Harry woke to unfamiliar surroundings. Rubbing his heavy eyes, he stared up at the ceiling and the walls that looked like they were practically made of bookshelves. That's when everything from the day before came flooding back to him.

He bolted upright and sighed in relief when he saw his mum on the sofa. Her long hair was spread over the pillow and her face looked peaceful.

Glad to find his glasses beside him on the coffee table, folded up safely, Harry slipped them over his nose and untangled his legs from the blanket he'd been covered with.

He must have fallen asleep during his mum's story. He scowled as he recalled Snape's interruption, saying that Harry might be exhausted. So what if the git had been kind of right? Harry had had a very long day. Of course he was tired. Anybody would be.

Barefoot, he padded over to the door to the kitchen and peeked inside.

His eyes landed on his potions professor, sitting at the kitchen table, a steaming mug in front of him and a platter of toast. He was reading a newspaper, The Daily Prophet by the looks of the moving pictures, but did not fail to notice Harry's semi-entrance into the kitchen.

"Potter." He narrowed his eyes and laid aside the paper. "Come. Sit."

Feeling as if it was an execution, Harry shuffled into the room and plopped down into the chair across from Snape's.

The man studied him for a minute, his dark eyes raking him up and down, then he picked up a paper napkin from the table and held it out to Harry.

"Wipe your eyes," he instructed. "Then eat. You're far too scrawny, as it is."

Harry glared at the older wizard. Snape could say what he wanted, only because he was bigger and it was his house, but it wasn't like Snape wasn't skinny himself. Harry wondered if the man ate anything besides the coffee he was drinking. He wished that he could tell Snape that he needed to eat, that he was way too scrawny too.

To keep himself from being cheeky, he wiped at his eyes and reached across the table for a piece of plain toast. He stuffed it into his mouth, quite satisfied that he'd kept himself out of trouble.

"Have you no manners?" Snape was watching him eat and he didn't look very happy. "For Merlin's sake, boy, you are a child; not a dog."

When Harry just shrugged, Snape gestured to the food.

"There is plenty of toast. Do try and eat like a civilized person. I assure you, your mother will not be impressed by your lack of table manners."

This brought Harry's noisy chewing to a sudden stop. As much as he hated to admit it, Snape was probably right. Mums were like that. Well, most mums anyway. Aunt Petunia had never really said much about the way Dudley ate and Dudley ate piggishly.

Harry swallowed what was in his mouth, and then carefully took another bite. He didn't want to be like Dudley.

Snape didn't say anything, but he did nod once before going back to his paper. Harry supposed that meant he was satisfied.

Harry finished his toast and drained the glass of milk Snape had demanded he drink. Then he sat there in silence for a few minutes, swinging his legs from the chair in boredom. Eventually though, he had to say something. He didn't want to bother Snape any more than he was sure the man wanted to be bothered, but sometimes, Harry decided, a person needed to do things they'd really rather not do.

"Um, Professor?"

Snape raised his gaze from the newspaper and met Harry's eyes.

"Uh, I was just wondering where the toilet is? I need to, uh..."

"Upstairs, first door on your right," said Snape, eyeing Harry suspiciously. "Do not, I repeat, do not enter any of the other rooms upstairs. Understand?"

Agreeing, Harry jumped up from his chair and hurried up the narrow staircase, the steps creaking as he stepped on them. He tried to wrap his mind around the idea that he'd just had breakfast with Snape. With Snape! But then of course, he could still hardly believe his mum was downstairs either.

When Harry returned, the kitchen was empty. He went to the sitting room to find his mum still sleeping on the couch, but Harry's bed of blankets had been picked up from the floor and Snape was there, pushing the coffee table back in place.

"Ah, I was beginning to think that you had disobeyed my orders and had already suffered dire consequences for it," said Snape, sneering. "Good to know you are still with us."

Harry glared at the man. If he was trying to scare him, it wasn't working.

Snape could very well have something evil behind those other doors. Maybe even another three-headed dog like at Hogwarts last year. Even so, that didn't mean Harry was scared. It only meant that he would avoid those rooms when at all possible. But he was definitely not scared.

"Get your shoes and follow me."

Severus left the room and for a moment, Harry was tempted to ignore him. Sit down and ignore everything he was told to do. But then that just seemed too Dudley-ish and much more trouble than it was really worth, considering in the end he'd probably have to end up obeying anyway, added to the detentions he'd have until he was eighty-two.

He settled for letting out a huff and grabbed his shoes and socks off the floor. Holding them to his chest, he followed his professor out of the room and up the stairs.

Reaching the top, he found Snape standing outside a closed door off the side of the landing.

Harry swallowed. He really didn't like dogs.

"Um, what're we doing up here?"

Snape smirked. "Are we scared, Potter?"

"No!" Harry insisted, clenching a fist at his side. "I was just curious is all."

"Put your shoes on. I have work for you."

The man pushed open the door, disappearing into the dark room and Harry stuck his tongue out at his turned back.

"Put that tongue away, or I will find a better use for it, I promise you," Snape's low threat sailed evenly from inside the room.

Harry dropped to the floor and pulled on his socks and dirty trainers, cinching his laces and stuffing them inside his shoes. Then he cautiously peeked into the dark and smelly room.

"The bulb is burned out," muttered Snape. "Lumos!"

The room was filled with light and Harry could finally see what it was being used for. Potions. Of course. He really wasn't all that surprised that Snape had a potions room in his house. Just that it wasn't in his dungeon. But maybe he didn't have a dungeon.

There was room for one table in the middle of the room and counters going around the walls. Above the deep sink was a window, although covered by a heavy window blind. Cupboards ran underneath the counters and shelves lined the walls above them, all lined with various jars and vials and ingredients. A pile of cauldrons sat in the right corner. It was small in comparison to the potions classroom at Hogwarts, but it was neat and orderly. Very Snape-like.

"Do not just stand there lingering outside the doorway," said Snape, moving around the room and looking in drawers. "This is currently my potions lab, as I am sure you have noticed. But as it is, you and your mother need a place to sleep for the summer. This room will be it, but first it needs to be cleared out, cleaned up, and made suitable for a bedroom once again."

Harry felt his jaw drop. "For the summer? We're staying that long?"

"That's right."

"But why?"

"Because Dumbledore thought it would be safest and best for both of you. Your mother agreed to it. Now, enough questions."

But there were a lot more things Harry wanted to ask. Like, why couldn't he and his mum have their own house now? And why was she even friends with Snape? Snape didn't have friends. He kept his mouth closed though, deciding it probably wasn't very smart to annoy the man so much when he was going to have to live in his house for the next... well, a lot of weeks.

He edged cautiously into the room. "What do you want me to do?"

"I am going to begin to move the tables and cauldrons downstairs into the cellar." The man waved his wand at the window blind, turning it into a well-sized cardboard box. The box dropped onto the floor and room got much brighter. "You are going to begin to fill that box with the jars of ingredients from that far cupboard in the corner. Can you accomplish this without breaking anything?" Snape looked down his long nose at Harry.

Harry straightened his shoulders. "Yes."

"Begin then," said Snape, and then he turned towards a pile of cauldrons, leaving Harry to his assignment.

After dragging the box over to the large cupboard, he got down on his knees and pulled the doors open. Inside were numerous jars, all filled with potions ingredients. Not one jar's contents looked alike and Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust as he took in the sight. He was pretty sure that he didn't want to know what was inside most of the jars.

He worked in silence for about fifteen minutes, not once looking up from the tedious task. Soon the box was full, and yet a great deal of jars was left inside the cupboard. Harry turned around to find that the cauldrons were all gone and so was the work table.

Snape was gone too.

He got up, brushing the dust off of his hands, and walked over to the window above the sink. It was almost too high up for Harry to see out of, but he was just tall enough to see over the ledge.

The view was okay. He could see a lot of nothing from the window. Lots of roofs and some random trees even. Old buildings too. Snape had said he and his mum would be sleeping in this room. Maybe he could get Snape to place his bed so that Harry could see outside the window while he was lying in it. It would be nice having a window in his room; the cupboard under the stairs had always been so dark.

"Enjoying the view, Harry?"

Harry whirled around to find Dumbledore standing in the doorway, a bemused smile on his face. Snape was standing right behind him, scowling.

"I filled the box," explained Harry, moving away from the window, just slightly. "But there's more in the cupboard, so I need another."

Snape summoned two more identical boxes and directed them in front of the partially emptied cupboard. "That should meet your needs then."

"Thanks," he mumbled and moved back to kneel by the cupboard. Grasping a jar filled with something purple and sticky looking, he tried not to look too closely at it, in case it had something swimming inside it, like the last jar had.

When the box was half full, he chanced a moment to twist around to see what the other two wizards were doing. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. They were using magic to remove the cupboards and counters from along the walls.

The furniture was coming apart easily and stacking itself in neat piles by the door. Snape and Dumbledore weren't even sweating and Harry suddenly felt very sorry for the contractors and construction workers he had seen working on the Mallory's house, across the street from the Dursleys', last summer.

It's too bad those guys hadn't been wizards, he thought. Their jobs could've been a lot easier.

Harry couldn't pull himself away from the sight. Magic still amazed him. You couldn't grow up without it for ten years, and then just accept it after only a school year's length of time. Sometimes he considered that and thought that maybe he'd always be in awe of magic and that wouldn't be such a bad thing. He liked that excited, tingly feeling he got in his stomach when he watched someone do something amazing with magic.

Eventually though, half an hour had passed. Snape and Dumbledore had removed all of the counters, even the sink and pipes, and only had Harry's cupboard left to do. But he had been so busy observing, he still only had half of his third box filled.

He went back to packing the box in a hurry, before Snape could say anything rude or mean or evil. But in his rush, a large jar slipped from his grasp and crashed to the ground, splattering what looked like fish guts all over the floor and Harry's jeans.

"Potter!" Snape stormed over from the window.

"Oops." Harry forced himself to crane his head up and look at Snape's angry face.

"I should say so. You should have finished this by now." Snape waved his wand and the mess and glass disappeared from the floor.

Harry reached for another jar. "Sorry. I got distracted."

But Snape snatched the jar from Harry's hand. "Forget it. Get up and out of the way. I will not have you destroying any more of my ingredients."

Harry gladly stepped aside and watched as Snape began packing the rest of the box.

"What was in there anyway?" asked Harry, looking down at his stained trousers.

"Boiled trout eyes," said Snape with his head inside the cupboard. It made his voice sound a bit muffled and not nearly as evil sounding.

"Oh, so no wonder it stunk so much."

"Indeed." Snape placed the last jar in the box and stood up. He looked down at Harry with disdain. "And it still stinks, as you were no doubt doused in it. You need a bath. You're filthy."

Harry took a step back. "What time is it? Can I go see if my mum is awake?"

"It is ten o'clock," Dumbledore spoke up, from behind Harry where he had been observing the disaster.

"And you are not to wake your mother," added Snape. "She is not a morning person and we should allow her that. She needs rest."

Harry bit his lip. "Oh. Is she sick?"

"No, I do not believe so," said Dumbledore, coming over to stand beside Snape. "Of course, she should probably be seen by a healer soon, just to be sure. But you must understand that what your mother has been through is exhausting. She will need time to recuperate."

The two adults then launched into a lengthy, boring discussion about what magic needed to be put back up in Snape's house. Really, the whole conversation was far too complex for Harry to understand, so naturally he found his concentration drifting.

His eyes were caught by an old school trunk sitting in the corner of the room, next to a rusty bucket that had yet to be removed. It looked much like Harry's own trunk, only older.

Curious, he went over and knelt down in front of it. Finding no locks to hold it shut, he pushed open the lid. There was an instant crackling sound and then, bang! A loud noise filled the room and a puff of dark smoke exploded in Harry's face.

Coughing and spluttering, he fell back on his rear. Through watering eyes, Harry craned his head up and watched Snape, waiting for his reaction.

To Harry's relief, the man didn't hex him or raise his voice.

"I forgot I still had that in there," Snape murmured and strode over to where Harry was still kneeling. Folding his arms across his chest, he added, more sternly, "I do not believe this trunk belongs to you, does it?"

"I just wanted to know what was in it," muttered Harry, rubbing his sweaty palms on his shirt.

"I suggest you make a habit of gaining permission to go through other people's personal items, Potter. This was my own school trunk from when I was a student and it contains many of my childhood belongings." Snape crouched and pulled an old, hard cover book from the top of the pile inside the trunk. Then he shut the lid.

Just to be safe, Harry scrambled to his feet and took a step back from his professor. The man was acting a little odd this morning. He was not even coming close to nice, but he wasn't acting evil, either. It was almost a bit unsettling. Snape was supposed to be evil. That was expected. Evil was normal.

Snape glanced over at Dumbledore, who appeared to be waiting patiently for him to come back so they could continue their complicated discussion.

"The Headmaster and I have a lot of work to accomplish this morning, as we prepare for you and your mother's stay here this summer. I trust you won't be able to find anything to safely entertain yourself with and manage to stay out of trouble?"

Harry wasn't sure how to answer that. "Um..."

Snape didn't wait. He held out the thick book he'd pulled from the trunk. "This was one of my favourite books as a child. Robin Hood. Have you read it?"

Harry shook his head.

"Take it, but do not destroy it," said Snape, lifting his chin. "Go, and find some place to quietly read."

"Do I have to?" asked Harry, feeling his heart sinking down into his stomach.

"Yes. Go downstairs, stay in the house, and do not disturb your mother. You will be called for lunch when it is time. Go on, do as I say."

Shoulders sagging, Harry took the book from Snape's hand. He gave a resigned wave to Dumbledore as he passed him by, wishing the wizard would intervene and tell mean old Snape, 'no, let Harry stay. Harry can stay up here and be good and quiet while we work. But don't make him go downstairs and read. That's a cruel and unusual punishment, Snape. Harry can stay'.

But Dumbledore didn't say anything like that. As a matter of fact, he didn't say anything at all.

That was fine. They could be that way. Harry didn't care. He stepped carefully down the steep and narrow steps. He considered sitting at the kitchen table, but then decided that the sitting room would be better. The chair he'd curled up in the night before had been really comfy, and plus he could keep an eye on his mum. He wouldn't disturb her while she was sleeping, but if he could at least see her, that would be good.

He found her still sleeping on the couch. She'd rolled over, so he couldn't see her face, but at least she was there. Settling into his chair, he kicked off his trainers and socks, and curled his feet up underneath himself.

He glared at the book clenched in his hands. He'd always hated reading. It wasn't that he couldn't read. But he wasn't so good at it either, and that made it not much fun. No one liked to do things they hated.

Harry had heard of Robin Hood before. It was the man that robbed the rich to feed the poor. He remembered Dudley watching a film one time, maybe two or three years ago, about Robin Hood. It had looked like a fun story (better than reading the book), but Aunt Petunia hadn't let Harry watch it. She made him go outside to weed the garden, even though he'd already weeded it the day before. But that was all right, he'd concluded. Robin Hood was probably stupid anyway, and besides, you weren't supposed to rob people.

Now he finally had a chance to know the whole Robin Hood story, but he had to read the dumb book to find out. Why did Dudley always get the easy way out of things? He hadn't had to read the book. Snape just liked to make things hard on Harry, like making him read. That wasn't even fair.

Harry opened the book to some random page and was delighted to find that there were pictures scattered through it. Not every single page had pictures, but if you had to read a book, it was always better have one with pictures. They made things more interesting. And plus, if you were having problems with one particularly difficult word, the pictures could help you figure out what it said. Sometimes, if you were really lucky, you could figure out the whole book from just the pictures.

And this book had magnificent pictures. For a book so old and dingy looking on the outside, it was truly colourful and bright on the inside. At least, on the pages with pictures. They were simple, unmoving Muggle pictures, but they looked so real, Harry wouldn't have been at all surprised if the arrows shot right off the page.