Harry gave Snape a small glare over his glass of pumpkin juice. The man could be insufferable sometimes! No one but Hermione read so far in the school books as Snape wanted him to. What was the point in going to school if he was just going to learn it all during the summer?

Taking a sip, Harry decided not to argue. It would be pointless, he knew. Any arguing in the past three weeks with the professor got him absolutely nowhere, expect for maybe being given more work to do.

Besides from that, living with Snape wasn’t as bad as Harry thought it would be. Yeah, the man criticized him whenever he remembered, and made him do unnecessary work, but he did help Harry through the nightmares he’d been having since the Department of Mysteries, and actually showed him how to clear his mind.

He was beginning to like Snape, snarkiness and all. About a week ago, he figured out that a lot of Snape’s sarcasm was actually funny, in a morbid, sadistic kind of way. And Snape wasn’t nearly as mean as before. Harry often found himself wishing that Snape was beginning to like him to. Honestly, Harry had to admit to himself, the mean professor was as close to a father as Harry had ever gotten.

Uncle Vernon was never fatherly to Harry, and in Harry’s eyes, not to Dudley, either. Maybe it was because of all the books Harry read before Hogwarts, where the father was always doing the disciplining, making sure the children didn’t get in trouble, and when they did, making sure they got out of it, but not without punishment. Dudley . . . well, Dudley was never punished.

Mr. Weasley was nice, and was a good father to Ron and rest, but he wasn’t Harry’s father. Harry always got away with stuff that the rest of the Weasley’s didn’t, even if Harry was involved (which he usually was). He was more like, well, his best friend’s dad.

Snape was . . . Snape. At first, Harry hated it. Harry pushed every button the man had, seeing how far he could annoy him and come out unscathed. He was pushing his limits constantly for the first few days.

Snape didn’t do anything unreasonable, though. Even on the third day, that morning which Snape decided that he’d had enough and that Harry wasn’t coming out of his room, he allowed Harry to come to meals. Harry didn’t know if it was because Snape was afraid of what Dumbledore would do if he didn’t get fed, or because he was actually nicer than the Dursleys. Not that he cared, though, it was food.

After that, Harry started behaving. Snape wasn’t going to go on a rampant and start beating him or something, so he figured it was safe. At first, Snape was suspicious of the good (well, better) behavior, but once he figured Harry wasn’t planning anything, he started to loosen up and start acting nicer.

He wouldn’t tell anyone, but there was something else that Harry liked about Snape: he treated him normal. If Harry did something he wasn’t supposed to, he got in trouble. When he woke up screaming with a nightmare, Snape would supply him with a calming draught and someone to talk to, which helped lessen the amount of them he had.

To Harry, it didn’t matter that Snape was mean most of the day. When it mattered, Snape was there, and that was what counted, right? All he ever wanted was to be normal; to be cared about. And even if it was the man who ridiculed and embarrassed him for the past five years, if that man gave him those things, he’d welcome it with open arms.

"Potter, the headmaster wants to talk to you," Snape said, passing his bedroom door a few hours later. Sighing, Harry got up and headed downstairs to look for Dumbledore, whom he found in the kitchen.

"Harry, my boy, how have you been?"

"Okay," Harry answered, wondering what this was about. This was the headmaster’s first visit this summer.

"The wards on your Aunt’s house have been fixed and strengthened, so it will be safe for you to go there now," Dumbledore said, getting straight to the point.

"Er . . ." Harry answered, thinking. He didn’t want to go back to the Dursleys. At the beginning of the summer, when Dumbledore told him that he’d be spending it with the hated potions professor, Harry practically begged to go back to the Dursleys, but now he wanted to stay with Snape. "I’d like to stay here. If that’s okay with Professor Snape," Harry added quickly.

"Of course," Dumbledore said, smiling. "I have a need to speak with him also, so I’ll ask him then."

"Okay," Harry agreed. He didn’t have to ask himself? He was fine with that. Asking Snape for favors still wasn’t something he was comfortable with doing. "Do you want me to get him for you?"

"No, no," Dumbledore smiled. "I know where he is." Harry shrugged and let the headmaster leave. Deciding he was hungry, he made himself a quick sandwich before walking back up to his room.

"No, he cannot stay here!" Harry heard from down the hall. "It was bad enough he had to stay here for this long! You said one week, it has been over three! I do not care if he wants to stay here," sneered Snape. "I don’t know what kind of game he’s playing, but he is not staying here, and that is final."

Snape stalked quickly out of the room he and the headmaster were in, and Harry, stunned and hurt from what he just heard, made eye contact with the professor for a brief second before he turned into his room and shut the door quietly. Deciding he wasn’t hungry anymore, he threw the sandwich on the floor and started packing.

Harry didn’t know what else went on in the house that day. After he finished packing, actually in an orderly form, he burrowed under the covers of the bed and forced himself not to shed any tears. He didn’t bother getting out of bed for dinner. Even if he was hungry, he wasn’t willing to be in the same room as Snape.

The next morning, he was woken up by a sad-looking headmaster. He was told to get dressed and that they were leaving for the Dursley’s in a few minutes. Not bothering to change, since he went to bed in his clothes, he grabbed his trunk, and Dumbledore apparated them to a hidden area on Privet Drive.

The Dursleys weren’t too happy with Harry’s arrival, but Harry didn’t pay them much notice. He said, "hi," before bidding the headmaster goodbye and walking up to his room. Unchanged since he left it when the Order took him from here a little under a year ago, before his fifth year, he didn’t bother looking around. Still tired, he plopped down on the bed, belly first, and buried his head under the pillow, thinking, and I thought this was going to be a good summer.

A week passed quickly, and Harry’s birthday came up. Dumbledore assured him that anything that came through the wards would be safe, so there was no need to worry about gifts from people he hadn’t gotten from before. Apparently, news about Sirius’ innocence got out, and facts about his death (like risking his life to save his godson’s) were now well known, so he did get a lot of sympathy gifts.

There was one gift that surprised him more than the situation itself. It was a black leather journal, with his name inscribed in the upper right corner, that would never run out of paper. It was warded to only be readable by the first person to write in it. The note that came with it explained what it did, and that it was intended for writing his dreams down, but was unsigned. The only person he could think of who would send a gift like that was the person who had rudely kicked him out of the house a week ago. The only reason that Harry could think of as to why Snape would send him a gift would be to tease him. To play with him.

But Harry decided he wasn’t going to let the man get to him that easily. Harry could just as easily play that game. He didn’t like to, but he was perfectly capable of playing, and he saw the journal as an invitation.

He thought about sending the journal back, but he decided against it. After all, if it did as the letter said, it would be very useful, so why get rid of it? His uncle was going to London that day, and he could convince the large man (if he worked hard enough) to drop him off somewhere near the Leaky Cauldron so he could stop at the shop that could detect any unwanted charms or hexes. He didn’t think the book would harm him in any way, but why couldn’t it take what he written and put it in another book for Snape to read? He couldn’t let that happen.

He’d win this game that Snape started.

Three weeks later, it had to have been chance that Snape was on guard duty. Or perhaps it was fate, because Snape never took guard duty for Harry Potter. Problem was, though, that Tonks was stuck at the Ministry, so she was unable to take her shift, and no one else was available. Snape shouldn’t have been guarding Four Privet Drive anyway, since Voldemort found out that he was really working for the Light side and it was rather unsafe for him, but as it was said before, there was no choice in the matter.

Guard duty was a boring job. You take something to read and keep your hands on the ward watcher, which would indicated anything magical that entered within a certain radius of the house, including wizards. It was an improved version, on a smaller scale, of what the Ministry used to track underage magic.

That would explain why there seemed to be no threat on the Dursley’s home. No wards went off, and Snape didn’t notice anything out of place until he heard a cry and saw a dark figure running from the house, bag in hand. Throwing a stunning hex at the figure, which hit its target, Snape ran into the house, angry that it was unlocked. The muggles had gone out for dinner that evening, and Snape knew they left Harry there.

It’s sad what could have been prevented if the door was locked, or if there was a light on in the house. The thief, figuring no one was home and that they left the door unlocked, as common practice in the peaceful neighborhood, saw it as an easy job.

Unfortunately, Harry had fallen asleep in front of the television, glad to have an evening free from the Dursleys. He woke when the thief entered. The thief, not expecting to get caught, panicked. He used the knife he was carrying to stab at Harry, who was not expecting the sudden attack, and the knife hit target – his stomach.

Harry was unable to do anything after being stabbed. He tried to pull out the knife, but the handle must have broken off, because although he knew it was still in him, there was no way to get it out. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, it hurt to think about what happened, so he just laid there, hoping that someone would come and help him – soon.

Help did come in an unexpected form. For Harry, anyway. Snape, taking in the situation quickly, ran to Harry’s said and saw the wound. It was bleeding bad now, and he knew it would only get worse when he got what he assumed was a blade out. He conjured thick towels to soak up the blood once the blade was out, hoping they and enough pressure would be enough to slow down the bleeding long enough to cast a blood clotting charm on him. A potion would have done a lot better, but Snape rarely carried blood replenishing or blood clotting potions with him. There was never a need. Pain potions, yes, but never anything involving blood.

He worked quickly and quietly, feeling Harry’s pain-filled eyes watching him slowly the entire time. When he was ready to remove the blade, he finally spoke.

"This is going to hurt," he told Harry. "But I’ll need you to hold down the towels to your stomach with as much pressure as you can manage when the blade is removed. I’ll need to perform a healing charm, but it is complicated, so it will need my total concentration."

Harry made a small noise, and Snape had no choice but to consider it an agreement. He handed Harry a towel, making sure he had it with both hands, then summoned the blade, not giving Harry any warning. There was a pained noised from the boy, but he clamped the towel down. Severus quickly made sure that the pressure wasn’t making the wound worse, then started the charm. It wouldn’t entirely heal the wound, it went far too deep for that, but it would stop most of the bleeding and keep him stable enough to get to St. Mungos.

As it was, though, after about five minutes with the charm doing very little good, he was seriously thinking about calling a muggle ambulance, but knew it wouldn’t do good. Muggle means of healing open wounds were inefficient and dangerous.

After keeping at the charm for a few more minutes, Severus could tell Harry was having trouble keeping the pressure up and the towel was almost soaked through with blood. Switching towels, he made sure it was healed enough that Harry wouldn’t lose too much blood on their trip to St. Mungos and was about to move him to an apparation point when he remembered something Albus had said. St. Mungos had a way for muggles who had wizards in their family to contact St. Mungos in the time of an emergency.

When he didn’t see a phone in the room, he whispered a "be right back" to Harry and ran to the next room. In the kitchen, he dialed 1-1-1-M-A-G-I-C and was surprised when someone answered immediately.

"What’s the problem?"

"Stab wound, losing blood quickly," Snape said flatly, and a stretcher appeared next to him.

"Put the person on the stretcher, and say, ‘Mungos’ when are you are both making contact," the voice said, and Snape hung up. He brought the stretcher into the other room, and gently put Harry on it, explaining what was happening. Harry seemed to have trouble keeping conscious, so he said the word and they were in a room with a few healers in. They immediately took care of Harry.

The were able to stabilize Harry in five minutes, it not being anything magical, and in twenty minutes, they allowed Severus to go by him. They made sure that Harry was fine, then went to go finish filling out the paperwork that Severus had started. Alone, Severus finally looked at the boy.

He felt haunted since they day he refused to let Harry stay that summer. When he saw the look in the boy’s eyes, how hurt he was. But at the time, Snape didn’t fully believe that Harry wanted to stay because he liked it there. He believed the boy had an agenda. Why would Harry want to stay with him? It didn’t make any sense.

But he had to admit, only to himself, of course, that when Harry left, he missed the boy. Having someone to take care of was . . . nice, believe it or not. And as much as a brat he was in the beginning, he toned down after a few days. He still was a brat, but he wasn’t trying to, as he was at first.

Snape sat on the edge of the bed, he ran his hand through the boy’s hair, and Harry slowly opened his eyes. Now that he was no longer injured, the pain of how Snape refused to let him stay shown bright in his eyes.

"I’m sorry," Snape said without thinking, and Harry got a confused look on his face. Snape sighed, figuring he might as well go on since he started. "About not letting you stay. I didn’t believe you truly wanted to."

"You . . . sounded like you hated me," Harry said weakly, and Snape could tell that they had a few potions in him, and he was about to tell the boy to go to sleep before he said anything he was going to regret. "I was so stupid to think that you were beginning to care," Harry continued, oblivious to Snape’s attempt to speak. "I thought . . . maybe, since you treated me normal, that you cared, to . . . make sure I grew up right, or whatever that psychology stuff says why parents are strict."

"Par . . ." Snape started, questioning. Parents? He wondered. How Harry ever thought of him as parent material baffled him. Of course, he knew the boy had a skewed view of what families should be like, as he learned when Harry was talking about his nightmares. But the more Snape thought about it, the more it made sense.

He remembered Harry saying something about getting too much of what he wanted when in the wizarding world . . . how it hoped he didn’t turn greedy or selfish from it. This was when the boy was still waking up from a nightmare, but Snape knew that was how the boy felt. He rarely got in trouble for the rules he broke. In fact, he was usually rewarded, in some way or another. Snape wouldn’t allow that, and Harry must have figured that out within a few days. And the fact that Snape was still going to be ‘fair’ about the punishments.

"I don’t hate you, Harry," Snape said. "I thought you hated me."

Harry chose then to start laughing. It must have been a relief laugh, because Snape couldn’t figure out what was funny.

"Why did you send me a birthday present?"

"I thought you should have it," Snape answered vaguely.

"So . . . it wasn’t to . . . hurt me? To make me think you care so you could hurt me more later?"

"No," Snape smile.

"Oh. Thank you," Harry answered. "It helps."

"I thought it might."

They were quiet for awhile. Neither could understand how they went from angry at each other to practically declaring that they care for each other when the only decent contact with each other they had was three tense weeks at the beginning of the summer.

"Your relatives should be home by now, probably worried about where you have gone," Snape said, and Harry mumbled a, "probably not". "We should go back there, then you can pack and we’ll head home," Severus continued, and Harry stared at him wide-eyed.

"What?"

"Unless you’d rather stay at your relatives for the rest of the summer . . ."

"No!" Harry said, sitting up at little to quickly for his drugged brain. "How long can I stay with you?" he asked, suspicious.

"For as long as you need," Snape answered, and Harry gave him a smile. "Let’s go see those muggles."

Back at Privet Drive, Harry, blood free of any potions, was glad that there weren’t any police cars in the driveway, but the Dursley’s car proved they were home. As much as he didn’t like them, Harry didn’t want them coming home to a pool of blood on the floor, which Harry assumed was still there.

Inside the house, which he got to before Snape because he ran, he was grabbed by his aunt.

"What happened?"

"I think we should keep the doors locked," Harry answered vaguely. "Er . . ." Now that his Aunt, Uncle, and cousin were looking at him with expectant looks, he didn’t really know what to say. Luckily, Snape finally came in.

"Who are you?" Vernon asked, angry. "And what happened here?"

"A burglar entered your home and Harry was stabbed. I brought him to a wizard hospital, luckily just in time to save his life," Snape answered roughly. Dudley got a scared look on his face. Uncle Vernon still looked angry, and Aunt Petunia looked worried.

"Where were you stabbed?" she asked Harry, giving him a quick look over.

"Stomach," Harry answered. "But it’s all healed now."

"Are . . . are you okay, Harry?" Dudley asked.

"Yeah," Harry answered. "I’ve been through worse." Snape gave him a warning glance.

"He’s coming back to my home," Snape said, deciding to talk to Petunia.

"Who are you?" she asked, suspiciously.

"He’s the professor I stayed with at the beginning of the summer," Harry answered, and Petunia’s suspicious grew.

"Will he be back here?" she asked, decided that she didn’t care. The boy would be out of their hair, and they wouldn’t have to worry about anything. She watched, narrow eyes, as Snape cleaned up the bloody mess on the floor then turn back to her.

"If he wishes to visit, he may, but I have the feeling he won’t be coming back here to live, unless the wards require it. I have not yet consulted the headmaster about this."

"We won’t get in trouble because he went with you?"

"No," Snape answered flatly, angry. She nodded, and Harry went upstairs to pack. He didn’t notice that Dudley had followed (although, considering Dudley’s size, that was amazing), until he got to his room and saw his cousin standing in the doorway.

"You almost died?" Dudley asked.

"That’s what Professor Snape said," Harry answered.

"He seems mean. You’re going to live with him?"

"He’ll take care of me," Harry answered.

"Where you scared?"

"I . . . guess," Harry said, wondering where all the questions were coming from. "But not of dying. It was more along the lines of not seeing my friends again, I think."

"Yeah, but you were dying," Dudley emphasized, and Harry shrugged. He already got used to the idea that he might die young, so it didn’t bother him as much as it might have before. Harry finished packing, and made his way through the door.

"I better get going. Don’t want to make him mad because he’s waiting. I doubt they are getting along down there," Harry said.

"Yeah, I doubt it. Will you come back?"

"I don’t know," Harry said honestly. "You’ve never been very nice."

"I know," Dudley answered, and Harry wondered what was wrong with him. He wasn’t acting much like Dudley. "Just . . . keep in contact, at least. And I’m sorry."

"Me, too," Harry said. "I’ll write. I’ll try to do it the muggle way, too."

"Muggle way?"

"Normal post," Harry answered.

"That might be a good idea," Dudley laughed, and Harry nodded, not really amused.

"Bye." Harry didn’t bother waiting for a reply. Downstairs, they were waiting in silence, all still standing. "I’m ready," Harry said, and Snape nodded. "Bye," he told his relatives, but all he received was a nod from his aunt.

Harry couldn’t bring himself to care, though. This was a new start, with someone he was pretty sure understood him. Perhaps he could get Snape to teach him some defense over the next week . . . it wouldn’t be much, but better than nothing, as he doubted the next defense teacher would be any good.

Take away Voldemort, and he figured this coming school year was going to be okay. And for now, that is all he wanted.