When they reached Spinner’s End, Snape didn’t even wait to eat anything before placing most of the parcels on the kitchen counter and disappearing into his lab. It wasn’t until the back door slammed shut behind him that Harry realised he’d once again forgotten to ask if he could tell his friends where he was spending the summer.

Not that his friends seemed to care, since there was still no sign of Hedwig. Harry frowned at this. Ron he could maybe understand – Ron probably wasn’t the most enthusiastic of letter writers even in the best of times – but he would have thought Hermione would have returned his owl by now. She was usually so eager to tell him useless facts about everything; he would have thought she’d have jumped at the chance to lecture him about Berwick.

Though on second thought, maybe that was Hermione’s problem. She probably wanted to tell him every little detail, and kept getting sidetracked.

After throwing together a quick cheese sandwich and salad for himself and storing the rest of the groceries, Harry settled himself in the living room again. It was still several hours until dinnertime, so this probably qualified as his “quiet time”. Rummaging for the book he’d started the previous night, he found his place and began reading again.

Unfortunately, less than an hour later, he was bored out of his mind. The book itself wasn’t boring – although some of the detective’s monologues were a bit hard to understand – but Harry was used to working during his summers, and this enforced idleness was making him itchy and restless.

Who’d have thought I’d actually miss the Dursleys, Harry thought. He set the book aside and considered his options. He doubted Snape would argue against him doing homework, but Snape had set a specific time for it, and he might very well object to Harry not keeping to his timetable. Playing gobstones was still out – it was still a very messy game; better played outside. Chess . . . Harry waffled for a moment. Wizarding chess was probably not a good idea when Snape could come back inside from his lab at any moment. Normal chess might do – but Harry didn’t have a normal chess set, and he didn’t know how to get his pieces to stay still and silent, and he didn’t think Snape had a set, and even if the professor did, it was more than Harry’s life was worth to touch it without asking . . .

If he could even find it in the first place.

Attempting to immerse himself in his book again failed abysmally – he didn’t even get through one paragraph before he was slamming it shut again with a frustrated growl. Jumping to his feet, Harry circled the armchair a couple of times, before deciding to check out the non-warded bookcase again. The only thing of interest he’d found before had been the detective books, but maybe this time would be different.

Most of the books appeared to be highly technical Potions books, which Harry doubted he’d ever understand, so he just ignored those. There were a few books that looked like they could be Defence Against the Dark Arts books, but when he tried to pull one down to look at it further, the spine grew teeth and tried to bite him.

Scowling at the book, Harry reached for the catch to the hidden staircase, and angrily stomped up the stairs, ignoring the faint twinge of pain that generated in his hip. Once in his room, he took a quick look through the desk drawers. Aside from a few scraps of yellow parchment in one, they were all empty.

Sighing in resignation, Harry flopped onto the bed on his back. After an entire two minutes of studying the cracks in the ceiling, Harry sighed again, and rolled over onto his stomach, folding his arms beneath his head and resting his chin on them. His gaze fell on the equine figurines and, for lack of anything better to do, he began staring at them intently.

He soon realised that there was no space for the figurine Snape had bought that day, as although none of the ones on the shelf were actually touching, there were so many that every available centimetre was covered. So . . . either Snape had a figurine he couldn’t put anywhere – or he had another lot somewhere else where he could put it.

Even as his brain perked up at the mystery, Harry’s spirits fell again. He’d already seen there weren’t any figurines downstairs, and he sincerely doubted Snape would permit any of them in his lab. The only place left was in Snape’s bedroom, and there was no way he was getting in there for any reason short of he’d just been horribly murdered.

Unfortunately, the urge to know was now overwhelming him, and Harry had to bite his hand to distract himself from getting up and crossing the hallway to enter that forbidden room. It was only the second day of the summer – he didn’t want to be eviscerated this quickly.

Forcibly, he turned his attention back to the figurines in front of him, and scowled intently at a little brown foal, who looked to be in the process of trying out its wings for the first time. One wing was outstretched, and the other was positioned as if fluttering at the foal’s side. Its expression was wide-eyed and almost comically surprised as its head turned back to look at what its wings were doing. Smiling, Harry let his imagination drift, imagining the foal really trying and finally succeeding in getting its wings to cooperate enough to fly.

Before he even realised it, Harry was asleep.

Much as it had been two days ago, the house was quiet when Severus finally emerged from his lab. After that experience, however, even without the boy’s owl here, he presumed Potter was spending his quiet time upstairs. With a small grunt of satisfaction – he would not have been surprised to find his living room wrecked – Severus pulled open the freezer door. Examining the menu choices, he decided on toad-in-the-hole, and took two boxes of it from the stack.

He was just turning the old-fashioned oven on when he heard the shouts coming from upstairs. Not again! he thought, although they weren’t screams this time. Making sure to turn the oven off again, Severus dashed for the hidden staircase and upstairs.

Potter was lying on his back on the bed, fully dressed. His face was screwed up, and his hands were once again waving in front of his face, trying to ward something off.

“No, no,” the boy moaned, his head twisting from side to side. “You’re lying. LIAR!” His body bucked upwards, and his legs scissored, as the boy tried to escape from whatever was chasing him through his nightmare.

“Potter!” Severus barked, but the boy was too deeply under and only tossed his head again. “Potter, wake up!”

His only answer this time was a scream, and despite himself, Severus jumped. Scowling at himself, Severus reached down to grip the boy’s shoulder, firmly shaking it. “Potter, wake up!” he demanded.

“No, no, burning, I’m sorry, don’t burn, I didn’t mean to!” Potter’s voice rose in a sobbing shriek, pain and horror intermingled.

Just what happened when he went after the Stone? Severus wondered, as he pulled out his wand to cast an aguamenti over Potter. He knew Quirrell had not made it out of the encounter in one piece, but Albus had given him the impression that the ex-professor’s wounds had been caused by the Dark Lord fleeing his body. From the sounds of Potter’s nightmare, Quirrell’s injuries had been caused by him.

The shock of cold water finally did the trick, and Potter bolted upright, choking and sobbing, his eyes wheeling frantically as his disorientated mind tried to catch up to his reality.

“Steady, Potter,” Severus said, firmly, and placed a hand back on the brat’s shoulder.

Potter startled and flinched away, with a yelp of alarm. Then his breath caught in his throat, and he blinked rapidly several times.

“Pro-professor?” he stammered, looking around the darkening room. “Wha-what happened?”

“You were having a nightmare,” said Severus. He hesitated, but decided he had to go on. “Do you remember what it was about?”

“Er, no, I—” Potter paused, and lifted a hand to rub at his forehead, over his scar.

“I suspect it was about your efforts to protect the Stone,” Severus said when it became clear that Potter wasn’t going to finish his sentence. “At some point very soon, you will finish telling me everything, Potter; is that understood?”

“Uh, yessir,” mumbled Potter.

“Mmm,” hummed Severus, not quite believing Potter, but knowing it would happen anyway. He would insist upon it – for the sake of his own sleep, if not Potter’s. “Come along, Potter,” he carried on, tucking his wand back into its holster and turning to leave the room. “Dinner time.” Since it would probably be best to distract the boy now, he thought, just this once, he’d use magic to help make dinner.

Harry stumbled down the stairs after Snape, his head still feeling as though it was stuffed with wet cotton.

“Sit, Potter,” Snape instructed, indicating the armchair, but Harry ignored that, following the man through to the kitchen with a mumble that included the word ‘outhouse’ somewhere in it.

The breeze seemed to blow some of the cobwebs away, and Harry was at least half awake by the time he returned to the house. Snape was sitting in his chair, and a plate was balancing on the arm of the other. Harry settled himself and began to eat, ignoring the intensely considering stare Snape was giving him.

They finished at roughly the same time, but before Harry could jump up and take his plate to the kitchen – thereby escaping Snape’s attention – the professor waved his hand, and the two plates sailed merrily into the kitchen and into the sink. Harry gaped at them.

“Now then,” Snape started, leaning back in his chair and tapping his fingers on the arms. “Perhaps you’d be so good as to explain why you were . . . napping during the day.”

Harry flushed. That made it sound as if he were three years old. “I didn’t mean to,” he muttered, ducking his head to avoid Snape’s gaze. “I was just so bored—”

“Bored?” Snape’s voice was sharp. “You are eleven; surely you are capable of entertaining yourself, Potter!”

“It’s just—” Harry winced. “At the Dursleys’ . . . I’m usually doing chores all day. I’m used to being more active.”

“Ah.” Snape folded his arms and tapped one finger against his mouth. “So you require more physical stimulation.” Harry winced again. No doubt Snape would think scrubbing cauldrons for him would be just the physical stimulation Harry needed. “Very well,” Snape finally continued. “There is a little . . . I hesitate to call it a ‘park’, but that is what it is supposed to be. It is down at the other end of the road. I suppose, on days when the weather permits, you may go there during your afternoons, if you wish. Although,” and Snape scowled at him now, but more in emphasis rather than because of something Harry had actually done, “you will of course take protections with you whenever you leave the house.”

“Yes, sir!” Harry agreed, enthusiastically. It wouldn’t be flying, but it would at least be something different to do.

“Now.” Snape looked sternly at him. “About that nightmare of yours . . .”

Severus watched as the boy’s face fell, and he shrank in on himself. “I believe you had just reached the point in your tale where you defeated Professor McGonagall’s chess set,” he prompted.

Potter nibbled on his lower lip, seemingly debating with himself. Just as Severus was going to speak again, the boy sighed. “The potions,” he said, quietly. “Your trap, sir.” The last words had a faint question to them, and Severus nodded, even though the boy had his gaze firmly fixed on his hands now. “Hermione figured it out,” Potter continued.

Severus snorted before he could stop himself. “Miss Granger. Of course,” he murmured. No doubt if left to his own devices, Potter would still have been there trying to solve the puzzle.

Potter frowned briefly, but didn’t bother arguing. “She realised which one helped you go forward, and which one you needed to get back. There was only enough for one person, though, so I told her to go back and get help for Ron.”

“While you charged ahead with no plans on how to defeat an adult who knew more magic than you and who had proven they were not adverse to seeing people get hurt.” Severus tutted and shook his head, then shook his head again at Potter’s look of bewilderment. “The troll, Potter. Quirrell let the troll into the castle as a distraction, but he certainly didn’t set up any measures to prevent it from injuring anyone, did he?”

“Er,” said Potter, and Severus rolled his eyes.

“So you found the right potions to go forwards and back,” he prompted. He didn’t correct Potter’s assumption that there had been only enough of the relevant potions for one person – the bottle had been a refilling one.

“Well, Hermione said we had,” the boy said. He nibbled his lip again. “Good thing she’s so smart. I probably would have ended up picking the poison.”

Severus coughed to stifle a chuckle. The ‘poison’ had actually been a very powerful soporific. Anyone picking one of those three bottles would have instantly dropped into a deep sleep that would have lasted until someone came along to give them the antidote. Although, he supposed, to an outsider it might have looked like an instantly fatal poison.

“I made sure Hermione was able to get back, then I went forwards,” Potter was saying.

Severus was just opening his mouth to respond to that – something about how gallant Potter had been to let Miss Granger go first in proving that she’d not picked something harmful – when a silvery shape suddenly swooped in through the front wall.

It opened its mouth, and a very pompous voice emerged. “Please await the imminent arrival of the Minister of Magic.”