Harry partially woke when he heard the sound of the door opening. He left his eyes closed, feeling too warm and comfortable to move. He tried to fall asleep again, but Snape’s voice made his ears perk up.

“Amy. Thank you. You didn’t need to stay the whole time.”

“Nonsense.” Harry heard the slight squeaking of springs when she rose from the armchair. “Any luck?”

“I’m afraid not,” Snape sighed. He sounded tired. Harry wondered if it was because of the conversation with Dumbledore, or just an act.

“Henry’s been dozing on and off since you left. I had him eat lunch. There’s leftovers on the table there for you.”

“It is appreciated.”

Mrs. Duncan’s voice grew clearer, and Harry knew she had turned her face to look at him. “His sleep was restless.”

“Was it?” Snape sounded concerned now.

“Yes.” Mrs. Duncan’s voice was thoughtful. “One of these days, you’ll have to tell me what happened on that boat.”

Her footsteps faded away as she walked to the door and opened it. The sounds of the street outside trickled in before she was gone and closed the door behind her.

“I know you’re not asleep.”

Harry opened his eyes and sat up slightly to find Snape watching him.

“Did you have another vision?”

Harry shook his head. He didn’t remember his dreams this time. “No. I did finish the first chapter, though.”

Snape picked up The Art of War and tugged Harry’s notes free from between the pages. After a moment of reading, he said, “Choleric-ness is not a word, Potter,” but continued scanning the paper. Apparently finished, he tucked the page back into the book and set it down.

He didn’t say anything else about his notes, but that included a lack of mean remarks, so Harry understood that he’d done well.

He felt a small glow of pride that he’d done well enough that even Snape couldn’t find fault with it (except the nonexistent word), a feeling quickly snuffed out when Snape said, “Next chapter.”

The man walked over to the table to investigate the leftovers of the shepard’s pie Mrs. Duncan had brought over.

“Sir?”

Snape grunted, taking down a plate from the cupboard, which Harry took as permission to continue. “What happened with Dumbledore? Are we going back to Headquarters?”

“Professor Dumbledore, Potter.  School is not in session, but that does not excuse your disrespect.” He dished out a serving and found a fork in the drawer to the left of the sink. “And no, we are not.”

Harry frowned. He wasn’t as desperate to get away from Snape as he’d thought he would be, but he still wanted to return to Grimmauld Place. Didn’t he?

Sure, he’d been angry at his friends for not telling him anything while he was at Privet Drive, but he’d been miserable over the past few days. He’d been so worried about getting expelled or arrested that he’d been willing to forgive them, because having the chance to do so in person would mean he’d at least be safe at Headquarters. Besides, his readings had made him realize that there were actually important reasons for their silence, and he didn’t blame them anymore. Getting this close to being dragged off who-knows-where by the Ministry tended to put things in perspective.

“Oh,” he said, unsure of which thought to voice aloud, or even if he should.

Snape sat down across from him and began eating, and Harry remembered that his professor hadn’t had any breakfast. “There has been a change of plans. You and I will remain in this village for the foreseeable future.”

“What!” Harry said, standing up. Snape only gave him a dry look, however, so Harry blushed slightly and sat back down. Harry had a million questions, but the first one that popped out was, “What about Potions classes?”

Snape looked at him as if wondering why on earth that was Harry’s first question. Harry didn’t know either, so he just shrugged.

“A temporary stand-in will be found. Perhaps my old professor, Horace Slughorn.” His lip curled slightly at the name, but Harry didn’t dare interrupt to ask what was wrong with the suggestion. “Another Order member will use Polyjuice to impersonate me in public a couple of times until school starts in hopes of preventing anyone from connecting our disappearances.”

Harry guessed that made sense. He remembered Ron and fought the sudden smile that came across his face. He could only imagine his friend’s excitement when he learned that Snape wasn’t going to be teaching Potions.

“You will not be returning to school, but do not think that will mean a break from your schoolwork.” The professor paused eating long enough to pull out the impossible pouch. When book after book was placed on the table, Harry fought to keep his dismay at bay. “I will be monitoring your progress and assigning you homework.”

Harry eyed the books on the table. All of the required reading from the lists sent home were there—minus the Defensive Theory that the DADA professor had assigned, thank Merlin—plus several others about real defense, wards, potions, the mental arts, and the detection and breaking of curses.

“You will be doing any summer assignments that you didn’t complete yet. Any half-finished drafts are still at Headquarters, so you will need to restart those ones.”

As almost all of Harry’s homework was half-done, he scowled.

“When those are complete, you will study your school subjects during the day and at least an hour of the supplementary reading each evening. Any misbehavior on your part will result in more assignments.”

When Snape got up to clean his now-empty plate, Harry allowed his shoulders to slump. “Does that hour include The Art of War?”

“Yes.” The sound of running water as Snape turned on the tap, then: “There will be rules, Potter.”

Harry stiffened. That was never good. That sort of statement was always followed by a new verdict of his aunt or uncle’s that would result in some new misery for Harry. There were always strict, stupid rules at his relatives, and the consequences for breaking those rules didn’t bear thinking about.

“First of all, if I hear of you getting into any fights with other kids in the village, I will not be happy.” Wait, did that mean Harry could go out? He’d expected to practically be under house arrest. “Curfew is sundown. I am not opposed to your interacting with other village members, but you must be extremely cautious about what you tell people. There must be no doubt in anyone’s mind that we are who we pretend to be. In addition, you will always be respectful. Do not create a bad reputation for either of us.”

“I wouldn’t do that, sir,” Harry said quietly, thinking about how Snape didn’t know him at all. The last thing he ever wanted to do was act like Dudley, cause any trouble, or bring attention to himself. That was one good thing about staying here: no one knew him as Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. He was just another person, no different from anybody else.

“See that you do not. You will complete all work I assign you, and you will do so without complaint. I believe you know how tolerant I am of disrespect.”

Not at all tolerant.

“You will clean up after yourself. I am not Molly Weasley. You will keep your belongings neat. I am not here to cater to you.”

Ha! As if Harry would ask anything of Snape. He hadn’t even told the man about his wrists, or complained once during their hike. Hadn’t the man figured him out yet?

“I hope you’re listening, Potter. The consequences of disobedience will not be pleasant.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Repeat what I have told you.”

Harry did, finding the rules not all that terrible. Besides the large amount of studying he was expected to do, Harry would have said that the weeks ahead of him might even turn out to be pleasant if Snape were not the one trapped here with him. When he finished listing the rules, he added, “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to be stuck here like this.”

Snape only said, “It’s for the war effort, Potter.”

Harry would wonder for the rest of the day why that answer had stung.