Harry awoke in a comfortable bed in a beautiful room, with every inch of his body aching. He got up and tried to appreciate his lovely surroundings, but the pain in his muscles overwhelmed that pleasure, as did the worrying thought of Snape, possibly just on the far side of the door. Slowly, he dressed, choosing clothing he had inherited from Ron, when Ron had hit a growth spurt, rather than the ridiculously baggy clothing that had belonged to his cousin Dudley. He walked out to Snape's rooms.

Snape was sitting at the kitchen table (which, unlike the table they had eaten at the night before, seemed to be a permanent fixture.) He had porridge in front of him, and there was more in the middle of the table, along with a covered dish that Harry suspected held sausages. The combined smells made Harry feel ill.

"Breakfast," Snape muttered, not looking up. He had a length of parchment out, and seemed to be writing out a potion formula, except he was currently scribbling out one ingredient and writing in another.

"I don't think I can eat," Harry said. He noticed a headache and wondered if it had just started.

"Porridge, Harry, at a minimum," Snape said, in the voice he might have used to say "slice the shrivelfigs, Potter."

"Really, professor," Harry protested. "I feel ill. My back hurts and my legs hurt and my head hurts, and the smell of food...." Harry made a face.

"You can go to Madam Pomfrey in an hour. At this time, she will only be available for emergencies."

"Probably be just as well if I walked, first. Some of this may just be from hauling my trunk around, yesterday, and might work out."

Snape glanced up at him, then went back to his writing. "Put on some decent clothes, first," he commented absently.

Harry, who had been about to leave, turned back in surprise. "What?"

Snape glared at him. "Put on some decent clothes. You can't mean to go outside in that."

Harry looked down at his shirt and slightly worn jeans. "These are the best clothes I've got," he protested. "I'm not going to wear my school robes, and everything else is too big for me."

"As opposed to those Muggle obscenities?" Snape sneered. "You do not need to display your arse all over Hogwarts, Potter -- Harry. There's no one here you'd want to impress. Now, go put on something less tight."

"They're not tight! And these were Ron's! He's not a Muggle."

"Having met a large number of Weasley children, I am confident in saying that Molly and Arthur allow many things I would not."

"But all I have is--"

"Don't argue!"

Harry stormed back into his room, his initial amusement changed to fury. He pulled out the worst of Dudley's old clothes, then, thinking better of it, the best of them.

"Trust Snape to make me wear them," he muttered. By the time he got dressed, he had once again decided the situation was funny, though he felt he would appreciate it more if everything didn't hurt. He grabbed the cigarettes he had taken from the toolshed and shoved them into his pocket, just in case, then he went back out to the kitchen.

"How's this?" he asked.

Snape glanced up, then the glance turned to an incredulous stare. "I am not amused," he said.

"Well good, because this is my second best set of clothes."

"Into your robes, then."

"No!" Harry shouted. "I'm only going for a frigging walk around the lake. As you said, there's no one here but a few professors. Why does it matter what I wear?"

"I will not have you leaving here looking like a tart or a vagabond!"

Harry pulled his temper in, and attempted an amused look. "You said you wouldn't get parental on me," he goaded.

Snape looked shocked. No, Harry decided, horrified.

"Very well." Snape waved a hand dismissively as he bent back over his parchment. "Wear anything you wish. Prance around the lake naked, if you like. Now, GET OUT!"

Harry started off with an angry stride, but the ramps and stairs up diminished his energy somewhat. By the time he had reached the Entrance Hall, his sense of indignation had gone. He looked around for a bit, hoping to run into Dumbledore, or even Professor McGonagall, but didn't see so much a ghost. Eventually, he stepped outside and looked at the lake from the top of the stairs. It seemed impossibly large. Harry looked over at Hagrid's hut, but could see no smoke coming from the chimney. He walked down the stairs and hesitated. After a moment, he turned and walked along the base of the stairs, looking for a good place to settle in the shade.

Severus stared angrily at the paper and willed himself to remember the modification of an identification potion that had come to him in his dreams last night. He had scribbled some notes that had obviously seemed sufficient to him at the time, but he now had no idea of their significance.

"Agitation," he muttered. "What? More? Less? And what did I mean by 'R. scales?'"

He glanced up and saw that the new door in his kitchen was still open onto Harry's room.

"One would think you had not an ounce of experience in concealment," he sneered. He pointed his wand at the door. "Occultio." The door clicked closed and faded into the wall. "Idiot Muggle-raised child!" He sighed and rubbed up the bridge of his nose and along his eyebrows, where a headache was threatening to take hold. "I never change, do I?"

Severus cursed at the memory, and threw his quill at the unfinished potion formula. "Fine, then. I'll try. But he's--" His eyes widened. "Walk around the lake! Alone? Now?" Severus sprung to his feet. At the door, he swung on his cloak. "Damn the boy for a reckless fool, and me for a dream-addled idiot!" He left the room rapidly, his wand already out.

"I thought you were going for a walk."

The comment was dry, rather than biting. Harry exhaled smoke slowly, trying not to look guilty. "In a few minutes," he said.

Professor Snape stopped right in front of him. That much towering black, Harry thought, was rather difficult to ignore, but when he tried to look up, his neck hurt. "Ow," he said, stretching it out.

"What is that?" Severus asked.

Harry restrained himself from some cheeky request for clarification. "Cigarette," he said.

"What..." Snape exhaled in a little growl -- "plant?"

"Oh! Er... tobacco."

"Tobacco," Snape repeated mockingly. "You are smoking a garden pesticide?"

"What?"

"I believe an infusion of tobacco is what Sprout uses to control aphids."

"Oh."

To Harry's surprise, Snape lowered himself slowly to the ground, and sat beside Harry, also leaning back against the base of the steps. "Let's see..." he muttered. "Toxic when eaten, a mild, but addictive, stimulant when smoked, hallucinogenic at near-fatal quantities...."

"Hadn't heard that last one."

"The line between 'hallucinogenic' and 'fatal' is too fine and too unpredictable for that to have ever made it into recreational use," Snape elaborated. "There was a native tribe in North America that used it that way ceremonially to chose wizard applicants." Harry dared a glance over. Snape responded with a taunting smile. "The tribe wizard -- I've forgotten the title -- would chew some, then insert it into the applicant's arse."

Harry choked and went into a coughing fit. Snape ignored this.

"The applicant would go into a coma. If he died, he would, obviously, not be trained. If he regained consciousness, usually a few days later, it would be with fantastic visions, which the tribe wizard could then interpret to determine the applicant's fate."

Harry realized he was staring at what was left of his cigarette. "Er... harsh." He forced himself to take another draw off it, but it had become short enough to have a rather nasty taste, and he stubbed it out afterwards. "You're having me on, right?"

"Quite serious. I was doing a paper on real and perceived magic in primitive societies. Many of these tribal wizards were real, you know. Now they are fake, or else, in most of the world, in violation of international treaties. Muggle-Wizard segregation is to the benefit of European Muggles and some others, but in the third world, the places that were then being taken as colonies, it fueled a horrible dependency on the more developed nations."

"I hadn't really thought about magic other places."

"Most European wizards and witches don't."

"What's with this 'European' stuff?" Harry teased. "We're British."

Snape raised black eyebrows at him. "Are we?"

Harry looked curiously back at him. "Well, are we? I mean, I suppose I am, at any rate."

Snape nodded. "As am I. Half my grandparents, however, were not."

Harry hesitated, wondering what to ask. Before he had decided, Snape spoke.

"The ... cigarettes."

"Huh?"

"How often?"

"Oh." Harry thought. "I'm not sure, actually. Not much. Probably one or two a day, last week, because I was so hungry, but much less often before that. I thought the headache might be connected, but it didn't help in the least."

"A stimulant will not make you less hungry."

"No, but it made me less stupid when I hadn't eaten, and thus less likely to mess up with whatever Aunt Petunia had me doing, and so sometimes able to get her to give me some food afterwards."

"If you could obtain those, could you not obtain food?"

"Food was in the kitchen, which was well-guarded. Dudley hid his cigarettes in the tool shed, which was otherwise my territory."

"I see." Snape plucked a plant from the ground and turned it over and over in his hands, apparently examining it. I wonder if my hands will get that precise, Harry thought, or if that is learned? He looked down at his own comparatively stubby fingers.

"How many do you have?"

"Eight or nine, I think. I took what was left before I called the bus. It seemed about half. I haven't counted."

"You may finish that, as long as it is before the start of term." Snape looked up from the plant, meeting Harry's study with a predatory smile. "If I catch you after term starts, I will dock Gryffindor House Points, give you detention, and generally make your life miserable."

Harry smiled slightly. "And I'll notice?" he asked.

"You will notice," Snape retorted harshly.

"Okay," Harry said. He cast about for something less awkward to say, thought about what Snape had described early, and smiled in embarrassment.

"Is that amusing, Potter?" Snape challenged.

"Just ... how does anyone ever figured out that a ... paste of some leaf, taken ... er, up the arse...?" He laughed tightly, unable to finish.

"A bit of a stretch," Snape allowed, "but it was, at least, already established as a ceremonial plant. I wonder more about things such as tapioca."

"Tapioca?"

"Yes. Derived from cassava roots, which are poisonous when fresh. Who thought of grating them up, then baking the fermented residue? Why did they think the result would not also be poisonous?"

"Maybe someone was trying to kill himself," Harry suggested. "'Hey, I'll have some of this poisonous root! That should do it!'"

"That doesn't explain why it was grated in the first place."

"Perhaps it was also used as a pesticide? 'I'll have some of this poisonous root that's been scattered around the vegetable beds.'"

"Ah!" Snape's eyes took on a triumphant gleam. "Perhaps someone wished to poison someone else. They baked it into a casserole."

"Yes, it did come out beautifully thick, today, dear, didn't it?" Harry improvised, pitching his voice high. "No, go ahead and eat, I'll just put the baby down."

"No, nothing's wrong with my stomach," Snape growled. "Why do you ask?"

They both chuckled.

"And you'll never guess the secret ingredient," Harry effused, and was treated to the sight of Snape actually laughing. He was half-covering his face with his hand, as if trying to hide it, and gasping slightly, but it was definitely a laugh, nonetheless.

"Now there's a laugh I haven't heard in years," remarked a mild voice from above them. Harry twisted to look up. Snape, with remarkable speed and grace, was on his feet in an instant. Remus Lupin smiled down at them over the edge of the stairs. "What got that out of you, Severus?"

"Tasteless jokes about murder and suicide," Snape snapped. "Nothing you want to hear."

"Professor Lupin!" Harry exclaimed. "Hi!"

"Harry?!" Lupin had apparently not noticed Harry's identity, earlier. Harry suspected the angle was bad. He, too, stood up. Lupin, to his surprise, looked concerned.

"Well, I suppose I can cross the first item off my list of questions for Dumbledore," he said lightly.

"Yes, Harry survived," Snape said dryly. "Is that all you came here for?"

"No, actually I'm back for the year," Lupin admitted. "For my own protection, mostly," he added quickly.

"Finally killed someone in your carelessness?" Snape goaded.

"No," Lupin snapped. He sighed. "Voldemort has been courting the werewolves, you know, promising an end to the recent restrictions, as well as ... other freedoms."

"And?"

"This has become popular. It has given rise to the first werewolf political leader in centuries. I am ... known to be in opposition to the alliance. I have spoken, perhaps too eloquently, in a public forum. He has declared me a traitor to my people." He shivered. "Dumbledore offered me protection ... in return for teaching Defense Against Dark Arts, again, of course."

"Yes!" Harry crowed, punching a fist into the air. "A decent Defense Against Dark Arts teacher! You were the best we ever had, Professor Lupin!"

"Not that that is saying much," Snape sneered. "A possessed fool, a primping fake, an escaped Death Eater, and a Ministry plant."

"We at least learned something from the Death Eater," Harry pointed out.

"All three Unforgivables, as I understand it," Snape sneered.

"He only demonstrated them. Except for the Imperius Curse, which he made us throw off."

"A professor cast the Imperius Curse on you?" Lupin gasped.

"And just as well," Harry argued. "I resisted his right away, but I'm certain that I wouldn't have been able to throw off Voldemort's if that had been my first time." He smiled at Lupin. "But you were better -- and not just because you never tried to kill me!"

Snape choked slightly, as if he had started to laugh again, but stopped himself. "Such devotion," he commented slyly. "Very well, Lupin -- on your way."

Lupin, however, came down the stairs. "Harry," he asked, "what happened, yesterday?"

"What, the Dursleys being attacked? I missed it. I'd just run away."

"Ah." Lupin looked grave. "Do you realize you are suspected of murder?"

"What?" Harry yelled, outraged.

Snape scowled. "Some bloody fool thinks that Harry Potter killed his uncle with an Unforgivable, torched the house, cast the Dark Mark above the mess, and then ran to Albus Dumbledore?"

"Well, he's listed as 'whereabouts unknown,' actually, but the general theme is that the Boy-Who-Lived may have finally turned on his abusive Muggle relatives, and possibly on Muggles in general. And it seems to be more than one bloody fool, although the chief one is probably Fudge, hiding behind more expendable officials." Lupin pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet and held it uncertainly. He smiled kindly at Harry. "Do you want to actually read this libelous rot, or should I give you a summary later?"

Snape reached out a hand. "I'll give it to him once he's eaten," he said, snatching the paper before Harry could decide whether or not to take it. "For now, we were going to take a walk."

"We?" Harry asked pointedly.

"You should not be alone, outside the school. Not now." Snape's lips curled up slightly, but Harry couldn't decide if the effect was intended to be friendly or derisive. "That's why I came looking for you. Do you still want to walk, or have you decided your Muggle drugs were sufficient?"

Harry hesitated. He actually had intended to take a walk, but he felt less in need of it, now. And the gnawing dread at the thought of the unread paper was probably worse than the anger he'd feel after reading it. He took a deep breath.

"Actually, I have become sort of hungry. What if I have breakfast, then you let me read the paper, then I walk or something? I probably won't be good for much else, after reading it." Harry tried to smile, but didn't think the effect was convincing. He hadn't expected to be accused of killing his uncle.

Snape nodded. "Very well. Though I insist on a visit to Madam Pomfrey, somewhere in there. And you should eat lightly."

"Lightly?" Lupin growled. "You're far too thin, Harry."

"He's been starved, Lupin," Snape retorted. "It will be a few days before his body readjusts to food."