Harry spent the rest of the day confined to the bedroom. That suited him perfectly, seeing as he was still furious with Snape and utterly horrified that Malfoy knew his darkest secret. Harry was a bit concerned that if either one of them came within a mile of him then he'd do something horribly emotional, like scream, shout, or worst of all, cry.

Was his lie enough? Would Malfoy keep the bruises quiet? He'd said he would, but Harry wasn't so stupid that he'd trust the word of Draco Malfoy automatically. Instead, he just had to hope that Malfoy's general dislike of all things Potter meant he didn't care enough to dig deeper into Harry's reaction and work out why he'd reacted so explosively.

God, a biking accident? How thick was Harry? What an awful excuse!

But despite Harry's idiocy, the lie seemed to have worked. Malfoy didn't appear for further questioning, and neither did Snape. Harry was assuming the man's version of punishment was locking him in his room to think about what he'd done. It was really child's play to someone of Harry's background, especially when he realised Snape hadn't actually locked him in. He could leave at any time!

He didn't, of course. Despite what Snape thought Harry didn't actually have a death wish. Snape might be going easy on him now, but Harry wasn't stupid enough to push him.

Snape also sent up food for him, which appeared on the desk. Lunch and dinner, a laughable concept to the Dursleys even when they were happy with Harry. He didn't eat it. Whenever Harry got this upset, he couldn't bring himself to eat, even if he was hungry. Instead, Harry stared at the ceiling, a hurricane of emotions buffeting him from all directions, waiting until the plates vanished. He felt utterly wretched.

Too much had happened that morning for Harry to handle. Malfoy coming dangerously close to finding out about Harry's relationship with his relatives coupled with the revelations about Snape's friendship with Harry's mother had completely drained him.

And Harry still hadn't confronted Snape on that, had he? He'd been too busy getting shouted at about Sirius Black, oddly enough, and it had distracted him from the worst part of the whole situation.

Harry knew that you couldn't expect kindness from the majority of people. Being raised by family members who despised you tended to have that effect. That, alongside having his parents murdered and almost dying himself as a baby, had thoroughly convinced Harry that the world at large quite frankly couldn't care less about him.

But Harry's greatest fault was that he still hoped things would be different. He still believed in the goodness of others, but time and time again he was let down. Snape was a nasty bully who took pleasure in insulting Harry for reasons he couldn't really understand, but finding out he hated Harry so much that he intentionally kept these facts from Harry just to hurt him stung. That had to be the only reason, after all. Cruelty. Harry couldn't imagine any other purpose Snape would have for hiding that information from him if it wasn't linked to his seething hatred of Harry.

Part of Harry's mind quietly insisted this didn't quite add up, that he was drawing the wrong conclusions, but he staunchly pushed it away. He was too angry to believe Snape was anything more than a sadistic bastard right now.

He spent the day stewing and loathing Malfoy and Snape with renewed vigour. When Harry grew bored of sitting idle in his room, he drew angry images with harsh pencil strokes that nearly tore the parchment, then ripped the finished product to shreds. Parchment confetti surrounded Harry as he laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, anger giving way to self-pity. He thought he deserves to mope a little, all things considered.

When someone at last came in, well into the evening, Harry pretended to have fallen asleep. Whoever it was didn't need him badly enough to bother waking Harry. He continued feigning sleep a few hours later when Malfoy came in to go to bed. Harry certainly didn't want to talk to him. When Harry eventually did nod off, his sleep was fitful. He had nasty dreams plagued with images of a sneering Snape and Malfoy, leading a charge of pointing, laughing Slytherins. Harry ran from them through a maze of dark corridors until meaty fingers seized his arm. Uncle Vernon's livid, puce face roared obscenities at Harry as he dragged him into the hallway of Privet Drive and threw him into the cupboard under the stairs. Harry woke up with a gasp just as the door slammed shut with a resounding thud. His eyes shot open, and he saw Malfoy was standing at the end of his bed, giving Harry an odd look.

"Severus wants you for breakfast," he said on his way out of the bedroom. Harry did his best to shake off the last remaining dregs of his nightmare before heading downstairs to face the two of them.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Harry's mind finally decided to settle on one emotion: anger. He glowered at Snape, who was currently hidden behind the newspaper, overwhelmed by the urge to scream at the man until his voice gave out. The fury was so all-consuming that Harry could barely find it in himself to nibble the edges of his toast. It was like his guts had contracted under the iron grip of his rage. Snape noticed this and stared at Harry like his reluctance to eat was a personal failing. He struggled to resist the urge to throw the slice of toast at Snape's head.

“Potter, you’ll be clearing the garden again today,” Snape said finally, after a prolonged glaring match. "Perhaps you'll actually deign to do as you're told instead of going on trips for tea."

Harry ground his back teeth and didn't respond. He knew if he spoke he'd say something unfathomably rude. Unfortunately, this didn’t seem to agree with Snape, who clearly didn't understand the valiant effort Harry was putting up in order to not throttle him. His eyebrows contracted sharply and he loudly slammed his newspaper to the table.

“Enough!” he barked. “You will answer me when I speak to you, Potter. I shouldn’t have to put up with this appalling attitude of yours in my own home!”

“I don’t owe you anything ,” Harry muttered, clenching his fists under the table.

“I have had quite enough of your disrespect -”

The talk of disrespect really got under Harry’s skin. He finally exploded and blurted out, “Why didn’t you ever say you knew my mum?”

Snape abruptly stopped ranting. All of the colour drained from his sallow face. “Excuse me?”

Harry crossed his arms and scoffed. “Maureen told me everything! She said you two grew up together! She said you were best friends! How could you never mention that? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I refuse to speak with you about this.” Snape shot up from his chair and stalked to the other end of the kitchen, hiding his face from view.

“Well, you’re going to!” Harry shouted, pushing his chair back so hard that it toppled over. There was a loud ringing in his ears. “How could you? I don’t know anything about my mum, anything! Why the hell would you keep that from me?! It’s downright cruel!”

“OUT!” Snape roared, pointing one trembling finger towards the back door. “GET - OUT!”

Despite all of his righteous anger, Harry couldn’t help but flinch back. Snape was finally looking at him now, and his face was contorted into a mixture of fury and some other agonised emotion that Harry couldn’t quite identify but immediately hated. He was yet again filled with the unwavering certainty that Snape was either going to hit him or hex him, so Harry made the effort to get out of the kitchen before either one of those things happened. He slammed the door to the garden, and heard a loud crunching noise. Harry spun around - the glass in the sliding door was full of tiny fissures, rather like a spiderweb. The kitchen window overlooking the back garden was also shattered. Harry knew slamming a door hard wouldn’t even be enough to do that - no, his anger had grown so all-consuming that his accidental magic had slipped out and broken something again.

Instantly, the hot core of anger burning inside him was replaced with icy dread. Accidental magic always merited a horrid punishment at the Dursleys. Snape was already flipping out, and he would surely go completely over the edge now!

Harry instinctually fled, hurrying to the end of the garden. He stumbled as he went, his vision going fuzzy at the edges, the ringing so loud it blocked out the sounds of car engines on the nearby road. He quickly reached the shed and squeezed into the small gap between it and the back fence, which more or less hid him from the view of the people in the house, and slid to the floor. Now he was sitting down Harry felt a little less like he was going to faint, but that didn't help the fear surging through him after that mistaken explosion of magic. Harry took a few ragged breaths as he waited for Snape to come out and find him here, cornered and ready for all sorts of Dark curses…

But no angry, stomping footsteps sounded up the garden. The only noise was the gentle cooing of a few pigeons and the occasional rumble of a car going past. The sun rose higher into the sky, and Harry gradually realised that no one was coming out to punish him. He eventually mustered up the courage to peek around the side of the shed and saw the sliding glass door and kitchen window were as good as new. Of course - Snape was a wizard. Broken things could be fixed with a wave of a wand.

Gradually, Harry’s anxiety gave way to anger once again as he stood idly in the garden, thinking of Snape. Well, no matter what the man ordered, Harry certainly wasn’t going to weed his garden after everything that had happened. Instead, he decided to start repeatedly kicking the side of the shed, not even caring if Snape saw him. It was the only way to channel his irritation he could come up with.

Harry hated this place. He hated Snape, and he hated Malfoy. He just wanted to be back at Hogwarts, where he only had to put up with Malfoy and Snape once a week for double Potions. He missed Ron and Hermione terribly, too. Since both of them were abroad, it took even longer than usual for Hedwig to get to them, and Harry was horribly lonely. He just wished that this awful summer could end already so he could get back to Hogwarts where he belonged…

“Potter.”

Oh, did Harry miss having a place where Malfoy couldn’t bother him.

“What do you want?” he muttered. Harry turned around to see Malfoy leaning against the back of the house with his arms behind his head. A smirk was playing around his lips.

“Severus still has me cleaning the kitchen,” he said finally.

“Why should I care?”

“I figured you could do it for me.”

“Fat chance!” Harry said, snorting. “I’m not doing your chores for you!”

“Well isn’t that a shame,” Malfoy said with a sigh. “It’ll make it ever so much harder for me to keep your little secret, then…”

Bruises. Malfoy meant the bruises. Harry’s mouth went bone-dry. “No! You can’t tell him.”

“Can’t I?” Malfoy asked, arching an eyebrow. "Why not?"

“Fine! I’ll do it,” Harry said quickly, desperate to shut him up. “I’ll clean the kitchen for you.”

“Wonderful.” Malfoy gave him a sinister smile. “Well, get on with it, Potter. Severus will be back in two hours and I want it done by then.”

Harry shot him a hateful look and trudged into the kitchen. Triumph was glittering in Malfoy's grey eyes. He had the upper hand, and he certainly knew it, which was going to be a problem. Even though he obviously didn't know why Harry didn't want anyone to find out he was injured, Malfoy knew Harry was hiding something, and that was enough. He had Harry eating out of the palm of his hand.

But it could be worse. Worse would be Snape finding out about a series of slightly suspicious bruises. Harry was used to cleaning, it wouldn’t be that bad…

As it turned out, though, cleaning a kitchen was a lot more difficult when your neurotic aunt didn’t already have it in a spotless state. As Harry scrubbed the floor, wiping the sweat off his brow, he could see why Snape had set Malfoy this task as a punishment. There seemed to be a permanent layer of filth caked onto every surface that Harry was struggling to lift, no matter how hard he scrubbed and scrubbed.

“Come on, Potter, put your back into it!” Malfoy said from the dining room chair he was lounging back on.

“Stuff it, Malfoy,” he snapped.

“That’s no way to speak to me at the minute, is it?” Malfoy said mockingly.

Harry gritted his teeth and just kept scrubbing, because Malfoy was right, wasn’t he? He did have all the power here, if Harry wanted to keep everything quiet, which he had to. It was just like the Dursleys, he thought. Don’t talk back and things will be…well, even if not alright, manageable. He just couldn’t believe he’d gotten himself into a situation where Malfoy of all people was blackmailing him…

“So, Potter,” he said. “I have to say, I’m a bit curious.”

If he asked Harry for a single detail about those bruises -

“What was all this about Severus knowing your mother?” he asked. “I have to admit, it piqued my interest; after all, what would he be doing with a Muggleborn?”

“Ask him yourself,” Harry muttered, wringing out a dirty rag so violently it slopped grey water out of the bucket and onto the kitchen tiles.

“I already tried that. Severus is a bit reluctant to speak about it.” Harry really hated the way Malfoy threw around Snape’s first name - a loud, abrupt reminder of the power differences in their relationships. “I thought you might be a bit more forthcoming, given your…situation.”

“Threaten me all you like, Malfoy, but I’ve got nothing to tell you,” Harry said, pouring the bucket's contents into the sink. Murky water swirled into the drain. “I wouldn’t have shouted at him if I knew what was going on, would I?”

“Yes, that was a rather impressive fit, wasn’t it?” Malfoy sniggered, and Harry bit down on his cheek to hold back a sharp retort. Considering Malfoy’s actions the other day, he wasn’t exactly one to get on his high horse about people throwing fits and tantrums, was he?

Luckily, Malfoy seemed to believe Harry when he said he didn't know anything, and was mostly quiet apart from the occasional snide comment over the next two hours while Harry scrubbed and scoured the kitchen. Eventually, Malfoy checked his watch and sighed. “Severus will be back soon, so I suppose our time together is over. Back outside, Potter, and thank you ever so much for all the help…”

Harry glowered at Malfoy before storming back out into the garden. For some reason, he hadn’t thought things at Spinner’s End could get worse. He should have known better than to jinx it; things always got worse for Harry…

That vein of thinking was what prompted Harry to finally start gardening. As angry as he was at the minute, he really didn’t want the other Snape finding out Harry had spent the morning doing literally nothing he’d been instructed to do. He was skating on thin ice as it was, and as reluctant as he was to admit it, the way Snape had lost control that morning scared him a little.

Harry had barely been working for ten minutes when the back door slid open. Snape was staring at him, his face completely devoid of emotion. It was almost unnaturally blank, especially when compared to the utter fury that had been scrawled across it earlier. “Lunch.”

Harry brushed himself off and trudged inside. He didn’t even look at Malfoy as he sat down at the kitchen table. The stupid git looked ridiculously pleased with himself, and Harry wanted to slap the smug expression right off his face, which would be unwise for a number of reasons.

Snape didn’t eat with them. He stood in the corner of the kitchen, staring out of the window. It seemed they weren't acknowledging the fight that morning, which suited Harry perfectly well. He was still on tenterhooks after the explosion of accidental magic.

“You’ve done well here, Draco,” Snape commented after a lengthy silence. “It’s very clean.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, and Harry felt another surge of resentment. He dug his fingernails into his palms as the anger surged to almost unmanageable levels. “Will I be able to brew with you again this afternoon?”

“Not at the moment, I’m afraid,” Snape said. “I’m working with a very delicate potion on orders from the Headmaster which you can’t be involved with. I am also not to be disturbed - I trust that the two of you can behave for the afternoon and do your homework without killing each other?”

“Of course I will behave, sir,” Malfoy said smoothly, “although I don’t know if you can say the same for Potter. He’s been laying around all morning, not doing anything - I saw him.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but promptly shut it again when he saw the look in Malfoy’s eyes. The one that said I know all your secrets. 

“I see,” Snape said icily, glaring at him. “I don’t just ask you to do these things for the fun of it, Potter. You are a member of this household and need to pull your weight! Just because your relatives wait on you hand and foot does not mean that I will do the same!”

Waited on hand and foot! Snape couldn’t be further from the truth. Still, Harry didn’t dare protest, and settled for a wordless scowl. Perhaps a bit of silent treatment was appropriate here.

“Seeing as I cannot trust you to do as you're told, I suppose I’m going to have to inconvenience myself further and supervise you for the duration of the afternoon,” Snape said, visibly disgruntled. “You will do your homework at a desk in my laboratory.”

Doing his homework in Snape’s lab? That was it? Harry didn’t understand how that was supposed to be much of a punishment. Wouldn’t it be the same as doing his homework at the dining room table, with Snape watching, or any old Potions lesson?

Harry quickly grew to understand how wrong he was.

The desk Snape had described was a small, rickety table jammed in the corner of the laboratory. Harry took in the room as he sat down, since he’d never been in here before. The lab had definitely been magically expanded, as Harry didn’t think so many jars of ingredients and simmering cauldrons could be held in Snape’s tiny house without some kind of expansion enchantments. The whole place was remarkably similar to Snape’s Potions classroom at Hogwarts, with the main difference being the polished wooden floors instead of cold dungeon stone, as well as the windows, which the blinds were drawn down over. Harry’s observations of the room were abruptly cut off as Snape waved his wand, and a thin, wooden wall appeared to the right of Harry’s desk.

“Concentrate,” Snape ordered. “You should be doing your homework, not staring at me.”

It was torture, Harry decided, being confined by the three walls around him. There was no window, no clock, nothing to look at but the ugly wallpaper, the wooden slab Snape had conjured and the Charms essay in front of him. Harry was also fairly certain Snape had cast some sort of Muffling Charm, since the crackling of the flames and the bubbling of the cauldrons were almost inaudible. The room was also hellishly hot. The sole window behind Harry’s head wasn’t open, and the combination of the fire beneath Snape’s cauldron and the oppressive August heat meant Harry was sticky with sweat within about ten minutes of being in the lab.

Harry quickly grew bored of staring at his Charms homework, and started rocking on the back legs of his chair, trying to see if he could peer around the wooden wall and watch what Snape was working on. If Malfoy wasn't allowed in on it, whatever it was had to be pretty secret. Snape was chopping some kind of plant - was that Wolfsbane? - and wandlessly making a cauldron stir itself. Despite the intense focus obvious on his face, Snape noticed Harry watching him within seconds and immediately cast a Sticking Charm on the chair legs, keeping Harry glued to the floor no matter how much he tried to wriggle the chair free. Snape then proceeded to bark a sharp reprimand about Harry cracking his head open - even wizarding teachers had that rant ready, it seemed - and told him he’d be staying there even longer.

But Harry was so, so bored. When writing about Cheering Charms became too dull, he decided to start inventing more and more creative ways to torment Malfoy, who Harry had never hated more vehemently than he did right now as he was trapped in Snape’s awful lab. Harry hadn’t done anything wrong, and he was still being punished because Malfoy was blackmailing him!

He just hoped that Hedwig would be back soon. Ron’s dad was sure to know about whatever Malfoy’s parents had done to get themselves locked up - maybe Harry could use what he heard to blackmail him back? Part of him cringed at the thought of that, though. That sort of sneaky, underhanded behaviour never sat well with Harry. Still, desperate times called for desperate measures, and if that was what it took to buy Malfoy’s silence about the bruises, Harry would take it. At least it seemed like he hadn’t realised the Dursleys were behind them - that would be unbearable - but Harry was almost certain that if Snape found out, he’d put two and two together quickly. He’d always been too bloody perceptive…

After what felt like an eternity of torment, Snape finally cleared his throat. “Show me your work.”

Harry passed the completed Charms essay to Snape, who scanned it with his beady eyes. “Tolerable. Go.”

Harry was just about to turn around when all of the simmering hatred boiled over yet again. He clutched the essay in trembling hands and stared at Snape, who had returned to brewing and was pointedly ignoring Harry's continual presence. Once again, he was struck by just how cruel it was of him to hide his friendship with Harry's mum from him. Even though he knew it was a terrible idea, the words were tumbling out of Harry's mouth before he could stop himself.

"You should have told me, and you know it." Harry's voice was shaking, and he despised himself for it. It was betraying him, signalling to Snape just how angry, how upset he was.

Snape's hands clenched into fists, crushing the berries he'd been holding. Red juice seeped between his knuckles and dripped onto the floor as he drew himself to his full height, looking over Harry, eyes dark with hatred.

"Do you constantly have to be so melodramatic?" Snape demanded. "You live with her sister, Potter! She's obviously told you something, hasn't she?"

Harry, who had spent his entire childhood being told his parents were worthless, unemployed drunks who had died in a car crash, had to struggle against the urge to laugh derisively. Petunia Dursley never spoke about her sister if she could help it! Harry felt the sudden, random urge to shout that fact at Snape, but stopped himself at the last moment. The question in his voice had obviously been rhetorical.

Right?

"You are not entitled to my personal recollections," Snape growled. His voice was the one shaking, now. "Although you seem to think yourself entitled to everything, Potter, so I suppose you needed the extra clarification…"

"She's my mum," Harry hissed, his whole body trembling now with the force of his anger. "My mum."

"And I never get to forget that, do I?" Snape said through gritted teeth, his face twisted with something dark and painful. "Now leave!"

And Harry did, the pain coiling in his chest, burning like hot coals. That had been truly awful...

Still, despite his general indignation, Harry couldn’t help but sigh with relief as he left the lab. Even the distasteful wallpaper decorating the upstairs landing of Spinner’s End was a welcome relief from the three walls he’d been trapped between all afternoon. That had been truly miserable.

When he rushed into the bedroom, Harry’s spirits rose even more. Hedwig was sitting by her cage, a letter tied to her leg. She gently cooed as Harry approached her.

“Hey, girl!” he said happily, running a finger over her feathers before untying the letter attached to her leg. Judging by the handwriting, it was from Ron. “I’ve missed you…”

He slid a finger through the seal of the envelope and began reading the letter within.

  Hi, Harry! 

  I hope you’re okay. I can’t believe you actually blew up your aunt! Don’t tell Hermione I said this, but it sounds like she had it coming. I sent Errol with a letter explaining everything to her like you asked, by the way. Hopefully he actually makes it to France, but I’m not holding my breath. I tried to get Percy to let me use Hermes, but he’s too busy using him to write to his girlfriend. Ginny nicked a couple of his love letters, and they’re the soppiest nonsense I’ve ever read. I thought I was going to sick up! 

  Are you staying in Diagon Alley for the rest of the summer, then? If you are, we can meet and get our school things the week before term, which is when we’re all coming back from Egypt. It’s absolutely wicked out here. I got to ride a camel and everything today! Fred and George somehow made Percy’s run off into the desert with him still sitting on it, and it took half an hour to get him back. He was furious.

   Make sure you let me know about Diagon Alley!

  Best,

   Ron

Harry smiled and put the letter to one side. He found himself missing Ron and Hermione a lot in the summers, since they were the closest thing he had to a real family. As happy as Harry was that the Weasleys had won the lottery - no one could have deserved it more - a small, selfish part of him wished they were still in England, so he could have stayed with them again this summer instead of getting stuck with Snape.

After feeding Hedwig some owl treats and refilling her water bowl, Harry decided to sit down and complete his half-finished letter to Ron as soon as possible. He needed to let his friend know that he wasn’t going to be in Diagon Alley before the Weasleys made any plans, since Harry didn’t think for a minute that Snape would allow him to go. It would make Harry happy, which went against everything Snape stood for.

When was Harry going to get his school supplies, anyway? He hadn’t managed to pick up much in the minimal time he’d spent at Diagon Alley before getting dragged to Spinner’s End. He doubted that Snape was going to ban him completely, since he taught at Hogwarts, but the idea of shopping with Snape and Malfoy turned his stomach a little. Harry shuddered and returned to his letter.

  Dear Ron,

  It’s nice to hear from you. I wish I was in Egypt with you, since my summer’s just gone from bad to worse. Dumbledore decided I couldn’t stay alone in Diagon Alley for the rest of August, so I’ve been stuck with Snape, of all people. He’s a bloody nightmare to live with, I can tell you that. I feel like all we’ve done is argue. 

  If that wasn’t bad enough on its own, he’s also got Malfoy living with him at the moment. MALFOY! He’s being even more of a git than usual, and I can’t even get away from him like I could at Hogwarts because we share a room and everything. I’m looking over my shoulder while I write this to make sure he doesn’t barge in here and try to steal my mail.

  Did you know his parents have been sent to Azkaban? That’s the whole reason Malfoy’s even here. Apparently, Snape is his guardian now. Have you heard anything about what the Malfoys did to get themselves locked up? I obviously don’t get any news at Privet Drive, but I thought your dad might have heard something at the Ministry. I’m absolutely dying to know what happened, but Snape’s refusing to tell me anything. They’re both just so awful. Hopefully the two of them won’t kill me in my sleep or something, but if I go mysteriously missing, you know who did it. 

  I’ll ask Snape if he’ll let me go into London, but don’t get your hopes up. I bet he’ll say no just to spite me. Even if he doesn’t let me, I’ll see you on the train in September. I’m counting down the days!

  Enjoy the pyramids, 

  Harry

Satisfied, Harry sealed the envelope and deftly tied the letter to Hedwig’s leg.

“I’m not sending you off just yet, but if Snape or Malfoy come in here, you might want to fly off and avoid them.” Hedwig gave him a highly reproachful look, and Harry sighed. “Look, I’m sorry I keep throwing you out, but you really don’t want to be around Snape and Malfoy. Snape might chop you up for Potions ingredients. It might be best if you just stay with Ron for a bit, yeah? Sorry…”

Hedwig watched him indignantly for a few moments, her head bobbing. Moments later, she flew out of the open window with a none too gentle nip of his finger. Harry sighed, watching her grow smaller and smaller as she flew into the distance. Harry felt rather neglectful, since this was the second time that summer he’d sent Hedwig away, but considering Malfoy’s progressively worsening nastiness, Harry thought it was the smart thing to do. He didn’t want to come upstairs and find his only companion during those long summers at Privet Drive dead. Harry just wished he could sprout wings and fly away with her…

Harry was just returning to the bedroom after a trip to the loo when the topic of Malfoy reared its ugly head once again. He paused in the hallway as slightly muffled voices came through the door to Snape’s lab. Malfoy was in there, and despite the closed door, what he was saying was more or less audible.

“She’s still not writing to me.”

“Oh?”

“This is the fifth letter I’ve sent since it happened, Severus,” Malfoy said tightly. “I didn’t expect Greg or Vince to send much in the way of letters - they can barely read as it is - but Pansy? Are the rental owls just not reaching her?”

“I don’t think that’s the issue, Draco,” Snape said in a surprisingly gentle voice. Harry hadn’t known Snape was even capable of being gentle, and to hear that kind of tone coming from the man felt very wrong.

“I don’t understand why she’s angry with me,” Malfoy said in a small voice. “I’m not the one who did something wrong…”

“Sometimes, we can’t know the strength of our relationships until they’re tested in times of hardship,” Snape said. “There are people in the world who will turn out to be simply fairweather friends, as unfortunate as that may be.”

“That’s not Pansy,” Malfoy said fiercely. “She - she isn’t… I just need to write to her again. With a different owl, this time. Can you take me to the Post Office so I can rent another one, Severus? Please?”

“In a few days time,” Snape promised after a brief pause. “As soon as this brew is finished.”

"Alright," Malfoy said, sounding slightly dejected. The lab fell into silence and Harry crept back to his room, not wanting them to know he’d overheard. He sat on the edge of his bed, lost in thought.

So Pansy Parkinson was ignoring Malfoy, was she? That was interesting. From what Harry could tell, the two of them had always been close friends, bonded over their love of viciously bullying Gryffindors. What could have made them fall out?

And why was Malfoy renting owls, anyway? Harry was certain Malfoy had an owl of his own, a handsome screech owl that always brought him boxes of sweets from home. He was rather sure of this because Malfoy was fond of taunting Harry over the fact that he didn’t receive any mail of his own. There weren’t any owls at Spinner’s End, though… strange.

As much as he hated the other boy at that moment, Harry couldn't help but once again wonder what precisely was going on with Draco Malfoy.