Hermione’s letter was as Hermione-like as it could: honest, straightforward, and ringing with good intentions. She inquired after Harry’s health, was he enjoying his summer, and had he started on his schoolbooks yet? “Because, really, Harry, sixth year is one of the hardest, and you want to do your very best to prove yourself capable of Auror training which I know you’ll begin as soon as you leave Hogwarts. In my spare time, I’ve constructed a chart that we should study by in autumn. It’s very detailed, and if we follow it strenuously, it will add seven extra hours of studying a week so we can excel at our subjects. I’m thinking about trying to squeeze in another class or two.”

And so on she went for two pages. Harry folded her letter glumly, thinking about all the work they had to do for the next year. If Hermione knew he was staying at Snape, after her initial gasp of surprise, she would point out the advantage of staying with a professor and the enormous amount of learning Harry could accomplish if he would just put his mind to it. Hermione would think living with a professor was a dream come true, the very best thing that could happen to her over the summer break.

Ron’s letter started off complaining about the weather and grumbling about life at the Burrow without Fred and George. His letter was short, barely a whole page, but Harry could not help smiling as he read the messy handwriting. Good, ol’ Ron – ever complaining, moaning, and sulking, but always a loyal friend. Harry could picture Ron’s horrified expression when Harry told him about living with Snape. Ron would be the person to give the greatest sympathy, to understand Harry’s feelings about putting up with the nasty potions professor. At least, Harry sometimes felt that way. Lately, he was not hating Snape as much as before, though he did not like Snape anymore . . . well, it was all very confusing.

“Anything interesting from your two greatest fans?” Snape inquired as he poured Harry a cup of tea.

“They’re not my fans,” Harry retorted, taking the tea. “And they’re writing about their summers, not much happening though Hermione’s studying enough for ten people. How did they know I was here?”

“All the owl postings to your house are now being routed here,” Snape replied. “It’s part of the wards at your relatives’ house and the manor. Anything you send them will appear to have come from Privet Drive.”

Harry nodded absentmindedly. That sounded about right. He tucked both letters back into their envelopes. Snape was reading the paper, and he looked to be in a fairly descent mood so Harry ventured,

“My birthday’s in two weeks.”

“Yes, July 31st, is it not?” Snape replied though his gaze looked a bit suspicious.

“I’ll be sixteen, you know,” Harry tried to look very casual and bored as if it were not a big deal. “I was thinking maybe, you know, if you like, I could see Ron and Hermione sometime that day?”

“You want a birthday party?” Snape asked bluntly.

“You don’t have to look like that,” Harry put down his fork with a clink. “Most people do something for their birthdays, especially if they are underage. I don’t think I should have to defend wanting to see my friends on my birthday. Just because you’re too old to like birthdays –”

“There’s no need to get insulting,” Snape interrupted. “You jump to anger and offense quicker than anyone else I know. Not everything I say to you is a criticism. If you want to celebrate your birthday, I understand. You may invite Hermione and Ron over for the day, and I will arrange the necessary arrangements. However, if you don’t behave between now and then, I reserve the right to change my mind.”

“You expect me to be perfect for two weeks?” Harry protested. “I act just the way you want, or you don’t let them come? That’s blackmail.”

“No, that’s coercion,” Snape replied. “And to start, you can help me stock the potions lab with the supplies we bought yesterday.”

“You want me to help?” Harry looked up in surprise. “I thought after what happened, you’d never want me to look at potions again, much less touch them.”

“What happened was an accident, an avoidable accident, but I know you did not mean to blow up my store,” Snape said evenly.

“But you sp – punished me for it anyway,” Harry objected.

“I punished you for disobeying. Had I found out you went into the store without damaging anything, I would still have punished you.”

“Not as severely,” Harry muttered, but he thought it wise not to push the issue. “Can I write to Ron and Hermione? I promised that I would write, and I don’t want Ron to steal another flying car to come see how I’m doing.”

“I could not agree more,” Snape said dryly. “You may write to your friends, but under no condition may you tell them where you are. I don’t want the news getting out that you’re here, and waking up to find a hoard of Death Eater banging at my door.”

“And you don’t want to ruin your reputation as the evil potions master,” Harry added under his breath as he started eating his breakfast.

Snape heard, but only frowned. “You let me look over the letters before you send them. I promise I’ll keep whatever teenage woes you have a secret, as tragic and abysmal as they might seem.”

“I have real problems,” Harry insisted. “It’s more than just dumb things like acne and looking stupid in class. I have serious problems. Really, a prophecy hanging over my head, and people trying to kill me.”

“So you don’t worry about getting a girlfriend?” Snape gave his ward a searching look.

Harry squirmed, hating that he was turning pink. “Well, it’s not my biggest worry, but yes, sometimes I think about it. Everyone does so you can stop smirking.”

“Potter and his fight to find a true love – I can see the headlines. We’ll have auditions to find the right young lady to win our famous hero’s heart. I can see it all now, hopeful young ladies lined up as far as the eye can see.”

“Shut up,” Harry tried his best not turn even redder. He didn’t mind when his friends teased him about girls, but Snape’s knowing looks made him want to duck his head. The man seemed to know too much about what was going on inside Harry’s mind for Harry to feel comfortable. What if Snape found out about the awkward kiss with Cho? The git would never let him live it down.

“Whatever you’re thinking about must be interesting to have you turning as red as a tomato,” Snape observed. “If your thoughts are so shameful, I’d keep them to yourself, or you’ll find them in the newspaper again.”

“Can I send a letter to Hogwarts?” Harry blurted out, desperate to change the conversation.

“No,” Snape answered crisply. “Anything you want to say to Dumbledore, you can tell me, and I’ll pass the information on to him. He’s very busy, and I won’t have you wasting his time with complaining.”

“No, not him. There is a house elf working there, that I set free from the Malfoys. He’s in the kitchens, but I like to check up on him every so often. He’ll want to hear for me, so maybe I could sent him a note?”

“As long as I see it before you sent it,” Snape nodded. “And don’t get any ideas about setting my house elves free. I need them to keep the manor running, and I feel that I’m a very fair master.”

Harry ate in silence for a few minutes. Snape still seemed in a good mood. It won’t hurt to ask.

“If I help this morning, can I go flying this afternoon? I promise to stay inside the wards.”

------

Around two o’clock that afternoon, Harry carried his broomstick out onto the gravel walk and glanced up at the sky. It was overcast, but the sun was peeking through several clouds, and the wind was warm and strong. Perfect flying weather.

Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off. It had been several weeks since he had ridden a broomstick; in fact, he had not ridden one since before Sirius’s death. He kicked off the ground and soared towards the sky. He loved the feeling as the ground dropped from beneath him. He was flying higher and higher. Nothing matter on earth below – he was free to soar to the heavens, to go up and touch the clouds.

Once he was high enough, he flew over the treetops, skimming just over the high branches. The trees went on and on until Harry was sure that he had gone miles. Up ahead, the trees dropped off abruptly, and an open field stretched out, leading to an enormous manor. It was a dark, looming monster of a house with gothic arches and empty windows that gazed out menacingly. Harry slowed his broom down as he approached the edge of the trees. The property was very quiet, and he didn’t see anyone on the grounds.

Just as he reached the edge of the trees, he felt the barrier. It was a slight tingle that ran over him like an electric current, and a slight ringing filled his ears. Harry turned his broom around and immediately the tingling and ringing stopped. He slowly approached the barrier again, going a bit farther than before. The tingling became a definite buzz, and the ringing grew shrill.

Harry backed off entirely and began flying back to Snapdragon Manor. At least he knew where Malfoy Manor was and how to get to it. But there was no use breaking through the barrier until Harry was ready to go into the house. And for that, he was going to have to talk to Dobby.

The wind was blowing very hard as Harry flew back, but the sun felt hot on his face. It be would nice to take a dip in the lake. Snape had said the middle of the lake was about twenty feet deep. Harry wondered if it was filled with strange creature like the lake at Hogwarts. He still wasn’t quite sure how he felt about those merpeople just swimming around under the surface.

Later he could get started on the letters. He did want to write to Ron and Hermione and see if they could get together for his birthday. Of course, it would be just his luck to have Snape hovering over his birthday like a giant bat. Snape refusing to let anyone sing Happy Birthday – “Such a pointless activity,” Snape insisting that Harry return all his presents – “You don’t need any gifts, you’re spoilt enough already,” Snape taking away Harry’s piece of birthday cake – “No sugar for you, Potter, you’ll be bouncing off the walls.” And everyone would go home early, eager to get away from the man who ruined birthday parties.

------

Snape was arranging the last of his potions ingredients on the top shelf when he heard the alarm go off in his study. It was a low ringing, meaning the barrier had been tested. Snape ignored it; Potter probably knocked into accidentally. Then the alarm rang again, this time a loud clanging, like a two-year-old banging pots together. Snape set a bottle of embalmed troll toes on the shelf heavily and stalked to his study. The alarm had stopped by the time he got there, but that did not stop him from looking at the miniature layout of the property. At the end of the trees, next to the Malfoy property, a small yellow light was blinking. It wasn’t a red light; that would have meant Potter was off the property.

Snape angrily went to the window and pushed it open. He knew should have put up a stronger ward. Dumbledore had suggested the weak barrier, reminding Snape that Harry didn’t like to feel like a prisoner. If Snape had had his choice, he would have put up a barrier that would spit Harry into Snape’s office the minute the brat crossed it. And then Snape could deal with him right away.

A blur of color shot past the window, and Snape leaned in, barely missing getting hit. He watched as the ban of his existence flew towards the lake. With the wind blowing his hair up and the bright sunlight making his face glow, Potter looked exactly like his father. The same carelessness on a broomstick, the same easy flying and maneuvers, always looking like he was on top of the world when he did tricks. It would be a miracle if both Potter and the broomstick survived the summer.

And now the boy was trying to stand up on the wretched broomstick. Potter was standing up on the broomstick with his arms outstretched for balance. Blast him!

Snape Apparated outside, but he knew he was too late. Sure enough, the boy was leaning too far back. And then he felt off the broom.

He was falling, falling down faster and faster. And Snape knew he could never catch him in time.

But Potter did not seem concerned. He did flip in the air, and half a second later, he fell into the lake, sending a huge splash into the air. Snape did not have time to catch his breath before Harry’s head broke the surface, grinning and shaking water out of his eyes while he treaded in the lake.

Harry had obviously not seen Snape for he put his hand up and grabbed his broom, which was hovering over the surface of the water. Harry had swung back up on the broom and was preparing for another flight when Snape bellowed,

“Potter, get over here this instant.”

Slightly deflated, Harry flew to the garden and got off, trotting obediently to Snape’s side.

“What was that?” Snape demanded.

“What was what?” Harry tried to look innocent.

“You know very well what. Did I tell you that you could go swimming? Did I say you could do tricks into the water?”

“You didn’t say not to,” Harry retorted, feeling like a naughty little boy caught in the middle of mischief. “And I went to the middle where it was deep enough.”

“How did you know there wasn’t a sandbar under there, ready to break your neck?”

“I went in feet first.”

“Then break your legs! And you were testing the barrier near Malfoy Manor.”

“I didn’t break through it,” Harry protested, running a hand back through his hair and making it stand up straight.

“You stay away from Malfoy Manor,” Snape ordered. “You don’t want to know what goes on over there. Go to your room and change into dry clothes. And when you come back downstairs, bring a comb with you. I’m fixing your hair once and for all!”

------

“Ow!” Harry cried, pulling away. “You’re hurting me.”

“If you’d stay still, it wouldn’t hurt so much,” Snape returned.

“You’re scraping my scalp off,” Harry complained, wishing he could get off the hard, straight-back chair. “My hair is fine – just leave it alone.”

“I said stay still,” Snape frowned as he drew the comb through the raven head of hair.

“You made me get a haircut. It’s not my fault that it sticks up in every direction. Just leave it.”

Snape place his hand on top of Harry’s head and pushed the hair down. But as soon as he removed his hand, the hair stuck right back up. “Stop fighting me – you’re going down one way or another.”

“It’s my hair. Why don’t you worry about your own hair?”

“Because I have to look at yours,” Snape snapped, attacking Harry’s hair with the comb again. “The hero of the wizarding world should not strut around looking like he just rolled out of bed and didn’t bother brushing his hair.”

“Oh, come off it,” Harry crossed his arms, trying not wince as the teeth of the comb raked over his head again and again. “You just don’t want me to look like my dad. Not that I blame you, but I am his son so I should look like him a little – ooww!”

“If I can’t get it right, I’m shaving your head,” Snape threatened as if that would make Harry’s hair lie flat. “Or I’m going make a potion that makes your hair so flat you’ll think it’s glued to your head.”

“Lucky me,” Harry muttered. He wondered what would happen he tried to fix Snape’s hair or tried to shave it off. Probably more corner time. At least Snape hadn’t followed through with his threat to wash Harry’s mouth out with soap that morning.

Snape dipped the comb back in water and tried one last time to wet Harry’s hair down. Completely soaked, his hair would lay down for a few seconds, but then little clumps would stick up inquisitively as if they could not bear staying down and quiet.

“Your hair’s just like you,” Snape growled, highly displeased.

“My hair is me,” Harry argued. “But if it makes you happy, I’ll try and think obedient thoughts to see if that helps.”

“I’ll try again tonight,” Snape finally gave up for now. “Maybe if you sleep on it flat, it will stay down.”

Harry didn’t have the nerve to tell Snape that it was more likely he would be named Hogwarts’ most likable professor.

“Go ahead and write your letters,” Snape directed. “Then start reading the first chapter in your Transfiguration book. I plan to quiz you on the reading material by the end of the week. I’ll look over the letters at supper.”

Harry wrote Ron’s letter first. He talked about Quidditch plays and books he was reading and his hopes for next school – basically everything but what Harry really wanted to talk about: the fact that he was living with Snape. Maybe there would be a way to put the information in code, an anagram or something. No, knowing Ron, he wouldn’t catch on, and Snape was sure to and start railing about stupid Gryffindors that couldn’t follow simply instructions about writing letters.

Hermione’s letter was a little easier; Harry spoke mostly about books and studies. He wondered what would happen if he told her he decided that all bookwork and school was a waste of time. She would probably send him a Howler. He missed her – she would likely be able to memorize the first chapter of the Transfiguration book and not flinch at being quizzed by Snape.

As Harry signed her letter and picked up a new sheet to start Dobby’s, he winces at the thought of being quizzed about his studies by Snape. Harry did remember what he had read (when he took the time to read it), but he could never spit the words out fast enough to satisfy Snape. And the man’s dark looks and swooping movements did not help Harry think any better.

However, as long as Harry could answer quicker than Neville, he felt safe. Snape made Neville turn into a trembling, nervous lump of jelly, and Harry could see the fear in Neville’s eyes every time they went into potions class. Harry made a mental note to ask Snape about that later.

Picking up the pen, Harry considered what to write to Dobby. It would have to be something to alert the little house elf but at the same time not make Snape suspicious.

Dear Dobby,
I hope you are enjoying your summer at Hogwarts. I would like to see if you’ve made any new hats or helped Winky feel any better. I can hardly wait to come back to school. If you need me for anything, anything at all, please write to me. I enjoy hearing from you. If you need to contact me at all, please talk to Dumbledore. Good luck in the kitchens,
Harry Potter

It was quite possibly the worst letter ever written. Even Harry groaned as he read over it. But it would pass Snape’s inspection, and Dobby would talk to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore would hopefully tell Dobby where he was staying. Of course, Snape would be less than happy when he found out, but maybe Harry could tell Dobby to visit him in a hidden corner of the forest where Snape could not find them.

Fortunately, Snape did not say anything about the contents of the letters when he perused them at supper, though his eyebrows were raised most questionably. “I’ll sent these off this evening,” Snape promised. “Or if you’d like a trip to the owlry, you may do it.”

“I’ll go and see Hedwig,” Harry volunteered.

“If you change anything on the letters, I’ll know,” Snape warned.

“Does anything happen that you don’t know about?” Harry grumbled. He knew these side comments were going to get him in trouble sooner or later, but he just felt so much better after he said them. It was better than bottling it up and feeling like he was about to explode.

“Not much. No, Potter, eat those greens on your plate. You need to keep healthy.”

“I have to take vitamin potions and eat greens?” Harry stabbed a long green viciously. “You make me eat everything I hate.”

“Yes, Potter, how else could I ever amuse myself? And if I hear any more complaining from you, you’ll be eating only vegetables for the next three suppers.”

Harry ate the greens without further comment, though he shot Snape several deadly looks as he did it.

As the meal was winding down, and Snape was enjoying a glass on brady while Harry scrapped his pudding bowl clean, Harry asked, “What don’t you like Neville?”

Snape looked at him over the rim of his glass and took a sip before replying, “He’s even worse at potions than you are. And he doesn’t study. And he keeps blowing things up.”

“He’s nervous,” Harry pointed out. “You keep scaring him. If you were nicer, he wouldn’t make so many mistakes.”

“And if I didn’t monitor my class at all, we’d all get along splendidly,” Snape retorted.

“But Neville has a hard time of it,” Harry insisted “You know what happened to his parents, and he has to live with that awfully strict grandmother, and –”

“Yes, I know all about Neville,” Snape set his glass down sharply. “And I have to say that I’m disgusted that he would behave in such a cowardly way.”

“What?” Harry asked, stunned.

“He’s Alice Longbottom’s son! He should have much more gumption and fire in him than to skulk around corners, afraid of everyone.”

“His parents were tortured into insanity,” Harry protested. “They live on the fifth floor of Saint Mungo’s.”

“Any son of Alice Longbottom should act with more spirit and defiance,” Snape was adamant. “If you had known her before, if you had known the fire inside that woman – Lily may have been the beauty, but Alice was unquenchable. She was alive, radiating with life and vivacity. And then Bellatrix dared to –” Snape broke off, and when he spoke again, his voice was hard. “Go take your letters up to the owlry. And then go read in your room. I’ll be up later to make sure you’re in bed by ten-thirty.”

Snape got up and left the room, leaving Harry holding a spoon and an empty pudding bowl, thoroughly bewildered. What had just happened? What did it mean? Had there been something between Alice Longbottom and Snape? That was unthinkable, unimaginable, but then again, it would explain a lot.

Harry took the letters, but as he trudged up the stairs to the owlry, he wished he had the nerve to ask Snape to explain more. The man was so blasted private; he couldn’t stand people snooping around in his business. Not that Harry really blamed him, but it was awfully frustrating when Harry could never get a straight answer. Everyone had their on view on what happened in the past. Now, more than ever, Harry wished his parents were alive to tell him what to think. It would be so easy if they were there to say things like “Well, the way I see it” or “It’s seems to me” and so on. Children usually follow their parents’ thinking for the most part, and Harry would have greatly appreciated knowing what to think and therefore how to respond.

Hedwig had forgiven him; after one last reprimanding peck on the head, she settled down and let Harry pet her for a while. He loved the feel of her soft feathers against his hand and the way she stared at him with huge, glassy eyes as if she understood all his problems.

After giving the letters to three separate owls, Harry went back to his room to read for a while. He stretched out on the bed on his stomach, shoes waving idly in the air, and read until he heard the clock strike ten. Then he got up and went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. When he came out, Snape was waiting for him.

“My, my,” the potions master shook his head in mock wonder, “look who’s following a schedule so nicely. Are you simply being a good boy, or should I suspect that you’re up to something?”

“Very funny,” Harry said as he climbed into bed. It was actually nice climbing into bed at a reasonable time instead of staying up late to sneak downstairs to find food because he was so hungry. And now that he was on a schedule, Harry found himself quite tired by ten-thirty.

“How are you feeling?” Snape asked as he poured out a dose of the vitamin potion.

“All right,” Harry accepted the foul stuff with a grimace. “My arms hurt from lifting all those boxes and bottles for an hour, but I’ll be fine.”

“I meant emotionally though I know a goodnight’s sleep will help with your arms.”

“All right, too,” Harry lay back on his soft pillow. “I’m not the emotional crybaby that everyone thinks I am.”

“Indeed,” Snape turned down the lights. “Well, good night, then.”

“Night, Snape,” Harry rolled on his side, hugging his pillow close to his head. He was sleeping soundly when suddenly a loud pop jerked him awake. Sitting up, he lunged for his glasses to see what was going on.

Dobby was standing at the end of his bed, a worried look in the house elf’s big eyes.