Light shining in Harry's face woke him the next morning. He struggled awake, felt around for his glasses. Putting them on, the first thing he saw was the reassuring shape of a snowy owl, fluffed up and motionless, by the window.

"Hey, girl?" Harry said, softly. He didn't want to wake her if she was really asleep, but he did like to know she was all right.

Hedwig opened one eye, gave a contented little chirrup, then sleepily closed it again, settling in for a sleep on the perch that had been left for her.

By the look of the light, it was at least nine o'clock. Snape wasn't banging on his door, so Harry supposed sleeping so late must be all right, for now. The house was very, very quiet. It didn't seem as though Snape was up yet. The Professor had looked pretty rough by the time they'd gotten here last night, so Harry supposed that made sense.

The bedroom Snape had given him was smaller than the one he'd occupied on Privet Drive, but it was reassuringly devoid of locks. In fact, it appeared that the only lock on the door bolted from the inside.

It was decorated in a muted beige. The bedclothes, carpet and curtains all looking as though they'd been spelled to be as inoffensive a color as possible. If it was a guestroom, Harry supposed that made sense. Harry's trunk was pushed up against the wall, next to Hedwig's perch. Hedwig's cage was also pushed up against the wall, as if no one expected it to be used. Under the perch was a tray of newspaper, similar to what generally went into the bottom of Hedwig's cage. It was a setup much closer to what Hedwig was accustomed to at Hogwart's or the Weasley's.

When he thought about it, Harry felt stupid for being surprised. Of course, Snape would be accustomed to owls.

Harry lay in bed for another minute or two, trying to figure out what he should do. Snape had asked Harry if he could manage breakfast. Did he mean for both of them? Or just for Snape?

No, it must be for both of them. The way Snape chased him around about eating, Harry was fairly certain Snape meant for him to get his own breakfast, as well.

Harry slid out of bed, he hadn't bothered to undress properly last night. He'd just taken off his jeans. He peeked into the hallway. Snape's bedroom door was firmly shut.

Harry decided to chance a quick shower. Hopefully this wouldn't be the sort of house whose loud plumbing would wake the Professor.

Ron had always been surprised by Harry's ability to get in and out of the bathroom inside of five minutes, if he had to. Ron said that his brothers could take hours, never mind who else would be waiting.

When Harry was done, the house was still silent. It was a bit creepy, actually. Not liking to make more noise than necessary, he crept down the stairs in his stocking feet.

The old fashioned clock in the kitchen said half-past nine. Harry dug around in the fridge and cupboards to see what was there.

Just milk and eggs were in the fridge. No sausage or anything. Harry reckoned he would make omelets then; he was good at those. Petunia had been given a whole cookbook full of omelet and omelet-like things. She'd made two or three recipes out of it, before she decided it was too much trouble. She'd given the book to Harry after that.

Further digging found some cheese to go into the omelets. They had a half dozen eggs, so Harry used all of them. Sifting through the cupboards, Harry found an actual omelet pan. He fancied he would have liked some mushrooms or something to liven them up a bit. He shook his head at himself ruefully, it wasn't as if he was going to be able to impress Snape, of all people.

By ten o'clock, breakfast was ready, but still no Snape. He wondered what to do with the food so that it would say hot. If he put it in the oven, it would be dried out and disgusting in about ten minutes. He couldn't just put a warming charm on it, since as far as he knew, he still wasn't allowed to do magic away from school. There was no way that Harry was going to try to wake Snape.

Snape had said the breadbox had a stasis charm on it. That would work. In fact, that was better than a warming charm, which had a tendency to render the food inedible if left too long, not unlike heating it in an oven. Harry took out the half loaf of bread, putting that in the pantry, and stuck the plate in there with the hot tea pot.

Harry ate his own breakfast, the quiet beginning to really get on his nerves. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. Would Snape want him to keep to his room, or would he want Harry to be doing something else?

Harry washed his breakfast dishes, taking comfort in the prosaic task. Snape's kitchen was really a pleasant little room, if one ignored the grime that seemed to cover everything. The cornflower blue cupboards and white sink gave it a homeyness that Petunia's pristine, antiseptic kitchen always seemed to lack. The fridge was only a half sized and had to be older than Snape. The stove was the same. The kitchen table was wooden, painted the same color as the cupboards, with no tablecloth. It had seen better days, but Harry was sure it would be very nice if it were cleaned.

Idly, Harry started to wipe down the counters when he was done with the dishes. The trouble with cleaning one part of the kitchen, Harry decided, was that it made the rest of the room look shabbier.

He searched around, not finding a mop or broom. He finally found a pile of rags buried in the back of the sink cabinet, behind a bottle of some variety of all purpose cleaner. There wasn't much there. Harry supposed, if Snape ever bothered to clean, he must use magic.

The window over the sink was dingy, and looked out onto an overgrown back garden that was surrounded by a low wall. Frowsy white curtains, that had also seen better days, hung on either side of the window, half obscuring the view.

Without giving it any real thought, Harry filled the sink full of water and poured the cleaner in, taking some time to give the counter, cabinets and table a proper wash. Not having a broom was irritating. He would have liked to sweep. He washed the little kitchen window and wondered if Snape had a washing machine. If so, he could wash the curtains.

By the time he finished cleaning the kitchen almost to his satisfaction (he still hadn't swept or mopped and the stove interior needed cleaning), it was getting on for noon. Harry wondered if he should check to see if Snape was even alive.

Halting footsteps, coming from upstairs signaled that the Professor was probably still with the living.

Harry whisked the rags back under the sink, not liking to give Snape a reason to complain that he'd left the job half done by leaving his cleaning things out.

The bathroom door opened and shut. After a moment, Harry heard the sound of the shower running.

Uncertainly, Harry hovered in the kitchen for a moment. Making up his mind, he took the Professor's breakfast out of the breadbox and put it on the tea tray he'd found while cleaning. He filled the small milk jug and included the sugar bowl, since he couldn't remember if he'd seen Snape take sugar. Whenever Uncle Vernon or Dudley was sick, Aunt Petunia had insisted that they be served their meals in their rooms.

Carefully, Harry took the meal up to Snape's room. The door hung half open, so all Harry had to do was slip in with the tray.

The room was disappointing in that it appeared so normal. No bats, or skulls or peculiar things floating in jars. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered two walls. The bed faced towards the window which had a low table under it. Harry put the meal there.

The curtains were a dark burgundy and kept the light out admirably. Harry opened those to let in the thin sunlight. The window had a view of the street outside. Going by the buildings opposite him, Harry could see they were on a street of bleak little row houses

The walls not covered with bookshelves were white with dark green trim. The mussed bed had simple white sheets with a comforter that carried the burgundy and dark green coloring. The carpet was dark green and needed a vaccuum.

Snape's bedclothes were tossed around as if the man had slept badly the night before. Without thinking about it, Harry shook the sheets out and made the bed, making sure it was made to Petunia's exacting standards.

Harry hoped that Snape wasn't going to drown, given the amount of time he was spending in the shower. Not wanting to intrude on the man's privacy, he retreated downstairs when he heard the water stop running.

The kitchen felt quite cozy, now that it was clean, with the early afternoon sun shining through the window.

Harry took a moment to look around the kitchen again, pleased with the morning's work. He'd have to find a broom and a mop soon. Perhaps some bleach would be able to clean off the floor tile.

He retrieved one of the rags from under the kitchen sink. There was no furniture polish under there either. Perhaps Snape kept his cleaning things somewhere else?

The living room was badly in need of dusting and Harry's nerves were too jangled to let him keep still. It seemed absolutely surreal that he was here, in Snape's home. He remembered then, the way Snape had called it "our home".

The footsteps overhead walked from the bathroom to Snape's bedroom.

Harry dusted the whole front room before he heard any footsteps again.

A lot of Harry's childhood had been spent listening to footsteps. Judging the mood of the adults in the house from the volume and cadence of the steps. Quick, light steps were safe enough, slow, deliberate steps needed caution and heavy thumps meant to get out of Uncle Vernon's way.

Snape was still rather unsteady, if the pauses on the stairway meant anything. Harry realized that the stone floors at Hogwarts had accustomed him to his teacher's boots clicking rather than thumping. Snape's footfalls were always purposeful. That is when you could actually hear them. Plenty of times the man would just seem to appear right behind you.

Harry listened to Snape lurch down the stairs to the kitchen. Dishes rattled into the sink. Water ran, so perhaps Snape was doing his own dishes? Harry wondered if he'd be in trouble for that. On the other hand, if he dashed in to take the task over, Snape might get annoyed. It was a no win situation, as usual.

"Potter? Where've you gotten to?" snapped the Professor from the kitchen.

Harry stowed his dust rag in his pocket, "I'm here," he said, hurrying into the other room. He stood in the doorway, not sure if he should sit down with the Professor or not.

Snape was sitting at the kitchen table, his chair back to the wall, glaring around the room. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a grey sweater, his hair still damp from his shower. It was a little startling to see him out of his usual black. Even stranger to see him wearing something other than wizard robes.

"Did you eat this morning?" The Professor asked, his arms folded across his chest, his long legs stretched out.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, he didn't want to irritate Snape, for all that Snape had assured Harry that he wouldn't raise a hand to him. Harry reckoned it was just a matter of time before Snape forgot that, "Yes, sir." he said quietly.

Snape glared at him some more, "What have you been doing all morning?" demanded the man.

Snape must be irked that the rest of the house hadn't been seen to. Certainly the kitchen floor should have been swept and scrubbed, Harry knew.

"Slept late." Harry admitted, a little shamefaced, waiting for one of the man's scathing lectures.

Something about the man's glare softened around the edges. That must have been an acceptable answer, "Yes, well, given the events of the past two days, I can't say I'm surprised."

Harry just nodded; it seemed the safest thing to do.

"I'm afraid I'm not quite myself yet, Potter." continued Snape, tiredly, "I hope it's not too much to ask if you can keep yourself occupied and out of trouble for a few days? The school wards are going to take several weeks to renew."

The tone lacked Snape's usual bite. Harry thought he must not be feeling like himself at all.

Snape reached into his pocket and pulled out a wristwatch, "If you leave the house..."

"I can leave the house?" interrupted Harry, without thinking. He assumed he'd be stuck here.

Snape fixed him with his familiar cold stare.

"Sorry." Harry muttered.

Snape threw the wristwatch onto the table, "Put that on." he said

Harry picked the thing up and stared at it. It looked like a plain digital watch, except instead of numerals, the face read: Safe.

"It's keyed to my household wards." Snape explained, "I'm the only wizard hereabouts. If another wizard passes my wards, the alarm will go off and it will become a portkey and bring you back here. If you leave the wards, it will do the same. My wards extend to about a five minute walk in every direction."

Harry picked up the watch and put it on slowly, feeling a little like he was putting on some kind of tether.

"Don't imagine you can leave the house without it." Snape sneered, "The door won't open to you, if you don't have it on."

So much for no locks on the doors, thought Harry. He kept his mouth shut, since there wasn't a thing he could say that wouldn't get him in trouble.

"If you need anything," Snape went on, "I keep some Muggle money in the drawer over there." He pointed with his chin to the bottom drawer, "If you want to order take away, there's a rather good Indian up the street." he finished, almost contemplatively.

Harry had never had Indian, but he wasn't going to tell Snape that.

Snape closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. Harry tensed, worried that the man was going to topple over, or something.

"Can I get you something Professor?" Harry asked, anxiously.

Snape just shook his head, still with his eyes closed. He looked like Vernon, after he'd been out too late the night before.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry put the kettle on.

Snape must have fallen asleep again. His breathing was slow and even; he didn't even move the whole time Harry was making the tea. When it was finished, Harry poured Snape a cup, setting it down in front of the man with a faint click.

No response. Harry watched the man breathing, just to make sure he was still doing it, before Harry went back to his dusting. As long as Harry was in motion, he didn't have to think about anything.

When the whole of the downstairs was reasonable (not really clean yet, but at least Harry wouldn't be embarrassed if someone came to the door), Harry went back into the kitchen. Snape was still dozing. With his head back like that, Harry was sure the Professor was going to wake up with a terrible kink in his neck, and wouldn't that help the man's mood?

Taking a deep breath, Harry tiptoed up next to the man. He called softly, "Professor?" At the same time, Harry reached out to shake the man's shoulder.

As soon as Harry touched him, Snape started, pulled his wand from somewhere (he drew it so quickly that Harry wasn't sure from where, exactly), and aimed it straight at Harry.

Harry heard no incantation, but he was suddenly completely unable to move.

Snape stared at him, for what felt like an age, his expression murderous.

Harry felt his heart pounding in his chest and noticed the spell didn't stop him from trembling with fear. He also discovered, to his utter horror, that tears had started down his cheeks, that he could neither hide, nor blink away.

Snape blinked a few times, staring at Harry as if he'd never seen him before. The man seemed to say something to himself that Harry didn't catch and he gave his wand a little wave, canceling the spell, "Potter." he said, his voice flat. He swallowed, "You startled me."

Harry found he could move again. He turned away from the man, his throat tight, "What was that for?" he demanded, rubbing his face to get rid of the tears.

"I took you for someone else." replied Snape, quietly, "I did not mean to frighten you. I am...overtired, I think."

That was probably as close to an apology as Harry was ever likely to get, "You didn't." he returned harshly, getting a grip on himself.

Harry's heart slowly stopped racing. It had just been an immobilizing spell, after all. They were completely harmless. Come to think of it, Harry didn't like people shaking him awake. He supposed was very likely lucky that Snape hadn't cast something either lethal or painful at him
He and his classmates had been had been using various immobilizing spells on each other since last year. Hermione had cast one at Neville in their first year.

Thinking of Neville made Harry's heart contract in his chest. He shook his head to clear it.

The silence was awkward. Harry turned around to see Snape casting a warming spell on his cup and adding sugar.

"Would you like some tea, Potter?" asked Snape, sounding as though he were attempting to bridge the awkwardness. Harry thought the offer of tea was more awkward than Snape hexing him.

"No. Thank you." Harry hesitated, "Er...There were a few things I wanted to buy. " They were out of eggs and almost out of milk, and Harry had no idea what he was going to make for dinner. "Is there a shop anywhere?"

Snape nodded, "Just up the street, there's a few shops."

Harry went to the drawer where Snape had said he kept Muggle money. A collection of notes and coins sat in what was otherwise a junk drawer. Harry was not expecting there to be quite this much-he took out what he thought was enough so he could do the food shopping.

Harry heard a small sigh from behind him, when he turned he saw that Snape had fallen asleep with his head on the table.

"Professor?" called Harry, not touching the man, this time.

"What?" Snape asked groggily, his hand tightening on his wand that he had not put away. He lifted his head to look at Harry.

"You...er...fell asleep again." Harry said with concern, "Is that normal? After that spell you used?"

Snape nodded, his eyes bleary, "I suppose so."

"Listen, why don't you go back to bed?" Harry heard himself using the voice Petunia used to cajole Dudley and Vernon.

Snape peered around the kitchen, for a moment, "I suppose..."

"Come on then, sir." Harry said a little impatiently. He couldn't very well carry Snape to bed. The man was a menace like this.

The older wizard shook his head and rubbed his eyes, finally staggering to his feet. Harry was at his elbow right away, "Get off, Potter." muttered Snape, but without any real anger, "I can manage."

Harry stepped back, "So, it's all right if I pop out for a few minutes?" he asked, as the man headed up the stairs. He felt he needed to make absolutely sure.

Snape paused, nodded without looking back, "Take your wand, but unless you are in fear for your safety, do not use it."

"I thought this thing was supposed to bring me back here if the wards are broken?" Harry indicated the watch he was wearing, "You said..."

"People other than wizards can be dangerous." Snape replied darkly, "It will bring you back if you're beaten unconscious by the local hooligans, as well. I presume you'd rather avoid that?"

"Oh." Harry wished he had Snuffles to take with him, then he winced inwardly. The dog was yet another thing he didn't want to think about.

Harry went to find his trainers and his coat. His heart lifted a little at the prospect of an outing, even one so mundane as food shopping.

Opening the front door, he found himself assaulted by sound. After the quiet of the house, he was surprised by the sheer noisiness of the street. Harry realized Snape must have a permanent silencing charm on the house. Not even the fridge had made a sound.

But, out here, the distant sound of car engines and smell of petrol fumes told him that they were very near a motorway.

The street itself was rather rundown, just as the view from the upstairs window promised. Harry looked both ways on the street, spotting a little row of shops that seemed to be the ones Snape had indicated.

So intent was Harry to get his errands done, that he never noticed the elderly woman in a pink coat, eyeing him as she locked her own door, until she spoke, "Hello there, dear." she said, "Have you just moved in? I didn't know they'd put the house up on the market."

Harry started. He must be as jumpy as Snape.

"Er, no, I haven't...that is...I'm only here for a few weeks. I'm staying with Professor Snape." sputtered Harry. He had no idea what the old woman might know of Snape, so he had no idea what he was supposed to say.

The old woman stared at him, then her eyes lit with comprehension, "So it's 'Professor' Snape, is it? That's why he's only here in the summer? I always did wonder. He always keeps to himself, so I never get the chance to ask. Of course, his father was the same. Quiet, you know."

Harry nodded, desperately hoping he wasn't going to be in trouble with Snape for talking to the old woman. Petunia hated for Harry to talk to the neighbors.

The old lady went on, "But, why are you both here, now?"

"Er, the school needs some repairs. There was a bit of an accident you see." Harry replied, making up a story on the spot, "Plumbing."

"Oh, I see." she said, sounding as if she didn't.

"Well, it's a boarding school, you understand, and my family..." Harry didn't quite know where to go next.

My family doesn't want me back. There's no one who wants me. Snape's stuck with me.

The old woman was looking at him expectantly, as he trailed off.

"Professor Snape had to bring me with him, until school's repaired." Harry finished lamely, shrugging.

"Is this the same school Professor Snape went to?" She asked, quite kindly.

"Er, I think so?" Harry told her. He didn't mean for it to come out as a question.

"Oh." she said, "You must be terribly clever, then." The woman smiled, "I knew Professor Snape's parents. He went to a school for the gifted and talented, his mother told me."

Harry smiled, breathing a sigh of relief, "Yes, ma'am."

That made the old woman laugh, "Oh my dear, don't 'ma'am' me. I'm not the Queen, you know. I'm Mrs. Cook. Now, do you know where you're going?"