"Why are you staying here?” Harry asked, well and truly baffled.

"None of your business!" Malfoy snapped, his grey eyes flashing. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll keep your nose out of it!"

"Now, now," Snape said lazily. "Potter, with me. We aren’t finished."

Harry bit down on his lip as he followed Snape out of the living room, trying to resist the urge to hit back at Malfoy with a sharp retort that would almost certainly get him into trouble. Had Harry done something to upset Dumbledore or something? That was the only reason Harry could think of for the Headmaster to dump him in what was Harry's own personal hell.

They walked up the creaky staircase, to a cramped, dark landing. Snape pointed to two closed doors opposite to the staircase.

"My bedroom and my study respectively," Snape said. "You are not to enter either of them without permission unless you are on the brink of death. You will only disobey me if you aren’t particularly fond of keeping all of your limbs attached to your body. Are we clear?"

"Yes," Harry muttered.

"Yes sir," the man snapped. "It may be summer, but I am still your professor and I deserve some respect. I know you get away with not having any manners back at home, Potter, but that kind of behaviour will not be tolerated here."

Harry was starting to think that Professor Snape would get on remarkably well with Uncle Vernon. He also spent a lot of time banging on about respect.

"That is the lavatory," Snape said, gesturing to a cramped bathroom full of cracked tiles and a combined bathtub and shower. "And this is where you will be sleeping."

He strode through the open door closest to the staircase, and Harry followed. The room was a decent bit bigger than Harry's bedroom back at the Dursleys. It was painted a light blue, and there were two twin beds set against opposite walls with a small desk in between them. Across from the desk were two dressers and a half-full bookshelf. The bed furthest from the door was already sloppily made, and on the part of the desk closest to that bed was a photograph of Malfoy with his parents. Despite the fact that wizarding photographs moved, the Malfoy family were barely more animated than they would have been in a Muggle photograph. They were so stiffly posed they appeared practically statuesque.

Harry got the impression that Malfoy had been here for a while, judging by how well-decorated it was. Why was that, though? Why wasn’t he at home with his parents? Of course, any curiosity Harry was feeling was overcome by the waves of dread pounding him. He and Malfoy were sharing a room. It couldn't get worse…

Once again, Snape scowled at Harry.

"The two of you will be sharing," he said, clearly noticing Harry’s trepidation. "You both share a dormitory with four other boys when school is in session, so I don't doubt you'll find it in yourselves to manage. Accio Potter's trunk."

Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage flew up the stairs and landed neatly at the foot of the unused bed.

"You'll be expected to look after your owl, Potter," Snape said, glaring at the empty cage. "I won't be picking up after her."

"Of course, sir," he said irritably. What kind of person did Snape take Harry for? Of course he’d look after Hedwig! Harry just hoped she’d know how to get to him here. He’d just sent Hedwig to Egypt with a letter for Ron explaining his situation the night before Dumbledore had come with his terrible news. Still, she'd managed to find Harry at the Leaky Cauldron, so hopefully she'd work it out.

"You can unpack later," Snape said as Harry headed in the direction of his trunk. "Come back downstairs now. I want to make sure my rules are perfectly clear so you can’t claim ignorance when you misbehave."

Here we go, Harry thought wearily as he trudged down the stairs. His relatives just loved to make rules, particularly ones that were completely impossible to obey so Harry had no real chance of abiding by them. They always loved to find fault with him. Harry sat down on one of the ugly cream sofas, as far away from Malfoy as he could get, while Snape sat in a wing-backed armchair nearby.

"Now, the rules," he said, steepling his fingers and regarding Harry closely. "First of all, you will be expected to do plenty of work around here, Potter, as punishment for blowing up that aunt of yours. Whatever pampered life you were leading at home is well and truly over. There will be chores, and you will do them to a level that I am satisfied with or else I will be highly displeased."

He glared at Harry, who was overcome by the sudden knowledge that Snape would probably go out of his way to find fault no matter how much work he did.

Malfoy looked up, a gleeful expression affixed to his pointy features. “Are you serious? Potter, you blew up your aunt? How ridiculous!”

“Stuff it, Malfoy,” Harry snapped.

"Second of all,” Snape said loudly, “you will be respectful. You will address me as ‘professor’ or ‘sir’ at all times. You will be polite to Draco, who will likewise be polite to you."

To Harry's surprise, he actually gave Malfoy a stern look. His expression of joy about the incident with Aunt Marge quickly faded.

"I am aware of your contentious relationship at Hogwarts," Snape said sternly, "and I would prefer if my house wasn’t reduced to rubble while you stay here together. I'm not asking for you to be friends, but I am asking for you to be civil. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Malfoy muttered, folding his arms and sinking back into the sofa.

"Yes, sir," Harry added.

"You will not go into my Potions lab,” Snape said, counting off the rules on his long, pale fingers. “You will be in bed with the lights out by ten-thirty each night. You will dedicate a reasonable portion of your day to completing your summer assignments, which I will be checking. If you want to keep your wand in your possession, you will not dare to use magic. You will not leave the property without my permission."

Harry felt like his head was spinning as Snape listed rule after rule after rule. The man must be doing this because he was on some sort of sick power trip, Harry reasoned, because there was no logical reason for a person to have this many rules unless they were setting you up to fail. Another favoured tactic of his relatives…

Harry also highly doubted that Malfoy was subjected to any of these rules, even if Snape claimed he was. Snape favoured the Slytherins during term time - why would this be any different? No, this was just a new way to make Harry miserable. How typical.

"You may now go and unpack, Potter," Snape said when he finally finished his spiel. "I expect you for dinner in half an hour. Do not be late."

As he went back upstairs, Harry wondered if he was going to be making the meals here, like he did at the Dursleys. From the sounds of it, though, Snape was the one cooking. That was certainly different. Still, judging by Snape’s chores comment Harry would certainly be doing enough as it was.

Harry wondered if Snape was any good in the kitchen. He was certainly decent at brewing, but Harry wasn’t exactly a bad cook and those skills certainly hadn’t translated to his Potions lessons. He couldn’t be sure if the opposite would be true.

Harry didn’t bother to put anything away once he entered the bedroom. Malfoy, on the other hand, had quickly decorated what was clearly his half of the room. There was a Quidditch poster in the bright yellow and black striped colours of the Wimbourne Wasps, as well as a Slytherin pennant. For some reason, there was also a page of sheet music stuck to the wall.

He certainly wasn’t just staying for a visit. Malfoy looked rather settled in this room…

Harry didn't dare retrieve any of his things from his trunk. He didn’t trust either Snape or Malfoy not to damage his belongings like Dudley used to - in fact, Harry was almost certain Malfoy would take just as much pleasure in ruining what precious little Harry owned as his cousin did. Still, Dudley at least had been too scared of ‘freaky tricks’ to actually go into Harry’s trunk, which wouldn’t keep Malfoy out. He needed the layers of Dudley’s cast-offs to keep his more precious belongings hidden at the bottom, like the photo album of his parents or his father's cloak. 

So, after a quick trip to the bathroom to put his toothbrush away, Harry had essentially finished unpacking. He didn't dare go downstairs - the Dursleys had always gone by the rule that Harry needed to be out of sight at all times unless he was working - but he didn't really have anything else to do, so Harry flopped onto his bed. It was reasonably comfortable, but he still winced as his bruised parts of his back made contact with the mattress. Things at the Dursleys were never ideal, but Aunt Marge’s presence at Privet Drive always tended to stir up Uncle Vernon’s more violent side. Most of the time, he was satisfied with simply shoving Harry around unless he did something wrong, but whenever Aunt Marge was there, Uncle Vernon tended to hit Harry a lot more. It was as if he was proving some strange kind of point to her, since Aunt Marge didn’t think Harry was properly disciplined.

Then, of course, was Dudley, who always liked to use Harry as his personal punching bag. While he could generally outrun his cousin, Dudley occasionally managed to corner Harry, which was never pleasant for him. There had been a particularly nasty incident involving the stairs a couple of days ago which had left Harry rather sore.

Harry just hoped Snape didn't share his relatives’ violent tendencies.

He didn't think Dumbledore would let Snape beat him or anything, but to be fair, Harry also hadn't thought Dumbledore would banish him to Snape's house in the first place. Anything was fair game, especially considering how much Snape hated him, and he had said that Dumbledore had given him permission to deal with Harry however he wanted for blowing up Aunt Marge. Since Snape despised Harry perhaps more than his aunt and uncle did, which was quite a feat, he’d almost certainly take pleasure in hurting Harry. That wasn’t even considering the magic he had at his disposal, which Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia didn’t possess. There were probably hundreds of unpleasant hexes and curses Snape could throw at Harry which he’d be completely defenceless against.

Harry shivered, rolling over onto his side. As he did so, the door swung open, revealing a scowling Malfoy.

"Potter," he spat, looking Harry up and down and wrinkling his nose.

"Malfoy," he said with equal disdain.

"Now listen here," Malfoy said, leaning against the door frame. "I was here first. This is my room, got it? You touch any of my stuff and you're dead."

"I wouldn't want to touch your stupid stuff anyway!" Harry said, voice rising. "You leave me alone, I leave you alone. What are you even doing here, anyway?"

Malfoy's face flushed. "I could ask you the same question. Couldn't go to that dump Weasley calls a house this year? Is it true they all share one bedroom? Although I doubt they could afford that, even…"

"You take that back!" Harry shouted.

"Make me, scarhead."

"You stupid, inbred git -"

"Boys!" Snape's ringing voice echoed through the house. "Come down here immediately!"

After exchanging one final glare, Harry and Malfoy silently trooped down the stairs. An irate-looking Snape was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, arms folded.

"What did I just say about being civil, gentlemen?" Snape asked icily. "Potter, is your thick skull so impenetrable that not even my simple list of rules can get through to you?"

The unfairness of Harry's whole situation finally boiled over. "But sir, he started it! I-"

"Silence!" Snape shouted, cowing Harry. "I do not care for your whining and excuses! Are you three? No? I thought not, although your behaviour suggests otherwise. Now, since I clearly can't trust the two of you to be out of my sight without it ending in a shouting match, you can go set the table and sit quietly while I finish making dinner. Get on with it."

Harry stormed into the kitchen with Malfoy as the two of them started laying out the cutlery and plates, jostling and elbowing each other the whole way. He hated this whole situation so much.

A few minutes later, Snape flicked his wand and three portions of spaghetti bolognese appeared on the plates he and Malfoy had placed out. Harry had only arrived at the Leaky Cauldron the previous evening, so he hadn’t had a lot of time to catch up on meals after the pitiful portions he was given at the Dursleys. As a result, he practically inhaled his food. Harry had been right - apparently, Potions skills did translate to the ability to cook. The food was delicious.

He was about halfway through his meal when he looked up and noticed Snape was watching him and looking vaguely disgusted. Harry was aware he was probably eating a little quicker than was strictly polite, but in the Dursley household any food on his plate was fair game to Dudley, so he typically tried to finish as much as he could before his cousin got bored of his own food and started coming after Harry’s already meagre scraps. That coupled with the general lack of meals at Privet Drive meant Harry really couldn't bring himself to care about table manners most of the time.

Besides, Harry would much rather wolf down his food so he could get back to sitting silently in Malfoy’s room where no one would bother him, since eating with Snape was weird. He and Malfoy were making polite conversation with one another, much like Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley would do, but it was still strange hearing Snape engage in dinner talk instead of barking brewing instructions and making snide remarks about Harry’s parentage.

Of course, his and Malfoy’s discussion was still very Snape-like.

“So, the billywig stings we added earlier,” Snape said. “What were they a substitution for?”

Malfoy paused for a moment, his forehead wrinkled with concentration. “Doxy fangs?”

Snape nodded. “Correct. It should increase the potency of the brew.”

“I don’t quite understand why, Severus,” Malfoy said, tilting his head to one side. “Aren’t doxy fangs filled with far more venom than billywig stings?”

God, it was so weird hearing Malfoy call Snape by his first name. Harry wondered what Snape would do if he did the same thing. Explode, probably.

“Typically yes, but due to the lower level of acidity present in billywig stings there is a better interaction between them and the rest of the ingredients in the Wideye Potion,” Snape explained. "It lessens the potential side effects of nausea."

"Interesting," Malfoy said thoughtfully.

Harry, of course, understood exactly none of this. He didn't have a clue what doxy fangs could be, and Harry could only remember what billywig stings did from an incident back in February where Neville had accidentally stung himself and had levitated all the way to the dungeon ceiling. He’d needed to be dragged by the arms to the hospital wing like a strange, boy-shaped helium balloon.

Once Harry had finished eating he remained awkwardly at the table, even though he desperately wanted to leave. Was he supposed to ask permission to be excused? He never had to at the Dursleys. It was understood he’d immediately begin washing up the pots and pans after eating, since they couldn’t stand the sight of Harry for any longer than they had to. Still, Snape had a slight obsession with manners, but simultaneously Harry didn’t dare to interrupt his conversation with Malfoy…

In the end, Harry just sat quietly, paralysed by indecision until Snape and Malfoy had finished their food. Snape raised his wand and twirled it in a corkscrew motion, causing the knives, forks and plates to fly into the sink and begin scrubbing themselves. Harry made a conscious effort to not look too shocked, since Malfoy would surely pounce on that, but it was strange to see such casual magic being utilised after such a mundane summer. Of course Snape wouldn’t stand around and do the washing up, would he? Harry was suddenly overcome by a rather vivid mental image of the man in yellow rubber gloves and struggled to control his twitching lips.

Of course, as soon as Snape noticed Harry experiencing any sort of positive emotion, he had to ruin it. When he noticed Harry trying to suppress his laughter, Snape’s eyebrows contracted sharply. “So, Potter. I’m assuming you haven’t bothered to crack open a single book this summer?”

Harry ground his back teeth. If Snape only knew the amount of sneaking around he had to engage in just to get a peek at his summer assignments! Most people wouldn’t go to nearly that much effort for homework!

“I’ve done some of it.”

“Bring down whatever pitiful work you've produced,” Snape ordered. “If I’m stuck with you for the rest of August, I shall at least make an effort to make the lives of my colleagues slightly easier by remedying whatever sorry excuse for homework you’ve scraped together.”

Harry walked out of the kitchen without another word, taking deep, calming breaths. It really wouldn’t do to explode at Snape in his own house, but it was mightily difficult to keep his temper, especially since he didn’t have Ron or Hermione here to pointedly nudge him or stamp on his foot when things got too bad like he would have in Potions.

Harry gathered up his Astronomy homework and his half-finished History of Magic essay, as well as the required textbooks. He walked back downstairs and found Snape leaning against the kitchen counter, looking remarkably unimpressed. Malfoy had somehow obtained a History of Magic textbook of his own in the time Harry had been away, and was sitting cross-legged on a kitchen chair with it open in his lap.

Harry handed his Astronomy homework over to Snape and turned to sit at the kitchen table, but Snape also snatched the History of Magic essay from his hands and started reading it. As his eyes darted back and forth across the parchment, his lips curled into a sneer.

"And what exactly is this?" Snape asked icily.

"My homework," Harry said.

"You call this homework?" Snape hissed, waving the essay about. "Honestly, Potter! This is a pathetic attempt at a History of Magic essay. Your presentation is utterly appalling! It's as if you wrote it in the dark!"

Because I bloody well did! Harry wanted to scream. Snape didn't have a clue what it was like to tiptoe around your relatives, trying to sneakily do your homework under the covers at night and listening out for a break in your uncle's snoring as a cue to turn the lights out. No idea.

"You will redo this immediately," Snape growled, slamming the parchment onto the kitchen table. Harry hated himself for flinching. He picked up the essay and threw himself down opposite Malfoy to get started. The sooner this essay was finished, the sooner he could get away from these horrid people.

Harry sighed and put down his quill. He'd spent the entire evening rewriting the stupid History of Magic essay, and he was bored out of his mind. Writing three feet about the witch burnings of the Middle Ages was bad enough the first time around, but twice? It was ridiculous, the essay was fine! Besides, Harry highly doubted that Professor Binns even read the essays he was given.

He glowered at Snape, who was leaning against the kitchen counter and writing on a piece of parchment that was somehow suspended in mid-air. He was probably tearing a Potions essay to shreds and covering it with nasty, red-inked feedback, judging by the aggressive scratching of his quill. Harry could easily imagine the cruel comments. A dunderheaded fool like you shouldn't be allowed within a mile of a cauldron, or I'm sure the world would be a better place if you met an early demise drinking a Befuddlement Beverage full of asphodel. Snape's marking was rather infamous in Gryffindor Tower, and it had become something of a game for Harry and his dorm mates to compare what vicious insults the man had conjured up and vote on which was the vilest. Harry and Neville were generally the ones fighting for first place.

Of course, laughing off Snape's mean-spirited feedback was a lot more difficult when he didn't have his friends around him. Harry couldn't help but glower in Snape's direction as his simmering resentment towards the man grew hotter and closer to an explosion. He just wanted to be far away from Snape and stupid Malfoy, and getting stuck in the same room as them all evening was rather vexing. Still, the History of Magic essay was at last completed. It may have taken him all evening, but he was done, and if it wasn't good enough for Snape he could just go -

"Potter!" Snape was now staring at Harry; he'd noticed him watching.

"What?" Harry said, hoping Snape couldn’t somehow read his thoughts.

"What did I say about slacking off?" Snape asked irritably. "You seem to have a great struggle with terminal laziness, Potter. I'll happily keep you here all night if you don't get on with that work."

"I’m already finished, sir," Harry said through gritted teeth, trying to resist the urge to ball up the essay and hurl it straight at Snape's oily nose.

"You'd better not have rushed it," Snape warned. Harry didn't respond; Snape was just trying to goad him, and he wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Give it here, then," Snape ordered. Harry handed over the essay, sitting back with his arms folded as Snape's eyes raked over it, obviously trying to find fault.

"You spelt Ulgurg the Ugly wrong," he said. Once again, Harry didn't respond. If he could just keep his mouth shut for a couple more minutes, he’d be free…

Snape's expression twisted into a contemptuous, unpleasant smile. "Well look at that! It turns out you are actually capable of writing a coherent essay, Potter. I'd never have thought it, considering the appalling Potions work you turn in on a regular basis."

Only Snape would be able to turn a decent History of Magic essay into an insult, Harry reflected.

"Fix the spelling mistakes and then you're free to leave," Snape said, turning away from him. "Draco, how are you finding it?"

Harry couldn't help the surge of irritation coursing through him as Snape helped Malfoy sort through some dates he was confused about. The difference in treatment was just so unfair, and it infuriated him.

Still, he’d been released at last. Harry wasn’t one to overlook small mercies. He slunk upstairs, sat quietly on his bed, and watched the windows of a dozen houses light up while the sun sank below the horizon. Harry wished he was sitting in one of those houses, or quit literally anywhere else on the planet that wasn't here.

Where was he, anyway? Dumbledore hadn't said, and he certainly wasn’t stupid enough to ask Snape about anything. Even if Harry didn’t know their exact location, though, it was certainly a Muggle town. Harry was quite surprised that Snape lived in such a normal place, actually. He’d thought Snape would live in some fancy wizarding house, like the majority of the Slytherins seemed to. Malfoy was always going on about his peacock-guarded Manor, after all. Snape was a pureblood (wasn’t he?) and so Harry had assumed he’d live in just as magical of a place. Snape, shockingly enough, just lived in your everyday, slightly run-down Muggle town. The house itself wasn’t even particularly magical, like the Burrow had been. It was certainly strange.

There was also a bigger question bothering Harry. What on earth was Malfoy doing here, living at Snape's house? Harry didn't get the impression that he was just visiting Snape, considering how many personal belongings he had strewn about the bedroom. Malfoy had been oddly defensive when Harry had asked about it earlier, too, although that could just be chalked up to his general hatred of Harry.

Part of Harry wanted to investigate and go rifling through Malfoy's things while he was in here alone, but he stopped himself at the last minute. If Malfoy walked in and caught Harry poking around, all hell would break loose. Besides, he was sure to let the truth slip over the course of the next… well, month. Harry shivered. He had to survive a month here…

With a sigh, Harry retrieved his quill and a piece of parchment and sat down at the rickety desk in between his and Malfoy’s beds. Time to try and find a way to explain all this to his friends for whenever Hedwig got back from Egypt…

At quarter-past ten, the door, which Harry had been irritated to discover did not have a lock, swung open again. It was Malfoy.

"What do you want?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"To get changed? Are you forgetting this is my room too, you brainless twit?" Malfoy shot Harry a disgusted look before he began rifling through his drawers. As Harry was unable to think up a better retort than 'takes one to know one', he made the wise decision to remain silent as Malfoy pulled a pair of silk pyjamas out of his drawers and stormed off to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Harry decided he might as well get changed while Malfoy was out, and quickly threw on his pyjamas; cast-offs from Dudley, of course. He couldn’t help but feel a little underdressed in the hand-me-downs. From what Harry could tell, all of Malfoy’s clothes seemed rather expensive and well-fitted, while Harry’s were barely serviceable and certainly didn’t fit him. It was always a humiliating experience to wear clothing that dwarfed you so terribly, especially around people like Malfoy who would laugh at you for it.

After a quick trip to and from the bathroom, Harry began to settle into bed just as Snape walked into the room.

"Neither of you shut this door," he warned. "I don't want you two arguing while you're in here alone. When you prove you can be civil, I'll let you shut the door at night. I'll see you at eight o'clock tomorrow morning for breakfast. Do not be late."

With that, he walked off down the corridor, leaving the door ajar. It sounded like he'd gone into the off-limits laboratory. With a sigh, Harry rolled over, keeping his back to Malfoy.

He'd gone from one extreme to the other, it seemed. At the Dursleys, he may have been locked in his room from the outside, but at least he was able to have some privacy to do as he pleased while in there. Here, Harry didn't even have a room to himself where he could escape from Malfoy and Snape. And a bedtime, too! Harry couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been told to go to bed at a certain time! The Dursleys couldn’t care less if Harry was tired. As long as he was out of their sight, he could stay up as late as he liked. Of course, Spinner’s End bore some similarities to Privet Drive; namely the fact that Harry was once again going to be living with people that deeply, truly hated him.

  This is going to be a long, long summer.