Harry peeked over the top of his book. Across the room, Snape was sitting, still scowling. Harry ducked behind his book again.

He read a few more lines – something boring about potions and poisons and antidotes – and then he peeked over the top of the book again. Still scowling.

Harry sighed silently as he pretended to read. The last three days had been fairly quiet, ever since Harry thrown his tantrum, broken the window, and gotten spanked. Harry had gone over the talk they had had, the hatred Snape had spewed at him and then the way the man had hugged him, too. A part of him hoped Snape would bring the matter up again, but Snape remained cold and silent.

For the last three days, Snape had been rigid and austere, making Harry complete several hours of lessons everyday along with twenty to thirty minutes of chores. The chores were the regular, tedious kind such as washing dishes or sweeping the kitchen along with making his bed and picking up his clothes each morning. So far Snape had made no mad outbursts or wild accusations, just been a normal, stern man who made him go outside every afternoon, have quiet times in his room, clean his plate at every meal, and go to bed each night by nine.

All very, very boring in Harry’s opinion.

Snape mean and nasty could be awful, but at least he kept things interesting. Harry had grown used to Snape’s mind games and horrid accusations; though Harry would never admit it to Snape, he sometimes liked the feeling of being a captive trapped under a wicked wizard’s roof, powerless to get away. At the Dursleys, in the dim light of his cupboard under the stairs, Harry used to read Kidnapped and Treasure Island and imagine adventures where he was chased by pirates or kidnapped by evil men only to fight them all and be the hero in the end. Why couldn’t Snape keep acting like a villainous pirate?

Harry peeked over the book again.

“Read your book,” Snape told him.

“I am,” Harry protested as he looked back at it. When Snape said nothing, Harry decided to push him, “It’s boring.”

No answer.

“It’s really boring,” Harry pressed further.

“Unless you want an hour in the corner, you’ll be quiet and read,” Snape ground out.

Harry thought for a second. Then he loosely knocked his foot against the footstool, knocking the stool on its side.

Snape jerked his head in Harry’s direction, glaring at him.

“Sorry,” Harry said, not quite able to keep a cheeky note out of his tone.

“Keep reading,” Snape frowned, returning to his own book.

Harry tried to sit still; he imagined that he was sitting in Potions class beside Ron and Hermione. Hermione would try to pay attention, but Ron would wait until Snape’s back was turned and then start a tic-tac-toe game in their writing books.

Harry slowly reached to the side table and managed to snitch a small pencil without Snape noticing. Holding the book against his knees with one hand, Harry started a game of tic-tac-toe. It took him two games to realize that playing against himself wasn’t much fun. Tucking his tongue between his teeth, Harry began drawing a line that curved at the end. It kind of looked like the top of a Snitch wing.

Harry didn’t consider himself to be a good drawer, but his sketch looked close enough to Snitch for someone to recognize it. In the empty space at the bottom of the page, Harry started drawing a boy flying on a broomstick. It took him a while to get the boy’s face right, and then Harry added dark spikes of hair to the boy’s head. It kind of looked like him, but Harry hesitated a moment before adding the scar to his forehead.

He wished sometimes he didn’t have the scar. No, he wished a lot of the time he didn’t have the scar. It was one of the reasons he kept his hair long, but Snape had shaved off his hair, the git!

Harry reached up to feel if his hair had grown any longer. And then a cold hand closed around his fingers.

Surprised, Harry looked up to see Snape standing over him. Snape reached for the book, and Harry tried to hold it down with his free hand. Snape got it from him of course, and Harry held his breath while Snape glowered at the book.

“Writing in a textbook?” Snape was ominous, and Harry squirmed, trying not to look guilty. But a part of him wondered what Snape would do. Writing in a book didn’t seem a spankable offense (Harry hoped), but maybe Snape would come up with a creative punishment, like breaking his toys again only to fix them later or making him black the stove again just so Harry could get himself covered with blackening powder again.

“We do not draw in books,” Snape growled. “Up, time to go outside.”

“Can I play with Vampyr?” Harry asked eagerly.

“No, you’re going to replant the garden you destroyed,” Snape set the book aside and tugged Harry out on his seat.

“Do I get to pretend to be somebody?” Harry asked as he went along with Snape. Every fourth step, Harry dragged his feet, making Snape have to keep pulling him as if Harry were a naughty boy who would not follow along easily.

“Pretend to be whom?” Snape sneered at him.

“I don’t know – I once read a Muggle book about a boy and girl who had a secret garden and planted things.”

“You’re not pretending anything out of a Muggle book,” Snape said sharply. “In fact, you don’t get to pretend at all today. You’re being punished.”

“Everyone draws in books at school,” Harry retorted, but he ducked past Snape to dash into the backyard. The sky was overcast, but the wind blew strong.

“Then they should all be whipped,” Snape snapped. He pointed to the beds where Harry had destroyed the plants. “I cleaned out the old plants with magic, and I want you to plant new seeds in the beds. Make little holes in the ground, four inches apart, and put one seed in per hole, and then cover it up. After you’re through with the bed, water it thoroughly. Put in as many rows and columns as you can fit. Vampyr will be out here to make sure you don’t run away.”

Harry looked up, startled. “But you said I could leave. Remember, the other day?”

“Oh, Harry,” Snape scoffed, “did you really think I would let you get away that easily?”

“You wouldn’t have?” Harry blinked.

“Still such a stupid boy,” Snape mocked. “You should know by now that I’m never letting you go.”

“Never?” Harry looked up. “Not even to Hogwarts?”

“That – that remains to be seen,” Snape stammered. He looked uncomfortable and then he marched into the house.

Harry spent a few minutes dallying about the garden, pretending to search for the trowel and then splashing his hands in the watering can. Vampyr did not seem to mind as he lay under a tree and watched Harry lazily.

Once he started planting the seeds, Harry loved the feel of the warm dry earth against his damp hands. His fingernails became filthy by the fifth seed planting, but he kept wriggling them deep into the dirt.

Ninety-three seeds later, Harry was bored with planting and wished he had stayed inside reading. The air was hot and sticky, and he considered going to pour a bucket of pump water over his head to cool down.

“You’re planting them crooked,” Snape’s voice boomed over the garden.

Harry glanced back to see Snape leaning out the window. “No, they’re straight,” he called back. “They look crooked because the ground is uneven.”

“The ground is not uneven,” Snape shot back. “Pay attention to what you’re doing.”

Snape shut the window.

Harry glared at it rebelliously. He waited until he was sure Snape wasn’t looking, and then Harry began flinging seeds by the handful over the rest of the bed. The seeds fell haphazardly over the bare dirt, tan specs against the brown earth. Then he dashed to the water can, grabbed it with both hands, and lugged it over to the bed. He poured water over the bed, soaking the dirt.

After pouring all the water from the can, Harry went to the pump to fill the can up again. It took him three trips to soak the bed enough to bury the seeds within the loose dirt. Done with the garden bed, Harry flung a handful of water at the dog.

Vampyr lifted his head to whine, but Harry grabbed the can and held it upside, dumping the rest of the water over his sweaty hair. Filling the can up a few inches, Harry dashed over to the huge dog and poured water over Vampyr. With a growl, the dog leapt up and pretended to snap at Harry. Laughing, Harry ran across the grass as the dog chased him.

On the third circuit around the garden, Vampyr caught him and wrestled him to the ground. Harry laughed and squirmed as the dog playfully nuzzled and worried him with its ugly snout. Harry managed to crawl away and run a few more feet before the dog caught him again.

After the chasing and wrestling wore Harry out, he settled down beside the panting dog and leaned back against the warm, damp fur. Eyelids heavy, Harry watched the clouds blowing over the sky, patches of blue sky appearing and disappearing randomly. Harry liked it when beams of sunlight shone bright and strong through the clouds, like fingers of gold light.

Harry reached over to grab a handful of grass and let the green blades fall through his fingers. He wondered what his friends were doing. Somewhere, Ron might also be lying on the grass and enjoying the warm day. Harry thought he would give anything for a handful of Bertie Botts Beans or a warm chocolate frog to eat while talking with his friend.

Sometime later (a few minutes or even an hour), the back door opened and Snape stalked out.

“You finished the planting quickly,” he frowned.

“I worked fast,” Harry lied, not getting off the ground.

“You’re all dirty. And wet. Did I say you could get wet?”

“Can I climb a tree?” Harry ignored Snape’s question.

“No, you can’t. Last time you climbed a tree, you nearly broke your neck.”

“I was trying to run away that time,” Harry yawned. “I won’t this time.”

“No!” Snape retorted. “Inside. Wash up and then I want you in the living room. I want to quiz you on your reading of the last few days.”

“Aw,” Harry groaned. “I didn’t know there would be a quiz.”

“There will always be a quiz. Up, off the grass. If your clothes are filthy, you’ll be scrubbing them all night with soap and cold water.”

------

“Put a little more effort into it,” Snape directed from the hallway.

Harry scowled, but said nothing. Standing barefoot in boxers and an undershirt, Harry stood over the tub full of hot water, scrubbing his clothes with soap on the metal washboard. He didn’t think he had that many clothes, but since he had come to Snape’s house, somehow he had accumulated half a dozen pairs of trousers, ten shirts, and multiple pairs of underwear along with a few undershirts.

Earlier, Snape had fixed supper and scolded Harry for trying to take a second serving of pudding, calling him a greedy child and then giving him two more large spoonfuls of pudding and insisting he finish every bite. After cleaning supper and reading in the living room for an hour, Snape had dumped all Harry’s dirty clothes in the tub, filled it with hot water, and told Harry to get to scrubbing.

Half an hour of scrubbing, and Harry’s fingers felt like prunes. He had amused himself for the first twenty minutes with pretending to be a scullery boy forced work until his hands were raw. But now he was ready to shuck the whole project and go play with his toys or Vampyr.

“You’re not scrubbing hard enough,” Snape criticized from the doorway, frowning at all the water splashed on the floor.

“I’m trying my hardest,” Harry objected. “Why can’t you have a washing machine?”

“There will be no mention of Muggle contraptions in my house,” Snape barked out.

Harry glanced up, concerned, but seeing Snape’s normal frown, he went back to scrubbing. Up and down the washboard, feeling the round metal runners under the wet clothes, soap slick on his wrinkled fingers, back beginning to ache – Harry kept working.

He reached forward to grab another shirt. But his bare feet slipped on the water on the floor, and Harry pitched forward into the bathtub. His torso went into the water, his head ducking underwater for a second. He reached out a wet hand to grab the side of the tub, and he shakily balanced against the tub, a sea of wet, soapy clothes beneath him.

A moment later, Snape grabbed the back of his neck and bent him farther over the water. Harry cringed, waiting for the sharp slaps to fall on his bottom. One second passed, two seconds, three –

Harry glanced over his shoulder. “Sir?”

Snape kept a tight grip on the back of his neck, angling the boy’s thin body forward. He held him there for another second before commanding, “Try to be more careful. You could have hit your head on the edge of the tub.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied, unable to think of anything else to say. He felt relieved that he would not be smacked, but he knew better than to say it out loud.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Snape pulled Harry up to stand straight. “Brush your teeth and get ready for bed.”

Harry went to the sink to get his toothbrush, and as he brushed, he watched Snape clean up the clothes. The water drained from the tub as the clothes lifted up out of the tub and wrung themselves dry. Snape conjured up a wooden clothes rack and the clothes flew through the air and then spread themselves over the rack.

With a swish of his wand, all the water on the floor gathered into a puddle and began to roll across the floor. Harry stopped scrubbing, the toothbrush still in his mouth, as he watched the water run up the wall and then over the window sill. Harry grinned against the toothbrush. Sometimes magic surprised him.

“Keep brushing, and then I’m inspecting your teeth. I don’t think you brushing long enough.”

“Say the man with the ugly teeth,” Harry said, but with the toothbrush in his mouth, the words were too distorted to make any sense.

After he was through, he had to stand in front of Snape and bare his teeth while Snape frowned. The man put his hand under his jaw, tilting his head up.

“Your teeth are crooked.”

“No, they’re not,” Harry suddenly felt defensive over his teeth.

“I’ll be straightening them out later,” Snape pulled his hand away. “On to bed, young man.”

As Harry changed in his pajamas, he wondered how Snape would straighten his teeth. It sounded horribly painful, but Harry knew Muggles straightened their teeth with braces. Hermione’s parents were dentists; she probably knew more about it then Harry did. But braces took several years to straighten teeth . . . what if Snape decided to move them all at once?

What would it feel like to have his teeth start to move in his mouth? For a second, Harry pictured Snape casting a spell and all his teeth jumping out of his mouth and then jamming back in a straight curve. What a wonderfully horrible idea!

Harry pulled on his night shirt and scrambled to bed as Snape came in. Harry could not be certain, but he wondered if sometimes he thought up worse ideas than Snape could ever imagine.

Harry pulled up the covers and snuggled down into the bed. Snape walked farther into the room, looking like he was about to say something important. Harry watched him expectantly, but Snape seemed to change his mind.

“Go to sleep,” Snape told him.

“Yes, Father,” Harry yawned. He looked towards the window where the last summer light still lingered. “I didn’t see Hedwig today. Is she all right?”

“Vampyr ate her,” Snape snapped.

Vampyr, already in his usual spot on the floor, lifted his head and growled.

“He did not,” Harry shook his head.

“Fine, I killed her,” Snape retorted.

“You didn’t kill her – why would you kill an owl?” Harry felt slightly upset at the idea of Snape harming his bird, but he knew the man was trying to rile him up. “She’s outside, flying around.”

“Then why did you ask me?”

“I don’t know,” Harry sighed. “Sometimes I want to talk about normal things.”

A shadow passed over Snape’s face, but he only said, “Good night.”

Harry went to sleep in minutes, but he awoke a few hours later. His room was dark, and he guessed Snape had gone to bed as well. Harry felt oddly anxious for a second, an odd fluttering in his stomach, but he stayed in bed. Not once during his stay had Harry ever gotten out of bed before dawn break, but he knew Snape would be furious if he caught Harry sneaking around in the middle of the night.

Harry lay back down, closing his eyes and forcing himself to take deep breaths. He dozed off in a few seconds, but the same feeling remained in his stomach as he drifted off.

The next morning, Harry found his clothes all dried and he dressed quickly before making his bed and hurrying downstairs for breakfast.

Snape was making toast in the kitchen. “Sit down,” he commanded.

Harry went to sit in his seat and waited.

Snape stalked over to the table and set down a plate in front of Harry. The plate contained two pieces of stacked toast, and stuck through the middle of them, a tiny white candle stood straight up.

“Harry Birthday, Harry,” Snape ground out.

Harry blinked completely surprised. How could his birthday have snuck up on him like that? He was twelve now – twelve for over eight hours without know it.

Snape took his wand out like a man about to make a grim execution. A flame flickered at the end of his wand, and he lit the candle.

“Make a wish,” he said in a flat voice.

Harry looked at the lit candle and then closed his eyes.