Snape set Harry down in a thick patch of green grass beneath a massive tree. Harry took in a lungful of the outside air, which seemed very crisp. He could feel both the warmth from the sun and the cooler spots from the shade provided by the tree canopy. Some of the tension seeped from Harry. Being outside really did seem to help.

Something in Harry clicked as he heard a small noise. He snapped out of the trance nature had lured him into and looked for the source of the sound. Harry realized that Snape had moved closer to him. Staring straight ahead, Harry could see Snape settling beside him on the soft grass from the corner of his eye. Snape sat quietly, perhaps thinking of some ingredients to a potion or some silent insults about Harry. Whatever the man was pondering, Harry had no way to tell if it was good or bad.

Harry found a leaf on the big tree to focus on and stared at it. Maybe he could count the veins on the skin of the leaf if he concentrated hard enough. His heart was starting to pound. He wasn’t afraid. No, this was another emotion entirely. Perhaps it was a blend of awkwardness, his lingering sadness and the new gratefulness for being outside. It was a struggle to ignore all the strong feelings pushing him in every direction. At any moment he might have burst into tears. In silent dread he waited for Snape to speak.

His leaf jiggled a little in the breeze; if the wind blew a little bit harder it would probably fall. It wasn’t very long before Harry lost count of the veins on the dark green leaf. It was too difficult to try and concentrate on the tiny things with the wind blowing the leaf about and with Snape so very near. The man’s presence was not easily shut out.

“The weather is pleasant,” Snape said mildly.

Harry was drawn to attention. That sounded like an attempt at a civil conversation. Still not making eye contact, Harry nodded. The weather was quite lovely, and Harry was surprised that Snape thought about such things. At times he felt that he didn’t know this man at all.

Snape had been right about the crackers affecting his state of mind, and within two days Harry felt almost like a new person. He was more or less steady again; his body felt stronger and his emotions had become less tender, like the spiritual rawness he’d felt had simply ebbed away over the period of a few days. It was a huge relief to be able to walk around on his own, and to be able to think without bursting into a fit of tears. He noticed that the color of his moon stone had lightened several shades, and as he smiled it swirled to an even lighter blue. Now instead of being nearly black, it just about matched the tone of color that had been there when Snape had held the stone.

Harry wanted to talk to Snape, to ask him something really. He wanted to ask if he could send a letter to his friends to tell them that he was alive and well. Harry wanted to write the letter so badly that if Snape requested to read it before sending it out, Harry would’ve let him in a second. The boots covering Harry’s feet made almost no sound as he padded about looking for Snape, who seemed to have disappeared.

Perhaps Snape had gone down into his dudgeons to make a potion. Harry was certain he could find his way down there despite the fact that Harry hadn’t been back there since Snape had apparated down there with him.

As Harry wandered through the house looking for the stairs that would lead to the lower lever, he spied a half open door. It looked like a study room. Maybe Snape was in there. Gently Harry pressed the thick door the rest of the way open and peered inside.

“Professor Snape?” Harry whispered as he invited himself into the room after the lack of a reply.

He glanced around the room. No Snape. Just a desk with parchment and quill, a cold fireplace and a few miscellaneous things about the room that were probably family heirlooms. Harry stepped a bit closer to the desk as he thought about borrowing some ink and parchment. Perhaps Snape wouldn’t mind if he just used the desk for a little while as well.

Harry settled quietly behind the desk and set a fresh piece of parchment in front of him. He dipped Snape’s quill into the ink and began to write. He’d only written a few sentences when the point of the quill snapped with a pop. Harry lifted it and inspected it. He felt inside of his pockets in spite of the fact that he hadn’t anything in them but his wizard card, and not wand nor a pen knife to make a new point on the quill. Gently Harry set the wounded quill on the desk and looked around.

No knife or extra quills in sight on the top of the desk. Perhaps Snape kept them inside the drawers of his desk. Harry opened a drawer and peeked inside. No knife in sight, just some old letters. Wait, not so old. The one on top was only a few days old. He did not pick up the letter to read it, but left it in its spot in the drawer.

Headmaster,

I have received your message. Surely Madame Pomfrey informed you of my feelings on this matter? When the time comes I shall obey your order, and I will be grateful to be finished with this unpleasant duty.

Perhaps the muggles will be glad to have the boy back in their possession once more. No doubt they are in need of a whipping boy to vent their primitive muggle aggressions. Black and blue seems to suit him, does it not?

In my opinion it would have been better for all concerned if Potter had not become “the Boy-Who-Lived.” He is not strong enough to defend himself against a grown muggle and yet you expect him to defeat Voldemort like this? It is a mistake to expect anything like this from the boy-

“Would you care to explain yourself, Mr Potter?”

His body froze. Slowly Harry’s eyes traveled in the direction of the familiar timbre of Snape’s steady voice. Snape was standing in the open doorway, looking displeased. “I was.. I was looking for you, Sir,” he stammered. He wondered if Snape had seen him searching through the desk.

“Well, it seems that I have found you instead.” Snape smoothly stepped into the room. He stalked over to the desk. “You wished to speak to me?”

“I just wanted to ask about writing a letter, Sir,” Harry said hoping that he could control the sudden shakiness in his tone.

“You seem to have made yourself at home,” Snape remarked lifting the broken quill and narrowing his eyes at it.

“I...uh. I’m sorry,” Harry stammered. He took a step back and ended up falling into the chair behind him. He thought about trying to stand, but stayed put. Snape raised an eyebrow and Harry cringed inwardly.

Snape’s eyes flitted toward the drawer that Harry had left ajar while searching for a new quill.

Snape stepped behind the desk and slammed the drawer shut. He glowered at Harry. “It is impolite to search through another’s possessions without permission.”

Harry swallowed and nodded grimly.

“You shall have to return home soon,” Snape said, gliding back around the desk so that he stood where he could face Harry.

Harry closed his eyes and tried not to think of home. He supposed that he should have been expecting this to end, just as he was beginning to think his life was about to improve.

The stew that Snape had served him smelled delicious, but Harry was in no mood for eating. It occurred to him that perhaps this would be his last decent meal in a while, and that he should take in as much as he could, but he really didn’t want to. He sat at the small kitchen table twirling his heavy spoon in the thick broth with a cheek plopped into his other hand. If one had not known better, the boy would’ve looked positively bored out of his mind, but boredom was the farthest thing from the young man.

“Is there a reason why you are not eating?” Snape asked from his seat directly across from the boy. Snape watched Harry and took a sip of water from a delicate glass.

Harry didn’t look up, just continued to stir his food in slow, smooth circles.

After a moment he stopped and stared into the broth. “Is there a reason why you have to send me home?” Harry asked in a tone that was as hushed as a breath, but Snape heard clearly enough.

“This is not something I wish to discuss with you at the moment,” Snape growled in a tone of warning.

Harry looked up, fresh anger flashed in his green eyes. “Why not?”

“Because we are in my home, and I do not wish to speak of that subject right now.”

“It isn’t a subject! It’s my life!” Harry snapped, slamming his spoon down on the table sending little splatters of thick broth flying. A second later he seemed to regain control and he looked up at Snape fully intending to apologize.

Snape held up a hand to stop him. “Do not say it when you know that you do not mean it.”

But I wouldn’t... Harry stopped himself from even thinking it, because he was doing exactly what Snape had said. Had he apologized it would have been like all those times he’d said those same empty words to Vernon. I’m Sorry. It was a measure of self defense, like bringing one’s arm up to protect the face, but it was also a lie, and Harry wasn’t so sure that he wanted to lie to Snape.