotional distress, though."

 

"Wait, really?"

 

"Yes - I know a man who set his curtains ablaze when he woke up to find a note from his wife, who had just left him for another wizard." Snape swallowed, hard. "I myself had a magical outburst when I heard the news of… of your mother's passing."

 

Harry turned to Snape, shocked. "What happened?"

 

"I withered a rather old tree, and scorched all of the grass within a twenty foot radius," Snape said, looking away so Harry couldn’t see his face. His voice was tight and wooden.

 

"I shook the whole house the day my parents were sentenced to Azkaban,” Draco said, handing the brightly coloured potion to Snape. “Think about it this way, I guess - you can’t control crying when you get really upset, right? Or, ah… sweating if you’re nervous. Magic’s the same way. It’s an automatic physical response to your feelings.”

 

“Oh.” Harry was surprised that Draco, of all people, could come up with such a helpful explanation. He supposed being raised in a magical environment helped it all make more sense.

 

Harry bit down on his lip and looked over at Snape, still feeling quite worried. “But it’s not as common after you go to Hogwarts - I know it isn’t, because you don’t see people blowing up windows left and right. Why does all this accidental magic keep happening to me at the minute? I’ve done like five or six things in the last two weeks or something ridiculous, but when I was younger, months would go by without me doing anything weird! It was almost like it was easier to control then than it was now, like I’m going backwards! What’s happening to me?”

 

Snape regarded him closely. “I do have a theory, but you’re not going to like it.”

 

“Tell me anyway,” Harry said desperately. He needed to know what was causing all this awful magic so he could make it stop. Every time it happened, he felt completely terrified and out of control, two things Harry did his best to never feel.

 

“You found it easier to control outbursts of accidental magic as a child because you had no choice but to suppress your emotions and especially your magic around your relatives, because of their… disinclination towards wizards,” Snape explained. “Now that you have been removed from their home, you have left - survival mode, shall we call it.”

 

Harry nodded slowly.

 

“Your mind is now forcing you to process what happened to you while you lived with the Dursleys, because you’re in a… a less hostile environment,” Snape continued haltingly. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. “Part of this is closely linked to your magic. Since you were forced to suppress it as a child out of a fear of punishment, you couldn’t learn how to control your magic as it links to your emotions at the appropriate age. Since punishment isn’t a threat to you anymore, you’re beginning to go through the motions of magical regulation now, at a later age.”

 

Harry sighed loudly. “But why? Can’t I keep suppressing it?”

 

“No. It doesn’t work like that.”

 

Harry thought his brain was being rather stupid, because it would be a lot easier for him to just forget everything that had happened so he could move on with his life. If he could repress everything before, why did he suddenly have to stop? He supposed there was some deep, psychological reason - Snape probably had all the answers in that stupid book of his, Harry would bet - but it still annoyed him that he had to deal with this. He just wanted to get over it!

 

“So how do I make it stop?”

 

Snape grimaced, and Harry’s heart sank as the man began to speak. “You don’t. Managing magic as it links to emotions is a skill all witches and wizards have to learn, including you. Unfortunate as you may find it, it’s going to take time for this to calm. You have to do this the hard way.”

 

“I don’t want to,” Harry said in a small voice, wrapping his arms around himself. “It really stresses me out…”

 

“There’s no reason for it to, since you do not get in trouble for accidents,” Snape said sharply. “I keep my word. You’re not in trouble for today, and you will not be in trouble if something similar happens again in future. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this for it to sink in, but it’s the honest truth.”

 

Harry swallowed, hard, and attempted a nod. Snape had been right; that explanation did not make him very happy. Still, at least there was an explanation now…

 

“I can’t believe they did this to you!” Draco said angrily. Harry jolted; he’d forgotten the other boy was even in the room. He was standing in one corner, eyes narrowed, face aflame with righteous indignation. “Muggles are so horribly -”

 

“Draco Malfoy, don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Snape said in a low, dangerous voice. The dark look he gave Draco made him shrink back slightly and stare at the floor, although he still looked a bit cross.

 

“I think most Muggles I know would be thrilled by magic, actually,” Harry ventured uncertainly, sensing the direction Draco’s sentence had been going. “My aunt and uncle just… aren’t.”

 

Draco didn’t look all that convinced, but didn’t say anything else. Quite possibly because Snape was giving him the infamous look of doom, which would cow anyone into silence.

 

Snape uncorked the canary yellow potion and held it out to Harry. “Drink this.”

 

Harry eyed it nervously. “Er…what does it do?”

 

Snape gave him an exasperated look but started explaining anyway. “It’s a Restorative Solution. It will help with the magical exhaustion.”

 

“Oh. Okay.”

 

Harry took it from Snape and drank it as quickly as he could to try and avoid tasting it, wrinkling his nose as an odd, filmy layer clung to the back of his teeth. Still, the potion almost instantly eased the heaviness in Harry’s limbs, which had been really bothering him, and remedied a deep ache in his muscles that Harry hadn’t even realised was there. He tried to get up from the sofa again, since he didn’t want to be here with Snape right now after what Harry had done to him, but the man easily pushed him back into place. Despite the aid of the Restorative Solution, Harry still felt quite weak and couldn’t really fight back.

 

“I already told you not to move,” Snape said sternly.

 

“I don’t want to be down here -”

 

“You aren’t well. If you get up now, there is a high chance you will lose consciousness again,” he said. “You also ran across broken glass, so I’m not entirely certain you can walk at the moment.”

 

“Oh. I forgot about that.” Harry glanced down the sofa to his feet, which were poking out from the end of the blanket. One was bandaged, but didn’t feel particularly painful when he wriggled his toes and rolled his ankle in circles. “I feel fine, though.”

 

“And you can trust me when I say that if you put any weight on that foot, you will most certainly stop feeling that way. You need to allow my healing salves time to work properly.” Snape got out his wand and twirled it between his long fingers. “If you’d rather rest in your own bed, I can levitate you upstairs?”

 

“God, no!” Harry said quickly, feeling mildly horrified by the prospect of Snape floating him up the staircase. He noticed Draco trying to hide his snickers and looked daggers at the other boy.

 

“Draco, don’t you have some lines you should be attending to?” Snape said pointedly.

 

Draco sighed loudly and shuffled from the room. Once the door clicked shut behind him, Snape cast a spell at it and turned to Harry with an attentive look on his face. He winced. Harry knew this expression well - it was the face Snape wore when he was gearing up to have a talk.

 

“Why were you so angry this morning?"

 

Cutting right to the chase, Harry thought. He sighed quietly. “I don’t know.”

 

“How did I guess you might say that?” Snape asked, raising his eyebrows. “I have a sneaking suspicion that this was about something deeper than eating breakfast. Would I be correct?”

 

“Yeah…”

 

“And would I be correct in assuming you were intentionally trying to provoke me?”

 

“Erm…a little, I think.” Harry admitted reluctantly.

 

“So, you have an issue of some kind,” Snape said, sitting back. “I’ve been doing some thinking while you were asleep, and the only thing I can imagine that caused this morning’s incident was what you found out last night. Explain yourself.”

 

Harry wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the floor. He supposed that he owed Snape an explanation, considering that he’d slammed the man into a wall and destroyed his kitchen, but Harry barely had the words to explain it all to himself.

 

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said eventually.

 

“Do what?”

 

“This!” Harry gestured between himself and Snape. “I don’t know how to have a proper guardian! Like - I mean, do you think the Dursleys ever asked how I was doing? They barely ever talked to me! And you… it’s just the complete opposite to them, and it’s weird. I’m so used to it just being me, and I don’t know what to expect! How does any of this actually work?”

 

A look of understanding dawned on Snape’s face. “You’re scared.”

 

“I am not scared!” he snapped, eyes narrowing. “I’m not some sort of coward!”

 

“I never said you were.” Snape tilted his head slightly. He looked contemplative. “You know, I’m not entirely certain how to be a guardian to someone myself. I was not expecting to become a guardian to anyone, let alone two people, when I started out this year. I am just as uncertain as you are about what to do.”

 

Some of the tension dissipated from Harry’s shoulders at those words. It was sort of nice to know he wasn’t alone…

 

Because even though he would never admit it, Harry was scared. Just a little.

 

“Would it help if I told you my intentions?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Well, I certainly won’t mistreat you like your family did, although I hope that was already a given.” Harry nodded slowly as Snape went on. He looked quite unsure of himself. “I suppose I’ll be someone you can rely on, mainly. You’ll have a place to stay, food to eat, clothes to wear, and if you have issues, you can come to me and I’ll do my best to help. That’s how I mean to go about things.”

 

“Oh. Okay.” That all sounded reasonable to Harry. “And, er - what do I have to do?”

 

Snape’s lips sharply tugged into a frown. “Nothing.”

 

Harry stared at him blankly. That simply did not make sense to him. At Privet Drive, Harry was given… well, not a lot, but the little he was given, he had to earn through chores and the like. What did Snape want for all of this?

 

“Harry, this is not transactional.” Snape’s frown had deepened into a look of concern. “I don’t expect any sort of return for being your guardian, you know. Being cared for isn’t something you have to earn.”

 

Harry thought it wasn’t a particularly good idea to ask ‘why’ again, so kept quiet. Snape seemed to read into what he was saying through his silence, though, and a look of sadness fell over his face. Harry squirmed uncomfortably, not knowing what to do or say, and wondered when he’d finally learnt to read Snape’s expressions.

 

“You’ll come to understand eventually,” Snape said. It seemed like he was telling himself that more than Harry, somehow. “If you must do something for me in return, I suppose you could actually do what I tell you to do when I ask.”

 

“Er - right.” Harry grimaced at the thinly veiled reminder of that morning.

 

“But it’s not as though I’m going to throw you out for disobeying me,” Snape added quickly. “No matter what you do, that will not happen. You are stuck with me, unfortunately for you.”

 

Harry hesitated, then asked, “No offence or anything, but - well, how do I know you mean that? Like how do I know for sure you’re not going to flip right back to the way you were before?”

 

“You don’t know that. You have to just trust me.” Snape pursed his lips. “But I can tell you it is a guarantee that circumstances will not return to the way things once were because my understanding of you as a person has fundamentally changed. The way I previously treated you was because I thought you were arrogant, spoiled, and generally egotistical because of your fame and because of who your father was. I have gotten to know you better, and I’ve realised none of those things are true - quite the opposite, in fact. I won’t go backwards.”

 

“But I can’t know that for sure,” Harry said again.

 

“Then you’ll simply have to wait and see,” Snape said, holding his hands out. “I understand these things can’t happen overnight. But Harry - think about what you have experienced since I found out about your home life. You have made me lose my temper a few times since then - have things gone back to the way they once were? Think about it.”

 

Harry obeyed. He thought first about the time he’d punched Draco. Snape had certainly lost his temper then; he’d been visibly furious, and had shouted a fair bit, but he hadn’t actually reverted back to the regular Snape that Harry knew from Hogwarts. And earlier, he’d been angry… but it was because he wanted Harry to eat breakfast, and he was being completely ridiculous about it, even though he knew it was important to Snape.

 

And even though Harry had shoved him across the room and shattered his windows, he’d given Harry potions to deal with the magical exhaustion after he’d fainted. That was weird - his relatives had never done anything like that. They wouldn’t care if Harry fainted. It had happened a few times at Privet Drive, when they hadn’t fed him enough, and Petunia normally snapped at him for it when he finally came back to consciousness.

 

But Harry was being given potions, and he’d somehow gotten from the floor to the sofa. Snape must have moved him here, and he’d even put a blanket over Harry. The Dursleys never would have cared enough to do something like that, but Snape did without him having to ask. He looked after Harry, even when he was being a complete pain in the backside…

 

“I’ll work on trusting you,” Harry said finally. “I… well, I’d like for that to happen.”

 

“I’m glad.” Snape nodded rather briskly. “But if you’re going to trust me, you also need to trust my intentions. I do not make rules for the fun of it, Harry. Even when you’re upset, you cannot weaponize your health to anger me. That’s dangerous.”

 

“I wasn’t weaponsing it!” Harry said exasperatedly. “I really was upset, you know, and that doesn’t do wonders for my appetite. Er - I guess making you angry was just a fortunate side effect…”

 

“If you’re feeling too upset to eat in future, perhaps it would be better to actually talk about these things,” Snape said, with a slight sarcastic bite to his words. “I feel very strongly about you missing meals. Don’t you dare do anything like that ever again, do you understand me? I will not be nearly this lenient again.”

 

Harry nodded vigorously. Snape’s voice had gone very low, and his tone was stern and forbidding. “I won’t.”

 

“Good.” Snape waved his wand, and a tray and bowl flew in through the living room door and landed on Harry’s lap. He looked down, and found a bowl of soup awaiting him. “Then I suppose this morning’s disagreements will not be repeated with lunch?”

 

“Definitely not.”

 

Harry tucked in with vigour, hoping to prove a point and make up for being so dreadful that morning. As he ate, Harry realised with a jolt that he was really quite hungry. He hadn’t even realised.

 

Harry clenched his hand into fists, fighting back a rising wave of shame. Even though part of him knew that the tangled knots of anxiety and worry that seemed to twist his stomach were all in his head, it never felt that way in the moment. He hated feeling like his brain was lying to him. It had been useful once upon a time - since Harry experienced such extended periods of missed meals at Privet Drive, he supposed his mind got used to tricking his body into thinking he wasn’t as hungry as it was, since there wasn’t much point to his body telling him he was hungry if there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

 

But missing meals at Privet Drive almost always happened when Harry was in trouble, so he thought his mind also must have started sticking together feelings of worry with not eating, even now he was away from there. Harry rolled his eyes - he had a funny feeling that Snape’s stupid book would have the answers to whatever was going on here. That thought irked him slightly.

 

It was only when Harry had finished every last drop of soup that Snape started speaking again. He banished the bowl and tray and looked at Harry closely. “I believe I underestimated the severity of your food issues.”

 

Harry tensed. “I don’t have -”

 

“Can we skip the protests please?” Snape asked exasperatedly, pressing his fingers to his temples. “We both know that you do. Let’s not bother bickering over phrasing.”

 

Harry sighed and didn’t respond while Snape continued to size him up. He looked strangely hesitant about something, and it filled Harry with a feeling of foreboding.

 

“Harry… after I returned from Surrey yesterday, I went into your bedroom to fetch something of Draco’s, and I noticed something in your trunk. There were some ants that seemed to be attracted to it. I looked for the source of their interest, and discovered, ah…”

 

“Oh.” Harry ducked his head, his cheeks aflame as he realised what Snape was referring to. “I - that’s - oh no.”

 

The panic rushed back, almost as sharp and potent as it had been that morning after the accidental magic. He could not believe Snape had found his food stash! The Dursleys had never managed to - Harry's loose floorboard was nearly foolproof - but there weren't any good hiding spots in his room at Spinner's End. He'd been forced to hide the food in the bottom of his trunk…

 

But Harry hadn't been eating out of it as often as he usually did because he'd actually been given full meals three times a day. He'd almost forgotten the food was in the bottom of his trunk entirely, so some of it had definitely gone off. Harry cringed - Snape was probably furious he'd been stealing out of his cupboards, too! He'd thought Snape wouldn't notice, he'd thought he was being sneaky…

 

After a moment to try and calm the fierce mortification and panic he was feeling, Harry chanced a look up at Snape to scan his face for any signs of anger, but was surprised to see he looked… lost. Almost overwhelmed. When his eyes met Harry's, and Snape noticed the fear that was almost certainly written all over his face, that overwhelmed look turned into one of despair. After a moment, Snape actually leaned forwards and buried his face in his hands, long, greasy hair sliding forward to hide his face from view. Harry, who felt rather alarmed, tried and failed to come up with the right words.

 

"Um… sir?" Snape did not move. Harry was so worried he even tried, "Severus?"

 

Still nothing. Was he angry? What was Snape even doing? Harry had never, ever seen him like this. Should Harry get Draco or something?

 

“Er - sorry about the ants.”

 

This apparently was not the right thing to say, as Snape abruptly rose to his feet and strode from the room without a word. Harry remained in place, unsure of what to do. Was he supposed to follow?

 

Before he had to make up his mind, Snape returned, face rather haggard. He was holding a plastic bag, which he placed down on the ground next to Harry.

 

“This is yours,” he said wearily. “Do with this what you like - I’m not going to go looking for it. All I ask is that if you open something, you eat it or reseal it so you don’t attract pests.”

 

Harry leaned over and peered into the bag. He caught sight of a few things lying on top - a few individually wrapped granola bars, and a packet of digestives. It was all food. He felt an odd lump rise into his throat. “Thank you.”

 

Snape didn’t respond. He sat heavily back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. He looked utterly exhausted.

 

“It’s not that I think you’re going to starve me or anything!” Harry said quickly, hoping Snape hadn’t gotten the wrong idea. "I don't think that at all, I promise! I mean - I think the opposite, even. Like you're properly obsessed with me eating. Completely mental about it, actually…"

 

Some of the tension faded from Snape's face, and his lips quirked in a way that could almost be characterised as amusement, so Harry pressed on.

 

“I just - I like knowing I have something there. Just in case. It’s mostly stuff I saved up at Hogwarts for when I was staying with my aunt and uncle, so…”

 

“When I was in Petunia’s mind, I saw something about a cat flap?” Snape’s brows knitted together in confusion. “Where your room was. She put soup through it, if I recall correctly? Legilimency can be rather vague at times, so could you clarify what that was about?”

 

Harry grimaced. “Er - that’s right. Last summer was… yeah. They had me locked in my room without that much to eat until the Weasleys broke me out. And that’s why I have the food, in case it all went wrong again this year.”

 

“What do you mean, they broke you out?” Snape asked.

 

“Er - Uncle Vernon had Hedwig locked up so I couldn’t write to anyone, which they thought was weird, so Fred, George and Ron nicked their dad’s car and flew it to Surrey in the middle of the night to rescue me,” Harry admitted.

 

“Of course they did.” Snape shook his head, but he was actually smiling slightly. “This is the Ford Anglia?”

 

“Yeah.” Harry winced slightly, remembering that Snape had been the one to find him and Ron after they flew it into the Whomping Willow. While they loudly discussed how they were hoping he’d been sacked, naturally.

 

“I suppose I can’t condemn them too harshly for it,” Snape admitted begrudgingly. “Someone ought to have gotten you from Privet Drive in that situation, although perhaps through more, ah - traditional routes.”

 

Harry, who had quite enjoyed the ride in the flying car, chose not to respond.

 

“Just know my kitchen is always open to you,” Snape said, gesturing to the door. “You are completely free to take food from the cupboards whenever you feel like it. As a matter of fact, I encourage it.”

 

“Okay,” Harry said softly.

 

“We’ll make this work,” Snape said. Harry again got the impression he was speaking to himself. “We’ll find a way to manage this.”

 

I hope so, Harry thought.

 

“Um…are we done, then?” he asked hesitantly. Snape still looked so tired, and it was unnerving him.

 

“I suppose, but I want you to stay there and rest,” Snape instructed. “I can give you potions, but the main thing that aids recovery from magical exhaustion is time.”

 

“Okay.” Snape sat back in his armchair and reopened his book. Harry frowned. “You don’t have to hover.”

 

“I am not hovering.” Snape gestured to the book and didn’t look up. “I’m reading.”

 

“Can’t you read somewhere else?” Harry said grumpily, shuffling back into the sofa to try and get comfortable.

 

“Considering the fact that this is my house, I can go and do what I please,” Snape said, shooting him a pointed look. “But yes, I am also keeping an eye on you. I’m sure you’ll suffer through.”

 

Harry sighed loudly. “Can’t I at least have a book or something, then?”

 

“No. You’re meant to be resting. Shut your eyes, or sit there quietly.”

 

Harry crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling. “This is boring.”

 

“If not for the lack of blonde hair, I’d be fairly certain Draco Malfoy was sitting in front of me right now.” Snape said, turning the page of his book while rhymically tapping the cover with one finger.

 

“That’s right, Draco,” Harry said quickly. “Can’t I play chess with him or something? That’s not really strenuous.”

 

“Considering how violently competitive the two of you are with one another, I actually think that it would be incredibly strenuous.” Snape rolled his eyes. “Although I find it interesting that you just suggested spending time with Draco.”

 

Harry made a face. He had, hadn’t he? Had Harry been infected with a brain parasite or something? Since when was spending time with that prat something he actually considered to be fun?! Maybe staring at the ceiling would be a better way to spend his time if this was what he was reduced to…

 

But after about another ten minutes of doing nothing, Harry was willing to have a friendly chat and a cuppa with Voldemort himself to relieve his boredom. He huffed and stared at Snape. “It’s not working. Didn’t you say I’ve been asleep for three hours already? I’ve already been resting.”

 

“Not good enough,” Snape said, still steadfastly refusing to look up from his book. “You know, if you don’t recover from this quickly, I might have to rescind my permission for you to stay in Diagon Alley with the young Mr Weasley and his family on the thirty-first of August.”

 

Harry jolted upright, his mouth agape. “You’re - I’m doing what?”

 

“You’re lying down.” Snape glared at Harry and sharply pushed him back onto the sofa. “And if you do enough of that, then you will be allowed to stay at the Leaky Cauldron with the Weasleys on the last day of the holidays. They will escort you to King’s Cross.”

 

Harry beamed, thrilled beyond words. “I thought you’d never agree to let me do that!”

 

“How was I supposed to agree to something that you didn’t ask about?” Snape looked at him disapprovingly. “I had no knowledge about your desire to participate in this activity until I received a rather strongly-worded letter from Molly Weasley informing me that I should, in fact, allow you to see your friends instead of being strict for the sake of it. A confusing letter to receive, I must say, considering I had never actually banned you from doing this.”

 

“I thought you’d say no,” Harry mumbled, feeling his cheeks burn. He did appreciate Mrs Weasley standing up for him, but he felt a little embarrassed since Snape hadn’t actually done anything wrong. It was his fault, though.

 

“While I can utilise Legilimency, I do not generally make a habit of reading minds,” Snape said, putting his book to one side and crossing his arms. “Therefore, if you want something, you need to actually ask for it. The worst that I can do is say no.”

 

“Um…okay, then.” Harry smiled slyly. “Can I play chess?”

 

“No.” Snape sighed. “But I will play chess with you this evening if you rest now.”

 

“Fine…I’ll try.”

 

Harry shifted slightly and smiled to himself. This morning had been awful, and stressful, and emotionally taxing, but he certainly felt a hell of a lot better than he had earlier right now. Even though it had been really difficult, talking all of that through with Snape had actually helped. Harry had been so worried and mixed up, and some of it felt a little clearer now that they’d talked about the guardianship situation.

 

And the food, and being allowed to stay with the Weasleys? It was kindness without visible strings, like Snape had promised. Nice things that Harry didn’t even expect to have that Snape was giving to him. Maybe… maybe he could try and just accept that Snape was doing something nice for him without worrying. Perhaps he didn’t have to assume maliciousness was lurking around every corner. Sometimes, people were capable of just being decent.

 

And that included Snape.

 

Bored of the ceiling, he decided to at last try and shut his eyes. Harry still thought it was a useless effort. He really just couldn’t fall asleep in the middle of the day, after all…

 

He drifted off five minutes later.

To Harry’s immense annoyance, Snape’s obsession with him ‘resting’ carried on for a fair few days. Harry was at least allowed to move about when his injured foot was declared healed in the late afternoon following the accidental magic incident, but Snape strictly insisted that he stayed seated and got on with things quietly unless he was walking to the bathroom. Worst of all, he kept hovering. He remained in the same room as Harry for the vast majority of the time, mainly reading complicated books that Harry could barely understand the titles of. He was unable to truly forget Snape's presence at any given time, and it felt weirdly awkward.

 

Harry had been hoping Snape would disappear into his laboratory so he could go back to doing as he pleased, but Snape seemed to anticipate that Harry was going to break his recovery instructions the instant his back was turned and kept an annoyingly close eye on him. It seemed like all Harry was permitted to do was sit back and finish off the last few bits of his homework, or occasionally participate in a game of chess if Snape was feeling particularly indulgent.

 

Harry was feeling very ashamed of the way he’d acted the day after the Headmaster’s conversation with Snape, so he tried to allow the hovering without too much complaint. There was still a bit of eye rolling and huffing, of course, but compared to the amount of whining he didn’t verbalise, Harry thought he was behaving with remarkable restraint. It was all just really foreign to him. Harry hadn’t had someone worry about his health before, after all.

 

And although he wouldn’t admit it to Snape, Harry wasn’t really feeling like himself. He was quite tired and weary, and his muscles ached like he’d just finished up a brutal Quidditch practice. Harry also felt himself get a little lightheaded whenever he got up to use the loo, and he had to hold onto the sink basin for several moments after climbing the stairs to the bathroom until the stars in his vision faded. Because of this weariness, Snape had also annoyingly insisted Harry go to bed earlier while he ‘recovered’. He really resented that, until he found himself falling asleep as soon as he hit the pillow each night.

 

The magical exhaustion didn’t last very long, though. Harry felt a million times better by day two, and on day three, he almost felt completely normal, if a bit more lethargic than usual. This did not seem to satisfy Snape, though, who kept up with his annoying recovery regime. Harry was getting so antsy and restless from the lack of activity that he couldn’t sleep when he got into bed that night. He spent hours tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling or the dark backs of his eyelids, long after even Snape had gone to bed. Eventually, he huffed to himself and gave up. Harry wasn’t going to be sleeping any time soon.

 

With a sigh, Harry decided to give up altogether and go to the kitchen to make some tea. Maybe that would help. He slid out of bed and padded quietly down to the kitchen. By now, Harry knew the quirks of the Spinner’s End architecture well enough that he didn’t need to worry about squeaky floorboards or other house creaks that would wake Snape up. The only sound that he made came from the slightly groan of the pipes as he filled the kettle.

 

The kettle itself was rather strange. It was styled after an electric kettle, but wasn't actually plugged into the wall, like many of Snape's seemingly Muggle appliances. Instead, the button on the side activated an enchantment that made the water boil. Harry was fairly certain it also sped up the amount of time it took the water to boil, too. He smiled to himself as he got out a mug. Sometimes, Harry just really loved magic.

 

The kettle was just starting to whistle when Harry heard the door swing open behind him and jumped. He turned around and realised it wasn’t Snape, who he’d been expecting, but Draco. He scowled at Harry. “What are you doing down here?”

 

“Couldn’t sleep. You?”

 

“Something like that.” Draco looked between Harry and the kettle, which had just finished boiling. “Make me some, will you? I drink the peppermint tea.”

 

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco’s bossy tone but got out a second mug and the necessary tea bag nonetheless. While the tea steeped, he turned around and realised that Draco had sat down. He was slumped over, leaning his face against the side of the kitchen table, twirling something between his fingers. A necklace, Harry realised. He assumed it was the one he'd been accused of stealing. It was a pretty but delicate thing, with a dark gemstone pendant at the end of a thin, golden chain, which Draco was running between his fingers with a mournful look on his face. Harry placed down their mugs on the table and sat opposite to him, wondering again what was going on inside of Draco’s mind.

 

“Severus has been keeping me away from you,” Draco said abruptly.

 

Harry frowned. “What? Why?”

 

“He didn’t want me asking you nosy questions, apparently.”

 

“Ah.” Harry had thought Draco had been weirdly absent the last few days, but he hadn’t given it all that much thought. Snape had made frequent passive-aggressive comments about minding one's own business and obeying his rules at meals for the last few days, so Harry had assumed that Draco was still in trouble for eavesdropping and was stuck in the potions laboratory scrubbing cauldrons or something. If Snape had really told him not to ask any questions, Draco was probably buzzing with questions about the Dursleys that he finally had an opportunity to ask. Harry winced.

 

“Are you alright?” Draco asked worriedly, finally raising his head from the table. “I’ve never seen you like that. The way you were the other day, I mean. Does that sort of thing happen to you often?”

 

That had not been the prying question Harry had anticipated, but he still grimaced. Harry felt absolutely mortified over the complete freakout that he’d had, especially since it had happened in front of Snape and Draco, and he really didn’t want to talk about it. Draco was probably looking for ammunition, things to use against him…

 

But then Harry looked up and didn’t find a single trace of a sneer on his features. It was just pure concern. Something about that made Harry want to answer honestly.

 

“Not often. I mean - stuff like that’s happened a couple of times but never like that. It was… not nice.”

 

“Didn’t look it.”

 

Harry just nodded and sipped his tea, needing to do something with his hands.

 

“And it was just doing accidental magic that set you off?” Draco’s eyes were wide. “That was all?”

 

Harry scowled. “I don’t want to talk about it. But yes.”

 

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to live like that,” Draco said softly.

 

“It’s shit.”

 

Draco made an affirmative sort of noise and stared into his mug. Harry watched him closely, tense. He really didn’t want this line of questioning to continue.

 

Luckily for him, Draco changed the topic. “That fair the other day was the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

 

Harry managed a thin smile. “Yeah, same. I wish Snape actually let us outside more. I am so sick of sitting around and 'resting'…”

 

“I can try and convince him to let us go to the park tomorrow, if you want?”

 

“You can try, but he’ll never go for it,” Harry said. “Black, remember? Snape’s a complete paranoiac when it comes to him.”

 

“I have my ways,” Draco announced. “I’ll wear him down.”

 

Harry thought for a moment, wondering who was going to win that argument. Sure, Snape could be stubborn when he set his mind on something, but Draco was incredibly annoying when he started going on about something he wanted. He’d spent all of last week going on about some new hair gel that he just had to get, until Snape threatened to spell his mouth shut if he didn’t stop nagging. Harry wondered if he might just say yes to them going out somewhere to shut Draco up…

 

While he mulled it all over, Draco had gone back to leaning his head on the table and staring listlessly at the necklace. It was over five minutes before either one of them spoke again.

 

“I miss my mum,” Draco said softly.

 

Harry tensed at the words. He wasn’t sure what to say in response to a confession like that… was there anything to say?

 

“I’m sorry,” he said helplessly.

 

Draco sighed. “So am I.”

 

He got to his feet and left the darkened kitchen without another word, leaving a confused and saddened Harry in his wake.

 

---

 

“Keep your elbows off the table when you’re eating,” Snape said, giving Harry a disapproving look. Harry sighed and did so, but not without a small roll of his eyes.

 

“You’ve ignored it easily enough for the last few weeks,” he muttered.

 

“You are my ward now,” Snape said, slicing into a sausage. “You and your appalling table manners now reflect upon me. Sort them so I don’t spend the entirety of the autumn term glowering at you from across the Great Hall.”

 

“Fine…”

 

Snape could be so obsessive about certain things, Harry reflected, as he returned to his breakfast.

 

“At any rate, if I am going to take the two of you out to a restaurant this evening, I’d rather have you actually exhibit decent manners in public.”

 

Harry and Draco both jerked their heads up.

 

“A restaurant?” Draco said eagerly.

 

“Tonight?” Harry added.

 

“Yes,” Snape said. “Nothing too extravagant, but I have a very long day ahead of me, and I don’t particularly wish to cook.”

 

“Are you brewing something new?” Draco asked, his eyes glinting with interest.

 

“Unfortunately not." Snape scowled. “In preparation for the beginning of term, I have to attend a staff meeting.”

 

He spat it like it was a dirty swear word, and Harry couldn’t hold back a snort. Snape could be so dramatic. He shot Harry a withering look in response. “It will waste the majority of my day, and I will be up in Scotland for the duration. I’m sure the two of you can amuse yourselves without my input?”

 

“Could we go to the park?” Draco asked. Snape opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Draco quickly ploughed on. “Don’t say no. You let us go alone a few days ago for the fair, didn’t you? There’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to again. It’s literally the exact same situation!”

 

Snape’s lips thinned, and he paused for a moment. Eventually, he sighed. “You…you have a point. I suppose if you take the same precautions you did a few days ago, there is no plausible reason for me to deny you from going…”

 

“Wonderful,” Draco said with a smug grin. He’d backed Snape into a corner with logic, and all of them knew it. “I suppose we’ll head out when we’re done here, then!”

 

“Buy yourselves something for lunch, and be back no later than three,” Snape said, the warning for what would happen to them if they didn’t clear in the sharp edge of his tone. “And you’re to take it easy, Harry. Come straight back home if you start feeling at all unwell -”

 

“Oh my God, I’m fine!” 

 

“You keep an eye on him,” Snape ordered, turning to Draco and fixing him with a stern look.

 

“I will,” Draco promised.

 

“I don’t need to be hovered over!” Harry complained loudly.

 

Snape arched an eyebrow. “I suppose you’d prefer to remain in the house all day?”

 

Harry pulled a face and said, “I’ll be careful…”

 

“Good. Here’s some money, then. Enjoy yourselves.”

 

---

 

“You’re a genius,” Harry said to Draco as they walked along Spinner’s End. “I never thought you were going to convince him!”

 

“I knew he couldn’t reasonably refuse,” Draco said smugly, hitching the football he was carrying further up his arm. “Not without admitting the only reason he originally allowed us to go was because he wanted us out of the house while he used Legilimency on those Muggles you live with, which I doubt he wanted to confess to.”

 

“Er - right.” Harry shifted uncomfortably at the reminder of the Dursleys. He was almost certain that Draco was just aching to nag him about it further, a theory that was unfortunately confirmed when the other boy turned to him with an inquisitive look on his face.

 

“Look,” he said, slowing down his pace to match Harry’s, “like I said, Severus wants me to avoid the topic, but -”

 

“I thought we had an agreement,” Harry said stiffly, intentionally not meeting Draco’s eyes. “We don’t treat each other like Snape treats us. No probing questions. Leave well enough alone.”

 

“Maybe we should get over that,” Draco said thoughtfully, bouncing the football against the pavement. “We are going to be living together next summer, right?”

 

Harry did his best not to pull a face. “It’s the end of August. It’s not like we have to talk to each other between now and next June.”

 

“Oh, come on, Potter!” Draco snapped. “If you must know, I’m only asking because it’s really confusing me!”

 

“What’s confusing about it?” Harry said tightly. “You heard the long and short of it. I grew up with my Muggle relatives, and they hate me. You don’t need all the gory details.”

 

“No, not that!” Draco said impatiently. “I just - I don’t get it! I feel like everything I thought I knew is just a lie. You’re Harry Potter!” 

 

“Really?” Harry said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I wasn’t aware that was my name…”

 

“But everyone’s always talking about how you’re a hero!” Draco’s eyes were wide. “They bloody well worship you, people would have been lining up to take you in and give you a good home! When I was growing up, everyone thought you’d been whisked away by Dumbledore himself for special training because of how powerful you were! Then I find out you grew up with those awful Muggles?”

 

“Well, reality is always worse than what you’d think.” Harry scowled. He didn’t particularly appreciate the insulting tone Draco had used for the word ‘Muggle’.

 

“It’s bloody unfair, is what it is,” Draco said, kicking a pebble. It skittered up the road and out of sight. “You could have had a way better life, but you got stuck with them? Ridiculous…”

 

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Harry muttered. This conversation had him on the defensive, and he felt oddly resentful and raw. “I’m pretty damn clear on how life isn’t fair.”

 

“My point is,” Draco stressed, “that you’re different than I thought you were. I was convinced you always thought you were better than me because you’re so famous but…well, I’ve learnt a lot about you these last few weeks. You’re a lot more normal than I thought you were.”

 

“I don’t think I’m better than you because I’m famous,” Harry said, shooting Draco a dirty look. “I hate being famous.”

 

Draco scoffed. “Please! Everyone wants to be famous!”

 

“Oh really?” Harry said icily. “How would you feel if you were famous for something you don’t even remember doing? Famous for the day your parents got murdered and you got stuck living with your horrid aunt and uncle?”

 

Draco at least had the decency to look a little ashamed. They walked in silence for a few minutes, and Harry contemplated his words. All this time, Draco had been jealous of him? That was what had caused his general nastiness these last two years? Well, that and the rejected offer of friendship on the train, Harry supposed. It just seemed a lot simpler than he’d always thought. He couldn’t see why there was anything for Draco to be jealous of.

 

“You know… I don’t think I understood about your parents until this year, really,” Draco said softly. “How horrible it must have been to lose them.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“How do you bear it?” Draco asked abruptly. His shoulders were hunched. “Your parents not being around, I mean.”

 

Harry didn’t know what he’d been expecting Draco to ask, but it certainly hadn’t been that. Part of him almost instinctively reached for a sharp retort, automatically assuming Draco was insulting him, but Harry stopped himself at the last minute. His face was tight and pained, and obviously earnest. Harry floundered for a few moments, since he didn’t exactly have an answer to that to hand.

 

“I… I don’t know,” he said finally. “I don’t know any different, honestly. I’ve never had them around.”

 

Draco sighed. “They don’t even let me write to them, you know. My parents.”

 

“Really?” Harry said, shocked. “That seems a little -”

 

“Unfair?” Draco finished. “Yeah, it is. It’s a nightmare trying to get under-seventeens permission to visit Azkaban, so it’s not like I can even see them in person. The Ministry used to allow mail, but then Black broke out, so they’ve changed the security measures in case someone snuck something in through the post to him. So I’m stuck with no visits, no mail and no contact.” His breath hitched. “It’s the same as if they were dead.”

 

Well, a small part of Harry’s brain unhelpfully wanted to point out, it wasn’t really the same, but his more empathetic side won out as he looked at Draco. His face was forlorn and hurt, and he was blinking rather rapidly. Harry glanced away so Draco would have the chance to wipe away any potential stray tears without being watched.

 

Shockingly enough, Harry felt a twinge of sympathy for the other boy. Over the last week in particular, Harry suddenly found himself able to separate Malfoy, the bullying Slytherin who made his life miserable, from Draco, the other parentless boy who played Monopoly and football with him. He didn’t know what was going to happen when the two of them were back at Hogwarts just a few days from now, but the Draco he’d come to know at Spinner’s End was surprisingly nice to be around at times.

 

After a moment, Harry tentatively reached out a hand and placed it on Draco’s arm. To his surprise, the other boy didn’t recoil or pull his arm away.

 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. “That’s really rotten.”

 

Draco nodded rather jerkily. “Well…if anyone understands what it’s like, I suppose it would be you.”

 

“Are you ever going to see them again?” Harry asked. Even though he knew that the elder Malfoys were in prison, he still didn’t know how long for, or what they’d even done to get locked up.

 

“I don’t know,” Draco said, bouncing the football rather aggressively. He muttered an oath and just about managed to snatch it back out of the air before it landed in the road. “My father’s got twenty years, as of right now, but they’re probably going to re-try him for a bunch of other things he got off on before.” Draco glowered at the pavement. “Mother got five years. I know for a fact she wasn’t involved, but no, they were just looking for any excuse to cart all of my family off to Azkaban…”

 

“But won’t she be out by the time you’re eighteen?”

 

Draco scowled. “Since you’re practically half-Muggle, I suppose you must have forgotten how magically draining Azkaban is! Even if she does make it out, there’s no telling if she’ll be the same person on the other side. Mother’s always been rather ill, and she might - she might not…”

 

Draco’s voice had started cracking towards the end, so Harry thought it was better to not push the topic, even though Draco still hadn’t told him what the Malfoys were in for. “Right. Sorry.”

 

They’d at last reached the park, which looked a little bit depressing without the bright lights and attractions of the travelling funfair. The grass was slightly brown from the August sun, and broken bottles glittered here and there. There was also a small playground with a peeling red swing set and a faded plastic slide backed by a brackish stream and a large willow tree that two girls were trying to climb. Harry and Draco wandered through the field adjoining it until they reached a very ragged-looking goalpost, so they could play an actual game of football for once. The net in the back of the goal had been completely torn out, excluding a few ragged strands of string attached to the plastic rim that were blowing in the gentle breeze. Harry sat down next to it and leaned his head against the plastic pole, which was hot with the heat of the August sun. Draco settled down opposite, the football in his lap.

 

“It’s like Snape says, I suppose,” Draco said. “We’ve got some stuff in common. Like our tendency to smash anything breakable in his house…”

 

Harry groaned. “The stupid accidental magic is doing my head in!”

 

Draco tutted. “At least you only smash stuff on accident, so you don’t get in trouble for breaking plates.”

 

“You never broke a plate, though.” Harry frowned, his eyebrows knitting together.

 

“Not while you were here,” Draco said, casting his eyes downward. “When they first sent me to live with him, though? Well, if you think I’m bad now, it was carnage back then. You should have seen us in July.”

 

“Really?”

 

"As you know, I'm not exactly happy to be here," Draco said, scratching his neck. "Between my parents getting sent away and going from my previous life to… well, this -” he gestured around the park with a disgusted look on his face, “it was a right shock to the system, and I wasn’t all that happy with Severus. I was making his life a nightmare, honestly. We practically spent the entirety of July screaming at each other all day…"

 

"You did?" Harry said, surprised. He'd seen Snape lose his temper, sure, but even then he still seemed to have exacting control of himself the majority of the time… he couldn’t imagine constant, screaming rows between him and Draco.

 

“How do you think he manages to stay so calm with you when you start yelling at him?” Draco asked, arching an eyebrow. “Severus isn’t a naturally patient person, you know, but my temper was something of a trial by fire. He had to figure out how to not let me get under his skin before we throttled each other. He worked out eventually that shouting back made it all worse, so he’s annoyingly calm with me nowadays when I’m angry. Especially after he started using Occlumency when he noticed me getting annoyed, I really couldn’t get a rise out of him anymore. I think he started taking pleasure in seeing how frustrated we both get when he doesn't react, actually…”

 

“I still don’t really get what Occlumency is,” Harry said.

 

“Well, you wouldn’t,” Draco said loftily. “It’s mainly to protect your mind from Legilimency attacks, but it does also help with managing your emotions, you know. Severus has actually been teaching it to me.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yep,” he said. “You should ask him sometime, I bet he’d teach you, too. Maybe that would help with your little accidental magic problem.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

Harry, as tempting as that sounded to him, was never going to do that. Mostly because the idea of asking Snape for help still felt a little wrong, and he didn’t want to be an even bigger drain on the man’s time than he already was.

 

Draco got to his feet. “Enough of this depressing rubbish. Snape’s let us out of the house for the first time in a billion years, we should make the most of it instead of sitting here and chatting!”

 

Harry smirked. “You’re on. Let’s play some actual football for once, eh?”

 

---

 

Even though Harry felt almost entirely better, he annoyingly discovered that strenuous exercise like playing football really took it out of him. Draco was beating him with ease, which he was thoroughly smug about, naturally. After a few hours of this, Harry finally admitted defeat, and the two of them wandered around Cokeworth until they came across a corner shop to buy themselves lunch.

 

“What’s this?” Draco asked, picking up a bottle of coke.

 

Harry noticed the cashier behind the counter staring at Draco with a puzzled look on his face and winced. He pointedly elbowed Draco and hissed, “Muggle thing. Not so loud.”

 

“Right.”

 

Draco went to put it back, but Harry stopped him. “Give it a go! You might like it.”

 

He shrugged. “Alright.”

 

Harry picked up some of his own, as well as some chilled sandwiches and crisps. This whole situation was rather odd, Harry thought to himself as he handed over the money. He very rarely got to buy things from corner shops, since he never had any Muggle money of his own. Aunt Petunia always used to let Dudley buy sweets after school, but he was forced to stand to one side and watch longingly while his cousin bought out half the shop.

 

The two of them settled on a creaky wooden bench with one missing slab near the store to eat their lunch. As Harry tucked into his sandwich, he noticed Draco holding the bottle of coke up to the light, a puzzled look on his face. He looked exactly like Snape did when he examined the colour of one of his potions, and Harry snorted.

 

Draco scowled and elbowed him. “Don’t!”

 

“Just drink it!” Harry laughed. He opened his own bottle and took a pointed sip, eyebrows raised.

 

“Okay…” Draco cracked open the bottle and cautiously sipped it. A moment later, his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “It’s - it’s fizzy!” 

 

“Yeah?” Harry laughed again. “It’s a fizzy drink, that’s the whole point!”

 

“But they’re Muggles!” Draco said, staring at the bottle with fascination. “How can they make that work?”

 

“It’s carbonated.”

 

“Excuse me? What is that?”

 

As it so often happened when he tried to explain Muggle things, Harry found himself stumped. “Um… they put carbon under pressure, I think. Then it makes those bubbles, and you drink them.”

 

“Odd.” Draco took another swig of the bottle. “I still prefer Butterbeer, though.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

It was now Draco’s turn to look shocked. “You don’t know?! You’re missing out!”

 

After a lengthy conversation where Draco explained in detail how amazing Butterbeer supposedly was, which Harry was almost certain was entirely exaggerations, they began to walk back to the park. They didn’t make it that far from the bench they’d eaten on, however, before someone loudly cleared their throat from behind.

 

“Oi, specky!” A voice called. Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw a group of three boys walking up the path behind them, hands in their pockets. They all looked around fifteen or sixteen, and were leering at Harry. He turned his head back around and started walking more quickly, hoping Draco knew to match his pace. Something about the expectant smirks on the boys’ faces made the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand up.

 

“Stop!” One boy shouted. “Don’t walk away when we’re talking to you!”

 

Harry was preparing to further quicken his pace, but unfortunately Draco stopped and turned around, his nose wrinkled as if he’d just smelled something rotten. “Yes?”

 

“Heard you talking,” a boy with a shaved head said casually, stepping forward. He was alarmingly tall. “You two aren’t from round here. I don’t remember you from school…”

 

Draco arched an eyebrow. “No, we aren’t from around here. We’re simply visiting during our summer holidays from boarding school.”

 

He drew out the words ‘boarding school’ as if they were a badge of honour. Harry tried to hide his wince as the three boys exchanged crafty looks. This wasn’t good…

 

“If you go to boarding school, you must be pretty well off,” a muscular boy who looked a lot like Goyle commented casually.

 

“Of course,” Draco said loftily.

 

“Well, we should really get going,” Harry said loudly, grabbing Draco’s wrist and intentionally squeezing hard. “Nice chat -”

 

“Hang on a minute,” Shaved Head said, stepping forwards. He had his hands in his pockets. “Now, since you’re not from round here, you don’t know the rules. You don’t leave until we say you do.”

 

Draco sneered. “I’m not going to be ordered around by some Muggle.” 

 

Shaved Head’s face instantly twisted into a snarl. “What did you just call me?”

 

“A Muggle,” Draco said, stepping forward and glowering up at the older boy. “What, are you stupid or something? Well, you would be…”

 

Quick as a flash, the boy shoved into Draco and pinned him against a nearby wall with an audible thump. “I think you want to be more careful about how you talk to us, posh boy.”

 

Draco plunged a hand into his pocket and jabbed his wand directly into the boy’s chest, face fierce. “Get off me, you filthy -”

 

“Draco!” Harry hissed. “You can’t! You’ll be arrested!”

 

The four boys laughed.

 

“Arrested for what? Pointing some stupid stick?” A crooked-nosed boy sneered. “How pathetic!”

 

Still, Draco had understood, and that was what mattered. He slowly slid the wand back into his pocket, but the boy pinning him to the wall didn’t let him go.

 

“Look, we don’t want any trouble,” Harry said nervously.

 

Goyle’s clone snickered. “Here’s what you don’t know, new kids. Around here, we decide who makes the trouble. Now turn out your pockets and hand over all your money. I know you’ve got some.”

 

Harry was very familiar with this kind of situation. This was exactly the kind of thing Dudley spent his summers doing with his own gang back in Surrey. Well, at least he knew how to deal with this. Harry bit back a sigh and kept his eyes lowered and deferential as he reached into his pocket to dig out the measly three pounds they had left over from Snape’s allotment.

 

Unfortunately, Draco apparently did not know how to behave around a group of bullies who were both older and stronger than he was. Harry’s hand had just closed around the coins jingling in his pocket when Draco jerked his knee directly into Shaved Head’s groin. The boy howled and doubled over, releasing Draco from the wall he’d been pressed into. He shot off, grabbing Harry’s forearm as he ran to tug him along. Harry began to run as quickly as his legs could carry him, hearing the sounds of the boys’ footsteps slapping against the concrete. They were in hot pursuit.

 

Unfortunately, it was far easier to run away from his obese cousin than it was to escape a group of older boys with significantly longer legs, so Harry and Draco had barely managed to make it back to the edge of the park before the gang caught up. Crooked Nose grabbed a fistful of Harry’s shirt and yanked him backwards. He landed a punch on Harry’s face, snapping the bridge of his glasses against his nose. Pain spread throughout his face, only worsening as he was struck a second time.

 

Harry saw a blond blur running over in his peripheral vision. “Get off him!”

 

To his immense shock, Draco was currently trying to yank Crooked Nose off him. It was a fruitless effort, especially once the two other boys grabbed Draco and started beating him, too. He gasped in pain as Shaved Head drove his fist into Draco’s stomach, over and over again.

 

Harry kicked Crooked Nose as hard as he could in the shin and tried his best to shove Shaved Head off Draco, but Goyle’s twin got to him first and threw him to the pavement. Harry barely had time to catch himself before his head smacked into the concrete, and felt the sharp sting of the surface ripping open his palms. Without his glasses, he couldn’t see the attacker who began repeatedly kicking him in the ribs. Harry couldn’t help his gasp the third time the boot smacked into his side, causing an explosion of agony that seemed to splinter through his entire chest. He heard a noisy crunch - someone had smashed his glasses under a foot. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the next hit -

 

But no blow came. Instead, he heard one of the boys - Crooked Nose, if he was correct - shriek in terror. Moments later, there was a series of low growls and noisy barks. Harry squinted, and saw a large, black dog with its teeth latched into the boy’s leg.

 

“Ahh! Get it off me!” Crooked Nose shrieked, trying in vain to shove the dog away with one hand. He yelped again as the dog unlatched its jaw from his leg and tried to bite his hand.

 

“What the bloody hell is going on with it?!” Goyle’s clone shouted. “Jim, help him!”

 

“No way! Run, quick!” Shaved Head - presumably Jim - shouted. “Leave the kids to distract it!”

 

Harry watched as three blurry figures ran as quickly as they could, chased by the hazy black smudge that had to be a dog, still yapping at their heels. The creature kept up the hunt until the boys rounded a corner and vanished from view.

 

Harry didn’t move. Many years of being viciously beaten by gangs of boys, particularly his cousin, had taught him that the minute you moved, all of the adrenaline flooded out of your body and you became very painfully aware of every single abrasion lacing you. It would all come to him eventually, but right now he wanted to savour the last few relatively pain-free moments he had.

 

“Sorry,” Draco said hoarsely from nearby. “I didn’t realise that was going to happen.”

 

“Idiot,” Harry mumbled through bloodied lips. He hoped his nose wasn’t broken…although as Harry reflected further on where precisely his face was throbbing, he realised that the majority of the blood was coming from a pulsing cut across the bridge of his nose where his glasses had broken. It was intermingling with the blood from a split lip.

 

My glasses… Harry pushed himself up at last, every part of his body screaming in protest, and started blindly feeling around for them. Draco suddenly gripped his wrist and deposited a pile of twisted wire into his open palm.

 

“It’s no use,” he said. “They’re shattered.”

 

Harry groaned. “Great…”

 

“Can you give me a hand?” Draco asked stiffly. “I think I twisted my ankle when they shoved me back and I can’t really put weight on it.”

 

“Okay, but you have to direct,” Harry said as Draco put an arm around his shoulder, gasping in pain again as Draco accidentally touched his injured ribs. The other boy gave him a concerned look.

 

“Fine,” he managed to grit out.

 

They began hobbling along, and Harry attempted a weak chuckle, instantly regretting it when it made the sharp pain in his side worse. “Look at the state of us. This really is like the blind leading the blind…”

 

Draco tutted. “You’ve got that right. Hey, how bad is your vision anyway? How many fingers am I holding up?”

 

“Four. I’m not completely blind, you dolt,” Harry grumbled as four hazy digits waved in front of his face.

 

It was slow work, between the two of them. It was hard supporting Draco, who could barely put any weight on his ankle, while Harry himself was in rather a lot of pain from the kicks to his ribs. It seemed like an age before they made any significant progress.

 

“We shouldn’t have ever come here today,” Draco muttered.

 

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

 

“Dangerous Muggles, lurking around corners and attacking you for no good reason…”

 

Harry sighed very loudly, causing another sharp jolt of pain. “Draco, it has nothing to do with the fact that they’re Muggles! They’re just a gang of horrid pricks that like to go around terrorising people, okay? Wizards can be just as bad! And are you really telling me that mugging doesn’t exist in the wizarding world?”

 

“Well - yeah, but I’ve never been mugged there!” Draco said indignantly. “Then the moment I go to the Muggle world, I am? I don’t think it’s a complete coincidence…”

 

“It’s just because Cokeworth is a complete shithole,” Harry grumbled. “But it’s not a shithole because of the Muggles, Draco.”

 

“If it wasn’t because they’re Muggles, why did they get so angry and vicious when I called them Muggles?” Draco challenged.

 

“Because as far as they could tell, it was an insult. You have a very insulting tone, you know. And you also called the Muggle stupid, remember?” Harry was trying very hard to keep his temper in check, but was finding it difficult. As far as he could tell, they would have gotten away three pounds poorer and without the beating if Draco would have kept his mouth shut. He just had to boast and fight back, didn’t he…

 

Draco sniffed. “Witches and wizards aren’t that violent. It’s the Muggle blood that makes them aggressive -”

 

“Are you actually being serious?” Harry asked incredulously. “Our kind are probably even worse than Muggles! Are you forgetting the entire massive war we had twelve years ago? Or what about the time Ron tried to make you puke slugs? Or, actually, any of the other billions of duels that happen at Hogwarts all the time? The snake you shot at me last year? Oh, or -”

 

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Draco snapped. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Potter…”

 

Harry glared at him and resisted the urge to smack Draco round the back of the head.

 

Draco huffed. “I just don’t get why you have to wax lyrical about Muggles constantly, especially since we just got attacked by a group of them -”

 

“And I don’t get why you have to act like they’re worthless cockroaches, but I’ll agree to disagree for now.” Harry’s lip was rather swollen from the punch to his face, and it was making speech rather difficult. He was worried he was accidentally going to bite it while he talked, and that would certainly hurt like hell. He wasn’t going to deal with extra pain just to bicker with Malfoy…

 

After a few moments, Draco grunted. “Can you shift my weight?”

 

“Right.” Harry readjusted Draco’s arm over his shoulder. “Um… look, even though you’re a complete idiot, I just wanted to say - er, thanks.”

 

“For getting you beaten up? Oh, you’re very welcome!” he said sarcastically.

 

“No, that’s what I mean,” Harry said, wiping a trickle of blood from his face from the back of his hand. “I meant thanks for not leaving me to get beaten up. You could have kept running, but you tried to drag those Muggles off me when they caught me.”

 

“What was I supposed to do?” Draco scoffed. “If I’d abandoned you with a gang of violent Muggles, it wouldn’t have mattered that I’d gotten away since Severus would have killed me for ditching you!”

 

“You still helped me,” Harry insisted. Despite Draco’s insistence to the contrary, that meant something in his mind. The Draco he’d known before probably would have joined in to help those Muggles finish the job, but he’d actually tried to help Harry! It was unexpected, but it made a strange, warm sensation spread in his chest.

 

Draco scoffed. “Gryffindors. Always so stupidly honourable…”

 

“Picking a fight with a group of older boys is pretty Gryffindorish, you know,” Harry pointed out. “That’s foolish, headstrong behaviour right there.”

 

Draco made a fake gagging noise. “Merciful Merlin, you must be rubbing off on me. How perfectly awful. I’m turning into a bloody Gryffindor…”

 

“Watch it, you slimy Slytherin.”

 

After a few moments of silence, Draco sighed very loudly. “Well…if we’re on the topic of thanks, I suppose I ought to…properly acknowledge what you did for me,” he muttered. Every word was slightly strained. “I do appreciate your ill-fated attempt to drag that Muggle off me.”

 

That, Harry thought, was the most roundabout way of saying ‘thanks’ he could have possibly mustered, but considering this was Draco Malfoy, he could still appreciate the progress.

 

“You’re welcome, Draco.” He looked at the other boy. Even without his glasses, Harry could see he looked utterly awful. “Maybe next time, try not to pick a fight with everyone and everything? Make a few sacrifices for the sake of a quiet life.”

 

“You don’t need to lecture me,” Draco said, sounding rather disgruntled. “Believe me, I’ve learnt my lesson. Besides, Severus is going to give me a hard enough time when he finds out.”

 

Harry stopped walking, frozen. “Wait, what?”

 

“Speaking of, there he is,” Draco said, nodding up the road. Harry could see a black figure making its way in their direction. “He must have gotten back from his meeting early.”

 

“What on earth happened to you?!”

 

Harry didn’t think he’d actually seen Snape run before, but he did so now in his haste to get to Harry and Draco. He wrenched Harry and Draco apart, and Harry winced sharply as the contact jolted his sore side.

 

“Have you two been fighting again?” Snape demanded, expression furious. “I thought you’d at last put aside this ridiculous -”

 

“No, we weren’t fighting, for God’s sake!” Harry hissed. He barely bit back an insult, Draco’s warnings of Snape’s anger still at the forefront of his mind. Still, it really annoyed Harry when Snape always assumed the worst of him.

 

“What happened, then?” Snape asked. He gripped Harry’s shoulder, fingers almost bruising. “I think I’d recall sending you out of the house bruised and bloodied!”

 

“We got beaten up by some boys,” Harry quickly explained before Draco could talk. He couldn’t help but think that Draco’s idiocy had been punished enough by that beating - he didn’t need Snape’s lecture on top of it as well. Judging by his grateful squeeze of Harry’s arm, the gesture wasn’t missed.

 

Snape muttered an oath under his breath and took ahold of Draco’s arm. “Can you walk unassisted, Harry?”

 

He nodded.

 

“Inside now, then,” he snapped, helping the limping Draco through the last little bit of the distance to his house. Harry followed closely, wiping some of the blood off his face with the edge of his shirt.

 

Snape led them both into the kitchen and pointed at the table. Harry and Draco sat down as Snape silently left the kitchen and stormed up the stairs, his footsteps crashing against the steps.

 

“How much trouble are we in, then?” he whispered nervously as the sound of someone loudly rummaging through a cupboard echoed through the small house. It sounded like Snape was cursing under his breath, and Harry winced. He was really going to lose it on them…

 

Draco frowned as he propped his injured ankle up on a spare chair. “Why would we be in trouble? We’re the ones who just got beaten up!”

 

“Then why is he angry?” Harry asked blankly.

 

“I am not angry at you, Harry!” Snape shouted exasperatedly from upstairs. Harry winced; he’d forgotten how good the man’s hearing was. “Did you ever consider I might be angry at the aforementioned gang that decided to use you and Draco as human punching bags?”

 

“Oh.”

 

Harry hadn’t, actually. The Dursleys were the masters of burying their heads in the sand when Harry was beaten up by Dudley, so he wasn’t all that used to people caring about his injuries.

 

“I know you are constantly engaging in some sort of mischief,” Snape continued as he walked back down the stairs, “which normally results in my immense irritation. I would like to clarify, however, that I am not angry with you every time I am angry.”

 

“Er - right.”

 

Snape placed something cold into Harry’s hand. It turned out to be some sort of ice pack. “Hold that on your face for a minute.” He turned to Draco. “Your ankle is injured?”

 

“Yes, but I don’t think it’s broken.” Harry saw Draco wince as Snape started running a wand along the side of his foot. A piece of parchment appeared in the air, which Snape snatched up and read closely.

 

“Just a nasty sprain,” Snape reported. “Keep it elevated for the moment. Where else are you hurt?”

 

“My face, obviously, and my stomach,” Draco said, gesturing vaguely to his torso. Snape started running his wand along Draco’s stomach, and a quill began scribbling across the parchment. Snape watched it, and nodded. “All bruising, nothing broken. I’ll apply a salve in a moment.”

 

Snape shifted around to face Harry. “Now, onto you. What hurts? An honest account, please, I know what you’re like.”

 

Harry bit back the instinctual response of ‘I’m fine’ and removed the ice pack from his face. “Well, there’s this. Oh, and they kicked me in the side.”

 

He barely had a moment to prepare himself before the end of Snape’s wand was in his face. “Desepticus.” 

 

Harry yelped as the open cuts on his face stung and burned. “Can’t you warn me before you do that?!”

 

“I will next time.” Snape’s hand suddenly started moving towards Harry’s face and he flinched. Snape froze.

 

“I am just going to apply a healing salve to some of the open cuts so they stop bleeding,” he explained in a very calm, level voice. Irritation surged up in Harry at the tone. He didn’t need to be managed.

 

“It’s just because I can’t see,” he muttered, feeling a bit embarrassed. He’d gotten a little better about the flinching, but being without his glasses left Harry feeling horribly vulnerable, since he couldn’t see everything going on around him.

 

“I’ll fix your glasses in a moment, I just thought I should make it so you can actually wear them first,” Snape said, putting a steadying hand under Harry’s chin as he dabbed something that smelt of liquorice onto the cuts on Harry’s nose and lip. The hand was probably to stop him from jerking away like an idiot again, he thought glumly.

 

“Oculus reparo,” Snape said, handing the glasses to Harry. He shoved them onto his face, wincing as they touched the tender skin on the bridge of his nose, which was still slick with the healing salve. Harry sighed with relief as the world immediately came into sharper focus. He looked across the table and gasped slightly as he got a clear look at Draco’s bruised and bloodied face for the first time. One of his eyes was almost completely swollen shut, and blood was steadily trickling out of one nostril.

 

“Is it really that bad?” Draco asked fearfully, noticing his reaction and instantly hiding his face with his hands.

 

"I don't know how you're going to get by anymore without those good looks," Harry said with mocking solemnity, putting a hand over his heart.

 

“You’ll be fine,” Snape said briskly, pulling Draco’s hands away and repeating the same healing process he’d performed on Harry, before also applying some sort of unidentifiable potion to Draco’s stomach and ankle. Harry didn’t pay much attention, since his ribs were really starting to hurt by now. Every time he inhaled, it was like a sharp knife stabbing him in the side. He tried to take shallow breaths, but it didn’t help much.

 

Harry, of course, was just going to deal with it - not like he hadn’t had bruised ribs before, growing up with Dudley - but Snape, of course, noticed. He finished up with Draco’s ankle, ordered him to keep it elevated, and turned to Harry. “What side were you injured on?”

 

“The left.”

 

Snape pulled up Harry’s shirt and inhaled sharply. Harry looked down and realised his ribs had already bruised to a brilliant, mottled purple. He ran his wand along Harry’s side, and he struggled not to wince as it touched the tender skin. The text on Snape’s parchment glowed blue, and he shook his head. “A fracture, as I suspected. Skele-Gro will take care of that.”

 

Harry pulled a face. “I’d rather deal with the fracture.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Snape rolled his eyes, flicked his wand, and a bottle flew into his hand. He then summoned a glass, and began to pour the smoking yellow liquid into it. The whole situation was somehow worse than it had been last year, since Harry now knew what was coming.

 

“I thought Skele-Gro was only for regrowing bones,” he said a little desperately. “Can’t you just heal it with your wand?”

 

“Skele-Gro can be used for a variety of bone-related afflictions,” Snape said. “I’m not a qualified Healer, so I don’t like to use Episkey for ribs. They can be rather tricky. You don't want a badly-grown bone fragment piercing the lung, after all.” He slid the glass across the table to Harry. “Drink up.”

 

Despite Harry’s best efforts, he was unable to stop the coughing and spluttering as he choked down the vile potion. It really burned, and the horrid aftertaste didn’t fade even after Harry tried to wash it down with a glass of water. Snape somehow managed to procure a stick of gum from somewhere, which helped a little. That was surprisingly considerate, especially given that this was Snape. Madam Pomfrey had not been particularly sympathetic last year, he recalled.

 

“You should be back to normal in a few hours,” Snape said, brushing off his hands.

 

“Really?” Harry said, surprised. “When I was regrowing the bones in my arm last year it took all night!”

 

“Mending a fracture is a lot simpler than regrowing an entire arm’s worth of bones.” Snape scowled rather fiercely. “I still don’t know what that utter buffoon Lockhart was thinking…”

 

“No one does,” Harry muttered. He half-expected a rebuke for insulting a professor, even if it was a former one, but Snape actually nodded his agreement.

 

“Now, onto your assailants,” Snape said, staring down Harry and Draco. “Describe them, if you please.”

 

Harry and Draco both quickly did so, and Harry passed on the name of the boy, Jim, who Crooked Nose had begged for help after being attacked by the dog.

 

Snape’s expression darkened. “Ah, the local hooligans. I’m familiar with those particular boys, I’ve had dealings with them in the past…” He pushed his chair back. “The two of you are to rest upstairs while I deal with them.”

 

“Deal with them?” Harry asked a little nervously.

 

“Why can’t we come?” Draco complained. He had a slightly vindictive look on his face. Harry was familiar with it after two years of hallway fights.

 

“Because you shouldn’t be walking,” Snape said pointedly, shooting a look at Draco’s injured ankle. “At any rate, it would not be, ah… appropriate, to have the two of you attend.”

 

“What are you going to do?” Harry asked, suddenly overcome by visions of Snape deftly hexing the boys, or chopping them up into potions ingredients.

 

“They’re terrified of me,” Snape said simply, rising to his feet. “I will simply… inform them of how unwise a repetition of such behaviour, particularly with my wards, would be.”

 

There was a fleeting moment where Harry scoffed to himself - as if a stern talking to would work on nasty thugs like those boys.

 

Then, he caught sight of Snape’s face.

 

Ever since the man had found out about the Dursleys, the usual horrid Potions Master Harry was used to seemed to have faded away. The current Snape was calmer, less insulting, and generally less intimidating than the man Harry was familiar with from Hogwarts. So, the usual look of doom Snape wore at school coming back all at once was rather disconcerting. Yes, Harry could definitely see how that furious glower would be intimidating to most teenagers, even the ones that had beat him and Draco up…

 

It was still a little surprising to know that someone, especially Snape, was willing to defend him, though. A warm glow seemed to spread in Harry’s chest, but he immediately shoved it away. It was a very weird thing to be happy about, he reminded himself.

 

Even if he didn’t want to admit it, though, it was still nice.

 

“Enough of this chatting,” Snape said briskly. “We’ll adapt our evening plans to account for this incident and get a takeaway instead. You two ought to rest.”

 

He pointed his wand at Draco, who shouted out as he was levitated into the air.

 

“No walking on that ankle!” Snape’s lips twitched slightly as Draco shrieked his protest. Harry laughed as Draco floated through the hallway; it might have been a tad spiteful, but Draco had also laughed when Snape had threatened to levitate Harry a few days ago, so he thought it was karma.

 

“You’re also injured, Mr Potter,” Snape remarked, smirking at Harry. “Care to join him up there?”

 

“No, no, I’m alright!” Harry said quickly. For a moment, he was worried Snape was going to do it anyway, but quickly realised the man was simply teasing.

 

Snape. Teasing. It was a strange thing to realise, but not as unsettling as it might have been before. Harry was finally starting to get used to all of this, he thought. He hurried along up the stairs, trying to stifle his snickers at Draco’s continual shrieks of indignation, since laughter was unsettling his prickling ribs.

 

Harry slipped into his room and sat on his bed while Snape at last put Draco down on the opposite twin. He glowered up at Snape, who was still smirking slightly. “Both of you stay here and rest. Believe me, I’ll know if you don’t. I should be back in under an hour.”

 

He shut the door moments later, and Harry heard the loud crack of Apparition echo out from the hallway. Harry settled back against his pillow and stared at the ceiling mournfully. Snape was going to doom him to rest forever at this rate…

 

“You know,” Draco remarked, “we got really lucky with that dog, didn’t we?”

 

“I know,” Harry said, remembering the loud growls and barks of the creature as it chased the terrified boys away.

 

“I wonder why it came after them?” Draco said thoughtfully.

 

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe it smelled the blood or something?”

 

“Possibly. It did look like a stray.”

 

“Whatever the reason was, it saved us. It didn’t seem like they were gonna clear off anytime soon…”

 

They fell into silence. Harry wondered for a moment why that dog had looked so oddly familiar. He supposed that without his glasses, any dog would probably remind him of Aunt Marge’s collection of awful hounds. They also liked to bite, after all…

 

“We’re not really going to lie here and do nothing, right?” Draco asked.

 

“Nope,” Harry said, sitting up with a wince. “I want a distraction from the Skele-Gro.”

 

“I don’t envy you,” Draco remarked, leaning on one elbow and watching Harry. “Maybe that’s what Severus should do to those stupid Muggles - force-feed them Skele-Gro.”

 

“That would be amazing,” Harry said, running his tongue against the back of his teeth. Even with the gum, he swore he could still taste the awful stuff. “Wouldn’t it hurt them, though, if they aren’t injured?”

 

“Who cares?” Draco said. “And no, it wouldn’t. Skele-Gro only grows something if you have a bone problem. It would just taste terrible.”

 

“I wonder what Snape is gonna do to them?”

 

“Oh, I hope he curses them.” Draco sighed, a daydreaming expression on his face. “He knows a lot of Dark Magic, I think. Maybe he can permanently turn their ankles backwards or something… oh, or he could make their flesh start to melt before their eyes -”

 

“Chess?” Harry asked abruptly, feeling the sudden need to stem the tide of Draco’s slightly violent thoughts.

 

“Sure.”

 

As Harry shuffled over to get their chess sets out, he abruptly recalled an incident back in his first year - fighting the troll with Ron and Hermione. The experience of toppling a ten foot mountain troll had an odd bonding effect, and they’d all been friends ever since.

 

Something about the experience of a common enemy brought people together, even if the common enemy was created by Draco Malfoy being an unaware idiot with no street smarts. Harry still couldn’t believe that Draco had actually tried to defend him today. Draco might claim that he hadn’t had a choice, but Harry knew the boy from before would have fled, no matter what Snape would have had to say about it.

 

He had defended Harry like a friend. Something about that made him unable to stop smiling.