Snape had not been kidding about Harry not leaving his side as part of the punishment, and after three days of having the boy as a shadow, Snape noticed that while the six year old was no longer there, there were traces of him in the expressions from the stronger jaw line and harder eyes of fifteen year old Potter. Not to mention the ridiculously sugary way that Harry still took his tea at night before bed, and the way he sung quietly to himself when he thought Snape wasn't within hearing range. The singing wasn't horrible, and Snape had been silently impressed at how Harry had used two pieces of paper to make cones, so that his little headphone pieces could become makeshift speakers.
Ingenuity like that was very useful to a spy or anyone in a war, and Snape acknowledged the fact that it was borne out of a need to make do with what little Harry had been given while growing up, instead of a natural talent. Speaking of lack of guidance, Snape brought himself out of his own thoughts, there was one more thing they needed to discuss from Potter's little adventure, and he had a feeling the conversation would be rather amusing.
--
Harry sat at the kitchen table after lunch, flipping through one of Snape's cookbooks and trying to figure out what to suggest for dinner. Even though he'd been responsible only for washing the dishes after every meal this week, he still found it fun to look through some of he international books. The Dursleys had never been open to other cuisines.
"You are far too quiet for your own good." Snape announced from the library, where he'd just walked in with a large wrapped bundle of what looked like books, with the Hogwarts crest on the wrapping. Harry closed the cookbook but didn't say anything, remembering his goal to behave and act like a mature member of the Order.
"This, Potter, has the potential to be embarrassing and uncomfortable for me to talk about," Snape said with a crooked twist of his lips, and Harry was immediately cautious. That was definitely not a good opening statement.
"Now that I've had some time to reflect on your short little adventure in Amsterdam, I've come to the conclusion that the British public education system is lacking in certain areas, and I believe it is time we remedied that."
Harry's fingers, which had been drumming slightly on the kitchen table, froze. He'd almost been in the clear. It had been three whole days that Harry had been grounded, in which he'd cleaned the washrooms, did the dishes, helped clean the back garden, and written the long essay for Snape. He had definitely not forgotten the lecture he'd been given in Amsterdam either, which still made him feel rather ashamed to think about. And yet -
Snape pushed the book bag toward Harry, as if daring him to refuse it. Harry pulled out the first book from the bundle as Snape watched him, arms crossed and that evil smile on his face.
Harry's jaw almost dropped when he flipped the bag open to see inside. It was a set of books for teaching sex education to high school students, specifically for the Heads of House to have in case their students had questions. Harry could feel his face burning and didn't dare look up, but it didn't matter as Snape had leaned forward and put his hand in the table.
"Since you were so eager to learn in Amsterdam, Mr. Potter, I've taken the liberty of providing you with as much material as I could on short notice in order to satisfy your curiosity."
Harry wanted to quash the smugness out of Snape's voice. And then run from the room and possibly become a monk.
"Not curious anymore, sir." Harry immediately answered, grateful that his voice had remained calm and steady. He was not sitting in a tiny kitchen in Stockport about to learn about the birds and the bees from Professor Snape. No. He was not.
"I highly doubt that, Mr. Potter," Snape said, again smirking at Harry. "You're a fifteen year old boy. You're probably, ah, curious about those things at least three or four times a day."
"Snape!" Harry's face was blushing a furious red as he sputtered his denial, but Snape merely waved him off and picked up one of the thinner books, sneering in distaste at the cartoonish cover. He held up the cover to show Harry, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.
"Entirely natural, Potter. The act, that is; I don't want to know what depraved thoughts you have while doing it."
Harry bit his lip so hard he thought he might have drawn blood and stared at the window over the sink. It was a nice day out, perhaps he could make a mad dash for the back door and -
"It's a bit young, but perhaps you'll enjoy the illustrations." Snape's mock thoughtful voice interrupted his wishful thinking and the bright red book was handed over to him, with a badly drawn picture of a family on it waving up at him.
Harry's eyes snapped from the cover back up to Snape, looking to see if the man was joking or not. Harry put The Basilisks and Billywigs, How little Witches and Wizards are Created aside and waited silently for Snape to produce the next in the series of humiliation he'd decided to spring upon Harry. Maybe if he kept his mouth shut the lesson would be over faster.
Harry had a good idea of the actual mechanics of sex, and while he thought that learning about some of the not so obvious things would be helpful, he didn't want to get the information from Snape and Spawning With Your Other Wand, a Guide for Teens. Harry left that book on the table in front of him like a cushion, and let his forehead drop with a smack. Snape rolled his eyes, which Harry couldn't see but he knew anyway that the man had done it.
"Stop being melodramatic and sit up. You will learn about this, as I do not want little bastard Potters running around Hogwarts any time soon."
Harry groaned but did as told and pushed the book back. "I'll read up on it, I just really don't want to hear you talking about sex and...vaginas and stuff, sir." Harry mumbled, cheeks bright red.
"Mmmh." Snape sounded as if he'd concluded something with that statement, and held up another book, that looked almost like a comic. "Perhaps this is more to your tastes, then?"
"The Bent Broomstick, Tales for the Bi-curious Young Wizard."
"What? No!" Harry sputtered, trying to shove the book back towards Snape. "I just don't want to talk about...it...right now, Professor."
"Sex." Snape still had his arms crossed but he was now leaning back against the kitchen counter, looking far more amused than Harry thought he'd had the right to.
"If you can't even say the word, Potter, how do you expect to convince someone to do it with you?"
Harry growled with frustration.
"I went out in Amsterdam just to see what was there. I didn't want to have...sex." Harry was staring at the plate on the counter that held the spare change in it, wishing that he could apparate on the spot. To anywhere.
"Good boy." Snape said, catching Harry by surprise. "Because if I find out you had sex before you turned seventeen, this discussion will seem like a pleasant afternoon tea."
Harry gulped at that and poked one of the books. "I know how it goes, sort of. I don't need all those details, sir." He tried his best not to sound like a whiny teenager.
"Oh but you do." Snape answered, pushing himself up to a standing position and opening the bag further.
"Mother nature tells you enough via hormones to enable clumsy procreation, but you need to know about diseases, unwanted pregnancies, premature ejaculation, women's reproductive systems, sexual orientation, masturbation," Snape was ticking off these topics as he went through the list and stopped to look pointedly at Harry with the last one, "and last but certainly not least, how to stimulate and sexually please your partner."
Harry was feeling rather queasy and wished he could hide under the table. His traitorous body was perfectly happy to be learning about all the fun things it could soon start to do, but his mind would rather take a thought other than the fact that it sounded like Snape knew very well what he was talking about.
And Harry really did not want to imagine Snape having sex with anyone.
He shivered slightly as Snape fished out a box of condoms and put them down on the kitchen table. Harry immediately looked anywhere but at them and the damn bunch of bananas that sat in the fruit bowl on the table. The conversation just kept getting better.
"Do wizards really need those, Professor?" Harry finally asked, if only to break the uncomfortable silence that Snape didn't seem to mind.
Snape snorted. "Your lack of focus is appalling enough when you're not distracted by raging teenage hormones, I hardly think you'd want to cast the contraceptive spell on your own genitalia at that point."
"Dad!" Harry blurted without thought, mouth dropping and eyes widening at the bad mental image that had given him.
Before Snape could answer a sharp knock came to the front door. Snape cursed as a light blue ball suddenly appeared in front of him and pulsed purple. It disappeared after a few seconds, and Harry was still wondering what it was when Snape's wand was pointed in his direction and a spell washed over the books on the table. They were now looking rather non-descript, and oddly enough, written in the Cyrillic alphabet.
"Sit at the table and don't come too close. They can't see you, but they can still run into you." Snape told him as he walked out the room. Harry was left to ponder the cryptic message when the front door opened and Harry's blood ran cold at the greeting.
"Hello, Severus." It was arrogant and tried to come off sounding domineering, just as Harry remembered Lucius Malfoy's voice to be.
--
Harry listened in from his spot at the kitchen table, watching as the Malfoys tried to keep an air of superiority up in a room full of slightly dusty tomes and a man who didn't give a knut about social standing.
"Severus," Lucius started, attempting a silky tone, "the Dark Lord will be bestowing a great honour upon my son soon. I advise you not to concern yourself with it." He had been trying to go for imposing and threatening, but utterly failed.
"What a peculiar definition of honour you have, Mr. Malfoy." Snape replied in a bland tone that made Harry want to laugh. Both the lack of interest and usage of his last name seemed to get under the elder Malfoy's skin. Draco, on the other hand, was staring around the room in unhidden contempt. He walked towards the books at the kitchen table, and Harry held in his breath.
"What's this? Code for something?" He poked at one of the books, giving it a look of disdain as if the age of the book would cause the cover to crumble slightly on his skin and leave a blemish.
"It's a book, Mr. Malfoy." Snape answered, not offering any further information.
Lucius then walked over to see what was on the table, and Harry stiffened, not liking how close they were coming, no matter if they could see him or not. Snape stayed calm though, and gave him a barely perceptible nod before schooling his features back to indifference.
"Russian books again? Certainly the quality of our English potion makers is not so crude?" Lucius asked, walking back to the library room and displaying a remarkably ignorant anti-Slavic sentiment that Snape had encountered before in both the wizarding and muggle worlds.
"Really, Mr. Malfoy, one would think that even you would concede Russia's cultural advances, when given the evidence of Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Tchaikovsky's The Nutcracker, and the architectural elegance of the orthodox cathedrals found throughout the country." Snape's voice wasn't combative, merely superior with his knowledge, and it seemed to irritate the senior Malfoy that Snape could not be bothered to address the two differently.
Harry made a mental note to ask Snape later if his grandmother really was Russian and just how much Snape had learned while growing up.
Draco stared at Snape before shoving his hands in his pockets. "Funny comment from someone who lives in a run down house in a shoddy old town." Draco's childish remark flowed freely from his mouth and he didn't look as if he expected to be reprimanded for it. Sure enough, his father merely quirked his eyebrows as if he agreed with Draco.
Most surprisingly of all, Snape allowed the comment to roll off his back like a bead of water to a duck.
"You seem to be labouring under the misconception that money equals culture, Mr. Malfoy. A pity." Snape turned to the hallway door and pointed with his wand at it. "It's been a displeasure to see you again, and your message has been received."
Draco looked surly at the insult, and Lucius' lips pressed together as he straightened his posture.
"If my needlessly worried wife visits, Snape, do keep in mind that it would be in your best interest to ignore her request." Lucius annunciated his last words as if they were a threat that had dire consequences. Snape paid it no mind whatsoever.
"Pawning her off to me to say no, Mr. Malfoy? How very noble of you." Snape smirked a little at the little tinge of pink Draco got on his cheeks in anger at the insult to his mother. Harry bit his lip to stop from snorting himself, as Draco looked like a porcelain doll that had been over-painted with blush.
"You are nothing but a lowly servant to the Dark Lord, Severus. You ought to respect your elders, the ones privileged enough to be a humble host to our Lord." It was hissed out at Snape, and Harry admired how Snape just rolled his eyes and ushered them out. Harry wasn't afraid of Draco, but after the incident at the Ministry, Harry knew that Lucius Malfoy was a right bastard with a wand hand itching to curse.
Snape returned to the kitchen and spelled the kettle on to make tea. He seemed entirely unperturbed at the Malfoy's visit, and their message to him.
"Why'd you let him do that?" Harry asked, ignoring the fact that the books had been spelled back to their original topics.
"Do what?" It looked like an electric bill Snape was reading, and he didn't lift his head toward Harry.
"Insult you! There's nothing wrong with our house, I like it. It's not pompous or arrogant or a manor. It's comfy." Harry had wanted to slap Draco for being such a spoiled prat, and he didn't understand why Snape had allowed it.
Snape's hand had stilled the paper he was reading as he thought of his response. He had not missed the slip of Harry's language, when the boy had said our.
"The Malfoys value money, fame, and prestige. They certainly do not think tiny rooms overflowing with books, a crammed kitchen with recently repaired cabinets, and no house elves to clean are...comfortable."
Snape was watching Harry intently now, and Harry flipped over the Broomsticks book with annoyance, so the wizard on the cover would stop making lewd gestures at him with the broom.
"Cause they've never been without." Harry mumbled, rubbing the scar on his forehead absentmindedly. He suddenly felt tired and stood up, wanting to rest upstairs a bit. "Can I go up?" Harry asked in a regular voice, knowing that part of the grounding meant he needed to ask permission to go just about anywhere except the washroom.
Snape, who had heard what Harry had mumbled, suddenly heard something else replay in his mind. I can't miss what I never had. Snape gave a nod and turned the kettle off, which had begun whistling.
"May you." Snape admonished, pouring himself a mug and letting the tea steep. "And yes, you may go upstairs. Dinner will be around six."
Harry stood up and stretched, stuck in his thoughts and far too somber for Snape's liking.
"Potter, I'd ask you to read those books tonight and write a summary on what you learned, however I think considering the topic that any further investigation is best left till morning, don't you?" Snape had a small smile on his face that was mostly covered by his hair as he reached into the fridge to get milk.
"No..er..yes sir." Harry stilled his hand on the table as he stood to go upstairs, and kicked himself for feeling flustered. Harry had never noticed it at school, but Snape had a bizarre sense of humour, and he seemed to enjoy keeping Harry off balance. Perhaps their vacation to Amsterdam and Harry's time spent as a six year old was not going to be completely forgotten.
--
Harry was just coming down the stairs after his nap when he heard the doorbell ring. He froze on the stairs, wondering whether or not he should hide when Snape called at him from the kitchen to answer the door. Harry shrugged nervously and peeped through the looking hole before opening the door and greeting the driver. The greasy smell of fish and chips permeated the tiny entryway and Harry's stomach immediately started grumbling.
"Snape?" the young guy asked, bored tone evident that he was only confirming the delivery long enough to get a tip. He had a hoop through his nose and his hair was a shade of green Harry had only seen once before, in his cauldron at school when his potion had gone wrong.
"Uh, yeah." Harry took the bag from the guy, the brown paper wrapping on the chips doing nothing to dampen the delicious smell. He figured it best to keep up the pretense, even if the man was a muggle, and so turned toward the library door to yell, just as Snape walked through it.
Snape paid the takeaway driver, not bothering to hide his distaste at the hair or the ring, and then retreated with Harry to the kitchen. There would be plenty left for lunch the next day, and Harry took his time savouring the breaded fish while Snape talked. He was grinning as he ate, as Snape had just told him he'd earned the chance to go on the mission, and tried his best to pay attention to everything Snape was telling him about this Bishop fellow. He sounded like a common thug he way Snape was describing him, and Harry figured that compared with Amy Benson that he had to be around seventy or so.
"Why can't we see him until Saturday?" Harry asked, hoping the question wasn't a stupid one.
"Because he doesn't get paroled until Friday." came Snape's answer.
--
While Harry took his evening shower and got ready for bed, in time for his ten pm punishment bedtime, Snape sat downstairs in his favourite chair by the fire and waited for the Headmaster's call. While he waited, Snape flipped through the essay Harry had written on the value of his life and the consequences of his actions. It had started out rather unorganized, as if the boy hadn't ever thought of the question before and had let his thoughts ramble. Half way into the second paragraph, he seemed to have found a path of thought and ran with it.
Snape read on, his coffee growing cold as it sat on the books beside him, the small clock in the kitchen ticked with a hesitation on the eighteenth second from the arm that had been bent long ago when it fell off the wall. Harry had separated his value into three different sections, the first in relation to the Dursleys, the second in relation to his friends, and the third in relation to the Wizarding world.
In the first section, Snape skimmed over the physical tasks that Harry had been demanded of, getting agitated at the servitude Harry had been entered into after losing his parents. He read further and saw the self sufficiency that Harry had developed in that time, and recognized the boy's reluctance to ask for help as a hard lesson won. As a summary, Harry had actually listed a monetary figure of his worth to his relatives.
With Potter's friends, he'd gone a little sentimental about how they'd been supportive to each other for most of Harry's time at school. Snape had seen evidence of this stubborn loyalty throughout the years, though the Weasley boy had wavered a few times, trying to deal with Potter's fame. His worth in this section was summarized in hopeful friendship - the hope that his friends would always have use for him. That particular thought was familiar with Snape, and he warmed his coffee up with quick annoyance.
Upstairs, bare feet smacked against the wooden floor trailing from the bathroom to Snape's old bedroom. Snape heard the creak of the door closing, and Harry shuffling along the room, probably putting clothes in the wardrobe before climbing into bed. Funny how away from school, Potter followed his punishment without a single complaint. Snape checked the clock in the kitchen and went back to the essay, knowing he could finish before the Headmaster called in fifteen minutes.
The last paragraph showed the boy's perceptiveness far better than the previous two. There was no summarization of worth, though in the list of demands the Wizarding world made of Potter, it was evident. Snape put the paper down and closed his eyes. He'd known Potter for one thousand, seven hundred, and ninety days. Give or take a day or two, as he wasn't sure if there'd been just one or two leap years in there. Potter's worth to him for almost all of that time had been a horrible job, numerous broken bones, hundreds of sleepless nights brewing poison, recurring nightmares, meetings when he was unsure if he'd be discovered and killed, an intimate knowledge of the cruciatus curse, fifty different scars, and five instances of torture aimed towards muggles.
Upstairs had fallen quiet, but it was still too early for the boy to have fallen asleep right away. Idly, Snape thought back to the night he'd pulled the drunken Potter from the tree in the park. Still had some fight to him, argumentative, a small protective act over himself. And he'd been looking for home. Snape wondered if anyone had really comforted him after his godfather had died.
He'd heard about the destruction of the headmaster's office, and admitted to actually allowing himself a laugh in his own private quarters. And then when he remembered what Dumbledore had talked to Potter about, the laughter had died just as fast from his lips. Albus Dumbledore may be one of the brightest and powerful wizards in the UK, but there was no excuse for that bad timing. Condolences and support do not come in exchange for a prophecy about your potential downfall.
No wonder Harry had fallen apart in Amsterdam. How he'd lasted that long, four weeks after Black had died, was a mystery to Snape, though Snape wasn't as surprised that the trigger had been a father and son.
Snape stood and walked over to the bookcase by the window, where he pulled an old compilation of T.S. Elliot poems from the shelf. In behind, Snape took hold of the pensieve and brought it out to the coffee table. He removed a memory with his wand and placed it in the bowl, before putting a security spell over it. No need for the headmaster to get too nosy.
Snape had just sat back down in his chair when the fireplace flared green and made a knocking noise, and seconds later the headmaster flooed through.
"Good evening, Severus." Dumbledore had a pleasant smile on his face and it wasn't long before they were analyzing the information gleaned from Amy Benson regarding the cave. Unfortunately, she had been unable to recall exactly where the cave was, but the headmaster didn't seem too disappointed. He held out more hope for that information from Dennis Bishop.
"Where's Harry?" Dumbledore finally asked as he rolled up a map of London and stuck it up his sleeve. It had been a good fifteen minutes since he'd arrived, and he'd noticed how quiet the house was.
"Upstairs, pretending to be asleep." Snape answered coolly, before he stoked the dying fire.
"I hope he wasn't too much trouble for you in Amsterdam, Severus." Dumbledore said with a smile, wondering just how the little vacation had gone.
"Why are you making apologies for the boy?" Snape asked, his face not quite schooled into a glare, but not far off.
"I believe I coerced you to take him in, with only the best intentions I assure you." Dumbledore's eyes were bright and matched his smile. "I will have the Weasleys ready for him for his birthday on Thursday."
Snape didn't bother to turn his head, though he watched the headmaster's face out of the corner of his eye for the reaction.
"That will not be necessary; he's grounded." Snape barely managed to conceal his amusement at the slightly stunned look on the headmaster's face.
"Is he really?" came the comment a moment later, followed by a wide grin. "Why Severus, that's almost -"
"Don't say it, headmaster." Snape interrupted, standing to put his mug in the sink.
"As you wish," Dumbledore didn't manage quite to hide his chuckle. "Misbehaved in Amsterdam?"
"We have discussed the infraction; I don't believe it will happen again," Snape held up his hand, refusing to explain further. Dumbledore seemed to understand, as he changed the topic back to the mission.
"Was Harry the key to getting Ms. Benson to talk?"
"Yes, though it was not something he purposefully did, as usual." There was no accusation in Snape's voice, unlike at school when he accused Potter of something.
"You are holding back some of the details, Severus." Dumbledore stretched and plucked a chocolate frog from one of his pockets, which Snape denied the offer to.
"Of course I am," Snape snapped, a little harsher than he'd intended. He remembered the tired little boy who had felt completely at ease and fallen asleep sitting in his lap. Him, Severus Snape, the antisocial death eater of the dungeon who everyone hated.
"Sometimes life happens in the little details." Dumbledore mused, noting the locked pensieve and once again displaying his knack for conversing between the lines.
"Yes it does," Snape acknowledged, not giving up anything else.
--
Snape woke up on midnight Thursday morning when the wards on the house alerted him to a few owls visiting. He listened carefully but could not hear any noise, no tossing and turning to indicate that Harry was having a nightmare. Slipping out of bed, Snape silently opened his bedroom door and saw light leaking out from under the door to Harry's room. Snape stopped himself for a millisecond as he passed by the washroom door. When had it become Harry's room?
He walked slowly down the tiny hall and placed his wand on the door, whispering a small spell that created a window in the door. There sat Potter on the bed, surrounded by four owls, one of which was flying around the ceiling light in what appeared to be some sort of bizarre landing pattern. There were four boxes in various stages of unwrap, a small cake with some unlit candles on it, and Hedwig sat perched on Harry's shoulder, as if watching over him. Potter was quietly humming happy birthday to himself, and appeared to be in his own little world, as if this was a yearly ritual. Snape admired the snowy owl's protectiveness, as he realized that it probably was. Cancelling the spell, Snape left Harry to the birds and went back to his own room.
Harry woke the next morning feeling slightly more rested than he normally was, and with a start realized that he had slept in. Or, since Snape had been waking him at seven that week, he'd apparently been allowed to sleep in. Harry moved to the wardrobe and saw the presents he'd gotten the night before were still piled in there as he left them, and the cards on his desk were untouched.
Feeling slightly more relaxed, Harry threw on an old pair of jeans and one of Snape's old robes that were in the closet, snatching two mismatched socks out of his bag. Downstairs Harry was surprised to find bacon and eggs sitting under a charmed warming cover, and a small thermos of coffee sitting on the counter. Snape had brought back some coffee from Holland, and Harry was curious to try it, as the scent had been rather appetizing.
Outside the side kitchen door, movement caught Harry's attention and he watched the bizarre domesticity of Professor Snape in the garden, tending carefully to several plants that Harry knew were very poisonous to humans.
The rest of the day passed in a similar strange fashion, with Snape mumbling about loud construction on the main road not too far away and making more comments than usual about Harry's unkempt hair. Harry had tripped over a book on the floor while trying to dive out of range of the shaving hex Snape had sent at his head after lunch, and he'd been surprised when at two pm Snape had told him to get changed into something decent, as they had an errand to run.
Harry had been helping with the errands all week as part of his punishment, but to Harry's horror, this errand had meant going to the main mall in Stockport. This time there was no way Harry would be able to avoid getting new clothes, as Snape had told him that his nice casual clothes from Amsterdam would not work on the new task to meet Dennis Bishop
It did not escape Harry's notice that Snape had made him pick out more clothes than he'd need for this simple mission, and that they were a wide variety of styles instead of just the one he needed for the new part he was going to be playing. Snape remained his grumpy usual self as the overly cheery cashier tried to sign him up for some sort of rewards program for future purchases at the store, completely non-phased by the look he gave her.
"If he can grow out of the clothing that fast, we will not be shopping here again."
Harry barely had time to make heads or tails of that statement when a strong hand clamped down on his shoulder and steered him out of the store, much like it used to do when he was a six year old.
Dinner was in a fancy restaurant just up the road called The Old Rectory, which finally explained to Harry why he'd been told to put on something decent. It sounded like Snape had actually even reserved a table for them, and had smiled politely at the elder waitress who had come to take their order, something that she had found charming, but Harry had found suspicious. What else had Snape planned?
Dinner was nice though, and while they were waiting for dessert, Snape caught Harry off guard by pulling a small and heavy box out of his pocket. It was not wrapped, but the brown leather case had a white bow on it and looked to be pleasantly worn. Harry opened the straps and inspected the little metal tools that were wrapped up inside, wondering what exactly they were for.
"It's a lock picking kit. A muggle one." Snape said, as if that should have been obvious to Harry. "When you are able to unlock the door to the cellar with it, I will teach you some of my spying tricks, as you so eloquently put it."
Harry rolled his eyes at that, remembering his younger self claiming one day by the flower market that Snape was the wizard version of James Bond. He put the tools back in the case and then looked up, with a questioning glance.
"But you said the cellar door is warded."
Snape gave him a twisted smile and sipped his wine. "Best be careful, then."
Harry snorted and thanked him for the gift, carefully wrapping it and sticking it in his jacket pocket. Just when he thought Snape was actually being nice and human though, Harry heard the clapping. It was soft at first and seemed to jump in time with the amused glint of Snape's eyes. The singing then started and Harry groaned, grateful that no one in Stockport knew him. As the wait staff gathered round their table to sing, Harry, saw out of the corner of his eye Snape raising his glass and toasting him a happy birthday.