Snape marched to the top of the hill and stood glaring at his new ward with fury not to be described by words. Harry shrank back, wondering if he should make a run for it. He was fairly tired, but he thought he still might be able to outrun Snape if he tried hard enough. Besides, Harry was wearing long trousers and a loose shirt under his cape while Snape was in his billowing robes.

Harry made a motion to turn, and Snape bellowed, "Potter, if you so much as take one step backwards, I will hex you into a tree and leave you there until you turn twenty!"

Harry turned back reluctantly. He didn’t really believe that Snape would leave him for the next four years, but he had no doubt that the stern teacher would hex him. Whether Snape meant to turn Harry into a tree or simply trap him inside a tree, Harry was not eager to find out.

"What time is it?" Snape demanded.

"I dunno, sir," Harry shrugged. "I don’t have a watch."

"Did you think to ask for a watch now that you will be following a schedule?"

"No, but you didn’t give me one," Harry protested.

"I thought you might be responsible enough to discern your own needs without me taking care of every little thing. I see I was sorely mistaken."

Harry crossed his arms and wondered what would happen if he grabbed Snape’s wand and hex him into a tree.

"Before you left, I told you to stay on the gravel path. Did you hear me?"

"Yes, but it looked like it ended at the bird feeder thingy," Harry pointed out.

Snape almost rolled his eyes. "If you had walked farther up, you would have seen that the path turned sharply to the left after the feeder. The gravel path makes about a half-mile loop in front of the house through the gardens. This bark path goes back into the acres behind the house. It eventually leads back home, but the path is nearly sixteen miles long. You have traveled over four miles – did you not think that you had been going a long ways and should be reaching the house before now?"

It was so unfair; Harry wanted to scream in frustration. Snape was just playing mind games with him again. The man made it so Harry was always in the wrong – Snape deliberately saw to it that Harry was as uncomfortable, awkward, and unhappy as he could possibly be, and Snape enjoyed every second of Harry’s misery.

"There’s a dirt path that turns off the bark path up ahead," Snape added. "If you had taken it, it would have ended at Malfoy Manor!"

Harry blinked. "You live next to Malfoy Manor?"

If by next to, you mean fourteen miles apart, then yes, I do," Snape snapped. " And next time I tell you something about the house or the grounds, listen to me! It’s past eleven o’clock, and you’ve missed half your study time." Snape shoved the schedule in his robe pocket and tucked his wand away. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and pulled him close. "Hold still."

Harry wanted to yank back, he didn’t like standing so close, but Snape’s grip was unrelenting. Then they both disapperated with a crack.

Harry did not like this feeling either – it was worse than traveling by portkey, sudden and loud with a yanking sensation that made every muscle in his body jerk. Snape let go of him as soon as they landed, and Harry fell back to the soft ground with an umph. He glanced around; they were in the main garden, the house only a few hundred feet away. Snape swooped down and pulled Harry up by an arm. Once he made sure the boy was on his feet, Snape latched onto his ear and began dragging him towards the manor.

"Ow! But I thought the other path stopped," Harry protested, jogging along so Snape wouldn’t pull off his ear completely.

"You knew exactly what I said," Snape continued walking, his grip vice-like around Harry’s ear. "You thought you knew better so you decided to take your own route and ignore my directions. Typical Potter behavior – he thinks knows more than anyone else does. I thought we had been through this conversation before, but obviously the message didn’t sink in."

"No, no," Harry quickly replied, his voice perfectly respectful. "I was confused, that’s all – I didn’t think that you were wrong. I promise next time I’ll stay on the gravel path, even if I think it’s not going anywhere."

They reached the door, and Snape let go of his ear. Harry barely had time to rub it before Snape grabbed him by the shoulder and propelled him towards the library.

"Not one more word out of you, Potter," the potions master ordered. "Sit down at the desk and start writing that essay. I better not hear a peep from you until lunchtime, or so help me –" Snape glared at him threateningly and then stalked away, closing the door behind him loudly.

Harry shakily sat down at the small desk and reached for the parchment paper and a quill. That had been close – too close for comfort. He needed to survive if he were ever to bring Sirius and Cedric back, and irritating Snape was not helping. Just do what he says, Harry thought as he unrolled the parchment and placed the inkstand at the top to keep the paper from rolling back. Do what he says, and when he gets used to you, then get out of here.

As usual as soon as he looked at the blank parchment, he could not think of anything to write. It annoyed him at school when they sat down to write and Hermione began scratching off words right away as if they were longing to leap from her fingers onto the page. She would start scribbling, and she could ignore everyone in the room as she wrote and wrote and went back to change a word and reconsidered the ending, all with an intense look on her face. Harry tried to keep focused as he sat beside her, but he always got distracted by Ron’s fiddling with his books or Dean Thomas talking about the last Quidditch game. And then Harry wanted to join in and ask about the Ravenclaw’s seeker or the Hufflepuff’s beater. And next thing he knew it was very late and the prefects were hustling everyone off to bed.

But here was different. No distractions in the quiet library, no one to talk to, nothing to disturb him. And he had absolutely nothing to say.

‘How to show the proper respect and obedience towards one’s elders.’ At least, he thought that was the assignment. Close enough, he hoped. Respect, proper respect. Like the muggle song – R-E-S-P-E-C-T, just a little bit, just a little bit.

He hummed the tune under his breath as he jotted a few words down. What if he started singing that in front of Snape? The potions master would think he’d gone mad. R-E-S-P-E –

No, concentrate! Don’t sing; write!

Harry glanced down at the paper to see what he had written. Proper respect and obedience is needed if – if what? If you want to be miserable twenty-four hours a day? If you want to have no fun and be bored out of your mind? . . . if one wishes to grow up to be a law-abiding (yeah, right or a Death Eater), respectable (or nasty) wizard or witch (or hated professor).

There, a sentence. A whole sentence that took up one line. He still had two feet, eleven inches left to go. He tried to think of all the lectures McGonagall had given him about following the rules and staying in line. He had tuned most of them out, more eager to daydream over the upcoming Quidditch match than pay attention to her scolding. Maybe listening should be in the essay – something about attentiveness when adults are talking?

Harry had barely reached half a foot of parchment when he heard a small crack, and a house elf appeared in front of the desk.

"Yes?" Harry asked. He was just getting into the swing of writing, and he did not like interruption.

"Master Snape says that Mr. Potter will come for lunch," the house elf squeaked.

"What? It can’t be time already," Harry objected. "I just got started."

"Master Snape also asks that Mr. Potter bring his essay with him," the house elf continued as if she had not heard Harry.

"But I’m not finished. I only had about an hour. I still have two and a half feet left."

The house elf looked nervous and uncertain. Finally, she said, "Mr. Potter will tell Master Snape that at lunch, and Master Snape will deal with him."

"Great," Harry placed the quill back on the inkstand and followed the house elf to the dinning room.

Snape was already seated at the table, perusing through a handful of letters. He glanced up as Harry made his way to the table. "Where’s your essay?"

"I didn’t finish it. You didn’t give me enough time. I don’t write very fast."

"You don’t do many things very fast, Mr. Potter," Snape commented dryly. "Why should I be surprised that writing is one of them? Stop sulking, and sit down."

A gold pocketwatch lay beside Harry plate. Snape nodded towards it.

"Maybe that will help keep you on track, Potter, though I doubt it. Try not to lose or break it the first hour, will you?"

The meal was good, and Harry paid special attention to his manners. Napkin in his lap, sit up straight, no sloppiness for Snape to criticize. The glass in front of him held a dark red liquid that Harry thought could be wine or cranberry juice. He tasted it, sure that Snape would never let him have wine. It was close to cranberry, but more raspberry mixed with apple and another flavor that Harry did not recognize. Something tart, but still sweet with an aftertaste of blueberry, maybe?

Harry glanced up suddenly. "Did you put a potion in here?" he asked. This was typical Snape behavior, slipping people potions when they least expected it. Especially after that conversation in fourth year when Snape as good as promised to slip Veritaserum into Harry’s pumpkin juice.

"Please, Potter," Snape sighed, "if I wanted you to take a potion, I would hand it to you in a vial and savor watching you choke it down. Most potions don't work mixed in with another drink. The fruit blend you’re enjoying would render even the simplest potions ineffective."

Harry tilted his glass slightly, watching the juice slosh slightly against the edge. "Why can’t you add a little flavor to potions? Why do they have to taste so bad?"

Snape sighed as he put down his own cup.

"I know you’ve probably told us a thousand times in class," Harry added, rightly guessing Snape’s thoughts, "but I’m asking again."

"As I attempted to tell you all the first day of class," Snape put on his lecture face that he usual wore while teaching potions to a bunch of idiots, "potions are delicate, temperamental substances. It’s not like baking cookies where even if you add a little too much butter or not enough flour, they’ll come out right. You can’t just start lumping ingredients together and hope they do what they’re supposed to. If you add a twentieth of a teaspoon too much, the entire potion can be ruined."

Harry opened his mouth to object, to insist that potions should not be so particular, but Snape shook his head.

"All right, Potter, pretend that you’re flying towards the snitch straight on. A little faster, and you’ll catch it in the next twenty feet. Suddenly, the snitch veers two inches to the right. If you don’t change your direction towards the little blighter, you’ll miss it altogether once you go twenty feet. Potions are like the same thing. Understand?"

"Well, if potions are so hard to get right, why do you get angry when we get it wrong in class?" Harry asked, a bit shortly. "You blame us for not getting it right, and you just said it’s nearly impossible not to mess up."

Snape set down his fork with a decided clink. "Potter, how old are you?"

Harry flushed. He did not want to play mind games. "You know how old –"

"Just answer the question."

"Fine, I turn sixteen in three weeks."

"And," Snape continued without any expression, "how many years have you been attending Hogwarts?"

"Five, but I don’t see –"

"And in those five years, how many of them have you taken potions?"

"All of them, but –"

"So you’ve attended probably three hundred potions classes? Fair estimate?"

Had it really been that many? Harry quickly added up in his head. At least twice a week, nine months out of the year, five years. "That’s about right," he admitted.

"And in those classes, how many of them would you say you came to class having read the reading requirements?"

Harry could feel his cheeks turning redder. "Uh –"

"Every class?" Snape gave him a searching look that made Harry squirm. "Once a week?"

Harry looked away, shifting in his chair.

"Once a month? Once every two months? Oh, come on, Potter, lie if you have to! Did you ever prepare for my class?"

"Yes, I know I read the stuff at least four different times," Harry insisted.

Snape’s silence felt ominous in the dining room, and Harry’s insides kept twisting uneasily. Harry avoided Snape’s piercing gaze by staring at the table as the silence wore on.

"I was busy," Harry finally broke the stillness. "I have other classes and –"

"And Quidditch, and fooling around with friends, and wandering at night," the potions master frowned. "I know Miss Granger showed up to every class having read what she was supposed to and still managed to attend Quidditch games and keep friends. You spend nine months out of the year where? At Hogwarts amusement park? At Hogwarts daycare center? No, at Hogwarts school."

Harry scowled and pushed his nearly empty plate away.

"As for getting potions right, do you really expect to be able to waltz into a lab and start throwing things together and have it come out right with no practice, no knowledge of the subject? It’s nothing short of a miracle that you children don’t blow up my classroom. If I had my way, no one under the age of fifteen would be allowed in the potions lab. Until you understand how dangerous some of the substances are, you shouldn’t be fooling around in there."

"I’m sorry I asked," Harry retorted. "Next time I have a question, I’ll look up the answer and not listen to a ten-minute lecture."

"You’re impossible," Snape shook his head, returning to his lunch. "I offer a little constructive criticism –"

"Constructive?" Harry almost yelled. "There’s nothing constructive about it. It’s you listing everything I do wrong, knowing I can’t do anything because I’m in your house with your rules."

"What do you think I want you to do next year? Hmm, Potter?"

"Study more for classes and stop playing around," Harry muttered.

"And if you do that, I might think that you changed your abysmal behavior thanks to my lecturing. Therefore, something good will have come out of it."

Harry slumped back in his chair in defeat. The man had a blasted answer for everything. Besides, he didn’t want Snape to make sense. He like the man to hand out scathing insults just to be spiteful. Then it was easier to dislike him.

"If I finish my essay this afternoon, can I walk around the manor later during ‘free time’?" Harry asked after a few minutes of silence.

"You want to start exploring?" Snape lifted an eyebrow, indicating that he was thinking of another word.

"No, I’m not going to snoop," Harry insisted. "Just look around. I used to walk around Hogwarts to see at the pictures and different rooms. I’ve never been in another wizard’s house besides the Weasley’s, oh, and Sirius’s place." A shadow passed over Harry’s face, and Snape quickly replied,

"Fine you may look around, but I have two rules. One, you stay on the first and second floors. No snooping around the dungeon or the towers. Two, any door that is closed you don’t go in. Understand?"

Harry wanted to argue. He planned to go over every inch of the manor until he found his wand and cloak, but there was no use in telling Snape that. Snape would probably lock him in his room if he had any suspicions about what his young ward was going to do.

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded.

"Now that we’ve finished discussing potions and exploring, perhaps you’d like to revisit the subject of your schedule. I trust I’ll have no more outbursts from you unless you’d rather be further acquainted with the corner?"

"No," Harry glared at his professor, but did not say anything else.

"Good boy. I have looked over the schedule one last time and have come to the conclusion that nothing needs to be changed. I hope you’ve reached the same agreement. If not I can always add more studying and earlier bedtimes."

"It’s fine the way it is," Harry assured him. He wished the man would just simply hand him the paper and say "Here’s the schedule – deal with it, Potter." This talking through annoyed Harry more than the schedule itself. Discussing things made Snape seem more human, and Harry would rather he stay the mean, evil bat that Snape had always been.

"I thought about the consequences of disobedience," Snape continued, oblivious to Harry’s thoughts. "Now, ideally, I would like to assume that there is no need for punishments because you won’t disobey at all, but we both know that is foolish thinking."

It was so hard not to pout. Harry could feel his bottom lip longing to stink out in an angry, sulky pout, but he pressed his lips hard together to resist the temptation. He would not give Snape the satisfaction.

"Now, believe it or not," the man took a sip of tea, "I think there are varying degrees of disobedience. First, there is ignorance – simply not knowing the rules. That will seldom require anything past my informing you of the rules in hopes that you will follow them. Next are everyday mistakes – little things that could turn into problems if not nipped in the bud. They will likely warrant no more than a lecture. Next, come attitude and words – this includes swearing, rebellious looks, and your favorite pastime – sulking. Depending on the range of your attitude, I may give you a timeout or send you to your room. Swearing, however, gets your mouth washed out with soap. Fourthly, is outright disobedience. You were told to do or not to do something, and you did the opposite, knowing full-well you were disobeying. That will earn you the worst punishments. Do you have any questions?

Yes, Harry wanted to scream, what are the worst punishments? But he had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what those punishments would be. He shook his head, saying "No, sir, but if I do, can I ask you later?"

"All right," Snape agreed, "but the rules apply from this moment on. If I catch you defying me or ignoring my words again –"

If Harry had his way, Snape would not catch him at anything ever again. First chance he got, Harry was out of there.

"Then, if you’re finished, why don’t you go work on that essay in your room?" Snape nodded towards the door.

-----

Between finishing the essay, reading some of an old History of Magic book, and supper, Harry did not have time to explore the manor at all. He was on his bed putting the final touches on the paper when Snape came up to his room.

"It’s quarter to ten, Potter," the potions master announced. "Surely, you finished the essay by now."

Harry handed the paper over without a word. He hoped Snape would tuck it away for future reading and leave, but of course, the man began reading it while standing in the middle of the room.

Harry shifted awkwardly. Could he leave, or should he stand at attention while Snape read? It was really unfair – probably no one else in whole world had to write essays as punishments over the summer. Ugly, greasy –

"Mr. Potter?" Snape’s voice was stern.

"Yes, sir?" Harry sprung to his feet.

"I believe I also asked for a list of appropriate punishments along with the essay."

Harry was ready for that. "Yes, sir, but we discussed at lunch punishments, so I thought we had covered that aspect. However," he hurried on before Snape could disagree, "I would be happy to recite your exact words from lunch to prove that I’ve been listening, which was one of my points in the essay."

"As much as I would like for you to turn into a parrot," Snape intoned, "that won’t be necessary. Tomorrow, you’ll have an oral quiz. I hope if I keep your thoughts on the consequences of disobedience, it will deter you from the actual act. Go get ready for bed."

"But I’m not tired," Harry complained, swinging his legs on the bed and jumping down. "I’ll never go to sleep at ten o’clock." He expected Snape to remind him that twenty-four hours ago Harry had burst into flames and that he probably needed his rest, but Snape only snapped,

"Potter, bed! Now!"

It was weird trudging off to the bathroom to get ready and coming back and climbing into bed with Snape standing watch like a stone statute. This was the fourth night Harry had spent at Snapdragon Manor, but the other nights he had been distracted by emotions or his rising temperature. Now, Harry felt neither distraught nor sick, but young and childish, like a little boy about to be tucked in for the night. It was unsettling to lie back on the pillows and pull the covers up while Snape spelled his dirty clothes over to a nearby hamper. At this rate, Harry thought he should be clutching a teddy bear and sucking on his thumb, waiting for a lullaby to soothe him to sleep. He doubted Snape would oblige.

"All right," Snape crossed his arms, "when discussing the terms of guardianship, the headmaster made me promise to talk to you about your – your feelings," the word seemed stuck in Snape’s throat for a moment, and the man didn’t like the taste of the word. "Though I feel I’ve seen enough of your emotions to last three lifetimes, I will follow through with my promise. How are you feeling tonight?"

The tone was so clipped that Harry blinked for a moment before answering, "Oh, all right, I guess."

"Do you feel sad, unhappy, angry, or otherwise upset?" Snape prompted, barely keeping from rolling his eyes.

"Er – not really," Harry wasn’t sure if he should look at the man or at something else. He was not used to answering these sorts of questions, nor did Snape look used to asking them.

"Then, I can assume for the time being that you are calm and should fall asleep with no problem?" Snape continued, his arms still crossed.

"Sure," Harry hazarded a response. He wasn’t going exploring tonight. That would have to wait until morning.

"Then good night, Potter. If I catch you out of bed, you’ll pay for both ignoring the rules and for lying." With those comforting words, Snape swept out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Harry stared up into the dark ceiling. This was getting to be quite an odd place he found himself in. Snape pretending to care about how he felt? Definitely uncharted territory. All these rules, and restrictions, and consequences . . . at this rate he would be answering to a whistle like those seven children in the movie where everyone burst periodically into song.

Partly wishing that Snape would not turn back to his evil self and partly hoping that the potions master would jump in a lake and drown, Harry snuggled deeper into his bed. Sometime later, he thought he heard the door open to his room and he was sure that he opened his eyes to see Snape standing over his bed and tucking the covers around his shoulder, but Harry was certain he was dreaming. He closed his eyes again in hopes that he might drift off into the dream of the other night with James talking to him about flying.

-----

The next morning, Harry did stay on the gravel path and found that instead of a tiring hike up and down the hills the gravel path wound through cool gardens with plenty of places to sit and enjoy the scenery. Unlike the bark path, the gravel path seemed enchanted; Harry was certain the house was right behind him, but when he stepped through a stone arch, the manor was in front of him. Up ahead, a waterfall splashed down into a small pond, and Harry leaned over the rippling water to catch sight of orange and silver fish dodging around lily pads. In one corner, a tangle of red roses climbed up a high wall, reaching higher and higher against the blue sky.

Farther up the path, the gravel turned into round stones. When Harry stepped on the first round stone, little squirts of water jumped from the sides of the path. He stepped out of the way only to see more squirts coming towards him. Apparently, you were supposed to avoid getting hit by water by dodging and jumping and ducking. Though Harry knew it was a very simplistic game, he couldn’t help playing along for a few moments. The water was tricky, though, and Harry got hit in the face more than he would care to admit.

A few hundred feet farther, Harry saw a small boat tied to the dock. The pond opened up to a lake, and Harry could make out a few gray ducks quacking on the other side. Maybe Snape would let him go out rowing, and Harry could feed the ducks while he was over there. For now, he amused himself by skipping flat rock on the surface of the lake while several turtles looked on, unimpressed.

Though Harry hated to admit it, the gravel path was a lot more fun than the bark. If you were going a three-hour hike, then sure, take the bark through the woods. A morning walk, enjoying the outdoors, stay on the gravel!

-----

Harry tiptoed down the hallway. It was his free time in the afternoon, but he still felt odd exploring the manor without Snape. The portraits were looking down at him, silence but disapproving, and Harry was sure he heard one say, "Sneaky looks, that one."

Most of the doors were open upstairs, and Harry peeked in, but didn’t venture in. Snape would not have hidden his ward’s things in plain sight. Harry had gone down the halls and seen mainly bedrooms and sitting room. Two doors were closed on one hallway, but he guessed those were Snape’s bedroom and dressing room. Though Snape might have hidden the wand and cape in his own bedroom, Harry knew he would only sneak in there as a last result. Somehow, snooping around Snape’s bedroom seemed worse than peering into his pensive.

Downstairs was different story. Most of the doors were shut, and Harry tested the knobs on each. They were all locked – apparently Snape didn’t trust his ward to obey the rules, which wasn’t such a mean suspicion on Snape’s part all things considered. The last shut door at the end of the hall did open, and Harry eagerly peeked inside.

It was dim, but he could make out shelves lining all the walls. Harry pushed the door open for a better look. It was a store of potions, hundreds of bottles, all shapes, sizes, and colors. Some were labeled, some weren’t. Some looked like cooking spices, some Harry didn’t want to look at for more than a second. The room had a dusty smell to it, but it looked clean and well-kept. Half a dozen clean cauldrons were lined up on wooden table. Cutting, crushing, and stirring utensils were also lined up in a straight row on the table.

It was exactly what Snape’s private store should look like, all neat and efficient, ready to be used correctly. Harry thought about his own untidy possessions, usually strewn around the room or dumped in an open trunk. Like the library, Snape enjoyed order when it came to his things. No random selection, no carelessness – everything in its rightful place.

Harry was about to leave the potions store when he noticed a blur of color on the top shelf in one corner. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was some kind of fabric folded up. Bright colors, hanging tassels – it was his Invisibility Cloak! He had found it.

Tingling with excitement, Harry glanced around for a ladder. The top shelf was at least four feet beyond Harry’s reach, and while Snape was taller, Harry knew the man couldn’t reach the shelf unaided. But he saw no ladder, not even a small one with a step or two. There was a small stool nearby, and Harry hastily pulled it over.

Once standing on the stool, he strained to reach the top shelf. His fingertips did not even brush the edge. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry made a quick decision. He needed the cloak, and it was his, and Snape probably wouldn’t notice it was gone.

Harry put his foot on the next highest shelf past the stool and pulled himself up. With his right hand, he grabbed the cloak and pulled it down.

A moment later, he realized with a thud of disappointment that this cloak was not his cloak. It was about the same size, but the colors and shapes were wrong. He hastily folded it and reached to put it back on the shelf. He would put the stool back as well and close the door, and Snape would never know he had been there.

Something groaned loudly. Harry glanced anxiously towards the door. No one was there. The groan sounded again, and he glanced back at the shelves. Just about at his eye level, he could see the head of a nail burrowing into farther into the wood. That was odd.

Then he realized the shelf was pulling away from the wall, and all the nails were groaning as they slipped down in the wood.

A bottle marked toad’s eyes slipped off the shelf and fell to the ground with a crash. Harry looked down to see round, slimy eyes mixed with broken glass scattered across the bare floor.

Then he felt himself going backwards as the entire shelves and the boards that held them to the wall began falling forward. Harry leapt back off the lower shelf, missing the stool by a mere inch, and ran to the door for dear life. He made it just in time as all the shelves and their contents hit the floor.

Harry dashed into the hallway to the sound of smashing glass and water bursting from containers.

Then he heard a loud explosion rip through the air. The door behind him was blown off its hinges, and he covered his ringing ears. A moment of silence hung in the air along with the strong smell of sulfur and formaldehyde.

And then Harry heard the other shelves break away from the walls. The wood was crashing down like a hundred trees in a landslide – glass kept breaking, and Harry could see shards of it skidding onto the floor of the hall.

Then everything was quiet again, save for the dripping of liquid from broken bottles.