"Are you sure?" McAullife asked, pausing in the middle of restocking produce.

Harry nodded emphatically. "My dad said I could get a part-time job as long as I still had time for my studies." He'd gotten used to referring to Snape as 'dad' around other people, and no longer stumbled over the term. No one seemed to think anything was off.

McAuliffe studied him for a moment, likely deciding if it was worth it to agree. "Alright." He handed Harry the box of fruits. "Might as well start now. Careful not to bruise anything."

Harry nodded again and began putting food away. McAuliffe stood a few feet back, watching. Harry eased his nerves with meditation breaths. Soon, the man nodded a couple of times and walked away, presumably satisfied that Harry wasn't hopelessly inept.

Earlier that morning, Snape had left for work with a reminder to Harry to start Occluding thoughts of the village. Harry had spent two full hours meditating and sorting through memories of the small community. After a few failed experiments, he arranged them like a path down a valley in the Highlands. He'd chosen to leave memories of their cottage and living with Snape separate, since he felt different emotional ties to those than the village at large. McAullife's counted as part of the village valley, so he tried to keep his focus in the valley as he stocked to "Occlude as the memories occured." It was difficult, and he knew he'd have to re-sort them later. Still, Snape had impressed upon him how important it was to practice. "It's the only way you'll learn to do it," he had said before leaving, stern and serious. 

After restocking, Harry found a broom and started cleaning up the small shop. McAullife disappeared into a back room, emerging whenever the bell rang to indicate a customer.

Just before his two hour shift was up, a young woman he'd seen but never spoken to entered the store. She was tall and looked rather disheveled. She peered at him curiously. "Hello, lad."

"Hello, ma'am," he said politely, leaning against his broom handle.

She tilted her head at him. "You're that English boy, right? Henry?"

Harry nodded, unsurprised to learn that the whole village had heard of them. "Henry Paine."

She opened her mouth to respond, but noticed McAuliffe appear at the counter. Her eyes narrowed and she marched up to him. "Can't give it a break, can you?"

"Pardon?" McAuliffe said, but Harry was suspicious of his innocent tone.

"That… monstrous excuse for a musical instrument. Every. Morning." She jabbed a finger at the old man. "One of these days, you'll go to play that thing and find a few holes in it!"

"Good morning to you, too, Iona," McAuliffe said, amusement poorly concealed.

She rolled her eyes. "I see you have a helper," she said. "I just hope he can tolerate you long enough to get paid." She swept away, business evidently finished. She glanced at Harry as she passed. "Nice meeting you, Henry."

"You too," he said awkwardly as the door slammed shut and McAuliffe laughed heartily.

“Always has to come in and heckle me,” he chuckled. “Alright, Henry. That’s enough for today. You did well. Meet me tomorrow at six in the morning.”

“Where?”

“Follow the pipes,” McAuliffe grinned, and Harry laughed and waved goodbye as he started home.

When he entered the cottage, he was able to stop the “active Occluding” (as he’d begun to think of it) and relax, since he hadn’t sorted out memories of home yet.

Is it really home? Did I really just think that? Harry stood frozen just inside the doorstep, looking around the now-familiar cottage. There was the couch, his blanket thrown over the back. Snape had scrounged up a pillow from somewhere, and it was tucked unobtrusively against one armrest. His armchair had a healthy pile of books beside it. There was the privacy screen, as always concealing Snape’s bed and nightstand. The dresser beside the bookshelf had linens and clothes. In another corner, the kitchen table stood ready for tonight’s meal. All of it was familiar, and all of it was dear. Yeah. I guess it is.

He started making dinner, putting a special effort into the meal as a sort of apology to Snape for running off the day before. He was still working on it when the man walked in the door.

“Hello, sir,” he said.

“Harry,” Snape greeted, tossing his apron in the corner. “You were successful?”

“Yeah?” Harry said, unsure if Snape was talking about Occlumency or getting a job.

“How much are you making?” the man asked, disappearing behind the privacy screen.

Job, then. “I’m not getting paid in money,” Harry replied mysteriously.

Snape poked his head around the screen. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see,” Harry promised.

“I’m not sure I want to,” his professor muttered, disappearing again.

Harry smirked, then felt a wave of self-doubt crashing through his good humor. Maybe he should have worked for money instead? He felt awful, knowing that Snape was working with fish all day just so they could survive here. It was selfish of him to just let his teacher, a man with barely any ties or duty to him, take on the responsibility of… what? A guardian? A par—

“I hope you had a chance to practice Occlumency today?” came a voice behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder to see Snape picking up The Art of War from the coffee table. “Yeah, I did.” He returned to the pan of gravy he was stirring. “Bloody difficult, trying to hold a conversation and Occlude at the same time.”

“Yes…” came the distracted reply. “That’s why you need to practice. Harry, you have eight notes here for chapter six.”

“I know.” Harry felt his neck heat with embarrassment. “It was a longer chapter, and I just wanted to remember my thoughts. I knew there only had to be five notes, but I didn’t think it’d be a big deal to write more.”

“I’m not chastising you,” Snape said. “That’s good. I don’t want this to just be another assignment; I want you to take away the key points. I also see that your notes are becoming more in-depth.” He was quiet for a few minutes, and Harry realized he was reading them when he said, “This part, here. For chapter five.”

“What?” Harry asked, suddenly worried that he’d messed up somehow. So far, Snape had been generally pleased with his thoughts and theories on the book, and he found that he didn’t want to disappoint him now. Stop being pathetic. It’s not like it’d be the first time you didn’t live up to expectations.

The man began to read aloud. “‘You can use bait to keep the enemy moving and wasting their energy. Remember, deception. Distract V—’” he stumbled over the name, and it was the first time Harry had ever heard the man verbally hesitate. “Distract the Dark Lord ‘by sending him chasing after false leads since he’s looking after me?’ What spurred this thought?”

“That chapter was all about moving and acting efficiently and not wasting energy or resources when you don’t have to. There was a part near the end about making your enemy waste their energies by using bait and distractions to get them to go chasing false weaknesses and stuff like that.”

Snape slowly walked to his normal chair at the kitchen table, now reading the last page of chapter six in the book itself. “Yes, I see.” He looked up at Harry, his chess-face on. “You mentioned using false leads to distract the Dark Lord?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know there’s nothing we could do from here, but… I don’t know, maybe Dumbledore could…?” he felt stupid as he started dishing out food onto plates.

“Professor Dumbledore, Harry. Could what?”

“Y’know, give Voldemort something else to chase after so he doesn’t go around burning down people’s houses.” He thumped the plate down on the table with a little more force than he’d intended, and Snape gave him a look. “Sorry.”

“Such as?” Snape prompted.

Harry, submitting to the fact that Snape wanted to have a full conversation about the book and maybe even the war, sighed and thought. “Maybe… a photograph anonymously sent to the paper, something like with a blurry picture of me in the woods far away from here? Tonks could impersonate me. The paper would publish it, since I’m sure they’ve made me the new Sirius. I’ve probably got my own cell in Azkaban waiting for me by now,” he groused.

“Perhaps,” Snape said, ignoring that last comment. “That brings up another point about these notes. Most of your annotations are about fighting the Dark Lord.”

“I thought that was the angle most relevant to me,” Harry said slowly. The whole moving chariots and having many spears stuff didn’t really apply in the most literal sense, but they were at war and he did have an enemy.

“It is,” Snape conceded. “But there is more to consider than the ‘Dark Lord angle’ now. At the moment, the Ministry itself is also a threat. I know Fudge pales in comparison, but there are a lot more things and people to look out for than before.”

Harry sat down with his own plate and tried a bite, glad to taste that it had turned out well. “Well, any public ‘sighting’ would send both of them running.”

“And the clash could be deadly,” Snape mused, finally realizing that the food was ready and taking a bite of his own. “Oh, this is well made.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, telling himself that he was only smiling because the meal was good, and that he didn’t really care about the rare praise.

“Besides the photograph, what other bait could be employed?” Snape asked, standing to get a drink.

“Well, an anonymous letter could do the same thing. ‘Oh, I think I saw Harry Potter in Wales!’ Anyone might see it in the paper. Or, if we wanted to just send the Ministry somewhere, we could send a tip to the Aurors. I bet they’re asking for information from the public, like they did when Sirius broke out.”

“No doubt,” Snape said, looking in the fridge. “The Dark Lord has spies in the Ministry, however. Even a private tip would make its way to his ear.”

“Great,” Harry muttered. “So getting caught by the Ministry just means getting caught by Voldemort, but with a middle man?”

“We believe you may have been convicted because he has more power in the Ministry than we thought,” Snape reminded him. “One of his plants could have sent the Dementor after you in the first place.”

“Oh, yeah.” Harry rested his cheek on his hand, appetite waning. “Either that, or everyone just hates me.”

“Don’t sulk,” Snape said, “you can’t pull it off.”

Harry smiled despite himself.

“What other bait could be set?”

“Tonks, someone with polyjuice, or a good glamor could be seen in public. That might be dangerous for them, though, if they got attacked. If Dumbledore was known to be ‘inquiring’ in a certain area, that might make Voldemort think I could be hiding there. Maybe we could let the aurors intercept a letter from me to Hermione or someone about french food.” He grinned. “Maybe we could fake my death real well. Then everybody would stop looking for me.”

Snape snorted. “And send people into paroxysms of grief, or perhaps even give the Dark Lord an incentive to forward his plans and begin his war in earnest.”

“Who would grieve me?” Harry asked derisively. “My friends, sure. Maybe some of my housemates. But most of the school doesn’t trust me, thinks I’m to blame for Cedric’s death.” And they’re right. “And most of the public believes I’m an attention seeking brat now, thanks to the Daily Prophet and the Ministry. Voldemort and his Death Eaters would probably get together and throw a luau.”

Snape started choking on his food and glared balefully at Harry. “Thanks… for that mental image, Potter,” he managed between coughs.

“Lucius Malfoy in a grass skirt,” Harry mused, fighting to keep the thoughtful expression on his face and not give in to laughter.

“We’re not staging your death,” Snape said with an air of finality, valiantly ignoring that last comment. “It would be too much of a wild card. There’s no way to know the consequences were we to do so.”

“Alright,” Harry said grudgingly, for the idea of being dead to society came with a distinct appeal. No one glared in the street at dead people, or wrote nasty articles about locking them up. No, you were mourned or scorned, then forgotten. “We could set up a fake safe house with really hard protective spells on them and leak the location to someone that I was there. Someone could spend hours or even days trying to break in, only to find that it was a mop with clothes on it charmed to move past the windows and cast shadows.”

“Yes, a mop could very well simulate your hair,” Snape mused, eyeing Harry’s head.

“Oi!”

“You need a haircut.”

Harry wisely ignored the urge to make a comment about Snape’s own hair, which was past his shoulders now and usually tied back to escape the summer heat. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shaggy,” Snape corrected. “Besides the staged death, those are all viable options.” Having finished his meal, he walked over to his sleeping area and returned shortly with the charmed parchment. “I shall mention it to the Headmaster.”

“Really?” Harry asked. It was one thing for the man to talk to him about his ideas in a theoretical sense, but to actually consider applying them in the war… he felt a small glow of pride at the thought.

“You are, unfortunately, a part of this war. There’s no reason to dismiss a good idea out of hand, however unlikely the source.”

“Unfortunately?” Harry asked.

“No child should be expected to become a soldier,” Snape said, beginning to write on the parchment. He always used a quill on the parchment, but muggle pens for other things.

“I’m not a child,” was Harry’s automatic response. “I’m fifteen.”

Snape only raised his eyebrows, as if his point had just been proved.

Shaking his head, Harry carried his plate to the sink and began washing up. Snape looked up, as if about to protest, then seemed to think better of it and returned to the parchment.

Harry wondered if it was because they usually did the dishes together. Well, he’s busy right now. No reason to wait just because he's writing Dumbledore. They could end up talking for an hour about the war. And it’s not as if Snape would stop mid-sentence and jump up to help him. A routine they may have, but some things were more important.

He quickly finished and turned to see that Snape was still talking to Dumledore. He sat down and waited until the man finished the sentence he was writing and asked, “What does he think?”

“He agrees that it’s a good idea,” Snape said. “He’s going to discuss it with the Order, and hopefully try the anonymous letter idea in a day or two.” Snape’s last sentence on the parchment faded, and new words began to appear on the paper in a flowy script. “And he wishes me to inform you that Molly Weasley is recovering well.”

“Good,” Harry sighed in relief, shoulders slumping at the release of tension quietly held in his shoulders ever since he heard about the attack.

Snape slowly crossed his arms. “So. Your new job. If not monetary, what other compensation are you receiving for your efforts?”

Harry grinned and hoped that the backlash wouldn’t be too terrible when Snape found out.