March 8th, 1997.  A boy stands at the end of his bed, a tray in his hands that holds two coffee mugs and a plate of what appears to be pastries.  He's in his pajamas and looks like he's been worrying about something for the past fifteen minutes.  Beside him his father stands in a defensive posture, in his nightshirt and socks. Both of them have hair that seems to have a life of its own, and they're both staring towards the camera, where the desk would be.  Foolish wand waving, and a chance to speak to the past reads the heavy handed ink caption.

...

It was a somewhat cloudy morning, but the sun was peeking through in spots and the air was very clear if slightly chilly.   None of this was noticed by the boy sprawled out on his stomach in bed, the duvet covering half his head and one foot hanging over the edge of the mattress. He'd arrived late the night before for another weekend home, and was sleeping peacefully in his own room.  Somewhere downstairs the furnace kicked in and made a small humming noise, which was suddenly accompanied by an irritating symphony of bells.

"Mmhmpf,"  Harry grumbled into his pillow, arm reaching blindly for the wand resting in the headboard inset of his bed.  He gripped it loosely and waved it in the general direction of his desk, where the alarm was going off.

"Finite."  Harry yawned into his pillow.  "Finite incantatem."

The alarm was silenced on the second try and Harry slowly rose up off the bed.  The duvet was still draped over his lap as he sat up, rubbing his eyes and groping for his glasses.  There was no market in Stockport this weekend, so Harry had slept in a little, but Snape had mentioned a possible trip to Manchester and Harry didn't want to waste away the day sleeping just in case they did go.  He shuffled across the floor towards the wardrobe, pulling off his undershirt and plucking out the Aberdeen Potioneer's Conference shirt.  He only usually wore sleep pants and an undershirt to bed, but it was too cold to wander about sleeveless in the house.  Harry gave another big yawn as he looked at himself in the mirror, checking out the scars on his body.  Sirius' scar had faded over the past few months, but it still stood out rather plainly against his pale skin. 

"For Ginny."  Harry whispered, circling the fang marks on his arm.  "For Cedric."  The jagged scar across his belly.  "For Sirius." The mark on his hip.  "For my parents." The clear space on his forehead where the lightning bolt used to be.   Harry's expression was soft as he pulled his shirt over his head and smoothed it out. The babel fish was resting on the top shelf of his wardrobe, safe from dust. He popped it in his ear and gave the mirror a goofy grin.  "For Elliot."

"Oh Harry."

Harry whirled around towards the desk and window, tripping slightly and falling back against the wardrobe.  The voice was female and soft, one that Harry didn't recognize.  His wand drawn, Harry stared unblinkingly at the window next to his deceptively soft looking bed.

"Who's there?"  Harry called out, his voice sounding braver than he felt.

"You're alright."  A disembodied male voice answered, and Harry scrabbled back towards the far wall, staring at the portrait on his desk.

"DAD!" Harry yelped.  Within seconds he heard heavy footsteps in the hall and the door opening.  Snape burst into the room in his nightshirt, wand outstretched and hair in a disorganized mess as he looked around with unfocused eyes.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?"  Snape demanded, still looking warily about the room.

"The colours are breathing."  Harry answered, pointing towards the desk.

Snape blinked before lowering his wand and giving a wary glance towards the portrait.

"Hello, Lily."

"Severus."  Her answer was quiet, but it echoed through the room.

"They're real."  Harry whispered, watching the painted version of his father wave at him.

"The painting is real."  Snape corrected in a low tone.

"Yes, we are."  James Potter asserted with a strong undertone. "And we'd like to know why the son we died to protect is now living with a death eater and calling him dad."

Harry took a sharp breath as he processed what his father had said, and realized that he felt oddly insulted for Snape. And annoyed.

 "Elliot, go and make some coffee for us." Snape interrupted, his black eyes hard and no longer showing any trace of sleep in them.

"What? No I want to talk to them!" 

But Harry was still standing near the door, looking unsure about what he would actually say.  There was a level of hostility in the room that was rather uncomfortable.

"They will still be here in fifteen minutes."  Snape pointed out.  Harry looked between him and the portrait.  His father, James, was standing with a rather constipated look on his face, and his mother had a sad smile.

"Elliot, please go make coffee."  Snape asked again, though it was a soft order more than a request. Harry gave a short nod as he swallowed whatever was constricting his throat and fled the room.

"At least he's looking well, Snape."  James said, putting his arm around Lily in the painting.

"Shut up, Potter."  Snape snapped. "I have some ground rules to set out."

"If you think you're going to stop us from talking to our son, you're mad."  James bristled, though Snape noted that he didn't resort to childish insults like he had at school.

"I don't think Severus would do that." Lily cut in tersely. "He's provided a home for Harry, hasn't he?"

"I have."  Snape confirmed, not mentioning how he'd hated this home as a child himself.

"Which is my point, Snape. Why is Harry here? And why on earth has a person like you been allowed to adopt him?"  James pushed.  "He should have gone to his godfather."

"Oh?"  Snape raised his eyebrow.  It was gratifying to realize that the taunts of his childhood tormentor held much less power than they used to. 

"The godfather that neither of you disclosed had not been chosen as your secret keeper? Black spent thirteen years in Azkaban for betraying you and murdering Peter Pettigrew."

Sixteen years had matured Snape's temper slightly, but it had done nothing for his enjoyment in goading people.

 James was silent, but Lily was rubbing her upper arm in a familiar way that Snape remembered from childhood. She felt guilty.

"I have watched over our son since the day he stepped into Hogwarts." Snape said, his low voice quiet but carrying clearly.  "I was a mean, vindictive, and harsh professor who terrorized my students, and Po-Harry in particular, in order to enforce my position as a spy against Voldemort." 

Snape took a small amount of satisfaction at James' dropped jaw at that news, as the last this James Potter remembered of Snape was of him being an active and full death eater.  He ignored Lily's proud and smug expression, and did not disclose that it was her death that had drawn him to being a spy.

"But this is his home."  Snape continued, keeping his voice steady. "And no matter what you remember of me, or what you think of me, you will not make him feel guilty or ashamed for finding family here."

"I thought you said last week that he grew up with Petunia."  Lily asked, sounding discomfited.

"He did. And last year he watched Bellatrix Lestrange murder Black just a few feet from where he stood."

James let out a defeated whistle at this. "Did the Dursleys...did they abuse him?" 

Snape knew the exact kind of abuse James Potter was referring to.  He gave them both a measuring look, and remembered that he had feared the same thing when Harry had first been in his care last summer.  When he realized that he'd started to care about the actual wellbeing of the little bugger, and not just that Harry stayed alive.

"He was neglected. That was enough." 

There was silence in the room as the words settled; Snape stood tall as they regarded him.  He tried to forget the fact that he was standing in Harry's room with only a red nightgown on and his hair in an absolute mess.

"I think that it will not be a problem to leave the animosity behind." Lily smiled, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail. "Thank you for loving him for us, Severus."

Snape could feel his cheeks warming, and thought of next week's lesson plans to keep his emotions under control.

"Yes, well. He has been entertaining to have around."

"Dad? I've got coffee and some toaster thingies that were in the freezer."  Harry came back into the room, carrying a makeshift tray.  He looked a bit more composed than earlier.

"So you do call him...?"  James trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

Harry put the tray down on his bed and scratched the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I do. You're my dad, and you always will be. But Professor Snape is my dad too."  Harry said, sounding apologetic but firm.  Snape saw that as an excellent time to leave, and tapped the back of Harry's hand as he went.

"Stop scratching."

Harry nodded distractedly and waited while Snape grabbed his coffee and left the room.

"You know, you used to call your father Deda."  Lily said, smiling at Harry.

"Did I?" Harry asked with a warm smile.   He climbed on the bed with his coffee and angled the painting to face him.

"You did."  James confirmed, grinning. "Back when you were learning how to speak."

"Deda," Harry tried, nodding to himself.  "Deda it is then. And Mum."  Harry blushed as Lily gave him a fond look.

James sat down in the picture frame and locked his fingers in anticipation. "So, why don't you tell us what you've been up to, Mr. Conqueror of Voldemort?"

Harry pulled the covers up over his lap and sat back, starting the tale of how a small boy talked to a zoo snake about Brazil.

May 2nd, 1997.  The small room is illuminated by large windows and wall sconces.  There are mats all over the floor, and a stern figure leans against the far wall with a proud smile on his face as a young man floats slightly unsteadily five feet off the ground. He scrunches his face in concentration before doing a very slow somersault in the air.  There is a huge grin on his face and he laughs, before dropping like a brick to the mat below.  Almost entirely unlike learning how to walk. Says the caption.

...

"I know you've read the notes, but do you actually understand Newton's Laws of Motion?"  Snape flicked his wand and set the lights in the room. The staff gym was very rarely used, and Snape covered the floor with mattresses for today's lesson.

"As much as I ever will."  Harry shrugged, dropping his bag by the corner and pulling off his robe.  "I never really pictured you as a scientist."

"The tie, too."  Snape said, raising the ceiling a little.   "Potions are science. Where have you been for the last six years?"

"Obviously not in the same classroom as you.  What happened to that ‘potions is an art form' and ‘I can teach you to brew glory and put a stopper in death' rubbish?"

Snape beckoned him to the centre of the room and positioned Harry to stand with his arms out spread. 

"I do believe that I both brewed glory and put a stopper in death when we killed off the Dark Lord and cured you of your horcrux issue."  Snape corrected lightly. "Creating both potions was an act of exact science, not creative artistry."

"An act of genius, you mean. No wonder you figured out how to fly."   Harry said, almost pouting.

"Focus on the window across from us, and ignore the law of gravity."  Snape interrupted, tapping Harry's shoulder.

"I can't just ignore gravity. Especially not when I'm very familiar with how it works on a flying car that's just run out of gas. Gravity is a heartless bitch."

 "Elliot."  Snape warned, and Harry sucked in a breath.  Snape had little patience for jokes while he was teaching.

"Now, the spell for flight is my own modified version of an existing non-verbal spell. It works from the basis of levicorpus, which you may be familiar with."

"Levi- isn't that the one from your potions book?"  Harry asked, dropping his arms.  "The dangly one, right?"

Snape crossed his arms, looking amused.  "And who have you strung up by their ankle?"

"That's...not really relevant."  Harry said, waving his hand.  "Wasn't that the one that James Potter used against you in that memory? Did you invent it?"

"Stop."  Snape said, holding his hand up to halt Harry's questions.  "You should know I did not.  Your book is for sixth and seventh years, and your charming father jinxed me at the end of fifth year."

"Oh."  Harry's shoulders slumped a little.

"I have invented other, less amusing spells, but not levicorpus."  Snape added.  "That one was likely created by some 17th century butcher who was tired of hauling meat up to the racks."

It only took a few seconds before Harry scrunched up his face. "Eugh."

"Precisely."  Snape smirked.  He poked Harry again and drew his wand.

"So. Newton's Third Law of Motion states that any time a force acts from one object to another, there is an equal force acting back on the original object."

"Yeah, I read that but h...woah!"  Harry yelped, flipping upside down and twirling slightly as he hung in the air in the centre of the room. Snape watched with curiosity as twelve sickles and seven knuts fell from Harry's pocket, along with two quill nibs and Kermit the dragon.

"Focus, Elliot. What can you feel?"

"All the damn blood rushing to my head."  Harry responded with no small amount of irritation.

"How fortunate. Perhaps that will aid your brain in deductive reasoning."

"Ha, ha."  Harry was still spinning slightly, and he appeared to be slightly motion sick. "I feel like someone has got a hard grip on my ankle. It almost hurts."

"Good."  Snape sounded pleased.  "And according to the third law, you are exacting as much force on that grip as it is on you."

Snape flicked his wand and lowered Harry to the mat.

"Okay. But what does that have to do with it?  I don't fancy flying upside down by my ankle."  Harry exhaled, his face turning back to its normal colour.

"It'd be one way to get attention." Snape responded wryly.  "You did feel the grip though, which is what you need to fly.  You need to be able to imagine the grip upon yourself, moving along your body as you fly. On your lower back so you can fly on an angle, between your shoulders so you're closer to standing upright, along your lower legs if you have some bizarre desire to float upside down."

Harry pulled himself up and rubbed the side of his head with his wand. That made sense. It was like a balancing act of sorts. Similar to a broom, except this time he was the broom. Kind of.

"I think I get it. What's the spell?"

Snape eyed him critically before nodding.

"Volocorpus.  The wand movement is a small but stretched out m shape."

"Right."  Harry agreed, practicing the wand movement. "This is kind of like those birds we used to draw on blackboards."

"It is purposefully similar to wingspan. On the count of three, imagine the hook and cast the spell non-verbally."

For the next twenty minutes Snape watched with unhidden amusement as Harry shakily floated around the room.  He supposed this was what a parent felt like when their toddler was learning how to walk, as he felt queerly proud of Harry for learning the skill, but had no qualms laughing every time the boy fell.

Friday June 20th, 1997.  Eight hours after the end of the last exam. The shadows around an old statue of a crabby looking witch move as student after student flattens themselves against the wall, all dressed in an odd assortment of clothing.  There is a lot of muggle clothing, and at least two boys have ties around their foreheads like bandannas.  One shorter boy in a kilt is wearing a makeshift crown, and a girl with glitter around her eyes is wearing a tiara.  The next generation: Full of delinquents.

...

"Alright you lot! Last call!"  The voice was gruff and meant business, expecting no arguments.  None came forth from their private room, except for a lot of cheering and applause.  Up on the makeshift stage (Seamus had shoved two tables together), a shy fifth year Slytherin named Toby Barrington was being crowned Mr. Wizarding World 1997.  He was standing next to the Ravenclaw Miss. Witch's World and trying to hide his blush.

"I can't believe you didn't go for that."  Ron grinned, finishing off his butterbeer.

"It's the speech, you see."  Harry answered with a smirk.  "I didn't want to stand anyone up."

Ron laughed, snorting a bit of his drink and eyes watering while Harry smoothed out the parchment in front of him.

"Wassthat?"  Seamus asked, throwing himself into the seat next to Harry.

"That's his trouble chart."  Ron supplied, pointing to it with his butterbeer bottle.

"Trouble chart? You planning something tonight, Potter?"  Seamus grinned.

"Hah, this is enough."  Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

"So what is it, Harry?"  Neville asked, slipping into the booth with a tankard of something.

"It's a comparison chart. What I've done, and what Snape will decide as punishment."  Harry shrugged, but he didn't look too bothered either.

"That's if he finds out."  Seamus cut in.

"It's Snape. He always finds out." Neville immediately countered.

"Well, except about his classroom exploding."  Ron snickered.

"Ah, yeah. I thought he was going to murder me in second year."  Harry laughed.  Madame Rosemerta came into the room and began herding them towards the door.

"What? Wait, was that the time when everyone got sprayed with the swelling solution?" Seamus blurted, his eyes taking on a glint of mischief normally seen on the Weasley twins.  "Next time I owe you a butterbeer."

...

Everything appeared to be quiet as the group stopped at the end of the passage.  Harry's wand was the sole source of light and he did a quick headcount.  The Let's Celebrate Voldy's Death party had been Seamus' idea and implementation, but Harry didn't want any students to have been left behind.  Thirty-two had gone and thirty-two had made it back, an impressive turn out for invitations that had been extended to all the houses behind the teachers' backs.

Harry whispered the password and extinguished his wandlight, motioning for the students to follow.

"Didn't you bring the map?" Ron whispered, creeping behind Harry.

"No, I don't want others to connect. To know." Harry answered, just as quietly. "It's past two am, the learners are comatose now."

Ron pretended to wince when Harry smacked him for snickering. Everyone lined up against the wall and waited for Harry to close the passage before they headed towards the staircases, Seamus in the lead and holding up his dark wand like a strange homing beacon.

"We definitely have to do this again."  Seamus whispered loudly, rounding the corner to the staircase hall and dropping his wand.  "Ah well. Fuck."

Perched on the nearest set of stairs, which were suspiciously stationary, were the four heads of house. Flitwick was standing on one of the upper steps, his short arms resting behind his back in an almost military-like stance.  Sprout was sitting on a step, holding a large ivy-covered sand timer, and McGonagall was standing just below Flitwick, tapping her wand irritably against her arm.  Snape, in all his gloomy glory, was leaning against the railing with his arms crossed and the slightest upturn of his lips.  All four were dressed in an assortment of wizarding clothes that none of the students had ever seen them in before, and Harry got the unpleasant feeling that the students had not been the only ones at The Three Broomsticks that evening.

"Badgers, and Lions, and Ravens, oh my."  McGonagall deadpanned, convincing Harry that she had a twisted sense of humour like the rest of the professors.

"And little Snakes too."  Snape finished, his voice sounding smooth and commanding and like there was about to be a world of trouble.

"You didn't wear your damn watch tonight, did you?"  Ron asked under his breath.  They were both standing as dead still as the rest of the students, and Harry was very glad that for once he was not in the lead spot.  They were standing in the middle of the group, and Harry was studiously ignoring the strong black glare of Snape's eyes. His father's eyes. Oh, there was that hollow feeling again, in the pit of his stomach.

"No, I'm not that stupid."  Harry hissed back.

"As you have all decided to celebrate the end of exams by leaving school property after curfew-" The headmistress started, glaring down at them all.

"Technically it was before curfew," Ron mumbled.

"You have now all volunteered to be the personal assistants of the professors whilst they mark this weekend. You will be paired off in twos, and will be on call the entire weekend."  McGonagall finished tersely.

A collective groan was heard from the group, and the students slumped slightly. 

"Points will be taken by house depending on attendance numbers."  Flitwick spoke up, and his voice sounded oddly deep for his stature.

"Dismissed."  McGonagall finally ordered, waiting for the group to disperse and head towards their dormitories.   Harry dutifully followed Ron and the other Gryffindors, snorting a little at the comments Seamus was making.

"Really, Voldemort's dead and exams are over! What's the big deal?"  Seamus grumbled.  "Besides, that old witch's hump likely hasn't seen that much action since the burning days."

"Ah, unsurprisingly crude, Mr. Finnegan." 

Harry felt a strong hand clamp down on his shoulder as the rest of the Gryffindors jumped.  Seamus' face was bright red, and he seemed to have nothing to say.

"How reassuring to know that it was not the usual suspects to have planned this little party."  Snape said, glaring straight at Harry and Ron.

"Nothing to do with the planning."  Harry immediately claimed, holding up his hands.

Seamus sputtered at this, having worked out that Snape knew exactly whose idea the outing was.

"Well, Harry blew up your classroom in second year!" 

Ron let out a choked groan and the other Gryffindors looked anywhere but at Snape or Harry.

"Did he now?"  Snape asked with a smooth timbre. 

"Seamus, you're a right prat you are."  Harry finally said.  He'd been in enough trouble with Snape before to know there was a certain point that any comments he made couldn't possibly hurt further.

"Severus, that's too long ago to punish him for."  McGonagall butted in as she strode by. 

"I do not believe there is a set statute of limitations, Professor McGonagall."  Snape said.  He steered Harry towards the stairs, where the three Slytherins were waiting to go back to the dungeons. "Say goodnight to your friends, Mr. Snape." 

"Goodnight, friends."  Harry said lightly, holding back his wince when Snape's grip tightened.  Snape would probably have him cleaning cauldrons and caramelized bat guts off the classroom worktables all weekend, but the party had definitely been worth it.

July 1st, 1997.  There is a beige computer set up on a smaller side desk in the office, the lights on the tower blinking as a short and stocky woman sits at the chair before it.  She has a strange expression on her face as she shamelessly lets her eyes wander over everything she can in the room, and seems oblivious to the annoyance of the men behind her.  Which will blow up first, the neighbour or the computer?

...

"Ahhh. I think this is the first summer I have ever looked forward to."  Harry said, melting into the settee in the library.   Snape walked through the room not a moment later and unshrunk their large bags of groceries in the kitchen.

"Get up and help, you lazy sod."

Harry laughed and wandered over, taking out non-perishables and starting to stock them in the pantry.

"I suppose you have grand plans for lazy summer days which include Weasleys and Granger?"  Snape asked, sorting the fridge so all dairy products were on the left side and the meats were on the right.

"No set plans, though I do want to visit them if that's okay."  Harry shrugged, handing Snape a jar from the counter.  The potions were lined up in the centre of the fridge shelf.

"Any day but Thursday and Monday afternoons."  Snape replied, starting to sort the vegetables.

"What's on those days?"  Harry tried to keep the suspicion out of his voice, but somewhat failed.

"You shall be taking computer lessons from Mrs. Price."

Snape's head was in the refrigerator with a bundle of carrots and peas, so Harry wasn't quite sure if he'd heard correctly.

"Pardon? Computer lessons?"

Snape stood up and snatched the jar of honey from Harry's hand.

"Yes. With Mrs. Price."

"Mrs. Price, the middle aged gossip-monger down the road? Isn't she the one who thinks you're a vampire?" Harry asked, shaking his head and beginning to unpack the bags again.

"No. Price thinks I'm involved in some sort of strange role playing game. She's a computer teacher at the local secondary school."  Snape replied, snorting.  He took the empty bags and rolled them up.  "Maverly is the one who thinks I'm a vampire, and you now by extension." Snape added.

"Ah, well it's be-what? She thinks I'm a vampire too?"  Harry couldn't decide whether to laugh or scratch his head in confusion.  He didn't wear large black cloaks at home, and unlike Snape he did wear some colour in his clothes.  "I've no bite marks on my neck."

"You'd better not."  Snape answered, filling the kettle and putting it on the stove.  "She has funny ideas about vampirism and genetics. Stay away from her."

"Not a problem.  Why do you want me to take computer lessons? I can't see you using one...ever."  Harry asked, swiping an apple from the bowl on the table.

"Use your brain, Elliot. How many careers do you know of in the wizarding world?"

"Hmm."  Harry plunked down in his chair at the table. Snape was leaning against the back garden door, and watching expectantly.

"Professor. Minister of Magic, well, anything for the ministry really. Shopkeeper, quidditch player.  Uh, owl trainer I suppose. Mediwizard...does someone make parchment still or is that a spell?"

"Both."

"Okay. A writer, journalist, auror, curse breaker, whatever Charlie does at the dragon reserve, an unspeakable, a potions master....uh. A wandmaker."

"And someone who makes seal stamps." Snape finished when Harry had run out of ideas.  "Not a long list, correct?"

"Not really. There are more jobs, right?"

"For the creative, there are always jobs."  Snape answered, putting a tea bag in the teapot.

"You wouldn't tell me to learn about computers just to be creative."  Harry smirked.

"Hardly."  Snape scoffed.

"But you were a spy for too many years, so...maybe you want me to learn computers so I can function in the muggle world if I want."

"Perhaps."  Snape said, pouring the water. He looked like he was trying not to smile.

"Did you use muggle skills when you were a spy?"

A mug was placed on the table in front of Harry and Snape's eyes had gone slightly clouded in thought.  He was dressed in his regular black slacks with a very old-fashioned dress shirt, every bit the wizard save for his long teaching robes.  In spite of this, Harry clearly remembered how the man had yanked wires out of the cable box against the shared outside wall and stolen cable from the neighbours just last summer.

"Never undervalue the ability to disappear within a group of common place people."

"When we play chess, Ron says it's sometimes more effective to hide in plain sight."  Harry commented, privately wondering if Snape ever found a slice of anonymous comfort when he immersed himself in the muggle world.

"Hmm. Regardless of Mr. Weasley's chess strategies, you will be taking lessons from Mrs. Price.  Muggle technology develops at a rather alarming rate, and no son of mine will be left in the dark ages."

Snape took his tea and made for the library. 

"And do not hex Mrs. Price. If I can stand her for ten years, so can you."

...

Mrs. Price arrived two days later, after Harry had spent an hour muggle-proofing the downstairs.  Snape's house was a mixture of muggle and wizard, and while the books had already been spelled to not show magical titles, there was still the Prince gobstones set to hide away, floo powder to tidy up, and an alarming amount of potion vials in the kitchen to put away. Harry had just finished charming the pictures on the wall to remain stationary when a persistent rapping sounded on the door.

"Give me your wand." Snape said, following Harry to the door.

"I'm not giving you my wand." Harry sputtered.  "What if I say something about magic and I need to cover it up?"

"Memory modification spells are limited to licensed wizards." Snape answered, sounding smug.

Harry's hand fell on the doorknob as he gave Snape an incredulous look.

"You obliviate people all the time!" 

"Of course I do. It's for their own good."  Snape smirked as Harry opened the door.  Mrs. Price stood on the other side, dressed in an alarming amount of denim and topped with a shirt that had a cartoon drawing of the Queen on it.  Her hair was tied into a tight bun, and had been dyed a shade of maroon that was nowhere near any natural hair colour. Snape had told him that she was in her early forties, but Harry thought that was being generous.

"Hmmph. You need a haircut. And so does your father."  Mrs. Price said, tapping her foot as she waited to be let in. 

"Nice to meet you too." Harry mumbled, opening the door and gesturing towards the office. 

"Mrs. Price," Snape greeted, standing behind Harry. "I hear it has been seven months since your last citation for being a public nuisance.  Heartfelt congratulations."

Harry covered his laugh with a cough and lead Mrs. Price to the computer in the office. 

"So kind of you to notice, Mr. Snape. It always amazes me at how well you keep up with things whilst you're away for so many months."

"It is a gift." Snape acknowledged. He ignored Harry's growl in response to his non-verbal disarming spell. "Thank you for agreeing to teach Elliot, and do not touch anything on my desk in the office."

Harry was accustomed to most of Snape's teaching glares, and he was gratified to see that Mrs. Price was not. She seemed to waver slightly, before nodding and sitting down.  Snape left the room, Harry's wand in his pocket, and Harry flipped on the computer. The faster he learned, the faster the lessons would go.

"Now, I know Mr. Snape likes to dress in funny clothes and pretend he's some sort of imaginary creature, but I refuse to entertain those hallucinations. I will teach you how to use the computer and the internet, and whatever you do on your own time I'd prefer not to know."  Mrs. Price took one last disapproving glance at his mismatched socks and then proceeded to click through things on the computer, ignoring Harry.

Harry just stared.