Snape noticed the boy’s change in behavior but dismissed it. Potter was finally figuring out how to control his emotions and frankly he was glad of it. He had grown heartily sick of the whipped dog expression and the death glares. The rather bland look the brat had adopted was a welcome relief. He became concerned, however, when the bland look was replaced by a totally blank one. When the usual insults got no results he became frankly worried and decided to investigate.

A few hours after the brat had gone to work Snape apparated near the farm. He was relieved to see the owner walking toward the house. A subtle inclination of his head alerted the muggle that he wanted to talk and they stepped into an office near the top of the drive. They walked in silence around a pillar to the kitchenette and the man poured tea from an electric kettle, apparently used to dealing with taciturn strangers.

“What can I do for you, Mr. …?” he asked courteously, handing the potion master a steaming cup.

Snape got right to the point. “I am Professor Snape. I am Ian’s guardian for the summer and I’ve become concerned about his behavior.” He sipped the bitter tea. “Have you noticed anything?” he asked with a casual tone.

The man frowned. “Yes, I have. The boy was always a bit standoffish but the last two days he’s completely withdrawn.” Snape didn’t need legilimency to know that the man was concerned. “I can see he’s hurting over something so I told the other lads to give him some latitude but it seems he’s getting worse instead of better.”

Snape took another sip and set the cup aside. “I agree,” he said heavily. “I will see what I can uncover tonight.” He gave the muggle a look he hoped conveyed camaraderie. “If I find anything…illegal, the boy may be absent from work for a few days. Will that be acceptable?”

To Snape’s disgust the man clapped him on the shoulder. “I understand completely, Professor. The boy’s job will be waiting for him whenever he gets back.” He smiled broadly. “He’s really quite a horseman, you should come watch him ride sometime.” The smile was replaced with a more somber expression. “Please call on me if I can help with the lad,” he said. “I’ve grown quite fond of him.”

With an enormous effort Snape refrained from scowling. The brat manages to worm his way into everyone’s affections, he thought acerbically. It’s no wonder he’s such a spoiled pain in the arse. Even as he formed the thought Snape knew it wasn’t true. The time they had spent cohabitating had shown the boy to be quite the opposite. Still clamping his jaws to hold back his habitual expression of distaste, Snape said, “I will keep that in mind. I hope you will not mention our little talk to the boy.”

The man smiled again and Snape cringed. Such displays of good humor always made him feel slightly nauseated. The man would have been right at home in Gryffindor had he been born a wizard. Snape wondered idly if Potter was drawn to the place by the man’s Gryffindor-like aura or if the young wizard simply brought that out in those he associated with. He nearly lost his breakfast at the thought that Potter might have a similar effect on him. Gathering his wits he pasted a weak smile on his face and after muttering the usual pleasantries he made his escape from Potterland, as he had come to think of it.

When the boy strolled in well after dinner Snape sent a gentle finger of legilimency across the room. Instead of picking up unshielded surface emotions the probe met a rock hard wall with a perfectly smooth exterior. The boy didn’t seem to notice his intrusion so with a subtle flick of his wand he sent a more determined probe but it was unable to even bend the boy’s defenses. His mind went into overdrive trying to figure out what Potter was up to when the boy looked at him without expression and said, “Professor, how was your day?” in a flat voice.

Catching Harry’s eyes, Snape snarled, “Legilimens,” and practically stabbed him with his wand. Nothing happened. Snape thought furiously of all the ways one could learn occlumency and what could produce such a result. The boy merely sat down and gazed at him serenely as if nothing had occurred. “What have you done, boy?” he shouted.

A confused look crossed Potter’s face. A small furrow appeared in his forehead but after a moment the blank look smoothed it out. “I’ve done what I needed to learn to clear my mind of emotions and block intrusions. I’m keeping my mind to myself,” he added without any heat of anger or pride of accomplishment to color his voice.

Snape ground his teeth and thought furiously. Without the drive fueled by emotion and memory the boy was worse than useless to himself and the Order. If the Dark Lord were to capture him in this condition the war would be over before it started. He waved his wand and muttered a hopeful, “Finite Incatatum,” but Potter remained unchanged. Suddenly something the brat had said struck a memory. He grabbed his arm in a grip designed to hurt. When Harry made no complaint he shook him a little and said, “Did you learn this from a book?”

“Yes, Professor,” was the toneless response.

Before the boy could move Severus snarled, “Accio book,” and the manual tugged itself free from Harry’s pocket to land in his hand with a pop. Snape took one look at the well-thumbed tome and shut his eyes with a grimace. “Where did you get this, you foolish child?” he whispered.

Harry shrugged. “Knockturn alley.”

“Did you ever wonder why it was there instead of Florish and Blotts?” Snape kept his eyes closed and spoke softly in order to keep his temper in check. Fear had a way of bringing out the very worst in him.

Another shrug. “No.”

Snape felt his eye twitch. “It’s because it was banned.” He opened his eyes to see Harry’s response. The boy continued to look at him with that blank, disinterested expression. He found himself wishing for the hang dog look or perhaps some good, old fashioned fear. “If the reader follows the directions in this book then he or she will be dissociated from his or her emotions and memories,” and here the boy had the nerve to smile and nod in agreement, “permanently.” He grabbed Harry’s arms and looked with dismay at the ragged incision on his forearm. “Clearly you don’t do anything halfway, Potter.”

Harry frowned again and Snape allowed himself to feel slightly optimistic at this sign. From what he remembered once the victim had completely lost all affect it was nearly impossible to retrieve them. The treatment was to evoke a strong enough emotion to break through the block; once broken it would not renew itself. He looked at his charge speculatively.

A sneer grew on the potion master’s face as he worked out a plan of attack. “You are even more arrogant than your bastard of a father, Potter,” he purred. The boy stared back blankly. “He was truly a fool and worse yet, a mudblood lover. How he could handle the stench of her tainted blood is beyond me. He probably welcomed the killing curse as an end to his misery.”

Harry frowned slightly. “As far as I know his parents were married,” he said. “I don’t understand why you would call him a bastard.”

Snape forced his face into an even more terrible expression. At this point he was sure any first years witnessing this would run back to their mothers begging to be home schooled. Potter remained unfazed with the slightly perplexed expression fading from his brow. Snape continued his attack. “Perhaps it is you who are the bastard. I heard your mother spread her legs for anyone with enough coin. Perhaps you are even MY son,” he said, his voice a mere whisper. “I tasted her pleasures many a time, Potter. She was quite the screamer.”

The boy said, “I thought you said her stench was unbearable. How were you able to tolerate it?” The small furrow between his brows returned. Snape ground his teeth and dug deeper.

“Your godfather, or should I say god-mutt, truly got what he deserved,” he said coolly. Snape went in for the kill. “It was brilliant of you to orchestrate his demise. I cheered when I heard what occurred that night in the DoM. The only shame is that he wasn’t tortured beforehand as you believed.” He waited with bated breath for a reaction. Harry’s eyes drooped and he swallowed but after a few blinks he cleared his countenance.

“I’m not sure I agree with your assessment, Professor, but you are certainly allowed to have your own opinion,” he said with only the faintest trace of anger. Snape thought hard. He had pressed all the usual buttons and the boy had failed to react. Perhaps trying to elicit hate or anger was the wrong tactic to use on the Gryffindor Golden Boy. He gripped his wand but stifled the impulse to hex him.

After a moment’s hesitation he hurried into the boy’s room. He returned with the Firebolt. In all his time at Hogwarts, Snape had never seen anyone look so utterly jubilant as Harry did while he flew. During Quidditch matches at Hogwarts he had heard the other teachers remarking upon his unnatural skill but what had intrigued him the most was the boy’s intense delight. The concept of that sort of sustained happiness eluded Snape but perhaps it would be enough to pull the boy’s emotions back from the void he had consigned them to.

Snape thrust the broom into the boy’s unresisting hands. When he did not react Snape led him out the door and said, “Fly.” Harry threw a leg over the Firebolt and took to the sky. The transformation was instant and complete. The lassitude of moments before disappeared to be replaced with passion. Snape’s mouth fell open as he tilted his head further and further back in order to watch Harry fly.

The boy’s body, short and spare on the ground, was perfectly suited for flight. Flawlessly balanced over the broom he shot straight up toward the sun. Snape could see the muscles in the young wizard’s back and shoulders, usually hidden by thick robes when he flew, straining against the thin material of his tee shirt. He gasped as the boy suddenly spun and performed an outside loop, working hard against the centrifugal force. Harry pulled out of the loop and headed toward the ground, eyes slitted against the wind and mouth open to emit a whoop of pleasure. Snape sighed with relief.

Nearly thirty minutes and countless death defying maneuvers later Harry made his landing. Snape had nearly suffered cardiac arrest on numerous occasions during the boy’s ride when the brat had waited until it was clearly too late to pull out of a dive before doing so, feet skimming the grass and face lit up with exhilaration. The knowledge that several people who were released from this dark spell had committed suicide did nothing to relieve his anxiety as he watched Potter’s flight.

The boy landed several yards away from him and as Snape approached he could see Harry’s frame hunch and shudder as he was hit with a storm of returning emotion. The broom fell from his fingers as he tangled both hands in his hair and fell to his knees. As Snape clumsily reached out to clasp Harry’s shoulder the boy pitched forward and pressed his forehead to the turf. The shuddering gasps from his suppressed sobs made Snape flinch away and avert his eyes. He stood there, awkwardly lending his silent support until the boy’s grief was spent.

Snape extended a hand and Harry took it. He hauled the boy to his feet and supported him as they stumbled into the cottage. A whispered legilimency spell showed the boy to be back to his usual, unguarded state. Snape allowed himself a moment to regret the loss of the boy’s ability to block the Dark Lord but the price was entirely too dear. Vowing to help the boy properly learn to occlude his mind, Snape helped Harry into bed. Mercifully he was asleep immediately.

Sleep did not come easily to the potion master as he sat in his own bed contemplating what could have happened. Due to a dangerous lack of vigilance on his part they had narrowly escaped certain defeat at the hands of the Dark Lord. He smirked. Now the responsibility was back where it belonged, squarely on the thin shoulders of a grieving, underage wizard who had no idea how he was supposed to save everyone and accomplish the impossible. Snape snorted with derision and sipped his firewhiskey. This was a situation truly worthy of the greatest irony.

The sound of the front door closing brought him out of bed with his wand drawn in a single movement. He eased the door open and slipped out into the dark. Moonlight fell across Sirius’ bike and by its silver light Snape saw Harry seated on the dewy grass, leaning against the frame. The young wizard’s head was tilted back as he gazed at the sky. His face looked otherworldly in the gleam of moonlight with the traces of his emotion glittering on his cheeks. Gravel crunched under Snape’s boots and Harry’s eyes snapped over to glare at him accusingly.

“Get stuffed, Snape.” The boy scrubbed the tears from his cheeks. “Now I’m back to where I was or worse,” he moaned. “I had it.” His voice trailed off and he looked fiercely at the ground, swallowing hard.

“That wasn’t the way, Harry,” Snape said, his voice rough from the firewhiskey. “You merely buried your feelings so deeply you were no longer aware of them.”

“Big deal,” Harry snarled. “I did what had to be done to keep me from hashing things up again like at the Department of Mysteries. It was worth any cost.”

“I beg to differ,” Snape said harshly. “In that condition you were worse than useless. The Dark Lord would have been able to convince you he was Merlin himself.” He continued in a gentler tone. “Don’t you see it’s our emotions and memories that make us who we are? Without them you were a shell with no notion of who you truly are. You need to hide them from the Dark Lord but never from yourself.”

Harry dropped his head. His voice was muffled but Snape heard him. “I know but at least it stopped hurting for a while.”

oOoOoOoOo

Later the next day, as Snape stood at the window in his laboratory, he saw Hedwig making her way back to Harry’s window. The stubborn brat had insisted upon returning to work despite looking like something a hippogriff wouldn’t eat. He smiled grimly at the owl’s tenacity. “Another of Potter’s determined fan club,” he muttered. The snowy owl hooted softly as she entered the window and the sound was suddenly cut off. “Odd. I’ll have to check on her,” he said as he spelled the potion into stasis.

Wand drawn, Snape pushed open the door to the room he now considered to be Harry’s. The owl eyed him unconcernedly from her perch. Her beak opened and she rustled her feathers but no sound emerged. Frowning, Snape entered the room and looked around suspiciously. He waved his wand and growled, “Revealo!”

A humming sound came from under the bed and Snape knelt down to look. He pulled a wadded shirt from under the bed and shook it out. A small disc fell out and rolled across the floor. Snape snatched it up as it spiraled past. His frown deepened into a scowl as he realized what he had found. “A privacy disc!” he hissed. “Nice try Potter. Let’s see just what you are hiding.” With that he cracked the small charm between his fingers then replaced it and the shirt under the bed.

oOoOoOo

The next morning was July 31. Neither of the cottage’s occupants had slept the night before as Harry’s nightmares kept them both awake without the disc to block the sound of his screaming. Snape eyed the sullen boy over his teacup and debated mentioning the date. The decision was taken from him as an owl sailed through the open window and alighted on the table in front of Potter’s oatmeal.

“Pig,” Harry said quietly. With a quick grab he snatched the owl out of the air as it started to flutter away. After carefully removing a small package from its leg he let the owl rest on his shoulder and fed it some bacon. “Must be my birthday,” he said as he opened the box. “I’d forgotten.” Snape watched him carefully as he read the note and examined the gift, a small wizard camera.

“Who is it from?” Snape asked.

“Ron and Hermione, who else?”

“Who else indeed.” Snape paused and then decided to take the plunge. Harry’s answer would give him an idea of how the boy was feeling. “Did you want to see them today?”

He got his answer as Harry abruptly shoved back from the table, his chair legs squeaking with protest as they scraped across the floor. With a startled hoot, the small owl launched itself out the window. Harry stalked out without a word, leaving the camera and note on the table. The sound of the bike firing alerted Snape that the boy was leaving.

The day passed slowly as Snape puttered about, brewing a few potions for the infirmary at Hogwarts. It was some time after sunset when Harry finally straggled in looking slightly worse for the wear. His hair was even more atrocious than usual and his shirt was torn. The brat tried to go directly to his room but Severus intercepted him.

“What have you been doing,” he asked with an effort to seem unaccusing.

“Nothing.” Harry tried to walk around him but Snape stepped over to block his path. The whelp still had not looked up.

“Look me in the eye then, Potter,” Snape insisted. With obvious reluctance Harry raised his head. It was quite spectacular really. His left eye was swollen completely shut and the other was bruised a stunning purple. Dried blood crusted his nostrils although it appeared the boy had attempted to clean it away. Various scratches and bruises decorated Harry’s skin which was more visible than usual due to the large rip in his t-shirt. Snape grabbed Harry’s hands and tutted over the abrasions on the knuckles.

“Tsk, tsk, Potter. Fighting like a muggle. I’m surprised.” Snape reached for Harry’s face. The boy stood his ground but leaned away from the contact with a wary expression. Snape growled and gently cupped the battered cheek and rubbed his thumb over it. Potter’s unblinking eyes were fastened on his face and the boy’s body was ramrod stiff.

“Relax,” Snape said without his usual venom. “I am merely trying to decide if you need a healing potion.” The boy relaxed slightly but Snape could tell he was still prepared to flee. He considered his next words carefully. “Is this a muggle birthday tradition, Potter? I can think of no other reason for you to be brawling.”

Still evaluating Harry’s wounds, Snape waited patiently for the boy to speak. After a few moments of silence he blurted, “They were harassing one of the lads.” Snape’s bland expression prompted him to expound, “They were bigger than him.”

The potion master tilted the boy’s head to get a better look at his face. “From these injuries I would wager they were bigger than you too, Mr. Potter.” The boy huffed and tried to pull away but Snape’s fingers held him fast. Harry huffed again at the restriction and Severus could feel him trembling. He gently tipped the boy’s head back and looked him in the eyes. “What has you so upset?” he asked. He could feel the boy’s magic boiling about the room, a reflection of his state of anxiety.

Harry gazed at him, his green eyes dark with emotion, then jerked himself free from Snape’s grasp. “I, I don’t know what’s wrong. Just stop pressing me,” he said with his hands held defensively in front of him. He tried again to leave the room but the professor blocked him. Snape felt the swirling magic increasing as the boy turned away and sat down on the couch with his elbows on his knees and hands laced behind his head. “I feel like I’m pulling apart,” he said in a jagged voice.

With a sigh Severus sat down next to Harry and surveyed his tense muscles. This was truly not his area of expertise. He tried to imagine what Albus would say. “Sometimes, Potter,” he began, “it helps to talk about what is troubling you.” He bit his tongue and nearly groaned at his ineptness. Dumbledore deserved an Order of Merlin for dealing with this sort of thing on a regular basis.

A dark laugh was his response. “There’s so much right now I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Start with why you were so upset when I tried to check you over.” Snape kept his eyes on the floor and his voice neutral. He felt sweat breaking out on his back and resisted the impulse to leave the room. The churning of Potter's uncontrolled magic was beginning to jangle his nerves.

“Uncle Vernon would have thrown me in the cupboard for fighting,” Harry said in a trembling voice. He sniffled and rubbed gingerly at his eyes. “If I was lucky.”

Snape clenched his fists and looked over at the boy with some heat. “I’ve told you I am not your Uncle,” he ground out.

“I know!” Harry nearly wailed. “I can’t let it go, I try but I keep expecting you to act like him! Belt up, Potter,” he said in a harsh, mocking tone, “I keep telling myself to suck it up but it doesn’t work.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair and laughed again. “Some bloody Gryffindor I turned out to be. Scared of a fat biffa like Dursley!”

There was no reproach in Snape’s reply. “An adult who was bigger than you and in charge of your care mistreated you. There’s no shame in being afraid in that situation, Potter.” Snape cringed as the description hit a little too close to home. His fingers itched to be around Dursley’s fat neck but instead he wrapped them around the bottle of firewhiskey sitting nearby. He didn’t know what Dumbledore would do in this situation but he could think of only one way to defuse it. Two glasses flew across the room in response to his muttered spell. Snape solemnly filled the glasses and turned to Harry.

“You’ve just turned sixteen, I believe a drink is in order.” Harry stared at Snape and the whiskey then silently held out his hand. Snape lifted his glass in salute and downed the drink in one go. Looking slightly wide eyed, the boy returned the gesture and knocked his own drink back in similar fashion. The potion master felt the cloud of wild magic that had been prickling at his senses begin to dissipate. Smoke hissed from both wizards’ ears and Harry spluttered a bit but, to Snape’s relief, he held out his glass for a refill.