Stew was for dinner, a thick and steamy broth with tender chunks of beef amongst a plethora of vegetables. It made Harry's mouth water as he slid into what was now his seat at the kitchen table, where a glass of milk stood next to his plate. There were fresh dinner rolls on a plate to the side, steam rising off them as if they'd just come out the oven. It was a simple but rich home-cooked meal, and his stomach grumbled with appreciation. Harry didn't touch a thing, however, instead he eyed his bowl and his professor with a wary glance.
"Potter, if you're waiting for me to say grace you'll sooner die of starvation."
"Just for you to start." Harry mumbled to himself.
Snape gave him an odd look and started eating his own stew, taking his time to enjoy the meal slowly. Harry had never really noticed him eat before, but he supposed the man ate regular food like any other person. Though there were many at school that steadfastly believed he feasted only on blood. Harry grinned very slightly to himself as he lifted a spoonful to his mouth and took a breath, inhaling the scent of the stew before he ate it. None of the ingredients in the stew were foreign to Harry, but the small combination of spices was new to him. Harry's tongue savored the hot food as he watched Snape take a sip of his wine.
Snape's hair was less greasy than it usually was at school, and his face seemed a bit more relaxed. He seemed young to Harry, and Harry realized that the man, even though he was twenty years older, was only thirty-five or six. Even his posture was different; the normally straight backed and tense man was slightly less so when he sat at his own kitchen table, eating his own food out of a soup bowl that had a tiny chip on the edge of it. Harry's bowl was a completely different colour than Snape's, and he wondered if the mismatched crockery was done on purpose, or to just hastily replace the broken parts of a set.
"Dumbledore wants me to be your son, doesn't he?" Harry suddenly blurted, aware that Snape had been watching him eat silently.
Snape's face took on a very peculiar expression as his spoon paused high above his bowl, and he stared intently at Harry.
"I mean, err. For whatever task you had to do. He said something about having a kid, and well..." Harry scrunched his face up and cocked his head to the side curiously. "You don't have any kids, do you?"
"I do not." Snape gave him a Look with that answer, and Harry coughed slightly before shoving another spoonful of stew in his mouth.
"Why are you suddenly interested to take part in the headmaster's task? Given our past animosity I can't say I imagine you jumping at the idea of pretending to be my son." Snape asked, looking down on Harry from across the table. He smirked at Harry's horrified face.
"Not in the least." Harry blurted, almost knocking over his glass of milk. "Sir." It was an after thought added, though Snape waved it off.
"Just as well, the idea of you being my spawn is rather repulsive." Snape nodded, summoning two small plates from the kitchen cupboard. He set the green one by Harry's spot on the table, and took the blue one for himself.
"Could you imagine? A true Gryffindor with Slytherin genes." Harry grinned a bit himself, and passed the dinner rolls to Snape.
"Indeed. The brains to come up with a dozen cunning plans, and the sheer stupidity to follow through." Snape took one for himself and gave the plate back to Harry.
"Bravery isn't stupidity." Harry said, crossing his arms with a huff.
"It's a very fine line." Snape conceded, melting some butter on the roll. "Most days your line seems to be perforated."
Harry opened his mouth again but then closed it without saying anything, working out whether or not he felt annoyed by the bizarre compliment mixed with insult. Snape continued on as if nothing was puzzling him.
"You haven't answered the question."
"Where do you have to go for the task? London?" Harry asked right back, curiosity overriding manners.
"Another country." Snape narrowed his eyes, and wondered why he was bothering to answer the boy's questions.
"I've always wanted to go abroad." There was an actual smile on Harry's face, and Snape tried not to grimace. Harry was confused himself, he never thought he'd willingly smile in front of Snape of all people.
"Scotland is abroad, you idiot. Try again."
"Don't want to stay at the Dursley's." Harry sat back and glared at Snape. He was somewhat less intimidating without the robes and the whole dungeons-in-a-castle background.
"Warmer." Snape had finished his stew and was actually sopping up the last bits of liquid with chunks of roll he'd broken apart. Harry was temporarily distracted by the action, watching his Professor's hands as he did this mundane action. There were small nicks around Snape's left hand fingers, probably from where a knife had slipped slightly while Snape was cutting a potion ingredient. Or vegetables for dinner.
"Potter. You're like a bloody cat. Focus." Snape took another sip of his wine and raised his eyebrow in mock amusement.
"I...eh? Oh. I just want information with the Order. Spent all of last summer locked up and I hated it."
"You never were one to sit still." Snape stood and put his finished bowl and plate in the sink.
Harry figured it was best to shut up now and eat his dinner quietly. As much as he loathed the idea of staying with Snape over his summer holidays, the past day hadn't been too bad. No one had yanked him around, someone had taken care of him while he was sick (Harry preferred to think of the stupid drunkenness as an unfortunate illness), and he'd slept in a rather comfortable bed. Snape wasn't smothering Harry either, which was a welcome change from being at the Burrow or Grimmauld Place. Odd, to not be feeling babysat or constantly under surveillance while at Snape's house.
--
The scream that startled Snape out of his sleep was an unfamiliar one, but the names he heard after were certainly not. He rose out of bed with a grace that would have had his students accusing him of being a vampire, going from horizontal to vertical in one fluid movement as he walked to the door. Five steps down the hall and he knocked on the other bedroom door, pushing it in as he entered.
Harry was trapped tight in the blankets, a layer of sweat across his forehead as he mumbled in his nightmare. Snape listened to the words as he approached the bed, hearing the plea to the boy's dead mother to help him. Not even Snape could stop his breath from clenching at that.
"Potter, wake up." Snape flicked the lights on in the room and leaned towards the bed, pulling the blankets up so Potter didn't feel constrained. This brought immediately relief, and green eyes stared up at him with a gasp.
"Just a nightmare." Snape stood at the foot of the bed without removing his gaze from the boy, but instead studying the fear and embarrassment that flitted across his face.
"M'safe?" Harry finally exhaled, muttering as he kept his eyes down.
"For relatively vague definitions of safe." Snape replied sarcastically, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I may decide to poison your tea tomorrow."
Harry visibly relaxed and sunk back into the bed. "You would, wouldn't you?" He offered a small smile.
It seemed Potter was less willing to censor his thoughts when he was half asleep. Snape didn't move, but merely summoned a flannel and handed it over. Potter wiped his brow, and his embarrassment seemed to abate a little.
"You have that dream often?" Snape finally asked, watching for the reaction.
"They rotate." Harry mumbled, fumbling as he put the cloth on his nightstand.
"There's more than one." Snape stated in an even tone, not expecting a coherent answer.
"Sorry. Dinn't mean to wake you." Harry yawned and rolled onto his side, curling up in a fetal position. His eyes stayed open however, and he stared unfocused at the side of the desk.
"Do you make it a policy to apologise for things you didn't need to, just to irk me?" Snape asked, noting that Harry seemed to be drifting off to another world.
"Sorry sir." Harry said, closing his eyes and feeling sleepy.
"Potter." The name woke him up a little, and he focused toward the bedroom door.
"Mmh?"
"Don't think. Daydream about something before falling asleep. Going to the park, the cinema, whatever you little idiots like to do." Snape gave him a small nod and left the room, ignoring the confused look on the boy's face.
Harry closed his eyes again, for some inexplicable reason feeling comforted. He wasn't as terrified as he normally was when he woke from his nightmares, though he wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps because this wasn't the Dursleys, that was probably the reason. Definitely not because Snape had woken him - the man had even promised to poison him. That didn't count as comfort, did it? Then again, Snape's presence was rather imposing and strong.
Harry scratched the top of his head idly. He didn't usually get back to sleep after a nightmare, but Snape had ordered him to day dream, so he supposed there was no harm in trying it. He thought about school, but found that it wasn't sufficient enough to distract him. Definitely didn't want to think about life at the Dursleys, but perhaps he could think about the future. About Ginny? No, that brought on a different set of dreams that he didn't have the energy for, and he'd rather not think about life after the war either.
Harry fell asleep ten minutes later, dreaming about learning how to drive a car. It was a small little European car, a bright summer day, and inexplicably he was being taught by a tall dark man, on small cobbled street in a northern industrial English town.
--
Harry woke up in Snape's old bedroom again; muscles sore but head thankfully clear. The blankets were just as comfortable as they had been the day before, except this morning there was no Snape to wake him up, and no piercing sunlight through the room. Instead, Harry could hear the sounds of soft rain pounding on the window and the roof above him. He rolled over onto his side, and stared at the feather that was on the desk beside him, lying next to the flannel. Somehow he'd have to convince Snape to let him go to town unsupervised this morning, and get some money from the bank first.
Last night hadn't been so bad, Harry pondered as he threw back the covers. After the awkward dinner conversation, Snape had given Harry a book and ordered him to make himself useful. After thirty minutes of unsuccessfully searching for caves around London, Snape had dismissed him and briefly told Harry to restrict himself to either the bedroom, the bathroom, or the kitchen. Upon Harry's sarcastic remark regarding apparition and avoiding hallways, Snape had given him a vulgar look, and permission to go for a walk.
Harry had wandered towards downtown in his two-hour time limit, grimacing at his reflection in the window. Snape had disguised him with dirty blond hair and dull brown eyes, and Harry had shoved a hat on his head to keep most of the hair hidden. Snape had also made him wear a rather worn leather watch that was supposedly some sort of emergency portkey in case there was trouble. Harry's skin itched under the band, and he knew it had nothing to do with the feel of the leather.
He paused at one shop on Wellington road, attracted by the pictures in the window. Multitudes of colour flashed back at him, and various black and white shadings against different series of skin. Harry had never thought much about getting a tattoo before, but he remembered Sirius had had quite a few. Harry entered the shop, curious about the procedure and the price. As he talked to the apprentice at the front desk, he found out that there was a canceled appointment for Saturday at noon, and if he wanted a tattoo, he could certainly get one.
Harry sat in the waiting room as he thought and watched as the shop owner talked to another customer and started sketching, a small dolphin splashed to life on the transfer paper. He stared at the woman, a smile lit up on her face when the transfer paper was peeled back from her wrist, where the small dolphin would reside. Almost like a friend who never went away.
Harry slowly pulled a feather out of his back jeans pocket, one of Hedwig's that he'd hastily shoved in his jeans before his Aunt had seen it and started yelling about unsanitary birds. The feather was clean and soft, rather short as well, and fit well against Harry's arm. He smiled to himself and handed the feather over to the apprentice, ignoring the nagging voice in his mind. The fake ID in his wallet would hide the fact that he was only fifteen, and he'd worry about how to get the money from his Gringott's account later.
"Feather, eh? S'unusual one." The artist was friendly and chatty, talking about going out after work. It was after all, a Friday night.
"From an owl." Harry said, thinking fondly of Hedwig. She was probably at the Burrow, hunting for mice in the field behind the yard.
"Owl? That's rather cool. Your own personal owl feather stuck to you forever." The artist held up his finished drawing, which was a very well done likeness of Hedwig's feather. He placed it on Harry's arm, and waited for Harry's reaction.
"She's always been there." Harry said quietly, his eyes riveted to the paper as he moved his arm around. "Brilliant. Eleven am, tomorrow?" Harry looked up with a grin on his face.
--
Harry had returned back to Spinner's End in a cheerful mood, ignoring Snape's suspicious glares. He went to the bedroom shortly after arriving back, having found a book on poisonous plants in Snape's library to read. Snape had grunted good night to Harry and then retreated into his office. They did not speak a word about the headmaster's plans.
Harry eyed the book that was now sitting on the desk beside his wand. Well, at least if he wanted to put himself out of his misery, he now knew at least four plants that could do it with very little pain.
Pain was something he was used to however, and somehow Harry felt like he'd be cheating if he managed to die painlessly. A strange thought, but If he died and it hurt, he wouldn't feel unjustified guilt for Cedric's death, or for quitting occlumency and falling for Voldemort's vision of Sirius. Because he would have paid in the end.
He thought of the nightmare he'd had the night before - it was one of his regular ones of the graveyard scene. But last night had been different, Harry recalled with a fierce blush. Snape had come to wake him up out of his dream, and not only had he not been angry with Harry, he'd given him advice on how to get back to sleep. Had that really happened, or was it part of the dream too?
Snape had told him that it was his house, and he was not going to keep up his professor personality in his own home. It had actually been more of a warning, laced with a Speak One Word and You Will Die look that had completely silenced Harry. So perhaps that small bit of comfort from the night before had been part of Snape's personality, something the man was capable of doing but unable to show when there were witnesses. He was head of Slytherin house after all, and Harry supposed that Snape would have had to comfort homesick students before. He snorted at the image of Snape giving out random hugs. Maybe he was just going mad, and everything from last night was a dream.
Regardless, Harry would avoid tea today, just incase something had been slipped into it.
Harry slowly dragged himself out of bed, standing in front of the mirror on the wardrobe door. He took the nightshirt off and stared at his body, noting the ribs that were starting to show through his skin. He'd only been at the Dursley's for two weeks, but after years of living with them, had never really started eating a lot of food. He poked a ragged scar that was just above his stomach, one left over from the cruciatus in the graveyard. "For Cedric." Harry said, tracing the line.
A jagged cut on his hip stood out above his boxers, an angry red line that was just starting to fade. It was from the battle at the Ministry of Magic, when Harry had been thrown back against smashed rock while Voldemort and Dumbledore had battled. "For Sirius." He sighed, no longer feeling any pain from it.
Harry moved to his bag and brought out a fresh pair of clothes, changing quickly and silently. He took another look at the mirror before leaving the room. The lightning bolt scar was as striking as usual, and he scratched it lightly with his finger. "For Mum and Dad." Harry said proudly, before heading downstairs, footsteps slightly lighter after paying his remembrance.
--
Snape had one chore for him that morning, and Harry was given two hours to complete it. A list of food items was on the kitchen table, and Harry watched as Snape configured a rickety grocery buggy out of a metal pole.
"Sainsbury's is downtown, it'll take you half an hour to walk there, and do note there is no alcohol whatsoever on that list." The glare Snape leveled him was familiar one from class when they'd been told to quit fooling around and make their potions.
"Trust me to go on my own, sir?" Harry asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. Inwardly, he was cheering at the timing. He'd be a little late getting back to Snape's house, but hopefully not too much.
Snape took two twenty pound notes out of his pocket and dropped them on the shopping list, his black eyes not once breaking contact with Harry's.
"Absolutely not. But I hardly think you wish to be here when the Dark Lord stops by for tea."
Harry's jaw dropped for a second, before he snapped it shut into a scowl and took the umbrella that was being offered to him. He wasn't sure whether it was because it was summer, or that Snape had always been like this, but Harry was starting to pick out some of the very dry, borderline demented humour that Snape seemed to favour.
"Is there any way I can get some money from Gringott's?" Harry boldly asked, stuffing the umbrella into the buggy.
"What do you need money for?" Snape asked, eyebrows narrowing and arm stilled as he reached for some papers on the bookshelf.
"Just in case I see something, sir." Harry kept his eyes trained over Snape's shoulder, and hoped Snape couldn't see the mistruth. He shifted in his feet as Snape continued to study him, as if working out what Harry was hiding.
After a moment's silence, Harry went with Plan B and managed a slight blush. He pulled at the threadbare t-shirt he was wearing under his oversized jacket, trying to look anything but embarrassed. "Maybe some proper clothes."
Snape's gaze moved from Harry's feet all the way up to the top of his head, taking in the state of his clothing and the reluctance written across the boy's face. Similar to the little boy he remembered from long ago, the one who wore his mother's old shirts like a smock.
Snape then spun and walked over to the fireplace, yanking down the bag of floo powder and tossing some in the flames. Harry was grateful for this, because as Slytherin as he felt playing the neglected card, he didn't enjoy exploiting his own upbringing to get what he wanted. Not that he expected there to be any, but the last thing he wanted to see was Snape's pity.
The professor had turned to the fireplace because he didn't want Potter to see his understanding.
An old and particularly ugly goblin answered the call, and Snape shoved Harry toward the fireplace so the goblin could run his security scan. Well aware of Snape standing in the background, Harry cursed himself for being stupid at eleven years old when he chose his security question. Top security, the goblins had said. Pick something only you would know, something not even your best friends will find out. Sure. The goblins never mentioned the chance that the man who mocked him endlessly might end up hearing the question. Harry didn't know why they needed a stupid question anyway, as the magical signature scan should have been good enough.
"What is the first bar for the theme song of the show you used to watch from your cupboard?"
The goblin was reading off a piece of paper, and Harry wanted to strangle him. He could feel Snape's smirk on his back.
"Dance your cares away,
Worries for another day.
Let the music play
Down at Fraggle Rock."
Harry replied in a very quiet voice, fighting the urge to sing it. He heard a snort of laughter from behind him and just hoped that Snape would respect that it was a banking password and keep his sarcastic mouth shut. Harry made a personal note to change the question as soon as he retuned to London. Something adult and mature, like the top stockholders of his Uncle's drilling company. Anything but his favourite childhood cartoon.
He grabbed the envelope of bank notes and signed the transfer slip, sending it back through the flames to the bank goblin, giving a strained smile as he closed the connection. Turning around, Harry saw Snape leaning against a bookcase, arms crossed, and a smirk upon his face.
"What a creative password, Mr. Potter." Snape kept the smirk on his face, but Harry saw he was almost fighting a laugh. It was an odd sight.
"Thought I was going to use potion ingredients or sing about money like a Malfoy?" Harry grumbled, in a sarcastic tone he usually reserved for either Snape or his uncle.
"I cannot say I'm surprised you chose something embarrassing." Snape rolled his eyes a bit and thrust the ugly watch at Harry. "Keep it on, and remember if the face turns red..."
"Yeah, yeah. If the face turns red, head to the park and stay in the tree hollow." Harry impatiently strapped the watch to his right arm and shoved his wallet back in his pocket.
"Can I go now?"
"Show some respect, you blasted boy." All traces of amusement were gone from Snape's face, and he pushed Harry toward the door.
"Sorry, sir." Harry called as he stepped out and headed off down the street, with the small tourist map of town that Snape had given him, the one that had been labeled Stockport for the Directionally Challenged in Snape's spidery writing. Git. George and Fred Weasley had a demented sense of humour too, but somehow Harry felt justified being much more wary of Snape than the twins.
--
Harry walked through town towards the grocery store and picked up the items on the list, before heading back towards Pins and Needles, the tattoo shop. He was a bit early for his appointment, but Even though Snape had given him two hours to complete his shopping, he didn't want to rush back too soon. Whether Snape had been joking about the Dark Lord or not, Harry wasn't in too much of a hurry to see whoever had decided to stop by.
Matt, the apprentice, greeted Harry with a smile and rang him up on the till. Harry spent some time filling out the paperwork, pulling his fake ID out of his pocket and copying some of the information down. Instead of his address in Little Whinging, however, Harry decided to put down Snape's. He had no idea why he was doing so, but it felt better than using the Privet Drive address. And that was a confession Harry did not want to think about much at that moment.
After about ten minutes, Harry was sitting comfortably on a stool with his arm laid out on the table, cleanly washed and shaved. The transfer that Matt had drawn the day before had been copied to Harry's skin, and the positioning was perfect. Harry nodded his approval as Matt put a little cup of black ink beside his arm, and dipped the gun slightly in.
"Let me know when you need a break. This is going to hurt." Matt's voice was calm as he warned Harry.
The gun descended on Harry's arm and a loud buzzing filled the room as Matt started. Harry watched with interest as the ink flowed, thinking of the cruciatus curse that he'd experienced, the hollow ache from the blood quill he'd been forced to use by Umbridge, and the searing pain he'd felt when Voldemort had tried to possess him.
Harry didn't flinch once the entire time the tattoo was being drawn into his skin.