Harry woke with a start in the night, bolting upright and gasping for breath. A quick glance around the dark room reassured him that he was still in Snape's house and not in that cramped little room made of mirrors.

He glanced over to make sure his mum was still sleeping in her own bed and gratefully recalled how Snape had mentioned that she was such a deep sleeper.

The furious pounding in his chest slowed and Harry released a deep breath. It had been the same dream he'd been having since his run-in with Quirrell at the end of term. Quirrell took off that turban and there was Voldemort's face on the back of his head. But for some reason, it was much more frightening in his nightmares, because during those he couldn't run or scream or do anything. He couldn't help himself. And instead of Quirrell getting burned every time he touched him, Harry went up in flames instead.

Harry scowled. Even when he'd been a little kid, he'd had nightmares. But he blamed that on Dudley and Piers. The other boys used to hold him down in front of the telly and force him to watch scary horror films until he was too scared to go to sleep at night. Those scenes and sounds still came back to haunt him at times.

Yawning, Harry grabbed up his glasses and crept out of the room as quietly as he could. Snape's bedroom door was shut, thankfully, because Harry doubted he could have got past Snape's room otherwise. The hall and staircase were nearly pitch black, so he took the steep steps extra slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the dark.

When he got to the kitchen, he switched on the light and squinted at the sudden brightness. Grabbing a glass out of the cupboard he filled it with cold water and drank it down. As the liquid in the glass disappeared, so did the vivid images in his head.

By the time the glass of water was gone, so was the nightmare. He felt calmer. More rooted into reality. He felt sleepy again. Then he went back upstairs to bed.

Despite his loss of sleep during the night, Harry woke up early again the next morning. It was raining outside, making the gloomy view outside the window even drearier than usual. He went downstairs to find Snape sitting at the table, reading the newspaper.

Harry dropped down into a chair.

Snape gave him a quick glance and wordlessly handed him a napkin.

Harry rolled his eyes, but rubbed his eyes and face with it anyway. He tossed it onto the table when he was done.

"In the rubbish bin, Potter." Snape lowered the newspaper. "Even you should know better than to toss that on the table where people eat."

"Sorry," Harry mumbled and went to go drop the napkin in the bin beneath the sink. He came and sat back down. "It's dumb anyway."

Snape frowned. "Dried drool on a little boy's face and sleepy eyes are not a sight anybody wants to see at the breakfast table, I assure you. Better you learn that now, before you are someday trying to impress some silly Gryffindor girl."

"Girls are gross." Harry wrinkled his nose.

"Ah. Ms. Granger, as well then?"

"She's not... well, Hermione's different."

Snape picked up his newspaper once again. "The longer you have that philosophy, the better."

"Huh?"

But Snape had evidently dropped the subject. He waved his wand and a glass of milk floated over to the table, landing next to the pile of toast.

"Eat," Snape instructed.

Eagerly, Harry grabbed up the glass of milk, but then paused to give Snape a careful look. He realized that he'd just had an almost normal conversation with the man.

Brushing it off, Harry brought the glass of milk to his lips. He loved milk; not quite as much as he loved pumpkin juice, but it was pretty close. Except for when he was at Hogwarts, he rarely got any. The Dursleys never bought much of it, since they didn't drink it by itself. Dudley thought it was gross and always preferred more sugary drinks. But Harry thought milk was wonderful.

But this milk wasn't. Harry nearly choked at the unexpected taste in his first sip. Swallowing hard, he cast accusatory eyes towards Snape, but the man wasn't paying him any attention.

"What did you put in my milk?" he demanded.

Snape didn't even look up. "What makes you think I did anything of the sort?"

Harry's mouth dropped open. Snape really was trying to poison him. He should have known. He shouldn't have ever let himself think for even an instant that Snape might be okay. He wasn't even twelve yet and he was going to die.

"It tastes funny! I know you did something to it!"

This time Snape did put aside his paper and gave Harry a curt nod. "How very astute of you. But you've already had a sip. Had that been a lethal poison, you would have most likely dropped dead by now. You should already know that nutritive potions have a very distinct smell. Did you not notice it?"

A nutritive potion? Harry sniffed at the white liquid, noticing now that with the usual slightly sour smell of milk, there was a faint smell of vanilla wafting from it. He took another tiny sip, this time prepared for the extra flavour. It wasn't so bad when he was expecting it. Actually, it was on the verge of being good. But there was no way he'd tell Snape that.

"How was I supposed to know what it was?" Harry put the glass down. "It could've been anything."

"This is a very simple potion. You brewed it in class only six weeks ago. Don't you remember?"

Harry did remember, now that Snape brought it up. But Harry was also quite certain that his potion had come out smelling more like rotting onions than vanilla.

As if Snape was reading his mind, he sneered, "Of course, that was one of your more abysmal attempts in brewing. I happen to recall the classroom being overcome by the odour of rotting vegetation."

Grimacing, Harry pushed the milk away. He had tried. He always tried hard in class, but sometimes it was still too hard and potions was the worst. There were too many things you had to get just right. Harry had hoped that it would be more like cooking, and you could kind of guess and change things if you wanted to. Harry liked cooking.

Snape nudged the milk back over to him. "Drink it."

"But why?"

"Because, Potter, you are a runt. That may be help to you in Quidditch, but not later in life." Snape's eyes flickered upward, and then he leaned forward. "I promised your mother I would help care for you this summer, and if that means shoving a nutritive potion down your throat every morning, I have no qualms about doing exactly that."

A vision of Snape yanking Harry's mouth open and pouring buckets of gross looking potions down his throat made Harry want to gag. He pulled the glass back in front of him, gave it a careful look, and took another sip.

"All of it." Snape's gaze darkened. "And while we are on the subject, food will not be wasted in this household. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded, tearing a piece of dry toast in half and stuffing some in his mouth. He would never waste food. Dudley did all the time, but Harry had been hungry enough to know better.

Snape went back to his paper, finally allowing Harry to eat his breakfast in peace. He considered what Snape had said about promising to help take care of him. He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. Did that mean Snape could give him detention too? The idea of scrubbing cauldrons all summer long didn't sound appealing at all.

Besides, he didn't need taken care of. Harry could take care of himself just fine. He always did, didn't he? What could Snape possibly do for him?

Harry finished his toast, chasing the contents down with the rest of his milk. When he sat the glass back down, Snape waved a hand towards the stairs.

"If you're finished, then go get dressed. This may be summer, but you will not stay in your sleep clothes all day long."

Harry hopped out of his chair and started for the stairs.

"Potter?"

Harry stopped and looked over his shoulder.

Snape sat his coffee cup down. "If I go upstairs after your bath again to find that you left a trail of water on the floor from the bathtub to your bed, you will not like the consequences. Is that clear?"

Harry swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"Then you are excused."

Needing no other encouragement, Harry turned and took the stairs two at a time.

Later that morning Harry was leaning over the back of the sofa. He had the curtains pulled aside so that he could watch the rain pelt the cobblestone streets. He had very much wanted to go outside and explore the neighbourhood today, but he was beginning to doubt that the thunderstorm would let up in time.

Just an hour earlier, Snape had left the house, saying he would be gone for a few hours. Harry didn't ask him where he was going, because he'd looked to be in a worse mood than he was usually in. So Harry had sat quietly on the sofa and watched Snape step into the fireplace. Snape told him it was called a "Floo" and had grumbled something about magical properties and transportation. Harry had just nodded, like he understood.

After Snape disappeared from the hearth, Harry had investigated it, being careful to stay outside of it. The idea of suddenly disappearing off to who-knows-where didn't sound appealing in the slightest.

He'd heard his mum get up not too long afterwards and turn the shower on. He was eager for her to come downstairs, after such a quiet and lonely morning.

Tracing a long crack in the glass with his finger, Harry released a small sigh. Very rarely did he feel like this; bored and empty, with nothing to do and nowhere to play. At the Dursleys', if he hadn't been busy with chores or school, then he had been sure to make his self scarce. He played for hours down at the park on some days. On others, he would roam the neighbourhood, making up fun things to do as he went along. Hogwarts hadn't been much different, except that he had friends to do fun things with.

But here at Snape's house, Harry was bored already. The house was so small and from what Harry had seen out the back window, the garden wasn't anything to boast about. But the neighbourhood, although gloomy and cramped, was interesting looking. Harry was sure that if it would just stop raining then he could get back to having fun again.

Thunder rumbled again, shaking the house just slightly. Giving up completely, he leaned his forehead against the window pane, enjoying the feel of the cool glass. He yawned and let his heavy eyes fall shut.

"You look like you're ready for a nap," his mum's voice carried over to him.

Harry twisted around to find her standing in the doorway. He loved hearing her speak. Her voice wasn't high and shrilly like Aunt Petunia's, or raspy like Aunt Marge's. It wasn't brisk like Professor McGonagall or even overly sweet like some of the ladies he met in the supermarket.

Her voice was filled with just the right amount of kindness and warmth, that when she sat on the sofa at night and spoke, Harry felt safe enough to fall asleep. And in the morning when she came downstairs and greeted him, he wanted to run over and hug her, even though he didn't.

At the same time, there was something else and he wasn't sure exactly what to call it. There was an emotion in her voice when she talked to him, one he was sure he couldn't remember being directed at him before. But he liked the warm feeling it gave him.

"I'm not tired," he told her now, resisting the urge to rub at his traitorous eyes. "Just bored."

She pushed a strand of damp hair out of her face. "Well, do you want me to do something with you?"

Harry shrugged. He wasn't used to findingsomething to do. Something usually just found him.

She wandered over to the sofa and looked over his head out the window. Folding her arms across her chest, she grimaced.

"Yeah, it's nasty looking out there, isn't it?" With a sigh, she stepped back again. Then, as if just realizing they were alone, she glanced about the room. "Where's Severus at? Did he leave already?"

Harry nodded. "He said he'd be back in a few hours. Do you know where he went?"

"The Ministry of Magic to look up an old friend, so that I can write him a letter. His name is Remus."

"Oh... was he dad's friend too?"

She gave him a fond smile. "A very good friend. You know, I'm kind of surprised you don't know him. I thought he might've visited you once every so often."

Harry shrugged one shoulder. He had never even heard of such a strange name. He was pretty sure he would remember if a man named Remus had come to see him.

"Harry, let's just talk, okay?" His mum lowered herself onto the sofa. "Why don't you tell me about your friends?"

His mouth dropped open, but he covered for it quickly by forcing out, "Um, okay."

He slid down to sit on the sofa and pulled his bare feet up underneath him. A quick glance at his mum told him that she was waiting expectantly and he searched his mind for something he could say.

"Well, I met Ron Weasley on the train in September. He's in Gryffindor too and he likes Quidditch a lot. Then there's Hermione and she's super smart. She's always reading books or studying or something. She can be kind of bossy sometimes, but we just try and ignore her when she gets like that."

As Harry went on, he found he didn't have to really think so much, but just let the words come. It was easy, because his mum didn't say a whole lot. Sometimes she would hold up a hand and ask a question or laugh at a funny story, but for the most part, she was quiet, saying nothing at all.

She was listening.Harry could feel it and he soaked that feeling up, not caring any more that he was rambling and might not even be making sense sometimes. No one had ever been interested in his life before he came to Hogwarts, and even then, no one had been interested in him. They wanted to hear about the Boy-Who-Lived; not Harry.

But his mum didn't care about the Boy-Who-Lived. He knew she didn't because she didn't ask him any stupid questions about that night or anything about Voldemort. She wanted to hear about how his favourite colour was red; about how being a Seeker was and how he liked flying. What was his favourite subject in school? And what did he like to eat?

Harry told her all of this without reservation. He told her about how Hagrid had come and told him that he was a wizard and about how he'd taken him to Diagon Alley. She listened even more closely at this part. He could tell by the ways her eyes narrowed just slightly and the way she stopped twirling her finger in her hair.

However, when he reached the part of the story about how he, Ron, and Hermione had gone looking for the Stone, Harry faltered. He didn't want to worry her. But after gauging her reaction, he pressed on because he had an idea that she would want to know and, honestly, Harry didn't want to keep any secrets from her. He wanted his mum to understand everything. Besides, if Snape told her about that adventure first, she might get the entirely wrong story and Harry didn't want that to happen.

When he finally finished the story of his first year, he sat there quietly, just thinking. All of a sudden, his brain just felt tired. His mum went into the kitchen and she brought back some glasses of cold water, which Harry drank with earnest.

He drained the glass and put it down on the coffee table. He turned to his mum only to find her watching him, an almost melancholic smile on her face.

"Thank you." She sat her own glass down.

"For what?"

"Just for telling me about you. These are things I've always wondered, but could only guess about. I haven't got to watch you grow up, not like I was supposed to." She gave a grim twist of the mouth and folded her hands into her lap. "Your dad and I used to talk all the time about what kind of things you'd get into at school."

Harry's lips curled into a half smile. "Can you tell me about Dad?"

She gave him a half smile. "Your dad was wonderful, sweetheart. He was one of the best men I ever knew. What is it you want to know?"

Harry didn't know exactly. He was beginning to feel connected to his mum in a way he never had, but he wanted to feel connected to his dad too. "Everything."

"Okay then." His mum released a small laugh. Quieting down, she said, "Your dad smiled all the time. Very rarely did I ever see him without a big grin on his face. Even when he was sleeping, he smiled. He loved to have a good time, and when he was a student, that got him into lots of trouble. But as he grew older, he learned when the appropriate time was for such fun and when it wasn't.

"His favourite colour was green, but he would never admit that because it was a Slytherin colour. He always talked about learning to drive a car, like Muggles do, but he never did learn."

It was like a switch had been turned on and the need for more information poured over Harry in a desperate rush. What had his dad liked to eat? Did he like to read? Who were his friends?

His mum continued on, much the same way he himself had gone on with his own stories. Except instead of asking questions, like she had, Harry stayed completely silent. He didn't want to interrupt, half afraid if he did, she would stop talking.

People had told him a few things here and there about his father before, but it had always been like hearing a great legend. Always about how nice a man he'd been or what a great Chaser he was. Never the little things; the things that made him real. Things his mum was telling him.

"Your dad loved sports of all kind, including the Muggle kind. You probably know this, but his favourite game was Quidditch and he was quite determined to make sure you played for Gryffindor. His friends would come over to the house all the time, and I swear, they were trying to make sure you could fly before you could even walk."

His mum was watching him with a happy smile. Not a sad or wistful one. It was just happy.

"Your dad didn't take his schooling very seriously until he was older. Probably around sixth year, I think it was." Her brow furrowed. "But he loved Defense class, and he was also quite good at Transfiguration. He was an Animagus. Do you know what that is?"

Harry shook his head.

"An Animagus is what they call a witch or wizard who can transform their body into an animal form. Not everyone can manage it, and even when they do, it's not usually until they're much older than you are. But your dad could do it. His form was a stag."

"Wow," Harry breathed. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what his dad's stag might have looked like; grand, no doubt, and strong. "Can you do that too?"

"Oh, goodness no." She made a face. "I was always rubbish at Transfiguration. I'm much better at Charms and Potions. Your dad used to tease me all the time, any time I'd ask him to transfigure something."

A slight, dull ache began in the pit of his stomach and he pulled his legs up, wrapping his hands around his knees. Talking about his dad was supposed to have made him feel closer to him. But so far that hadn't happened. The hole in his heart seemed to have been dug deeper. These weren't memories. They were just facts; true, more intimate facts than he'd ever heard before, but still just facts.

In that moment the cold, hard truth poured over Harry. As much as he longed for it, he would never have the relationship with his dad that Ron had with Mr. Weasley. Or even like the one Dudley and Uncle Vernon shared when they joked around or fought over the radio in the car. He didn't have any memories like those and he never would. It wouldn't happen. His dad was gone.

The ache transformed rapidly into a sharp pain and moved up through his body into his chest. He gave a sudden gasp for breath.

His mum blinked at him. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

Harry moved his gaze to her and he silently scolded himself for thinking so selfishly. What was he doing feeling sorry for himself? He was being ungrateful. He'd always known his dad was dead. He'd always thought his mum was too, and he was very lucky to even have her now. Wishing for a dad was just being greedy and it certainly wasn't fair to his mum. He didn't need a father.

"Harry?" she prodded, putting a hand on his elbow.

Giving it no second thoughts, Harry threw himself at his mother. She seemed surprised, but only for the briefest second, because she didn't hesitate to wrap her arms around him and hug him tight. Feeling a hand came up to cup the back of his head, he buried his face in her hair. He squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled, savouring the scent of vanilla and soap. This was something he didn't ever want to forget. If for some reason something terrible happened and he never saw his mother again, he wanted to remember what she smelled like; what it felt like to have her hug him.

"Are you okay?" she murmured, moving her hand down to his back.

"I'm fine." He wound his arms around her neck. "I just – I'm glad you're here. Don't leave."

He wouldn't have thought it possible, but she held him tighter.

"I won't. I'm never going anywhere without you. I promise, okay?"

Harry had been lied to and let down far too many times, but he didn't doubt her. She meant what she said.

They sat like that for some time, until the Floo flared up, signalling Snape's return. Before the man could come through, Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat and excused himself from the room.

After dinner, Severus stood downstairs studying the cellar walls, calculating the numbers and measurements in his head. The cellar would work as a potions room, but it needed to be bigger. With some magic, it could be slightly enlarged. Not much, but every bit would help.

Busy footsteps above told him that Lily and Potter were still in the kitchen. Severus hoped that Lily had put the brat to work. Potter had been difficult since he had returned from his errands; sulking, glaring, and just petulant in general. After dealing with that, working alone in the cellar had begun to seem a lot more appealing.

The visit to the Ministry had gone about as well as he had expected it to. There had been endless bureaucracy and he had wanted to hex more than a few employees before he located the correct office to inquire about Lupin's location. Once there, he'd had to take a number and wait for over half an hour in the Werewolf Registry office while a burly man in worn robes fretted about his new neighbour.

Afterwards, he paid a quick visit to the Daily Prophet, leaving them an ad to run in the classifieds next week. By the time he'd returned home, he was angry at the human population in general and had been glad to learn Potter was upstairs. But the boy's impudence through dinner was enough to aggravate a patient man and Severus was not in the mood to deal with such childish behaviour. He'd quickly finished his sandwich and abandoned the kitchen for the tranquillity of his soon-to-be potions lab.

Lily would write to Lupin soon, perhaps even that afternoon. What would the wolf think of such a letter? Severus smirked as he scribbled some measurements onto a piece of parchment. Undoubtedly he would be shocked, and preferably suspicious, if he had any brains at all. After he got over the shock, he would want to see Lily and Severus had no intentions of discouraging that.

The very idea already made him slightly jealous, but that meant nothing. Lily was her own person and he was lucky to even have her in his life. He would never try and control her. That's what his father would have done and Severus had long ago vowed to never become that man.

Pushing dark memories from his mind, Severus picked up his wand and stepped away from the long table in the middle of the room. He closed his eyes and inhaled. It would be no good to try and perform such a complicated spell when he was tense.

More ready, he lifted his wand and began to softly chant the spell he had studied earlier that morning. As he slipped in the numbers and measurements, he was pleased to see the walls of the room moving just slightly outward.

Stairs creaking caused his attention to wane and he gave a quick glance behind him to where Potter was preparing to invade the room. He reached an arm out to keep the boy from hopping off the last step.

"Wait," he instructed, not taking his eyes off the moving walls.

Potter sucked in a breath. "How do you do that? Can I help?"

"And bring the house crashing down upon us? I think not. Stay where you are."

The boy clearly needed a lecture on the rules of underage magic, as the one the first years had received upon leaving the school had evidently not gotten through to him. But Severus wasn't inclined to give him one. The Ministry would suspect nothing of magical activity in Baske and the boy needed all the practice he could get. By all rights, Harry Potter should be the most well trained wizard in Britain.

After a few more minutes, Severus was satisfied and pocketed his wand. He turned to Potter to find him sitting on the stairs, his eyes wide.

"That was an area expansion spell. Quite useful, but also dangerous if performed improperly. Now, can I help you?"

Potter lifted his shoulders.

"Shrugging is not an acceptable answer here." Severus took a step closer and crossed his arms. "Do you need something or are you simply out to drive me mad today?"

"I dunno," Potter mumbled, moving his hand to pick at some peeling brown paint on the wall.

Severus swatted his hand away. "Unless you want to repaint that sooner than later, do not pick the wall."

The boy glared up at him and Severus rolled his eyes. "Are you simply feeling insolent then? Well, fortunately I can cure that."

"What's 'insolent'?"

"It means you are being absolutely Gryffindor, Potter, which I will add, is not a compliment." Severus went back to the table and picked up a long handled ladle.

"My mum's a Gryffindor and you like her."

Severus felt his shoulders stiffen. That was true, but it was no great accomplishment for Potter to pick up on such a thing. Severus did nothing to hide the fact that he cared for Lily. But Lily was the only Gryffindor that he had ever cared for.

"That's beside the point."

"No, it isn't."

Severus clenched his hand more tightly around the ladle's handle. "Go and find something to occupy yourself with."

"Like what?"

"Honestly, boy! You have library books upstairs. Go read or write some letters to your friends. Anything. Just leave me be. I don't wish to be bothered."

Potter's shoulders slumped. "Can't I just stay here and watch you? Please?"

Severus tried to keep himself from looking too perplexed. What was it he wanted? To sit around in the drab, cold cellar with him? Even the thought of it was absurd. There was no lost love between the two of them. They had never wanted anything to do with each other in the past. Why start now? Severus saw no reason to and he had certainly never had a problem with denying begging children before.

"No."

Potter cast his eyes downward and picked at another piece of paint. "I'll be quiet."

"Unlikely." Severus flicked his wand, sending a mild stinging hex in his direction.

"Ouch!" Scowling, Potter pulled his hand back and stuck the offended fingers into his mouth.

"I warned you." Severus pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it. He wanted to finish the lab by supper time. "It stopped raining an hour ago. Go out into the back garden for awhile. Perhaps some fresh air will make you less cranky."

"But I'm not."

"Go, Potter!"

Throwing him one more dirty look, Potter turned around and marched up the stairs.

Severus watched him go, satisfied when the door shut above. This is what he had meant when he told Lily he wasn't cut out for parenting or caring for children. Caring for children usually implied you liked them. That was the person who would have given into Potter's sullen pleading and probably would have set up some ridiculous game or activity for him. Severus just wanted to be away from the brat.

The discipline part of parenting Severus knew he could handle. He had no misgivings about standing the boy in the corner or having him scrub floors and cauldrons. If his attitude didn't improve, Potter would find his nose planted in of the two locations.

Going back to organize the utensils on the table, Severus shook his head. If Harry Potter wanted to spend his afternoon in the cellar with him, then the boy must be desperately bored. No one wanted to willingly spend their time with Severus Snape; especially a child. If for some inane reason one did wish to, they would certainly never admit it, much less attempt it.

The boy lacked more sense than Severus had originally thought.