“What is your problem, Potter?!” Malfoy shouted, tearing Harry from his terrified stupor. He was cupping his face in his hand and glowering fiercely.

“I would also like to know that!” Snape growled. “I witnessed that entire altercation, and I am appalled! What has gotten into you?"

Harry didn't respond. The overwhelming surge of anger had left him buzzing with adrenaline, and he felt oddly woozy. He could hear his pounding heartbeat in his ears.

"With me, now!” Keeping a firm hold on the scruff of Harry’s neck, he unceremoniously yanked Harry through into the living room and shut the door tightly before at last releasing him. Harry immediately scrambled backwards, away from him.

Snape crossed his arms and remained firmly in front of the living room door. He somehow looked far taller than usual.

“I want an explanation!” he shouted. “That was needless, unprovoked violence! Why did you do that, Potter?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said hoarsely. He found himself backing away until he hit the far wall of the living room.

“You don’t know?” Snape asked incredulously. “You don't know? Then I’d suggest you start racking your brain for some sort of reasoning! I gave you my word I would hear out your side of things from now on, but I am struggling to understand what could have possibly caused that! How dare you! That was unacceptable, Potter! Explain yourself immediately!”

But Harry didn’t have an explanation. What had even happened, a nudge into Harry’s shoulder? Why had he flipped out like that? It just felt like all the anger he’d been harbouring had erupted in a violent explosion, and all he’d wanted was for Malfoy to hurt as much as he did. It was like he wasn't even in control of himself…

“Well?” Snape demanded. “Answer me, Potter!”

“I already said I don’t know!” Harry shouted, his voice cracking. “I don’t know why I did it, I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

Snape didn’t respond immediately as he continued to stare at Harry. Sizing him up. Cataloguing all his faults and failings. Harry could feel his heart beating in his throat.

Suddenly, Snape strode forward. Harry tried to back up, but he was already pressed against the wall. Before he had time to dodge or flee, Snape had grabbed Harry’s upper arm with one hand so he couldn’t writhe away and was reaching into his robes with another. For his wand? No, for a small vial filled with lilac liquid. He uncorked it with his thumb and held it towards Harry’s face. “Calming Draught. Drink it.”

“I don’t need a Calming Draught!” he hissed, trying to twist his head away.

“You’ve spent all day swinging between a panic attack and a violent rage, and you’re currently rattling my bookshelves,” Snape said in a tightly controlled voice. Harry could tell he was just barely holding back his temper, and shrank away slightly. “You are obviously incapable of controlling your emotions without aid, so I am forced to intervene. Just drink the damn potion!”

Snape pushed the vial forward so the glass rim was pressing against Harry's lips. He stopped protesting and drank the Calming Draught without further argument, not wanting to make Snape even more upset than he already was. It tasted like toothpaste, and worked quickly. Harry felt his heartbeat slow and his breathing calm, and some of the tension faded out of his muscles. It was a strange sensation, to feel like the edges of your emotions were fuzzy. It felt like the anger and fear were waiting to one side instead of choking Harry with their ferocity. Still palpable, but manageable. He didn't particularly like the sensation after a couple of minutes, though. Being so numb to all emotions, not just the negative ones, wasn't a particularly pleasant sensation.

Snape clicked his fingers, regaining Harry’s attention. “Can you control yourself?”

Harry nodded, refusing to meet his eyes. He felt rather embarrassed now that he was less fired up.

“A verbal answer,” Snape ordered. “I’m thoroughly sick of all this nodding and shrugging you do. Can you control yourself, Potter?”

“Yes…”

"You'd better," Snape said, his voice dark and low with warning. He jabbed a finger at the living room door. “Into the kitchen, then. I think the three of us need a little chat.” 

The last thing Harry wanted was to be stuck sitting in the kitchen being yelled at, especially in front of Malfoy, but he got the sense that fighting Snape right now would be extraordinarily stupid and so went on without further complaint. Malfoy was already sitting down at the table. He glared furiously at Harry while Snape handed him something wrapped in a tea towel.

“Hold that ice on your face,” he said. “I’ll give you a salve for it soon. Potter, sit.”

Harry sat across from Malfoy, staring hard at his lap. Even with the Calming Draught dulling the extremes of his feelings, he felt utterly sickened with horror. He’d done that, and he’d done it for no good reason. What was wrong with him?

Snape didn’t speak for a long time, and the only sound in the kitchen was the ticking of the clock and an occasional rustle as Malfoy readjusted the ice on his face. When Harry dared to look up, he saw Snape’s furious scowl slowly melting away into the blank, empty expression that signified Occlumency. Even with that, however, he still looked rather cross. Snape's eyes were narrowed and his jaw was tight when he at last began speaking.

“I do not understand,” he said through gritted teeth, “why the two of you hate each other so bitterly! Your animosity towards one another does not make any sense! Draco, did you seriously begin a two-year feud based on one simple denial of friendship? Was that genuinely all it took?”

“It’s more complicated than that!” Malfoy hissed, his cheeks turning pink. “And I don’t see why you’re shouting at me! I’m the victim here, Potter attacked me!”

“Oh, I’m getting to him,” Snape growled, snapping his head to stare pointedly at Harry. “You claim so vehemently that the incidents involving Mr Malfoy are entirely prompted by his misbehaviour, then you turn around and attack him completely unprovoked! That is not the action a helpless victim of circumstance would take!”

“I never claimed to be his victim,” Harry muttered, smarting a little at that.

“Well, you’re going to explain to me what happened, then!” Snape said, visibly seething. “You can’t just go around punching people with no explanation, Potter. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said miserably.

“Yes, you’ve mentioned,” Snape said sarcastically. He crossed his arms. “But you are going to figure it out, and soon. I am sick of this constant sniping, fighting, and refusal to address your issues! No one is leaving this table until the two of you have had it out and some sort of détente is established.”

Malfoy groaned loudly, while Harry sank back into his chair and rolled his eyes so far back he thought he'd managed to catch a glimpse of his brain. This promised to be thoroughly miserable.

“You first,” Snape said, taking a step forward so it was impossible for Harry to successfully avoid meeting his gaze. “Despite your vehement claims to the contrary, I am not entirely convinced you stand clueless as to your motivations."

"The only thing I'm clueless about is why speak like you're stuck in Victorian England!" Harry hissed, feeling another surge of frustration. Why did Snape have to be so bloody nosy?! "Just talk normally!"

Harry wanted to kick himself as soon as the words left his mouth. Why couldn't he stop digging himself into this hole? He was just getting himself in more trouble!

Snape, visibly vexed, placed his hands on the edge of the kitchen table and leaned in so his face was inches from Harry’s. "Very well, then. I will speak clearly. Tell me what was going through your mind when you attacked Draco, and if you say 'I don't know' one more time, I swear to all the Gods I will -"

"I was angry!" Harry finally said.

"Ah, progress!" Snape said icily. "Although as I was shockingly able to infer that on my own, I need a little bit more. Why were you angry? Is it because of the events of last week? The blackmail and rude remarks?"

Harry didn't answer - couldn't answer - and Snape seemed to take his silence as confirmation. "Perhaps, given that you have perpetrated your own act of unwarranted violence, you might want to rethink your staunch refusal to even consider Draco's apology?"

That last remark allowed the anger to burst through the shroud of the Calming Draught fully.

"No!" Harry shouted, clenching his hands into fists. "Don't you understand? I don't give a damn about what happened last week, I'm angry because my life is ruined and it's all his fault!"

"What are you even talking about?" Malfoy demanded, eyes flashing. "What did I do to ruin your life, of all things?"

"Yes, I'd similarly care to be enlightened,” Snape said, pulling out a chair and sitting at the table perpendicular to Harry. He propped his elbows on the table and gave Harry a piercing look.

"Well, I'm not telling you," Harry muttered.

"Oh yes you are," Snape said in a low voice. "I was serious when I said I would happily keep you here all day. Tell me, or sit here for hours until I manage to…persuade you."

Harry imagined the hours of lecturing that would entail and balked. Well, there was nothing for it.

"Fine! You want to know so badly?" he hissed, staring daggers at Malfoy. "I'm angry because he's a dirty little sneak! It wasn't enough to lie about the necklace and spend all week being a complete and utter tosser, you just had to get one last dig in and tell him about those bruises, didn't you!"

Malfoy's anger turned to disbelief. "That's the part you're angry about?"

"Yes!" Harry shouted, jumping to his feet. "You'd be angry too if someone ruined your life by telling your secrets to him, all for their own personal satisfaction!"

"I didn't tell him about those bruises, you dimwit!" Malfoy shouted, shoving his own chair back with a loud screech.

"Oh, so now you're a liar as well as a grass!" Harry said accusingly. "He sure found out, that much is certain, and you're the only person who knew!"

"I didn't tell him!" Malfoy yelled. "Why on earth would I, especially since it got me in a ton more trouble, I might add! He was Legilimising me when you ran away and he saw the memory! Perhaps you could have found that out if you weren't such a thick, incompetent, half-blooded -"

"Gentlemen!" Snape barked, cutting off their argument. "Both of you sit back down now."

Malfoy dropped into his chair with a huff of exasperation, but Harry remained on his feet. There was a strange buzzing in his ears like a swarm of irritated bees.

"You - you Legilimised him?" Harry eventually managed.

"Yes," Snape said evenly. "If you sit back down, I will give you more detail."

Harry couldn't sit, he was reeling. "You told me you wouldn't ever Legilimise people! You lied!"

"I did not lie," Snape said quietly. "And if you would like an explanation for my actions - and I can assure you there is one - then you will have to take a seat. Don’t make me ask again, Potter, or you won’t like what happens."

It was only the dulling impact of the Calming Draught that helped Harry manage his emotions enough to lower himself. He stared at Snape, horrified. "You lied!"

"I did not lie to you!" Snape repeated rather irritably. "I said I would never Legilimise you - as long as someone's safety was not at risk, that is. That was a specific stipulation to my promise that you’ll recall I mentioned to you. When you ran away, your safety was compromised, and every wasted minute was another in which Black could find and attack you. I did not have ample time to get an answer out of Draco, and I had to go through his memories so I could ascertain what was going on and where you possibly could have gone, as it was very apparent he was hiding something from me. Isn't that right, Draco?"

"Yes," Malfoy admitted, somewhat reluctantly. "I wasn't going to tell him anything, I'll have you know! You could have thought about that before unilaterally blaming me for everything-"

"And Draco," Snape said loudly, "has there ever been another occasion in which I used Legilimency on you?"

"No."

"Have I used Legilimency on you, Harry?" Snape asked, leaning his elbows on the table. "Even in certain situations where I have been very eager to get answers from you, did I at any point go through your memories?"

Harry thought for a moment, and then shook his head. Even if Snape had times where he was freakishly perceptive, he'd never actually gone the full length of actually reading Harry's mind. Even when he was trying to get Harry to talk about the Dursleys…

"No."

"Therefore, I did not lie," Snape said.

“Why did you say he told you about it, then?” Harry demanded.

“I never said that, as a matter of fact,” Snape said evasively. “If you think back to our conversation the other night, I never explicitly told you that Draco said these things to me -”

“Oh, come on!” Harry said loudly. “You just lied by omission and you know it! That’s complete bullshit!”

“Watch your language, Potter!” Snape snapped. “I am extraordinarily close to losing my patience, and it would be very unwise to test me right now!”

Harry made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and ground his back teeth.

“I’d like to know what you think I should have done in the situation we found ourselves in!” Snape added. “Seeing as the last time I brought up using Legilimency you ran away, I didn’t think it was wise for you to draw the conclusion that I regularly go through people’s minds, which I’m almost certain you would have done. You can be unhappy about it if you like, but it wouldn’t have been wise for you to know if I planned on you actually staying put in this house.”

“I wouldn’t have run away again,” Harry muttered, trying to prove a point.

“I don’t know you well enough to make that assumption, especially since I didn’t exactly expect you to do it in the first place, Potter,” Snape said, rolling his eyes. “But the long and short of this is that Draco did not voluntarily tell me about those bruises, if that’s what you’re so hung up on.”

“That’s right, I didn’t!” Draco said irritably. “I still don’t even know what they came from, by the way! Would anyone care to inform me?”

“No, as I fail to see how it’s any of your business,” Snape said with a tone of finality.

Harry would have been grateful for that putdown if he wasn’t so horrified by all the information that had just come to light. His remaining annoyance about Snape's misdirection was nothing in comparison to the sheer disgust Harry was feeling towards himself. He'd spent the last three days absolutely furious with Malfoy for telling Snape about the bruises, but he hadn't. Harry had punched him in the face, and would have kept going if not for Snape’s intervention, over something that hadn’t even happened! A hot wave of self-hatred rose up in Harry as he thought about that. Sure, Malfoy was a nasty bully at the best of times, but when Harry did something like that, he wasn’t any better. He felt like everything Snape had said about him for years was true; Harry was a spoilt bully.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, because he truly was. “I thought - if I’d known you hadn’t… I’m just sorry.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Oh, that’s a bit rich! How does it feel to be on the other foot with apologies, hmm? Perhaps I should hold this over your head for days and days, even though I -”

“Draco,” Snape said in a low voice, and the other boy fell silent. “After all of the griping and moaning about your own unaccepted apology, I think it would be better for everyone in this situation if you could be a tad more graceful.”

“Fine.” Malfoy sighed. “I suppose, considering everything, we could… try and start over?”

“Sure.” Harry was feeling so wretched at that point that he’d probably agree to just about anything.

“Are we done, then?” Malfoy complained.

“No,” Snape said, folding his arms. “Far from it. I wish to understand why you’ve been so hostile towards Mr Potter while you’ve been living here together. I’ve noticed you still haven’t told me.”

“I have,” Malfoy grumbled. “I don’t like him.”

“Not good enough,” Snape said, waving one hand. “I think, much like Mr Potter, you are projecting some of the underlying anger at your situation and are taking it out on him. Would that be a fair assumption?”

Malfoy’s eyes flashed. “Of course I’m angry! Is that suddenly not allowed, either?”

“Why should Potter suffer as a consequence of your circumstances, though?” Snape asked, arching an eyebrow. “He isn’t at fault for the problems occurring in your personal life. You should not take out your anger on him, just as he should not take out his anger on you.”

“Oh, Potter can cope!” Malfoy snapped. “He doesn’t have a clue what it’s like to be in my shoes! My life is an utter wreckage, Severus! I’ve lost absolutely everything, I’m stuck living here instead of with my family where I belong, so of course I’m miserable! You know that, I’ve told you about it already! I’m not going to be in the best of moods all the time, especially around that prat!”

“What, do you think I asked to come here, then?” Harry demanded. “You think I want to be stuck here with the two of you? I’m not happy about it, either!” Harry suddenly realised Snape was still watching and felt his cheeks heat up. “Er - no offence, sir -”

“Believe me, Potter, I am fully enlightened about your feelings towards myself and Draco,” Snape drawled with a shake of his head. “If you were pleased to be here, I’d be concerned about brain damage.”

“Er - right.”

“Both of you are here because you have experienced remarkable hardships in your life,” Snape added. “One would think you could come together over that, but instead you tear each other down and use each other as punching bags!”

Malfoy scoffed. “Potter’s experienced hardship? Please.”

The anger exploded through the Calming Draught again, and Harry curled his hands into fists. “You’re one to talk! You’ve had everything handed to you, and now you’re going to stand here and say -”

“Gentlemen!” Snape shouted again, cutting off Harry’s rant. “As a matter of fact, both of you have experienced incredible hardship during your short lives! Draco, would you not consider having one’s parents murdered as a small child to be an event of great adversity?” Malfoy looked away from them both, rather shame-faced, as Snape rounded on Harry. “And you! Having grown up without parents, you can surely understand how miserable it must be to be ripped from your family with no opportunity to even say goodbye!”

Harry felt his cheeks heat up. He hadn’t thought about things from that angle at all. As much as he personally disliked Lucius Malfoy, Draco was obviously going to be quite fond of him…

“I want this behaviour to stop,” Snape growled. “I understand you dislike each other, but clearly my requests for your civility are clearly not enough of a motivator. You will no longer avoid each other at every given opportunity - if I have to force you together all day, every day until you somehow overcome your differences, then I will do so happily! Consider any of your independent free time withdrawn until you sort yourselves out.”

Malfoy groaned loudly, and Harry ground his back teeth and dug his fingernails into his palms.

“I think scrubbing cauldrons will wear some of that anger out, don’t you agree?” Snape laced his fingers together. “Draco, you’re still in trouble for your own act of violence, as you very well know, and I think it would be prudent for Potter to join you as punishment.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said dully.

“Eat your lunch so we can begin.”

Three plates of food appeared in front of them. Draco and Snape quickly tucked in, but Harry simply prodded at his food with a fork, feeling thoroughly miserable. Eating was the last thing on his mind right now…

After several minutes of Harry playing with his food without eating a bite of it, a long, pale finger tapped the table next to Harry’s plate. He glanced up and saw Snape pointedly incline his head towards Harry’s food. Right. Snape was weirdly obsessed with what Harry ate.

Since he didn’t want to get in even more trouble, Harry speared a chunk of sausage and ate it, even though his stomach was so entwined into knots of misery that he thought no food would be allowed passage down his throat. For some reason, Snape still caring whether Harry ate or not even though he was so angry just made Harry feel even worse about himself.

After they ate, Malfoy and Harry were both put to work in Snape’s laboratory cleaning out some of the most disgusting cauldrons Harry had ever had the misfortune of coming into contact with. If scrubbing the caked-on potion crust wasn’t bad enough, Snape had decided to supervise the entire activity, because he apparently couldn’t trust Harry and Malfoy to be alone in a room together without ‘violating the Geneva convention’, which Harry thought was a bit dramatic. To be fair, Snape was a rather dramatic person, but Harry was still a little put out. He felt horribly guilty about the whole incident earlier and really wasn’t planning on doing anything to hurt Malfoy again. The other boy, surprisingly, seemed similarly chastened. He barely said a word apart from occasionally asking Harry to pass a brush or some cleaning fluid, and looked just as miserable as Harry felt.

None of this mattered to Snape, of course. He had decided the ideal form of punishment was to also lecture Harry and Malfoy at length about self-control and anger management for hours on end. Harry really hated this for two reasons: it was remarkably tedious, and it also made him feel even worse about himself than he was already feeling. Snape’s rather harsh words about emotional volatility and violence were really getting under Harry’s skin, and by the end of the afternoon Harry had practically taken a vow of pacifism because he felt so awful about what he’d done.

But as unpleasant as it all was, Harry couldn’t help but think that things could be a lot worse. After all, he’d attacked Malfoy outright. While Snape had lost his temper and had done a lot of shouting, he still hadn’t reverted to the Snape of before, who would needlessly taunt Harry at length and tear him down. He’d been angry, sure, but he hadn’t been wholly unreasonable. One mistake from Harry hadn’t actually ruined everything.

Maybe that was a sign things really were changing, then?

After hours of cauldron scrubbing in the stiflingly hot laboratory, Snape at last cleared his throat. “I think that’s more than enough for now. Pot - Harry, with me. I require your assistance with dinner.”

Harry nodded and got to his feet, stretching his aching shoulders. He didn’t miss the fact that Snape had just used his first name.

Malfoy was looking between the two of them incredulously. “He can cook?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” Snape said, placing a jar of berries onto a shelf of potions ingredients.

“You two don’t have to sound so shocked about it,” Harry muttered, brushing his clothes off.

“With me, then,” Snape ordered. “I shall summon you when the food is prepared, Draco.”

Malfoy nodded and made a beeline straight for the bathroom. As Harry walked down the stairs behind Snape, he heard the telltale groan of pipes that meant the shower had turned on. Harry, who was rather hot and sticky from the combination of the laboratory heat and the manual labour, wished he could do the same.

They entered the kitchen, and Snape pointed his wand at the cabinets. The doors burst open, and a line of potatoes flew from the depths and uniformly lined themselves up on the kitchen counter. They were promptly followed by a peeler.

“Peel those potatoes,” Snape ordered. Harry stepped forward, picked up the peeler and started removing the skins. Meanwhile, Snape busied himself standing in front of the fridge.

Harry watched him out of the corner of his eye. Did wizards generally need fridges? The Weasleys certainly didn’t have one, but this was a Muggle house, so maybe Snape did things differently. You needed something to keep your food cold, after all. Didn’t electricity go a bit funny around magic, though? Snape was always Summoning stuff out of the fridge, and that much use would surely mess up the wiring… or maybe the fridge had been enhanced with magic? Harry’s mind was practically exploding with questions, but he suppressed them. He wasn’t really in the mood to chat to Snape right now.

Snape, of course, was prepared to turn around and quiz Harry at any point, it seemed.

“There are some extra things to do with the incident earlier I wish to discuss with you without Draco present,” Snape said. After making sure Snape couldn’t see his face, Harry rolled his eyes. He’d spent all afternoon listening and discussing things, and he was getting thoroughly sick of it. “Namely, the aspects of it which relate back to your aunt and uncle.”

Harry groaned, clenching the potato so hard in his hand that he was surprised it didn’t explode between his fingers. Why did Snape think everything had to do with the stupid Dursleys?

“Your anger stemmed from the fact that you thought Draco had told me about your injuries,” Snape said, “but I would like to make the point that even if he had told me of his own volition, that would still not be a justifiable reason for you to be angry with him.”

“It would be because it was none of his fucking business!” Harry growled.

“Language!” Snape said sharply, his eyes narrowing. "If you continue to swear so habitually, then you will find yourself becoming intimately familiar with a Soaping Spell, Mr Potter. I will not warn you again."

Harry gritted his teeth and scraped off a great chunk of potato rather irritably.

“And no, it would not be a valid excuse for your anger, as whether or not he could divine the real cause of those injuries, you were still hiding them from everyone, which is odd behaviour at best and downright dangerous at worst.”

“They were just some bruises,” Harry muttered resentfully. “They weren’t serious.”

“I’m sorry, I was not aware you’re a medical professional!” Snape said sarcastically. “Considering the fact that you were pushed down a staircase, those bruises could have easily obscured a fractured rib! Do you even realise how serious this all is?”

“Well, that didn’t happen!” Harry pointed out.

“You are intentionally missing my point,” Snape said, his voice heated. “I am telling you that upon seeing a series of unexplainable injuries that you were insistent on keeping from the person in charge of your care, Draco would have been well within his rights to inform me. Why, then, were you so upset about it?”

“Because,” Harry said, his throat oddly tight, “because…well, if you hadn’t found out, none of the stuff about them would have come out. Things would still be normal! Now you know everything, and I have to think about it, and I can’t keep my magic under control because I’m either just so angry, or…”

Or scared, Harry’s brain finished as he trailed off. He wasn’t going to admit that to Snape in a million years, though.

Snape was regarding him, the irritation that had previously been so clear on his features conspicuously absent. He was frowning, but his eyes were crinkled with concern instead of narrowed with anger. “I think I am beginning to understand. Have you fully considered that this anger you were feeling towards Draco was not actually related to his actions whatsoever, but rather comes from you processing the trauma you endured at the hands of your relatives?”

“I am not traumatised,” Harry growled, flexing his fingers and trying to suppress his annoyance. The Calming Draught he had taken earlier had worn off towards the end of Snape’s afternoon of lecturing, and if Harry lost control and blew up Snape’s glassware again he thought he might actually die of embarrassment.

Snape looked like he wanted to argue the point, but simply exhaled loudly before continuing. “Would you or would you not agree that you are angry about your family situation?”

Harry hesitated for a moment before slowly nodding. That was what he had been thinking about before punching Malfoy, wasn’t it? He’d been outraged about what the Dursleys had spent his childhood telling Harry about his mother and father, and that fury had directly caused his explosion.

“I think,” Snape said quietly, “that since you have no means to express your outrage towards your relatives, you have instead settled on what your mind determines to be a more palatable and accessible target. Since you thought Draco was the reason your relationship with the Dursleys came to light, you directed your anger towards him instead.”

Harry gripped the counter and pressed his lips together, disgust rising in him because Snape was right. He’d been shoving Malfoy around that whole morning for no good reason, even before he’d punched the other boy. It wasn’t like Malfoy was still being horrid to him, after all. In fact, Malfoy had pretty much been on his best behaviour since Harry had been retrieved from London. He’d even apologised!

And Harry had responded to that like some sort of violent thug. He felt like Dudley. Harry did his best to swallow down his shame, but he couldn’t quite press away the lump in his throat.

“I told you yesterday that Draco takes Calming Draughts when his anger gets out of hand,” Snape said, pausing his cooking preparations to fix Harry with a piercing look. “Do you think it would be wise to do something similar in your case, while we wait for your life to settle down?”

Harry nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak. He didn’t particularly like the sensation of a Calming Draught, but it was a hell of a lot better than devolving into fits of violent rage.

“You need to make a concentrated effort to sort out your reactions,” Snape said sternly. Harry couldn’t bring himself to look at the man. “It is not Draco’s fault you have been mistreated by your relatives, and you shouldn’t take your anger out on him.”

Harry thought if Snape kept talking for another moment he’d do something awful, like burst into tears, so he let the frustration and self-hatred morph into irritation. “Oh, like you’re one to talk!”

“I beg your pardon?” Snape’s eyes narrowed, and Harry felt the awful choked sensation in his throat ease. Yes, anger was easier.

“You’ve spent the past two years being horrible to me for no reason!” Harry hissed. “You’re always angry at me, even when I haven’t done anything wrong! Like how the hell was I supposed to know about the Draught of Living Death as a first year? I’d only known about magic for a month at that point! Then, I come here and you’re even more of a git than usual! I don’t understand how you can stand there and say I shouldn’t take out my anger on other people when that’s all you’ve done to me the entire time you’ve known me!”

Harry finally finished ranting, his chest heaving, while Snape stood by the fridge with his mouth hanging open slightly. It was about a minute before he finally responded. “I… I would like to apologise.”

That took the wind out of Harry’s sails. “What?”

“I apologise for the way I have treated you for the last two years, and for my behaviour towards you while you have been staying here,” Snape said evenly. “You’re completely right; I was taking my own anger out on you. I am throwing stones in a glass house, one might say.”

Harry was the one with his mouth hanging open, now. “You - you’re - what?”

“I’m sorry,” Snape said again. “You are not expected to accept my apology, but I thought you should have it nonetheless.”

There was no sound in the kitchen apart from the scrape of the potato peeler as Harry tried to collect himself after that shocking admission. He had never, not in a million years, expected Snape to apologise for the way he treated Harry during Potions. It was such an unlikely scenario that Harry didn’t even know where to begin. Eventually, he managed to collect his wits enough to attempt to speak again.

“I’m… well, I still don’t understand why you did all of it, though.” Snape inclined his head, and Harry rushed on. “I mean you’ve spent all afternoon wanting to know why Malfoy and I were doing the stuff we did to each other, so why were you always so mean to me? I don’t remember doing anything specific -”

“No.” Snape cut Harry off quickly. “It was nothing you did.” He tugged down the sleeves of his black robes before continuing to speak. “It was your father. I’m sure you can gather from some of my insults that I intensely disliked the man.”

Harry frowned. “Why?”

“Because he was an arrogant, pig-headed -” Snape abruptly cut himself off and took a deep, shuddering breath. “No. Don’t ask me, because my retelling may be… inaccurate. At any rate, I was taking out my dislike of him on you. It was wrong of me.”

“Yeah. It was,” Harry bit out, scraping the peeler against the potato rather forcefully.

“That is why I am so insistent that you process your own anger,” Snape said after a moment. “Consider me something of a cautionary tale. I do not want you to go down the same path I did.”

Harry shivered slightly. That, more than anything, was a pretty compelling reason to sort himself out. It felt a little rude to think of things that way, but it was true; Harry didn’t want to end up like Snape.

They cooked in silence for a while, and Harry moved on from peeling potatoes to carrots, thinking all the while about Snape’s own apology. He still couldn’t quite believe it had happened.

Snape had said Harry didn’t have to accept his apology. Did he accept it yet? Harry wasn’t sure. Harry really didn’t like holding grudges, so he was inclined to do so, but he didn’t know if Snape was just going to go back to being his usual self when they got back to Hogwarts, so he was a bit wary of getting over things too soon. At any rate, he was still reeling from the fact that Snape had even said sorry in the first place.

Harry wasn’t even particularly certain about how he felt about Snape in general these days. He’d been surprisingly decent. It wasn’t just the basic necessities, like three full meals a day, a bed to sleep in, and the absence of his relatives’ manhandling that made living at Spinner’s End preferable to Privet Drive.

No, Snape was actually nice to Harry. He’d spent time with Harry, cooking and playing chess. He took an interest in Harry’s life, and asked him what he wanted to do when he grew up, and told Harry about his mother, even though he obviously found it hard to do so. He’d insisted on healing Harry’s injuries, no matter how vehemently he protested, and he’d given his word that he was going to stop Harry from going back to his relatives. Nobody had ever cared enough to do that for Harry before Snape, and as much as he didn’t want it to, that meant something.

Harry didn’t think he was quite over their past quite yet, but to his shock, he realised he didn’t hate Snape anymore. And, he thought, Snape no longer hated Harry, either. He didn’t spend all day standing around glaring at Snape and thinking up insults, at any rate. Harry didn’t want to anymore. The longstanding, mutual dislike between the two of them was gradually giving way to something different, something that Harry didn’t quite have words for. It was still early days, but Harry was starting to realise how far a bit of common decency and kindness could go towards thawing an icy relationship. At any rate, living at Spinner’s End wasn’t utterly unbearable like it had been the week before. Harry was actually settling into their odd routine.

It was a long time before someone spoke again. Snape was the one to break the silence. “I noticed you mentioned you didn’t know you were a wizard until a month before you began attending Hogwarts?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Harry shrugged as he chopped the carrots. “You’ve probably guessed they don’t exactly like magic. Hagrid was the one to tell me everything when he came to deliver my Hogwarts letter.”

Snape didn’t respond immediately, and Harry turned over his shoulder and realised Snape was regarding him strangely. His eyes were dark with something - pity, Harry thought with no small amount of horror.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, unable to bear looking Snape in the eyes for another moment. “I don’t need to be pitied. Plenty of Muggleborns started Hogwarts in exactly the same position as me.”

“I was not pitying you,” Snape said tersely. “Feeling sorry for people is not in my nature. I was simply reflecting on some of the shortcomings of Petunia’s character. I see she hasn’t improved in the slightest since I knew her…”

Harry dropped his knife as he gasped. It hit the floor with a loud clatter, narrowly missing his foot. Snape rolled his eyes as he waved his wand, causing the knife to fly back onto the counter. “Pay attention! I’d prefer it if you didn’t mutilate yourself while cooking, as reattaching toes is a rather tiresome process…”

“What do you mean you know Aunt Petunia?” Harry demanded.

“Knew,” Snape corrected. “Given my friendship with your mother, I occasionally came across her when she was young.” His lip curled. “She was not particularly fond of me, or of magic.”

Harry stared at Snape, wide-eyed. “She was always like that?”

“Indeed.” Snape’s expression had developed into a full sneer. “She was always a remarkably jealous, spiteful person, even as a child. She hates magic because she cannot have it. In fact, I recall her writing a letter to Professor Dumbledore begging him to allow her to study magic at Hogwarts.”

“No way!” Harry exclaimed.

“It’s true,” Snape said. “Your mother and I found the Headmaster’s reply and rejection in her room one day. She envied Lily terribly, and never quite got over it, apparently. Although, to not even tell you magic exists when she knew a decent amount of detail about it is an extra layer of cruelty I’d have hoped Petunia did not possess.” Snape frowned. “If you didn’t know about magic, then how did she explain your parents’ deaths?”

“Oh, I always thought they died in a car crash,” Harry said. He deliberately excluded the part about them being drunk drivers, but that didn’t seem to help the look of outrage on Snape’s face.

“Now that is truly ridiculous,” he snapped, slamming a pot onto the stove.

“Yeah. Hagrid was pretty angry with them when he found out.”

“Rightfully so,” Snape growled, turning back to the cooking. He jabbed his wand at the stove, and tall flames began licking at the sides of the pot. Snape muttered an oath under his breath and waved his wand again, reducing the flames to a regular size. To Harry’s immense relief, they didn’t speak of the Dursleys again as they finished up the meal, although Snape was still quite clearly angry about everything Harry had told him. He didn’t think he minded that, though. In a weird way, it was quite comforting to know there was somebody out there who disliked Petunia Dursley just as much as Harry himself did.

After a rather silent dinner, mercifully free of the lecturing Snape had engaged in all afternoon, Harry and Malfoy both got up almost simultaneously to leave, presumably to different parts of the house.

“Not so fast,” Snape said, holding up a hand. Harry groaned, as did Malfoy. “I will not have you two slinking off to separate corners of the house to sulk. I meant it when I said I wanted you to spend some time together.”

Harry sighed. “More cauldrons, then?”

Snape shook his head, and pointed his wand in the direction of the open doorway. “I had something else in mind.”

Moments later, an incredibly faded Monopoly box landed on the kitchen table. Malfoy frowned. “What is that?”

“A board game, which the two of you will be playing together this evening,” Snape said briskly.

Malfoy’s face wrinkled with disgust. “I’m not playing a Muggle board game!”

“And just for that little comment, you will be playing at least three games of it before the week is up,” Snape said, his eyes narrowing. “Watch yourself, Draco. I will not tolerate the constant spew of anti-Muggle rhetoric.”

Malfoy groaned. “But don’t you have any proper board games? House-elves and Hinkypunks? Floo Fighters?”

“Do I look like I collect board games?” Snape asked icily. “As it is, I am rather surprised I even own this one. It shall simply have to do for now. You may set it up in the living room.”

Malfoy stalked out of the room and Harry followed him, carrying the Monopoly box. Snape didn’t come, he noticed, but Harry was almost certain that he was listening in on them from the kitchen.

“So what do we do with it, then?” Malfoy asked. He was nervously eyeing the box like it was a bomb, and Harry had to suppress a snort.

“We put it on the floor and set up the board, I suppose.” Harry raised an eyebrow. “Have you really never heard of Monopoly before?”

Malfoy scowled. “Well, my parents never exposed me to that kind of Muggle nonsense -”

“Draco!” Snape’s sharp voice shouted from the nearby kitchen. “What did I just say?”

“Er - that just slipped out.” Malfoy stared at the carpet. “No, I’ve not heard of it before.”

As Harry unfolded the board, he had a sudden, jarring realisation. Perhaps, the reason Malfoy was so hostile about all things Muggle wasn’t just because he was a nasty bigot - well, not entirely, at least. Maybe he was actually just out of his depth in Muggle Cokeworth, which he had to be completely unfamiliar with. Harry still remembered how terrified he’d looked in the supermarket, how he’d not even known about automatic doors…

And that unfamiliarity was making him defensive. Harry, who had experience of his own with being thrown into a world that he had no understanding of, couldn’t help but be the tiniest bit sympathetic, even if it was Malfoy.

“I’ve never actually played it before, either,” he admitted, hoping the confession would relax the other boy. “I know the rules, mostly, but my cousin never wanted anything to do with me, so I didn’t have a chance to play it until now. We can figure it all out together.”

Something that could have been a smile twitched around Malfoy’s lips as Harry finished setting up the board. “So what do you do, then?”

“Simple - you try and bankrupt the other players,” Harry explained. He pointed to the various properties at the edges of the board. “Each player starts off with 1500 in Monopoly money. You use that to buy up these properties on the side. If the other player lands on the property you own, they have to pay you rent. Oh, and if you get all of the properties of the same colour, you can put houses on them and that makes the rent go up.”

“Hmm.” Malfoy cocked his head thoughtfully. “That doesn’t sound too bad…”

“Well, then pick up a token and let’s get started,” Harry said, taking the small metal boat and placing it at the beginning. He also gathered the dice as Malfoy took the dog token and placed it down. Harry smiled to himself. He had always wanted to try this game and was excited to finally do so, even if he was playing with Malfoy, of all people.

Harry rolled a five, landing him on King’s Cross. He smiled to himself as he paid 200 to the bank. It seemed like a pretty appropriate place landing, he thought.

Malfoy eyed him suspiciously. “What are you doing? Are you giving yourself more money?”

“No, I’m paying for something,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. Trust the Slytherin to assume he was cheating. “I own King’s Cross now.”

“So what does that mean?”

“If you land on it, you have to pay me, then,” Harry explained, placing the property card in front of him. He dropped the dice into Malfoy’s palm. “It’s your roll.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at the dice in his palm. “Muggles don’t have Self-Rolling Dice?”

“Nope, you have to do it yourself.” Harry scoffed. “I’m sure you’ll live.”

Malfoy glared at him and rolled the dice so aggressively that one flew under the sofa. After Harry craned his neck and retrieved it from the dusty depths, Malfoy re-rolled and got an eleven. After he moved his token forwards, he looked up at Harry and tilted his head to one side. “So I buy this?”

He shrugged. “If you want to.”

“I do. Here’s the money.” He handed Harry the cash, which he exchanged for a property card. Malfoy held it in his hand, looking rather thoughtful. “This isn’t so bad…”

“We told you so,” Harry said, trying not to sound too smug.

“At any rate, it’ll be dreadfully easy to win,” Malfoy drawled, jutting his chin out. “My father instilled excellent business sense in me, you know. This clearly isn’t that different, so you’re really at quite the disadvantage.”

“Oh really?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. Competing against Malfoy - this was something he knew how to do. How different could a board game be to Quidditch, really? “You’re on, Malfoy.”

“Yes!” Harry crowed, sliding his token over to Strand. He finally had all three of the red properties!

“That is ridiculous!” Malfoy shouted, slamming his hand against the floor. “These dice must be rigged!”

“They weren’t rigged when you got your monopoly, were they?” Harry said smugly, taking the property card. “All my shiny new houses can be a nice surprise for when you get out of jail…”

“You shouldn’t get stuck there just for rolling three doubles,” Malfoy grumbled. “You made that rule up, you little cheat!”

“These rules say otherwise!” Harry said, waving the paper in Malfoy’s face. He felt borderline euphoric. “Now, are you getting out this turn?”

Malfoy rolled the dice and groaned loudly.

“You have to pay now,” Harry said, crossing his arms and grinning.

“I’m going to get you for this, Potter,” Malfoy growled, slamming the money down so hard it rattled Harry’s houses. “When I buy Mayfair, you’re going to be on your knees and begging for mercy.”

“Not if I get there first!” Harry said, picking up the dice and starting to shake them. He nearly threw them over his shoulder when someone cleared their throat from behind him, startling Harry. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Snape watching them closely, leaning against the open door.

“Enjoying yourselves?” he asked, clearly amused.

As Harry thought about the question, he had an abrupt realisation. He’d been in the living room playing Monopoly with Malfoy for almost two hours, and they actually hadn’t gotten into a fight. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; they had been shouting at each other constantly and saying how much they hated one another, but as far as Harry could tell that was just a side-effect of playing Monopoly. Anyway, Harry was giving it as good as he got, and being called a cheating, money-hungry git was a significant step up from having Malfoy jeer at him about his dead parents.

“For a Muggle game, it’s… not entirely unbearable,” Malfoy admitted reluctantly. Coming from him, that was rather high praise.

“Er - we aren’t in any trouble, are we?” Harry asked nervously, thinking of the large amounts of insults he and Malfoy had exchanged over the course of the evening.

“No.” Surprisingly, Snape’s lips twitched. “Although I must admit, if I had remembered how emotionally charged Monopoly can become I may have selected a different activity.”

A thoughtful expression crossed Malfoy’s face. “So Severus, you seem to know how our game works. You’ve played Monopoly before?”

“Why else would I own a Monopoly board?” Snape said.

“Can you do Monopoly with more than two people?” Malfoy asked Harry. He slowly nodded, unsure of where this was going as Malfoy turned back to Snape. “You should play with us sometime, then!”

Harry let out a shocked splutter that he sort of managed to turn into a hacking cough. Snape rolled his eyes at him, but other than that didn’t comment. “Perhaps I will, Draco.”

“Really?” Harry asked disbelievingly. While living with Snape he’d had to reconcile a lot of incredibly disturbing domestic images of his most-hated Potions Professor, but the thought of the man crouched down next to a Monopoly board and getting into bickering matches with Harry and Draco about whether or not the dice face had landed on four or five was just one step too far.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Are you scared I’ll beat you?”

Harry started coughing again, before he finally managed to croak out, “No!”

“Perhaps tomorrow night, then.” Snape said, retreating back into the hallway outside. “By the time the two of you are finished, it will be far too late to start a new game.”

He began to walk down the hallway, and Harry noticed the creak of footsteps against the staircase. He quickly refocused his attention back on the game, and ended up landing on one of Malfoy’s railroads. He was suitably gleeful.

But in the end, Malfoy was the one to lose overall. His defeat came following a gloriously drawn-out process of mortgaging properties while Harry watched his pile of money grow larger and larger. Finally, Malfoy was bankrupted, and Harry mercilessly mocked him while the other boy flipped the board, causing the money to float through the air like confetti. It was intensely satisfying to beat him.

It was slightly less satisfying when a scowling Snape caught the tail end of this and made them clear up the mess and neatly repack the board before promptly sending them to bed early. Still, even that couldn’t quash Harry’s satisfaction. He may not like Malfoy, but he certainly liked beating him.

As they laid in the darkness of their room, Malfoy cleared his throat and propped himself up on one elbow. “Potter…those bruises you were so angry about. Where did they actually come from, anyway? Were you in some sort of fight? Is that why Severus was so upset?”

Harry sharply inhaled. He quickly tried to quash down the enjoyable time he’d had that evening, and did his best to resummon all the familiar animosity and harden his heart. “Look, Malfoy. We may have a truce or something now, but we certainly aren’t friends. I’m not having some kind of heart to heart with you.”

Malfoy huffed. “Fine. Whatever…”

There was the sound of rustling - presumably, he had turned over. Harry stared at the long shadows stretching across the ceiling and bit down on his lip until the coppery tang of blood flooded his mouth.

“I honestly don’t get why you wanted it secret,” Malfoy whispered. “I didn’t know what biking was. I just thought it was some embarrassing Muggle thing, and I was really going to leave it, but then Severus saw and was so upset about it, and - well, if I had known it was so serious, whatever it is, at the time…”

“You don’t know anything, Malfoy,” Harry bit out, cutting off the other boy’s babbling. “It was nothing.”

Stifling silence followed his statement, but Harry couldn’t fall asleep. He just knew that no matter how much he protested, Malfoy wasn’t going to let it go. It was simply a question of how long Harry could push things off until Malfoy finally put it all together.