His sleep was heavy that night, his body exhausted and sore from a day of chopping wood. It should have been a dreamless sleep but somehow he still found himself standing in the darkness with that invisible source of light coming from somewhere above him.

Lily looked at him with something sad in her eyes. Harry did not want her pity and suddenly found himself growing angry.

-          “Deep down he can be really sweet?” he asked ironically, repeating the words she had told him in the last dream. “He’s not a bad man?”

-          “I’m sorry,” she told him, her hands gripping each other in front of her, as if she could barely contain the urge to give him a comforting hug. Harry didn’t want her comfort any more than he wanted her pity and he backed away from her.

-          “He’s unfair and mean, probably evil, and he hates me!”

-          “He doesn’t hate you.”

Her words were not convincing and he could tell just by looking at her that she did not expect him to believe her. Perhaps that was why it felt so much worse that she was actually defending him.

-          “Yes he does!” he shot back at her. “Mom, he hates me and I hate him!”

Was he crying again? His vision was blurry and he angrily wiped his eyes. He was not a baby!

-          “I don’t think you hate him,” she said simply.

-          “Yes I do! He’s mean!”

And wasn’t he reverting back to the maturity of a toddler? He had learned quickly enough not to argue with Aunt Petunia, why was he doing it now with his mother? His very much dead mother, by the way.

-          “Mean he is,” she agreed with him sadly. “However I don’t think he’s quite evil.”

-          “He made me chop wood,” he told her. “For two days. And I’m not even finished yet.”

-          “I know." 

           “I didn’t even do anything!”

-          “I know. You are many things, Harry dear, but a thief is not one of them.”

She stepped closer to him but this time he did not back away. Her hands remained clasped together in front of her though, perhaps because she sensed that he would bolt if she tried to touch him right then.

-          “I hate him,” he told her again.

-          “I think you wish you did. Perhaps things would be easier then?”

Green eyes nearly identical to his own met his. He felt like she could see straight through him, see the chaos which he wasn’t even prepared to deal with himself. Unable to meet her eyes any longer he lowered his head in defeat.

-          “Why does he hate me?” he asked, his voice small.

A hand settled on his shoulder, merely resting there, providing a minor amount of comfort.

-          “Because Severus is a man who condemns easily, and who loves very few. But those lucky few he does love, those he love with such intensity that it frightens him.”

The hand on his shoulder was not moving, not urging him to do anything. Still Harry felt himself take a step forward, until his head was resting on her chest, and he sought more of that same comfort.

-          “I didn’t do anything,” he repeated.

-          “I know,” she said, her hand stroking through his hair.

In silence they stood like that for a while, simply embracing each other, Harry seeking the kind of comfort he had seen much too little of in his life.

-          “I still don’t like him,” he finally told her, a small spark of rebellion rising in him.

-          “That’s fine,” she assured him. “As long as you don’t hate him. You’ve got his temper, and I don’t think that anything good would come from a full out confrontation between the two of you.”

Well, he had to defend himself against that, didn’t he?

-          “I do not have his temper,” he told her, pushing away to meet her eyes again.

For some reason this made her smile, and she touched his cheek to dry away a wayward tear.

-          “Of course not,” she agreed, her voice totally non-convincing.

When she kissed his forehead he closed his eyes. Slowly the dream faded and the darkness of sleep took over, but the comforting memory of her touch remained with him for the remainder of the night.

HPHPHPHP

The first thing he became aware of when he woke up was that his body was aching. Groaning silently he stretched his body and turned over in the sofa so that he was facing the back. He was not used to being so sore from doing his chores. Though the Dursleys didn’t have a problem having him to chores they had never put him to chop wood. Then again, they didn’t need wood in the first place either.

Wondering what time it was he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at the clock on the mantel piece. Nine o’clock. Rubbing his eyes he watched again, still seeing the same time. Weird, he thought to himself. Usually Snape would be on him at half past eight in the morning, telling him that this house wasn’t a hotel where people could sleep in all day.

With a sigh Harry got up, thinking that if Snape wasn’t yelling at him already there was no reason to give the man any further excuse to do so. He was really too tired for another row with the man.

Grabbing some of the newly purchased clothing he headed up the stairs and towards the bathroom. Just as he was about to open the door the knob twisted of itself and the door swung open to reveal Snape.

Though Snape wasn’t exactly good looking normally he looked even worse for wear today. Harry could not help but stare. The professor had bloodshot eyes that were somewhat glassy, dark bags under his eyes and had even missed some of the stubble when he shaved, leaving patches of dark stubble on the otherwise very pale skin. All in all Snape might as well have come straight out of the nightmares of some child.

-          “G-good morning, sir,” Harry stammered, finally managing to tear his eyes away for a moment.

Snape made a sound that might be a return of the greeting and passed by Harry without as much as glancing at him. Harry stood frozen in place for a moment, wondering what had just happened. Not only was Snape looking like a wreck, he had also completely failed to lecture Harry in any way.

When Harry had completed his morning routine he headed downstairs to the kitchen and found, much to his surprise, Snape already working on breakfast. The man might look like he was about to collapse any moment but apparently he was not about to let Harry and Ian make their own breakfast.

Harry stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, unsure of how to act or what to say when Snape was acting like a zombie from one of Dudley’s TV games. Then he wordlessly headed for the cupboards, retrieving bread, milk, butter and the like for their breakfast. Snape didn’t as much as look at him.

Upstairs they could hear Ian and Cecil getting up and getting ready for the day. By the time they came down to the kitchen Harry had placed the tea kettle on the table and Snape had taken care of the bacon. They still hadn’t spoken a word.

Breakfast was a silent affair. Snape looked like he was about to fall asleep and only started to look a bit more alert after he had finished three cups of, for once, sugary tea. Ian and Cecil were strangely tense and did not talk to each other. Harry did not understand either of it. He just hoped that whatever the problem was it was not something that he would be blamed for. Again.

-          “It has come to my attention that I was … deceived, about a certain event three days ago,” Snape said once breakfast was almost finished.

All three boys looked up at him: Harry surprised that Snape would ever admit to something like that, the other two with strangely guilty expressions.

-          “Potter,” Snape continued, not quite meeting Harry’s eyes,” you may consider yourself done with your chores this week.”

It was Thursday. Did Snape mean that Harry would have four whole days without chores to do? The mere thought of it was hard to grasp, not to mention what he would do with all that free time. He had even finished his summer homework already.

-          “Ian,” Snape said, turning to said boy, “you will apologize to Mr. Potter. Furthermore you will spend the next two days chopping wood, to make sure you understand the consequences of your actions.”

A shocked kind of silence fell over the table as everyone tried desperately to make sense of what they had just heard. Snape had just given Harry the rest of the week off, while punishing Ian and forcing him to apologize to Harry. It seemed hell had finally frozen over.

-          “WHAT?! NO!” Ian finally shouted, breaking the silence. “NO, NO, NO, NO, I WON’T DO IT! I REFUSE!”

Harry couldn’t help but wince at the tone. Snape wasn’t the kind of man who would hurt his son but for Harry, who had been the victim of the man’s temper often enough, the mere thought of using that tone against the professor sent shivers down his spine.

Ian stood up and turned around to leave, red faced and clearly upset. However it seemed this day was not strange enough already.

-          “Stay right where you are, young man!” Snape’s voice, cold as ice, snapped.

Immediately Ian froze, still tense but not moving a step further away. His back was turned towards the table so none of them could see his facial expression.

-          “Come back and sit down,” Snape continued in a tone that demanded obedience.

For a moment Ian remained just where he was, shoulders twitching and clearly wanting to disobey. In the end however he must have realized that his father was serious and returned to the table, his face angry and sulking.

-          “Good. Once we have finished breakfast you and I will have a very serious conversation regarding your behavior lately. Right now it suffices to say that I am very displeased with you and that you will apologize.”

Harry tore his eyes away from the scene playing out in front of him and lowered his gaze to his mostly-finished breakfast. This was wrong. Snape was lecturing Ian, for getting Harry in trouble. It was the total opposite of how things ought to be normally and though he should feel happy he felt nothing but awkward and embarrassed.

-          “NO!” Ian said, for the second time that morning.

-          “Either you do it now, or you do it after you have spent two days chopping wood and really gotten a feeling about what you did to someone innocent. It is your choice.”

Picking with his food Harry wondered whether he could leave the table and leave the two to their arguing, or if that would get him in trouble as well. He felt like he was listening in on something private and it felt wrong, yet there was nothing he could do to stop himself from hearing them arguing.

-          “Innocent?!” Ian exclaimed. “I am the one who’s innocent here! The only thing he is good for is getting into trouble! You said so yourself!”

Perhaps if he just went silently no one would notice that he had gone? Yes, Harry decided, that was what he should do. He’d rather risk get himself in trouble again than having to listen to this argument.

-          “Even so that does not make your actions any more acceptable! You lied to me!”

-          “Well, you lied to me too! You said he wouldn’t ruin the summer!”

Silently Harry got up from the table and started to slide towards the sink, his plate in hand.

-          “You know very well why he is here and I really would have thought that you’d be a bit more … “

-          “I hate him! He ruins everything!”

-          “Sit down and listen to me! You will not … “

-          “I hate you!”

With those parting words Ian rushed out of the room with tears in his eyes, ignoring his father’s call for him to come back. Harry, who was just placing his plate in the sink, stared after him.

Just then an owl flew through the open window and landed on the table in front of Snape, splattering leftovers all over the table. Snape snarled at it but retrieved the two letters, one of which was of the same rich parchment that was used in Harry’s Hogwarts letters. The owl helped itself to the remains of the bacon and then took off the same way it had come.

While Snape was busy with the letters Harry hurried to leave the room.

What should he do now? Snape had said that he did not have to continue chopping wood or doing chores for the rest of the week. He should get out of the way, before the man got the chance to change his mind. Grabbing one of his new books from his school trunk he headed for the back yard, already hearing Snape muttering in the kitchen.

Looking around the back yard Harry finally settled himself beneath a three, partly hidden from view from the house but close enough that he would hear if they were looking for him. With a sigh he opened the book and began to read.

The book was boring theory and soon he found himself glancing towards the pile of chopped wood, and the larger pile of un-chopped wood. Reflexively he rubbed his palms against his legs, feeling the vague ache in them. They had hardened now but during that first day of chopping they had been full of blisters. He had barely been able to eat that night, his hands being so sore he struggled to hold on to his fork.

Scowling at the memory he got up and found a new spot to read, where he had his back towards the hated wood. Snape may not be like Uncle Vernon but he sure wasn’t fair either! The only real difference was that Uncle Vernon beat Harry himself, while Snape put Harry to doing chores that left him similarly aching as from one of Uncle Vernon’s beatings. As a result Harry was too tired to even complain about Snape’s treatment.

Summer couldn’t be over soon enough to Harry.

HPHPHP

Like a wounded animal Ian retreated to his room to lick his wounds. He didn’t care that he was acting childish and he didn’t care that he was being unfair to Cecil by leaving him all alone. Cecil wasn’t his best friend anymore either, by the way. The tittle-tattler had gone and told his father! And now his father was mad at him and it was all because of Potter – and Cecil. So Ian really had all the right in the world to stay in his room where he wouldn’t have to see either one of them.

Ian felt utterly humiliated. His father had lectured him, in front of his best friend no less! And it was all because of Potter. How could he do that?

Curling up on his bed he pulled the covers over his head. He was mad at all of them; on Potter who seemed to have everything Ian wanted and had even invaded his home and taken his father away from him, on his father for allowing Potter to take over, and on Cecil for telling on him. Why couldn’t they see that Potter was the one to yell at?

He lay there for the better part of an hour, feeling miserable and sorry for himself. Potter had money, Potter had fame and no parents telling him what to do and not (a prospect that was starting to look more and more appealing to Ian lately). He had lots of friends and he got to play quidditch at the house team, and he always won! Somehow he even managed to stand above the rules that applied to everyone else. So why was it that Potter had to stamp in and ruin Ian’s summer and take his father away from him? Why couldn’t Potter just stay with those relatives of his that adored him so?

Then again, if what father said was true then Potter had really been abandoned by his relatives. But that still didn’t make it ok for Potter to suddenly come and take over Ian’s home, wear Ian’s clothes and take Ian’s father away! It made Ian feel like he was being replaced, especially so when father defended Potter like that.

Truthfully he hadn’t meant to get Potter in so much trouble. He had just wanted to remind his father that Potter was more trouble than he was worth, and making it seem like he was stealing had seemed like a good idea. It had even worked, and would have continued to work had it not been for the babbling of Cecil!

Father was really mad at him now. Ian could tell that much without opening his door and heading back downstairs. There was a knot of fear in his stomach as well, because surely now when he had misbehaved so his father would get rid of him? It had already started before, with Potter moving in and everything. Father was spending an unhealthy amount of time obsessing over Potter and almost completely forgetting about Ian. Was this the last straw; the final drop that would make his father push away Ian and instead take Potter in as his son?

Lying in his bed Ian tensed at the sound of his father walking by his room. His steps were rapid and angry but they did not stop by Ian’s door, instead moving on to the laboratory. Ian curled in on himself, feeling even more sorry for himself. Father wouldn’t even come and talk to him?

Tears burned in his eyes and he hadn’t the power to hold them back anymore, though he felt like a flat out baby for crying like that. But then again, it was all Potter’s fault, wasn’t it?

A knock on the door interrupted his miserable thoughts.

-          “Ian?” Cecil’s voice spoke hesitantly through the door. “Ian? Are you ok?”

No, he was not ok! Stupid Cecil who had betrayed him like that! They had been friends since they were toddlers, what with their parents all so interested in potions and all. Why did Cecil have to turn against him like that? Why was he taking Potter’s side instead of Ian’s?

-          “I’m sorry,” Cecil said. “I’m sorry that I told your dad, ok?”

Ian didn’t believe him and hugged his pillow closer instead.

-          “It’s just … It didn’t seem fair, you know? He didn’t really take those cards …”

-          “Go away!” Ian called, not wanting to listen to anything more about Potter.

Outside the door Cecil fell silent. Ian couldn’t tell if he was still there or not. He hadn’t heard his former friend walking away, so he supposed that he was still there. His suspicion was proved correct when Cecil spoke again, a few moments later.

-          “I’m sorry,” Cecil repeated. “Can we still be friends, at least?”

More tears threatened to fall and Ian sat up in his bed, glaring accusingly at the door.

-          “I don’t like you!” Ian shouted, though there was a twinge of regret in his chest as he did so.

Again it took a few moments before Cecil replied. Ian told himself that he did not care what Cecil said, because Cecil was just stupid anyway and he would be better off without the other boy. He could go play with Potter for all Ian cared!

-          “I still like you,” Cecil finally said.

Were there tears in Cecil’s voice? Ian wondered.

-          “I’m sorry if you don’t want to be friends anymore.”

Yes, Cecil was definitely crying. It made Ian’s heart twitch a little and before he could think about it anymore he had crawled out of the bed and unlocked the door, opening it to reveal a crying Cecil.

They stood silent for a moment, just looking at each other. Both their faces were tear stained and Ian’s eyes were red from the crying.

-          “I’m sorry,” Ian finally said. “I didn’t mean that.”

His words made Cecil smile a little, hesitantly.

-          “I still like you,” Ian clarified, smiling a little too.

-          “Are we still friends?” Cecil asked.

-          “If you want to.”

Immediately Cecil nodded. The fact that he didn’t hesitate at all, despite how mean Ian had been this morning, made Ian feel relieved.

-          “Yeah, I want to.”

Awkwardly they remained there in the doorway, unsure of what to do next. Hugging seemed like a childish thing to do, but shaking hands the way adults did would just feel strange and stupid.

-          “I could help you chop that wood,” Cecil finally suggested.

-          “Thanks,” Ian replied, feeling better already.

-          “And I’m sure your dad will let you off early, won’t he?”

-          “Yeah, maybe.”

-          “I’m sure he will. He really likes you too, you know?”