The settee was not a chair Snape normally sat in, however on Friday morning he settled himself against the side arm and reclined with his feet up against the length of the seat, reading the Daily Prophet and every once in a while glancing over at the window in the corner of the room. He'd stared out that window a lot as a child, watching the generations of birds that nested in the eaves trough where the garden wall met the house, but today that was not what had his attention.

The window just happened to be situated right next to the door-turned-bookcase that hid the alcove to the cellar stairs.

After fifteen minutes of silence, followed by a few annoyed grunts and some choice curse words, the bookcase opened and Snape lowered the corner of his paper very slightly. Over the edge of the paper he watched one Harry Potter stumble backwards out of the tiny alcove, looking rather ruffled and annoyed. He slowly walked backwards toward the hall door, cursing incomprehensibly in what Snape assumed was backwards English, and even his hand movements seemed reversed and awkward.

"What extraordinary talents you have, Mr. Potter." Snape said, eyes never leaving the top edge of the paper. He did notice Harry flip him off, his hand facing the wrong way.

"tig ydoolb citsidas"

"Language, Mr. Potter." Snape deadpanned, fairly certain he'd just been insulted. He smirked as the wrong hand flew up to cover Harry's mouth and nearly knocked the glasses clean off his face.

--

Harry stood over the back garden an hour later when the curse had worn off, carefully staying out of reach of the poisonous plants that he swore were leaning in to get closer to him. It was a hot summer day, and though Snape hadn't asked him to water the plants, he was doing so just out of, well Harry didn't exactly know the reason. It wasn't fully habit, as he'd never voluntarily watered Aunt Petunia's garden, but it wasn't something Harry was going to dwell on.

He heard a small buzzing noise getting louder as it circled around his hand, and waved it away without a second thought, preferring to stay out of the reach of the Venus flytrap that was standing rather tall today. That was, he paid it no mind until he felt a very sharp sting in his hand. Drawing it immediately towards him, Harry watched with horror as a bee struggled to dislodge itself. It finally flew off, leaving it's stinger behind stuck in Harry's hand, and the burning in his hand kept Harry from being too surprised to move. He burst into the kitchen, his face starting to flush very warm and his pulse starting to quicken. He'd never been stung by a bee before but as he suddenly shivered, Harry started to panic.

Snape was sitting in his chair in the library and immediately dropped the book upon seeing Harry's face.

"Snape." Harry's voice was a little distant, and he found it difficult to swallow. The panic level increased, and Harry started shaking with cold sweats. He offered his hand forward and didn't wince as Snape used magic to pluck the stinger out. Harry's hearing was starting to go fuzzy, and Snape took a strong hold of Harry's shoulders.

"Have you been stung by a bee before?" A cold hand was placed on Harry's swollen throat.

"No." Harry rasped, the room blurring outside his vision. He was agitated and nervous, the feeling of impending catastrophe not going away after seeing unguarded concern in Snape's eyes. Harry watched dumbly as Snape summoned the invisibility cloak and Harry's wallet, then took a quick thirty seconds to set strong wards on the house. The room started to fade and Harry suddenly felt himself picked up and disapparated away.

Harry remembered very little of the next four hours. He vaguely remembered Snape running into the A&E at a muggle hospital, tense and demanding help. He did remember a sharp sting to his thigh, and then his heart at first racing like he'd run a marathon. The shakes and cold sweats didn't stop as he lay in the bed for a long time, and Snape ran his fingers through Harry's hair as Harry drifted in and out of shock.

When he woke up, Snape was sitting in a chair by his bed, looking worn and inspecting a small yellow tube that he held in his hand.

"Where are we?" Harry said, squinting his eyes at the bright light and feeling parched.

"Stepping Hill Hospital. Just in time."

The second half of the sentence was exhaled, and Harry felt bad for his professor. In June the man had probably thought he was going to have a peaceful summer.

"What's that?"

"Shot of Epinephrine, as your abysmal self preservation tendencies dictate you'll likely be stung again."

Harry furrowed his brows as he tried to puzzle that statement out.

"Oh. You have to stab me with it?"

"Indeed. I assure you, it will be an absolute pleasure." Snape's tone was dry, but he sounded more relieved than sarcastic. Harry laughed tiredly anyway.

'No foolish wand waving to fix it?"

"Perhaps a potion. I can't fix everything, Potter." Snape was sitting straight in the uncomfortable hospital chair, and Harry watched him curiously. His black trousers were pressed and tidy as ever, but Snape seemed to have hastily transfigured his high collared shirt into a more modern muggle dress shirt, opened buttons and without a tie. Harry thought it was a good look, a bit more relaxed.

Harry's body felt rather worn out, but he lifted his arm up with concentration and saw that the hospital bracelet around his wrist was labeled Snape, Elliot F. For some reason, it made him smile.

"Why not St. Mungo's?"

"Life threatening bee allergies are not usual amongst wizards." Snape answered under his breath as a doctor came back in. The doctor stuck a sleeve around Harry's arm to take his blood pressure, counting to himself and not paying any mind to Snape, who was tapping the epipen tube against his leg and anxious to leave. Harry was only half paying attention and the doctor finally informed Snape that he could take his son home after the nurse had come in for the final checklist.

"I swear boy, once the war is over not even the headmaster himself will be able to stop me from strangling you."

Snape spoke the words softly as he stood to help Harry up, absent of any threat.

"No." Harry mumbled, taking Snape's help as he sat up. The nurse had arrived to give them the antibiotics Harry had to take later that day, and had approved his discharge. "Poison's more your style."

It only took fifteen minutes until Harry found himself being poured into the comfortable single bed in his bedroom at Snape's house. The room was warm and Snape opened the window a little, spelling a muffling charm on the sounds of the neighbourhood outside. Harry was sprawled in the bed where he'd dropped, shoes still on and glasses crooked on his face. He wasn't quite asleep, but Snape could tell it wasn't far off.

"So, allergic to bees. Huh." Harry murmured, in a strange attempt at a joke.

Snape moved over to the bed and yanked off Harry's shoes.

"How your dreadful relatives kept you alive all these years is utterly beyond me." Snape tsked, transfiguring Harry's clothes into pajamas.

"They locked me in."

Snape stiffened at the truth of that, but didn't question it. "Preposterous. If I locked you in here for the rest of the summer your room would be even messier than it is right now."

Giving a pointed look at Harry and then at the clothes piled about in front of the wardrobe instead of in it, Snape took the glasses off his face and put them on the desk, moving Harry's wand there too.

"I'm staying for the rest of the summer?" Harry asked, a tired smile on his face.

"I suppose." Snape grumbled, removing Harry's wallet from his own pocket and waving his wand over the health card he'd pulled from it.

"Brilliant. What're you doing?" Harry's grin was bigger than before, but he was unable to fight back his yawn.

"Muggle hospitals don't allow you in the room unless you are a relative." Snape explained, tossing the wallet on the table next to the wand and glasses.

"You saved my life again." Harry stretched, closing his eyes. Snape shook his head at the mismatched socks on Harry's feet.

"I know." He responded dryly. "Wretched, isn't it?"

Harry had already fallen asleep though, and Snape cast a light monitoring charm as he draped a blanket over the boy. Pausing as he looked at Harry's right arm, one finger traced the scar from the night in the graveyard. Snape hadn't been there, but he'd quietly applauded the boy for keeping himself relatively together after that horror. The scar crossed slightly over the more faded one from the basilisk that had bitten Potter as a twelve year old.

Irritating twit. Snape sighed at the thought and covered him a bit more tightly with the blanket. If a basilisk, a bee, a dragon, two dementors, and a psychotic ministry hag couldn't off Potter, the Dark Lord didn't stand a chance. He stood up and made sure the room wasn't too hot, before retreating downstairs with a small vial of Harry's blood that he'd swiped in the hospital, to work on the allergy potion he'd read about years ago in some muggle disease potion article. A fleeting thought occurred to Snape as he undid the wards to the cellar. If the Dark Lord had stolen Potter's blood, would he have the same allergy?

--

At nine pm the next night, Snape gave Harry a once over to make sure his outfit was suitable for their task. Harry wore ripped jeans and a faded band shirt for some muggle group he'd never even heard of, and his black hair had been spiked with gel and the tips spelled red. He felt and looked like a punk, and a small leather band around his wrist brought attention to his tattoo. A quick spell had put a layer of scruffy fuzz around Harry's chin, and a fake ring was snug on his ear. Snape had told him to dress like a rebelling teenager and act with a surly attitude for the night, as it suited their target.

Harry rolled his eyes minutes before they left, after reassuring Snape again that he was feeling fine and the fourteen hours of sleep after being in the hospital had definitely fixed him.

They apparated to a run down street in South London, one that Snape confirmed held a bar Dennis Bishop liked to frequent. Harry followed Snape, who did not lose his imposing stride even though he was without robes and wore a black muggle dress shirt and dark jeans.

The bartender had verified Harry's identification with a surly glance, before waving them both into the bar. It was old and derelict, murky light casting all the wrong shadows on old mismatched tables and burn marks on the bar top. It was the type of place that Billy Joel sung about, and Harry turned to the corner expecting to see a washed up scraggly piano man plucking out melancholic tunes. Snape scanned the patrons quickly to find that they were being pointedly ignored, before he led Harry over to a scruffy table in the corner.

"He's not here yet?" Harry asked quietly, his eyes alert as he surveyed the scene, paying much more attention than he ever did in school.

"No."

A waitress, who hadn't seen better days in at least ten years, worked her way over and glared at them while she waited for their order. Snape noted the dust-covered menu that had been tossed on the table, and with tight lips ordered two bottled beers.

Harry gave him a surprised look, but didn't say anything as the waitress stalked off toward the counter. Snape leaned forward and spoke a quiet threat.

"I doubt anything else here is sanitary, Elliot, and if you even think to order another, I will have you chopping onions all day tomorrow."

Harry coughed as the message was received, and watched Snape cast a quick sanitization spell on the bottles that had arrived before taking a sip. They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the door for Bishop to arrive. Snape had dryly confirmed to Harry he'd show up, and Harry had to admit that this bar was the kind of place only desperate regulars could love. Harry figured after another moment that their silence probably looked strange, and he hoped Snape felt up to conversation.

"Professor, why was Draco Malfoy such a prat to you? I thought he actually liked you."

Snape gave a twisted smile as he took a drink of his beer.

"No Malfoy has ever liked a Snape."

"But he's such a suck up to you in school." Harry countered, with a disgusted look on his face. "I mean, in first year it was like you were a god or something."

Snape kept the wistful smirk on his face and stared off at the wall. "Of course he did. I'm the one that ensured his creation."

"What!" It was blurted out a little loud, but Harry couldn't believe what he heard. It was not true, absolutely not. The white hair and the arrogance; that had to be all Lucius Malfoy, not Snape. And he was absolutely not jealous.

"I'm not his father, you idiot. Calm down." Snape seemed more relaxed than when he came into the bar, and kept sipping lightly at the beer. Harry fought off a scowl as he convinced himself that he had not gotten upset.

"Then why are you...you know." Harry tried to look nonchalant as he swept his eyes to the door to see if Bishop had stepped in.

"God like?" Snape offered with a dark glint in his eyes, and Harry suddenly found himself laughing.

"Yeah, maybe. If there were a god of sarcasm. But really, what happened?"

Snape took another drink and it looked like he was trying to decide whether to tell Harry or not. After a quick swallow, he put the beer down and started his tale.

"After he graduated, Lucius Malfoy did an apprenticeship at Hogwarts and was using his influence to sweet talk younger students into joining the death eaters."

Harry had noticed that a small privacy charm had been subtly placed over their table, but didn't question it as he could not for his life imaging Snape being sweet talked into anything, and wanted him to continue with the story.

"One day in the spring, on a non-Hogsmeade weekend, he arranged to have an illicit party in the Slytherin dorms where some of the older recruits could show some of the younger potentials what sort of pleasures could be gleaned under service to the Dark Lord."

Harry blinked as that information sunk in. Snape was still scanning the room for Bishop, and he didn't look particularly bothered to be sharing this memory with Harry. Obviously Snape had not fallen for the allure.

"I was rather insulted that Mr. Malfoy thought I would eschew my personal preferences for a night of 'unadulterated bliss' as he put it, and he tried to sully my reputation after I refused." Snape was smirking again and Harry wondered just what he'd done as retribution, as he'd never known Snape to be anything but vengeful.

"You've never cared much for your reputation, sir." Harry pointed out, not meaning it as an insult. Snape looked thoughtful though instead of annoyed.

"Perhaps I need to seem that I don't. Regardless, the day after the party, Lucius Malfoy was hit with a rather interesting curse, a permanent one that was essentially the same as a chemical castration."

"You didn't!" Harry demanded, mouth open in equal parts shock and awe.

Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry, but there was mischief in them. "I am merely recounting a story, as the perpetrator was never caught. I do know, however, that any time Mr. Malfoy wishes to engage in relations with his wife, that he needs to take a potion in order to do so."

Smug. There was absolutely no other word for how Snape looked right now, and Harry had a feeling he knew precisely why Snape was so smug.

"You're the only one who can brew the potion, aren't you?" Harry had taken a few sips of his beer, but did not want to drink it too fast lest he make an idiot of himself. Snape was trusting him again, and Harry was determined not to screw things up.

"Certainly not. But I'm the only one the Dark Lord trusts to make it for him." There was the eye glint again and Harry suddenly realized that Malfoy knew exactly who had cursed him. It was brilliant and absolutely evil and Harry wanted to learn how to have foresight like that. Just as he was beginning to imagine what he could do to Malfoy junior, Snape rapped his knuckles on the table and looked at the door.

"He's here."

They both watched as a man around seventy shuffled into the bar, favouring his right leg and glaring as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. His shoulders were hunched over, and his eyes darted warily around the room, as if expecting a fight to erupt. Harry saw that his hands were dirty, and he paid for his beer at the bar with a scrunched up old note that he'd pulled out of his pocket, not a wallet, before moving over to a table not far from theirs.

He sat down and started muttering to himself as he angrily peeled off the label from the bottle, which Snape oddly took as a good sign. They watched him for a good ten minutes as he argued angrily with himself and shot glares at whomever looked like they were approaching.

Snape warned Harry to stay in character, to act like an arrogant teen who'd dabbled on the wrong side of the law a few times, and told him that Bishop's anger was actually a good sign. If it was something they could successfully provoke, Bishop would be all but shouting out the information they needed. Snape seemed to be rather sure about this, but Harry was rather apprehensive. With that strange bit of advice however, Snape stood and steered them over to Bishop's table.

They sat down roughly and Bishop glared at them, demanding to know just who the hell they were to be taking seats at his table.

"Enjoy your vacation to the land of grey and steel, Mr. Bishop?" Snape opened, daring the man to rebuff them.

Bishop, wondering if Snape was a parole officer come to check up on him, merely grunted and gulped half his beer down. Harry noted that another was on short order.

"What's it to you?"

"More than you'll know." Snape muttered, signaling the waitress to bring another drink for him as well. "You have an impressive arrest record, it almost seems like your anger stems from some...traumatizing experience as a child."

It was said with a sneer and like most things Snape did when he had a goal, was cut quick to the point. Harry could almost see the exact second Dennis Bishop worked out what Snape was referencing, and Harry wasn't sure if he was going to smash the beer bottle and threaten them with it or not.

"Are you from the orphanage? What the fuck are you playing at?" Bishop hissed, spittle landing on the table between them. "And who the hell are you?"

"Severus Snape." Snape answered dryly, unimpressed by Bishop's anger. He nodded toward Harry. "My son, Elliot. And we're delightfully curious to hear what happened during your time there."

"Yeah, I'm sure you are, asshole." Bishop scoffed bitterly, emptying his bottle and waving for another one.

Harry looked at the lines on his face, those caused by age mixing together with the scars from fights making Bishop look older than he was. His was not a skinny man, but Harry figured the weight had more to do with the beer than proper nutrition. Harry had seen the arrest records and sketchy past of Dennis Bishop, and figured that whatever Tom Riddle had done to this man in the cave, he'd set off sixty years of anger with no proper outlet.

"My, my, such temper. Surely a few stories is worth a beer or two." Snape deadpanned, watching Bishop greedily sip from the new bottle he'd been given.

"Whole lifetime's worth more than a few beers, prick." Bishop growled, still eyeing them wearily.

"I don't care about your life." Snape stated bluntly, his arms crossed. "Tell me everything you know about Tom Riddle, and you'll have enough to buy yourself ten beers by the end of the night."

"How do you even know about him? You some sort of bastard relative of his?"

Snape stiffened beside Harry, and Harry figured it was his time to talk. "Yeah, that's it. We're just here to talk about good old cousin Tom."

Harry rolled his eyes at Bishop's responding scowl.

"Right little prat you are. In my day you'd have been whipped, boy."

Harry was ready to respond to that, but he saw Snape give him a very small shake of his head.

"Whips are hardly imaginative, Bishop, wouldn't you agree? I find nature itself provides many more interesting forms of...torture." Snape spoke in a very soft tone, but Harry thought he sounded rather dangerous.

"You're a sick fuck like him, aren't you?" Bishop hissed, white knuckles strangling the neck of the beer bottle. "Every time I start to calm down, my arm starts to burn like fire, because of him. He hissed at a snake to bite me, and then wrapped nettles around the wound. You think that's ever healed? You think the burning will ever fucking stop?" His spittle was spraying the table as Bishop attempted to look menacing, anger and injustice radiating off of him. Neither Harry nor Snape looked impressed.

"Do you want a cookie or something?" Harry asked, causing Snape to snort. Nettles stung, Harry would admit, but the cruciatus curse was a special level of hell. He felt much sorrier for Amy Benson than he did for Dennis Bishop.

"Think you're all big and tough do you, cause you've got him next to ya?" Bishop demanded, slamming his beer down on the table.

"He's fought a dragon." Snape said in a dismissive tone. "He can handle himself."

Harry felt warm inside at the praise from Snape, but kept the bored look on his face.

"Dragons don't exist." Bishop scoffed, but he looked unsure.

"And boys can't talk to snakes." Snape sneered back, uncrossing his arms and rolling up his sleeve. The dark mark stood out plainly on Snape's pale skin, a dark blotch of ink surrounded by a swollen red welt. It looked painful, and Bishop watched with a stupid look on his face as Snape moved his arm towards Harry, never taking his own gaze away from Bishop.

Harry took hold of Snape's arm, his own feather tattoo brushing against the warm skin as Harry held onto Snape's wrist from below.

"Theessaaaaah - haaishaaath haithsssa." Harry spoke in a regular tone, noting out of the corner of his eye that Bishop had dropped his beer when he heard the hissing. The tattoo had pulsed, the snake shuddering once through the skull, and then it went back to its slightly faded colour, minus the red swollen skin. Snape gave Harry a quick glance at this, but said nothing as Bishop had slammed his chair back from the table.

"You! You're the spawn of the devil!" He pointed the bottle straight at Harry.

"Obviously." Snape said, rising to glare at Bishop. "Now quit this foolishness. Where was the cave?"

"In Dover." Bishop gritted out, ignoring the bartender's warning for them to calm down. "You didn't think they'd take a bunch of orphans anywhere special, did you?"

"Save the self pity for someone who cares." Snape retorted, rather annoyed with Bishop's dramatics. Harry was starting to understand why Snape didn't have much patience for drunks.

Snape pulled Harry up out of the chair and threw some money on the table, ready to leave now that they'd gotten their information. Unfortunately, Bishop didn't seem to want them to leave, now that he'd gotten properly riled up for a row. Bishop smashed his bottle on the table, breaking it and holding it up menacingly.

"You wanna see what he did to me? Come see it, then, bastard."

Snape rolled his eyes at the drunken swaying, and held tight onto Harry's arm, putting him a bit behind Snape's own body. The bartender made his way over, and looked rather practiced at dealing with Bishop.

Within minutes, Bishop was cursing and being subdued by the bartender and doorman, while Snape and Harry were non-too gently being moved towards the door. Harry had never been thrown out of a bar before, but he found the experience slightly less exciting than he'd imagined. Instead of being bodily thrown out, they'd merely been threatened not to come back, which Harry was rather fine with.

--

"You need to borrow Potter? What is he, some sort of book?" Snape was standing in the kitchen, putting away dishes from earlier. Dumbledore had made himself comfortable on the settee.

"Just for a few hours, Severus. To see an old colleague of mine." Dumbledore looked around the room and noted two coffee mugs still on the table and a muggle camera on the windowsill. Snape pointedly ignored his gaze.

"Potter!" Snape finally called, warily regarding his employer.

Harry bounded into the room a minute later, barefoot, wearing scruffy jeans and a hastily put on shirt. His hair was still wet from his evening shower.

"Professor Dumbledore." Harry greeted, standing by a bookshelf and pulling at the hem of his shirt.

"The headmaster requests your company for an hour or two." Snape narrowed his eyebrows, and though Dumbledore was smiling at him, Harry could tell that Snape was not pleased about the outing.

Harry was busy looking between them to see what the cause of tension was, and blushed when Snape admonished him.

"You might find shoes to be more comfortable outdoors, Potter." The remark was dripping in sarcasm, though Harry didn't take it too seriously. Snape didn't mind that Harry went barefoot around the house, something that made Harry feel more comfortable.

"Yes sir." He stuttered, before going back up to his room and putting on socks, shoes, a jumper, and grabbing his wand.

"They grow up fast, don't they Severus?" Dumbledore said with a wink.

Snape looked at his mentor as if the man had gone slow in his old age.

"That is the entire point of the antidote."

Less than five minutes later he returned to the bottom of the stairs, where Snape and Dumbledore were waiting at the front door.

"We shall be apparating from outside, Harry." Dumbledore smiled Harry nodded, but before taking a step turned to look at Snape, who had his arms crossed.

"Curfew is at midnight, Potter."

Harry smirked and turned to leave, pausing when he felt a firm hand on his back.

"Behave." Snape gruffed out pushing Harry out the door.

--

Harry couldn't help but nervously check his watch as he sat in the Burrow kitchen enjoying the onion soup and trying to not show his irritation. Snape had definitely said curfew was at midnight, which was twenty minutes away, and Harry wasn't sure if the grounding from the Burrow had ever been lifted on him yet.

He'd blushed rather hard when he'd first gotten there, as Mrs. Weasley had sat him down at the table and looked like she was ready for a good long talk.  Harry supposed it was because she was worried about Mr. Weasley, but he hoped she wouldn't wake Ron and Hermione. He didn't want to have to explain why he wasn't going to be staying at the Burrow to them, even though it looked like he wouldn't be able to avoid the question from her.

"I've heard from Albus Harry, but I'd like to know your side of the story on how you ended up in Professor Snape's care for the summer."  Molly was smiling at him, but Harry wasn't sure if she was slightly insulted that he hadn't come to stay at the Burrow.  He wondered if she knew he preferred to stay in Stockport.

"Uhm, well he found me on a Friday night, in a park.  I was sort of drunk."  At her disapproving look he stuttered an explanation. "Believe me, I already got in trouble for it.  And then after I...well...recovered, Professor Dumbledore suggested I might be useful in a task for the order Snape had to do."

"Professor Snape." Molly corrected, giving him a piece of warm bread to go with his soup.

"Yes ma'am. He definitely didn't want to take me at first, but after he met the Dursleys, he decided it would be better to take me along than leave me there.

"Mmm. I've always wondered how Severus would react to them. Hated them as a teen."  She was talking to herself, but Harry was staring with his spoon above his bowl.

"He knew my uncle, too?  He barely talks about my mum."

"Oh yes."  Molly said with a slight chuckle.  "I believe he almost got your uncle arrested once, for instigating a brawl."

"That would explain the fight."  Harry grinned, taking another sip of soup.

"What fight?"  Molly sounded curious, and Harry relaxed a bit. He knew she held very little regard for the Dursleys, and seemed to be amused to hear about Snape's problems with them.

"Well, when Snape dropped me back off in Surrey, my aunt was a bit upset to see me."  He admitted, dipping his bread into the soup.

"Might it have something to do with that tattoo you're trying to hide from me?"  Molly asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Er... yes maybe."  Harry brought his arm up and showed off Hedwig's feather.  Molly just smiled and sipped her tea, allowing him to continue.  "Anyway, she said that she put up with me for Dumbledore's sake, but if I was going to go around and sully myself with tattoos, I obviously didn't need the protection of the blood wards. She threatened to sand off the tattoo, now that I think about it."

Mrs. Weasley shook her head but let him continue.

"Then Uncle Vernon started shouting about how wizards were freaks and deviants and liked to flaunt their eccentricities. Then he grabbed my shoulder, like he normally does when he puts me in...well he grabbed me anyway, near my neck." Harry fixed, blushing that he almost mentioned the damn cupboard.  "And when Snape tried to stop him, I guess he thought Uncle Vernon was going to strangle me, Vernon said that Snape was just there to protect his little catamite."

Molly gasped and Harry coughed.  "Yeah, I looked it up after we came back from the mission.  Professor Snape said something, I didn't really hear it over Aunt Petunia's yells, and all of a sudden Uncle Vernon punched Snape on the cheek.  He was busy trying to pull me back, so didn't see the punch coming."

"Is your Uncle still alive?"  Molly asked, only half joking.

"Yeah, well. Yes.  Professor Snape said he didn't want to use magic, because that would make the fight unfair.  He knocked Uncle Vernon flat down though, with one punch."  Harry grinned, wishing he had a video of that moment.

"Well I hope you don't start to think violence is the answer to everything, young man."  Molly was trying desperately not to laugh as she imagined skinny Severus Snape thoroughly putting Vernon Dursley in his place.  Of all people, she was rather pleased with whom had done it.

"Of course not, Mrs. Weasley. But you did ask what happened."  Harry pointed out, with a good natured smile. "Might ask Professor Snape to train me a little though, cause he's definitely strong."

Harry grinned, remembering the look of shock on his Uncle's face.  He also suddenly remembered Snape picking him up, not only as a six year old but also as a sixteen year old to take him to the hospital.  There was no doubt the man was very strong.  The door opened then, and Harry saw Tonks and Mr. Weasley walk into the room with the headmaster.

And so Harry sat at the Burrow table at 11.55 PM, listening to Dumbledore, Mrs. Weasley, and Tonks discuss what the best route of plans were for whatever mission they had next. His shifting in the seat must have caught Mrs. Weasley's attention, because after a minute she eyed Harry and gave him a small smile. It immediately had him feeling guilty for seeming to be unhappy to be there, but Mrs. Weasley didn't seem annoyed. After a minute of watching him Mrs. Weasley spoke, and Harry couldn't have been more grateful.

"Harry dear, why don't you go the living room for a few moments while we discuss this. Do be mindful of the floo powder on the mantle, sometimes a bit leaks out of the pot."

Harry stilled for a moment as he thought of what Mrs. Weasley had said, and then gave her a small grin before setting off to living room. Making sure no one was watching, Harry tossed some powder in the flames and stuck his head in.

"Spinner's End"

Snape was sitting at the desk in his front office, looking like he'd just been wrapping up some paperwork or his lesson plans for the coming school year. Harry felt bad for interrupting, but Snape didn't look angry so he took a breath and explained that he was at the Burrow and Dumbledore had stopped there after visiting the strange Slughorn fellow. Snape gave a slight nod and told Harry to step back, so he could floo through.

Harry did, feeling inexplicably better and without the skittish feeling he had had earlier, worried that he'd be in trouble for breaking curfew. It was a strange feeling, not one he'd ever had at the Dursley's before. Just as Snape stepped through the flames, Harry realized that Snape had already finished most of his lesson plans earlier in the week, and he must have been just staying up to wait for Harry.

"What have you done now?" Snape asked with a mock-exasperated tone, dusting off tiny specks of ash from his black jacket and trousers.

"Nothing! And I called you on time, I didn't mean to come here." Harry stuttered, getting annoyed with Snape's amusement.

"And nonetheless, you look guiltier than a kid in a sweetshop."

Before Harry could say anything, Mrs. Weasley called him from the kitchen and he shuffled back into the room. Snape followed, and seemed to only take Tonks off guard with his presence and sneer.

"Good evening, Severus. Coffee?" Mr. Weasley was smiling genuinely at him, and Harry noticed that in the scant times he'd seen them interact at Grimmauld place, neither the Weasley parents nor Snape seemed to actively provoke each other.

"No thank you, Arthur, Molly." Snape nodded, clamping a hand down on Harry's shoulder. He nodded towards Dumbledore as well and gave him a tiny disproving twitch of his lips, for making him come and fetch Harry.

"I believe we shall be going, unless there is something that needs to be discussed immediately?"

"Another time then." Molly smiled, giving a small nod. "Good night, Harry dear. And behave for the Professor."