Harry shut the cupboard door achingly slowly, so that only the barest click announced that the latch was re-locked. He blew out a breath over the bent paperclip still clenched between his teeth. He rubbed his thumb against the wand he now gripped in his hand. The weeks it had been locked away in that cupboard had been unbearable. Having it back was like finding a lost friend.

"Boy."

The word was like a shot of adrenaline. Harry spun. His legs crouched, ready to bolt.

Large, meaty hands descended on his arms. He was pulled forward. Mere inches away, a splotchy face was turning purple.

"How," demanded Vernon Dursley, "did you get that...thing? I made sure the cupboard was locked!"

The reason for Harry's access still lay between his teeth. Harry decided to give the most direct answer possible. He sucked in a lungful of air and spit. The bent paperclip flew from his lips. It bounced off Vernon's eye with a wet pling.

The man bellowed. He released his grip on Harry, slapping one hand to his eye.

Harry took his chance and bolted. He sprang for the front door. A blur of pastels appeared before him. His body collided with something sharp and bony.

"What have you done to him?" screeched Petunia. Her thin fingers snatched Harry by the ear.

Pain seared down the side of his face. Harry bent double, flailing his hands.

The brutal grip disappeared. Harry looked up to see that Petunia had backed away.

"Don't point that thing at me," she whispered, her face white.

Harry followed her gaze and realized he was still holding his wand. He must have waved it in a manner that looked like a spell. Although, to these Muggles, all his gestures were interpreted as magical. And threatening.

He weaved his wand randomly through the air, hoping it would spook the woman. Instead, he heard a shout from behind.

"You dare threaten your aunt?" said Vernon. "After all she's done for you?"

"She's not my aunt," retorted Harry. If he couldn't have a dad in this world, he certainly wasn't taking on these people as his kin. It had been all-out war since the day he arrived, and they could go rot as far as he was concerned.

Still, that didn't change the fact that he was now trapped in a hallway between a man and a woman who were steadily advancing on him. The front door and the foot of the stairs were blocked by Petunia. The other rooms were blocked off by Vernon. Harry couldn't go backward or forward without encountering a pair of angry hands. To his right was a wall. To his left was the locked cupboard. So he moved the only direction he had left.

Up.

He shoved his wand up his sleeve and leaped toward the cupboard, raising his legs as high as they would go. He managed a quick foothold on the cupboard knob. His hands wrapped around the posts of the stair railing above it.

The cupboard knob snapped off under his weight.

Harry clung to the posts and scrambled over the banister. His foot caught on the edge and he fell onto the stairs. White heat shot up from his elbow and he gasped.

He heard a thudding on the stairs below him.

Lurching to his feet, he took the stairs two at a time. He reached the head of the stairs and turned too quickly. His shoulder slammed into the wall. He didn't pause, but barreled past his room, to the end of the hallway. Darting into the master bedroom, he leaped up and tumbled across the bed. He was at the far side of the room when the door crashed open.

Vernon Dursley stood there, sweating and clutching his sides.

Harry edged toward the window.

"Don't..." gasped Vernon, "...even...think...about..."

Harry wrenched the window open and jumped out.

His hands found the trellis before he saw it. His muscles fell into familiar movements and he flowed upward...until he felt a snag on his leg.

He looked downward and saw a thick hand poking out of the window, clutching his trouser leg.

"Get off," said Harry, shaking his leg.

"Back inside, Boy," Vernon hissed. "The neighbors will see."

"So?" replied Harry. He hadn't figured out this obsession with the neighbors. "Perhaps they'll be impressed by my athletic skills." He gave his leg another shake. The trellis began to pull away from the house. Harry gave one final jerk and dislodged his trouser. The trellis lurched backward. The vines holding the latticework to the house began snapping apart.

Harry ricocheted toward the roof. He pushed off the tumbling trellis and launched himself onto the tiles. Burns etched across his forearms as he slid down the angle of the roof, digging for a handhold. His descent slowed before he reached the gutter. He lay there, panting.

He didn't move until he heard something clank against the roof. He rolled into a sitting position and looked across the tiles.

The top of a ladder was peeking over the edge.

Harry moved toward it cautiously, leaning forward for balance. When he got near the ladder, he peered past it to the ground.

Below him, the three Dursleys were staring balefully upward.

"Little Harry, with nowhere to go," sing-songed Dudley. "Dad's coming to get you, and you'll be sorry..."

Harry glanced around him. Dudley was right. He hadn't been thinking when he bolted for the roof. At home, the houses were so close together that the rooftops were like a second street level; you could move across town without ever setting foot on the ground. Here, the roofs were separated by wide canyons of manicured lawns. He'd never make a jump from one to another.

Little Harry, with nowhere to go.

Vernon put a foot on the first ladder rung.

"I'll use magic," said Harry in the most commanding voice he could muster.

Vernon paused, but only for a moment. "You can't during summers," he retorted. "I remember when I picked you up from the station and insisted you hand over that...thing." He took another step up the ladder.

"Shows what you know," Harry gritted, but the man was right: he hadn't uttered a single spell when his wand was ripped out of his hand. But he knew what words to use now. Two beautiful, magical words. "Severus Snape."

All three Dursleys froze. Their heads whipped back and forth fearfully as if they expected a dark specter to appear in a clap of thunder. It had been the same ever since Harry had announced that the man would be picking him up to work on a "research project."

Petunia had gone positively green, gasping something about "an adult one" invading her home. An hour before Snape was due to arrive, they'd shoved Harry out the front door and told him to wait there. Then they'd locked all the doors and latched all the windows.

When he was returned to Privet Drive, Snape had promptly Disapparated. And still, Harry had been forced to talk through the keyhole, promising Snape wouldn't return for several days. It had been several hours before they had finally let him back in.

Harry gazed down at the Dursleys from his perch on the roof, hoping that the man's name would be enough to get him through the day. But it was not to be. When Vernon Dursley was reassured that no wizard would appear out of the blue, he ascended another few steps on the ladder.

Petunia stepped forward. "Perhaps you should wait, Vernon. You don't know that man..."

Vernon took another step. "Neither do you." He paused, and turned back to her, frowning. "Do you?"

"Yes...no, you're right," stammered Petunia. "But he's...he looks dangerous. Maybe you should-"

Vernon looked up at Harry and gave a triumphant stare. "No need to fret over him. He's not coming round again. Is he, Boy?"

Sweat trickled down Harry's neck. He shifted his weight, searching for better balance. "I don't know what you're talking about." He shoved his hand into his trouser pocket, his fingers curling around a note he kept there at all times.

"I overheard your last conversation with him," said Vernon, taking another step upward. His head was now level with the rooftop. "I heard everything he said before he...evaporated."

"Disapparated." Harry pulled the paper from his pocket and crouched down. He scooted slowly away from Vernon's leering face.

"Popping out of existence like freaks, you mean. A shame it wasn't permanent." Vernon's left eye was still twitching from the paperclip, but the other glinted maliciously. "Although it was permanent for that Snape fellow, wasn't it? 'I do not care to return here.' Isn't that what he said? I see he's as sick of you as we are."

"More like he's sick of you." Harry realized he was unfolding and refolding the note in his hands. He glanced down at it. Snape had just handed it to him at their last meeting, but he'd already memorized the words. A few stood out: 'unnecessary travel' and 'onerous.' He swallowed and glanced up.

Vernon had climbed onto the roof. He advanced on Harry. "You've got no place to go."

Harry got to his feet and backed away, toward the other side of the house. "No closer."

"I know you won't use...you-know-what." He gave a harsh chuckle.

"I won't," said Harry, "but you will." He glanced behind him and realized he was near the other edge of the roof.

Vernon paused, teetering uncertainly. "What?"

Harry held up the note. "Written protection. Come any nearer, and you'll trigger it. There'll be flashing lights. Noises." He waved the note menacingly. "Magical noises."

Vernon wet his lips, his eyes darting back and forth. "You're lying."

He was indeed lying, but Vernon Dursley didn't know that. He just wanted to leave the roof the easy way. "It's ready to go off," he said. "I can feel it, with my...er..." he searched for a word that would sound sufficiently terrifying to a Muggle, "...my demon sense. And if it starts firing off magic, it'll be your doing. You'll be the one locked up."

Vernon's eyes bulged. With a roar, he charged. His hands clawed at the air, eager to sink into Harry.

Harry dove to the side. His shoelace caught in the gutter, and he tumbled over the edge. Guess I'm leaving the roof the hard way. He clenched the note tightly and shouted, "Onerous!" The ground was hurtling toward his face when he felt the yank of the Portkey right behind his navel.

He opened his eyes to find his stomach pressed into hard pavement and his nose pressed into a moldy fish and chips wrapper.

"Ugh," he said, peeling the wrapper off his cheek. He stood up and looked around. He was in an alleyway directly across from a very familiar-looking house on Spinner's End.

A warmth spread through him, but he didn't approach the house. He backed further into the alley instead. A rusty fire escape was pressed against the brick wall, and he heaved himself onto it. Scaling it, he reached the roof.

Now, these were rooftops and knew and understood. He crossed to a chimney that hadn't seen smoke in decades and reached inside. His hand found a canvas strap, and he pulled. A soot-covered bag emerged from the chimney. Harry dusted it off as best he could. He peered inside, checking over the contents. There was always a risk he could lose that the bag could be lost or stolen, but it was a greater risk leaving anything he valued at the Dursleys.

Harry sighed and descended to ground level. It had been weeks since he'd argued with his...with Professor Snape, over where he would live this summer. And since then, he'd decided to handle things on his own rather than ask for something from Snape again. But now...Harry shook his head as he crossed the street to 31 Spinner's End. Maybe it wasn't possible to handle the Dursleys. All he knew was that he was dreading the trip back to Privet Drive. Not that what he had to do now was going to be easy.

He rapped loudly on the peeling wood and stepped back. It felt odd to Harry to knock on his own door, but he knew that sauntering in unannounced would not go over well.

The door opened a crack, and black eyes bored into him. "What is it this time?"

In his haste to escape the Dursleys, he'd forgotten to make up an excuse for his visit. "Er," he said, twiddling his fingers, "I left something last time I was here. My, er, wand."

"Your wand."

Harry shrugged.

Snape opened the door further and revealed that he had his own wand in hand. "Accio wand."

A wand flew from Harry's sleeve and into Snape's hand.

"Oh," said Harry. He stared at his sleeve for a few seconds. "Always the last place you look."

Snape held Harry's wand out to him. He took it sheepishly.

"Since I'm here..."

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Like your last two visits, you were going to suggest assisting me in potions or talking about-" his jaw snapped shut. "I have no interest in doing either."

"Really." Harry was weary of playing this game.

"Did you not read the note I gave you? 'no unnecessary travel'? I gave you that Portkey with the understanding that you would use it responsibly."

"I thought it was with the understanding that you wouldn't have to deal with...what were your words? 'Those intolerable Muggles'?"

"With your excellent powers of recall, I'm sure you can use the Portkey again and find your way back to those intolerable Muggles."

The door closed in his face.

That's okay," Harry called out loudly. "Portkey travel makes me a bit wobbly, so I'll just wait here, on your stoop. For an hour. Or two. Shall I sing songs to pass the time? I know a great Gryffindor one, but it's best if I sing it at the top of my lungs..."

The door creaked open and an impatient hand beckoned him inside. "This is the one and only time."

Harry threw his bookbag on the sofa and heaved himself next to it. "Well, if this is my one and only social call, can I see the rest of the house?" So far, he'd only been in the sitting room when they ran tests and checked for magical pathways. Even then it was only for an hour or so, before he was taken back to Surrey.

The sitting room looked different from the one he was used to. It was dark and dusty, and surrounded on all sides by bookshelves. There was no visible means of exit other than the door through which he'd just entered.

"You said you grew up in this house," said Snape, the words stiff. "You hardly need a tour."

"In our house we weren't so stealthy. Do you really need a secret entrance to every room?" He relaxed, already feeling more comfortable. If only he could soften the professor up a bit. Maybe he didn't have to spend the rest of the summer confined to Muggle suburban prison. He rubbed at a fresh scrape near his wrist.

Snape's crossed arms did not bode good tidings, however. The man surveyed the imposing walls of bookshelves. "It prevents intruders."

"Who's going to intrude into the kitchen? It's like needing a password for the toilet."

Snape glanced toward the bookcase that led to the stairs and toilet.

"To the toilet? Seriously?"

"How I arrange my house is no business of yours."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to hide a grin that was threatening. "Shall I try to guess the toilet password? I might need it later."

Snape grunted in annoyance. "You won't be here that long. He slashed his wand toward a side bookshelf and it slid away to reveal a descending staircase. "I'll be in my workroom until you feel well enough to leave. Don't touch anything. I shall know if you do."

"Wait," said Harry. He kneeled on the sofa cushions and rummaged through his bookbag. "I brought photos."

Snape stopped at the top of the steps, his back to Harry. "Of what?"

He pulled a leather-bound photo album from his bag. "Of my first dad. And Mum." He held his breath. Slowly, as though pulled by some unseen force, Snape pivoted around. His eyes fell on the album.

"Where did you get that?"

"Hermione said Hagrid gave it to me." Snape took a step towards him. Harry clutched the album to his chest. "You know, the light's much better in the garden." He waggled his eyebrows significantly at the forbidding bookcase on the back wall.

Snape stopped, frowning. "That's blackmail."

"Technically, it's a bribe." Harry shrugged at Snape's stare. "What? I was raised by a Slytherin."

Snape issued a grunt and opened the back passageway, and Harry followed quickly. But his high spirits evaporated as they entered the yard. A few yellowed weeds scrabbled for purchase on a bare patch of dirt. Two rusty chairs huddled in a corner. And a sickly bubblefruit tree stood in the center, not much taller than Harry himself.

"No garden?" asked Harry mournfully. "What about plants for potions?"

"I'm only here a few months a year. There's no point in cultivating anything."

"I suppose not," said Harry, patting a branch of the tree.

"It's always been like that. It simply doesn't grow."

"It's huge in my world. It doesn't feel the same when I can't climb Bolie."

Silence. "You...named the tree."

"Er," Harry scratched his head self-consciously. "Mum asked me to. It's this game we play." Actually, the tree had about eleven names, as Harry kept forgetting them and Lily kept asking him to name it.

Snape sat down heavily in one of the metal chairs. "I'd forgotten she liked to do that."

Harry crept closer and placed the album on his lap. With trembling fingers, Snape opened it. Lily's laughing face shone out at them.

Harry was hit with a loneliness so deep, he nearly lost his balance. He sat down on the other chair and drew it up next to Snape.

Most of the photos were of Lily and James together. Harry eyed them curiously. For most of his life, any mention of James was quickly quashed. A few months ago at Hogwarts, Remus had tried to give him a photograph of James and Lily's wedding, but he'd pushed it back, terrified his mum would find it and see it.

It felt strange to look at these photos and know it was safe. He was so used to protecting his mum from this ghost that he didn't know what else to feel. But there was nothing threatening about the tousled hair and features so similar to his own.

"Did you know him well?" asked Harry. He had never asked about James unless it was in relation to the curse.

But Snape appeared not to have heard. The man was focused on a photo in the upper right corner of the page. A baby Harry was sitting in a high chair, chewing on his fist. In the background sat Lily, chopping roots for a potion. She paused after adding them to the brew, and her eyes took on a sad, faraway look. Then the moment was gone, and she was shaking her head and murmuring something to the person behind the camera.

"I wondered sometimes, if she...if she ever thought about..." his voice trailed off to a hoarse whisper. Then his lips pressed together and his face turned to ice. Harry placed his hand on Snape's back and rubbed gently.

Snape jerked away from the hand. "What are you doing?"

"Dad always does this with me when I..."

"When you what?"

When I cry, thought Harry. "When I feel tense," said Harry.

"I can control my moods without assistance."

Harry doubted that, but removed his hand. He'd seen that same look on his dad every time he confessed his sins to Lily. Her reactions ranged from fury to misery, and Snape took it all with the same rigid blankness. And yet, when Harry would draw close to him and squeeze his hand, his dad would return the grip with ferocity.

Once, he had felt that grip as he sat with his father in the kitchen. Lily had seen them, loathing and suspicion in her eyes. "Get away from him, Harry," she'd said. He had tried to protest, but Snape had shook his head. "Listen to your mother," he'd said. So Harry left him sitting alone at the kitchen table, looking as frozen and brittle as ice over a spring river.

A loud hoot interrupted his reminiscence. Hedwig was perched on the bubblefruit tree, the branch bending precariously low to the ground.

Harry leaped up. "Have you seen my owl?" He'd been delighted to discover he had his very own snowy owl. Under Hedwig's protests, he gathered her up in his arms. Setting her on his chair, he pulled the message from her leg. "It's from the Ministry of Magic," he said excitedly. "I've gotten special dispensation." Finally. This was the foothold he needed to stay right where he was.

A questioning eyebrow rose.

"For a summer project. I submitted a request to the Ministry to ask if I could be allowed to use magic this summer to work on it."

Snape leaned forward. "It's extremely difficult to be excused from the restriction of underage magic."

"Well, there are stipulations."

Snape reached out, and Harry handed the note over. His eyes flickered over the words, then stilled. He lowered the paper and stared at Harry over it.

"'Under the supervision of a certified Hogwarts professor.'"

"Er."

"You must introduce us. I'd love to meet a professor willing to teach you for the entire summer."

"Just let me show you the project," said Harry, scrambling for his bookbag.

"You assume too much." He scanned the note again. "'Excellent recommendation'. Who...?"

"Dumbledore."

"Of course."

Harry pulled out a brass frame and a stack of blank photographs. "He also helped me get the supplies I needed for the Statua Screen. It's a bit like a Pensieve. Dumbledore could explain the differences better."

Snape eyed it curiously. "How does it work?"

"The photographic paper is like the Pensieve. But of course, it's just a photograph, not a moment you can jump into," he said, latching a blank photograph onto the frame. The frame wobbled slightly on its ornate legs before coming to a rest.

Snape stood, fingering the ornate engravings on the frame.

"The problem is, I haven't quite mastered extraction. I can do recent events," and with that he tapped his wand against his temple, and a thin silvery strand was pulled away. He let the strand wriggle onto the photographic paper, and soon an image had formed: Snape scowling at the front door. Snape scowled at it.

"Er, you may not bother keeping that one," said Harry. "Anyway, it's the older events that I have trouble with, and with my project, I want to go into my early childhood. I need a guide."

"You need my help in extracting memories?"

"No, in finding them. I need a Legilimens."

Snape looked at him sharply. "This is advanced magic for someone your age."

"I've had a lot of help. I've been working with my dad on mind magic since I started Hogwarts. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "And technically, before I started Hogwarts. Don't tell the Ministry." He attached another blank photograph and stood with the frame interposed between them. "Ready?"

"I should ask you that." Snape raised his wand.

Harry felt a reverberation in his mind, familiar and yet not. He had the feeling of being pulled out to sea, and memories flooded him. The sensations came at him, one after another: the bone-jarring jolt of the ground after he fell from a tree, the rustle of robes as his dad carried him up to bed. And then she was everywhere: smiling, angry, curled in a quilt on the sitting room sofa. The images were pulled from him so quickly, he lost his bearings. He fought back, hiding the memories in the pockets of his mind and throwing up the shields he'd created long ago. The rush of images stopped, and he was in the yard again, blinking at the dark figure before him.

"You know Occlumency," he accused.

"Good thing, too. That felt more like combat training. If I knew you were going to attack, I would have prepared myself."

"I was not attacking you."

"If you want to see moments with my mum-"

"I have no interest in that! I cannot control what memories emerge when you have inadequate defenses."

"My defenses are there when I need them." He frowned. His dad spent so much time preparing him for his eventual battle with the Dark Lord, with frequent training sessions in preventing a mental attack. So far, this man hadn't even mentioned the path that lay before him. He preferred to keep it that way. He ran his hands through his hair, thinking about how to move forward. "Look, let me nudge you in the right direction. There's something specific I'm looking for. It's about my parents." He did his best not to emphasize the last word.

Snape's face betrayed nothing, but he nodded.

This time, Harry prepared for possible Occlumency, but the searching presence that entered his mind was less demanding. He let go of his barriers, and went back to the sense memory he'd discovered a few months ago. The presence followed him. There was sunlight, and arms wrapped tightly around him. He watched as the sensations became clearer, and the image slowly sharpened. The light formed into the very backyard he was standing in now, with the same sickly tree. But large bunches of flowers hung from the wall around the yard, and the tree was decorated with garlands. Near the tree, Dumbledore, Snape, and Lily were standing. Dumbledore was speaking, but Harry couldn't discern the words. He felt the memory pulled further into his consciousness, and the babble of sounds became voices he could understand. The voice belonging to the arms that held him spoke.

"I don't understand why you're here, Augusta. It's not as though you and Lily are close. And I don't suppose Severus..."

"Hardly," came a prim voice to his right. He shifted, his pudgy legs pushing against the lap he was in. The woman shifted her weight, and he was facing a small boy with a round face, sitting in the grasp of a middle-aged woman. The woman leaned slightly towards Harry, whispering to the other woman. "Not after what happened to Frank and Alice, leaving Neville an orphan. I know it's never been stated outright that Snape was a Death Eater, but he kept far too close company with them for my tastes."

"Then why?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Minerva," said Augusta.

"Dumbledore asked me. He said he was having difficulty finding the necessary two witnesses for the ceremony. He neglected to mention that would also include babysitting duties." She gave a harrumph, but her arms were gentle as she shifted Harry again so that he was facing the trio in the yard. "Lily's forgotten herself again, poor dear."

Harry saw that Lily was looking around dazedly. Snape was stroking her hand and whispering in her ear. She brightened as she saw the garlands and the two women in the chairs nearby. She waved at them. Snape followed her gaze and gave them a sour look.

"My, my," said Augusta disapprovingly. "I don't know which one has more work in store for them."

Minerva gave a slight chuckle. "Still, it worries me," she said. "It hasn't quite been a year since James Potter died." Harry hiccupped a slight cry, and McGonagall rubbed his plump arms gently to quiet him. "It's rather sudden."

"You mean it's as though he swooped down to take advantage of a damaged woman before her husband was cold in the ground? Quite."

"Then you're doing this out of duty?" Minerva shifted in her seat, her tartan skirts rustling. "Did Dumbledore ask you as well?"

"He did, but I have my own reasons for agreeing. Oh look, Severus has written her vows down for her. Clever thing."

Harry watched as a golden scroll unfurled in the air under Snape's wand. Lily beamed at him and began to read. Once she finished, the scroll glided over to Snape, although he began speaking without glancing at it.

"She has no family?" asked Augusta.

"Just a Muggle sister who is rather unpleasant, from what I hear. She was invited, but..." Minerva waved her hand at the two solitary chairs the women were sitting in.

"No, I didn't see any family visiting her at St. Mungo's, either."

"Oh, of course. You were seeing to your son and his wife?"

"They were in the same ward. I passed by Lily's room every day."

"Did you--oh my," breathed Minerva. Snape had paused in his vows, and was clenching and unclenching his hands convulsively. Dumbledore and Lily both looked worried. He began speaking again, and Harry heard the words, "...love you with all my heart, and protect you with all my strength..." and then Snape stopped again. He bowed his head as his body shook. A single sob echoed against the walls.

The minutes stretched out painfully as Snape struggled for control and those gathered silently watched.

Finally Lily tucked her bouquet in the crook of her arm and moved to Snape's side, wrapping her free arm around him. She leaned her head into his and read his vows aloud, as Snape mumbled incoherently after her. Dumbledore had joined her on Snape's other side, giving him encouraging pats on the shoulder.

With a jagged sigh, Snape reached the end. Dumbledore moved away and said the final words that joined them. Lily wrapped her arms around Snape's trembling form and kissed him. He relaxed in that moment, falling against her like snow on a hill.

"Well," said McGonagall, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a handkerchief fluttering. "I must say he's surprised me. I've never seen anything like it."

"I have," said Augusta. "Every day at St. Mungo's."

The memory receded, and Harry grabbed his wand and pressed it against his temple, pulling away a thin filmy strand and touching it to the photograph in the center of the frame. The frame glowed for a moment, then an image appeared of Snape, buttressed on both sides by Dumbledore and Lily. Snape was looking down, dark lashes against pale skin.

Harry frowned at the image. "I was trying to get the kiss." He tilted his head, surveying his work. "It's not bad, though, is it? I always wondered why Dad never wanted to talk about his wedding." He reached out to remove the photo, but Snape's hand landed on his. He looked up to see the man mesmerized by the small tableau.

Harry drew on everything he'd ever learned about Slytherins. "I need to go," he said carefully. "Not supposed to be here long, you said."

"You could..." Snape's eyes flickered over the photo and then Harry. "...return to continue the project tomorrow."

Harry smiled weakly. "I'd like that. But couldn't I just stay? The Portkey-"

"No." Snape removed his hand. "A few hours a day is more than sufficient."

Keep your eye on the Snitch, Harry reminded himself. "I can't do this every day. The Portkey makes me wobbly. I wasn't lying about that," he said, lying. "Maybe next week?" He plucked the photo from the frame and tucked both into his bag.

Snape stared at the place the photo had been. "Stay." It sounded more like a cough than a command.

Harry hopped up and down in delight. "Really?"

Snape watched him. "No hopping," he said.

"Yes, Sir," said Harry, standing on one foot and wobbling.

"And I expect you to follow my every command-"

"Right."

"And refrain from being underfoot when I-"

"Absolutely, Sir," said Harry.

"And stop...wobbling."

"Actually, Sir..." Harry became aware of a sudden urge to hop on one foot, "...seeing as I'm staying here...could I have the password to the toilet now?"