Harry did not expect, ever, to see Severus Snape at the Dursley's kitchen table. The train ride home was fairly uneventful, and the permission slip Sirius had given him was in his pocket. He wasn't sure if it would be accepted, as Snape was now his guardian, but he'd save that conversation for another day in the summer when he knew Snape was in a good mood. 

Harry had dragged his trunk upstairs, not even questioning why the Dursleys hadn't taken it from him, and was in the middle of unpacking a few of his things when the doorbell rang. A muffled conversation a few minutes long then led to Snape, at the kitchen table, with Harry beside him and the Dursleys on the other side. Dudley, fearing another tail, had fled to his room.

"We told you last year that we did not want him back," Petunia started, glaring at both Snape and Harry.

"Yes," Snape acknowledged, sounding like he didn't care one whit. "And the Headmaster I assume has convinced you otherwise."

"Tried to," Vernon gruffed.

"You were there to pick him up from Kings Cross," Snape growled. "And you will put him up for two weeks."

"And if we say no?" Petunia asked, shrewdly staring down Snape.

"Then you quite possibly sentence him to death," Snape plainly said, holding an envelope in his hands and turning it over slowly, tapping the edges of it against the table. "He knows of the blood wards, and how you, Petunia, protect him from the Dark Lord."

Vernon's body tensed at the word 'wards', though it was very clear to Harry that Uncle Vernon knew exactly what was being discussed.

"If he knows now, then he should be far more appreciative of what we've done for him," Aunt Petunia waspishly said.

"Oh? A thirteen year old should be grateful you've sheltered him after his parents were murdered? Spare me the theatrics. This boy is not a threat to you."

"He isn't normal," Vernon spat, slamming his fist to the table. "Not like us."

Snape opened the envelope and pulled out eight fifty-pound notes.

"Two weeks. I trust four-hundred quid is more than sufficient to cover his food costs."

Vernon and Petunia gave each other a look, one that Harry couldn't quite understand, but he knew a decision was being made.

"Fourteen days," Vernon finally said, holding his hand out for the notes. Snape handed them over, and stood from the table. He was wearing Muggle clothes - black trousers, a dark blue dress shirt, and stylish black shoes.

"I should also warn you, Dursley, that I am now Potter's legal guardian. Any neglect or mistreatment and I will not hesitate to prosecute."

Uncle Vernon followed Snape to the door, probably to make sure that he actually left.

"You're the official guardian? Why don't you just take him then?" Vernon asked, his voice harsh.

Snape flung the door open and gave Vernon a completely withering look.

"The blood wards, Dursley. Do try not to be a complete moron."

And with that, Snape swept out into the summer night.

Harry stood awkwardly by the cupboard door, the very one he used to live in.

Uncle Vernon turned to look at him, a very calculating look.

"All right, Harry. Two weeks, and we'll all be rid of each other. You just stay in your room, out of our way, and I'm sure the time will pass quickly."

There was an underlying ‘or else' regarding Harry leaving his room and causing trouble.

Harry gave a shrug, before slowly climbing up the stairs. He could handle two weeks. Just when he'd reached the top, in the shadow of the landing, he heard Vernon whisper to his aunt, in a voice that wasn't exactly quiet.

"All he has to do is say we treated him properly, and we'll demand another £400 from that freak when he comes for the boy."

...

Dudley was home on Mondays and Thursdays. For whatever reason, his summer school was not in session for the entire week, though as it kept Dudley out of Harry's hair for three days, he didn't particularly care.

Except this week it was pouring rain, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had gone out for the day, and Dudley had a chemistry exam on Friday. Harry knew this, as his cousin had been whinging about it the entire week, and was currently downstairs, in the kitchen, studying. Or at least he was supposed to be studying, though the constant swearing rather hinted that not much was being absorbed.

"Not so easy the second time ‘round?" Harry asked, wandering into the kitchen. It was his fifth day back in Little Whinging, and he was bored. Somehow knowing that he'd get to leave at the end of next week made the days go even slower than normal.

"Shut it, Potter," Dudley growled. He'd spread his books out on the kitchen table, partially to inspire studiousness, but mostly to prove to Aunt Petunia that he'd been doing the work all day.

Harry filled a glass with water and leaned against the counter, watching his cousin cover the textbook page with a sheet, and then begin furiously scribbling down in his notebook.

"What's the test on?" Harry asked, curious. He'd spent three years writing magical tests, and had rather forgotten the sort of questions on Muggle ones.

"Chemistry," Dudley growled, still writing.

Harry was in just socks, and thus was able to slip around the kitchen and behind Dudley quickly enough that his cousin didn't notice right away.

"The periodic table?" Harry asked, glancing over Dudley's shoulder.

"Yes," Dudley snapped, nearly tearing the paper with his pencil. Harry had moved back around the table, to the spot opposite Dudley's, and was trying to read upside down.

"Real chemistry, not that stupid puff and smoke magic of yours."

Harry snorted.

"Real chemistry, right. Unlike yours, of course. That's why you've got ‘naraminium' written down for Na?"

"Naraminium is there because that's what it..."

Harry huffed and sat back in the chair across from Dudley. Normally he didn't care what sort of grades his cousin got, but this was downright irritating.

"Na is sodium, you idiot. It's like Batman. You know, Na na na na na na na na Batman? Any man in a cape who fights crime is worth his salt."

"That is utterly stupid," Dudley said, after a few seconds of staring at Harry.

"Is it?" Harry asked, pushing Dudley's book further away. "Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, fluorine, neon, sodium, magnesium, aluminium, silicone, phosphorus, sulphur, chlorine, argon, potassium, and calcium. There. First twenty."

Harry calmly finished his water while his cousin scanned the table, double-checking that Harry had been right.

"How'd you... never mind," Dudley said, scowling at the book. "Probably just a stupid trick."

"Of course it is. That's how you learn it, Dudders, because if you don't know it for potions class, Snape hexes you."

"Sure he does," Dudley said, his tone sour. "Our professors have canes."

"Well aren't you lucky," Harry sarcastically said, remembering just how often Dudley had smacked him with said cane, when he'd first gotten his Smelting's uniform when they were eleven. Harry stood up again and plucked an apple out of the fruit bowl on the table, which was pointedly ignored by his cousin.

"You aren't even trying, are you? Look, there. That's boron, rhymes with moron, you should be able to remember that."

"Shut it," Dudley grumbled, as Harry walked the few steps into the living room and flopped down on his Aunt's fancy couch. She wasn't here, so she couldn't screech at him for lying on his back with his feet over the armrest.

"Do you have to know all of it? That'll take all summer, that will," Harry asked, tossing up the apple.

"Just the first twenty and five extra. Then when I'm done this stupid course, no more chemistry."

"No more protons, no more neutrons, no more electrons, no more..." said Harry, from the couch.

"Go away, or I'll tell Mum and Dad you wouldn't let me study," Dudley threatened.

"I wouldn't let you? Hah, like they'll believe that," Harry snorted, tossing the apple. He knew they absolutely would believe Dudley, but he didn't think Dudley would actually tell.

"Look," Harry said, almost hitting the ceiling with the apple. "You need to use a saying to remember the rows. Something stupid, making use of the first letters of each element."

Dudley scoffed. "And how am I supposed to do that with Pb? There's no bloody word for that, whatever it is."

"Oh for god's sake, it's lead," Harry said. "And be grateful you don't have to memorize the alchemical symbols as well."

"In no way does Pb look anything like the word lead," Dudley argued.

"Then remember it by something silly, like salt and Batman," Harry retorted, snatching his left hand out on a funny angle to catch the wayward apple. Harry could almost hear the wheels in Dudley's brain slowly grinding as he tried to think of a way to memorize Pb equalling lead.

"Lead's a funny one," Harry said, exasperated by how thick his cousin was being. "There's all that saying about lead bullets and killing people, but when we mixed it with graphorn powder and caesium it brought Neville's toad right back to life..."

Harry shot up from the couch and completely missed catching the apple as it crashed back down onto the side table.

"Graphorn?" Dudley asked, a disgusted look on his face. "Don't tell me it's another bloody element."

"Neville's toad wasn't quite dead, just under a spell, but it brought him back to life," Harry muttered. "That's it."

"What's it? A dead toad is going to help me pass my exam?" Dudley asked, clearly nearing the limit of tolerated interaction with Harry.

"No, you'll probably fail it again," Harry bluntly said. "But I've sorted out my problem."

He slipped out of the room, thumping up the stairs as Dudley started swearing at his textbook again.

Harry's trunk was in his room this summer, all of his possessions still in it, and not a single thing was locked in the cupboard under the stairs. Harry figured that because he was leaving so soon, his Uncle didn't want to bother with having Harry's stuff spread out through the house. And likely thought that Harry wouldn't cause trouble if he were only there for fourteen days.

Hedwig chirped in her sleep as Harry dug through his clothes and books, before pulling out his Potions notebook. He yanked out the folded parchment inside and spread it over his bed, waiting for the Periodic Table of Elements, Wizard's Edition, to settle.

The elements arranged themselves in the normal pattern, and Harry watched the alchemical symbols lazily match up to their elements.

Harry took out his small notebook he'd taken from Snape's, and flipped it open. Graphorn, Runespoor, lethifold leather, caesium, and lead. He didn't remember exactly what had been in the potion they'd used on Neville's frog (though Goyle had actually lost points from Snape over the spell he'd used), but Harry was certain Snape would know.

He pulled a spare bit of parchment out of his trunk, smoothing it out, and started writing out his suspicions. Hedwig gave Harry a dirty look when he fully woke her, but Harry had bought quite a few owl treats by post order at Hogwarts and from those she was easily swayed.

As he watched Hedwig fly out the window, aiming north west as she left, Harry sat down on the bed. The rush from figuring out the potion had fled quickly. Regeneration, that's what Voldemort was going for. Harry knew, in the back of his mind, that that was always the plan. Between the Philosopher's Stone and the memory draining Ginny in order to sustain itself, Harry knew that was the general idea.

But the potion concerned Harry, as it wasn't of a limited supply. It wasn't a single stone, and it wasn't a single diary. It was something anyone (well, not quite anyone) could make, and all Voldemort needed was someone loyal to make it for him. Someone like Peter Pettigrew.

Harry sighed, folding up the table of elements and tossing it back into the trunk. He'd been very angry with himself for letting Pettigrew go, and even Dumbledore's speech afterward about sparing Peter's life and the benefits of that hadn't helped much. He needed a distraction until he got a reply from Snape.

Harry stared at the folded parchment on top of the clothes. May as well help his idiot cousin then.

.....

Snape's reply came around eleven that night, just as Harry was drifting off to sleep. He sprung out of bed to let Hedwig in, for although the Dursleys let him keep his stuff in his room, they'd sort of vetoed the idea of Harry sending messages out.

It was more than a note though, and Harry unwrapped the package to find a pad of parchment paper and matching envelopes. He smirked, not allowing himself to laugh lest the Dursleys hear him and complain. Apparently Snape had taken offense to his scrap parchment letter paper, and sent a new batch.

John,

Must you shatter my rather strong image of you lazing about during the summer by referencing chemical elements? One might assume you are a tolerable student.

However unbelievable it may be, your hypothesis has a strong basis that will either be confirmed or denied at a meeting scheduled in a month's time. Until then, continue to stay out of trouble, and try not to injure yourself, especially in public. Surely by now you have guessed the next potential ingredient in the potion.

S. Snape

Harry folded the letter up after reading it once more, placing it in the envelope of important papers in his trunk. He didn't actually know what the next ingredient was, as he couldn't remember what exactly had gone into the potion that revived Trevor. Snape's remark about not injuring himself was blaringly obvious though, and Harry tried to reassure himself that he was mistaken, and that Voldemort would not be coming after him for his blood.

...

Lower Tarrow looked exactly the same as Harry remembered, though some of the details were less pristine than those in his dreams. The dreams had been a fleeting image of the sort of life he wanted, living in a small village as John Somebody, an unfamous John who wasn't The Boy Who Lived.

He put his hand up to run his fingers through his hair, as they passed over the mill bridge, and was not surprised in the least to find his hair was the same shortly cropped style that it had been the last time Harry was disguised as John.

Snape had picked him in at the Dursleys, in a fifteen minute time span that involved Harry double checking Dudley's second bedroom to ensure he'd packed everything, and Snape literally laughing at Uncle Vernon's request for more money. Aunt Petunia had looked as cross as ever as Harry left, though she'd refrained from saying a word.

"Are you done dawdling? I would like to eat dinner sometime before midnight," Snape asked, his voice carrying over his shoulder as he easily navigated the stone steps down to his front door. It was tucked away behind the edge of the bridge, more so than Harry remembered, and the stone steps were less friendly to the wheels of Harry's trunk trolley.

The house smelled of pasta, and Harry took a deep breath as he walked in. He hung his sweater up on the hook by the front door, and glanced about the living room. It was tidy, filled with books and knickknacks, and Harry could still see the Nintendo tucked away on the shelf. He'd been looking forward to playing it all during exam study time.

"Can I sleep in the office again?" Harry asked, his voice echoing down the hall to the kitchen. Harry assumed Snape had disappeared to there, and he was proven right seconds later when Snape emerged from the kitchen with a cooking ladle in his hand.

"I suppose," Snape answered, though he seemed to be watching Harry carefully.

"I won't go through your stuff," Harry petulantly said. He pushed open the door to the office, pulling in his trunk, and stopped. It was the same office Harry had slept in the summer before, but different as well. The wallpaper was still the same, and there were still bookcases against two of the walls, but the bookcases were missing some of the lower shelves, and in the corner of the room, in the nook of the bookcases, was not the cot. There was an actual bed tucked away there, a single bed with a set of midnight blue and grey sheets on it.

The desk on the wall parallel to the bed was almost identical to the one that had been in the room last summer, but it was smaller and much neater. Harry noted that the supplies on it were brand new - parchment rolls, quills, ink, pencil, even a maths set - though the map above the desk was the same pin-marked one as before. He turned to open the cupboard, and found it had been emptied in preparation for Harry's clothes, save for two old jumpers and a pair of thick work trousers.

"Dinner is in ten minutes, I expect you will be unpacked by then."

Harry nearly dropped the trunk on his toe as he turned to look in the doorway, where Snape had been standing and observing.

"Uh, yes," Harry said, blinking slowly. "Yes. And thanks."

Snape studied him for another moment, as if looking for some sort of story or memory, before nodding and returning to the kitchen.

Harry left his trunk leaning against the bed, and slowly turned around the room. Some of the bookcase shelves were empty, waiting for whatever books were in Harry's trunk. The bed looked incredibly comfortable, and there was a pair of slippers underneath the edge of it. When Harry looked in the cupboard again to start putting away his clothes, he found a shaving kit with toiletries in there - wizarding toiletries mixed in with Muggle soaps and toothpaste.

Harry smiled to himself as he put his books up on the bookcases, and the coins and bits of paper and quill nubs from his pocket on the desk. Opening the drawers confirmed his suspicions - they weren't empty, but the papers and things left inside could all be of use to Harry.

He shut the drawers, leaving his things mostly unpacked, and kicked off his shoes. The slippers were nice and warm, and though they were too large, a quick spell shrunk them down to size. After two weeks at the Dursleys, he was away in peace and quiet.

"It's been fifteen minutes, can't you count?" Snape's bellow broke Harry's concentration and he smiled.  He was certainly not looking forward to telling Sirius whom his legal guardian now was, but hopefully that day wouldn't come for a while yet. Harry flicked out the light in his room, no, in the office, remembering the conversation about names that he'd had with Snape, during the memory lesson. Walking down the hall toward the smell of pasta and garlic bread, Harry was determined to think of a much better name for Snape than ‘Uncle Sebastian.'

....

The kitchen had been rearranged as well, and Harry's eyes quickly jumped to the desk that was in the corner nearest the kitchen table. It looked to have been fitted in with the table, and was neater than the desk in Snape's office normally was. The potions bench was still set up along with wall where the mill wheel was, and it had one giant cauldron on it with ingredients lined up beside the cauldron.

"You will have a curfew," Snape suddenly said, as he started serving himself.

"A curfew? There's fifty houses in the village, and one corner shop. Where would I go?" Harry asked, standing up and getting a plate from the cupboard when he remembered that Snape definitely wouldn't be making a plate for Harry.

"Fifty-seven," Snape corrected, sifting through the pasta sauce to take most of the meatballs. "And as you have a knack for falling into trouble that shouldn't exist, the curfew stands. Ten pm."

"All right," Harry agreed, shrugging. He'd never really had a curfew before, because Dudley had never let him have friends to hang out with. Not that he'd seen many kids in Lower Tarrow when he was here last summer.

"You will be expected to help out with chores around the house, and to keep your room clean. This is in addition to the lessons that will be continuing, as well as time spent researching."

"Sure," Harry said.

Snape sat down at the table and dumped an alarming amount of parmesan cheese onto his pasta.

"You will keep that anklet on," Snape finished up, mixing the cheese into the noodles. "This is a well protected home, and the village quite safe, but as I mentioned before, you have a knack for trouble. I'm certain I will get irritated and kick you outside once in a while, so you must wear it."

"I used it in the Shack, didn't I?" Harry grumbled, snatching the cheese away from Snape. Part of him disliked being treated like a young child, but another part of him, mostly kept buried away, boasted the fact that someone cared enough to make him wear such an anklet.

"That reminds me, Ron mentioned something about a Quidditch World Cup this summer? Do you think they still have tickets available?"

"I haven't any idea," Snape answered, picking up a journal from the table to read as he ate. Harry was surprised to see that it was a Muggle science journal.

The room was quiet and cosy for the next few minutes as they ate, and Harry felt really relaxed for the first time that summer. He'd survived the year, survived the Dursleys, and knew that now that he was at Snape's, he wouldn't be alone against whatever would come looking for him.

"Oh," Harry suddenly said, spearing a meatball with his fork. "Exactly how strong are the protections around the house?"

"Why?" Snape asked, not looking up from the article.

"Well, Sirius is on the run right now, but I think he won't exactly be pleased to know you're my guardian. And that I ...er, asked you to be."

A rather sneaky smile lit up Snape's face, and it was one that made Harry a bit cross to see because Snape used it only when he was about to make fun of Gryffindors or take points.

"He won't find himself too welcome here if he tries to visit," Snape said. "And I do recall it was your decision."

"Yeah," Harry said, trailing off. He thought about the day he'd made his decision, and what had gone through this mind as he had. Snape was responsible, teaching him lessons to defend himself against Voldemort, seemed to be actively planning something to prevent Voldemort's return, and he was Head of Slytherin. Snape also seemed to have a healthy suspicion of Dumbledore. Harry had definitely made the right decision with whom he'd chosen, especially when he reminded himself about Sirius's actions for the past year and his sudden out of the blue offer of a home.

"The Dursleys aren't home," Snape repeated, taking a drink from his full glass of milk.

Harry nearly dropped his fork.

"You were eavesdropping?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at Snape.

"Don't be stupid," Snape said twirling more spaghetti around his fork. "You were alone, talking with a person who I still suspect is a mass murderer, and who had earlier kidnapped and injured your friend. Of course I was watching you."

"Right," Harry muttered, having forgotten for a second that from any other person's perception, especially a man who had a bad history with Sirius Black, it would have looked like Harry was in danger.

"So if the Dursleys aren't home, what is?" Snape asked, going back to his article.

Harry thought for a moment, finishing up his dinner and standing up to start the washing up.

"Hogwarts," Harry answered, turning on the taps. In a quieter voice, and facing the window to the mill wheel, he muttered, "I think."

...

The apparition point in Lower Tarrow seemed to be a small grouping of trees just on the other side of the riverbank. Harry didn't know why they couldn't apparate from Snape's own flat, but couldn't think of a way to ask Snape without sounding stupid.

"I thought I'm not allowed to apparate until I'm seventeen," Harry said, following Snape into the trees and watching as the man checked a map.

"You aren't, legally," Snape answered. He folded the map and put it in his pocket.

"Legally," Harry repeated. "So you're going to teach me anyway, because Slytherins don't follow the rules."

"Snapes bend the rules to their liking, so yes, I am teaching you," Snape corrected, reaching forward to yank Harry over to where he was standing. "If you are in serious enough trouble I expect you to ignore the Ministry's rules and get yourself to safety. Understood?"

It was said in such a way that no wasn't even an option. Harry nodded, and stood still beside Snape.

"First, the apparition by normal travel route," Snape said, grasping Harry's arm. The world went a sickening shade of burnt orange and brown, as Harry felt himself being folded inside out.

"Keep it in," Snape muttered, holding strongly to Harry as they landed so he didn't stumble.

"It's getting easier," Harry lied, though at least he was sure he wasn't going to sick up. Mostly sure. "Where are we?"

"Leeds," Snape answered looking around. It was a really windy day out, and not many were in the little park wandering about. Those that were seemed to just be passing through, and had little to no interest in Snape and Harry.

"Anything important here? The potions supplier?" Harry asked, wanting to step away from Snape's grip.

"No, but the co-ordinates are important. Again," Snape said, and just as Harry took a lung full of air to ask something, the world compressed itself into a dizzying array of colours.

They appeared at a gate next to a cemetery, and Harry felt much steadier than the last apparition.

"Guildford," Snape announced, his voice slightly smug. "What is the difference?"

Harry took a few steps, running his finger along the iron fence post of the cemetery they were standing outside of.

"Much smoother landing," Harry said, recalling that he hadn't tumbled when he'd landed. He also hadn't felt like sicking up, and he didn't feel as disorientated as usual.

"No sickness either. It almost seems like I've just stepped out of a shop door. Was that a great circle apparition?"

"Very good," Snape nodded. "For a total distance of two hundred miles. Far less than a trip to Albania, but still much smoother than regular apparition."

"So even a man like Voldemort, who isn't really a man yet, could apparate that distance with as little power as he has?" Harry asked, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"I expect so," Snape answered, watching up the road as a car came into view. "Though I shall not be apparating at random to Albania to find him."

He grabbed Harry's arm again, and after a not so smooth apparition, they landed back in Lower Tarrow.

"And now you will learn to apparate."

"Oh," Harry said, leaning against a tree as he tried to regain some sort of balance. "I suppose I should thank you for doing this before lunch."

"Quite," Snape said, removing a set of red rubber-ish bands from his pocket. "One on each limb."

The bands flew at Harry and dropped to his feet as Harry stared at Snape.

"What are they?"

"They ensure that you stay in one piece whilst learning to apparate. Splinching is something I can reverse, but it does get messy and bothersome," Snape explained, crossing his arms as he waited for Harry to pick them up.

"Splinching? Is that what it sounds like?" Harry asked, a slight note of panic in his voice.

"I will spare you the details. Needless to say, those bands ensure that you can fully concentrate on getting from one place to another, without worrying about leaving part of yourself behind.

Harry slowly put the bands on as Snape conjured two circular rings in the clearing, placing them ten feet apart. Magical bands or not, he didn't have any faith that he'd come out of this lesson unharmed.

....

After a week of being in Lower Tarrow and staying around the house, Harry decided to get out and explore the village. Snape was busy in the kitchen with a potion, so Harry stuck his wand in his pocket and headed out. He'd looked up Lower Tarrow in an atlas in his room, but Upper Tarrow had appeared only as a dot, and the lower village hadn't even appeared.

Harry stepped out into the front garden area of the house and up the steps to the road, noting that the nosy neighbour who'd seen him last summer was still at her windowsill, looking over the street. A glance in the front door window had confirmed that Harry now looked like John, so he shrugged his shoulders and set off.

Their building, the large mill house that had been divided into flats, stood at the edge of the bridge opposite an old school house. It had also been converted into flats, though it had much larger picture windows at the front. The street continued westward, with old stone cottage houses lining the sides of it, the road barely wide enough for cars to park. The main street twisted upward to the north, and Harry saw several little lanes bisecting the road, leading to more small homes that were likely each more than one hundred years old. At the top of the street he could see the spires of the church, and he remembered that the general shop was just a few steps before the church gate.

He saw a road sign as he walked toward the shop, pointing to the northwest for Upper Tarrow, and to the east for London.

Stepping into the shop, Harry found that he was not the only teenager that lived in the village. There was another boy in the back, dressed far fancier than Harry expected one to be during the summer, and he was comparing two different types of juice from the shelf.

"Well, you're new here," the boy said, not taking his eye off the juice.

"Er, yeah," Harry said, picking up some of his own juice. His Aunt had purchased lots for his cousin, but Harry rarely ever got any.

"So who are you then?" the boy continued, almost demanding. "I'm Richard Brook. I go to Eton."

Harry instantly disliked him, and wondered if it was just his luck to meet the Muggle version of Draco Malfoy in this village.

"John," Harry said, casually holding the grape juice under his arm. "John Snape."

The effect was instantaneous, and Richard Brook's face twisted into something ugly as he looked Harry up and down.

"Snape. Fairly certain that's not a name at Eton."

"No, well it wouldn't be," Harry said, smirking a little. "We go to a private boarding school in Scotland. Nice to meet you though."

Harry moved over to the next aisle, still well in hearing range of Richard, as the shop was ridiculously small.

"Wait, that creepy man down at the mill, with the long hair. That's a Snape, isn't it?" Richard asked, coming around the corner and idly picking up a packet of crisps. His face was neutral, but his tone was extremely condescending.

"You mean my Dad?" Harry challenged defensively, snatching a package of biscuits from the shelf beside him. Harry had barely a second to notice that he'd called Snape his father, instead of his uncle, when another boy joined the conversation.

"Piss off, Richie Rich."

Richard scowled, almost hissing at the new boy. Unlike Richard, this boy was dressed in much the same clothing as Harry. Jeans and a regular t-shirt, and his hair looked more of a mess than Harry's did.

"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Sean McTannon," Richard said, plonking a package of expensive biscuits into his basket.

"Right, just marking your little social ladder with the new boy in town?" Sean said, grinning at him. Harry was immediately reminded of the Weasley twins.

Richard muttered something that sounded quite rude, and stormed off to the cash to pay.

"Don't mind him," Sean said, picking up a few chocolate bars on the way down the narrow aisle. "He's a poncy git who likes to put everyone down."

"Yeah, figured," Harry nodded. "We've got people like him at school."

"I'll bet, they're everywhere," Sean said. "You won't see him much though, he lives up the hill past the church and only comes down here with the peasants when he's bored."

"Right," Harry said, fishing in his pocket for some Muggle coins.

"But you're a Snape, eh?" Sean asked, and Harry tensed very slightly. How much should he tell?

"Yes," Harry answered, paying for his food. He tried to sound like it wasn't a lie, wasn't a big deal, and that the Snape family wasn't full of wizards who certainly didn't attend Eton.

"Thought so. You've got that look about you," Sean nodded, confidently. He stuck the chocolate bars he'd bought in his back pocket, and stepped out the shop ahead of Harry.

"What look?" Harry asked, baffled.

"I'm off to my Mum's for the rest of the summer," Sean answered instead. "Hope to meet you again, John."

"What look?" Harry repeated, clutching the biscuits in his hand. Snape had said they were the only wizards in town, hadn't he? And Snape would certainly not go around announcing he was a wizard, so Harry had no idea why Sean was acting so oddly.

"Like you see more of the world than the rest of us," Sean shrugged, then gave a quick wave and wandered off down one of the lanes that Harry had passed by earlier.

On the entire walk home Harry debated with himself about whether he should tell Snape about the two boys he'd met, or to let it be. They were both around his age, or maybe a year older, and seemed to be residents of the town that Snape would probably recognize. But Harry was still stuck on the word he'd said. Dad. He replayed the conversation as he walked, lost in his thoughts all the way back down the main street toward the bridge and the mill house.

Harry wasn't stupid. He wasn't surprised that he'd said it, as the word had been tumbling about in his mind since the night Peter Pettigrew had escaped. But it was far too early to say it aloud, especially to other people in the town who might talk to Snape. Harry had learned at a very early age that the only way to make friends, especially with Dudley around, was to very slowly ingratiate himself in with a group of schoolmates. He'd figured that the same process would work with Snape, as Harry had watched how plenty of fathers and sons had interacted, and Snape seemed to be fitting into that role. Certainly if the office-turned-bedroom, new clothing, and threat against the Dursleys were to be counted, Snape was definitely headed to that role. But it was far too early to tell him that.

Harry didn't want to scare him off, and Dumbledore had made it quite clear that the guardian Harry was to have picked was only for legal matters. Someone to sign forms and take care of taxes or banking or whatever else needed to be done in the background. That was part of the reason Harry had chosen Snape - he trusted the man to do those things, but also suspected that Dumbledore would never imagine that Snape would become any other sort of guardian.

Harry was pretty sure he knew why Dumbledore hadn't suggested Snape either. Perhaps out of a feeling of guilt, Dumbledore had chosen the type of person that would be over-protective and almost...cuddly wasn't the right word, but it was the only thing Harry could think of at the moment. And Harry didn't want that sort of guardian. He'd not grown up with one, and was pretty sure that it would drive him crazy, as well as make him lower his guard due to being too comfortable. He needed someone like Snape, who cared, but kept him on his toes and was fully aware of the danger. Anticipating it, even.

Harry had chosen the right person, but just like in school, Harry knew he had to wait a bit longer yet before he could tell Snape that.

...

A few days before Harry's birthday, Snape announced that he had a meeting to attend at Hogwarts, and would be leaving Harry to his own devices. Harry had been playing Nintendo on and off during the time he'd been in Lower Tarrow, getting much better at Mario Kart, but Snape had told him not to ignore the books on the bookcases in his room. He hadn't banned Harry from playing Nintendo, but he had asserted that reading was extremely productive to fostering imagination, and both imagination and creativity were necessities for getting out of tight spots.

"And don't flood the kitchen," Harry repeated, trying to imitate Snape's gravelly low voice. He'd just made some hot chocolate and was returning to his room (his room!), to check out the books that Snape had left in there. The meeting was to start at seven pm, in a few moments, but Snape had apparated early to pick a few things up from his school office. He didn't know when he'd return, but Harry knew Dumbledore could be particularly long-winded when the mood struck, and so figured it wouldn't be any time soon.

Harry put his hot chocolate on the empty space of shelf next to his bed, which he'd cleared as a side table. Most of the books in the room were boring scholarly ones, but there was a section one shelf up from Harry's side table spot that had fiction. There were mostly children's fiction there, things like Mary Poppins, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, The Hobbit, Gulliver's Travels, Grimm's Fairy Tales, Peter Pan, and The Little Prince. Almost all had been read through numerous times, as the corners of the pages were soft, and the spines were cracked down the middle.

He selected The Hobbit, having heard of it in school. Dudley did not like to read, though his Aunt and Uncle didn't care if Harry did because it was something he could do quietly in his cupboard, letting them forget that he was there.

Rain started softly hitting the window as Harry settled himself into bed, feeling that once again he was in his own little nook, with the bookcases above him. He wasn't claustrophobic, and he rather preferred the shelves overhead, giving him a set space to be in. Harry opened the book, smiling to himself at the absolute silence of the house. There was no Dudley stomping about or yelling at his PlayStation, no Uncle Vernon grumbling about politics, and no catty gossip from Aunt Petunia. Instead, Harry felt warm and comfortable, and lost himself in the tale of Bilbo Baggins.

...

Harry was sleepier than usual when he woke up the next morning, and mid-yawn remembered that he'd only been able to put the book down around three in the morning. A glance at the clock on the desk showed it was nearing nine-thirty, and the pattering on the window told Harry it was still raining.

Harry's mind was still comfortably stuck in Middle Earth, thinking of hobbits and dwarves and elves and dragons. He slowly got out of bed, stretching to the ceiling and listening to see if he could hear Snape. The washroom was between their bedrooms, but it was silent. Harry knew Snape had returned, though, because he was fairly certain that he'd fallen asleep with the book in his hand and his glasses still on, and both were now on the desk.

Reaching for his notebook, Harry wrote down a stupid little thought that had occurred to him. He was supposedly a famous wizard, wasn't he? And he was short, like Bilbo Baggins too. Maybe someone would write a book about his adventures some day. Harry wrote down in point form things that had happened to him already, from the killing curse to his relatives-no, his exile, that sounded better-to the stone, Basilisk, and now werewolf.

In an overly dramatic moment, Harry wrote down the opening line that had just popped into his mind.

"My name is Harry Potter, and this is the story of how I lived."

Harry stuck his tongue out at the page. Maybe he'd write the book himself. People were always going to look at him as the baby who had defeated Voldemort the first time, so why not make some money off his famousness himself?

"Potter, are you getting up any time this century?"

Harry stuck his tongue out at the empty doorway, but closed the notebook and headed off toward breakfast.

"How was your meeting?" Harry asked, slipping into his spot at the table. There was a stack of pancakes on a plate in the middle of the table, and a fresh cup of coffee waiting for him.

"Tedious," Snape answered, refilling his coffee cup. "And alarming."

Harry paused, his hand hovering over his plate and clutching the maple syrup bottle.

"Alarming?"

Snape sat back down at the table, still looking rather relaxed. Must not be an immediate threat then, Harry thought, as he released some of the tension in his muscles.

"How are you at sport?" Snape asked, tapping his fingers on the table.

"I'm fairly good at quidditch," Harry said, thinking ahead to any other magical sports he knew of. Other than quidditch though, he couldn't think of what else would be taught at Hogwarts.

"Muggle sport," Snape clarified, as Harry cut up his pancakes.

"Oh, well. Pants at pretty much all of them," Harry admitted, chomping a good-sized bite of pancakes. He could tell that these were made from scratch and not from a box mix, as they were missing that tinny flavour from the preservatives. "Is this part of the training?"

"Not exactly," Snape answered, and he sounded slightly distracted, as if he were thinking of how to explain something. He stood up suddenly and left the room, stalking down the hall to the sitting room and the books that were there. When he returned, he was holding an old leather bound book and was flipping rapidly through the pages.

"The information I am about to share with you is not to be repeated, on penalty of death," Snape calmly said, still searching for the right page. "Even to your friends."

"You don't have to be so dramatic about it," Harry muttered, nodding anyway. Snape ignored him, though Harry was well aware that he'd heard every word.

"The Triwizard Tournament," Snape said instead, placing the book down and pushing it toward Harry. "A full year event, between three magical schools, in which one champion from each school faces life-threatening tasks in order to win."

There were pictures in the book, and Harry watched (with a rather disturbed expression) as one champion led a large cockatrice toward a cage filled with pixies.

"How life threatening?" Harry asked, taking another bite of pancakes, even though they'd lost most of their flavour.

"Champions have died," Snape answered, watching carefully for Harry's reaction.

Harry pushed the plate away.

"Let me guess, Hogwarts will be hosting it this year?"

"Indeed," Snape said, sitting back down at his chair. His coffee mug was still mostly full, and Harry knew he wouldn't leave the table without having finished his second cup. "And though age restrictions have been put in place, you are a bloody magnet for trouble, and I suspect someone will try to enter you into the competition."

"Someone working for Voldemort," Harry clarified, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "Is there some sort of potion brewing event?"

"There isn't," Snape carefully answered. "And the champions will be closely watched. There should be no opportunity for any potion to be slipped to you, if you are a champion."

"Right, but there's still the life threatening tasks to deal with," Harry said, sarcasm edging into his voice. He knew last year had been too peaceful. "Couldn't I just decline, if I was chosen?"

"You cannot break a binding magical contract, Potter," Snape said, taking another sip.

"Of course not," Harry muttered. This was not the sort of adventure he'd been planning for himself, despite reading all about what Bilbo Baggins had gone through last night.

"You could just call me John, you know," Harry said, deliberately not looking up from his hands resting on the table. "While we're in Lower Tarrow, if it's easier."

Snape appeared to consider that for a moment while he finished his coffee. Distinctive trigger, Harry remembered.

"Well then, John, go and find some old clothes to wear. You have a potential tournament to train for now."