Harry was fuming. How dare he! How dare Snape go through his memories like that! How dare he! His personal experiences were not a book to be casually perused and cast aside! They were his life. He felt violated and used. Thank Merlin he had the entire weekend before he had another Occlumency lesson. He just wanted to get away.

But where could he go? He couldn’t go outside, though he rather wanted to. He couldn’t go to the library he had seen or go exploring in Snape’s house. He didn’t want to sit in his room or the dining room.

What about that lab? True he had finished cleaning it but Snape hadn’t actually told him he couldn’t go back to that room. And Snape didn’t appear to use it. Surely he wouldn’t mind, and if he did, Harry decided, too bad.

Harry got together a few books and snuck down to the small room. It looked much better than before, even if he did say so himself. The glass jars shone and the cauldrons gleamed. He could very nearly see his reflection in the table tops they had been polished so much.

Harry spent a very enjoyable morning there working on his summer assignments. He had managed to finish most of them already this year, which made for a nice change, he thought. A little before lunch he crept back up to his room and deposited his books and parchments on his bed. He strolled down to the dining room significantly more relaxed than he had been.

The beginnings of a very good mood evaporated the moment he stepped through the door and saw Snape already seated at the table. The miserable git had the nerve to look at him! As though he had done nothing wrong!

Severus was watching the boy when he entered. He had nearly been smiling, but his face fell abruptly when he caught sight of the older man. Potter threw him a glare that, with a little time and practice, could develop into something worthwhile.

Snape had spent the time between lesson and lunch thinking about Potter. The memories he had seen were incoherent and indistinct, practically useless, but interesting, nevertheless. No doubt the three people he’d seen were Potter’s relatives, he’d seen enough now and during the previous term to realize that. Odd that none of the bore even a passing resemblance to Lily, but never mind.

But what was that place? It was dark and nearly sufficient to induce claustrophobia even though he normally had no problems with that sort of thing. What was it? Where was it? And why in Merlin’s name did Potter have so many memories of it? He intended to find out.

In the meantime, however, he was going to eat lunch and enjoy some quality summer potion brewing.

All that day and the next, however, Severus found his mind wandering to a small dark space. It was in the middle of the night that Snape remembered an outline of light in the darkness, almost like a door in a darkened room. But really, the space wasn’t big enough to be considered a room, more like a cupboard. For some unfathomable reason Severus found that a chilling thought. After a few minutes, however, he was able to convince himself that this was nothing but middle-of-the-night melodrama and that if Potter remembered a darkened room—not closet—it must be because he looked back on that darkened room with fondness. Maybe he had hidden there to avoid chores or something. Yes, that was it, Potter, lazy from an early age. Having comforted himself Severus slipped back into slumber.

Harry woke that night from a bad dream. He hesitated to call it a nightmare, especially now that he knew what a nightmare could be. The dream had been something like those he used to have, before he’d gone to Hogwarts, but he hadn’t had one like that in a very long time. He had dreamed of being in his cupboard and hearing voices outside the door.

At first, it had been the Dursleys calling to him, taunting him. They called him a freak, told him he wasn’t worth the food they gave him. Then it was Dudley and his gang telling him he’d never have any friends, that he was too strange. He was just thinking that it wasn’t so bad, thank goodness for Hogwarts though, when the voices changed again.

This time the voices he heard belonged to Ron and Hermione. They told him that they couldn’t believe they’d wasted their time on him. He was worthless, he couldn’t do anything properly. The voices told him they were glad he was locked away under the stairs because at least there he couldn’t contaminate their world.

Harry had awakened with tears in his eyes. It wasn’t until he remembered all the letters that his two best friends had sent him and thought about the way they always pestered him when he was upset that he could convince his eyes to close and his heart to stop racing, and it took quite a long time before he had relaxed enough to go back to sleep.

The next morning was remarkable in that both Harry and Severus showed up for breakfast. Severus was slightly tired but after a little coffee he began to pick up a bit and notice his surroundings. Potter, he saw, spent more time staring into the middle distance than eating the toast on his plate. The boy had dark smudges under his eyes and every now and then blinked at the food before him as though he had never seen anything like it before and half expected it to disappear. That was rather unusual. Customarily the boy gulped down food as quickly as he could before dashing off to do something else.

Severus watched the boy for a few moments. He was rather pale; he realized a moment later that the boy hadn’t been out of doors since he arrived. He could just imagine the look on everyone’s face if Potter went back to school with a vitamin-d deficiency. He could use some of the ingredients in the back gardens, too. Perhaps he should take the boy out with him. The useless brat could zip about on his broomstick wasting time while he, Severus, got some work done. “I am going out to the gardens today,” Snape stated.

Harry started and looked up at him. It would be nice to go outside again; the sunburn he had had earlier that summer had long since faded to a slight tan. “What needs to be done in the gardens, Professor?” Maybe if he were particularly useful Snape would let him fly, Harry mused wistfully.

Snape raised an eyebrow. Was Potter volunteering for work? “I will simply be gathering a few of the plants that grow there. Sprig takes good care of the gardens here.”

“Sprig?”

“My other house elf.”

“Oh.” The boy was silent for a moment. “Do you need any help sir?”

“Do you think I am incapable of getting the supplies I require, Potter? Do you think you could do a better job?” Snape asked him sourly.

“No, sir!” Harry replied quickly. That wasn’t what he’d meant to imply at all.

“No?” Snape pounced on the answer. “No, you don’t think I am capable of gathering a few herbs?”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Harry protested.

“Then what did you mean, Potter?” Snape said acidly.

“I just wanted to know if you wanted any help!”

“Oh, you are so arrogant as to believe that your own skills would be indispensable to me. Now I see,” Snape nodded and smirked.

“NO!” Harry shouted in exasperation. “That’s not what I meant either. I just wanted to know if you wanted me to help you! If you don’t want me to I don’t have to.”

“Well if you are offering I suppose I could come up with something for you to do.” Snape’s voice was filled with mock thoughtfulness, and he fully expected Potter to decline.

“Alright, then,” Harry nodded.

Severus was stunned. ‘Alright then?’ What did that mean? That Potter wanted to work? “I would have thought you would prefer flying to gardening.” It was more of a question that Snape made it sound.

“I do,” Harry said. “But I don’t particularly mind gardening,” he had a strange look on his face at that moment that told the world there was a ‘but’ attached to the statement, “and I was hoping that if I was helpful I might be able to fly later. Even if I can’t, I’d still like to go outside.” Harry hadn’t realized how much he liked going out until he hadn’t had the opportunity. He couldn’t help wondering how Aunt Petunia’s plants were doing since he hadn’t been there to care for them. He hoped they weren’t dead; Aunt Petunia would kill him if they were.

Snape was watching Potter closely. The strange look when Potter mentioned gardening hadn’t gone unnoticed and neither did the pensive and slightly worried look he wore now. “Potter, I am not going to keep you locked up inside when I go out of doors, that’s just ridiculous. And when have you ever gardened. Herbology class?” he sneered. Except as a punishment he still doubted Potter would get his hands dirty.

“I take care of my Aunt’s flower beds, when I’m there,” he said absentmindedly.

“Voluntarily?” Snape drawled disbelievingly.

“It’s one of my chores,” Potter said.

Chores? Harry Potter had chores? “Do you have other chores, Potter?”

Harry looked at him suddenly. “Yes, I have other chores. Why do you ask, Professor?” his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I am surprised that you would be required to work, that’s all,” Snape said dismissively. The answer seemed to satisfy Potter as he turned back to his now cold breakfast. Privately, Severus was thinking about how much work it took to properly care for a garden, even a small one. He remembered Potter also said his aunt had him help her clean, too. Judging by the way Potter worked, his aunt was a stickler for perfection. Perhaps Potter wasn’t spoiled. It was good to know that the muggle world at least was not so blinded by Potter’s fame that they let him get away with anything.

It was with these thoughts firmly in mind that Snape finished his own meal.

When he had carefully wiped his mouth with the napkin and laid the linen down by his plate he looked over at the boy, who was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I believe, Potter, that even muggles are familiar with the concept of napkins,” he remarked scathingly. Potter looked up and glared a little but had the good grace to redden slightly. At least the boy didn’t talk with his mouth full or chew with his mouth open like so many of his peers did! Severus offered silent thanks to any listening deities for that small grace; there were times in the Great Hall of Hogwarts that he nearly lost his appetite.

Snape rose from the table and said, “Come along, Potter.” He led the boy out of the room and began down the hallway toward the back of the house.

“Are we going now, sir?” Potter inquired in a surprised tone.

“Would you prefer to wait until next year, Potter?” Snape asked sarcastically.

“No, I’m just not dressed for gardening. Can you give me two minutes to change?”

Snape turned and said harshly, “Hurry it up then!” Change? What did the brat mean, change? The clothing he was wearing was already worn and looked to be many sizes too large. The collar of the shirt kept slipping to reveal the majority of one or the other of his shoulders and there were holes in the knees of the pants.

Just as Snape was about to sigh with impatience, the boy returned. Severus’s eyes widened slightly in shock. He called those clothes? They were practically rags! They were exponentially more ragged than the clothes he had worn to breakfast. The shirt had several holes and the collar seemed to have been ripped out entirely. The cuffs of the pants were frayed and long strings hung from them in a few places. Both shirt and pants were too short but still managed to be too loose and the trainers on his feet not only seemed to be too small, they had several holes and the outer sole was separating from the rest of the shoe.

Snape was not completely ignorant; he knew that in some muggle circles it was fashionable to wear clothes too large or “deconstructed” or even with gaping holes, but he had never heard of any fashion that included all of those traits. Also, he noticed that as he stared at Potter’s clothes the boy’s eyes found the floor and the tips of his ears showed red through his hair. Definitely something unusual going on here then, but whatever it was, it would have to wait. Snape needed some knotgrass and heartsease and he didn’t fancy waiting all day to get them.

He turned and continued walking down the dark hall. Every now and then a portrait would glower down at them from the walls, but Harry ignored them and breathed a small and, he hoped, inaudible sigh of relief. He had felt quite uncomfortable when Snape stared at him and when his eyebrow went up Harry had been almost certain Snape was going to make some comment on his attire. He knew he looked like some sort of ragamuffin, Aunt Petunia’d said it often enough, but he hadn’t really much choice in the matter. He hadn’t gotten his usual allotment of hand-me-downs that year and the Dursleys had left too quickly for him to have time to try to convince them that he needed new shoes. He had to try to preserve what clothing he could, especially since he needed something to wear on the weekends at Hogwarts; he could just imagine the looks he’d get if he tried to wear his uniform! Ron would declare him out of his mind and Snape would most likely find a way to take points off.

They walked out the final door into the bright sunlight. The sudden contrast in light nearly brought tears to Harry’s eyes and both men found themselves blinking furiously. The terrace they were standing on was wide and flat and Harry found himself thinking that it would have been very good for the roller skates Dudley had got for his birthday one year. The garden was just beyond the edge of the patio and there were several pots and beds of flowers that bloomed profusely and spectacularly. Beyond that the herbs and vegetables grew and more exotic and magical plants grew in greenhouses surrounding the area. The whole thing was green and growing and had an incredible aura of being vibrantly, ecstatically alive.

It was not a feeling that Harry would have associated with Snape ever in a million years. He remembered suddenly that Snape had said he had a house elf to take care of it. Seeing his potions professor take a deep breath and nearly smile, however, Harry wondered if perhaps he had judged the man too harshly. A moment later that charitable thought was obliterated when the older man turned to him and snapped, “Come along boy! We’ve not got all day to waste.”

Snape led Harry to a small shed which was weathered but tidy-looking. The professor stepped inside and quickly found two baskets and a pair of trimmers. Upon exiting the tool shed Snape shoved the baskets at Harry and stalked off down a path lined with dianthus.

Harry was struck by the image and stood still for a moment appreciating it. Snape, in his billowing, black robes looked something like Death, and he found himself checking the flowers the man had passed for signs of blight. He came back to himself abruptly and scurried to catch up with Snape, who had turned and was scowling at him.

Sprig did a wonderful job, Severus noted. Not that he expected anything else. He expected excellence from Sprig and Cinder, of course, but he knew that Sprig also genuinely enjoyed her work. Potter, he realized after a moment, was lagging behind, but a good scowl remedied that. After a few moments’ walking he found what he was looking for, a hearty bed of heartsease. He knelt and began clipping a few of the healthier and larger blooms and stems and leaves. He laid them carefully in one of the baskets that Potter dutifully held.

It didn’t take long for the boy to look rather bored. Severus had known this would happen and braced himself for the boy’s whines and requests to go fly. To his very great surprise, however, despite the heat and sweat and boredom Potter never opened his mouth.

It was a beautiful day and Harry very much wanted to be doing something, even gardening with Snape. Honestly, Harry knew his way around a garden and he could clip those plants as easily or well as his professor. After perhaps half an hour Snape rose again and they headed off toward a small, marshy field where a tallish, reedy plant Harry recognized as knotgrass was growing. Snape picked his way carefully through the patch snipping the occasional stalk and glaring at Harry as he tried to follow in Snape’s footsteps. It took quite a bit longer in this field, perhaps an hour and a half, but at last they were done.

They trudged back to the small shed. Snape put back the clippers and led Harry back to the house. They deposited the baskets in the dungeon and, after much fussing with them, Snape finally turned to Harry with a scowl. “Go and get your broom, boy.”

Harry’s face lit up brilliantly as he turned and ran up to his room to retrieve the cherished Firebolt. In what seemed no time at all Harry was zipping through the air on his broomstick. He did all sorts of tricks and was enjoying himself more than he had at any point thus far that summer.

Severus watched his charge from the ground where he sat with a cup of tea and a potions digest. Every now and then he found himself looking up and inhaling sharply as the boy did another spiral or dive or loop-the-loop. Potter flew well, he admitted, but Severus still remembered the boy’s first quidditch match.

The rest of the day passed all too quickly and it seemed mere minutes before Snape was yelling for him to come down and eat dinner. Harry was quite hungry but the treat of flying in good weather was enough to make him consider ignoring his professor. He did not, in the end, and dinner seemed like just the thing. The only trouble was that he seemed unable to keep his eyes open.

It was long after young Potter had gone to bed for the night that Snape was sorting out the day’s harvest. Carefully he separated the plants into reasonable quantities for the next week and prepared the samples for preservation, except for some of the knotgrass, which he needed right away for a batch of polyjuice potion he was working on for the Dark Lord. He was nearly finished with the task when he felt his Mark burning.

He was being called again.